Wednesday, August 27th, 2042, Ryan Porter’s Hub, VR Space.


    Ryan stood still, staring at the space where Lucia’s avatar had disappeared. The lingering echo of her words—“Don’t forget who you are when you log out”—clung to him, unsettling in a way he did not fully understand. What was it she said about slipping?


    Shaking off the unease, he willed himself back inside the game, eager to re-enter and explore the bustling city as Kaelyn.


    The world around him shimmered, the familiar neon glow of his hub fading away. But something was wrong. The plaza did not reappear like it should have. Instead, there was a moment of floating, weightless blackness. His stomach lurched, and a strange pressure tugged at the back of his mind, like something was pushing him into a place he had not chosen.


    Before Ryan could even process where he was, a dull, throbbing ache pulsed low in Kaelyn’s abdomen. His body jerked forward, pulled into the memory. A cold, calculating voice, filled with satisfied cruelty, whispered in his ear. “No escape now.”


    Cold sweat dripped from his forehead, but the pain radiating across his pelvis brought him back.


    It hit him so hard he doubled over, his breath catching in his throat. What the hell was this? This was not where he left Kaelyn off. He was supposed to be in Luminara. The city. Not… here. Not like this.


    Memory of what lead to this moment came back in waves—Kaelyn’s body betraying her, confusing her with its sudden shifts. She remembered the warmth, the stickiness, the rush of panic. For a moment, Ryan felt it too, like a phantom sensation, and the fear Kaelyn had experienced rippled through her as if it were happening all over again.


    A sudden pressure seized him, fingernails digging deep into his shoulders, sharp and unrelenting. He flinched, trying to shrug it off, but the grip only tightened, pinning him in place. He looked over his shoulder—nothing. But the invisible nails pressed deeper, as if they wanted to pierce through to his bones. An icy voice, barely more than a whisper, brushed against his ear. “You can’t cherry pick,” it said in a murmur. “If you want to wield her power, you must understand the pain that made her this way, too.” The nails held him still, forcing him to feel every ounce of Kaelyn’s anguish. There was no escape. Not now.


    The tide of her emotions swept him along for the ride.


    Her breath hitched. A knot tightened in her gut, sharp and insistent, as if her body itself was mocking her, reminding her of that helpless, terrifying moment. She had thought something was terribly wrong, had she not? That she had been dying. Kaelyn’s heart had pounded so hard she had thought it might burst from her chest. The fear had been suffocating, until her mother had arrived, gently, like a balm over a burn.


    Ryan convinced her to open her eyes. As she did, he could feel how raw they felt, that burning sensation of having cried yourself dry. The memory of moments like this was universal. He may not intimately appreciate the full extent of the event that lead to her current state. But the way she felt right now? That feeling? He had felt that way before, although it was a long time ago.


    Around her, soft beams of sunlight streamed through the window of a modest bedroom. Floral curtains fluttered in a gentle breeze, and the scent of wildflowers and warm earth filled the air. Shelves dotted the faded green walls, lined with keepsakes and small trinkets.


    Kaelyn felt a lump in her throat, a tightness that made swallowing difficult. Her eyes prickled, her vision blurring slightly. There were more tears, right there, just beneath the surface. But they would not come. There was a dam inside her, trembling under the weight it tried to hold back. But it refused to break, leaving her stranded somewhere between release and restraint. It left her… exhausted. Was she holding back from crying, because it meant acknowledging just how scared and small she had just felt?


    Her hands twitched, fingers digging into the bedspread. A tremor ran through her. She tried to steady herself, but the feeling was overwhelming. She was feeling such an alien mixture of emotions, and she did not know what to do with them all. A heaviness in her chest, like a stone pressing down, made it hard to breathe. She had not let herself fully unravel yet, even though every part of her ached to do so. A sense of shame fluttered around the edges. Was this weakness? Was it wrong to feel the way she felt?


    And then, her mother’s hand tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. At the contact, the ear on top of her head twitched repeatedly, involuntarily. Kaelyn nearly burst out in tears, the gesture that should have brought her comfort, only bringing back the earlier betrayal of her body. Her mother quietly but promptly shushed her, embracing Kaelyn with her two arms with a gentleness foreign to Ryan. The touch was so gentle, so warm that it made Kaelyn collapse into her arms.


    The scent of her mother’s perfume — lavender and honey — drifted in the air, grounding her in a strange, nostalgic comfort. It was the feeling of being wrapped in a soft blanket after being out in the cold for too long.


    Her skin tingled where her mother’s thumb traced circles on her cheek. Each stroke was soft, deliberate, and loving. It was as if she was smoothing over all the hurt Kaelyn’s body had caused her with this simple motion.


    Her body’s tension eased, but not entirely. The ache in her abdomen lingered, a dull reminder of the earlier fear. But it faded into the background, softened by her mother’s presence.


    “It’s all right, little one,” she whispered, her thumb brushing lightly against Kaelyn’s cheek. “The world is vast and sometimes frightening, but you’ll find your way through it. Everyone does. Never forget that.”


    Kaelyn’s chest tightened again, but not from fear this time. It was from the overwhelming tenderness. Her throated burned, like she had swallowed something too large to digest, a lump of emotions too thick to pass. She had wanted to cry. Desperately. But the tears had not come. Instead, she remained on the edge of a breakdown, the sensation heavy and oppressive.


    For Ryan, the entire ordeal felt surreal. Her hands were still shaking. She was clenching her fists to hide it. Part of him was screaming to pull back, to rip out the neural link, to stop feeling. This pain did not belong to him. This was not his memory. But Kaelyn’s vulnerability felt so raw, so potent. It was terrifying. And for now, he shared it with her. It was his, now. But together with the fear, pain and vulnerability, Kaelyn’s mother’s love was there as well. And he had never felt a warmth like that before. Nobody had ever been this gentle with him. He had never received such love before. Never.


    In contrast to his own experience growing up, this maternal love was softer than the brisk efficiency of Ryan’s mother’s care. Sarah’s concern had always been practical—sharp, like the cold antiseptic smell of her hands after washing dishes or the brief, tight hugs she had offered, on the rare occasion she saw her son. She had reserved all of her warmth for Lucia. His little sister had been Sarah’s daughter.


    As for his father? Eduardo never showed love. He never spoke much. And if he did? It was mostly out of duty.


    No affection. No tenderness.


    His silent gaze said all that needed to be said about what it meant to be a man: tough it out, be strong, do not expect softness.


    Ryan had learned early that the softness his sister received was not for him. But why was he feeling this now? Why was this moment being shown to him so vividly, so intimately, like it was his own? It felt… deliberate. Like a lesson. But from whom? A shadow of something dark, just out of sight, pressed against the edges of his mind. Watching. Guiding.


    Something stirred deep inside of Ryan. Something dangerous and unfamiliar. Part of him, a part he did not fully understand, wanted to recoil. To push the maternal love away, before it seeped too deeply into him. Otherwise, it would allow him to realise just how starved for affection he truly was.


    Affection that Kaelyn had basked in, growing up.


    For the first time in a long time, Ryan felt small. Not in a belittling way, but in the way you do when you realise how much you had been missing. Like he had been wandering in the cold for years and had forgotten what warmth even felt like.


    Nobody held him like this. Or looked after him with such care. It was foreign—unnerving.


    And it hurt.


    Why am I feeling this? Ryan wanted to pull away, to escape back into the real world.


    A good part of Ryan wanted to scoff, to shrug it off as some sentimental crap. He was fine and did not need this. Not really.


    But another part, deep down, was not so sure.


    And fear held that part of his heart in a vise-grip.


    But then, as suddenly as it had all started, the memory flickered like a dying flame. The room dissolved, and the loss felt physical. It was like someone pulled the rug from under her, leaving her stomach twisting, her pulse pounding in her ears. The warmth vanished, replaced by the cool, distant noise of the city plaza.


    Kaelyn stood frozen, her chest tight, her mind spinning.


    But the memory would not let go. The scent of wildflowers, the feeling of her mother’s arms around her—these were not just Kaelyn’s anymore. They clung to Ryan, too. And no matter how much he tried to shake it off, the lines between them blurred.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    The noises of the city felt far away. All she heard were distant echoes as she tried to ground herself, as if she was underwater.


    What the hell was that? She thought, trying to shake off the weight in her chest. It was not real. It was just a game. Just part of the calibration. Memories implanted to help adjust to the new body.


    But deep down, Ryan knew that was not it.


    Kaelyn had felt something in that moment—something raw and painful that she could not quite name. And it terrified her, because she was not sure what it meant.


    What would it be like—the thought came unbidden—to be loved like that in real life? To be held, to be seen?


    Sarah’s face flashed in her mind, but it was not her voice that lingered. It was Kaelyn’s mother, her gentle words playing repeatedly in her head.


    “You’ll find your way through.”


    A bitter laugh escaped her. Find her way? That was not how Ryan felt. Not in this life. Not in papá’s basement, surrounded by the mess of the past weeks. She felt lost. She did not feel she knew how to navigate the world. But Kaelyn’s mother had looked at her with so much certainty, so much love.


    And now, that memory—her memory—lodged itself in her mind, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not shake it loose.


    Her heart was still racing, her thoughts tangled. What’s happening to me?


    She glanced around the bustling city, but no one seemed to notice her. Still, her mind was back in that room, replaying the memory. For the first time since starting the game, she was not sure if she wanted to keep going—or if she even knew how to stop.


    Then she remembered the reason Lucia had visited in the chatroom. Kaelyn let out a long sigh, giving the city a longing glance. She forced herself to joke, pretending everything was fine. “Hold on to your horses, Luminara. I’ll be back before you know it,” she said, without the levity she had hoped.


    She virtually unplugged herself from the Dive.


    Ryan opened his eyes in the real world, reaching to remove the neural link from the back of his neck. He glanced down at himself, still in his usual lounging attire.


    Poor Kaelyn, he thought. That was… intense. He desperately rationalised that everything he just felt had nothing to do with him.


    It was easier this way. That had been all about her. Her past, her fears, and her caring mother.


    But even now, the ache lingered. The knot in her chest, the desperate need for comfort—it was still there, like a shadow in the back of his mind.


    “Maybe it’s time to put on some pants,” he said, muttering, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Once again, he tried using humour to break the spell that held him down.


    His gaze drifted across the apartment, lingering on the scattered trash and half-empty cans.


    The air in the apartment felt stale compared to the wildflowers and warm earth Kaelyn had smelled moments before. The cloying scent of old dirty contains hung in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of discarded cans. His body felt heavier, slower. The inhospitable, harsh reality of papá’s basement replacing the warmth he had felt from Kaelyn’s mother.


    Had this place always been this messy? He frowned, feeling a strange urge to tidy up — to make the space more livable. Maybe he should thank his father properly for letting him stay here, even take better care of it, the way… Kaelyn had taken care of her room.


    That thought, it was not his. Or was it? He frowned. No. Just cleaning. Just… cleaning.


    The lingering sense of disorientation settled into his chest, but he shook it off.


    He had little time. Papá would be here soon.


    <hr>


    The sun hung low in the late afternoon sky, casting a warm golden hue over the city streets. Eduardo gripped the worn leather steering wheel of his vintage 1990 Eagle Talon TSi AWD Turbo, the engine’s steady purr a familiar comfort. The car predated him, but its unique appearance had charmed him during his youth. It was a relic, a tangible link to simpler times, though keeping it running had become a bit of a nightmare. Eduardo always insisted it was worth the effort to keep it running when people pointed out how much time he spent maintaining it. Most had given up on even trying to convince him, a car mechanic, to give up on gas powered engines. The prohibitive cost of both the gas and special licenses needed to drive them around were huge deterrents to the vast majority. But he would not give up on his Talon, despite the costs in money and time. He could be bullheaded when he wanted, and this was something he would simply not budge on.


    As he navigated the urban maze toward the apartment where his son lived, memories flickered through his mind like scenes from an old film.


    He recalled the days when Ryan was a child, sitting wide-eyed in the passenger seat, peppering him with questions about the car’s horsepower and turbochargers. Back then, conversations had flowed more easily—or perhaps they had been less burdened by the complexities that now hung between them.


    Eduardo sighed, adjusting his grip on the wheel. When did things become so strained? It felt as if they built an invisible wall between each other, each brick laid by unspoken words and missed opportunities. He knew he was not the most expressive person; emotions knotted within him like tangled threads he could not unravel. The doctors had called it Alexithymia—a term that felt as cumbersome as the condition itself. Not that he felt no emotions; it was that he trouble identified them and could not find the words to express them.


    He worried Ryan mistook his silence for indifference. The thought gnawed at him, a dull ache settling in his chest. He wanted to tell his son he loved him, that he cared deeply, but the words always seemed to catch in his throat.


    A honk from a passing car jolted him back to the present. Eduardo realized he had been idling at a green light. He shook his head and pressed the accelerator and the Eagle Talon leapt forward. Focus, he told himself. He was on his way to help Ryan with some repairs and to drop off some of Sarah’s homemade meals—a now well-established routine.


    Pulling up to the apartment complex, Eduardo parked the car in its designated spot and let the engine run for a moment, staring at the building’s facade. It was modest but well-kept, in a neighbourhood that had once been desirable. After shutting off the engine and making sure the turbo would not stick, he gathered his toolbox and a few food containers filled with steaming arroz con pollo from the back seat.


    He climbed the steps to the basement apartment’s patio landing. Reaching Ryan’s door, he hesitated before knocking, his knuckles hovering just above the wood. Taking a deep breath, he knocked lightly.


    The door swung open sooner than expected.


    “Papá...” Ryan said, greeting him with an awkward tone.


    Eduardo blinked in surprise. It had been years since Ryan had called him that. Usually, it was just “Dad” or nothing at all. Before he could respond, Ryan stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug.


    As Ryan pulled him into the hug, Eduardo felt the usual stiffness in his son’s shoulders, but there was something else—something softer in the way Ryan’s arms wrapped around him, like he had let go of something. For the first time in years, the embrace did not feel like an obligation, but something Ryan genuinely wanted. Eduardo blinked, momentarily stunned by the change. Was this what he had been waiting for?


    Eduardo stood stiffly, his mind scrambling to process the unexpected affection. He cursed inwardly at the food containers in his hands. Then, as if a dam had broken, he returned the embrace, his arms awkwardly encircling his son. He felt a sting in his eyes and blinked rapidly, unwilling to let tears betray him. Usually, Ryan muttered a few words and then retreated into the darkness, leaving Eduardo alone to fix whatever was broken. But tonight, it was different. The tension was still there, like a ghost at the edges of the room, but… softer.


    “Come on in?” Ryan asked as he pulled back, his cheeks flushed and his eyes avoiding contact.


    Eduardo cleared his throat, struggling to find his voice. “Ah, yes. Thank you,” he said, struggling to find the right words. They had come out rougher than he had intended.


    He stepped inside and immediately noticed by how tidy the apartment looked. The usually cluttered coffee table was mostly clear, except for a cleaning rag and a bottle of multipurpose cleaner sitting atop it. A half-filled garbage bag lay nearby, and the scent of fresh citrus cleaner hung in the air.


    “I, uh... was just tidying up a little,” Ryan said, almost bashfully. He rubbed the back of his neck—a gesture Eduardo recognised from his son’s childhood, when he caught him sneaking cookies before dinner.


    Eduardo set the toolbox down by the kitchen counter and placed the containers of food beside it. “Your mother made some of your favourite,” he said, nodding toward the dishes.


    Ryan rushed to the kitchen and immediately began transferring them into the fridge. “Tell Mom I always appreciate it.”


    An awkward silence settled between them, but it was different this time—softer, less heavy. Eduardo searched for something to say, his mind filled with half-formed sentences.


    “How have you been?” he finally asked.


    “Good, I think?” Ryan said, leaning against the counter. “I found something today that should keep me busy for a bit.”


    Eduardo could not help but feel a flicker of hope. After so many years of silence and distance, was this the shift he had been waiting for? Yet, as the thought lingered, a sliver of unease crept in. Why now? What had changed? He wanted to ask, to dig deeper, but something held him back—a fear, maybe, that asking might shatter whatever fragile thing had settled between them tonight.


    Eduardo did not really know how to keep the conversation going, and, angry at himself, let out only a simple “Oh?”


    “It’s just a hobby, but I guess it’s better than pacing around all day,” Ryan said, running a hand through his hair with a small, almost self-conscious smile.


    Eduardo nodded slowly, unsure what to say. “Is it another of those virtual things?”


    Eduardo had never understood the pull of those virtual worlds Ryan was so fascinated with. It was like trying to grasp smoke—every time he thought he had a handle on it, the meaning slipped away. And yet, tonight, it seemed to matter less. They were talking, and that was enough, even if the words were just fragments of a larger conversation they had never quite finished.


    Ryan winced. “Yeah. But this one’s different. I feel...”


    He did not finish his sentence. Ryan trailed off and gestured toward the living room, smiling awkwardly. “I’m just going to keep cleaning up.”


    There was a gentleness in Ryan’s voice tonight that Eduardo could not quite place. Usually, his son’s responses were brief, almost distant, but tonight there was something warmer—something unfamiliar. Eduardo felt a flicker of hope, but he pushed it down, nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Sure.”


    They worked side by side, not speaking much more. Ryan taking garbage bags outside to the dumpster as he filled them, Eduardo moving from room to room, inspecting the appliances for signs of wear.


    While working, Eduardo noticed something unusual in his son’s demeanour tonight — not just the tidiness of the apartment, but a certain... gentleness in his movements. Eduardo noticed how he handled the rag with an almost delicate touch, as if the act of cleaning was something foreign to him. It was subtle, but there—like a shift too slight to put into words. Eduardo frowned for a second, the thought tugging at the edges of his mind, but then Ryan straightened and continued, and the moment passed. He pushed the thought aside, chalking it up to just one of those strange little things he never understood about his son.


    They talked little beyond that, and before long, Eduardo closed his toolbox and announced it was time for him to head home.


    Ryan seemed hesitant for a moment, as if he wanted to say something but held back. Finally, he waved goodbye. “G’night, Papá.”


    As Eduardo guided the Eagle Talon through the city streets, he could not stop the small smile tugging at his lips. It had been years since Ryan had called him Papá—years since their conversations had felt anything more than mechanical. Tonight was different. Softer. Easier. But as the smile settled on his face, an unexpected thought flickered through his mind. Had something changed in Ryan? Or had something changed in him? Maybe we both changed, he thought, and the thought should have brought comfort, but it left a strange, hollow feeling in its wake. Like he was getting something he wanted, but in a way he did not fully understand. The answer slipped away from him, like the sunset in his rearview mirror. He decided it did not matter. For now, this was enough.