I don't remember being born, obviously.
But I remember pain. Not the physical kind. The quiet, muffled grief in the room as I emerged, red and wailing, into the world. As if my arrival carried some unseen weight.
The midwife said I had a sharp gaze. "An old soul," she whispered. They all say that about babies that don't cry too long.
But I wasn't an old soul.
I was an overworked Indian techie, reborn in the body of a British infant in 1975.
---
My new name was **Eliot Clarke**.
Son of Charles and Margaret Clarke.
A comfortable house in the English countryside, where the pace of life was slower than the tech hubs I remembered.
For weeks, all I could do was eat, cry, and stare at the ceiling. But my brain—my adult consciousness-was intact. Trapped inside a body with no control.
Eventually, I figured out some motor skills.
My father, a burly Scotsman with hands like weathered stone, would bounce me and talk politics.
My mother sang lullabies with the kind of grace no algorithm could replicate.
And yet, my mind remained sharp. Hyper-aware. Always listening.
This was rural England in the late 1980s. The world was simpler here, quieter than the bustling tech centers I remembered.
Still… something was *different*.
---
One night, while lying in my cradle, I felt something strange.
The wooden rattle beside me—untouched—began to tremble.
No wind. No vibration. Just a faint hum in my bones… and movement.
I froze.
And then it clicked.
Not magic. Not ghosts.
> "Wait… is this *me*? Did I just move that with my mind?"
My breath caught.
It wasn't fear. It was fascination.
---
In my past life, I devoured superhero comics during 5-minute breaks between 16-hour shifts.
Mutants. Enhanced humans. Biotech gone wrong.
Always, the story started with a single trigger event.
For me, that trigger seemed to be *rebirth*.
I wasn't just reincarnated.
I was **evolving**.
---
As I grew, so did the signs.
When I was angry, objects vibrated. When I was excited, lights flickered—even candle flames. When I cried in frustration, the room's air felt charged.
I wasn't hallucinating.
I was experiencing **anomalous energy feedback loops**. At least, that's how I explained it to myself.
> "There's a system here. A cause. A function. I just need to map it."
And so, the engineer in me kicked in.
---
I began documenting—mentally, of course.
**Age:** 1 year, 3 months. **Event:** Wooden cube slid 5 cm after emotional spike. **Conditions:** Hungry. Frustrated. No external force.
> Hypothesis: Stress-linked telekinetic feedback.
Not magic. Not divine.
This was a **system**.
And if it was a system, it could be **hacked**.
---
Sometimes, when the house creaked at night, the room's warmth would shift.
When my parents argued downstairs, small items on my dresser would rattle faintly.
Was it me reacting to the emotional energy in the house?
Or was there something more to this place?
Probably just me.
For now.
I wasn't a wizard.
I wasn't some chosen child.
I was a **developer** stuck in a world without logic… rewriting the rules.
From scratch.
---
If this was my second chance, then I wouldn't waste it chasing salary hikes or debugging other people's code for peanuts.
This time, I'd **understand** the system.
Control it.
Optimize it.
> "Superpowers. Not spells."
---
Let others think it was magic.
I knew better.
It was **version 2.0** of me.
And I was still booting up.