Thea wasn't sure what was worse — the existential dread… or the elevator music playing softly from the train speakers.
"Is it just me," Igor said, rubbing his temples, "or does this sound like a haunted version of the Jeopardy theme?"
Thea blinked, still staring out the train window.
Mireille Point.
Same pristine tiles. Same overly-pleasant announcements. The landscape outside shimmered like someone had forgotten to finish the background render.
"No one else is reacting," she muttered. "It's like we didn't just… reset."
Igor glanced around. Passengers scrolled their phones, sipped lukewarm coffee, looked dead inside — so, pretty much a normal Monday.
"We took the pill," he said slowly. "We fell. We woke up."
"Yes," Thea agreed. "Which means either we actually escaped…"
"Or," Igor interrupted, "we're in some very convincing sequel no one greenlit."
They stood and made their way down the aisle. The train doors hissed open.
Outside, the platform was oddly quiet. Still full of passengers, but no one made a sound. They just… stepped off like automatons.
Thea looked up. A sign flickered to life above the turnstiles:
"YOU MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE. WELCOME TO LEVEL SEVEN."
Igor groaned.
"Seven? How many psychological hellscapes are there? What are we in, some sadistic escape room subscription box?"
They passed the turnstiles, which scanned them without request.
No ID. No tickets.
Just a mechanical voice whispering: "Confirmed. Subjects active."
Thea elbowed him. "Play it cool. Observe everything."
Igor smirked. "Always do. Even spotted that guy over there trying to eat a hotdog without hands. Truly inspiring."
They followed the herd of silent commuters up a set of escalators that didn't move. Everyone climbed mechanically, no complaints.
"Okay, now this is freaking me out," Thea whispered.
"Only now?" Igor replied, breathless. "Personally, I started freaking out around the time that animatronic child asked me if I believed in failure."
They reached the top and were spat out into what looked like a downtown square — but something was… off.
Everything was too clean. The trash cans sparkled. Benches had no scratches. Even the pigeons were suspiciously symmetrical.
Thea narrowed her eyes. "Look."
On one building was a massive billboard screen, looping the same phrase:
"YOUR DATA IS SAFE. YOU ARE SAFE. THE SYSTEM CARES."
"Wow," Igor deadpanned. "Nothing screams trust like being told I'm safe by a font called 'CreepSans.'"
As they wandered deeper, things only got weirder. The sky was an artificial turquoise, stuck in a permanent afternoon glow. Every few blocks, hidden speakers played audio clips of cheerful humming. But the people — the others — were still silent. Still moving in eerie unison.
A woman watering plastic flowers.
A man jogging in place who never broke a sweat.
A child throwing a ball that never bounced.
"I don't like this," Thea muttered.
Igor nodded. "It's like Pleasantville had a baby with a Google prototype and abandoned it in a simulation."
Suddenly, a sharp burst of static came from a nearby speaker.
"ERROR: SUBJECTS DETECTED BEYOND PARAMETERS."
Everyone stopped.
Literally. Every. Single. One.
They froze in mid-motion — watering, jogging, breathing.
Eyes wide.
Smiling.
Thea and Igor backed away.
"Okay, that's a no from me," Igor said, grabbing her arm. "Time to exit this Twilight Zone knockoff."
They darted down an alley — only to find it looped them right back into the same square.
"Igor," Thea hissed. "We're stuck in a feedback loop."
"Love that for us," he said. "Truly thriving."
The billboard screen above them glitched, then switched:
"RESETTING CONTROL BEHAVIOR. PLEASE STAND BY."
And just like that, everyone unfroze. Continued moving like nothing had happened.
"I vote we don't stick around for the next glitch," Igor said. "Where's the control room? Or a clue? Or a bathroom with a talking mirror?"
Thea scanned the buildings. Her eyes stopped on a faded door wedged between two cafés — both selling "Optimism Lattes."
The door had no handle. But above it was a sign:
"AUTHORIZED TESTERS ONLY."
She stepped up. "Let's find out if we're 'authorized.'"
She knocked once.
Nothing.
Twice.
Still nothing.
Then, a tiny slot opened in the door.
A voice whispered:
"Name the color of yesterday's memory."
Thea blinked. "What?"
Igor leaned in. "Chartreuse. It's always chartreuse."
The slot snapped shut.
Then… the door opened.
"Are you kidding me?" Thea hissed.
Igor shrugged. "Never underestimate the power of obscure color palettes."
They stepped inside.
The room beyond was dark. No light switches. Just a spiral staircase leading downward.
"I know this looks shady," Igor whispered. "But it also might have answers. Or snacks. Honestly, I'd take either."
Thea smirked despite herself. "Let's go. Quietly."
As they descended, the hum of static grew louder. But so did something else:
…laughter.
Not maniacal. Not creepy.
Just… off.
Like someone laughing at a joke you hadn't heard yet.
The staircase opened into a circular chamber lit only by old TVs stacked on top of each other. Each screen played them — old memories.
Thea riding her bike.
Igor getting punched by a goose.
Them at the festival.
But they were… watched footage. From angles they couldn't have seen themselves.
Then — a voice echoed from the shadows.
"You made it to Level Seven."
Thea stepped forward. "Who are you?"
The TVs buzzed, then showed an image of someone in a chair, face pixelated.
"You'll call me Echo."
"Why?" Igor asked.
"Because I'm the one who repeats what others ignore."
A beat.
"You've reached the Deep Layer," Echo continued. "Where memory, identity, and reality begin to break apart. Most don't survive this far. But you? You might."
Thea narrowed her eyes. "Why us?"
"Because someone chose you," Echo said. "And because soon… you'll have to choose each other."
The TVs flickered violently.
And then shut off.
Leaving them in pitch black.
Igor sighed.
"You know," he muttered, "I miss the haunted IKEA."