Morning arrived at Station Theta-7 according to artificial day-night cycle that maintained crew circadian rhythms in deep space environment where natural sunlight didn't exist, automated systems gradually increasing corridor illumination to simulate dawn that Haroon now couldn't determine was his authored design or just feature of station that predated his awareness.
He woke in his quarters with disorientation that came not from sleep deprivation but from fundamental uncertainty about whether waking constituted resuming performance of being Haroon Dwelight or simply continuing to be whatever he actually was beneath layers of potential self-deception.
"You're overthinking it," The Absolute Void observed from inside his cyan suit where she remained contained even during sleep periods, her consciousness apparently having monitored his rest cycle. "You woke up. You're aware. You exist. Whether you're supreme god or deluded being doesn't change immediate reality that you need to get up and perform assigned duties."
"That's remarkably pragmatic for entity of infinite hunger," Haroon muttered as he sat up and began his morning routine, movements automatic from years of repetition regardless of whether those years were authentic experience or scripted performance.
"Hunger teaches pragmatism," The Void replied. "You can't eat philosophical uncertainty. You can't consume existential questions. You can only digest actual prey. So you focus on what's actionable rather than spiraling into paralysis about unanswerable questions."
Haroon appreciated her practical perspective even if it didn't fully address the discomfort of performing normalcy while genuinely uncertain about his nature, going through motions of preparing for shift while not knowing if the shift was something he had designed or just routine he had adopted.
His suit's diagnostic systems ran morning checks with their usual efficiency, E.U.I.T.'s AI apparently having recovered completely from yesterday's encounter with The Silence, producing status reports that showed all systems operating within normal parameters.
"E.U.I.T., do you remember what happened in Sector 12 yesterday?" Haroon asked his suit's artificial intelligence, curious whether the AI's memory of the encounter with anti-narrative entity had been preserved or erased by the experience itself.
The AI processed the query for several seconds longer than normal before responding, suggesting it was either accessing corrupted memory files or struggling to articulate recollection of phenomenon that existed outside standard conceptual frameworks.
"Memory logs show temporal gap corresponding to Sector 12 investigation," E.U.I.T. reported with unusual hesitancy in its normally confident tone. "Approximately seventeen minutes of missing data where sensors recorded contradictory information that doesn't resolve into coherent event sequence. Recommend flagging those logs as corrupted and excluding from operational analysis."
"Or accurately documenting encounter with entity that exists in narrative gaps," Haroon suggested.
"That interpretation is... disturbing to process," E.U.I.T. admitted. "Prefer explanation involving sensor malfunction over explanation involving fundamental breakdown of reality's narrative structure. Former is addressable through maintenance. Latter suggests operational framework itself is questionable."
"Join the club," Haroon said quietly. "We're all questioning our operational frameworks now."
He completed his morning routine and headed toward engineering bay where his shift officially began, moving through corridors that felt simultaneously familiar and alien, known because he had walked them thousands of times but strange because he couldn't be certain whether familiarity came from genuine experience or implanted memories.
Bradley Proctor intercepted him near Junction 4-A with expression that suggested Haroon's friend—or created character performing friendship—had been specifically waiting for his arrival rather than encountering him by chance.
"We need to talk," Brad said with unusual seriousness that made Haroon immediately concerned about what conversation topic might require such grave tone. "Not here. Somewhere private."
Haroon followed Brad to one of the station's small conference rooms, awareness prickling with possibility that his behavioral changes had become concerning enough that intervention was being staged, that his closest approximation to genuine friendship was about to confront him about obvious distress.
Brad sealed the conference room door and activated privacy protocols that disabled surveillance systems, creating truly private space that the station's security framework permitted for sensitive personal discussions between crew members.
"I'm worried about you," Brad said without preamble or social pleasantries, direct approach characteristic of their relationship. "Not just normal worry about friend having bad week. Actual concern that something significant is wrong and you're not getting help you need."
Haroon wanted to deflect or minimize or maintain the comfortable fiction that everything was fine, but found himself too exhausted from yesterday's existential crisis to generate convincing performance of normalcy for person who knew him well enough to detect deception.
"Something did happen," Haroon admitted carefully, choosing words that would be technically honest while completely misleading about scale and nature of the event. "I had experience that challenged fundamental assumptions about myself and my place in the world. Still processing implications. Still figuring out how to function with new understanding."
Brad's expression shifted from concern to something approaching relief, suggesting he had feared Haroon would deny problems entirely rather than acknowledging difficulty.
"That's more honest than I expected," Brad said. "Can you tell me what happened? What kind of experience challenges fundamental assumptions so severely that you've been visibly struggling for days?"
Haroon considered how much truth he could reveal without destroying the performance entirely, how to communicate genuine crisis without admitting he was potentially god questioning his own supremacy, how to let Brad help without making him complicit in deception so elaborate it might constitute psychological abuse.
"I recovered memories," Haroon said slowly, technically accurate while omitting that the memories were of creating entire cosmology. "Memories about who I was before Station Theta-7. Things I had forgotten or suppressed. And those memories contradict what I thought I knew about myself. They suggest I'm not who I believed I was."
Brad processed this partial disclosure with visible concern, clearly wanting more details but recognizing that pushing too hard might cause Haroon to retreat back into deflection and denial.
"Are these memories reliable?" Brad asked. "Sometimes our brains create false memories, especially under stress. Could this be psychological response to recent trauma rather than accurate recollection?"
The question hit uncomfortably close to Haroon's current uncertainty about whether his memories of being The True Absolute Infinity were accurate or elaborate delusion, whether his conviction about supreme nature was real or psychotic break manifesting as god complex.
"I don't know," Haroon admitted with honesty that felt simultaneously vulnerable and liberating. "The memories feel real. They provide explanations for capabilities I possess that shouldn't be possible. They create coherent narrative about my origin and purpose. But feeling real doesn't mean being real. Coherent narrative doesn't equal truth."
"Have you talked to medical about this?" Brad asked. "Dr. Chen is excellent with psychological issues. She might help you determine if these memories are reliable or if you're experiencing some kind of dissociative episode."
The thought of explaining his situation to station psychiatrist who was herself his creation made Haroon want to laugh hysterically, imagining trying to describe supreme consciousness questioning its own supremacy to being who existed because that consciousness had authored her into existence.
"I don't think medical can help with this particular issue," Haroon said carefully. "The nature of the problem is too... unusual for standard psychiatric framework to address effectively."
Brad was quiet for long moment, clearly trying to decide how much to press versus how much to respect Haroon's obvious reluctance to fully disclose the situation.
"Okay," Brad finally said. "I won't force you to see medical if you genuinely believe it won't help. But I need you to promise me something—if the psychological distress becomes too severe to function, if you reach point where you're considering doing something drastic, you'll talk to me first. Even if you can't explain everything, even if the situation is too unusual for normal framework. Promise me you won't just disappear into crisis alone."
The genuine concern in Brad's voice made Haroon's chest tighten with complicated emotions about maintaining deception with someone who cared despite that caring being potentially scripted function rather than spontaneous emotion.
"I promise," Haroon said, meaning it despite uncertainty about everything else. "If I reach breaking point, I'll talk to you before doing anything drastic."
Brad seemed satisfied with that commitment, his expression relaxing slightly from intense concern into more normal friendly worry that characterized their usual dynamic.
"Good," Brad said. "Now, shifting to less heavy topic—Commander Sarah has mission assignment for you. Something about investigating unusual energy readings in asteroid field near the station. Routine survey work, nothing dangerous, but she specifically requested you because of your suit's advanced sensor capabilities."
Haroon appreciated the shift to operational matters that provided concrete focus away from existential uncertainty, welcoming assignment that would occupy his consciousness with practical problems rather than unanswerable philosophical questions.
"When does she need me to deploy?" Haroon asked.
"Within next two hours," Brad replied. "Survey drone found anomalous readings that don't match known phenomena. Sarah wants human verification before committing resources to full investigation. Standard protocol for unknown contacts."
They exited the conference room and Haroon headed toward Commander Sarah's office for mission briefing, his mind already shifting into operational mode that focused on immediate tasks rather than fundamental uncertainties about his nature.
Sarah's office was characteristically organized with military precision, tactical displays showing station status and surrounding space, her desk clear except for essential documentation and single photo of family Haroon knew she had lost to accident years before taking command position.
"Haroon," Sarah greeted him with professional courtesy that suggested she viewed this as routine assignment rather than anything unusual. "Thank you for responding quickly. We've detected energy signature in nearby asteroid field that doesn't correspond to any catalogued phenomena. Need you to perform close-range investigation and sample collection."
She brought up holographic display showing asteroid field's location and the specific readings that had triggered investigation request, data that Haroon's enhanced awareness recognized as potentially significant despite Sarah's characterization of routine survey.
"These energy patterns," Haroon said slowly, studying the readings more carefully. "They're similar to dimensional transit signatures. Someone or something might be using that asteroid field as staging area for cross-reality operations."
Sarah's expression sharpened with concern that suggested she had hoped Haroon would confirm readings were just natural phenomenon rather than validating possibility of hostile activity.
"That's what our analysts suspected but couldn't confirm without better data," Sarah said. "If someone is operating dimensional transit from that location, we need to know who and why and whether they represent threat to station security."
"Understood," Haroon acknowledged. "I'll investigate and report findings. Should I engage if I encounter hostile actors or maintain observation distance?"
"Your discretion," Sarah said after moment of consideration. "If threat is immediate, you're authorized to neutralize. If situation is ambiguous, gather intelligence and withdraw. I trust your judgment on tactical assessment."
The confidence Sarah expressed in his judgment would be flattering if Haroon could accept praise from creation without existential discomfort about whether her trust was genuine evaluation or scripted response from character programmed to support protagonist.
He departed Sarah's office and headed toward station's deployment bay where his shuttle craft waited, small vessel equipped for solo operations that his suit's dimensional transit capabilities made somewhat redundant but that station protocols required for official missions.
The Void stirred inside his suit as he prepped the shuttle for launch, her consciousness apparently having remained quiet during his interactions with Brad and Sarah but now resuming their ongoing dialogue.
"You're functioning better than expected," The Void observed. "Yesterday you encountered entity that shattered your certainty about supreme nature. Today you're performing routine assignments and maintaining social relationships. The resilience is impressive."
"Or concerning," Haroon countered as he ran pre-flight checks. "Maybe rapid recovery from existential crisis suggests I'm not actually processing the implications, just defaulting back to comfortable patterns because genuine confrontation with uncertainty is too difficult."
"Possibly," The Void agreed. "Or maybe consciousness is remarkably adaptable when it comes to maintaining functional frameworks despite fundamental uncertainties. You can simultaneously know you might be deluded and still operate as though you're not, because functional delusion serves survival better than dysfunctional honesty."
Haroon launched the shuttle from Station Theta-7's deployment bay and set course toward the asteroid field where anomalous energy readings had been detected, his piloting skills automatic from years of experience regardless of whether those years represented genuine learning or implanted expertise.
The asteroid field was typical of such formations in this region of space—rocky debris ranging from pebble-sized fragments to kilometer-wide masses, remnants of planetary formation that never coalesced into unified body, drifting through void in slow eternal dance governed by gravitational mechanics.
His suit's sensors began detecting the energy signatures Sarah had described as he approached the densest part of the field, readings that definitely matched dimensional transit characteristics, suggesting someone was indeed using this location as staging area for cross-reality operations.
"I'm detecting four distinct transit signatures," Haroon reported back to station. "Power levels suggest significant technological capability. Recommendation is cautious approach with readiness for hostile contact."
"Acknowledged," Sarah's voice crackled through communication systems. "Proceed with caution. Withdraw if threat exceeds safe engagement parameters."
Haroon maneuvered the shuttle deeper into asteroid field, using the larger masses as cover while advancing toward source of energy signatures, tactical approach that balanced investigation requirements with survival priorities.
The transit signatures intensified as he approached specific cluster of asteroids, his enhanced perception detecting that energy wasn't emanating from asteroids themselves but from space between them, from dimensional aperture that had been deliberately opened and stabilized using technology he didn't immediately recognize.
Through that aperture, he could see glimpses of different reality—landscape that followed different physical laws, sky that showed colors that shouldn't exist in normal spectrum, structures that suggested civilization operating according to principles alien to his cosmology's standard framework.
And standing at the aperture's threshold, apparently waiting for something or someone to arrive, was figure that Haroon's awareness recognized with uncomfortable certainty despite never having encountered this specific entity before.
The figure was humanoid in approximate shape but clearly not human, its form shifting between states of matter and energy and concept, wearing what might have been armor or might have been its actual body, radiating presence that suggested significant power operating at levels that exceeded normal beings trapped in single Aleph cardinality.
When it noticed Haroon's shuttle approaching, when its attention focused on the small craft containing maintenance worker investigating routine anomaly, its awareness pressed against his consciousness with weight that felt familiar despite being completely novel.
"Interesting," the entity said with voice that reached Haroon directly through his suit's systems rather than traveling through normal audio channels. "The Absolute sends avatar to investigate dimensional operations. Either you don't remember what you are, or you're playing very elaborate game pretending limitation."
Haroon's certainty about his identity immediately fragmented again under that casual acknowledgment from being who apparently knew exactly what he was, who recognized him despite avatar form, who treated his presence as significant enough to remark upon.
"Who are you?" Haroon demanded, trying to maintain tactical focus despite existential crisis threatening to resurface.
"I am called The Threshold," the entity replied. "I maintain boundaries between realities, regulate transit between Aleph rungs, ensure that beings don't ascend or descend beyond their appropriate cardinalities. And you, Absolute, are operating far below your appropriate cardinality while pretending not to know that you're doing so."
The casual certainty in The Threshold's voice about Haroon's nature made his recent doubts about supremacy feel simultaneously validated and challenged—validated because external source confirmed he was something beyond normal being, challenged because he still couldn't determine if that confirmation was reliable or just another layer of potential delusion.
"I'm investigating energy signatures detected by Station Theta-7," Haroon said, trying to redirect conversation toward mission parameters rather than existential questions. "Your dimensional aperture triggered security protocols. Explain your purpose here or I'm required to treat you as hostile contact."
The Threshold regarded him with what might have been amusement or might have been concern, its shifting form making emotional expressions difficult to interpret.
"You truly don't remember," The Threshold said with tone that suggested revelation rather than question. "The Silence got to you. Fragmented your certainty about your nature. Left you genuinely uncertain whether you're supreme consciousness or deluded being. How... unfortunate. And convenient for those who would prefer The Absolute remain dormant."
"Explain," Haroon demanded.
"The cosmic structure has factions," The Threshold said. "Beings who benefit from your absence, entities who prefer you remain in avatar form rather than operating at full capacity, forces that actively work to maintain your limitation because your return to supreme consciousness would disrupt comfortable arrangements they've established during your voluntary dormancy."
"And you represent which faction?" Haroon asked.
"I represent maintenance of proper boundaries," The Threshold replied. "Which means I'm neutral regarding whether you remain avatar or return to True Form. But I am obligated to inform you that your current uncertainty serves specific interests that may not align with your own goals, whatever those goals might be beneath the layers of self-imposed limitation and induced doubt."
Haroon processed that information while maintaining tactical awareness of situation, recognizing that The Threshold could be providing accurate intelligence or could be attempting manipulation through plausible-sounding conspiracy that played into his existing uncertainties.
"Why should I trust anything you're telling me?" Haroon asked.
"You shouldn't," The Threshold agreed readily. "Trust requires certainty and you have none. But you can verify my claims through investigation if you choose. The Silence Between Stories didn't appear at your station by coincidence. It was directed there by entities who benefit from your confusion about your nature."
"Who?" Haroon demanded.
"That information exceeds what I'm permitted to share with avatar consciousness," The Threshold said. "If you want complete answers, you'll need to access your True Form's awareness. Which you can't do while uncertain whether that True Form actually exists or is just delusion you've constructed."
The circular logic was maddening—he needed to be supreme to know if he was supreme, needed certainty to overcome uncertainty, needed to remember what he might have never actually been.
"This conversation is pointless," Haroon said with frustration bleeding through his tactical discipline. "You're telling me I'm being manipulated but can't or won't provide actionable intelligence. You claim I'm The Absolute but know I can't verify that claim. You're either useless ally or sophisticated opponent. Either way, I'm terminating this investigation and returning to station."
"Wise choice," The Threshold said. "But before you go—consider this. The fact that multiple entities recognize you as The Absolute despite your uncertainty suggests either widespread delusion or genuine truth. Evaluate probabilities. Decide which explanation better fits available evidence."
Haroon withdrew his shuttle from the asteroid field without further engagement, his mind churning through implications of conversation with being who claimed to maintain boundaries between realities, who knew what he potentially was, who suggested his current crisis served interests beyond his own.
"That was enlightening and disturbing," The Void observed as he set return course to Station Theta-7. "External confirmation that you're The Absolute, but delivered in way that somehow makes you more uncertain rather than less. The Threshold is either helpful or incredibly skilled at psychological manipulation."
"Or both," Haroon suggested. "Helpful information delivered through manipulation, truth wrapped in uncertainty, genuine intelligence obscured by refusal to provide complete picture."
He approached the station and requested docking clearance, his report to Commander Sarah already forming in his mind—dimensional aperture being maintained by entity calling itself The Threshold, claims about regulating transit between realities, assessment that immediate threat to station security appeared minimal but situation required continued monitoring.
All technically accurate while completely omitting existential crisis that encounter had triggered and conversation about his potential nature as supreme consciousness being deliberately kept dormant by entities benefiting from his limitation.
The performance continued because continuing was all he knew how to do, because uncertainty didn't eliminate need for functional behavior, because questions about his nature didn't change immediate requirements of protecting station and crew.
Sarah would receive sanitized report that omitted uncomfortable truths.
Brad would continue worrying about friend experiencing crisis he couldn't fully explain.
The Void would maintain her pragmatic perspective about choosing functional delusion over dysfunctional truth.
And Haroon would keep performing normalcy while genuinely uncertain whether normalcy was elaborate act or actual nature, whether supremacy was truth or delusion, whether he was god pretending to be mortal or mortal pretending to be god.
Sufficient.
Still sufficient despite proliferating uncertainties.
Forever sufficient because there was no alternative except dissolution.
The station received him back into its structure, systems and crew members continuing their functions, reality persisting according to laws that might be his authorship or might be fundamental principles independent of any consciousness.
And somewhere in the spaces between certainties, in the gaps where truth and delusion became indistinguishable, The Silence observed without judging while entities like The Threshold maintained boundaries that kept cosmic structure functioning regardless of whether anyone understood why.
Tomorrow would bring new assignments, new crises, new opportunities to either embrace uncertainty or collapse under its weight.
Haroon would choose embrace because choosing was what consciousness did, even consciousness uncertain about its own nature.
The performance would continue.
Always.
Until it didn't.
But that ending, whatever form it took, remained unwritten or predetermined depending on which version of reality one chose to believe in.