Clyde gasped, lungs burning as he struggled to catch his breath. The suffocating darkness that had devoured him moments ago—it was gone, shattered like a mirror smashed by something unseen. But this wasn't home. It wasn't anywhere he recognized.
The air was heavy, like it was pressing down on him, bending the world around him in unnatural ways. Concrete walls surrounded him, old and cracked, stained by time. Overhead lights flickered erratically, painting everything in flashes of light and shadow. Somewhere in the distance, a low hum pulsed steadily, vibrating beneath his feet like the place itself was alive.
He shook his head, trying to shake off the haze in his brain.
"What… Where am I?"
His voice echoed into the emptiness, unanswered, swallowed by the cavernous silence of the hallway. Only that faint mechanical hum replied.
Then the memories crept back in—broken pieces, like shattered glass lodged in his mind. The Legacy Rewrite Project. That name. Flashes of a sterile lab, men in white coats, and a phrase that made his blood run cold:
"You are a remnant of a failed rewrite."
Clyde clutched his head, pain blooming behind his eyes. Images swarmed him—himself, or maybe someone else—fingers flying across a keyboard, lines of code warping and shifting into nonsense. And then the voice, cold and inhuman:
"Memory access denied."
His knees buckled, forcing him to lean against the wall for support. He had no idea what was real anymore. But he had to find out. He couldn't stay in the dark forever.
A sound snapped him back—footsteps. Faint but approaching.
Instinct took over. He ducked behind a rusted metal pillar, every breath shallow, heart thudding like a drum in his ears.
The steps grew louder. Then, figures emerged from the corridor—people in lab coats, moving in eerie synchronization. Clyde's eyes widened. He recognized them—not their faces, but something in their presence. They were from the memories. The lab.
One of them turned slightly, and the flickering light hit his face.
Clyde froze.
It was him—the man from the fragmented vision. The voice. But now he was real. No glitches. No distortion. Just cold, calculating eyes.
"You shouldn't be here," the man said, his tone flat and direct.
Clyde's throat tightened. "What is this place?"
A thin, unsettling smile tugged at the man's lips. "This is where it started. Your rewrite. And this is where it ends."
Before Clyde could speak, the man turned away, gesturing to the others. They began walking toward a heavy-looking door at the far end of the hall.
Clyde hesitated. Then followed.
But just as he moved, the ground quaked beneath him. The whole facility groaned like it was tearing apart from the inside. Walls cracked open. Lights burst overhead, plunging everything into darkness.
Then, the voice returned—low, almost a growl:
"You can't escape."
Clyde's blood ran cold. The floor split under him, revealing a pit that didn't look real—shifting, jagged fragments of something digital, something broken. Like he was standing above a dying system.
And the ground kept falling away.