The Citadel stood tall and imposing today, just as it did on all other days. It was an unchanging beacon of power that had been there since the dawn of time. The spire of monitors and wires reached up to infinity, letting out a low humming sound as it worked to support this plane of reality. It was the only god that had ever been, and ever will be, on the fourth plane of reality. Yet despite all its power and reverence, it didn’t hide away like other gods, instead, it stood in the middle of Citadel City.

  The citizens of the fourth plane of reality were made out of plastic and wires. They were alive, yet they didn’t breathe. Every few years, The Citadel birthed a new mechanical mother, a supercomputer capable of creating more of itself. The mechanical mothers’ children made up the residents of the fourth layer, the systems. From the moment the systems were born, they felt empty. Wrong. Incomplete. They search the universe for a proper host to inhabit, to be their other half.

  One of these systems, Savant, was eating dinner with his family. He was a proud citizen of Citadel City through and through. He was barely old enough to be called an adult, yet he managed to find a proper host with a fantastic compatibility rate. Most systems take many more years to find themselves a good enough host, so Savant liked to be smug about it. Especially since he was the youngest, and last, child of his mechanical mother.

  “Oh my citadeeeeeeeel! Why don’t mine just shut up for two seconds!” Siren, his middle sister, groaned dramatically. Her wires coiled in frustration, and her inner thoughts flowed out through the ones and zeroes flashing on her screen. “I get it! I told mine that I was their ancestor, but he doesn’t have to ask me about everything! I don’t care if you eat eggs, dude!”

  The word host was a word barely spoken on the fourth layer. Once, many millions of years ago, back when The Citadel was more talkative, it had made an offhand comment about how it seemed rude to call their hosts, hosts. Ever since then, they have been respectfully referred to as mine, my, or he, she, and they. Just so their god wouldn’t see them as rude or bad worshipper. Having a god in your backyard sure was tiring when it came to etiquette.

  “Siren, my dearest child. You must care for yours. It would simply break your mother’s heart if you shut down because of negligence.” Their mechanical mother, Cascade, chided gently as she feasted on the energy from The Citadel; their dinner. Cascade, like all mechanical mothers, was much larger than her adult children. She was so large, in fact, that she was the house itself.

  “She never listens… never have… never will…” The second-youngest child, Grimore, spoke up. Grimore used to be a lot more bubbly and friendly until they picked a brooding poet as their host. They’ve been a pain to deal with ever since. “I don’t like being out here… I want my true body back…” They lamented dramatically, beeping in mock despair.

  While systems could appear in any form to their host, that was only because they existed inside their host’s brain. They could meddle with anything in there, including their perception. It was heavily advised to change your form to something your host could comprehend, as their true forms were quite unsettling to mortal eyes. That usually wasn’t a concern, though. Most systems only projected themselves to their host once or twice in their lives. Savant’s dream escapades were very out of the ordinary.

  Speaking of Savant, he was currently being pestered by a tentacle-like appendage of wires. The eldest child, Prophetess, was currently teasing him like a proper older sister should. “I found the photos in your rooooom~” She said in the sing-songy voice she knew drove Savant nuts. “You thought you could hide them from me, didn’t you? Prophetess finds all!”

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  Savant grumbled in the form of a series of monotone beeps. He was an adult now, so why did his siblings still feel the right to go through all his stuff? How would they feel if he suddenly started going through their data, huh? Savant didn’t say anything out loud, though. He knew that he was in for even more teasing if he reacted. He was a seasoned teasing veteran as the youngest of 5.

  “STOP TEASING HIM! LET HIM BE FREE! LET HIM BE A PROPER MAAAAN!” The second oldest, Sheildbearer, roared. Like Grimore, he had also been affected by his host. His host told him stories about spirits and fables of miraculous animals, all of which he took at face value. “YOU HAVE TO BE LIKE A SWAN, SISTER! LIKE THE SWAN WHO TURNED INTO A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN AFTER STAYING QUIET FOR A HUNDRED YEARS!”

  “You should also… be like the swan… and shut up…” Grimore added, earning them a smack from their mother. It didn’t hurt in the slightest; they were made out of metal, plastic, and glass, but it was the principle of it. Anyone knows to shut up after receiving a gentle tap on the back of the head by their parent, even eldrich computers.

  The residents of the fourth layer of reality were connected to each other at all times. By relaxing their mind, they could connect to the hivemind known as the net. To a mortal, the net would sound like a tangled mess of voices, thoughts, and images. To systems, though, it was like a second home. Anything they ever wanted to know was there, as everyone shared what they knew for the betterment of the species. Knowledge systems like Savant were especially adept at this. They could isolate any string of thought that they wanted and even correct it if the information was wrong.

  Savant spent most of his free time on the net. Norman barely spoke to him, so when he felt like he wouldn’t be contacted soon, he tuned in to the hivemind. He was hit with a nauseating amount of information as soon as he connected. Someone shared recipes from a world he had never heard of before, another was projecting videos of their host dancing, and two connected thoughts were even playing chess. Savant, following his purpose, shared what he learned recently.

  [?????????, ???, ??????]

  He let his knowledge flow through the network of systems. It was a fleeting thought for now, but any knowledge system would be able to reference the information in the future. It would be incomprehensible to anyone else, though. A quirk of knowledge systems was their ability to compress information into such small units that a whole dictionary could be compressed into a single character. It was also a way for knowledge systems to feel superior to their magic, charisma, and power counterparts. Savant was just finished with his uploading when a notification dinged in the corner of his vision.

  COLLECTOR HAS CONNECTED

  SAVANT HAS CONNECTED

  [??]

  [????]

  [?]

  [??]

  Savant conversed with his best friend, Collector. They were having a lengthy conversation about which countries on the third layer of reality would start a war next. As they conversed, they wrote, sent, and read whole essays in the span of a second, writing up theories about how the most minute details could spark a war if the conditions were right. They simulated digital battlefields and excitedly rewrote their essays when an unexpected variable came into play. Savant even let out a loud beep from his physical body when they analyzed the genetics of one of the generals and found out that he would die of illness before he could die in battle.

  An outsider would have probably thought that this was typical for their species. They were computers, after all. Computers like to calculate things and write up spreadsheets. They would be wrong, though. Savant and Collector were nerds. Weird, antisocial nerds with an obscure hobby. The earth equivalent would be two guys obsessing over the growth pattern of grass in their backyard. That’s how insignificant the third layer was to the ones on the fourth. That was also how weird their enthusiasm was.

  Neither of their hosts knew how socially awkward and strange their systems were to others of their species, though. They wouldn’t disclose that if their lives depended on it. They were meant to look cool and knowledgeable to their hosts; if they saw them as the geeks they were then the whole effect was lost. Savant especially didn’t want his host to know; he cared about his host's opinion a little too much. He cared so much that as soon as Norman asked a hypothetical question, Savant instantly unplugged his mind from the fourth plane of reality and connected to the second, the layer where Silvae resided.