The room smelled of dust and burnt circuitry, a faint metallic tang clinging to the air. Light flickered through cracks in the ceiling, slicing the smoke into jagged shards that danced across the walls. I crouched over a console, tracing fingerprints I hadn't left, reading lines I didn't recognize.
Soft hum… distant drip… faint metallic scrape…
A folded envelope sat on the corner of a scorched table, almost too deliberate in its placement. I picked it up, turning it over, noting the neatness, the weight of intention behind it. My name wasn't on it. But the handwriting inside…
My own.
I unfolded the paper carefully, as if careful handling could undo what it contained. Three words stared back at me:
"Every man for himself. Except me."
Rumble… soft echo of shifting stone…
I blinked. Stared. Re-read it. Well, that's… unsettling. Even my inner monologue is under review. My fingers twitched, half-expecting some hidden mechanism to snap, some alarm to blare, some trap to drop from the ceiling. But nothing happened. Just the note. My words. Written by me. Or not.
Click… faint hiss…
I muttered under my breath, sarcasm creeping into the edge of panic: "I didn't write this… did I? Great. Notes from me, to me. How meta." The city had been predictable before. Manipulable. I had danced on the strings of the Syndicate, pulling pawns exactly where I wanted. But now… now the board had grown a mind of its own.
Soft scrape… distant metallic echo…
The words pressed down, heavier than the dust-coated beams above. Every choice I had made, every move I thought was my own, suddenly felt… curated. Cataloged. Anticipated. I had been playing chess in what I thought was a void, only to realize the void was watching and it had been guiding my hand.
Drip… faint hum…
I folded the note back, careful, almost reverent. My mind raced, calculating, recalibrating. The Architect's reach wasn't just outside it had threaded through me, threading through my thoughts, my reflections, my plans. I was still me, but only just. And even that was a gift I hadn't earned.
Rattle… soft vibration of shifting rubble…
I let a smirk curl across my lips, dry and sardonic, the way a man might smile while standing on the edge of a cliff. "Fine. You want to play mind games? Guess who still loves a good puzzle?"
I tucked the envelope into my coat, next to the other secrets I carried. This one would stay close, a reminder that even in the center of control, I was being watched. Anticipated. Tested.
And yet… the game was still mine to play.
I stood, brushing ash from my hands, stepping into the flickering corridors. The shadows welcomed me, familiar, obedient, pliable. The Architect had set the stage, yes. But I… I still chose my moves.
For now.