Eli had never looked more determined than he did that morning.
Nova noticed it the moment he stepped out of the abandoned underpass where they'd been hiding for two days — the shadows had settled firmly into his jaw, his hair a little messier, his shoulders squared like someone walking into a war he'd already accepted would hurt.
He wasn't running anymore.
He wasn't hiding.
And all she could think was:
*Please don't let this be the day I lose him.*
They walked together toward Rivertown Plaza — the city's busiest square, where screens covered every building like moving skins. Ads blinked, influencers danced, and drones zipped overhead. Everyone here lived online before they lived anywhere else.
Perfect for the proof.
Terrifying for the same reason.
Nova clutched the camcorder — the offline one — inside her jacket.
"Eli… we can still plan this better," she whispered. "Choose a smaller crowd. Or— or do it at night—"
"No," he said gently. "If I'm going to be seen, it has to be where everybody is looking."
"Looking is the problem," she whispered. "Looking gets people erased."
He paused and turned to her, voice softer.
"That's why we stop them."
She didn't know whether to kiss him or drag him back underground.
They entered the plaza.
Immediately, the energy changed. It always did with Eli — Nova had grown used to it. People glanced at him, that strange half-confused, half-curious expression flickering over their faces. Like their minds recognized him but their eyes couldn't quite decide what they were seeing.
A group of teenagers nudged each other.
"Hey — isn't that… wait… who is that?"
A woman slowed her steps, frowned, shook her head, then kept walking.
A street performer paused mid-song, stared, then lost his lyrics completely.
Eli's presence did that. He didn't even notice.
Nova swallowed the rising panic and grabbed his wrist.
"Remember, once you start talking, they'll try to record you."
"I know."
"You'll glitch every device in the plaza."
"I know."
"And when that happens, they'll freak out. They'll report you. The system will—"
He squeezed her hand.
"Nova. I'm not proving myself to the system. I'm proving myself to people."
She stared at him — this boy who had lived his whole life unseen, unwanted by the algorithms everyone else worshipped. A boy who refused to disappear quietly.
Then she nodded. Because she couldn't stop him — she could only stand with him.
They reached the center of the plaza.
A wide fountain gurgled behind them, children splashing at its edge. Restaurants flanked the square, their holo-menus shimmering like liquid light. Above, the giant central screen played the day's trending reels.
Eli stepped onto the fountain ledge, lifted his chin, and projected his voice:
"Can everyone hear me?"
A few people turned.
A few more drifted closer.
Then more — curious, confused, sensing something unusual but not yet sure what.
"I need to tell you something important," Eli continued. "Something the algorithm won't show you. Something the system has tried to erase."
Phones began to rise.
Nova's chest tightened.
The first camera pointed at him flickered.
The next sputtered.
A drone paused mid-air, lights dimming as if someone had drained its battery.
And then it started — that glitching hum, like electronics choking on his existence.
Devices froze.
Screens distorted.
Livestreams crashed.
A wave of gasps rippled across the square.
Someone shouted, "Hey! My camera's broken!"
Another, "What's happening?!"
A girl tried to record him again. Her phone blacked out completely.
"It's him," she whispered, terrified. "He's doing it."
Nova stepped forward nervously, ready to pull Eli away.
But Eli didn't flinch.
"This isn't a hack," he said loudly. "This isn't a malfunction. I've lived seventeen years unseen by anything digital. Cameras can't keep me, recordings can't find me, the algorithm deletes me like I'm a bug in the code — but I'm right here."
People stared at him with widening eyes.
Not confused now.
Awake.
A man asked shakily, "Who… who are you?"
"My name is Eli," he answered. "And the system says I'm not supposed to exist."
The plaza stilled — as if those words knocked the breath out of the air itself.
Nova felt something prick behind her eyes.
Because this was it.
This was the truth spoken out loud — with witnesses, in daylight, in a place where the system couldn't pretend he wasn't real.
Eli took a deep breath and pressed on.
"There's a facility under the Old City," he said. "A forgotten data center. It holds the faces of hundreds — maybe thousands — of people who were erased. People you've all known but can't remember because your devices deleted them."
The crowd murmured, some in disbelief, others in dawning horror.
"My guidance counselor was one of them," he said. "He tried to warn me before he disappeared. Maybe you've lost someone too — and you didn't even notice. Because the system made you forget."
A woman near the front covered her mouth.
"My sister… my sister vanished last year. We never found her. The police said there was 'no digital trace.'"
Eli nodded softly.
"That's how it starts."
Phones around the plaza pinged error messages as if reacting to his words.
Nova glanced up — and froze.
The central billboard screen had stopped playing ads.
It was recording the plaza.
Showing everything.
Except Eli.
The whole screen looked normal — except for a blank space where he stood, a human-shaped absence glitching in and out like a tear in reality.
People gasped.
They weren't seeing his disappearance in a tiny phone screen.
They were seeing it on a fifty-foot display.
A boy pointed up, trembling.
"He's… he's invisible to the system. But I see him. We all see him."
Eli raised his voice.
"That's the proof. Not the glitches. Not the broken cameras. *You*. You seeing me. Remembering me. Spreading what you saw today — not online, but with your own words."
A tall man shouted, "But why would they erase people?"
Eli looked around slowly, making eye contact with as many as he could.
"Because the system only keeps what it can predict. What it can control. If you act too human — too unpredictable — it flags you as unstable. And instability is… deleted."
A heavy silence fell.
For once, the plaza — the noisiest place in Rivertown — felt like a held breath.
But then someone whispered, "He's right."
And another, "I feel like… like I've forgotten things."
And another:
"My camera still won't turn on…"
And then — a voice Nova didn't expect:
"I've seen him before."
Everyone turned.
A middle-aged man, food delivery jacket half-zipped, stepped forward, brow furrowed.
"I saw you once outside the stadium. I tried to record something — and my phone died. I thought it was a glitch but… but now I remember your face."
Eli blinked hard — overwhelmed.
Others stepped forward.
"I've seen him too."
"Me as well — I thought I imagined it."
"I remember him… kind of. Like a dream."
Dozens of people now.
And the moment struck Nova with full force — this was the first time in Eli's entire life that strangers remembered him intentionally instead of accidentally.
He wasn't a ghost.
He wasn't a glitch.
He wasn't forgotten.
He was *real* — in the only way that mattered:
because people said so with their own memories, not screens.
But then—
a shrill alarm cut through the plaza like a knife.
Nova's blood went cold.
On the far side of the square, three enforcement drones descended, red lights flashing. People backed away in panic.
A security broadcast boomed:
**"UNAUTHORIZED DISRUPTION DETECTED. PLEASE REMAIN CALM."**
Eli stiffened.
Nova grabbed his hand.
"We need to leave. Now."
But Eli didn't move.
He looked at her — eyes fierce, alive, unafraid — and whispered,
"No. If I run now, they'll say I'm dangerous. If I stay… they'll know I'm human."
"Eli—"
Her voice broke.
The drones hovered closer, scanning the area. But every time their lenses turned toward him, their lights flickered violently.
One of them shut down mid-air and crashed into a food cart.
People screamed.
The enforcement system hesitated, confused — unable to process him, unable to classify him.
And in that hesitation, something unbelievable happened.
People stepped in front of him.
A woman with a stroller.
A teenage boy with a skateboard.
The street performer who had lost his lyrics.
The delivery man who remembered him.
One by one, the crowd formed a semi-circle — a human shield — blocking the drones' view.
"He's with us," someone shouted.
"Leave him alone," another yelled.
"He didn't do anything wrong!"
"He's real!"
Nova's heart swelled with something fierce and bright.
Eli stared at the crowd — at the living proof that he wasn't alone — with tears forming in his eyes.
This was his first time going viral.
And it had nothing to do with the internet.
It was real human memory. Real human connection. Real human courage.
Something the system couldn't control.
Something it feared.
The drones hovered uncertainly — then retreated upward, confused, unable to complete the scan.
The alarm cut out.
The plaza fell silent again.
Nova exhaled shakily.
Eli stepped down from the fountain, legs trembling, face stunned.
He turned to her.
"Nova…" he whispered. "They saw me."
She threw her arms around him, holding him tightly.
"Yeah," she said softly. "They did."
All around them, the plaza buzzed with whispered conversations, shaken voices, confused but determined faces.
People had witnessed something impossible.
People had remembered it.
The system couldn't erase what dozens of humans now knew.
Today was the first proof.
But Nova felt it deep in her bones—
It was only the beginning.
---