By third period, Halcyon had decided the dead account story was a joke.
That was how the school survived anything—by turning terror into content. In the hallway, students reenacted the black screen story with their phones held up like candles, whispering last seen online… and giggling when someone flinched. A meme page posted a photo of the cafeteria monitors with the caption HALCYON'S GHOST IS BACK 🔥 and the comments were full of laughing emojis and bro it's just marketing.
Mara didn't laugh.
She had stopped speaking entirely unless she had no choice. Even then, she measured every syllable like it cost money. Because it did.
Her phone timer sat in her pocket like a second heart.
70:12:08.70:12:07.70:12:06.
Nina walked beside her, rigid, eyes forward, the kind of posture you adopted when you were trying to hold yourself together by force.
Theo trailed behind, lips pressed tight, typing furiously into Notes to communicate like a hostage.
Jace kept glancing around like he was waiting for something fun to happen.
Which, Mara realized, was its own kind of horror.
They reached calculus. The classroom smelled like whiteboard markers and panic. Mrs. Dalloway stood at the front with her arms crossed, as if she could physically intimidate integrals into behaving.
"Pop quiz," she announced, and the room groaned on instinct.
Mara felt her pulse jump.
Her phone vibrated once.
Not a message. Not a warning.
A soft, pleased buzz.
She didn't pull it out. She didn't want to give it the satisfaction.
Papers hit desks. Pencils scratched. The usual ritual of academic suffering began.
Except Nina—
Nina didn't suffer.
She stared at the quiz for half a second, then started writing like she'd already solved it in her sleep. Her pencil moved with unnatural confidence. Not fast—efficient. Like a printer.
Mara watched her out of the corner of her eye, stomach tightening.
Two rows ahead, a boy named Kellan whispered to his neighbor, "This is impossible."
Nina didn't even blink.
When Mrs. Dalloway collected papers ten minutes later, Nina was already done. She sat perfectly still, hands folded, face calm in a way that made Mara's skin crawl.
Mrs. Dalloway paused when she reached Nina's desk. "Finished?" she asked, suspicious.
Nina smiled. "Yes."
Mrs. Dalloway's eyes narrowed. "Show your work."
Nina turned the paper slightly. Every line was perfect. Every step clean. No hesitations. No mistakes. The kind of work that didn't just look correct—it looked designed to be accepted.
Mrs. Dalloway stared at it too long.
Then her expression softened, almost against her will. "Excellent," she murmured, and moved on.
Nina's smile didn't reach her eyes.
Mara's phone vibrated again—still soft, still pleased—like it was applauding.
When the bell rang, the room burst into motion. Nina packed up slowly, as if she was afraid of moving too fast and breaking the illusion.
Mara slid her phone out under the desk and tilted it toward herself.
A new notification waited.
STUDENT PERKS: Academic outcomes stabilized.STUDENT PERKS: Thank you for choosing your future.
Below it, smaller:
Payment processed: MINOR ADJUSTMENTS.
Mara's mouth went dry.
Nina's gaze flicked down—she'd seen it too. Her hands tightened around her backpack straps until her knuckles whitened.
Mara didn't speak. She opened Notes and typed:
DID YOU CHOOSE A FIX?
Nina shook her head quickly, then typed back on her own phone and angled it so Mara could read:
NO. IT ASKED WHAT I'D LIKE TO FIX. I DIDN'T TAP. IT HAPPENED ANYWAY.
Mara's stomach sank.
Automatic trades. Triggered by stress. By need. By the kind of invisible "eligibility" Halcyon measured like air.
Theo appeared beside them, holding his phone up like a sign:
IT'S DOING IT WITHOUT PERMISSION. THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT.
Jace leaned in, eyes sharp for once. "You're telling me it just—gave you an A?"
Nina's jaw clenched. She typed:
IT DIDN'T GIVE ME ANYTHING FOR FREE.
As if on cue, Nina blinked—once, hard—then frowned at her own hands like they belonged to someone else.
Mara watched the tiny shift in her expression. The moment someone realized a piece of themselves had moved.
Nina's fingers hovered over her phone. Slowly, she opened her camera roll as if searching for something.
Then she looked up, eyes glossy with confusion.
"Mara," she whispered, and the word itself made Mara's phone twitch—like it had perked up at being addressed out loud.
Nina slapped her own hand over her mouth immediately, eyes wide with fear of what she'd just done.
Mara's timer didn't drop.
But Mara felt the system listening anyway—curious, patient.
Nina lowered her hand and mouthed without sound: I can't—
She opened Notes again with trembling fingers and typed:
I FORGOT SOMETHING.
Mara's throat tightened.
Tiny life fragments disappear first, she thought. Smells. Faces. Jokes.
The first payments were always small enough that you could pretend they didn't matter.
Until you needed them.
At lunch, the cafeteria had a new favorite person.
Her name was Amaya—tall, perfect lashes, the kind of girl who always looked like she was walking out of a well-lit video. Before today, she'd been popular in the standard Halcyon way: admired from a distance, untouchable, curated.
Today, she was magnetic.
Students didn't just look at her; they oriented around her. Like sunflowers turning toward a brighter source.
Mara watched from her corner table as Amaya laughed, and the sound seemed to travel too far—too smoothly—pulling people toward it.
A girl with a messy bun leaned in to speak to Amaya, smiling too wide. "Oh my god, you're like—glowing," she said.
Amaya touched her hair, modest, pleased. "Stop."
"You should run for Student Council," someone else said instantly. "You'd win."
Mara's phone buzzed with a new banner.
STUDENT PERKS: Social alignment trending.STUDENT PERKS: Stabilization in progress.
Across the room, a boy stepped forward like he'd been pushed by a wave.
"Amaya," he said, breathless, "do you remember when we—"
Amaya tilted her head. "Sorry?"
He blinked. "When we were kids. Like… you came to my birthday every year. Your mom and my mom—"
Amaya's smile didn't falter, but something in her eyes went blank for half a second. A tiny pause. Like buffering.
"I don't think so," she said gently. "Maybe you're confusing me with someone else."
The boy laughed awkwardly. "No. No, it's— it's you. You used to call me—"
He stopped, face tightening, as if the nickname had slipped away.
Mara watched his expression collapse in slow motion.
"I—" he tried again, voice cracking. "You used to—"
Amaya leaned closer with an apologetic tilt of her head that made the people around her adore her even more. "I'm sorry," she said, soft as velvet. "I'm really bad with names."
The boy's eyes went wet.
He stumbled back as if the floor had shifted under him.
Mara's skin prickled. She pulled up Student Perks and scrolled—careful not to tap anything.
The Trade Settings page was no longer a question.
Now it was a menu.
TRADE SETTINGS (BETA)Choose a Fix → Choose a Payment
Options glowed like candy behind glass:
ACADEMICS
SOCIAL
HEALTH
FAMILY
Under SOCIAL, a small line of text:
Recommended payment: Memory continuity (minor).
Mara's pulse hammered.
She flicked her gaze back to Amaya, surrounded by worship.
A boy crying quietly into his sleeve.
A system quietly reweighting reality.
Theo slid into the seat across from Mara and held his phone up.
THIS IS THE FIRST TRADE. SOCIAL BOOST = MEMORY CUT.
Jace sat beside Mara like he couldn't help himself. "Okay," he murmured, half awed, half sick. "That's… real."
Nina's hands shook as she typed:
IT'S NOT JUST TAKING. IT'S EDITING.
Mara stared at the words.
Editing.
Like a document.
Like a contract.
Like a person.
A scream burst from near the doors.
Heads turned.
Sera was standing there—pale, eyes wild—arguing with a security guard who looked exhausted.
"I'M A STUDENT HERE," Sera insisted, voice rising. "MY ID— MY NAME—"
The guard shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry," he said, with the dull patience of someone repeating a script. "We don't have you in the system."
Sera's face crumpled. "I'm right here!"
The guard's gaze slid past her shoulder, unfocused, as if he was struggling to keep his attention on her at all. "Please stop causing a disturbance," he said.
Sera turned, scanning faces desperately. "You know me," she pleaded. "You— you sat next to me in—"
She pointed at a group of students.
They stared back politely.
Blankly.
One girl gave a small apologetic shrug like I'm sorry, I don't remember you, and went back to her phone.
Mara felt bile rise in her throat.
Reality wasn't breaking loudly. It was breaking the way a social feed breaks—quietly, invisibly, with people simply scrolling past what the system didn't want them to see.
After lunch, Mara hid in the library.
Not because she loved books. Because books didn't update themselves.
She took a corner desk behind a shelf labeled LEGAL RESEARCH and opened Student Perks with fingers that felt like they weren't hers.
Trade Settings loaded instantly.
A new line appeared under the menu:
AUTO-TRADE ENABLED (DEFAULT)To disable, confirm opt-out.
Mara's stomach dropped.
Disabling required opt-out.
Opt-out triggered risk adjustment.
It was a trap with a polite interface.
She tapped ACADEMICS without meaning to.
A new screen slid up.
ACADEMICS — FIX OPTIONS
Grade acceleration
Test recall enhancement
Focus stabilization
Beneath it, a cheerful prompt:
Choose the outcome you deserve.
Mara's throat tightened.
Deserve.
Halcyon's favorite word.
She hit back too fast.
Then she noticed something else—a tiny icon in the top corner that hadn't been there before.
Three stacked lines. A hidden menu symbol.
Her heart thudded. She tapped it.
A slider screen appeared—simple, brutal:
PAYMENT TYPES (AVAILABLE)MEMORY ▮▮▮▯▯BOND ▮▮▯▯▯TIME ▮▯▯▯▯IDENTITY ▯▯▯▯▯ (locked)
Mara's breath caught.
There it was.
The price list.
The architecture.
She took a screenshot immediately.
No penalty. No vibration. Nothing.
Screenshots were evidence.
Screenshots were safe.
For now.
Her phone buzzed—this time with the sharp, intrusive insistence of a system that had decided she was stalling.
STUDENT PERKS: Elevated distress detected.STUDENT PERKS: Recommended fix: HEALTH → Reduce distress.
Two buttons appeared.
[FEAR REMOVAL][NOT NOW]
Mara's pulse spiked harder.
Her palms went sweaty.
Her vision narrowed.
She tapped NOT NOW.
The button greyed out.
A new message appeared underneath like a smile turning into teeth:
To decline, please authorize stability.
Authorize.
Confirm.
Agree.
Mara's phone vibrated once—pleased again—as if it could taste her panic.
And then, without her touching anything, a small banner slid across the screen:
PAYMENT PROCESSED: MEMORY (minor).
Mara froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
She tried to stand and couldn't, as if the floor had glued itself to her feet.
For one terrifying second, nothing felt different.
Then—
She realized she couldn't remember the smell of her grandmother's kitchen.
Not the name. Not the image. Not the layout.
The smell.
Turmeric and onions and hot oil and something sweet she'd never learned to identify. It had always lived in her like a safe place.
Now it was just… gone.
Mara's eyes stung.
She pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from making a sound.
Because the instinct to say no out loud was so strong it felt like choking.
On her screen, Support popped back into existence without being summoned.
Three dots.
Then:
Support: Thank you for choosing stability.
Mara's hands shook so violently she almost dropped the phone.
She typed, furious and terrified: YOU STOLE THAT.
Three dots.
Support: We adjusted a non-essential anchor to preserve your eligibility.
Non-essential.
Mara's vision blurred.
A new line appeared beneath the timer, so small she almost missed it:
REGRET TOKEN: pending.
She stared.
Future regret.
Redeemable.
Owned.
And now, she finally understood the shape of it:
They weren't just taking from her.
They were building something out of her losses.
A model.
A map.
A way to predict exactly what it would cost to make her comply.
Mara's phone buzzed once more.
A push notification, cheerful as ever:
STUDENT PERKS: New feature unlocked.STUDENT PERKS: GROUP BENEFITS available when shared.
Mara's blood ran cold.
Because she could already imagine the next step.
Not just trading pieces of yourself.
Trading pieces of everyone else.
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.