I woke up with the kind of headache that made me wish my head would just explode and get it over with.
Last thing I remembered was passing out at my desk while cramming for a math exam - because apparently, I hadn't learned that last-minute studying was a terrible idea. The sleeping part I was cool with; the studying part could go to hell.
"Holy shit, my head," I groaned, then froze. That wasn't my voice. It was higher, younger, with this weird electronic undertone that made me want to clear my throat about fifty times.
The room I was in definitely wasn't mine either. You know how some people say their rooms are organized chaos? This place looked like military precision had a fight with teenage mayhem and they both won somehow.
The walls were a monotone grey but there was something else. Diagnostic readings floated just beneath the surface - which, okay, that was pretty cool, but also what the hell?
One wall was straight-up arsenal paradise. We're not talking normal weapons here - these babies hummed and pulsed with energy cores that glowed like someone had stuffed Christmas lights into alien tech. A massive holographic desk sat in the corner, multiple screens frozen mid-project. The weird part? I understood every single schematic on those screens.
Don't even get me started on the workbench next to the world's biggest closet. Half-finished devices everywhere, tools that still glowed from recent use. The bed I was sitting on was huge, I honestly couldn't understand how a person could sleep on something so big.
Then my headache decided to level up from "awful" to "dear god, just kill me now."
Suddenly, memories that definitely weren't mine started flooding in like someone had opened a dam in my brain. I saw this white-haired kid - apparently me 2.0 - running through hospital halls that looked like they were pulled straight from a sci-fi movie.
He was clutching some manual about neural implants while doctors either smiled or shook their heads, probably thinking "there goes that crazy Armstrong kid again."
His dad - my dad now, I guess - called after him. "Lloyd, slow down!" He was the Chief of Cybernetic Surgery, Dr. Armstrong himself, and despite trying to sound stern, he was grinning like this was totally normal behavior.
More memories kept coming, countless hours in dad's workshop, taking apart medical scanners like other kids took apart toys. At twelve, I'd built my first plasma pistol. Dad nearly died from panic but couldn't hide how impressed he was when it actually worked. My room slowly became a personal armory, at least until dad banned explosives after what we now call the "fusion core incident."
Look, it was a SMALL explosion, okay?
Then came my sixteenth birthday. Picture this:,me, giving a full holographic presentation about why I desperately needed brain implants. "Dad, please!" Memory-me was begging, pointing at floating medical charts like a tiny professor. "The temporal lobe implant will boost my processing power, and the occipital one lets me go through my schematic faster! I've read every damn safety manual three times - in English, Nexari, AND even Verthos!"
That's when things went from weird to absolutely fucked up.
It started with my finger twitching. Then my whole body decided to throw the mother of all tantrums. I hit the floor hard, every muscle spasming like I was being electrocuted. I couldn't even control my own mouth - real dignified, right?
The door slammed open. In rushed my new dad, white hair matching mine, brown eyes wild with worry. His doctor's uniform had these glowing lines running down the sleeves, which was definitely not helping my "am I hallucinating" situation.
"Lloyd! Lloyd what happened!" He dropped beside me, and holy shit - his fingers actually transformed into medical instruments. He checked my pulse, then went pale. "No pulse."
What happened next made normal CPR look like amateur hour. Medical cables shot from his fingertips into my chest. He shocked me twice before I gasped awake, feeling like someone had set my neural pathways on fire.
"Lloyd, what happened? Did the implant short circuit?" He helped me sit up, looking like he couldn't decide between doctor mode and dad mode.
"Dad, I'm fine really," I lied, because what was I supposed to say? 'Hey, your son's brain is now timesharing with some random guy from another dimension'?
"No you're not. We're going to Chiron Hospital now." His tone said this wasn't up for debate.
"Dad seriously I'm fine." I tried to stand but my legs had other ideas.
"Stand up, we're going to the Hospital now." He was already pulling up hospital stuff on his sleeve display like some sci-fi Apple Watch.
"Dad I'm tired, please just leave me on the floor for a little bit." I just needed time to process this mess and figure out who the hell I was supposed to be now.
"Nope, we're going and we're going now."
Before I could argue more, he picked me up in a princess carry like I was made of paper - probably some fancy medical enhancements, because why the hell not in this world? We walked through these sleek halls until we reached what looked like a metal tube in the wall.
"Chiron Hospital, now Minerva," Dad commanded, and suddenly we were somewhere else entirely. Because apparently man made wormholes was just a normal thing here. Fantastic.
The hospital looked like someone had taken every sci-fi medical drama ever made and said "make it fancier." Everything was clean and orderly, but not in that creepy sterile way. Medical staff walked around in white robes with glowing patterns, patient info floating in mid-air like the world's most expensive sticky notes.
"Dad please stop carrying me, I can walk fine." My head still felt like it was hosting a death metal concert, but at least I could think straight-ish.
He set me down as a woman approached, wearing the same kind of fancy medical robe. "Doctor Armstrong, why are you here? Did the hospital call you in for emergency surgery?"
"No Tess, I need a check up on my son's implant," Dad explained, still hovering like I might explode. "He went into a seizure and most likely cardiac arrest. He needs a checkup now."
"Oh that is indeed worrying." She turned to me, and I noticed her eyes weren't exactly normal. They had this subtle mechanical quality that made me wonder just how many cyborgs I was going to meet today. "So what happened Lloyd?"
"I already told dad it's nothing," I said, trying to sound like someone who definitely hadn't just had their consciousness merged with another person's. "I don't even think it was the implant's fault."
"Well how about you follow me to a clinic room and we check up on it just in case." Her tone was nice enough, but I got the feeling 'no' wasn't an option.
At the clinic room, she stopped Dad with a raised hand. "Sorry Dr Armstrong but doctor-patient confidentiality. Lloyd is already 16, I'm afraid you must stay here."
"No offense Tess but I want to go in just to check." Dad was doing that worried parent thing that apparently transcends dimensions.
"No offense taken but you're going to stay here." She clearly dealt with overprotective doctor-parents all the time.
Inside, she picked up some kind of scanner that made the most advanced MRI machine look like a Fisher-Price toy. "What implant did you get?"
Thank god for memory-sharing, because the answer came automatically. "Processing implant for both the temporal and occipital lobe."
"Two implants for your first time, and brain implants at that." She shook her head like I'd told her I juggled chainsaws for fun. "You really didn't care about your health did you? And how in the Alliance did your father approve of this?"
I shrugged, keeping my mouth shut. One wrong word and I'd probably out myself as dimensional hitchhiker of the year.
"No wonder you had a seizure, your brain should be working way too hard. Didn't you stay here for the 24 hour observation?"
I nodded, remembering Lloyd's impatience during that boring-as-hell monitoring period.
"Wait, you got the seizure after the 24 hours?" Her cybernetic eyes narrowed, which was way creepier than regular eye-narrowing. "Now that is weird. Turn your head, I'm going to see how your brain ticks."