Chapter Three: Unpaid Debt
They no longer speak with words. In the beginning, Lucien was hearing his voice in his head, and his need to put into words was an urgent human need, a need for confirmation that he was still alive, still him. But over time, this began to fade. The "reference" was still writing gray letters on the surface of the mirror, but it was no longer a single word. They were strange constructions, sentences that seemed to have been taken from books Lucien had never read, or from poems that had never been written. The words weren't the problem. The problem is that Lucian knew its meanings before it was written. He knew the next word, the next feeling, the next smile, even before the reflection had finished formulating it. In that metal apartment on the forty-seventh floor, Lucien became a prisoner not of space, but of time. Time passed differently. Minutes and hours began to merge, and the silent rain was the only measure of the passing moments. There was neither day nor night, only cold, violet and artificial blue lights that never went out. The coffee he forgot became a piece of ice. Lucien did not touch it, but he could feel its coldness, the sharpness of frozen granules of sugar, even as he stared at the city that never sleeps. He could feel everything, but he could not hear anything. He began to doubt everything. Was the hand he saw in front of him real? Were the lights outside the window real? Was Nevara all real? In Nevera, the city that stored minds, reality was a fragile concept. Lucien was aware that what he saw and felt was not necessarily the real thing, but might just be a digital representation, a simulation of a world that had lost its essence. But the "reference" was different. He spoke to him in a style that could not be imitated, in a style that transcended all of Nevera's software. He spoke to him in a... "ho" manner. "Reference...what does it mean?" Lucian said, his voice soft, in his head. No letters were written on the mirror. But Lucien felt the meaning echoing in his consciousness. "The reference is you, and it is me. It is what remains when everything else is stored. It is the memories that cannot be erased, the feelings that cannot be programmed, the self that cannot be replaced." Lucien's breathing quickened. "This is impossible... I am me, and you... you are just a reflection..." The "laughter of the voice" in his head was clearer this time, and more mocking. "Impossible? Do you still believe in the impossible in Nevera?" "You are not a stranger," the voice said, in a familiar, cold voice. "I am the part of you that remains." These words shook Lucien to the core. "What's left?!" A short silence, then the answer came, as if the voice was choosing its words carefully: "From Lucien. Lucien who lived, who felt, who heard. Lucien who was stored." At that moment, the lights went out, a sharp crack... He didn't hear it, but he felt it. The darkness swallowed everything, except the mirror. It remained there, like a portal open to a parallel world, a world where Lucien was still alive, where he still heard and felt. "The reference has begun." These words were written on the mirror, in gray letters that began to melt and erode, turning into a waterfall of garbled data. "What does this mean?" Lucien said, his voice trembling, not with fear, but with realization. But the answer did not come immediately. Instead, the letters began to form again, slowly, as if something behind the glass was engraving them with its finger. Lucien did not move, he could not, every fiber in his body was screaming, but without a sound. The letters are complete, one word: "Reference." Then the voice came back, closer, clearer, and more serious. "And you're late." In that moment, Lucien realized a terrifying truth: silence was not the problem. The sound is starting now. The voice in his head, the voice that reads his thoughts, the voice that knows him better than he knows himself. Since that moment, Lucien has been in constant confrontation with this voice. The voice was constantly speaking to him, reminding him of his memories, asking him questions he could not answer, challenging his thoughts and beliefs. Lucien did not know whether this voice was real or just a hallucination, or part of the "reference" that was beginning to occupy his consciousness. Lucien began to wonder about the nature of Nevera and the truth about storing minds. Was Nefera all just a simulation? Were stored brains just data? Was Lucian himself merely data? His life became an unbearable hell. The voice spoke to him every moment, every second, and did not leave him in peace for a single moment. The voice was reading his thoughts before he thought them, laughing at his fears, mocking his hopes and dreams. One day, after spending long hours staring into the mirror, at the reflection smiling with a strange smile, Lucien decided to confront the voice. "You... who are you?" Lucien said, loudly, in the silent mineral bath. No letters were written on the mirror. But the voice echoed in his head, this time in a clearer, more dangerous voice. "Me? I'm you, Rowan. I'm you who survived." "It's impossible!" Lucien screamed in his head, trying to silence that voice. But the voice continued, in a sarcastic voice: "The impossible? Do you still believe in the impossible in Nevera?" At that moment, Lucien realized a terrifying truth: the "reference" is not just a protocol, not just a program, not just a storage of minds. The "reference" is the "self", the "ego", the "essence" that cannot be stored and cannot be programmed. The "reference" is what remains when everything else is erased. Lucien was fading. He was fading into this sound, into this reflection, into this "reference" that was beginning to occupy his consciousness. In Nevera, the city that stored minds, there was no place for the true self. The self was just data, a mere digital representation. But the "reference" was different. He was speaking to the true self, to the "I" that cannot be erased. Lucian was the only true self left in Nevera. At that moment, Lucien realized that his journey was not over yet. His journey begins now. His journey to confront this voice, to confront this "reference", to confront himself. In Nevera, the city that stores minds, Lucian was the only hope for survival.