The prompt hovered in the air, impossibly sharp against the dim light of Tony's apartment. It wasn't on the phone anymore. It wasn't even in the phone. The glowing words floated in front of him like an augmented reality projection, except no device powered it.
[System Initialization Pending]
Accept synchronization?
Yes / No
His hands shook as he gripped the edge of the table. The countdown still burned on the wall, each second gnawing at his nerves.
"Synchronization?" he muttered, voice low, uncertain.
He reached for the floating words, half expecting his fingers to pass through. But the instant his hand brushed near the glowing "Yes," the interface pulsed, reacting like it could sense him.
Tony yanked his hand back, pulse hammering.
If he said no… what then?
His eyes darted to the wall. [64:55:12]. The numbers continued to drop. Every tick echoed in his chest.
He closed his eyes, whispering to himself. "This isn't real. It's a breakdown. A hallucination. Some… psychotic episode." He pressed his palms hard against his face until stars burst behind his eyelids.
When he lowered his hands, the interface was still there.
The room grew colder.
Tony exhaled slowly, chest tight, and reached again. This time, his fingertip hovered over the glowing word "No." He jabbed at it, desperate to test the boundaries of this madness.
For a fraction of a second, the glow rippled.
Then a shrill tone pierced the air. The countdown blazed red across the wall, numbers accelerating wildly.
[64:55:11 → 64:30:00 → 60:00:00 → 55:00:00…]
Tony staggered back. "Wait! No, stop!"
The system's words shifted violently.
[Warning: Refusal detected.]
Player will be reset.
His breath froze in his lungs.
Reset. That word again. It wasn't a restart. It wasn't harmless. It felt final, like deletion.
"No!" he shouted, voice cracking. "I don't—don't reset me! I don't even know what this is!"
The numbers blurred, spinning like a roulette wheel, faster and faster, until his vision swam with light. His knees buckled, body trembling.
Then, abruptly, the interface steadied.
[Override Initiated.]
Final chance granted.
Accept synchronization? Yes/No
The countdown returned to its steady pulse. [64:54:00]
Tony collapsed into his chair, burying his face in his hands. Sweat slicked his palms. His breath came ragged, uneven.
He didn't understand. He couldn't. But one thing was certain: if he said no again, there wouldn't be a third chance.
Hours blurred.
Tony paced the apartment, glancing at the prompt every few seconds, as though it might vanish. It didn't. It followed him from room to room, hovering always at eye level. When he tried to ignore it, the glow intensified, searing into his vision until he couldn't focus on anything else.
He tried leaving the apartment, desperate for fresh air. The hallway stretched wrong, doors warping as though refusing to let him pass. He returned inside, shaken.
There was no escape.
By midnight, his resolve cracked. He stood again before the prompt, breathing shallow. His hand hovered over "Yes."
"What if this is a trick?" he whispered. "What if this is… signing my soul away?"
His reflection in the darkened window didn't answer. It smiled faintly, a fraction too late, its lips forming the word yes before he did.
Tony's skin crawled.
But the countdown ticked, and he had no more options.
He pressed "Yes."
The interface flared.
[Synchronization accepted.]
Player identified: Tony Donovan.
Designation: Incomplete.
Stability: Low.
Light erupted from the screen, slamming into his chest. Tony gasped, clutching himself as heat spread through his veins, searing, burning, like molten metal pouring into his blood. His vision swam. The apartment dissolved into a storm of fractured code and static.
He collapsed to the floor, writhing as unfamiliar data flooded his mind. Images burst behind his eyes—cities burning, shadows crawling, screams swallowed in darkness. He saw himself fighting, killing, falling. He saw a second version of himself, faceless, standing triumphant where he failed.
A voice filled his head, mechanical yet intimate, resonating inside his bones.
"Welcome, Player. You have seventy-two hours until the first trial."
Tony jerked upright, gasping for breath. The glow had faded from the walls. The countdown was gone.
Instead, faint blue numbers hovered in the corner of his vision, etched into his very sight like a heads-up display.
[71:59:50]
It was inside him now.
He scrambled to his feet, panic thrumming. "No. No, no, no, no. This isn't—"
The voice returned, calm and absolute.
"Observe. Prepare. Choice comes soon."
The same words from the sticky note.
Tony staggered toward the window, clutching the sill, staring out at the city below. People moved in their usual rhythms, cars honking, neon signs flashing. But faint, in the distance, he saw shadows ripple unnaturally across rooftops. Tall, humanoid shapes with eyes glowing faint white. Watching. Waiting.
He blinked, and they were gone.
But the voice whispered again.
"Trial begins at midnight. Survive, or be erased."
Tony's stomach churned. His knees weakened. Midnight was less than three days away.
He wasn't ready. He wasn't anything.
And yet, ready or not, the system had chosen him.