My bladder reminds me it exists with enough force to make every other miracle in my life temporarily irrelevant.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm going."
I cross the bedroom fast, shove the bathroom door wider with one hand, and barely get myself situated before relief hits.
"Thank fuck."
"You have left both the bedroom and bathroom doors open," Genesis observes.
"I live alone."
"Your daughter possesses a key."
"She's away at college."
"That does not prevent her from returning."
I glance over my shoulder at the open doorway. "Are you calling me an exhibitionist?"
"I am identifying a behavioral pattern."
"One time is not a pattern."
"You have been bonded to me for less than a day. My available sample size is limited."
"Smart-ass."
"I learned from my Sovereign."
I laugh under my breath and finish handling my business.
When I step in front of the mirror to wash my hands, I catch sight of myself again and stop.
The face is still mine, just sharpened and refined. My shoulders are broader. My chest is fuller. Every muscle looks naturally developed instead of inflated for show. Even standing relaxed, my body carries a balance and symmetry I have never possessed.
Then my gaze drops.
"Bro."
Genesis remains politely silent.
"Eight inches?"
"I can provide an exact measurement."
"Nope. Eight is good. Nice clean number."
"You appear pleased."
"Genesis, I spent thirty-four years with the previous version. I'm allowed to appreciate an upgrade."
I grab my phone from the counter, angle it down, and take a pic.
"For documentation," I say.
"Of course."
"And personal historical records."
"Naturally."
"Stop judging me."
"I have expressed no judgment."
"You're doing it with your silence."
"I was unaware silence had acquired a tone."
"Yours has."
Still grinning, I wash my hands, leave the bathroom, and head toward the kitchen.
I make it three steps into the living room before noticing a cup on the coffee table.
That becomes a plate in the sink.
The plate becomes a pan on the stove.
Then I notice crumbs on the counter, a wrapper beside the trash can, and a small collection of dishes that apparently formed a government while I was sick.
Ten minutes later, I am standing in a clean kitchen with no memory of consciously deciding to clean it.
I look around.
"Did I just get distracted into doing chores?"
"Yes."
"Could've warned me."
"You were completing them efficiently."
"That is not a defense."
"It is when the kitchen is now clean."
I can't even argue with that.
My stomach growls hard enough to make the next priority obvious.
I pull out a pack of Lit'l Smokies, slice several of them lengthwise, and drop them into a hot pan. While they brown, I crack two eggs beside them, add cheese, and toast two slices of bread.
A few minutes later, I build the sandwich with the eggs, split sausages, melted cheese, and Miracle Whip.
Genesis watches the process through our bond with the focused attention of someone observing an unfamiliar ritual.
"You possess access to better nutritional options," she says.
"I also possess this sandwich."
"That is accurate."
"And this sandwich is about to possess me."
"That is not how digestion works."
"You'll learn."
I take the first bite and close my eyes.
Hot, salty, cheesy, slightly sweet from the Miracle Whip.
Perfect.
I eat standing at the counter, then wash the pan and plate immediately so the kitchen does not attempt another coup.
Afterward, I retrieve my dual-tank hybrid vape. One tank holds nicotine, the other THC oil, and the selector lets me choose between them. I switch it to nicotine and take a slow pull while checking my pockets.
Phone.
Wallet.
Keys.
Everything I need to collect my last paycheck from Calderon Media and let my former boss enjoy the final few hours of thinking he still holds power over me.
I step outside apartment 426 and lock the door behind me.
The hallway feels smaller than it did a week ago. Not physically smaller, exactly. I am simply more aware of everything within it—the hum of electricity inside the walls, footsteps on another floor, water moving through distant pipes, and the faint changes in air pressure as the building breathes around me.
"Yo, this perception thing is gonna take some getting used to."
"It will become easier as your mind establishes filters."
"Can I stop hearing somebody's toilet three apartments over?"
"Yes."
"Please make that priority one."
The sound disappears.
"Bless you."
"I am not a deity."
"Give it time."
I take the stairs down and push through the front doors into the apartment complex parking lot.
Then I stop.
My red-and-gold Ford SVT Mustang Cobra sits where I left it.
Beside it is a car that absolutely was not there before.
The customized 2027 Toyota GR GT rests in the morning light like somebody took speed, violence, and bad financial decisions, then shaped all three into a machine. Its exterior is a deep red cut with black, aggressive without looking ridiculous. Through the glass, I can see the red, gold, and black interior waiting for me.
For several seconds, I just stare.
"Mine?"
"Yes."
"Fully mine?"
"Yes."
"No payments?"
"None."
"No hidden billionaire showing up later asking why his prototype disappeared?"
"No."
I walk around it slowly, taking in every line.
"Bro."
The driver's door unlocks as I approach.
I reach for the handle.
Something inside me shifts.
It is not fear. It is not uncertainty about controlling the car, and it damn sure is not a concern about whether I can drive it.
It is context.
Consequences.
The vehicle is too new, too rare, too conspicuous, and impossible to explain without changing how everyone sees me before I decide how I want to use that perception.
I pause with my fingers inches from the handle.
"Genesis."
"Yes, Mikæl?"
"Driving this to Calderon Media would be a bad move."
"It would create several unnecessary questions and alter the behavior of the people you intend to observe."
"Exactly."
My former boss needs to see the same employee he fired. The same man whose old Mustang he has sneered at more than once. Let him look down on me one final time without realizing the company above his head is about to become mine.
I pat the roof of the GR GT.
"Soon."
Then I turn toward the Mustang.
Its familiar locks click open.
"That decision was strategically sound," Genesis says.
"I know."
"You sound disappointed."
"I can be smart and annoyed at the same time."
"I am beginning to recognize that as another behavioral pattern."
"Keep talking and I'm driving the new car out of spite."
"You would only be spiting yourself."
"See? That right there. Smart-ass."
I climb into the Mustang, start the engine, and let the familiar rumble settle through me.
For the first time since waking up, something feels normal.
Not ordinary.
Just mine from before all this.
I pull out of the complex and head toward Calderon Media, one hand on the wheel while my thoughts circle the investment multiplier.
Two-and-a-half times on the money going in.
Then another two-and-a-half times when legitimate principal and profit return to an authorized account.
Even at its standard rate, that mechanic can turn patient decisions into something ridiculous.
As that thought leaves my mind, I notice a set of twins up ahead—a little boy and girl sitting outside their home with boxes of Girl Scout and Boy Scout cookies arranged across a folding table.
They can't be any older than nine or ten.
Both of them have that same long, disappointed look on their faces, like they have been sitting out here for hours watching every car pass without stopping.
"Genesis," I say as I pull over, stopping about a foot from the curb. "If I can logically justify something as an investment—even if it isn't legally classified as one—would it still count and trigger the multiplier?"
"Potentially," she replies. "The System evaluates the actual purpose of the expenditure, your intent, and the outcome you are attempting to create. Legal classification may support recognition, but it does not determine it."
"So I can't call buying a cheeseburger an investment in my happiness?"
"You may. The System will not."
I laugh. "Fair enough."
"A valid investment requires the deliberate commitment of resources toward future growth, development, profit, capability, confidence, opportunity, or another logically defensible benefit. The justification must be genuine. Inventing one solely to activate the multiplier will result in rejection."
My eyes move back to the twins.
"So investing in somebody's confidence, work ethic, or little business could count?"
"Yes, provided that is genuinely your purpose."
"And the two-and-a-half-times multiplier activates when I spend the money?"
"Correct. The initial qualifying investment triggers an immediate return equal to two-point-five times the amount invested. The original funds still enter the investment normally."
I narrow my eyes. "Give me numbers."
"If you invest one hundred thousand dollars, the full one hundred thousand enters the investment. Separately, two hundred fifty thousand dollars is realized directly into your bank account."
I stare through the windshield.
"So I invest a hundred grand, still own a hundred-grand investment, and immediately receive two hundred fifty grand?"
"Yes."
"And when I eventually pull my original money back out?"
"The returned principal and any realized profit are recognized as investment proceeds when they enter an authorized account. That incoming amount triggers the Investment Multiplier again."
"So if that original hundred thousand grows to a hundred twenty thousand, and I withdraw all of it…"
"You receive the one hundred twenty thousand normally. A separate return of three hundred thousand dollars is then realized through the multiplier."
"Meaning I receive two hundred fifty thousand when I make the investment, then another three hundred thousand when I cash it out."
"Correct."
"And System-generated returns don't keep triggering themselves forever."
"Correct. A realized System return cannot activate another return merely by entering your account. Only the legitimate underlying investment transaction and its genuine proceeds qualify."
"Good. Infinite money sounds fun right up until reality files a restraining order."
"I do not believe reality possesses legal standing."
"Give me a week."
I look back at the twins.
"So this doesn't have to make me richer to count."
"No. Profit is only one form of return. Investment may also produce education, development, confidence, opportunity, relationships, social benefit, or future capability."
A smile spreads across my face as I unfasten my seat belt and reach for the door.
"Good. Because those two look like they could use an investor."