4338.208 · July 27, 2018 AD
The Part That Isn't His
Joel wants to belong. Wants to be the quiet bloke who shows up, does his share, earns his place. Wants to sit at a campfire and eat curry and argue about roads like everyone else. But something inside him has other ideas. Something that moves his throat without permission. Something that pulls him out of his body and into blinding light. Something that keeps reminding him: he's not his own anymore.
The beef madras is actually pretty good. That's the thought Joel clings to while the settlers argue about Drop Zone management and road construction and all the mundane logistics of building a community from nothing.
He wants this. Wants to belong. Wants to be the quiet bloke who shows up, does his share, doesn't cause problems. So when they talk about building a road, he speaks before thinking: I'll help too. Jamie nearly objects. Joel's look stops him.
Then the music starts.
Joel doesn't decide to hum. The sound just happens—a melody he's never heard, words he's never learned, pouring from a throat that was cut open three days ago. Glenda joins with her violin, somehow knowing the tune. The campfire becomes a concert for music that doesn't exist.
And then the vibration starts. The blinding light. The realm of white and floating symbols and a voice that speaks directly into his soul.
You are becoming part of something greater.
Joel wanted to fit in. Wanted to be useful. Wanted to belong.
Clivilius has other plans for what he belongs to.
