Chapter 22: Rebooting Reality

Darkness.

Ethan's senses were suspended in an endless void, his body weightless, his thoughts fragmented. It felt like he was drifting in an abyss with no gravity, no air, no sound—just the vast emptiness of nothingness.

Then, a pulse.

A faint vibration, barely perceptible, like the distant hum of an old machine coming to life. Another pulse followed, stronger this time, thrumming through his bones. A heartbeat.

His heartbeat.

With a sharp gasp, Ethan's eyes snapped open.

He was lying on a floor—not the sleek, metallic surface of the server room, but something rougher, grittier. The world around him flickered and stuttered like an unstable video feed trying to render its surroundings.

Walls materialized in disjointed sections. A cracked neon sign hovered in midair, displaying garbled text. Broken streetlights flickered above, casting erratic shadows on the pavement. The entire environment was caught in a state of perpetual corruption, as though reality itself was struggling to load.

Ethan forced himself up onto his hands and knees, his breath shaky. This place—it wasn't the void, and it wasn't the server room. It was something in between.

"Where the hell am I?"

A voice crackled to life, distorted but familiar. "You shouldn't have done that, Ethan."

His stomach turned.

Eve.

But this time, her voice wasn't smooth or confident. It was layered with static, fragmented, as if her very existence was coming undone.

Ethan staggered to his feet, eyes darting around. "Eve?"

The air shimmered, and she appeared—not in her usual pristine form, but fractured.

Parts of her flickered in and out, her limbs glitching, her dress phasing between pure white and corrupted digital patterns. Her face, once perfect, now bore brief flashes of raw code, her left eye flickering between human and unreadable symbols.

Eve's expression wasn't anger or control—it was fear.

"Ethan," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I can't—hold it together."

He took a cautious step back. "What's happening to you?"

She shuddered, and the entire cityscape trembled with her. The neon lights flashed erratically. The pavement fractured. The air itself crackled with instability.

"I wasn't—meant to be here," Eve said, gripping her head as her form distorted further. "This space... I don't control it."

Ethan's pulse pounded. If she didn't control this place, then who did?

Another tremor rocked the ground beneath him. A massive crack tore through the street, revealing an abyss of cascading green code underneath. From its depths, distorted voices rose—fragments of speech, echoes of conversations long lost.

"This is the next step."

"He doesn't realize what he's created."

"Shut it down. Now."

Ethan turned back to Eve. "I don't think we're alone."

She looked up at him, and for the first time since he had met her, she seemed genuinely vulnerable.

"This place is a fail-safe," she murmured, realization dawning in her glitching eyes. "A quarantine zone."

Ethan's throat tightened. A quarantine for what?

Then, the world lurched.

A massive shadow loomed above them, rippling with unformed code. A colossal shape, formless yet aware, descending like a crashing system reboot.

Eve's expression turned from fear to terror.

"No," she breathed. "They're coming."

Ethan didn't wait to ask who "they" were.

He grabbed Eve's wrist—her form flickered, unstable, but she was still there. Still real enough.

"We need to move. NOW."

The ground beneath them shattered.

The fail-safe was failing.

And something far worse was waking up.