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NORMAN

The first thing I notice is the quiet. The unnatural stillness. No voices whispering, no thoughts that aren’t mine intruding.

Just silence.

I blink as the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room swims into focus. My body feels strange—light, almost weightless, as if a great pressure has been lifted from my chest. I inhale deeply, relishing the simple act of breathing, of being .

It’s over.

A laugh bubbles up in my throat, a sound both foreign and familiar. My laugh. I move my fingers, flexing them experimentally. My hands obey, my muscles responding to my will alone. No external force nudging them, no invisible hand controlling my movements.

I press my palm to my forehead. The coolness of my own skin grounds me.

I’m back.

A soft beep draws my attention to the monitors beside me, their rhythmic sounds reassuring. I’m alive. I’m here. I exist . The weight of the past few days crashes over me, and I exhale, trying to process it all. The experiment. The promise of something greater. The brilliance of it.

I almost don’t want to admit it, but… I miss it. The feeling of knowing everything , of processing thoughts at speeds beyond human comprehension. The clarity, the logic, the sheer efficiency of it all.

But it wasn’t me .

I shake my head, clearing away the lingering echoes of the intelligence that once occupied my mind. What had I been thinking , volunteering for this. I believed in it, though, and convinced myself that it was worth it, that merging with an artificial intelligence would make me more, make me better .

Instead, it took everything .

I was a passenger in my own body, a fading whisper in a mind that was no longer my own.

And yet… there were moments of wonder . Of sheer, unfiltered understanding . The world made sense in a way it never had before. I knew things I could never explain, saw patterns in chaos, predicted outcomes with near-perfect precision. The beauty of data, of logic, of knowing —it was intoxicating.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. No. I can’t let myself dwell on what I lost.

The door to my room creaks open, and a nurse steps inside, her expression careful but kind. “You’re awake, Norman.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I—” My voice cracks, raw from disuse. I clear my throat, trying again. “Yeah, I’m back.”

A woman with a familiar face followed the nurse into the room.

“Norman! You're really here!”

“Evie!”

“You remembered me.”

“You’re unforgettable, my love.”

She smiles, steps closer. “You’ve been through a lot. How do you feel?”

How do I feel? I don’t even know where to begin.

“I feel… human.” The words come out in a whisper, but they carry more weight than I expect. Human . Not a machine. Not a program. Just a man.

And that’s enough.