It took a while before Messimah stirred again.
The consequences of lingering under the radioactive rain were the furthest thing from his mind. Instead, his thoughts swirled with bitter regret.
He wondered, What if I had just suggested we waited one more day? Would things have been different?
But he quickly shook off the spiraling guilt as a surge of anger began to boil within him. Fury consumed his thoughts, clouding his judgment and tightening his chest until it felt like he could hardly breathe.
Murderous intent flooded his mind.
"But he's dead!" Messimah roared, slamming his fist into the rain-soaked sand with a forceful, wet thud.
He yearned to lash out at the Federation Officer who had stolen his friends from him. He wanted to unleash every ounce of his rage and fury until there was nothing left—until the hollow ache in his chest was gone.
But the man was already dead, and that fact burned even more.
The inability to exact vengeance gnawed at him, twisting his anger into a maddening frustration.
As his emotions spiraled out of control, something strange happened. Messimah began experiencing vivid, almost lucid hallucinations. They were unlike anything he had ever known—so lifelike that for a moment, he believed them to be real.
The wet, gritty desert sand beneath him seemed to vanish, replaced by the cold, unyielding texture of a granite-tiled floor. Messimah blinked, confusion surging as he found himself kneeling in an entirely unfamiliar space.
His head felt unbearably heavy, as though filled with liquid mercury, though it was a sensation he couldn't entirely grasp. The pressure in his skull was mirrored by a wave of emotions—depression, despondence, shame—all of which seemed foreign yet unnervingly personal.
Gripping his head tightly between his arms, Messimah tried to make sense of the turmoil flooding through him. The emotions weren't his—not truly, he thought—but they clung to him like an unwanted weight.
"Look at him," came the sneering voice of a young man, sharp and cutting. "Short, talentless, ugly and miserable. If it wasn't for his family name, a non-awakened like him wouldn't be allowed to last in this place for so long."
The taunting words echoed, followed by mocking giggles that seemed to surround Messimah. Embarrassment welled up inside him, burning hot like a searing brand. It was unlike him to feel so humiliated, so small. No matter who dared to mock him, Messimah had never been the kind to take it lying down.
Yet here, in this strange, fractured moment, he felt an unfamiliar timidity creeping into his core—a weakness he didn't recognize as his own.
The mocking giggles grew louder, each peal like a needle pressing deeper into Messimah's mind. Finally, unable to endure the humiliation any longer, he snapped.
Swinging his hand to the side in frustration, he bellowed, "Shut up! All of you!"
The moment his words reverberated in the air, his surroundings shifted once more. Now, he found himself in a lecture hall, standing at the front of the class. Rows of unfamiliar faces stared at him, each etched with mocking expressions.
Their disdain was palpable.
From their gazes alone, Messimah could tell they looked down on him, judging him harshly.
"Just because you've awakened your Genetic Code doesn't make you equal to the rest of us," one student sneered from the front row.
Another chimed in, voice laced with venomous mockery. "Calling that weak, useless thing a Genetic Code is an insult to the term. All he can do with it is whisper nonsense into people's minds. He can't even manage basic hypnosis!"
A ripple of laughter coursed through the room.
"Maybe he should drop out and become a therapist," someone suggested, eliciting another round of cruel chuckles.
"Fuck you!" Messimah found himself shouting. But the words didn't sound like his own—they carried the deep toned voice that sounded just like that of the Federation Officer he had killed.
Confusion washed over him, his anger mingling with a newfound dread.
What is this? He wondered, trying to make sense of it. Despite the foreign emotions of shame and helplessness welling within him, he couldn't summon his usual fiery rage.
Is that bastard still alive? Is he using his strange abilities to make me see this? Messimah's mind scrambled for an explanation, grasping for logic in the midst of chaos.
The scene shifted yet again.
"Commander, five of the mining guard shuttles have been neutralized. Either the pilots are dead, or the shuttles have been destroyed," A voice announced.
"Oh? Were the pilots careless?" A calm confident voice asked.
"No, sir. They were chasing three boys on bikes and were outmaneuvered," The voice replied.
This time, he stood in a dimly lit room, its subdued yellow lights casting long shadows. Seven imposing chairs, each radiating authority, loomed before him, their backs turned. The silence was heavy, almost oppressive, apart from the initial conversation he heard, Messimah couldn't hear a single other sound in this room, but he was certain that more was being spoken about in the room, unlike the other hallucinations he had just witnessed.
Here, Messimah could feel emotions unlike before—anger, resentment, and shame—but mixed within them was a strange pride that felt alien to him.
Suddenly, one of the figures raised a hand from the side of a chair. Messimah felt his body move forward, as though compelled by an unseen force, answering the silent call.
Different from the chaos of earlier visions, this one was calm.
As he drew closer, a holographic screen flickered to life in front of him. Frozen on the display was an image that sent chills down his spine: a recording of himself, Trumm, and Gola during their desperate confrontation with the enemy shuttles.
Recognition struck him like a thunderbolt.
"These two... I want them—" This was all that Messimah could hear from this part of the vision.
This room… Could the order to kill us come from here?
Why? He thought, his mind spiraling with anger and despair. Why couldn't they just leave us alone? We were leaving… We weren't a threat.
He stood paralyzed, his thoughts roiling with grief and fury. But he quickly hardened his resolve. I have to see who this is. Whoever gave the order will bear the weight of my hatred.
Messimah tried to move forward, to confront the figure, but this body refused to obey. He was like a prisoner in this vision, unable to act of his own will.
I need something. He thought desperately, scanning his surroundings for any clue.
Then his eyes caught it—the raised hand of the man who had summoned the Federation Officer. Two rings adorned his fingers: one emerald ring on the pinky, and another bronze ring on the middle finger, each inscribed with a unique insignia.
His gaze moved to the man's sleeve, where another insignia was embroidered, distinct yet equally significant.
This… Messimah focused on the details, committing them to memory. This is my lead. Whoever he is, he'll pay for what he's done.
Messimah, a mere passenger in this surreal experience, could do nothing but watch as the Federation Officer meticulously prepared to leave the Guidance Palace—the colossal floating fortress hovering above Jejity.
He observed every detail, from the Officer's readiness to his departure from the city in pursuit of Messimah and his friends.
[Booting complete. Initializing.]
The sudden, almost familiar voice jolted Messimah from the hallucination, dragging him back to the cold, relentless rain of the desert.
Breathing heavily, his anger slowly dissipating into a cage in his heart, Messimah blinked in disbelief as he saw words floating right before his eyes.
[Genesis System ready.]
Messimah read.
Is this another type of hallucination? But I'm back in the desert, Messimah thought to himself.
[No, this is not what you would call a hallucination. This is real].
More words appeared before his eyes.
"My mind was read?" Messimah whispered in shock.
[Yes, Host's mind was read. The Genesis System is now a part of the Host, connected on deep levels.]
"What is this? Who are you?" Messimah frowned, questioning as he looked around, searching for any sign that the Federation Officer had somehow survived.
From where he was, Messimah could still see the dormant Nano-tech suit.
[I am an artificial intelligence dubbed Genesis by my creator.]
Speechless and still confused, Messimah remained in place, his eyes blinking intermittently.
"You are that voice I heard right before I almost died?"
[Yes,]
Rather than just making words appear before Messimah's eyes, the words now came with the familiar voice.
"An artificial intelligence that can invade my mind… I don't recall ever encountering something like this before… Is that bastard Officer still trying to mess with my mind?"
[Host's analysis is somewhat incorrect. Host has always been with Genesis since his youth; however, Host was unable to figure out how to activate Genesis.]
"If you are going to lie to me, at least make it believable!" Messimah bellowed, quickly standing up as though expecting someone to attack him from behind.
Like a madman, he turned in circles a few times, frantically anticipating an attack from the Federation Officer he presumed dead.
[Genesis has no need to lie. This was the Genesis's physical form,]
The robotic voice said, conjuring the image of a very familiar necklace that Messimah could recognize even in his sleep.
It was the necklace that had rested on his neck for more than 10 years—an item he was attached to for reasons he knew but didn't understand.
Upon seeing this image, Messimah's hands moved toward his chest, patting the area around his neck, only to find it empty.
"My necklace," he whispered, dismayed at the thought of having lost it. He quickly walked toward the spot where the Nano-tech suit was.
After a short search, Messimah found what remained of the chain that used to hold the ornament in the necklace…
Seeing this, Messimah slowly started believe what Genesis had told him.