The silence that followed the storm was deafening.
Rei sat with his back pressed against the cracked wall of the fractured city, his knees drawn up, hands trembling against them. The sky, still fractured by that massive static tear, occasionally flickered with glitch-like pulses. Time hadn't returned to normal—if anything, it was even more distorted now. A bus hovered mid-air three blocks away, frozen in the act of tumbling off a bridge. Sparks from neon signs hung in mid-fall, refusing to hit the ground. Everything was off.
And he was still breathing.
He exhaled slowly, trying to stabilize the pounding in his chest. The encounter at the train station… Nao… her cryptic words were still echoing in his head. "They can't hear us here. But they're starting to notice you."
Her warning felt more real now than ever.
He glanced around. There were no birds. No wind. The world was running—but something behind the screen was broken.
And then came the voice again.
"Runner 017. Do you require synchronization?"
Rei flinched.
He looked up to see the static void hovering in the sky like a wound in the world. The voice came from it. Hollow. Digital. Clinical.
"Why do you keep calling me that?" Rei shouted into the sky. "Who are you? What the hell is happening!?"
There was a pause.
"Identity integrity: unstable. Visual parameters: crumbling. This fragment of reality is nearing shutdown. Please return to a safer construct."
"I don't know what that means!" Rei shouted again. "What 'construct'?! Why can't anyone explain anything in plain English!?"
A low hum answered him. The static void pulsed once—then shrank slightly, like a wounded eye blinking closed.
And then everything was moving again. The bus crashed to the pavement with a distant boom. The sparks fell. A dog barked. Time resumed.
Rei blinked. He was still here.
But something had changed.
He stood, dusting himself off, eyes scanning the street for movement. He didn't know what he was hoping to find—an explanation? A way out? Nao?
Instead, he found a shadow.
A figure. Standing at the far end of the block.
Hood up, shoes worn down, backpack slung loosely over one shoulder. Not just any Runner—he could tell by the energy around them. The confident stance. The ripple in the air that followed their steps.
Rei's pulse jumped.
He approached slowly, heart pounding in his throat. The other figure didn't move—just waited, arms crossed, as if expecting him.
As Rei got closer, he saw the faint glow of a symbol pulsing on the Runner's left glove—a flickering triangle made of fractal lines, glowing faint white.
"…You're like me," Rei breathed.
The Runner tilted their head. "Sort of."
That voice—it was calm. Older. Male. Sharp but not unkind. He pulled his hood back, revealing a face maybe in his early 20s, dark hair buzzed short, a thin scar running down his jawline.
"You're newer than I expected," the man said. "Still glitching."
"You saw that?" Rei asked. "The sky? The void? The—whatever the hell just happened?"
"Yeah. That was a reset. The simulation tried to self-correct after your sync rate spiked too fast. You cracked a layer early."
Rei blinked. "…What are you even saying?"
The man sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Name's Zeke. Been Running longer than you. Thought you might've figured out more by now."
"Zeke," Rei repeated. "Okay, Zeke, maybe you can tell me what the hell's happening to me. Why I can't remember anything before the bridge. Why time is broken. Why people talk like they're stuck in a script."
Zeke gave him a long look.
Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a battered handheld device—something between a radio and a retro gaming console—and held it up.
On the screen was Rei's face.
Runner 017. Status: Active. Sync Level: 56%. Memory Blocks: Fragmented.
"This is you," Zeke said. "You've been dropped into a sandbox. A liminal edge space between simulations. They're watching you. Monitoring how fast you adapt."
"Who's 'they'?" Rei asked.
Zeke hesitated. "We call them the Architects. Some call them Watchers. Some think they're AI. Others think they're gods."
"And which do you believe?" Rei asked.
Zeke's eyes darkened. "I believe they don't care about us. I believe we're pieces in a game we never signed up for."
Rei stepped back slightly. "So… what am I supposed to do? Just keep running?"
"No," Zeke said. "Not unless you want to burn out. They want you to run until you break. Until your code degrades. But there's another way."
He looked around cautiously, then leaned in.
"There's a fragment coming up. A broken node—beneath the city. An old server they abandoned. If you're going to find answers, real ones, they'll be buried in there."
Rei felt the weight in his stomach twist. "That sounds like a trap."
"It is a trap," Zeke said. "But it's the only way to wake up."
Suddenly, Rei heard the faint sound of ticking.
He looked around. Streetlights began to flicker. The sidewalk under his feet shimmered like water.
Another reset was coming.
Zeke took a step back. "I'll try to meet you at the entrance. Two nights from now. Under the Clocktower. Don't be late."
"Wait—how will I know—"
But Zeke was already fading.
Rei reached out, but the world bent like static and swallowed him whole.