“So, I have… a small… question,” I pant.

  My entire body is shaking, my legs are trembling, and I have no idea how I can still stand. I lean forward, hands on my knees, trying to get my heart to stop hammering in my chest. My lungs feel like I’ve been inhaling fire for the last three hours.

  Ask away, Minerva says.

  “When… When do I get to… connect to… the Hive?”

  Wow am I out of breath. Every two or three words, I have to gulp for air.

  Just stop talking out loud, then. Idiot.

  Yeah, yeah. Answer the question, perhaps?

  The Hive relies on interfacing with the brain directly. Because your mind isn’t strong enough for that yet, we’ll just have to do without for now.

  But I’ll get to connect eventually?

  If you are fast enough, yes. Which means it’s time to do another lap around the park. I’m timing you this time. Your goal is ten minutes.

  What sort of goal is that?! It took me like, twice that to do one lap just now! Not to mention how tired I already am…

  Physical stress is how you rebuild your body. Now, off you go, child.

  “Not a child,” I grumble under my breath.

  Still, I straighten my spine, taking a long swig from my bottle as I mentally steel myself. I wipe my face with the towel around my neck, trying to keep the sweat from stinging my eyes. I push down the bone-deep weariness in my stomach, willing it to dissolve into nothing. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it. I want to survive.

  ?????

  Thud.

  My feet feel so heavy. So unbearably heavy.

  Thud.

  I started feeling distant from my own body two laps ago.

  Thud.

  The only thing that’s keeping me moving is my own momentum.

  Thud.

  I feel like if I stop for even a second to catch my breath, I’ll collapse.

  Thud.

  It burns. It burns! Every time my foot makes contact with the ground, my bones feel like they’re going to snap. Shatter into a million pieces and leave me a bloody mess on the ground, too delerious from exertion to even notice that I’m bleeding out.

  Keep going. I am! I have been for the last two hours! Just a little more. You said that three laps ago. You can do this. Can I? I guess I can. I’m so exhausted, so utterly spent, that I can feel your thoughts melding with mine.

  Thud!

  My foot comes down at a bad angle, and I trip.

  I’m blinking in and out of consciousness. Black spots blot out my vision. My head is spinning, and then there’s a crack, and everything is numb and everything hurts. Somewhere in the distance, someone is shouting my name. I’m pretty sure I’m concussed, but I’m not so sure of anything anymore. It’s all slipping away. What’s slipping away? I don’t know.

  The last thought that passes through my mind is that I’m going to die here. Alone, in the dark, collapsed on the sidewalk of some out-of-the-way park, and no one will find me until it’s too late.

  ?????

  …wan… Rowan…

  …

  Rowan! …Wuh? Rowan…

  Rowan!

  Huh. That’s a name… my name…

  Everything is black. I’m cold. My senses fade in and out. Everything hurts, it hurts it hurts it hurts! Rowan! Wake up, Rowan. Wake up!

  My eyes… I can’t feel my eyes. Oh wait, now I can. I ask them to open, please. They stay firmly closed. How do I open my eyes, again? That’s fine, keep them closed. Oh. Okay. Can you feel your arms? No, I… Can I? I try to lift my arm. It feels sluggish and detached from my consciousness. Did my finger twitch? I can’t tell. My eyes are closed.

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  No, wait, my eyes are open. It’s just so dark outside I can’t see anything.

  Focus, Rowan. You need to get up. You need to move.

  Everything is slow. I feel like I’m underwater. Will I drown? I feel like I’m drowning. Why am I so calm? Focus. The fog… I need to push the fog away. How do I do that?

  Breathe. One thing at a time.

  One thing… Start with my head. I can feel my head. It’s on its side, and my cheek is on a surface. The surface is cold, bumpy. Something tickles on my nose. My neck is stiff, like I’ve been sleeping at a bad angle. I guess that’s true enough. I try to turn my head. The nausea instantly doubles. My body… My torso is face-down on the ground, but my hips are twisted so one leg is on top of the other. My arms are… fine? One is folded below my chest, tingling from the lack of blood circulation. The other is spread to the side. I try to lift it. My eyes have slightly adjusted to the moonlight, enough to see a faint movement. My finger twitches. Two fingers twitch. I’m seeing double.

  Slowly but surely, the feeling returns to me, inch by inch. I move my head by a hairsbreadth, and the nausea only worsens slightly. I can lift my right arm, the one that was eagle-spread to my side. It still feels numb, and I doubt it could support my weight enough to push me up from the ground.

  Okay. You’re kind of back. I guess I am? Look, I realize you aren’t exactly in a position to give me a good answer right now, but I’m going to try and help speed the recovery in your brain. It’s delicate work, and I’ll need to keep my influence minimal. After this, we go straight into mental training. Wuh’ssat? Stay still, don’t do anything. Actually, I guess I’ll just knock you out again. Wuh?! Figuratively. Good night.

  ?????

  Rowan… Rowan!

  Oh, huh. I’m awake again.

  Yes. Can you feel your body now?

  Let’s see… I have four limbs, I can probably move each of them. I open my eyes, then squeeze them shut. Why is everything so bright? Ugh.

  I don’t bother tracking how long I spend lying on the ground, remembering how to move. At some point, I become aware of a splitting headache. The sensation returns to my body, and everything tingles like a million needles on my skin. When that subsides, I can somewhat feel my body more. My left arm is still numb. I manage to sort of pull it out from under me.

  Another few minutes, and I feel like I can move again, sort of. At least, I feel like my arms won’t snap just from pushing myself up.

  I plant my palms on the ground, steeling myself for the exertion. In the back of my mind, I feel a faint hum. It spreads down my spine and then to my arms, and as it reaches my fingertips I can sense it bolstering me ever so slightly. It’s only just enough.

  I gasp, dizziness warring with my relief at managing to move. I roll onto my back, pushing forward with my arms until I’m sitting up. I can feel my right leg.

  Thank the gods, you’re up.

  Ugh. Thanks. Who are you, again, and how long was I out?

  Minerva, and about eight hours total.

  Right. Minerva. Right! The memories trickle in again, pushing the last wisps of fog away. Where am I…?

  I was running, and then I tripped, and…

  Yes. Your concussion cut our deadline short by quite a bit.

  What do you mean?

  You were concussed, and the only way I could remedy that was to begin the integration with your mind early.

  I freeze, thoughts flailing around my skull in a desperate attempt to connect the dots. Training… Minerva said the reason she was holding off the integration with my brain was because it’s still too weak to handle Autopilot.

  How much time do I have left?

  Seven days, Minerva says.

  I blink. A full week? I thought that it was only a few days.

  That was before you began your training. You noticed how exercise was affecting you. The more strain you put on your body, the faster it needs to replace its cells. Basically, for the next few days, your entire body will ache like it’s been dropped in the fourth ring of hell. You have to keep going at the pace you did yesterday, so that your body’s natural process of cellular regeneration can keep up with the transformation, and so that your vitals are in the best state possible for when the integration reaches them.

  And my vitals, I presume, include my brain.

  Yes. The good thing is that I can basically heal any wounds you recieve once the affected region is somewhat integrated. The less good thing is that doing so requires me to hasten the transformation greatly, since I can only control cells that have my own code in them.

  Okay. So, recap: I’m stronger now, but you had to fix my concussion and now I need to train my brain somehow so it can withstand the pressure of my new body.

  And your leg.

  What?

  Your ankle. You twisted your ankle. I need you to hold it in place while I heal it, or it’ll risk setting in wrong.

  Um. I guess that’s why I can’t feel my left foot?

  I took the liberty of flooding your brain with endorphins while I was healing it. Figured that you should deal with one thing at a time. Fair warning, natural painkillers can only do so much, so brace yourself before you set the ankle.

  Got it.

  Well, nothing for it. I bend down slightly further to see my ankle, which is swollen red, still at a slightly awkward and unnatural angle. Biting my lip, I gingerly undo the laces of my shoe, wincing as my hand barely jostles the joint. I pull the tongue all the way out, uncaring of the now entirely undone laces, and gently lift my leg to pull the shoe off, followed by my sock. Now that my consciousness is mostly back in order, I feel it throbbing faintly, as if the pain is muffled by something.

  Good. Now, all you need to do is hold it in place.

  Images flash through my mind, Minerva sending me detailed instructions in a mix of concepts and diagrams beyond words alone. I do as she says, holding back a yelp as I almost have to force my foot to return to a normal angle. It would have been easier had I done it immediately, before the ankle swelled so much, but it can’t be helped. Still, the instant it’s in place, I feel a surge of relief as Minerva gets to work. The sharp pain quickly dulls to a severe ache, which gradually gives way to a mild sense of discomfort and stiffness.

  Finally, after a minute or an hour, the only sign of previous injury is a light tingling in my foot as the swelling slowly dies down. I breathe a sigh of relief and exhaustion.

  Oh, right. I forgot to mention one last thing, Minerva interjects.

  “Oh gods, what is it?” I groan, dread already settling in my stomach.

  Minerva doesn’t reply. Instead, something flashes before my eyes, and I almost choke on my next breath.

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  [You have connected to the Hive.]

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