The dinner rush at Mill Street Diner wasn't much of a rush. It crept in slow and steady, the way it always did, filling the booths a few at a time.
The regulars came first, sliding into their usual spots without menus. Families followed, then the after-work crowd. Later came the high school kids with nowhere else to go, and every so often a tourist paused in the doorway, looked around, and decided to stay.
Dylan moved through it with a rhythm he didn't have to think about anymore, weaving between tables and the counter without breaking stride. His apron was stained from a spilled soda and something vaguely orange, and his nametag hung crooked on his chest, the clip bent just enough that it never sat right. His feet ached in a low, steady way as the shift dragged on—not sharp enough to demand attention, just constant. The diner smelled like coffee, fryer oil, and cheap disinfectant, the kind that lingered in his nose and made it itch no matter how long he stayed.
"Excuse me! Hello?" a woman called from a corner booth, snapping her fingers to get his attention.
Dylan didn't look over right away. He finished setting down a plate at the counter before turning, his expression already set.The woman lifted her empty glass and rattled the ice inside. The cubes clinked sharp against the sides.
Dylan turned toward her. "Yes, ma'am?"
"We've been waiting forever."
A quick glance at the glass showed barely melted ice, untouched by the room's heat. Not exactly the sign of a long wait. Pointing that out would only earn him a complaint. It wasn't even his table, but his manager was always hunting for reasons to write him up, and Dylan wasn't about to hand her another one.
"I'll get that refilled," he said, voice neutral.
He pivoted toward the soda machine and nearly collided with Jenna, the new waitress, who came around the corner too fast with a tray wobbling in her hands. He stepped aside at the last second, the edge of the tray brushing his arm as she swore under her breath and steadied it.
"Whoa—sorry!" she squeaked.
Dylan caught himself before he stumbled. "It's fine," he said, the words coming out clipped despite himself. Jenna hurried off between the tables, muttering another apology as she went.
It was nothing—an awkward sidestep in a crowded diner, the kind that happened all the time. Still, the familiar heat of irritation crawled up the back of his neck, tight enough to slow him for half a step before he forced himself to keep moving. His hand clenched around the glass, knuckles whitening, then loosened again as he reached the soda machine and focused on the hiss of carbonation filling it.
He inhaled through his nose, counted to three, and forced his shoulders to unlock. "It's fine," he murmured, more habit than belief.
The cup creaked low and solid, barely flexing under his grip. He eased his fingers, shook out his hand, then turned back to the machine. It sputtered and groaned as it poured, the familiar noise settling him more than the breathing had.
He brought the refill back with a practiced smile and set it down gently before slipping away from the table. Better to move now than let his temper catch on something else. He scooped up a few empty dishes as he passed and headed for the kitchen, looking for a moment out of sight.
The heat of the stove hit him the moment he pushed through the swinging door, thick and immediate. María was yelling at the grill again, which usually meant she was in a decent mood. She didn't look up when a plate slapped down onto the pass window.
"Table twelve ready," María called. "Pick up, Carter."
Dylan sighed under his breath and glanced toward the pass. So much for that moment. He dumped the dirty dishes onto a prep table in the back a little too hard. A fork clattered. One of the plates tipped, then settled.
"You good?" María asked, glancing over. The edge dropped from her voice just enough to make it real.
"I'm fine," Dylan said, grabbing the plate from the pass. "Just happy to be here."
María snorted as she flipped a burger, grease snapping around her knuckles. "Uh-huh. Aren't we all."
Dylan smiled, small and automatic. "Living the dream, María. Truly."
She didn't look at him this time. "You're too smart for this place."
The comment hit the way it always did, a tight pull low in his stomach. He'd gone to school. He'd done what he was supposed to do. Explaining how he'd ended up back here—apron stained, nametag crooked—always fell apart halfway through.
So he nodded and reached for another order slip instead, letting the heat from the plate soak into his palms before stepping back out onto the floor. The diner was louder now, the earlier clatter settled into a steady hum as conversations overlapped and voices rose.
He dropped the plates at a booth and turned just in time to nearly collide with Claire as she bounded up to him.
"Dylan! Guess what?" Claire blurted, practically bouncing as she skidded to a stop in front of him, drawing a few glances from nearby customers.
He braced himself. "What?"
"I got accepted," she said, eyes bright. "Clearwater University. Full scholarship. I'm leaving at the end of summer."
His smile came automatically. "That's awesome. Really."
"I know, right? I can't believe it." She was already backing away, words tumbling as she turned, a startled Jenna squarely in her path before he could add anything else.
The smile stayed on his face a beat too long, then slipped once she was gone. He finished delivering the plates, folded a small tip into his pocket without checking the amount, and paused by the register, waiting for his next task. Another server's jar sat beside it, stuffed with bills—impossible not to notice.
The diner pressed in on him now, voices overlapping, dishes clattering louder than before. His chest tightened, shallow and uncomfortable, until the next lull gave him an excuse to step away. He slipped into the back for his break, fingers already stealing a handful of fries from a plate set aside for bussing. Cold. Greasy. Awful. He ate them anyway.
He pushed out the back door into the alley, letting it swing shut behind him. The autumn air cut sharp against his skin, carrying the distant hum of traffic. The diner's neon sign flickered overhead, washing the pavement in pink and blue.
Dylan leaned against the brick wall and let his shoulders sag. His breath fogged in front of him, fading as quickly as his patience usually did. He rubbed at a knot in his neck and reached into his apron pocket, fingers closing around the bent cigarette he'd been saving for later. He wasn't supposed to smoke on the clock, but the rule had never stopped him before.
He lit the cigarette and took a slow drag. The burn settled in his chest, familiar and grounding in a way the breathing never was. A moment of quiet stretched around him, long enough for the exhaustion to catch up.
He knew something had to change. He just didn't know where to start. The thought sat heavy in his chest.
"One more shift," he whispered, the words low and automatic. "Just get through one more."
He pushed off the wall to head back inside when the lights above him flickered. Not the lazy stutter they always did—this was steady. Measured. He stopped, looking up. His mouth fell open as the cigarette slipped free and dropped from his lips. The lights kept pulsing at the edges of his vision, constant and wrong, but he barely noticed them.
The moon overhead was flickering too.
The alley fell quiet in the same breath, the distant traffic dropping out all at once. The air thinned as the temperature shifted, a subtle swell of heat crawling beneath his skin. A vibration rolled through the pavement under his shoes, then another—each one heavier than the last. He paused with his hand still half-lifted toward the door, trying to decide if he was dreaming, or if something besides nicotine had been in that cigarette.
Before he could settle on either, something overhead warped. It wasn't light or shadow—more like the sky skipped a beat, stuttering in a way that made his eyes ache to follow. Dylan froze, breath catching as the air in front of him shimmered, bending like a reflection on disturbed water. A line of text rippled into view, hanging where nothing should have been.
[SYSTEM INTEGRATION: INITIALIZING]
The letters shimmered, bending at the edges like heat over asphalt. Dylan blinked, expecting the image to break apart or fade into nothingness, but it stayed suspended in front of him. Another line rippled into place beneath it.
[BEGINNING USER SYNC]
He looked over his shoulder, hoping someone else might be seeing whatever this was. The diner was visible through the window, but it wasn't moving. María stood mid-gesture with her spatula frozen above the grill. A waitress carrying a tray was stuck halfway through a step. Even the steam rising from the dishwasher vent had paused.
"What the hell…" he muttered. The words left his mouth, but the air seemed to swallow them.
Another pane of faint light drifted into view.
[COMMENCING SCAN]
[PLEASE REMAIN STILL]
He couldn't have moved even if he wanted to. A prickling sensation slid through his muscles and gathered behind his eyes. It wasn't painful, just intrusive, like someone pressing one finger against his forehead. His breath hitched, then steadied as the pressure ebbed.
[SCAN COMPLETE]
[VITALITY: STABLE]
A tremor moved through the pavement beneath him, then another. The moon above his head flickered again. This time the light didn't return to normal; it guttered like a flame in a strong wind.
A new message replaced the old one.
[ASSIGNING CLASS…]
The words twisted before settling. They formed halfway, then broke apart.
[Class: W—]
[Class: Ri—??]
[Class: Pr—]
[Cl_s: S—???]
None of them lasted long enough to read. They glitched, dissolved, and reformed into nonsense.
[WARNING: SIGNATURE UNSTABLE]
[ATTEMPTING CLASS REALIGNMENT]
More fragments scrolled past, each one glitching harder than the last.
[Class: Sc—]
[Class: Hea—??]
[Class: Sha—]
[Clas…ERR]
All he could do was stare at the screen in front of him as it continued to change. He had no idea what any of this was, or what was going on.
The System stuttered again.
[ATTEMPT #4 FAILED]
[ATTEMPT #5 FAILED]
[ATTEMPT #6 FAILED]
The UI flickered, then steadied long enough for a single line to appear.
[CLASS ASSIGNMENT: UNABLE TO RESOLVE]
His stomach dropped. A second line appeared before he could process the first.
[USER CANNOT BE STABILIZED ON WORLD OF ORIGIN]
He tried to step back. His muscles didn't respond.
"No. Hey—hang on—"
[RELOCATION REQUIRED]
[INITIATING TRANSFER TO STABILIZATION ENVIRONMENT]
[DESTINATION: CARCERIS]
The sky above him split along an invisible seam. Light warped at the edges, bending into impossible angles. The alley stretched and folded over itself, as if the world were being peeled back. A rush of cold air slammed into him, followed by a pressure behind his eyes that blurred his vision.
"Wait—stop—!"
The ground lurched. His knees buckled but didn't find anything. The neon sign smeared into streaks of pink and blue, then tore apart like wet paper. Every sound he'd ever known rushed back into his ears at once—then cut off.
The world collapsed inward.
He was pulled through it, like a thread yanked through fabric.
And then there was nothing but darkness.