The [INSPECT] window hung in the air.
[VULNERABILITY: Cannot compute verified, contradictory truths when presented simultaneously.]
The words were a lifeline. The Glitched Minuteman, the thirty-foot-tall monster made of gossip and bad tempers, wasn't a creature to be fought. It was an argument to be won. It was a piece of buggy code waiting for a fatal exception.
As Chris absorbed this critical information, the quest log in his HUD updated with a flash of clean, white light. The vague objective to "Defeat the Probabilities Construct" was replaced with a clear, three-part checklist, a divine recipe for defeating the boss.
[OBJECTIVE: Locate and collect the following data nodes:]
[- DATA NODE: The Secret]
[- DATA NODE: The Denial]
[- DATA NODE: The Instigator]
As the new objectives appeared, the weird arena responded. In the center of the shifting sea of Facebook icons, a small island of stable, placid blue "Like" icons rose up, forming a solid platform. From the center of this platform, a simple, glowing white pedestal materialized, humming with a quiet, latent power. On top of the pedestal was a reflective black rectangle of glass, a perfect, featureless surface. It was the System terminal.
He scanned the swirling vortex of data and text that filled the upper reaches of the atrium. He was looking for something that stood out, a focal point in the chaos. High above, near the glitching shimmering of the library's ceiling, he spotted it. A pulsating, dark purple orb of data, about the size of a basketball, hovered in the air. It seemed to absorb the light around it, a knot of pure, concentrated information. The [INSPECT] tag floating beside it was clear, even from this distance.
[THOMPSON_PERSONAL_HISTORY_FLAGGED_EVENT_98]
That was it. That was the first piece of the logic bomb. That was [THE SECRET].
Getting to it, however, was going to be a problem. It was floating at least fifty feet in the air, near a rickety-looking platform made of what looked like a chunk of the library's old card catalog. The only way up was a floating, broken staircase, its wood steps hovering in space with wide, treacherous gaps between them. It was a classic platformer sequence.
The Glitched Minuteman roared, a sound like dying PC fans being fed into a woodchipper. It pointed its giant, glowing fabric softener coupon at him and fired another volley of angry red text.
"TROLL!"
"GET A JOB!"
Chris yelped and scrambled up onto the nearest stable "Like" icon, the hateful comments splashing against the platform behind him like bursts of shrapnel. He had to move.
He took a running start and leaped. He sailed through the air, his arms flailing, and landed with a thud on a wobbling, giggling "Laughing" icon. The platform tilted precariously under his weight, and he had to windmill his arms to keep his balance. This was insane. He was a thirty-year-old man in sweatpants. playing a real-life platformer game.
He made another desperate leap, landing on the first step of the broken staircase. The marble was slick and unstable, but it held his weight. He began to climb, a tense, perilous journey from one floating step to the next. The Minuteman continued its barrage, forcing him to duck and weave, the angry red words zipping past his head.
He finally reached the top, pulling himself onto the card catalog platform, his chest heaving. The purple orb, [THE SECRET], hovered just a few feet away, pulsing with a dark, quiet energy. He reached out a trembling hand and touched it.
The orb dissolved into a stream of shimmering purple light that flowed into his chest. It didn't hurt; it felt like drinking a cool glass of water. A notification chimed in his mind.
[DATA NODE 1 of 3 ACQUIRED: The Secret]
An icon representing the data node—a stylized, locked purple file—appeared in his HUD. He had the first piece.
The Glitched Minuteman let out a roar of pure fury as he acquired the data. The monster stomped its massive, glitching feet, and the entire floor of Facebook icons began to flip and destabilize. The placid blue "Like" icons turned a volatile yellow, and the laughing faces began to spin wildly. The arena itself was becoming more hostile.
He scanned the chamber, looking for his next target. He spotted it on the far side of the atrium, hovering just above the churning sea of icons. It was a bright, sanctimonious, pulsing white orb, radiating a light of pure, unassailable self-righteousness. The [INSPECT] tag was unmistakable.
[MAYOR_PUBLIC_STATEMENT_VIDEO_FILE]
That was [THE DENIAL]. The second piece of the puzzle. But the path to it was gone. The stable platforms he had used to get here had been changed.
He had to navigate the treacherous, now-shifting floor. He took a deep breath and began to leap, a desperate, frantic journey from one unstable icon to the next. He landed on a spinning "Laughing" face, nearly losing his footing. He jumped to a sizzling "Angry" face, feeling a jolt of static electricity shoot up his leg.
At one point, the path completely disappeared. A wide chasm of swirling, empty data opened up before him. The white orb was on the other side, but there was no way to reach it. He was about to give up when he saw a single, lonely "Sad Face" icon, its blue tear-drop shape flickering weakly. It was too far to jump.
He had one option. He focused on the sad, weeping icon and activated his Nudge.
[EP: 0.50/5.00]
He didn't try to move it. He just nudged the probability of its structural integrity holding for a few more seconds. The icon shimmered with a golden aura and stopped flickering. It was his only chance.
He took a running start and made a desperate, flying leap across the chasm. His fingers brushed against the edge of the "Sad Face" icon. He scrambled, his sneakers finding no purchase on the smooth, curved surface. He was going to fall. But he had nudged it. It held just long enough for him to find a handhold and pull himself up. The moment he was safely on top, the icon dissolved into a shower of sad, blue motes.
He didn't have time to feel relieved. He leaped the last few feet and grabbed the second orb just as the platform beneath him crumbled into nothingness.
[DATA NODE 2 of 3 ACQUIRED: The Denial]
The icon for the second node—a white, stylized video file—appeared in his HUD next to the first. Two down, one to go. Only one node remained. He frantically searched the atrium, his eyes scanning the swirling chaos for the final piece of his logic bomb. And then he found it.
It was in the most difficult, most meaningful, and most terrifying place imaginable. It was hovering directly over the white System terminal on the central platform.
The orb was a chaotic, ugly swirl of red and black data, glitching violently. It looked like a corrupted file, a virus. The [INSPECT] tag displayed:
[USER_POST_BUCKY_WATCHER_SOURCE]
He could see the garbled, swirling text within the orb, fragments of his own words, the very post that had started this entire mess. "Funny how some people…" "…class of '98…" "…#UnsolvedMysteries…"
He understood. To stop the probability storm, to defeat the monster born of a public accusation, he had to first admit his own role in creating it. He had to own his part in the chaos.
The Glitched Minuteman, now thoroughly enraged, was bearing down on the central platform, its coupon-weapon held high for a final, massive, world-ending attack. Chris had seconds.
He made a final, desperate dash. He leaped across the last few icons, his lungs burning, his legs aching. He landed on the stable island of "Like" icons, skidding to a halt before the System terminal. The reflective black screen was waiting, humming with a quiet power.
He focused his will, mentally "dragging" the icons for the first two data nodes from his HUD and placing them onto the screen. The purple file and the white video icon appeared on the terminal's surface. The screen hummed, the pedestal's light intensifying.
The boss roared, sensing the imminent threat. It was right behind him now, its massive shadow falling over him.
With a deep breath of resolve, a final acceptance of his own role in this mess, he reached out and touched the final data orb.
[DATA NODE 3 of 3 ACQUIRED: The Instigator]
The ugly, glitching orb flowed into him, and he placed its icon—a chaotic red and black swirl—onto the terminal with the others.
All three orbs on the terminal screen began to glow with an intense, pure white light. A single, glowing button appeared on the screen's surface, its text simple and direct.
[SCAN]
He didn't hesitate. He slammed his hand down on the button.
A beam of focused, white light, pure and clean and absolute, erupted from the terminal. It wasn't a weapon of force, but a weapon of pure information. It struck the Glitched Minuteman square in its chest.
The colossal figure froze mid-stride, its coupon-arm raised high. A massive, translucent text box, a barrier of pure logic, appeared in the air between the boss and Chris. The text inside was a frantic, scrolling cascade of system analysis.
[FATAL LOGIC ERROR: CONTRADICTORY TRUTHS DETECTED]
[Assert(Thompson_Guilt == TRUE)]
[Assert(Thompson_Guilt == FALSE)]
[Insert(User_Probability_Manipulation * 42)]
[Insert(System_Stability_Unit_734_Probability_Manipulation * 5)]
[CONFLICT SOURCE == User_Action_Bucky_Watcher]
[Unable to compute. Kernel integrity compromised. Calculating steps. Initialize System repair functions?]
[Yes/No]
The boss, this creature of pure narrative, was being torn apart. The secret was true. The denial was false. And the instigator, the source of the conflict, was the very person trying to fix it. The logic loop was complete, and the program was recalculating reality.
Chris focused on the final prompt. Initialize System repair functions?
He chose Yes.
The Glitched Minuteman shuddered violently. Its form stretched and compressed like a corrupted video file being pulled apart at the seams. It let out a final, agonizing squeal, a sound of pure death, and then it shattered.
It didn't explode. It simply dissolved into millions of glittering, harmless motes of light, the constituent data of its being returning to the system. The motes rained down, fizzling out into nothingness before they hit the floor.
And then, there was silence. The swirling vortex above slowed, the angry red icons faded, and the chaotic chamber was left in a sudden and beautiful quiet.
Chris stood there, alone in the center of the atrium, his chest heaving. He had won.