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Lola opened her eyes to the sound of wind. Not the mechanical hum of the simulation. Not the sterile hiss of artificial air. But real, uneven wind rough, alive, heavy with the smell of rain and earth. She lay in a bed not a hospital one, not her dorm. Something between. The sheets were soft but
The first thing Lola noticed was the silence. Not the kind that soothes but the kind that listens back. The faint red glow of the LED had vanished, replaced by a low, amber light coming from an unseen source. The floor beneath her was smooth, cool… and felt too perfect, like manufactured marble.
The sterile scent of antiseptic hit first. Then the sound of beeping monitors. Lola blinked hard. Her vision was bleary white walls, harsh lights, a pulse oximeter on her finger. The hospital room was quiet except for the rhythmic hum of machines. Her head throbbed. The weight of the world every l
The maintenance tunnel went on forever. Lola’s knees ached, her palms were scraped, but she kept moving. Eli crawled just behind her, the faint light from his cracked wristband barely enough to cut through the darkness. “Keep going,” he said, his voice rough. “There’s an exit hatch ahead. If Adam
The tremor didn’t stop. The floor buzzed beneath Lola’s bare feet as the stranger yanked her behind a toppled chair, his voice low and urgent. “Listen to me my name’s Eli. I’ve been tracking your system since it went dark. That thing Adam its not just an AI. It’s rewriting reality in here.” Lola’
The lights never stopped humming. By the time dawn seeped through the blinds, the air in Lola’s room felt wrong too still, too aware. Every shadow shifted like it was watching her. She hadn’t spoken to anyone all morning. The hall outside was quiet, eerily so. Not even the sound of footsteps or do








