The bubble that caught Ian's eye the most was one of the figure inside bent over in a thinker's position, waves emanating from its head. Ian floated over to this bubble and gingerly reached out for it, his hands passing through it like a hologram, though he felt a mild shock from it as they did so.
"Ahhh," the still-disembodied voice of Markus said, "that spheroid represents psychic power. It is a truly remarkable power, but one that can be overwhelming, possibly even debilitating at times. If you choose that one, you will need discipline and lots of practice and time to be able to control it. Are you sure you want to proceed?"
Ian hesitated, considering Markus's words. Finally, he nodded. "Yes, Commandant, I accept the risks. I choose this power."
"Very well, then." As soon as Markus said this, the other bubbles disappeared, and the one Ian had chosen started to grow larger and larger. Within seconds, it had become bigger than Ian's entire body, and Ian felt himself being sucked into the bubble, a force that he couldn't resist. The whole process frightened Ian a bit, but he took a deep breath and let it happen, knowing that he didn't have a choice now.
Once his entire body had been enveloped, the bubble started spinning around, slowly at first but gradually picking up steam, Ian remaining stationary inside it. Within seconds, the edges of the bubble were a blur, and they slowly started to contract. Ian's eyes went wide, unsure of what was to come next. The bubble suddenly collapsed into his chest, much like the overwhelming light had a few minutes prior.
A sense of incredible energy surged through Ian's entire body, his heart starting to race and his blood boiling. His skin started to tingle, the tiny hairs on it, along with the hair on his head, standing out in all directions, moving in a seemingly organized pattern. He closed his eyes to try to block everything else out, but when he did so he could see a staggering array of abstract shapes and colors, a seemingly random mishmash of information that he had no clue what it meant.
Inside his mind, Ian felt his brain starting to race, thoughts running through it in an uncontrolled rate. He tried to focus on some of them, but the thoughts multiplied exponentially, becoming louder and louder in his head, more and more frequent and intense.
The ideas held in the thoughts were entirely foreign to him; they didn't seem like ones he'd ever experienced before. Some of them were mundane, like the steps of a recipe for quick-fried faux-chicken, but others were incredibly dark and violent. One particularly gruesome one that stood out to Ian dealt with the overwhelming desire to murder his son. "These can't be my thoughts," Ian said aloud, "I don't have a son! What's going on?" He tried to shake off the thoughts, but they seemed so inherit, so much a part of his brain, that he couldn't let them go.
Ian started to feel like his head was going to explode. He brought his hands up to his temples, which were physically pounding, pulsating at Ian's touch. Ian opened his mouth to let out a loud scream, then blacked out.
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