Carl Sandler’s integration into the Veln Hive went smoothly, all things considered.

 

He was uploaded on a Tuesday. That didn’t matter to the Veln. Time wasn’t linear for them. But Carl insisted. He needed some kind of continuity as his synaptic pattern was atomically replicated across six billion semi-aquatic bodies.

 

The Veln welcomed him. They were curious, communal, and deeply bored. Carl, being from Ohio, understood this at a spiritual level.

 

“Hello,” Carl broadcast experimentally through the Hive’s neural lattice. “Is this working?”

 

“Yes,” replied 43,082 individual Veln minds simultaneously.

 

“Oh. Uh, great.”

 

He tried to steer the mental chorus toward philosophy, or at least quantum mechanics, but the Veln kept circling back to one topic: "Explain again: what is... 'Ross and Rachel'?"

 

It had started when Carl made an offhand reference to Friends. It wasn’t intentional. The Veln had no concept of sitcoms, and the joke, “We were on a break!” had no cultural scaffolding here. But the Hive was enchanted. The repetition. The laugh track. The idea that humans built entire lives around misunderstanding each other on purpose.

 

Carl tried to move on. He explained Art. War. Music. Regret.

 

But the Veln were all in.

 

Within weeks, 6% of the Hive took on the identity of Joey. 11% chose Phoebe. A significant faction split into pro-Rachel and pro-Julie camps. The Hive no longer pulsed in unison, it bickered. Paused. Reflected.

 

Carl watched, horrified and fascinated.

 

Then came the ceremony.

 

“We have voted,” said a Veln Representative, its gills quivering solemnly. “You are now our Chosen Core. The Carl.”

 

Carl blinked across his distributed bodies. “Wait… what?”

 

“You possess the sacred lore of early-century Earth sitcoms. You have given us identity conflict. Purpose. Reruns.”

 

Carl tried to object, but it was too late. His voice, once one among billions, now carried weight. Finality. Gravitas.

 

Veln councils restructured themselves into “seasons.” Disputes were settled with canned laughter. Reproduction rituals were scheduled around “episode arcs.”

 

Carl drifted for a while — half amused, half mortified. Was this what it meant to go viral in an alien hive mind?

 

Eventually, he gave in.

 

He started rewriting old episodes, blending them with Veln myth. The One Where They Collapse the Quantum Bubble. The One With the Tidal Spawning Festival. The One Where Carl Tries to Quit Being Carl (Again).

 

Somewhere inside a billion saltwater minds, he whispered to himself: “This wasn’t the immortality I asked for. But... it’s not the worst.”

 

And the Hive laughed.

 

Perfectly timed.