Downtown New York.
The hum of the air conditioner filled the therapist's office, but Lucien didn't feel the cold. His eyes drifted toward the clock—9:00 AM sharp. Across from him, the woman watched him with a gaze he knew all too well. The kind reserved for men she had seen break before.
"You mentioned 'noises' in your initial evaluation," she began without preamble. "Are they still present?"
Lucien nodded, his expression unreadable.
They weren't just noises. They were voices.
"Some nights."
"And what do they say?"
"Crying. Screaming. That kind of thing."
She rested her pen on the desk.
"Your file states you were part of the Naval Special Warfare Development Group, and that during one mission, your team died in com—"
"They sacrificed themselves," he interrupted, his voice steady.
"Sacrifice?" she echoed, eyebrows lifting. "Isn't that still death, Mr. Von Heller?"
Lucien's jaw clenched, his hand curling into a fist. It only lasted a second before he relaxed again, but the microexpression didn't go unnoticed. She quietly made a note in her notebook.
"You speak as if it's irrelevant," he muttered. "Which makes sense. After all, you're just someone who sits in that chair, asks shallow questions, and writes assumptions into a cheap little notebook."
His voice was low. Calm. But his eyes—those olive-green eyes—narrowed with intensity as he leaned forward. She held his gaze, unflinching.
Seconds passed like hours. Then, Lucien smiled—calmly, almost warmly—and leaned back into the chair.
"But you're not completely wrong," he admitted. "Part of my training involved reading the enemy. Understanding their intentions, what they'll do, say, how they'll say it—and judging accordingly."
He stood, adjusting the cap in his hand. His eyes locked with hers like a judge passing sentence.
"So don't try to understand me. Don't pretend to know what I carry inside. Every man has his own personal hell. I consider it a sin to trespass into it."
Her gaze faltered—just for a moment. A crack in the wall.
Lucien used that moment to open the door and step out.
She remained seated, staring at the door for a while. Then, with a faint smile tugging at her lips, she turned back to her notebook and began writing her final assessment.
"Subject: Lucien Von Heller.
Stable, mentally sound for the most part. Minor physical cues reveal trauma still present but well managed.
Resilient. Dangerous. Controlled."
---
Outside the Office.
Lucien stepped out into the bustling chaos of the city, his thoughts elsewhere. He ignored the noise, the traffic, the people. He slipped into his car in silence.
"Nexus, are you there?" he asked aloud.
«Yes, Master. Do you require anything?»
The emotionless voice answered from within his ear, immediately grounding him. The events of the previous day—. The abandoned futuristic city. The lenses. The reality of it all.
After hours trying to process it, Nexus—the name of the nanotech glasses—had explained everything. What it was. Who created it. Where. And perhaps most stunning of all…
Its manufacture date: 2987.
It was all so surreal that even now, Lucien occasionally called out—just to see if Nexus was still there. Just to be sure it wasn't all in his head.
"No reason," he muttered. "Just… Tell me. What countries exist in the year 2900? You must have that kind of data."
«Regrettably not, Master. I was unable to connect to satellite networks, and therefore could not retrieve global data beyond what is stored within my manufacturing core.»
Makes sense, he thought, nodding slightly. He started the car and pulled onto the road. He wanted to get home early—there were things he needed to handle before he attempted, if possible, to return to that other world.
"Tell me about the company that made you. What was their specialty?" he asked, shifting lanes.
«Nexus Technology focused primarily on holographic systems. My framework is composed mostly of holographic projection components. I am their final commercial release: tactile holograms with cognitive memory storage.»
Lucien whistled.
That kind of tech today would make Nexus Technology the richest company on Earth.
"And the neural enhancements? Memory compression, learning speed... that sounds like a different field."
«Correct. Those components are from Neuronal Biotech, responsible for my cognitive learning features. They allow enhanced comprehension of studied material and memory retention, even of data not yet understood. Stored and ready to be accessed later.»
"You're incredible, you know that?" he said with a grin. He felt like a kid unwrapping his favorite toy on Christmas morning.
«Thank you for the compliment, Master.»
As they spoke, Lucien took a familiar turn—a narrow dirt path leading into the woods. His home waited at the end. A secluded place, bought through old favors and quiet debts.
He parked and stepped out, keys in hand. The scent of pine and soil made him smile.
"You know, Nexus sounds… extravagant. Can I give you another name?" He paused. "Also, can you change form? People will think I've lost my mind talking to a pair of glasses."
«Of course, Master. You may assign a different name. And yes, I can alter my external appearance. What form shall I take?»
Lucien stroked his short beard thoughtfully. Names weren't his strong suit—but one surfaced in his memory.
One that made him smile.
A name filled with meaning.
"You'll be… Eva," he whispered, eyes misting.
Feeling emotion tighten his chest, he exhaled sharply and headed to the kitchen to make coffee. Lunch was already prepped—just needed to fry the meat.
«Acknowledged. Default name changed to Eva… Success. Thank you, Master. That name is beautiful.»
"I'm glad you like it," he said softly. "It means a lot to me."
He dropped the meat into the skillet, letting the sizzle and smell soothe his nerves.
"As for the form—change into a single-ear earpiece. Something sleek."
«Understood. Changing form now.»
The lenses liquefied, black nanotech flowing across his face and condensing into a single, sleek earpiece. It was obsidian black, elegant, just large enough to be noticeable without being clunky.
---
After lunch, Lucien stepped into the bathroom and peeled off his shirt. Dozens of scars crossed his torso—marks of past wars. He removed his boots, pants, and stepped into the cold shower.
The icy water cleared his mind.
Focus returned.
He was already planning his next move.
—
Clean and dressed, he pulled on military-grade boots, gray cargo pants, a simple sweater, and a ballistic vest.
He walked down the hallway until he reached what looked like a solid wall. A gentle press on the bookshelf beside it revealed the truth—a hidden door. It slid open with a soft hiss.
Inside, a compact armory lay in wait.
"Alright, you're coming with me," he muttered, grabbing his HK MR556—civilian-modified, custom-tuned. Then came the Glock 19, a tactical knife, and finally, his drone.
"Good. Three hours of flight time. Should be enough."
He glanced at the clock—1:30 PM. That gave him about seven hours to explore, and return before nightfall.
"Alright, little one. Can you take me back there?" he asked with a grin, fingers brushing the black ring on his hand.
The ring shimmered briefly in response.
And in the blink of an eye—Lucien vanished.
Not a trace remained.
As if he had never been there at all.