Jake stood frozen, his breath hitching as his eyes locked onto the backpack lying abandoned on the floor. The initials E.A.S. were stitched onto the fabric—three simple letters that hit him like a freight train.
His daughter's initials.
His pulse roared in his ears as he took a slow, measured step forward, his mind racing. It had to be a coincidence. A sick trick. There was no way —
Yet, the moment he reached down and unzipped the bag, his heart clenched painfully. Resting inside, tangled with old supplies and debris, was something far worse than he could have imagined.
A bracelet.
Small, handmade, with brightly colored beads spelling out DAD & LIL STAR in uneven letters. The sight of it sent a sharp stab through his chest. His fingers trembled as he picked it up, the woven threads frayed at the edges. It was unmistakable—the very bracelet he and his daughter had made during their last Daddy-Daughter Day before the world had turned into a nightmare.
Jake sucked in a shaky breath. This isn't real. It can't be. He swallowed hard, trying to fight back his tears.
His mind reeled back to that day—his little girl laughing, her tiny hands carefully threading beads onto the string as she babbled about how she'd never take it off. He had worn his as an anklet ever since. Even now, beneath the grime and blood coating his skin, it was still wrapped around his ankle, the only tangible piece of her he had left.
He turned the bracelet over, inspecting it in disbelief. It looked… aged. Worn down, as if it had been through hell. But there was something off about it. The last time he'd seen it, the final bead had been blue. He remembers because Emma wanted a pink bead, but all they had left was blue, so she had no choice but to use what was available that time. But, now, it was red.
A chill ran down his spine.
He clenched his fists. The system was playing with him. Digging into his memories, using them against him. He should've thrown the bracelet down, walked away, ignored it entirely—but he couldn't. Because a small, desperate part of him whispered: What if?
What if she had been here? What if she was trapped, just like him? 'She's just a little girl, how could she survive a place like this?' Jake thought to himself.
Jake swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. His breathing was ragged, but he forced himself to step back.
'The old Jake would've torn this place apart looking for answers.But I can't afford to be that man anymore. I can't let them control me like this.'
He forced his hands to unclench, took a deep breath, and forced himself to think. The system was testing him, probing for weaknesses. If he fell for its tricks now, he'd be dead before the next trial even started.
A static buzz suddenly filled the air, sharp and grating. The lights overhead flickered violently.
Then, a voice.
Familiar. Distorted.
"Jake… help —"
His blood turned to ice.
It was her voice.
A voice he dreamt of hearing again.
His wife.
Jake's breath came out in short, shallow bursts. His grip tightened around the bracelet as his head snapped up, scanning the dim lit halls beyond the mall's abandoned corridors.
This wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
And yet—
"Jake…" The voice wavered, like it was coming through a broken radio, laced with static and barely holding together. "Where are you? Please… I can't find her."
His muscles tensed. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to run toward the voice, to chase it down, to find the source and demand answers. But… he didn't move.
Because the old Jake would've panicked. The old Jake would've believed it.
He squeezed his eyes shut, steadying his breath. "This is not real…They are just trying to manipulate me…" he said repeatedly to himself.
The system was digging deeper now, pressing into wounds he had tried so hard to seal. It wasn't just testing his fear — it was testing his resolve.
A few weeks ago, he would've chased after that voice without a second thought. He would've fought his way through hell and back, clinging to the hope that his family was out there somewhere, waiting for him.
But he wasn't that man anymore. He knew that whatever the system puts in front of him, may or may not be real. He had to be cautious about everything because his life is at stake. If he doesn't put much thought into his actions, his daughter wouldn't have a father, and his wife wouldn't have a husband to come home to.
His fingers curled around the bracelet. It felt real. Tangible. But so did the illusions the system had already forced them through. He refused to let it control him.
He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to let go of the bag. It slipped from his grasp, landing softly back on the ground. His hands trembled, but he ignored them. He wouldn't fall for this. He couldn't afford to. He threw the backpack to where it was before, but he took the bracelet.
Then, the static crackled again.
"Jake… help me…"
Then, again.
"Jake…Why did you leave us?"
His grip on the bracelet tightened, his pulse hammering against his ribs. 'It's not real. It's not real.' He had to keep repeating it, had to fight against the way his body tensed, against the way his instincts screamed at him to run toward the voice.
He wanted to see them and be with them so bad. The system knew his weakness — his family. But, they didn't think that they are also his source of strength. He tried fighting his tears from falling.
They were testing him. Playing with his feelings, his memories . And yet—
The voice wavered again, barely a whisper now.
"Jake… I'm right behind you."
A cold breath ghosted against the back of his neck, then to his ear.
"Turn around."