Kamcy
Eighty percent.
That was the only thing in my world.
A translucent bar floated in front of me, hovering in empty space like a cruel joke, the pale blue fill crawling forward at a pace that felt deliberately slow. Eighty percent. Not seventy-nine. Not eighty-one. Just enough to tease me with hope.
"Hurry up," I whispered, my voice tight. "Come on… hurry the hell up."
As if my voice mattered.
As if begging a system had ever changed anything.
I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms, my eyes never leaving the bar. I knew better. I knew chanting at a loading screen didn't make it go faster. I'd lived through enough updates, enough frozen installs, enough buffering wheels in my old life to know that hope didn't speed up progress.
Still, my lips kept moving.
"Please," I muttered. "Just—just a little faster."
The number flickered.
Eighty-one percent.
A sharp breath escaped me, half laugh, half sob. "Yes. Yes, that's it—"
The world screamed.
Red slammed into my vision so violently I recoiled, instinctively throwing my arms up as if I could shield myself from light. Warning symbols layered over one another, sharp angles and pulsing icons stacking until I could barely see the loading bar beneath them.
SYSTEM ALERT.
UNAUTHORIZED PROCESS DETECTED.
ROLLBACK INITIATED.
"No—no, no, no—"
The bar froze.
Eighty-one percent.
My chest tightened, panic blooming fast and ugly as I realized what was happening. The system wasn't waiting anymore. It wasn't hesitating. Whatever delay I'd bought myself, whatever confusion I'd forced into its routines, it was gone.
It had adapted.
"Shit," I hissed.
I moved without thinking, hands flying through empty air as I tried to force access to anything—anything—that still responded. I reached for the shared routines, for the layered processes I'd abused earlier, trying to wedge myself back in before the rollback completed.
Nothing.
Every interface I touched dissolved the moment I focused on it, like mist burned away by sunlight.
"Come on," I said, louder now, desperation creeping into my voice. "Don't do this. Don't lock me out now."
ACCESS DENIED.
PRIVILEGES REVOKED.
My heart slammed against my ribs, hard enough that it hurt. I spun in place, scanning the room, the copies of myself scattered around me—hundreds, maybe thousands of Kamcys in various states of distortion and instability.
They were disappearing.
One by one, they flickered, broke apart into static, and vanished like they'd never existed. Not collapsing. Not dying.
Erased.
"No," I whispered.
The room began to change.
The walls, the floor, the endless black expanse beyond them—all of it bleached white, the color draining away until there was nothing left but an empty, blinding void. The silence that followed was worse than the alarms.
No warnings.
No system voice.
Just nothing.
My clones were gone now. Every last one. I stood alone in the center of the white expanse, my breath sounding too loud in my ears.
"No," I said again, shaking my head. "No, no, no…"
My voice cracked.
I laughed once, sharp and humorless, like my body didn't know what else to do. "You can't just—after everything—I was this close—"
The word turned into a shout. "NO!"
Something solid appeared beside me.
The chair.
The familiar one. The same damned chair that always came back no matter how many times I destroyed it. Rage surged through me, hot and overwhelming, and before I could stop myself I kicked it as hard as I could.
It skidded across the floor, scraping uselessly against the restored surface.
I stood there, chest heaving, my hands trembling.
That was when I felt it.
A low hum. A vibration in the air, subtle at first, then growing stronger, like a machine spinning up behind the world itself.
I turned slowly.
A screen unfolded in front of me.
And there he was.
Mr. Adeyemi.
He stood framed by the interface, posture relaxed, expression calm, wearing an ash-colored kaftan that draped neatly over his frame. The fabric looked expensive—smooth, flowing, tailored just enough to suggest authority without trying too hard. Thin, multicolored embroidery ran along the neckline and down the chest, vibrant threads of red, gold, and deep blue woven into precise geometric patterns. The long sleeves hung loose at his wrists, and the whole outfit carried a quiet elegance, the kind that didn't need to announce itself.
He smiled.
Not wide. Not cruel.
Just… mild.
My stomach dropped.
Something inside me went cold as understanding settled in. The panic drained away, replaced by a heavy, sinking acceptance. I'd lost. Whatever gamble I'd made, whatever line I'd tried to cross—it hadn't been enough.
I swallowed.
"So," I said hoarsely. "You're back."
Mr. Adeyemi
I watched Kamcy carefully as the realization took hold.
It was all there, written plainly across his face—panic giving way to dread, dread hardening into anger, and finally, resignation. Acceptance was always the most interesting stage. It stripped people down to who they really were.
"I must say," I began, my voice measured, almost conversational, "that was impressive."
His eyes flicked up, sharp despite everything. I continued before he could speak.
"Your plan was good. Very good, actually. You pushed the system harder than anyone has in quite some time." A pause. "You nearly succeeded."
That earned me a bitter laugh from him.
"Nearly," he repeated.
"Yes," I agreed. "Which brings me to my question." I tilted my head slightly. "What was the point?"
He stiffened.
"There is nowhere to escape to," I went on calmly. "You know that. You've always known that. So tell me—was this truly about freedom?" My gaze sharpened. "Or was it simply your way of trying to end your existence?"
His jaw tightened.
I sighed, the sound quiet but genuine. "I thought we had moved past the tantrums. Past the suicide attempts." I shook my head slowly. "It's disappointing, Kamcy. Truly. We were making progress."
I let the silence stretch.
"All of that effort," I continued, my tone hardening, "all of that potential… now wasted."
His eyes burned, but he said nothing.
"Actions have consequences," I said flatly. "And you have caused me considerable trouble."
I leaned closer to the screen. "You will be punished."
Before he could respond, I ended the connection.
I turned away from the camera, the platform beneath my feet faintly humming, and faced the employees gathered behind me. Their expressions were a mixture of fear and exhaustion, eyes darting between one another as they waited for me to speak.
My smile was gone.
"This," I said quietly, "will never happen again."
The room stilled.
"If it does," I continued, my voice dropping, "you will be dismissed."
They knew what that meant.
Every single one of them nodded, quickly and fervently, panic etched into their faces.
I exhaled once, then gestured to my head engineer. "Begin the process."
As the platform lowered, I stepped off and walked to the left, where Moritemi and Destiny were already waiting.
Ms. Moritemi
I didn't bother hiding my displeasure.
"That punishment is excessive," I said as soon as he approached. "Kamcy is far too valuable to risk corrupting like this. You know what prolonged exposure can do."
"He caused significant damage," Ms. Destiny cut in sharply before he could respond. "Most sectors are barely functioning on emergency power. And the containment field is down."
I glanced at her. "And whose fault is that?"
She bristled but didn't answer.
Mr. Adeyemi raised a hand, silencing us both.
"Enough," he said calmly. "Things will work out."
He turned to me. "Push the test forward."
My eyes widened slightly. "You want him involved after this?"
"If he survives," he replied evenly, "he will join the others. And he will help fix what he broke."
I clenched my jaw. I didn't like it. I didn't like any of it.
But I nodded.
"…Understood."
Kamcy
The screen vanished.
A system warning replaced it.
BRACE FOR TRANSFER.
A countdown appeared.
Ten.
My muscles tensed instinctively.
Nine.
Eight.
I swallowed, forcing myself to breathe.
Three.
Two.
One.
Darkness slammed into me.
Then—
Wind.
Cold, violent air tore across my face, ripping a shout from my throat as my body was suddenly hurled forward. I barely had time to register the sensation before something solid smashed into me.
A branch.
It struck my side and shoulder, knocking the breath clean out of my lungs as I tumbled through leaves and darkness. Pain exploded across my body, sharp and disorienting.
I hit the ground hard.
The impact rattled my skull, my vision swimming as I lay there gasping, lungs burning as they struggled to remember how to work. Everything hurt. My ribs. My arms. My head.
"Gah—" I groaned, curling in on myself instinctively.
It took long seconds before I could move again.
When I finally forced myself upright, every muscle protested. I staggered to my feet, swaying, the world spinning as I fought to stay conscious.
Slowly, painfully, the haze cleared.
A HUD flickered into existence at the edge of my vision.
A timer.
I squinted at it, my mind sluggish as I did the math.
Hours.
Days.
Weeks.
A year.
"So that's how it is," I muttered.
One year.
I straightened, rolling my shoulders despite the ache, and looked around.
Dense foliage surrounded me, thick and damp, towering trees blotting out most of the sky. The air was heavy with moisture, the scent of earth and decay thick in my lungs.
A flash of lightning split the sky.
Thunder followed, deep and rolling, shaking the ground beneath my feet.
It was night.
And as the rain began to fall, cold and relentless, a quiet, terrible certainty settled into my chest.
At the moment I had no idea what true horror really was awaiting.