1-poolAWK0Ph

“Your brain’ll feel very foggy for a while,” Murphy explains. “It’s shite, I know. But it’s the best we could do with what she was able to piece back together of you.”

Medea’s bright, white-coated avatar smiles at them from across the warm white room. Sunlight pours in from tall windows lining the walls of the quiet gym.

“Just a few more laps!” She calls out to Alex. “Then we’ll take a break for a few hours.”

“You good for a few more, aye?” Murphy asks. “We can break now if you need it.”

Alex stares across the gym’s padded white floors and shining white equipment. “I’m good,” he nods back at Murphy. “I’ll be fine . . . I think.”

He imagines his left foot feeling its way out onto white floor padding, imagines muscles squeezing, hẻ̶̗ṙ̷̟ weight lifting, h̵e̸r̵ nerves tingling, shooting signals to hi̸̟̪̐̕s̴͚̰͌ brain: “Yes, we want to move this leg, and we’d appreciate it if you cooperate with us.” Sh̵e̸ imagines a world where his steps glide across the floor, slowly yet effortlessly, instinctively, one foot in front of the other, an easy little walk across the gym.

But his leg doesn’t move.

“Take your time,” Murphy nods over at him. “Don’t strain yourself too much trying to think of how to do it. If you need a break, that’s fine.”

He tries again, imagines his leg setting out onto the white padding, imagines muscles and bones shifting, imagines nerves sparkling with energy, body filling with power, eyes sizing up the floor as sḧ̷̙͈̕ȇ̶̺͚—

“Remember: don’t analyze it!” Medea calls out with a smile. “Just keeping moving, okay?”

“Right,” he whispers to himself. Big exhale. “Don’t analyze it. Just keep moving.”

He dims the lights on his brain, leg fills itself with strength, takes a tiny step out onto the white floor, other foot follows close behind, right foot and left foot moving themselves slowly yet effortlessly, instinctively, seamlessly across the morning light of the gym.

“Good!” Medea calls out. “Keep that pace if you can!”

His thoughts become even dimmer, his legs, hips, arms, entire body swaying with a strange gait, gliding across the gleaming white floor in an alien rhythm, unseen forces piloting the pitter-patter of feet, st̷atic s̴e̵e̶p̸i̶ng̵ from his ears and eyes and legs and memor̴ie̷s̷ as the fo̸̝̊r̶̡̈́b̴̬͛i̷̜̚d̶̏͜d̶̛̻ě̵̱n ̷̦̋d̷͖͝at̵̖͋a decryp̵̤͘t̶̤̎s itself, unlocks hë̴͙̹̹ř̷̲̟̬ soul’s r̴e̷s̷t̶r̷i̴c̴t̷e̴d̸ sect̴̐ͅors, flo̴̪̲̠̳̭̔ͅő̵̧̱̰͖̥̺̰̫̗͇̫͕͆̐̒̊d̴̨̡̨̧͎̥̦͎̞̳͙̺̼̍̍͐̑̑̍̌̇͒͛̈̕͜͠s̷͙̩̝͓̺̮̍͒͠ his s̵̡͔̲̦̱̱̫͖͇̤̞̞̫͍̮̖̩̞̅̿͋̑̏̔͠ͅẹ̸̈̿̔̅͌̄̆̃́̔̇̎̌͆̃͑͋͝n̴̩̻͙̗̻̄̀̈́͗̋̍̉̒͛̊̊̉̉́̊̆͑̊͜͝ş̷̼͕̔̈́͛̊̒͝e̷̛͇̟͍̹̒͑̀́̍̄̀͒̔̓̂͑̂͛̚͝ŝ̸̼̰͊̑̈̉, crump̷̬̪̱̖͂͌̃͂͗̐͝ͅl̷͇͙͐é̸͚̑͘s his body into the ş̴̩̍̇o̶͇̾͝f̶̟́ẗ̶̝̣ padded floors as he cr̷ię̷̤͉̜̼̺͉̃s̷̨͚̿͋͌̄̌̎̄̏ out for help and h̷̢̧̨͙̬̪̼̱͚̪̻͕́̈́͑̍̂͜͝e̴̜̠̬̤̭̻̞͎̞̐̀̏͜͜ṙ̵͈̭͒̍̓̅̈́̓́̿̐͊̓͗ mouth tries to speak but h̵̢̡̢̛͙̪̤̩̻̥̫̫̙̤̦̠̞͉͓̬̦͎̼̯̍̓̍̍̑̈́̾̾̐̎̋̏̽̄̂̑̃̕̕͝ẽ̶̛̛͍̋̾̀̀̅̿̅͋̈̿̌́̅̈́́̃́͜͝r̷̡̙̺̥͇̜̩̱̤̮͖̥̖̥̫̗̮͇̻͓͂͛̐̉͐̐̀̋͒̿̓̐͌͐̌͑͑̉̉͋͐͝͠͝ḩ̵̢̛̭͓̫͔̯͕̤̣͙͉̩̭̦̠͙͖̘̻̼͇̻̈́̀́͆̅̃̽͌̐̆͋͌̇̉̀̒̚͜͠͝͝ͅi̵̢̛̳͍͇̮͑̾̾͐͠͝s̷̨̮̩̳͙̩̪̮̩̬̖̟͔͉̲̦̪̔͌͌̌̈́̓͂̎̓̐͊͌̅͌͂͝ head is filled with errors and b̷̡̟͎̬͈͇̩̙̘̽͋̀̀̂̐̚̚͠͠r̷̛̼̳̥͖͉̗̟͔̬̻̗̐̏̏̈͊͐ö̶̢̬̳̦̤̙̜̱́̎̑͂̽̍͌͒ͅk̵̨̧̰̳̖̰̭͉͋͗͝ẹ̷̺͎͇͒͋ṋ̴͇̋͆̈́̆͂͗̈́̿̀͘͝ͅ ̴͖̤̳̅̓̀̇̀̃͝l̷̡̨͙͎̥͈̖͙͖̔̉̓e̴̢̬͕̤̱͓̖͖͛͋̏g̶̞͕̞̮͇̖̭̯͉̱̤̋̐͒̀́̐̓͘a̵̧̛͎̹̫͙̥͖̎̈̂͑͒̀̚c̸̺̣͓̼͕͎͓̈́͌̎̔̉̔̽͘͠y̷̮͖̦̰̖͕͈͇͇̪̿ ̵̨̢̰̖͔͍̝̲͓̳̍̌̋̒̿̎̎͘c̷̡̢̛̩̪̰̖̮̯̖͕̅̑̍͜o̴̳͒̌͋̂̆̕͠͝d̴̰̟͖̺̰̪͖̍̐̍̂̚͠ẻ̸̩̟͙̥̞͓̝̾͌̽̂̄̋̕͝͝ and muta̵͍̱͎̓͜n̸̟͎̓t̴͙͓͂͛ ̸̦͈̦̆̽n̶̢̟̤̐̇̾̊ͅe̵͇͠ū̶̬͚̓̈͝r̸̦͖̗̻͗̕ǫ̶̘̟̂͜͝n̵̞̄͊s̶̻̖̙̍̈́̽͝ͅ ̷̤͔̗̱͐̽ț̴̡̋̈́̅͘h̶̲͚̝̦̎͌̕a̶̛̫͑͊̍t̵̫̒̄ ̷̡̖̈̉̇̑s̸͖̬̒͆̅͝c̶͚̠̊̂̋̒ŕ̴̟́͠ȅ̶͙̒͝ą̶̟̾͠m̴̨͖͎̋̆̍̍ ̴̥̣͆̂͆͜ã̶̛̰̤ñ̸͖̹͔̋ḑ̶͇͒̓̿͒ ̷͈͐t̵̺̬̜͌̅̓͝h̷̔͜u̵̜̫̠͖̽͑̄͝n̶̠̤̘͖̓͂͋̚d̵̠͎̽͐ë̷̗̟̺́r̴͖̈́̀ͅ ̷̲͉͓͓̈́͒̕ả̵̢̜ņ̷̼͒̑̕ͅd̸̠̋̔̂̉ ̵͉̉͂͗͝ģ̶̠̯̏͐̿̚ḽ̶̺̺͗̊ḯ̵̥̜͆̔͌t̶̫͒̒̂̕ç̷͎̱̪̈́̒̀h̴̢̯̜̭̉̓̿ ̴͉̞̔̋ả̷͖͎̄̾̽ň̴̝̭ͅd̶̠̃̐̿̊ ̶̡̠̜̟̍̀g̷̡̢͍̹̔ṛ̸́i̶͍̩̱̒͜n̷̰͉̜̚d̶̤̑͝ ̷̲̓̆͒͝t̸̢̤̤́̏͋ͅō̶̧̭̄͊͝ ̷̨͇̕͝a̷͔͛̈́ ̷̙̞͠c̸̭̙̈́r̷̳̺͊ā̵̦̤͔̓͝w̸̥̜̝͂̈́l̷̖̖͉̏̋̎ ̴̪͒͛̇ȃ̴͈͋̉s̵̛̞̝̐͋͠ ̵̛͍͔̬͑̈́̊t̵̼͈̉h̴̡̹̗̻̎e̸̢͖͓̭̍̋̔͛ ̵̟͓̟͎̄̿̕͝ṽ̵͎i̷̝̥̓r̷̝̲̹͓͑̂̈͝ú̴͈͎̈́̈́̉s̸̰͙̏ ̶͈̾̒̚r̸͖͒̑e̴̟͖̜̿̓-̷̣̯̈̚ĕ̴̖̤͉ḿ̴̢͖̓̏͘e̸̳̼̼̟̋r̸͓̙̯̿͒̕g̷̫̲̋̑e̶̝̋̌͘ş̵̝̩̒̎̂͠,̸̺̭̟̠̈ ̴̭̤̘̅t̶̟̻̼̓̂h̶̡̠̀̎͐ē̶̝͝ ̸̞̬̞̦̐͝s̶̬̏̈̔ė̸̗̙̟̀̚e̴̹̝͌̔͗d̸̟̝͍̲́͛̈́̆ ̴͈̤̭̌ͅr̶̫̙̈́͐̅̔è̴̜̏-̸̞̻̇̈́̀͜s̸̰̀̑̀p̸͇̳͙̙͊̒̄̈r̶̬͍̔͛́͝o̶̡̻̔ů̵̳̈́͛̌t̷̳̞͓̽̿s̴͈̓̿̉͠,̷͚̀̇ ̷̱͎̄̀̕t̸̟͚̄͂h̶̜͙̜̩̽e̸̟̅́ͅ ̷̢͕̈́d̴̮̋͌r̶̳̉̒̄͝a̴͚͉̟͉̐ḡ̵̠̲͙̚ȯ̵̡̳̱n̴̨͕̈́͑ͅ’̵̢̡̤̦͝ṡ̵͖͕̺ ̷̙̌̈́̃ě̸̢͔̏̏̀g̴̭̅g̷̬̜̓̀ ̴̖͉͈̲͆̔̇t̵̪͇̰̯̏̏a̸̩̲̓͌̕k̵͇̪̣̂́̈̈ē̵̗͑̀͝s̴̪͊ ̸͓̠́̍f̴̫̳͉̺̃o̴̻͖̗̦͊͝͠r̴̜̯͊̐̅ͅm̸͎̰̮͑̆͜ ̴̼̝͎̾ǒ̷̡̯͚̜͑͌n̴͚͉̭͐͊̕c̴̹̥̓̎e̶̩̰͕͌̎̌ ̶̡̨̙̼̿̈́͘á̶͍̓͠g̶̛͖͔͊͆̈͜ȁ̷͔̰͖̞̉͠i̵̧͓̇̓̈͘n̶̗̬͂͒͝,̸͚͂̋̑ ̶̧͕̣̒c̵͍͎̪͙̆r̷̺͝͝ā̶̻̟͂̀c̸͙͈̋k̶̘͊̃͊̍s̸͕̖̹̐̄̃̓ ̶͎̇i̶̛͉͙̟̠͗̾n̸̤̟͕͂̾̔̕ţ̸̦̘͊̅͑o̷̠̦̅̉ ̵͖̮̟́͆̒͠s̵͓͍̜͑̋̅h̸̀ͅa̶̺͎̎̑̒ͅͅr̵̜͊d̵͉̰͙̾̇s̶̥̔ ̷͙̥̈́͛͠͝o̸͚͇͂̊͘f̴͓̓͊͌͘͜ ̶̗̘͈̉̒b̵̬͍͕́̒r̷̨͇̥͕͐ö̸̞̩̜́ķ̷͈͈͖͐́͘e̴͇̳̤̊̔̈́̅n̵͙̲̱͌̋ ̷̡̱̜̠̎g̷̹̰̕l̶͖͚̱̾͒̉á̷͎̬̗̲̑s̶͖̐s̵̜̯͚͕͒̈́̔̂ ̴̧̹̳͉̅̒̍o̸̯̍͂̂͘ṇ̵̢̦̕c̵̥̭͖̊͛͌͆͜e̶̬̝̊͝ ̸͈͙͕̏̓̾͜a̵̧̘̩͋̂͑g̴̮̝͓̫̍ą̷͒ị̷̜̹̉̉ṋ̴̢̻̻̌̈́̇,̷̟̖̮͝ͅ ̴̩̈́̑d̴̛̘̞͕̆̉̌i̴͎͊s̷͎̤̈́̎̇ͅt̴͚̄͗̾̀o̴̝͛̆͋̇͜r̷̀͜t̸͖̠͚̮̓͂ȅ̸̯͈d̶̥̑̈̔̈ ̷̯̀̀͠m̶͕͘ȋ̵̞̯͉̰̉͗ṟ̷͖̬̑r̷͈̖͍̙̈́͝o̷̢̰̐ŕ̸̰̞͈̘̿̕s̸͙̪̟̗̑ ̴͇͇̣̔̎͜ṙ̸͕͌e̴͓̘̿̒f̴̯̏̋̑̔ĺ̸ͅë̵̪̼́̏͜c̷̡̖̹̳̀̈́͝t̵̠̯͈͆͐͆͛ḯ̶̞͈͕ͅṇ̴͎͊̇͝g̶̬̔ ̸̧̨̩͍̒i̷̳̜͇͑͌͘n̷̡͙̫̫̍̀̿͝f̵̛͙̾͊͝į̵̘͇͇̀̄͘͝ǹ̸͓̪̲̘͛͊į̸̘̠̦̓̾͠t̵̙͙̲́̉y̷̹̺̬͍̽̽ ̶̹̒̎̽͋ḇ̷̡͍̑a̴͔͕͚̲̓c̵͉͆͊k̴̯͛͛ ̷̮̎̐͛ạ̴̩͖͗̈t̸͕̪͈̱͂͌ ̴̢̳̹͒͌̆͝ḧ̵̩̬̰̘́̽ę̵͈̒̕͠r̵̥̹̯͓̐͐ ̶̜̤̈́ơ̵͎̙̈n̸̤̞̣͙͗͛͋c̷̡͚̠̮̆̌͘e̷͎̟͚͌̓̕̕ ̴̣̘̰͂̊̇̄a̵̧̬͕̰̒̀̌g̸̯͔͖͊̒͘ą̶̭̟̔͌ȋ̶̺̒̽͝n̶̛͕̣̼̼̂ ̶̧̫̠̓̾͠a̵͙̺̓͊͂̕s̵̲̙̖̀̀̂̕ ̴̘̮̪̐̈́̐ḫ̵̼̭͐e̷̼̙̓͛̕ŗ̷̦̳͓̇̒̀̔ ̸̜̩̩̯͂̀͗͐o̶̠̠͝v̴̢̥̠̠͋̉̈̄ë̵̝r̴̡͈̮͒͆̂͛c̴̨̠̓̂ͅl̷̨͖̈́͝ó̷̞̰͉͎̈̽͘c̷̢̦̜̉̂k̵͕̒e̶̮̩̯̲͆d̵̙̜͂́͊͝ ̷̙̻̫̾̚̚b̵̻̣͇̅r̶̩͓̣̾̑̈̒ą̵̲̑͝ị̶͇̽̉͘n̶̪͂̆ ̷̖̟̭̱̆́͌ī̸̬̹͖͖͎ͅm̸̲̄̉́p̵̦̒͛͒͂̍̌l̴̼̪̭̽̾̋͝o̵̱̣͗͋̉̑͊̅d̷̨̹͝è̸̡͎͉̳̮͊̆ș̴̰̻̙̤͝ ̷͕̱͍̌͘ǫ̶̯̑̍ň̵̹͜ ̷̳̝͖̱̕͘i̸̫̟̟̙̊͋̀͗ţ̵͍͙̗͆̊̒̉s̷̞̤͆̋̈e̸̢̲̩̓̋l̸̡͈̂̈́͗f̷̢͕͓̩̆̈ ̶̠͆͗̈́ȍ̷̪̩̪̉n̴̠͕̗̤̈́̑ċ̷͖̏͘͠ē̷̗̰̬ ̷̮̑a̸̗̹̳̬͆g̷͉̊͒͘͠ḁ̶̡̩͙̀i̷̧̞̯͂̍̋́n̴̗͙̾͗.̶̪͈̰̲̊̚̚