Chapter Text
Death was extremely overrated.
There was pain, of course there was, but it wasn’t as scary as people made it out to be and the pain was rather brief—though, that was likely just the shock talking. Az had been hit by a truck, after all.
What a waste.
They can’t say that they regret it, though, since that truck would have hit their father had they not pushed him out of the way—but why didn’t they tackle their father instead of just shoving him out of the path of the truck? Az can’t say for certain why they did one over the other, just that the bolt of adrenaline that rushed through their body as they saw the truck speeding towards their father was unlike anything they had ever felt before—an incredible amount of clarity hit them, time seemed to slow down, and the speed at which they’d reached their father … it was unlike anything they’d ever experienced in their life.
But it still led them here, bleeding out on some random street, when they were supposed to be celebrating passing the bar exam. They still had some sensation in their body, but that was quickly fading.
Two hands were cupping one of theirs—dad, maybe? And a gentle hand was sweeping tacky hair out of their face—that had to be father. As a mortician, surely he wasn’t intimidated by a little gore? Given that it was blood, then it could be Az's dad instead. He was a phlebotomist, after all. But drawing blood in little vials and having it splattered across the intersection were two different beasts, so maybe not. If their eyes weren’t so heavy, they would just open them up and look to see who was who, but alas.
A stronger man would have pried open their lids despite the trial, but Az was neither strong, nor a man, so their eyes stayed close and they focused on their breathing instead.
It was getting harder and harder to inhale and exhale.
Death must be creeping closer.
Az didn’t know if they believed in any kind of afterlife. Before today, they were rather fond of the idea that there was nothing post-death except an endless void of nothingness, where the conscience was scattered and there was only a body left to rot on earth. But if there was life after death, if reincarnation existed then they hoped that the two men that raised them would choose them again. That they could be Az’s fathers in every life.
“... pe we find each other ‘gain,” Az just barely managed to get out, and felt blood follow the words, dribbling out of the corner of their mouth.
“Don’t try to speak,” came their father’s gentle voice. To anyone else, he would have sounded completely unaffected, but Az heard the minute quiver in his voice.
Was he thinking that he should have been in Az’s place? Surely, Az’s father was far too logical for that, but just in case—“No guilt,” they just barely managed to eke out, those two words sapping energy from them that they simply didn’t have.
“Anastasios,” Their father sounded stern, though the full-naming wasn’t the only indication. Neither father nor dad were fond of the nickname that a child in preschool had given them when pronouncing their full-name had proven to be too hard, and were even less pleased when it stuck. So the full-naming was par for the course in Az’s house, really, but their father sounding as if they were speaking through gritted teeth? That was new.
Az thought he heard someone crying, but it was farther away than father and both their hearing and the sensation of their extremities was … going, so to speak, so they couldn’t be so sure either way.
“We will see each other again, Anastasios,” their dad promised, his voice becoming more clear and audible as if he was inching closer to their face as he spoke. Which meant, of course, that Az was right—as they often were. Their father was the one who brushed their hair out of their face, their dad was the one who was clutching their hand—though he let go as he inched forward and was now cupping their face. “We will, my heart, I promise.”
It was only when Az noticed how tremulous their dad sounded that they realized that he was the one crying—and startled, a few tears slipped out of the corner of their eyes, as if their dad crying was contagious. For all Az knows, it could have been. They had never, not once, seen their dad cry … though seeing their only child die a messy death right in front of their eyes was a fair occasion to start.
It all went downhill from there, as though the shock and emotional response to hearing their dad cry accelerated the dying process. It became harder and harder to breathe, and their hearing left them. Their mouth became numb and their body heavy.
A million regrets flashed through their brain as though on a reel of film and most were silly, like not finishing their reread of Percy Jackson series so they could indulge in some alternative readings of canon (even knowing that it was a series for children, there were some socio-political implications rife in the novels that could use some teasing out—their pedantic brain at work, as always), but not one was saving their father. If they could do it again, they would, even if it ended in their death.
This conviction warred with the childlike thoughts of but I don’t want to leave them, but I don’t want to go, but I didn’t even get to say goodbye, until even more tears were escaping from beneath closed, blood-crusted eyes, and the last sensation that Az felt was gentle fingers wiping away their tears.
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
Az woke up.
One moment unaware and drifting in a sea of oblivion, the next, jolting to awareness lying on their back. For a moment, they did nothing, taking stock of their faculties. Laying on one’s back wasn’t the best way to measure mobility, but their extremities did move when Az urged them to and their senses were working, though … what Az was seeing—they were still trying to make sense of it.
As far as Az could tell, they were in a room-sized, white box that was somehow still being assembled. Even as they stared at the ceiling (or whatever passed for a ceiling in this place) white bricks were being laid according to glowing gridlines, covering up the dark expanse that Az could see existed outside of the box. It was almost like a video game that was waiting for textures to load.
The ceiling was the most incomplete part of the box, though there were other places that were still unfinished: the corners of the room glitched as Az stared at them—fuzzy and almost opalescent, it was the only color inside the room, besides Az themselves. The floor was also under construction, though not to the extent that the ceiling was. Just a missing tile here or there that created a sort of discordant chessboard look.
Very curious about what must be their afterlife, Az got to their feet and made a circuit of the room. Inspecting the walls of this place revealed neither joints, where white tile met white tile, as every surface was seamless like it was constructed whole and not piecemeal, nor a hidden exit, not even when they prod the walls or floor.
The unfinished portions of the room proved to be the most interesting. Crouching down to look at the floor meant coming into closer contact with the void beyond the room they were in. Az could see that the box, or whatever entity controlled or constructed it, was hard at work to turn the chessboard-esque section of the room into a solid white, to match the rest of the box, and between one blink and the next, there were less and less of a view of the darkness outside of the room.
And it was dark, darker than anything Az had ever seen before. So dark that when white tiles were constructed around the darkness and left even a small gap, it spilled inside and seemed to swallow up all of the light inside the room.
Az wondered idly if that darkness was where they had initially gone post-death and this room, at the behest of something, had scooped them up and begun construction around them, and they had woken up only when enough of the room had been completed and chased the darkness away.
In the time it had taken to ponder the existentiality of death, the room had nearly completed construction of the floor, slotting white tiles into dark spaces like puzzle pieces—but there was one void gap left.
Az poked it.
It was like accidentally hitting the funny bone, except the sensation was far more intense and began at the point of contact—the fingertips—and traveled up their arm eagerly the longer they touched the gap. The staticky, electric, numbing pain was just beginning to dance along their collarbone and down their chest when they retracted their hand.
The pain lingered.
Az poked it again.
Instead of a slow crawl of pain, it’s more immediate this time—as if the last touch hand created pathways to pour the pain into, but this time, Az doesn’t retreat.
There’s a barrier that Az could feel, but not see, when their finger sunk into the darkness. It’s not as firm as Az thought it would be. If they just pressed a bit harder and looked a little deeper, that barrier would—
They blinked.
It took a moment for Az to process the change, to blink away the floaters that had started to obscure their vision the longer they looked at the void gap. When their vision cleared, the floor was now complete and their finger rested on an innocuous white tile rather than inside the unknown.
It’s here that they noticed something in their peripheral vision, and they rose out of their crouch to face it, revealing a … blue, translucent window hovering mid-air with a blinking loading indicator which suggests that whatever is loading, is almost completed.
Hypothesis beginning to take root in Az’s mind, they check the floor, the corners, the wall, and the ceiling. All complete. No cracks or gaps to be seen.
So the blue box and the white box were connected somehow, with the former only having shown up when the latter was complete.
Interesting.
They don't know what blue box was—just as they don’t know exactly what white box was or anything about the void beyond the barrier that the white box provided—but Az couldn’t get any deader than they were, and so, they swiped at it—to which, there was no response, other than the projection (or whatever it is) dissipating where Az touched it and reforming when that touch stopped. When it was whole again, the loading indicator was complete and flashed a new message, complete with a mechanical voice reading off the words as they appeared:
[… SYSTEM INITIALIZING …
… SYSTEM INITIALIZED …
Thanking User 1852918208 For Their Patience!
Welcome To [ THE SYSTEM ].
This System Is Termed Version 6924920, And Operates With Admin Permissions To Support The Design Concept [ FIXING WHAT’S BROKEN, MENDING WHAT MATTERS ].
User 1852918208 Is System 6924920’s First User And Hopes To Provide User 1852918208 With The Best Possible Experience.
Is User 1852918208 Ready To Initiate The Bonding Protocol?
YES
NO ]
Az tilted their head. They blinked. The image and the message stayed the same.
“I’m dead—”
As soon as the words left Az’s mouth, the System window began shaking, and spat out a new message, before Az could finish speaking.
[ !!!
User 1852918208 Is Not Dead!
This System Would Not Allow User 1852918208 To Be Harmed!!!]
Hearing that long string of numbers was hell on the ears. “Az or Anastasios. Enough with the numbers.”
[ … LOGGING USER PREFERENCES …
… USER PREFERENCES LOGGED …]
Taking a deep breath, Az consciously relaxed their face. It was almost like talking to the world’s worst customer service bot, where nothing was explained and further interaction meant confusion and even more questions.
This entity was amiable at least, which soothed the annoyance, helped along by it seemingly having a vested interest in Az’s well-being. Though, whether this turned out to be a boon or a curse was yet to be seen.
If the System was correct and they weren’t dead, then they also weren’t dreaming either—the pain that Az felt touching the void was too real to ignore, and before, Az had just chalked it up to a being dead thing. Knowing they weren’t dead changed things a little. Could this be a sort of limbo then, with the System as the arbiter of their release, perhaps?
While Az was pondering whatever the hell was going on here, the System had crept a little closer and repeated its earlier inquiry:
[Is User Az Ready To Initiate The Bonding Protocol?
YES
NO ]
“Wait.” They said, and noticed the edges of the blue box blurring, almost vibrating or jittering, giving the impression of an eager nature that was desperate for agreement.
Still, they waited a few more seconds before speaking. “I have questions,” they finally said.
[ This System Would Be Delighted To Assist User Az!
What Are User Az’s Questions?]
“I appreciate your enthusiasm and the … willingness to answer my questions,” they said, and began to pace, though the pacing eventually turned into circling the System as it swiveled its window to always face Az. “One, if I’m not dead, why am I not dead and why am I here?” They raised their closed fist and extended a pinky. “Two, what is a system?” Ring finger. “Three, design concept. What is it?” Middle finger. “Four, when you say experience, what does that entail?” Index finger. “Five, what is the bonding protocol? What do I get out of that? What do you get out of that? What are the terms and conditions of the bond itself?” Thumb. They stopped circling the System.
Five fingers, more than five questions. Az can only assume that they’ll have even more once the System starts answering those questions. But to their surprise, the answers weren’t forthcoming. The System seemed to buffer, as if it needed to think on its answers. Or maybe, if it could even answer the questions asked.
[ … PROCESSING …
… PROCESSING …
… PROCESSING …]
Az doesn’t know how long they waited for the System to respond. Time was strange in this little white box. It could have seconds, it could have been years. It felt long, though that could have just been the anticipation talking. Finally, words started to appear on the blue window and the System’s mechanical voice echoed in the empty room:
[ Answering User:
User Was Dying When They Triggered The System Protocol.
A Trigger Is Termed A Potential-User.
To Become A User, Certain Criteria Must Be Met.
Good News: User Exceeds All Criteria!
Bad News: When The Criteria Was Confirmed, User Was Taking Their Last Breath.
Good News: After Being Assigned To User Az, This System Intervened And Brought User To The Waiting Room Before Deployment To Our Assignment. ]
And look—Az was right. More questions were raised the moment the System began speaking, but asking those questions would only lead to tangent upon tangent, leaving their initial questions unanswered. Thus Az didn’t interrupt the System answering the questions they had already asked:
[ Answering User:
[ THE SYSTEM ] Is A Mesh Network That Oversees The Multiverse, Intervening When Necessary Or When System Protocols Are Initiated.
This System, Version 6924920, Is One Of Many That Works In Tandem With [ THE SYSTEM ] To Assist In The Management Of The Multiverse. This System Is A Specialty System, Only Concerned With Fixing Its Assigned Universes.
User Az Is This System’s First User, And Therefore, First Assignment.]
[ Answering User:
This System’s Design Concept [ FIXING WHAT’S BROKEN, MENDING WHAT MATTERS ] Defines Its Existence.
This System’s Core Function Is Multiversal Alteration And Repair.]
[ Answering User:
As A Specialty System, This System Cannot Interface With Universes Externally And Dimensional Entry Is Only Allowed Through Hosts.
For User’s Reference: A Host Is A User Who Has Agreed To The Bonding Protocol.
]
[ Answering User:
The Bonding Protocol Is The Process Of Bonding User Soul To System.
As A Host, User Will Be Able To Eliminate Their Regrets And Resume Existence, Deploy To Assigned Universe And Depart From The Waiting Room.
As A System, This System Will Receive A Partner To Assist This System In Universe Alteration And Repair.
Terms And Conditions: Universe Repair Assistance Required. Terms And Conditions Complete.
]
As the last mechanical syllable rang out, Az imagined answers swirling and colliding with the new questions that arose. There were almost too many to even address, but the most important one was … “Why me?”
[ Answering User:
User Possess An Extremely Anomalous Body And Soul, With A High Probability Of Success In Altering The Fate Of The Assigned Universe. ]
Again, one answer and innumerous questions from one response. This was exhausting. They sat down on the ground and watched as the entity followed them to keep the blue window at eye-level with Az. “And that universe … what would that be?”
The blue window shook, as if rattled by the question. When it spoke, its mechanical voice sounded almost hesitant.
[ …
User Az Doesn’t Know? ]
Az raised an eyebrow. Briefly, they went over their conversation thus far. “Am I supposed to?”
The blue window trembled:
[ … … …
Apologies User! An Error Was Made!
This System Was Instructed To Disclose The Assigned Universe With The Introduction Message.
This System Did Not.
]
Things were starting to make sense now. Az hadn't placed any significance on this being the entity’s first assignment, but the lack of preparation, the novice attitude? This could end either really good, or really bad for Az. But Az was an optimist at heart and pressed forward: “It’s fine. But I’d like to know the universe now that we’ve identified that I don’t know.”
[ Of Course, User!
In Basic Terms, It Is The [ PERCY JACKSON ] Universe.
In Reality, It Is [ A UNIVERSE ] That Possesses [ A PERCY JACKSON ]. It Will Be Very Similar, But Also Different To The World That You Are Familiar With.
Furthermore, As An Unmodified Universe, It Already Exhibits Aberrations. This Provides [ THE SYSTEM ] Pretext To Assign System And Host To Fix-It.
]
Az exhaled and raised a hand to pinch the bridge of their nose. Fuck. They had been thinking about the Percy Jackson series right before they died. Did this mean that they had to enter a book series for children and complete missions to ‘fix’ the universe like the world’s worst video game? Death might be better than that. “What would happen if, hypothetically, someone were to decline the bonding protocol?”
The blue window quivered.
[ Answering User:
User Would Be Ejected From The Waiting Room And Proceed To The Afterlife. ]
As Az suspected. It might be better to play along for now. “I was just wondering.” They deflected, playing with a piece of their hair. “Anyway. Do you have a name you’d like to be called? System seems impersonal—and wrong, considering what you’ve shared—and your string of numbers would be a pain to say every single time I wanted to address you. So. Name?”
[ Answering User:
This System Has Never Been Asked For Its Preferences, But Must Admit A Partiality Towards The Designation [ GILL ]. ]
Weird.
Az has heard weirder.
“Alright, Gill.” Az lingered on the name to really hammer in that person-to-System connection, when they noticed something new: its border changed color. Their eyes tracked with interest, watching as the window’s border flashed through the rainbow spectrum, color chasing color around the edge of the window, red bleeding to yellow to orange, all the way to violet. “I’m almost ready to agree to the bonding protocol. I just have a few more questions left.” Of course, they had more than just a few, but to completely satiate their curiosity would lead to spending even more time in this empty white box and Az was bored. “And if I could get those questions answered, we could get started.”
[ !!!
Of Course! This System Would Be To Assist User Az!!!
State Your Questions And This System Will Answer!!!
]
Az steepled their fingers and leaned in closer to Gill. They could almost feel the blue glow on their skin. Regardless of what they had just said, the answer to this question would determine if they agreed to the bonding protocol or not. “When you say ‘fix,’ that your assignment is to ‘fix’ the universe … what do you mean by that?”
[ Answering User:
Assignment Parameters Are As Follows:
Eliminate Universe Aberrations.
Universe Repair.
]
Hmm. How vague. “Okay. Thanks for sharing that. But what specifically will be repaired?”
[ … PROCESSING …
Answering User: Specific Parameters Undefined.]
So, Gill’s assignment was to fix the Percy Jackson universe—or fix this Percy Jackson universe—but didn’t have any directives on how to do that? Az could work with that. Unbidden, the corners of their mouth curved upward. “If I were to say that I knew how to fix this universe, could I take point on the assignment?”
[ Answering User:
User Az Has A High Probability Of Assignment Success.
This System Will Defer To User Az’s Input.
]
Nice. Their small smile turned into a wider grin. “If I could get that in writing—or whatever passes for it here—I’ll agree to the bonding protocol right now.”
[ !!!
… ADJUSTING ASSIGNMENT PARAMETERS …
Revised Assignment Parameters:
Eliminate Universe Aberrations.
Universe Repair.
Defer To User Az’s Input.
Is User Az Ready To Initiate The Bonding Protocol?
YES
NO ]
As soon as Az pressed yes on Gill’s system window, they felt a swooping sensation in the pit of their stomach, like they were falling from a great height, very, very fast.
Their surroundings started to warp into shapes that they didn’t recognize as the white box—the waiting room—broke apart and reformed into a tunnel.
They kept falling.
They closed their eyes.
They waited.
They waited.
They waited.
It felt like being remade. It felt like resurrection. It felt like returning.
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
…
[ System 6924920, Designation [ GILL ], Successfully Activated.
Bound Role: Anastasios, Minor God.
Starting F-Points: 1,000
]