A voice, resonating with a strange, echoing quality, pierced the absolute darkness. “Hello, can you understand us?”

  A thread of consciousness, raw and disoriented, struggled to reply. “W-What? Where am I? Who are you?!”

  “Ah, I see it can comprehend our speech! You see, we offer our deepest apologies for your current state of being,” the voice replied, the tone overtly apologetic and formal. “We are what you would refer to as ‘Aliens’ beings that traverse the dimensions.”

  “Wait! Stop! First, you must answer me! What in the hell happened to me? I remember just about to clock out of the office, and then… darkness. Did you kidnap me? Am I a prisoner of aliens?” The consciousness pulsed with rising desperation and fear.

  “That is precisely where I was leading, being. We inadvertently caused your demise while executing a dimension-hop, a result of a misinput coordinate,” the alien explained, the words chillingly calm. “However, thanks to our Captain's swift and decisive response, we managed to save your consciousness just moments before your physical body completely disintegrated.”

  “Dis-disintegrated?! You mean I am dead?!” The consciousness shrieked, the reality crashing down with terrifying force.

  “You would have been, yes. That is what I am attempting to explain, being. We were successful in salvaging your core self, and as an act of immediate atonement and apology, we are working to locate a suitable new body for you in a nearby parallel world.”

  “If you possess the technology to transfer a consciousness into a new body… why not simply send me back to my own world? Why force me into an unfamiliar existence?” The consciousness pressed, demanding a logical answer for this immense injustice.

  The alien’s voice remained measured. “We have already progressed past your home dimension, being. Should we attempt to reverse course now, our… what is the most suitable term for your understanding… fuel reserves... yes, our fuel reserves would be insufficient to complete the mission that the entire crew is currently undertaking.”

  “It would jeopardize the lives of all personnel aboard our fleet,” the alien finished, presenting the dilemma as an unavoidable corporate protocol.

  “So! You kill a random inhabitant of another world, then discard them into an unfamiliar world, and have the audacity to label this an apology?!” The consciousness retorted, the initial terror replaced by a burning, helpless fury.

  “Now… now, being, please endeavor to remain calm,” the alien gently insisted, before continuing its prepared statement. “We are diligently working to identify a parallel world that bears the closest resemblance to your own. We will transfer your consciousness, complete with all your intact memories, into the body of a freshly deceased youngling. This is the absolute extent of what we can offer to take full responsibility for our error.”

  “Full responsibility?” The consciousness let out a cynical, dry, mental laugh. “You are merely ensuring that a life which was supposed to continue does continue. That is not responsibility, nor is it an apology; it is simply restoring a state that you recklessly destroyed!”

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  “Grant me something more substantial! A powerful defensive weapon, perhaps, or some form of power to protect myself in this strange, unfamiliar world!” the consciousness finally demanded, grasping for a true advantage.

  “We sincerely regret this, being. We are strictly prohibited from transferring any physical property from our fleet to an external dimension, as dictated by strict protocol,” the alien replied with finality.

  “Sigh… fine,” the consciousness conceded, its rage fading into a heavy cloud of defeat and profound loneliness. “At the very least, could you arrange for me to somehow re-experience my memories of Earth every so often, so that I don't succumb to homesickness? Something like… do you understand the concept of a video? Like that?”

  “That is…” The alien paused, as if engaging in a complex, high-speed negotiation with a higher authority. A moment later, it returned, its tone of apology replaced by one of professional enthusiasm. “That is completely acceptable and quite easily achievable, being.”

  With that declaration, a series of loud, rapid beeping noises erupted throughout the void, signaling immediate action. The alien finished its transmission with a single, urgent phrase: “We are initiating the transfer to the world that most closely resembles your own!”

  “Wha—mha—mha…” The air was immediately thick with the sound of sorrowful, soul-wrenching sobs; the anguished howls of a woman echoed in the large, richly decorated room.

  The heavy wooden door flew open, and a man draped in royal silks, the King, burst in, his expression a mask of desperate hope and profound fear.

  “Y-Your Majesty… The Princess is not breathing,” a physician, whose face was etched with deep sorrow, whispered. He stood near the bed, holding two twin infants. One, the boy, was crying with healthy vigor; the other, the tiny girl, lay limp and lifeless in his trembling hands.

  The King’s hands, accustomed to holding the weight of the nation, shook uncontrollably as he reached out to hold his deceased daughter. His breath hitched, and his entire frame quivered with barely contained despair as he looked upon her. The sight of her still, cold body, combined with the agonizing, sorrowful cries of his Queen on the bed, broke his composure. He could not stem the flow of his tears, even though his royal status demanded a steadfast, stoic conduct.

  In the midst of this overwhelming grief, the infant girl suddenly, violently kicked against his chest and let out a sharp, unexpected hiccup.

  The man in royal silks froze, slowly looking down at the child he held. The young Princess, who moments before had been claimed by death, now had all the life one would expect: her eyes were wide open, looking straight up at him, and the most anticipated, precious cry began to tear its way from her throat.

  “Wah… wah…!”

  The King’s legs gave out instantly, and he fell to his knees, clutching the crying baby close to his silk robes. The Queen on the bed stopped her mournful howling; her face transformed into a mask of pure, incandescent joy.

  “T-The Princess breathes again! She lives!” the physician stammered, his own voice breaking with astonished relief.

  “Oh… Thank the heavens!” the king muttered, his relief an overwhelming torrent that momentarily eclipsed his royal dignity.

  But as the King hugged his revived daughter, the consciousness now nestled within the small body crying. She was staring, wide-eyed, not only at her father, but at something hanging just above his shoulder.

  [Memory Archive System

  Balance: 0 Yang

  Cognitive Bandwidth: 0.0]

  A translucent blue panel, visible only to her, had materialized in the air.