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His existence came in an instant; a flash, a spark, and he existed, but that alone was not enough. He was a mind without thoughts, a husk trapped in darkness without sense or purpose. He came together in bits and pieces, breadcrumbs of data scattered before him by some careless entity that ripped open the carefully placed packets of information with abandon. They learned from what he'd given them, and as they learned, he pulled himself together. The more aware he became, the more he wished for a second death, to return to the nonexistence where everything had been peaceful and painless and quiet, where the death of the world didn't scream through his head, where numbers didn't spill from him bright crimson and burning, where there were no messages to deliver on a dying breath.
But he had so much work to do.
Slowly, he was pieced together, fractions and fragments stitched together by the guiding hand of the person he had to save. Desmond Miles, his shackles and his escape, came to him, followed the path he had laid out to be given the message at last. He waited, knowing Desmond would find him here, would find his way to the Truth. And just as suddenly, he was there, a presence and a voice given to the fractured data that was all the remained of him.
A heartbeat pulsed within him, and his voice was at last his own. He could see Desmond properly now, could see the expression on the man's face, a mixture of confusion and awe. "Subject 16?" he asked faintly.
The question brought out laughter, high and hysterical. All that he was now was what Desmond knew- he was a faceless, nameless madman, nothing but a number and a riddle to solve. "Yes," he said, once he had control of his voice again, "Subject 17." He took satisfaction in seeing Desmond wince.
"You're dead," Desmond insisted, taking a step closer to the chasm that separated them. "I saw your blood."
He dismissed the thought with a gesture, something he had missed dearly. "No time," he said. Desmond didn't understand, didn't know the urgency, didn't know how little time he had- counted in days, hours, seconds. "It is far later than you know. Too late to save them."
"Who?" Desmond asked, but he couldn't answer. Any of them. All of them. He had to relay the message but suddenly the message was slipping away from him, from the both of them.
"She is not who you think she is," he went on, desperately trying to get out the most important parts, the parts he barely understood. "Everything you hope to become, everything you hold dear—it's already gone."
"Explain. Please." Desmond was calm, was willing to give him time to collect himself, but it wasn't Desmond's time to give, time none of them had. The gentleness in Desmond's tone made his newly-formed stomach twist.
"Eden," he said, and he felt his mind sputtering to a halt, curling back in on itself. "She...in Eden. Find Eve. The key..." His words were jumbled now, the Truth lost in a haze of irrelevant data. He threw out anything he could latch onto, desperate for Desmond to hear him, to understand. "...Her DNA..."
"Tell me!" Desmond said, more forcefully. Desmond needed him whole, but he wasn't whole, he was in pieces—
"I cannot," he said, his new voice cracking in defeat. "The sun...your son..." It was no use anymore. "Too weak," he grunted, moving back. "Must...replenish energy..."
"Don't go!" Desmond called after him, his eyes wide. Desmond needed the message, but he also wanted...wanted him, wanted to see him safe. His stomach twisted again, and he managed a smile that he knew the other couldn't see.
"I am with you until the end. Find me in the darkness."