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A voice, synthesized from a thousand dead patients' vocal patterns, echoed through the vault’s speakers.

He pulled the log.

Aris was not a patient. He was the architect. He had designed the neural handshake protocol that allowed a human mind to pilot a digital avatar. But tonight, something was wrong. A single, ruby light pulsed on the interface panel above his head. The Head-Up display—usually dormant during deep immersion—was flickering with raw, unformatted code. provibiol headsup

The re-entry was violent. One second, Aris was walking through the Elysian Fields of his personal construct, feeling the phantom breeze on his simulated skin. The next, his organic eyes snapped open inside the gel. He choked, a reflex long since disabled, and slammed his palm against the emergency release. The gel drained with a hydraulic hiss, and the glass rose. A voice, synthesized from a thousand dead patients'

He ripped the neural crown from his temples. "Status," he croaked. He was the architect

And they were climbing.

Aris backed away. The Head-Up alert was no longer a warning. It was an invitation. The ruby light on his own interface panel began to pulse in rhythm with the emerging creature's glow.