Red zones never screamed.
They whispered.
The air felt thinner near the border, like the world itself was exhaling its last breath. Buildings sagged at unnatural angles, their foundations half-erased, half-remembered. Colors dulled as if reality was losing interest in rendering details.
Piter Hall stood at the edge of Sector R-3, staring into the dead space.
"This is a mistake," Marcus said quietly beside him.
"I know," Piter replied.
Lena shifted nervously, energy flickering faintly around her hands. "Then why are we here?"
Piter didn't answer right away.
Below them, a small group waited. Eight people. All Variables. All desperate.
One of them, a boy no older than sixteen, kept glancing behind him like he expected the zone to swallow him whole.
"My mom's still inside," the boy said. "She didn't make it out in time."
Piter met his eyes.
"What's her name?"
"Clara," the boy whispered.
Marcus clenched his fists. "Piter—"
"I know," Piter cut in.
He turned back to the boy. "Where did you last see her?"
"Third floor," the boy replied. "Old apartment block. She was helping an old man when the zone turned red."
Piter nodded slowly.
He hated this.
He hated that people were looking at him like he could rewrite reality for them.
But he couldn't ignore it either.
"Five minutes," Piter said. "That's all we get inside. No wandering. No heroics."
Marcus swore under his breath. "You're risking all of us."
"Yes," Piter replied. "I am."
Lena looked at the boy. "We'll try."
Not promise.
Try.
The barrier rippled as they crossed.
The world changed instantly.
Sound dulled. Gravity felt wrong. Like it hesitated before obeying. Buildings flickered, their shapes glitching between states.
Piter felt pressure crawl up his spine.
[Warning: Zone Stability Critical]
They moved fast.
The apartment building loomed ahead, half-sunken into the ground. Windows were black holes. The stairwell was exposed, the front wall peeled away like skin.
They climbed.
Second floor.
Third.
"Clara!" the boy shouted.
His voice sounded wrong here. Muffled, like it had to travel through water.
A shape moved inside.
"Eli?" a woman's voice called weakly.
The boy bolted.
"Mom!"
Piter followed, heart hammering.
They found her in the hallway, holding a bleeding old man upright.
Her face lit up when she saw her son.
"Oh thank God," she breathed. "I thought—"
The ceiling groaned.
Piter's Interface flared.
[Collapse Probability: Rising]
"Move," Piter said. "Now."
They rushed.
The hallway twisted behind them, walls bending inward. Reality resisted their escape like a current.
They reached the stairs.
The building screamed.
Not a sound.
A sensation.
The fourth floor folded downward.
Marcus shoved Clara toward the exit.
"Go!"
She stumbled, dragging the old man.
The boy pulled her.
They reached the threshold—
And the floor dropped.
Piter lunged.
He grabbed Eli.
Missed Clara.
The building tore itself apart.
Clara fell.
No scream.
She vanished into the collapsing structure.
The zone sealed.
Silence.
The boy screamed.
"Mom! Mom!"
He clawed at the barrier, sobbing, knuckles bleeding.
Piter stood frozen.
He knew this moment.
Last loop, moments like this reset.
They rewound.
This time—
Nothing happened.
No rewind.
No rollback.
Just absence.
[Zone Collapse: Finalized]
Marcus grabbed Piter's shoulder. "We have to go."
Piter didn't move.
Lena stared at the sealed red zone, shaking. "She's… she's really—"
"Yes," Piter said.
Dead.
Permanent.
The boy collapsed, screaming into his hands.
"I told her to run," he sobbed. "I told her—"
Piter knelt beside him.
"It wasn't your fault."
The boy shook violently. "You said five minutes."
Piter closed his eyes.
"I said we'd try."
The words burned.
They returned to the community in silence.
No one cheered.
No one asked questions.
They could see it on their faces.
Loss was louder than any announcement.
That night, the boy sat alone, staring at the ground.
No Interface message came.
No comfort.
Permanent meant permanent.
A woman approached Piter quietly.
"My brother is still in a red zone," she said. "Can you—"
"No," Piter replied immediately.
Her face crumpled.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I won't do that again."
Murmurs spread.
Anger.
Confusion.
"You just let her die?" someone shouted.
"You went in once," another said. "Why not again?"
Piter stood slowly.
"Because the next one could be you," he said. "Or Lena. Or Marcus."
"That's not fair!"
"Neither is reality," Piter replied.
The crowd shifted.
For the first time, doubt replaced hope.
Lena watched them, eyes wet. "They hate you now."
Piter nodded. "Good."
Marcus frowned. "That's not good."
"It is," Piter said quietly. "If they love me, they'll follow me off a cliff."
Silence fell.
The boy suddenly stood.
"Don't go in again," he said hoarsely. "She wouldn't want anyone else to die."
Everyone froze.
Piter looked at him.
"You're sure?"
The boy nodded.
"She told me… if it turned red, to run. I didn't listen."
Piter swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
The boy shook his head. "Me too."
The community didn't fracture loudly.
It cracked quietly.
Some people left for green zones that night.
Others stayed.
Not because they believed.
Because they had nowhere else.
Later, Marcus approached Piter.
"You did the right thing," he said.
Piter stared at his bloodstained hands.
"There was no right thing."
His Interface pulsed.
[Permanent Loss Registered]
That message had never existed before.
Lena looked at it, horrified. "They're tracking grief now?"
Piter nodded.
"They track everything."
He looked up at the dark sky.
"And now they know it hurts."
Because death without reset was the one data point the System couldn't optimize.
It was final.
Unclean.
Unfixable.
And that scared it more than rebellion ever could.