Pibby Glitch Novels & Stories

"If it’s in the security system, then Mother knows. She doesn't need a whistleblower. She has the house itself spying on us." "Exactly," Pim said, her eyes fixed on the cascading lines of code that refused to be deleted. "She gave us this tool to refine the predictive models for her, and now that we’ve accidentally peeled back the curtain, we aren't her heirs anymore. We’re glitches. And glitches get deleted."

But as it hit the iron blade, it began to smoke. **[ERROR: UNAUTHORIZED DATA MODIFICATION]** **[CRITICAL FAILURE: NARRATIVE CORRUPTION DETECTED]** I slammed the bloody sword into the ground. "I am Kaima!" I roared. "And I am the **Glitch**!" A wave of black static erupted from the sword. It wasn't beautiful. It was terrifying. It looked like ink spilled on a painting, spreading out and erasing the silver suits, the white staffs, and the perfect faces of the Shareholders.

The arrow pointed to the word “HEART." Above it, were a pain of names shinning red. The sight of the names left me motionless. It read “Offenders, MELISSA and GAVIN." My blood ran cold. “What is the punishment for?” I yelled, my voice shaking. “He didn't even respond." The system’s voice deepened. “Silence glitch. Processing penalty..." “Excuse me!" What? who the fuck is a glitch? Me. Like hell, I'm no glitch.

Gloss POV The glitches start small, almost quiet, like the system is trying not to get caught misbehaving. I notice them the morning after Dream refuses to leave my side, even when he’s supposed to be handling CEO-level disasters. I’m sitting on the couch, blanket thrown over my legs because the AC is blasting again, and Dream is pacing across the room with a tablet in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. He’s talking in that controlled voice he uses when he’s angry but trying not to sound angry.

The deep, foundational pulse of the sub-basement escapement wheel didn't remain confined to the reinforced concrete vault. By the second week of July, that slow, rhythmic 'thump' seemed to have bled upward through the old timber joists of the DUMBO warehouse, anchoring the forty-two Glitches in a collective, unhurried focus. The chaotic, frantic energy of their initial weeks had completely distilled into a smooth, deliberate momentum.

We were both in our pajamas and a large blanket lay on the bed. I turned to the wall clock. “2 pm?” Glinda sighed and moved away from the door. She settled by the edge of the bed. “You guys were out for hours,” Miles stood up. “Are you saying that we’ve been out since yesterday evening?” She confirmed with a nod. Miles turned to me. “But that has never happened before. The glitch wanes off in a couple of minutes or less,” Glinda smiled. “Well, the next time it happens, you’ll be back to your bodies,” she raised a finger. “Hopefully,” then she turned to Miles. “Sit,”