It was supposed to be sealed.
When Eli and Nova returned to the underground data center two days later, the entrance gate that had once been locked shut now stood slightly open — as if someone had gone in after them.
"Okay," Nova said, gripping her camcorder tighter. "This is how horror movies start."
Eli gave her a small look. "You're the one who said we needed answers."
"I didn't mean *tonight*," she muttered.
The moonlight bled through cracks in the concrete ceiling, striping the hallways like old scars. Every sound — the crunch of their sneakers on gravel, the low hum of hidden generators — felt too loud, too alive.
When they reached the main chamber, the old terminal that had once spoken to them was dark again. But this time, a faint glow pulsed deeper inside the facility — rhythmic, steady, like a heartbeat.
"Someone turned something on," Eli said quietly.
They followed the light. It led them through a narrow corridor lined with disconnected cables until they stepped into a circular room neither of them had noticed before.
Rows upon rows of servers stretched up into the shadows — tall, blinking towers humming with power. Each monitor displayed the same looping pattern: grids of faces. Thousands of them. Some were children. Some were old. Some smiling, some crying. None familiar.
Nova approached the nearest screen. "Who are they?"
Eli leaned closer. Every few seconds, a face would flicker — and disappear, replaced by a new one. It was like the servers were *cycling through people who no longer existed.*
"They're the deleted," he murmured. "The ones the system erased."
Nova turned on her camcorder, aiming it toward the screens. "So this is where they went. The algorithm didn't kill them — it archived them."
"Or stored them," Eli said, voice low. "Like files waiting to be reinstalled."
As if responding, the servers' hum deepened. The screens began flashing faster, the faces melting into a chaotic blur. Then, without warning, the nearest monitor froze — displaying one single face.
A teenage boy.
Brown eyes. Crooked smile. Familiar jawline.
Eli's breath caught.
It was *him.*
Nova whispered, "Oh my God…"
The screen flickered again, and new text appeared underneath the image:
> **SUBJECT 0001: ELI NWOKO**
> **STATUS: ORIGINAL ERROR**
> **REASON FOR REMOVAL: NON-REPLICABLE PATTERN DETECTED**
Eli stepped back. "Original error? What does that mean?"
Nova shook her head. "Maybe it means you can't be copied — can't be cloned digitally."
The word *unreplicable* echoed in his mind. In a world where everyone's identity existed in the cloud, he was a blank. A hole in the system.
"Why would they erase people like that?" Nova asked softly.
Eli didn't answer. He was staring at the hundreds of other faces flickering on the screens — people like him. Forgotten.
Then one of the servers emitted a sharp buzz. A compartment slid open, revealing a stack of thin glass drives glowing faint blue. Eli picked one up carefully. Inside it, data shimmered like trapped light.
Nova read the label etched on the edge:
> **"Archive Batch 23 — MEMORY RESTORE (Pending Approval)."**
"Restore?" she said. "Like bringing them back online?"
The lights around them flickered again. One by one, screens turned off — except the one with Eli's face.
From somewhere in the dark, a voice crackled through the old intercom system. Not robotic this time — human, hoarse, and deliberate.
> "Who's there?"
Nova jumped. "That didn't come from the terminal…"
Eli stared at the nearest speaker. "We're— we're students. We found this place."
A pause. Then:
> "You shouldn't have come."
The voice sounded tired, almost regretful.
Nova stepped forward. "Who are you?"
> "Caretaker. Assigned to monitor the residual data nodes. This place isn't supposed to exist anymore."
"Then why is it still running?" she asked.
> "Because they never finished deleting us."
The line went dead.
Eli turned to Nova. "Deleting *us?*"
Before she could reply, every server whirred back to life, lights flashing violently. Images of the same faces began appearing on every screen — repeating, overlapping, like a glitching slideshow.
Nova covered her ears as the hum turned into a piercing whine. "It's overloading!"
Eli dropped the glass drive, and it shattered like ice. The room's lights flickered — and suddenly, all the faces froze again, staring outward.
A synchronized whisper filled the air, impossible yet real.
> "Find the Root."
Then silence.
Nova's camera light blinked weakly before shutting off.
The only illumination left came from the screen still showing Eli's face — now overlaid with a new line of text:
> **ROOT LOCATION: RESTRICTED. ACCESS REQUIRES ORIGINAL SIGNAL.**
Eli stared at it. "The Root… maybe that's the source of the whole system."
Nova swallowed hard. "Or the thing that decides who gets to exist."
The server lights dimmed again, leaving them in partial darkness. The hum softened into something almost peaceful — like breathing.
Eli brushed his fingers against the glass of the monitor. His reflection flickered, then vanished entirely. For a second, his face merged with the one on-screen.
Nova stepped closer, voice barely a whisper. "You think these people — the ones in here — they can come back?"
He didn't answer right away. The air around him felt heavier now, charged with static. "Maybe. But if they can… that means someone has to pay for keeping them buried."
Nova turned off her camcorder. "Then we find the Root."
The moment she said it, one of the servers pinged — a single soft tone, like an acknowledgment. The coordinates flashed briefly on-screen before vanishing: a mountain range outside the city, long since marked "off-limits" on every map.
They exchanged a look. Fear. Curiosity. Resolve.
Whatever the Root was, it was waiting.
–––
As they left the data center, the doors slid closed behind them automatically.
Deep inside, within the quiet hum of machinery, the face of Eli Nwoko lingered on a single monitor. Slowly, pixel by pixel, a second image faded in beside his.
Nova Reyes.
> **SUBJECT 0002: NOVA REYES.**
> **STATUS: ACTIVE. OBSERVATION PRIORITY.**
The server lights dimmed to red, and the screen went dark.