The Shatter Pulse
The trench wasn't pretending anymore.
About listening, that is. It had stopped with the polite pauses. The in-between hums. It was just... there. Breathing on the back of his neck, or maybe in it. That gap right under the first memory slot. The one nobody talked about because if you mapped it, it meant you'd felt it. And that meant you'd already stared too long into the static.
There was something whispering there now.
Probably.
Or... it could've just been blood. If Cores had blood. Which—they didn't. Not like that. But maybe it was a memory of blood? Or the trench simulating the idea of it for fun.
He didn't ask Hero.
Because Hero wasn't there.
Or hadn't been. Or maybe still wasn't, and Nahr was just pretending again. He did that sometimes. It was easier than keeping a log.
The platform appeared under his feet like it had been waiting for him to forget he was walking.
He blinked and he was rising.
Not fast. Not slow. Just... already in motion.
His boots weren't touching anything anymore. Not really. But gravity was still doing its half-assed job, which was comforting, in a stupid way.
At the top: a gap.
Not a doorway. Just—absence.
Like someone cut "open" out of the wall with a spoon and forgot to name it.
He went through it.
Not brave.
Just—what else was he gonna do?
The air on the other side smelled like... old ion burn? Or maybe ozone. Rain? No. That was too romantic. It was probably fear. But who names fear by smell?
He coughed. Or maybe he just breathed wrong.
The room wasn't even a room.
It acted like a room. Like it had read a file on rooms once and decided, yeah, that's probably close enough.
Roundish. Corners where curves should've been. Walls bending like paper that didn't want to crease right.
In the middle:
A chair.
Again.
Vault-style. Or close.
Didn't matter. They were all the same now. Wrong. Watching. Judging.
This one was broken.
Split down the back like something had grown out of it and left a scar behind.
No glyph. No hum. No screen.
Just—
A Core.
Slumped. But breathing?
Well, no, not breathing. But you know what that means.
Its eyes flickered. Weak. Blue-white, like the battery was trying to die politely.
Nahr stepped in.
Half-expecting it to scream, or vanish, or say something cryptic.
Instead, it looked at him.
Same faceplate.
Same scars.
Slight tweak along the jaw.
Right side.
Sparring injury. Old.
Real old.
So: him. Another version.
A memory? An echo? One of the trench's favorite puppets? Who knew. Who cared.
It didn't talk.
Just raised a hand. Slowly.
Pointed at the wall.
There was a symbol there. Nahr hadn't noticed it till now.
[NO ONE LEAVES WHO REMEMBERS.]
"Huh," Nahr said. "That's new."
He waited.
No answer.
"Threat? Rule? Bad poetry?"
Still nothing.
He tried to laugh.
It came out wrong.
Like a cough.
Like a sound you make to prove you're not cracking.
Lights cut.
No warning.
Next second—
He was walking again.
Or falling.
Hard to tell. His legs were moving but his head felt like it was sliding sideways.
The floor underneath? Soft. Not soft like moss. Not like fabric. But soft like the inside of an old glove. Like... memory being reused.
He didn't know if Hero was behind him.
Or in front.
Or—
Hero's voice spoke.
It just did. Like it had permission again.
But Nahr didn't remember him walking in.
Didn't remember seeing him.
Didn't even remember thinking about him in the last two minutes.
So either Hero was really quiet ...
Or Nahr was getting worse.
He turned. Looked.
Nobody there.
Maybe it wasn't a voice.
Maybe it was the trench using a tone.
Or a shape. A suggestion of friendship so old it had started rusting.
He kept walking.
Because turning around would mean admitting something followed him.
And he wasn't in the mood to get named by that kind of truth.
Ahead: a door.
An actual one this time.
But barely.
Looked like someone had sculpted it out of melted Cores. Plates slapped together like a dare.
He pressed.
It moved.
It wanted him to push.
So he did.
Because he always did.
And then—
Hero.
Standing there.
Leaning on the far wall like it was a hobby.
Arms crossed. Galieya dead on his back.
Like nothing had happened.
Like this was the normal part.
Nahr blinked.
"Where'd you go?"
No answer.
Hero stepped off the wall. Walked right past him.
No eye contact.
No tension.
Like it was all just fine.
Nahr wanted to sit down. Or scream. Or sit down and scream.
Instead he followed.
"Did you see them?" he asked. "The—echoes? The ones that looked like me. And you. I don't know. I think there were more. I didn't catch all their—"
Nothing.
Just footfalls.
Just trench air.
He kept going.
Pushed again. "Say something."
Hero stopped.
Looked back.
"…you came back late."
Then walked off.
Nahr stood still.
One... two... three...
His chest hurt.
He didn't know why.
Or he did.
It was guilt.
That's what it always was.
Even when he hadn't done anything yet.
The trench started laughing after that.
Not sound.
Just light.
Wall flashes like hyperventilating. One. Pause. One. Faster now. Panic tempo.
He started laughing too.
Didn't mean to.
It just broke out.
Hero didn't look back.
That made it worse.
Because maybe Hero was laughing too.
Just... quieter.
Or maybe the trench was inside both of them now.
And the laughter was its way of saying:
"Yes."
The slope didn't go down. Not at first.
It kind of… stuttered. Flattened for a meter, maybe two. Then dipped like it had changed its mind mid-design. Like someone meant to build a stairway and then said, "Never mind, just drop it."
Nahr didn't trust it.
He stepped anyway.
It didn't grab his feet. Didn't tilt the world or collapse the wall behind him. But there was… pressure. Not behind him. Beneath.
Like the trench was tired of playing subtle.
Like it wanted him lower.
Hero was already gone. Somewhere ahead.
Or not.
Or not yet.
The walls here were—no, not walls. That wasn't the right word. They moved too much. Soft edges. Breathing metal. He tried to keep his Galieya close, but it kept shifting weight. He adjusted the strap three times. By the fourth he gave up.
There was a sound.
Sort of.
You know that thing when static picks up emotion? Where it kind of strains into a voice, but never finishes the syllable? Like your radio's trying to cry but forgot the words?
That. That was what filled the space.
No. Not filled.
Threaded.
He rounded a bend he didn't see. The room changed shape again. It had walls now. Real ones. Or fake ones pretending better. Hard corners. Angles that hurt to stare at too long.
There was a screen.
Not like a monitor. Just a glow pressed into a slab. Cheap. Or old. Or purposely unclear. Like it had been scraped together from discarded trial logs.
It said:
[SOMETHING IS MISSING]
[SOMETHING IS NOT]
[PROCEED ANYWAY]
He almost responded.
His mouth even moved.
But he didn't have a voice left for things that vague.
So he walked past.
A figure was waiting.
It stood at the edge of the corridor, facing away. Small frame. No Galieya. Arms limp. Shoulders barely shaped enough to hold armor.
Nahr slowed.
Didn't raise his weapon. Didn't call out.
Because he knew—
Too small.
Too quiet.
Not a threat.
Or maybe that's the worst kind.
The figure turned slowly.
No faceplate.
Just skin.
Too smooth.
Too human.
Not human.
A child?
No—no.
Not that either.
Not a mimic. Not a Core. Not a construct.
Just… something that remembered being looked at.
It blinked once. Then vanished.
Not vanished.
He blinked.
It was gone.
Not the same thing.
He didn't chase it.
Would've been a bad idea. He knew that. He told himself that. Three times.
Still took two steps forward before stopping.
He sighed.
Sounded too sharp in this place. Echoed back, like the trench didn't approve of sighing.
"Yeah well," he muttered, "You don't approve of anything."
No response.
Of course.
Another corner. Another door.
Not locked.
Just angled like it didn't want to be entered.
He did anyway.
The next chamber—wider. Airier.
(Still no air, technically. But you feel it anyway.)
A Core stood in the center.
Not moving.
Helmet off.
Eyes closed.
No tag.
Nahr approached, Galieya at the ready.
The figure didn't flinch.
He reached out.
Paused.
Hand halfway extended.
The Core opened one eye.
"Don't."
One word. Tired.
Nahr stopped.
"Who are you?"
The Core shrugged.
"That's been asked before."
"And?"
"No answer."
He hated that.
"What is this place?"
Another shrug.
"You were supposed to see it differently."
"That's not an answer."
"I know."
A pause.
Then the Core looked up.
Smiled. Not… kindly.
"There's not one of you. You know that, right?"
"…What?"
"There's never been one Nahr. Or one Hero. Or one trench."
"That doesn't make sense."
"I didn't say it should."
He wanted to attack.
To shake something loose.
But he didn't.
Because what if this Core didn't exist either?
What if he was arguing with his own echo again?
So he lowered the Galieya.
Backed up.
The lights flickered.
When they came back, the Core was gone.
Of course it was.
Of course.
The wall behind flickered—opened without request.
He stepped through.
The final hallway wasn't final.
But it tried to be.
Straight walls. Flat ceiling.
Clean symmetry, which the trench never does unless it's trying to lie.
Hero stood at the far end.
Real this time.
Or convincingly fake.
Nahr approached slowly.
Hero turned.
"No slope this time," he said.
"No," Nahr replied. "Just us."
"Just us."
That felt wrong.
Like they'd missed something.
Like one of them should've been replaced.
Maybe they already had.
They stood together a while.
Then the floor trembled.
Only once.
Just enough to say:
[YOU HAVE BEEN MARKED]
[FINAL BURDEN INCOMING]
Nahr looked at Hero.
Hero didn't look back.
And somehow, that was the only honest thing either of them had done in hours.
The door opened.
They didn't move.
Not yet.
They would.
But not yet.
Because the trnch was still listening.
And they weren't ready to be heard.
[ISOLATION WEIGHT LOGGED]
[NAHR / HERO: DUAL SIGNATURES RECORDED]