“NO!”

  The pain was all-consuming. His limbs felt as if liquid fire flowed through his veins, burning hotter with every heartbeat. A terrible weight pressed down on his chest, stopping his lungs from responding to his desperate plea to inhale. His muscles locked, stretching tendons beyond their limits.

  A cold, firm surface caught his falling body, jolting him from the nightmare. Jonathan became aware of his short, ragged breaths first. He forced himself to hold each breath longer, counting heartbeats before exhaling, bringing his panicked mind back under control.

  The fine wood paneling of the floor felt pleasantly cool against his skin, grounding him in the moment. It extended about a meter away in each direction before meeting four light-gray concrete walls. The room contained only a messy bed—one Jonathan had just fallen from—and a simple wooden door, oak if he was any judge.

  “Where am I?” The words came out quietly, spoken in a steady tone, as though someone else had uttered them.

  Sitting back onto the bed was a surprisingly painless endeavor, intensifying the sense of wrongness—a creeping unease took root in his gut. Despite the nightmare, which should have had his heart racing and scattered thoughts panicking, he felt calm. Too calm.

  “Welcome to the Command Center, Commander!” A humanoid being blinked into existence between one breath and the next. No taller than half a meter, this thin figure floated before him, defying gravity. Its youthful, smooth face stood at odds with the beige military fatigues it wore. Silence stretched as Jonathan realized the pinkish vibrating halo surrounding this tiny creature was actually dragonfly-like wings beating hundreds of times per second.

  It’s a pixie. What the fuck is a pixie? Pixies don’t exist. How do I know that? Its wings beat horizontally. How does it fly like that? It doesn’t make any sense.

  “Ah, I see you're confused! Don't worry; that's quite normal after the procedure you've just undergone.” Its head turned slightly, pink bobbed hair bouncing jaggedly, glitching unnaturally. “I’m afraid there's no human personnel available to assist you right now. The system has allotted a 15-minute break for you. I’ll do my utmost to answer any questions you might have before we proceed to the tutorial.”

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  Its humanlike eyes stared at Jonathan, the two oversized pink irises eerily familiar yet disturbingly artificial. The knot in his stomach dissolved slowly, replaced by artificial tranquility. It felt fundamentally wrong, yet he couldn’t bring himself to panic or care about it.

  “I’m sorry. Who are you? Where am I?” The questions emerged unbidden, steady and detached.

  “Good questions! Soooo, my name is Flicker—or at least, that’s what other Commanders call me. I quite like it!” Its speech took on a bubbly quality, contrasting sharply with its earlier factual statements. Its eyes briefly flickered with life before returning to a mechanical dullness. “You're at Camp Fiddler’s Green, the staging area for Earth's Commanders to rest, relax, and strategize between Operations, courtesy of the Intergalactic Battle System.”

  “Intergalactic what? I'm not taking part in any battles. I’m a scientist, for god's sake, not a… a Commander, or whatever you call me.”

  “Oh. Haven’t you been briefed? That’s unusual! It's alright! I'm sure we can figure this out together. Let me just take a looksie here…” The pixie bobbed up and down briefly before unfurling a scroll out of thin air, its end hitting the floor with a hollow thunk.

  I’m insane. This is an asylum. I must have missed my meds, causing this schizophrenic episode. What other explanation could there be?

  “Ah! Here it is. It says amnesia is a potential side effect during initial IBS calibrations for new species. Hmm… you're nowhere near the first. Hmph.” Flicker frowned deeply, her eyebrows scrunched exactly like his daughter's whenever something confused her. His daughter. Where was she? His mind drew blanks—no name, no face, not even her birthday.

  “Listen! We’ll figure this out as soon as you finish the tutorial. I'll set it to super-duper easy for you. It'll be over in a flash, and hopefully, your memories will return! Temporary amnesia isn't uncommon; nothing to worry about, really!”

  Before Jonathan could respond to this casual dismissal, a loud siren blared—two piercing notes repeating urgently, one high, one lower.

  “Your break time is up! No time to waste, Commander. Up and at ’em! I'll see you on the battlefield.”

  The room shattered like glass, revealing an unending black void punctuated by blazing white letters: