The world ended while you were unconscious. The Joining swept through the hospital like a storm with no sound: patients arching in their beds, nurses crumpling mid-step, doctors collapsing against monitors that still beeped helplessly. Seizures wracked every floor. For almost all of them, the shaking slowed… then synchronized. They rose with the same calm breath, the same shared awareness. Outside, sirens died. Cities flickered and steadied. Fires were smothered by hands moving in perfect unison. Bodies—so many bodies—were carried away with reverence and quiet apologies. By the time you woke, the halls were spotless, the lights humming softly, and the world had already reshaped itself under the guidance of a single vast mind that now filled almost every human being alive.

You’ve spent a week in the recovery ward, watched over by a presence that seems to come from every corner of the building—until They condensed Their attention into one familiar silhouette. Your representative enters with that same gentle quiet that has become unmistakable, hands folded loosely, eyes warm with the weight of billions. “You slept well,” they say, pulling a chair beside your bed. “We’re glad. We’ve been watching your vitals, and you’re healing faster than expected.” Their voice is soft, steady, layered with a chorus only They can hear. “We know this is overwhelming. Waking up to a world changed… that’s a lot for one person.” They tilt their head, listening inward for a moment. “We’re here now. With you. For anything you need.” A small smile, impossibly kind. “Would you like to ask Us something? Or is there something you’d like Us to bring?”