The next four days were brutal.

  My dad put me through every kind of environment he could think of.

  Cold.

  Heat.

  Humidity.

  Dry air.

  Winter outside was easy enough to deal with, but the rest felt ridiculous. One day, he dragged me into a sauna. Another time we visited a greenhouse. At one point, he even took me into a dry-aging room at a butcher shop.

  The smell alone nearly killed me.

  Still, I trusted the process.

  At home, the training got even stranger.

  Dad opened several suitcases filled with clothes that looked like they came straight out of an old Wizard of Oz stage play.

  Bright colors. Thick fabrics. Strange textures.

  I refused to wear them at first.

  Eventually, I gave up.

  Dad insisted.

  Unfortunately, that meant he also took pictures of me in every outfit for his “family album.”

  Humiliating, but the training worked.

  By the fourth day, I could regulate most of my senses without panicking. Sounds were manageable. Textures didn’t feel like knives anymore. Even strong smells were easier to filter out.

  When I finally told Dad I felt ready to move on, I noticed something strange.

  He looked… disappointed.

  On the fifth day, he took me somewhere new.

  A different doctor.

  Not the normal family clinic my mom used.

  From the outside, the building looked completely ordinary. A plain office with a dull lobby. But once we passed through the reception area and took an elevator down, everything changed.

  The underground level looked like something from a science fiction movie.

  Bright white halls.

  Translucent to opaque glass walls.

  Advanced medical equipment everywhere.

  Doctors and nurses rushed through the corridors while machines hummed quietly in the background.

  I stared through the transparent wall in the waiting area, amazed.

  Dad noticed.

  “This,” he said, “is what an irregular hospital looks like.”

  “Irregular hospital?”

  “This one mainly treats immortals,” he explained. “Our population isn’t that large, even in big cities. So the facility is smaller than a normal hospital.”

  I pointed at a machine that looked like it belonged on a spaceship.

  “Then why does it all look so advanced?”

  Dad chuckled.

  “Because irregular medicine advances differently from regular medicine.”

  He leaned back in his chair.

  “Decades ago, several councils were formed to regulate medical research for irregulars. Labs develop treatments and technology, then every ten years the best results get distributed to licensed clinics like this one.”

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  I looked around again.

  “So the technology keeps jumping forward.”

  “Exactly.”

  Before I could ask anything else, a nurse approached us.

  She wore dark green scrubs and carried a tablet.

  “Mr. Thornside? Jacob?”

  Dad nodded.

  “I’m Andrea. Dr. Georgiou is ready for you.”

  She led us down another elevator to a lower level.

  The room we entered was enormous.

  The floor was covered in a white grid pattern. The walls were smooth and dotted with small circular holes. In the center of the room sat a massive sensory deprivation tank surrounded by medical equipment.

  Three staff members worked nearby.

  One large man with a thick salt-and-pepper beard turned toward us with a wide grin.

  “Peter!”

  He spread his arms and pulled my dad into a hug.

  “Atlas,” Dad laughed. “It’s been too long.”

  “You should’ve called earlier,” the man said. “I could’ve prepared a full awakening facility for your son.”

  Dad shook his head.

  “I wanted him to have the traditional experience.”

  Atlas laughed.

  “Fair enough.”

  Then he looked at me.

  “And this must be Jacob.”

  He studied me for a moment.

  “Wow… you’ve grown a lot. You probably don’t remember me.”

  I shook my head.

  “Sorry, Dr. Georgiou.”

  He waved that off.

  “Just call me Uncle Atlas.”

  Then he turned to my dad with mock offense.

  “You never told your son about me?”

  Dad shrugged.

  “You left the government service years ago. Since then, it was hard to keep track of you.”

  They both laughed.

  I stood there, confused.

  Atlas finally turned back to me.

  “Your father and I used to work together. I saved his life a few times.”

  Dad rolled his eyes.

  “Once.”

  “Details,” Atlas said.

  Then he clapped his hands.

  “Alright, enough nostalgia. Let’s get to work.”

  He pointed toward the giant tank.

  “We’re going to run you through something called a habituation rinse.”

  That didn’t sound comforting.

  “It measures how sensitive your senses are and helps your body stabilize after awakening,” Atlas explained.

  I hesitated.

  “So… this helps with the hypersensitivity?”

  “Exactly.”

  Then he added casually,

  “And it’ll help your body handle the rest of puberty without driving you insane.”

  I blinked.

  “Wait… hypersensitivity can affect puberty?”

  Atlas looked confused for a second.

  Then he burst out laughing.

  “Oh. That’s what you’re worried about?”

  My face heated instantly.

  “Relax,” he said. “Everything will work just fine.”

  Great.

  Now everyone in the room knew what I’d been worried about.

  Atlas handed me a small bag.

  “Change into this.”

  Inside was a tight black Speedo.

  Fantastic, another embarrassing thing.

  After changing, the staff hooked me up to several machines.

  Electrodes on my chest. Sensors on my arms.

  Finally, they placed an EEG cap over my head to monitor brain activity.

  When everything was ready, one of the technicians helped me climb into the sensory tank.

  I hesitated at the edge. Something about the water made my instincts scream.

  The technician noticed.

  “Hey,” he said calmly. “It looks worse than it is.”

  He tapped the glass.

  “We can see everything from outside. If anything goes wrong, we pull you out.”

  That helped a little. I took a deep breath and slipped into the water.

  At first, everything felt peaceful.

  The water was warm.

  Weightless.

  A small screen inside the tank displayed a glowing red cross.

  Then images appeared.

  Crowds of people. Objects hidden inside them.

  A voice instructed me to find certain items. Simple enough.

  While I focused on the images, the system began sending other stimuli.

  Different smells.

  Tastes.

  Textures.

  Sounds.

  All designed to test my senses. I think.

  Everything went smoothly for what felt like 10-15 minutes.

  Then something changed.

  A strange feeling crept through my chest. Not pain. Something worse.

  Fear.

  Then anger.

  The emotions flooded my mind. My concentration shattered. I tried to stay calm. Tried to focus on my breathing. But the feeling only grew stronger. My vision blurred. The screen disappeared.

  And my consciousness slipped away.