System Reboot

The coughing started in the dark.

Ava jerked awake, chest convulsing, a wet, metallic taste flooding her mouth. She pressed a hand to her lips—then pulled it away, blinking at the crimson smear on her palm.

Blood.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, heart racing. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Not now. Not after everything.

Her body felt hollowed out, muscles trembling with exhaustion. The last shift had pushed her too far—hours sorting rusted junk with numb fingers and an empty stomach. She had barely crawled back to her corner before collapsing onto the cold floor.

And now this.

Ava curled in on herself, coughing violently into her sleeve as more blood splattered the already filthy fabric.

Her ribs ached. Every spasm stole more strength from her already depleted body.

She didn't need a doctor to tell her what this meant.

If the soldiers saw her like this, they'd stop feeding her. No food meant death.

Simple as that.

Day One.

She couldn't move.

Her limbs felt like lead, every muscle screaming with fatigue. The damp cavern walls seemed closer than before, pressing in on her.

Ava stared blankly at the ceiling, too drained to care when someone stepped over her, too numb to flinch when they muttered, "Another one bites the dust."

Her hands trembled as she tried to sit up. Her body refused. She lay there, helpless, as another violent cough ripped through her chest, blood trickling down her chin.

She barely noticed the glowing interface flickering at the edge of her vision.

[SYSTEM ERROR DETECTED]

[USER INSTABILITY CRITICAL]

No kidding.

Day Two.

The hunger gnawed at her relentlessly.

She hadn't eaten in two days. Her vision blurred as she stared at the stale scrap of bread in her hand—the only meal they gave her after she dragged herself to the workroom and failed to complete even half her quota.

She couldn't finish the task. Not like this.

Ava forced the bread into her mouth, chewing slowly, willing herself not to choke as another coughing fit bubbled up her throat. She pressed the back of her hand against her lips, swallowing the blood with the bread.

No one could know how bad it was.

Not Lars. Not the soldiers. No one.

She curled up in her corner again, shivering uncontrollably, while the system flickered.

[SYSTEM REBOOT PENDING]

[USER HEALTH CRITICAL]

She closed her eyes, whispering, "Fix it already…"

But it didn't.

Day Three.

Ava's breath came shallow and ragged, her body slick with cold sweat. She could feel the bones in her back digging into the floor, the thin layer of muscle and skin barely cushioning them.

Her coughs were softer now—there wasn't enough strength left in her body to make them loud.

She heard whispers around her.

"She's not gonna make it."

"Good. One less mouth to feed."

She clenched her fists weakly, nails biting into her palms. She wasn't dead yet.

The system flickered faintly in her peripheral vision, but it offered no help.

Not yet.

Day Four.

Ava's vision blurred, the cavern fading in and out of focus. She barely felt the damp chill anymore.

Her last memory was collapsing in the workroom, coughing blood onto the scrap metal she was supposed to be sorting.

Someone must have dragged her out of the way. Or maybe they'd just kicked her aside.

Her lips were cracked, throat dry as sandpaper. She stared blankly at the ceiling, barely blinking.

Her body was shutting down.

And the system just… waited.

Day Five.

Her heartbeat slowed.

Each breath felt like dragging a boulder uphill.

She thought she heard the system whispering in her head, flickering softly with unreadable lines of code.

Or maybe she was hallucinating.

She didn't care.

Day Six.

Her hands stopped shaking.

Not because she was better—but because there was no strength left to shake.

She knew what tomorrow would bring.

Day Seven.

The coughing stopped.

Ava lay still, barely breathing, eyes open but unfocused.

Then—

A flicker.

[SYSTEM REBOOT INITIATED]

[CRITICAL FAILURE DETECTED]

[USER REGENERATION PROTOCOL ENGAGED]

Her body arched violently off the ground, a strangled gasp tearing from her throat.

Her lungs expanded, full and strong for the first time in days. Warmth surged through her veins, burning away the cold numbness. Her heart hammered rapidly, then steadied into a strong, rhythmic beat.

Her fingers twitched.

Her eyes cleared.

And for the first time in seven days, Ava sat up without pain.

[SYSTEM REBOOT COMPLETE]

[USER HEALTH: OPTIMAL]

She blinked at the glowing interface.

Her body was whole again. Strong.

But her mind?

Her mind remembered every second of misery.

And she wasn't about to forgive it.

"Seven days," she whispered bitterly, wiping the last traces of blood from her lips.

The system flickered in front of her, silent.

But Ava wasn't.

"You waited seven days to save me?"

No response.

She narrowed her eyes.

Fine.

If the system wanted to play games?

So could she.