Clyde's breath echoed in the sterile chamber, the hum of power pressing in from all sides.
White walls. Fluorescent light. The stench of antiseptic and something burnt—something organic beneath it.
He stood, knees shaky, spine thrumming with tension. No doors. No seams. Just the room.
And the console.
He approached it slowly, like it might explode.
The screen flickered.
Then glitched.
> [ ERROR: UNAUTHORIZED PRESENCE DETECTED ]
Then, in a stuttering flicker of red text:
INITIATING SYSTEM DEFENSE PROTOCOL
RECOMPILING REALITY.
The air shifted—literally—like the room was breathing around him.
Then came the voice again.
But this time it was wrong.
Not human. Not machine. Something caught in between. The pitch wavered mid-syllable. The cadence hiccuped.
"Clyde… Er.en...hart.
You shouldn't be… awake."
It was like multiple versions of her were speaking at once—out of sync, colliding.
"We are... (observing) / correcting / sorry."
He backed away from the console, heart pounding.
"Who are you?" he asked.
No answer.
Then static.
Then the voice again, clearer now—but colder.
"Your identity is a conflict. Your memory is unverified. This instance is incompatible."
The floor beneath him shifted—just slightly. Enough to make his stomach twist. The lights above flickered like they were trying to decide which reality to obey.
Clyde looked down—and nearly vomited.
His shadow had changed.
It wasn't following him anymore.
It was delayed.
It copied his movements a second too late. Lagging. Flickering. And then it moved on its own.
The shadow twisted, distorted, stood up. Pulled itself off the floor like a body made of void and glitch and regret.
He stumbled back, hitting the console. A panel slid open with a hiss—revealing a jack. Old-school. Industrial.
A headset dropped out, attached to the port by coiled cable. A single blinking word appeared on the screen:
"CONNECT."
The voice returned. Clearer.
Not comforting.
"This is your last clean point. Interface or be reset."
Clyde stared at the headset.
His reflection blinked back at him in the black glass of the console.
Only—his eyes were bleeding.
Then the lights died.
And the hum returned.
Like a countdown.
Thrum.
Thrum.
Thrum.
He grabbed the headset. No time to think.
He connected.
And the world fractured.