Junior's life hadn't been as easy as some.
Born with a congenital nerve disorder that robbed him of sight as a baby, his mother had protected him even as she betrayed him, in circumstances no young child could fully comprehend.
And Junior had another condition, or perhaps a different facet of the same one. What he heard could affect his other senses, such as taste, smell and even touch. As he'd grown older, care and training had given him the tools to mitigate the sensory bleed-through. It even became a source of strength, the way he enjoyed music in ways few understood.
But sometimes, especially in times of distress, his condition still had real impact.
"She asked me to tell you that she's Reclaimed now."
To Junior, Esther's words had a physical tangibility to his distinct sense. Nothing as cliché as 'landing with the force of a physical blow', like a poet might have imagined. Not after years spent learning to cope.
But it definitely wasn't pleasant.
Achilles whined softly, sensing his partner's discomfort, and pressed against his leg.
Esther watched him with sympathy and regret. "I'm sorry, Junior," she said. "I couldn't decide how best to tell you. I thought it would be better to get straight to the point. Clearly, I was wrong."
"No." Junior's voice sounded more like a croak than a word. He cleared his throat and reached for his drink, fumbling a bit before he took a sip. Shaky hands lowered it a little too quickly back to the table, and the sound of clattering ceramics resounded surprisingly loud. "No," he tried again, more clearly this time. "It's not your fault. I was just … surprised."
His understated attempt at defusing the situation fell flat.
"I should have expected the news to hit you so hard," Esther said tensely. She gripped her coffee with a too-tight grip. "After the first Integration, I worried … suspected … but you never confirmed, so I thought maybe I was wrong …"
Esther's voice trailed off, and it was her turn to lift her cup to her lips with an unsteady hand.
"I should have told you," Junior murmured. "I didn't want you to worry and I've had a lot on my plate; excuses, I know, but true nonetheless.
Left unsaid between them, Esther knew that Junior was a Reclaimed, too.
But Junior was no longer satisfied leaving it there. He owed Esther the truth from his own lips. He'd procrastinated long enough.
He propped his elbows on the table, careful to avoid his mug, and let out a short breath.
"I took me by surprise, because I'm Reclaimed too," he admitted quietly.
Esther hesitated before replying, her conflicted expression unseen by Junior's eyes. Just as he felt the silence had stretched too long and his heart began to clench, she spoke.
"Thank," she said as quietly as he had. "I appreciate your honesty."
Junior felt some of the tension he'd been building leave his shoulders as he leaned back against his chair. Silence stretched again before Esther broke it once more.
"The things I've heard have been confusing," she started to say. "Scary, even. None of the staff or kids at St. Genevieve have been … marked by this System, thankfully."
Junior's thoughts briefly wandered to theories about a minimum age before the System would change someone into a Reclaimed. He reined them in and continued listening.
"One of our parents might not have been so lucky, though," Esther continued quietly. "Children aren't the best at keeping secrets, especially when they're confused and scared."
"Neither are teachers, apparently," Junior said wryly.
"Oh, hush," Esther chided him, though he could hear the smile in her voice. They shared a brief chuckle, but it faded sooner than it should have.
"It hasn't been easy for me," Junior offered after an uncomfortable pause. "But I have a friend helping me. Her name's Millie."
"Her name?" Esther asked, eyebrows raised expressively.
Junior groaned. "Don't start."
\ - / - \ - /
Evening settled over Myron Heights with a quiet he could feel more than hear. The city outside had softened; fewer cars, longer pauses between distant horns, the building's bones cooling as daylight finally let go. Junior sat on the edge of his bed, socks half-removed, hands resting loosely in his lap.
His mother was a Reclaimed now.
What did it mean? When had it happened? The moment he touched one question, three more surfaced beneath it, tangled and uncooperative.
Junior breathed out through his nose and refocused on his goal tonight. He checked the aggravating little blue screen.
Apeirosis: 0.26%
He inhaled slowly, letting the air settle in his chest before releasing it. Again.
Lucidity wasn't something he could brute-force, but preparation mattered. Esther. The Trust. Orestes. The GCG forum. His mother. He needed to put them out of his mind.
He was a Reclaimed, whether he liked it or not. But he was also still Junior. Still blind, still human. Still carrying the same fractures he'd had before the blue screens ever appeared.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
It was time he stopped making excuses for all the things holding him back.
A series of sharp knocks cut a playful rhythm through the apartment, and Junior startled. Achilles lifted his head from where he'd been dozing near the bed, tail thumping once against the floor.
"Athena?" He'd grown to recognize that knock but was still confused. "Is Millie at the door?"
"Yes, Junior," the AI confirmed promptly. "Millicent Avery is outside the door to your condo unit."
Junior exhaled and pushed himself to his feet. "Okay. Thanks."
He padded through the unit, Achilles at his heel. When he opened the door, the hallway air spilled in, cooler and carrying the faint echo of distant footsteps.
"Hey, Junior," Millie said before the door had fully opened. "It's Millie."
"Millie?" he asked, confusion edging his voice. "What are you doing here this late?"
"Sorry," she said, sounding a little breathless. There was fabric shifting, the soft clink of something light bumping against something else. "I should've texted, but I figured this was easier to explain in person."
"Explain what?" Junior frowned. "Is everything okay?"
"Yeah. Uh, can I come in?"
Still confused, Junior stepped back. "Sure. But what's going on?"
She stepped forward, following him inside. He heard the bumping again.
"I'm here for science," Millie declared. As if that explained anything.
"... What?" Junior gave the only reasonable response.
Millie laughed under her breath. Nervously. "Remember? We agreed? After you pulled Achilles into your dream the first time? We decided to test it out on me. But then, you know, Second Integration, you revealed you're a trust fund baby, yada yada. But now I'm here! I brought my Pyjamas. You wear pyjamas too, right? Don't worry, I brought a set for you just in case. Toothbrush. Other bathroom stuff. My laptop. The important stuff."
Millie had managed to speak fast enough that Junior couldn't get a word in edgewise. When she finally wound down to a stop, she peered at his face closely, waiting for his reaction.
Junior stood there, momentarily at a loss.
"… Millie," he finally said, "you can't just drop in for a spontaneous sleepover. We aren't ten." He frowned. "And I agreed to no such thing."
Millie's voice took on a teasing edge. "Come on, don't act like you don't remember. We-"
"There it is again," Junior interrupted. "You keep saying 'we,' but I'm not following."
"Fine," she sighed. "Technically it's just me. But it's more fun that way, isn't it?"
Junior's frown deepened. "I never found any of this 'fun'."
Millie hesitated, hands fiddling with the strap of the bag she'd brought. He could hear her catch herself, then let out a shaky laugh.
"Yeah, okay, you caught me. I'm maybe a little desperate."
"Desperate? For what?"
"To feel it," she confessed, her words almost a whisper, tremulous with something raw he hadn't heard before. "To be the MC. To actually do something that matters, not just read about it or hope it happens. Optimism only carries you so far. You know that, right? The heroes in my stupid LITRPGs might hit walls, but I haven't hit a wall. I haven't even got started."
Junior was taken aback. "So this is about you, then?"
"Yeah," she said quietly, her tone dejected. "This is me. It's selfish, I know. And I also know this isn't a game, trust me. But you could be my one shot at feeling powerful in a world that's supposed to be awesome but is really just … one part boring, the whole rest of the parts confusing."
Junior's lips pressed together, holding back a sigh. "Millie … you can't just assume I'm on board with your experiments."
Her next words came quieter, almost a plea: "I know. I'm asking now, not assuming. Please."
"Fine." Junior exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "We can try. But don't expect me to be at all comfortable with this."
Millie's laugh was quiet, nervous, but relieved. "Fair enough. Now. Sleeping arrangements?"
Junior paused. "I guess the bed's yours?" he offered graciously, if somewhat grumpily.
"No way," Millie refused quickly. "I'm already imposing more than enough, and we both know it."
"I can't put you on the couch," Junior countered. "Uncle Orestes would disown me," he added dryly. Then he frowned thoughtfully.
Millie laughed softly. Then stopped when she realized Junior wasn't.
"Wait," she said. "You're joking, right?"
Junior stifled a smirk but didn't answer.
"Do you think that's too far?" he asked instead.
Millie narrowed her eyes at Junior but didn't press the point. She took a step and peered down the hall that led to his bedroom, weighing possibilities.
"Who knows? Maybe? What if we just share?"
"I … I only have a full-sized bed," Junior stuttered. "That would be … ah … awkward."
Millie blushed and turned away from Junior instinctively, even though he wouldn't see her anyway.
"Can we move the couch in there?" She asked quickly.
"Too big, won't fit." Millie blushed even further. Junior carried on, oblivious. "Unless you want to climb over the dresser, we're stuck."
Millie coughed and pulled at her collar.
"How about a compromise. We can do this!"
She focused on the task at hand while willing her burning cheeks to cool through sheer determination.
A shuffle of couch cushions later, Junior shifted his bed against the wall. The floor beside it became a makeshift sleeping area. Millie plopped down onto the cushions, smirking. Junior sighed, but let her.
Achilles trotted over, sniffing suspiciously. Millie paused, eyeing him askance.
"I swear your dog's looking at me like he's asking: 'What in the hells is going on?'"
Junior laughed softly. "I'll take your word for it, but sounds about right."
The room grew still, but not quiet. The shifting of cushions, the tug of blankets, the soft scuff of socks, and Achilles' occasional thump of a tail filled the space. Attempts at conversation were brief and awkward. Eventually, they both lay down, faces turned away, silent.
Minutes stretched into hours, but sleep was elusive. Every time Junior thought he might drift off, Millie adjusted her blanket. Every time Millie felt warm and close, Achilles nudged one of them for attention.
By the time the night crept past midnight, both were restless, tossing, turning, and whispering occasional reminders to be still.
Morning arrived without any real rest, sunlight creeping through the blinds to find two very tired humans and one extremely judgmental dog.
"Well… that was a disaster," Junior muttered wearily.
Millie groaned from the floor.
"A complete, utter disaster. Some might say apocalyptic. But science isn't always perfect."