Noah woke up before dawn, his breath forming a thin mist in the cold air of the abandoned dormitory. The building creaked softly around him, as if exhaling the last remains of warmth it once held when students used to sleep here. Now, everything smelled like dust, wet wood, and fear.
The countdown hovered beside his vision like a tattoo burned into his skull:
[23:07:14]
Barely a day had passed since the system took root in his body—burrowing deeper, whispering into the seams of his memories like it owned them. And maybe it did. Every time the timer blinked, something inside him tightened, like a rope pulling him closer to the unseen edge.
Liora was sitting near the window, her knees drawn to her chest, staring out across the deserted courtyard. Dawn's first light hit her hair, turning it into a faded halo—an ironic contrast to the way Noah now saw her:
A cracked angel.
A girl with something dark lodged inside her smile.
He approached her carefully.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked.
She shook her head. "The whispers got loud again."
She didn't bother to explain what whispers—Noah already knew. The system wasn't only burrowing into him. Somehow it was touching her too, as if the curse he carried had its own way of spreading.
Noah sat beside her. The silence between them was not awkward. It was heavy. Like both of them were leaning against the same invisible wall.
After a moment, she spoke again.
"Noah… when your memories fade, do you feel it?"
He swallowed hard. A flash of panic shot through him because he had been feeling it—tiny pieces slipping loose.
Not whole memories, not yet. More like… the warmth inside them.
He remembered the face of his mother, but not the sound of her laugh.
He remembered being six, but not the color of the birthday cake in front of him.
He remembered crying once, but not why.
"It's like something is erasing the emotions first," Noah whispered.
"Like taking the heartbeat out of a memory but leaving the shell."
Liora hugged her knees tighter.
"Noah, that's how it started with them too."
He looked at her sharply.
"With who?"
She hesitated.
"The people who disappeared before we arrived here."
The room went cold.
Noah's breathing slowed. "You said no one else survived."
"Not survived," she corrected softly. "But they were here. And the system ate them piece by piece. First emotions. Then memories. Then… their reflections stopped matching them."
A chill crawled up Noah's spine.
"What do you mean 'reflections'?"
Liora turned her face toward him, her eyes trembling.
"It means one day you look in the mirror… and the person staring back isn't you anymore."
The System Speaks
A soft chime echoed inside Noah's mind.
[System Notice: User psyche strain detected.]
[Adaptation Protocol Initiated.]
[Memory Stabilization: -0.7% Integrity Reduction Adjusted.]
The drop was small, but the meaning was not.
Noah clenched his jaw.
"Every hour it's accelerating," he muttered.
Liora shot up, her voice trembling.
"Noah, listen to me. That's why we need to move faster. The longer you stay tied to this place, the faster the system will eat you."
He didn't answer. He already knew.
The countdown wasn't just about life.
It was about identity.
Who he would be when the timer hit zero—or if he would be anyone at all.
A New Clue Appears
Noah and Liora searched through the abandoned floor. Dust coated everything, but the air felt wrong—like someone had been here recently.
Near one of the old lockers, Noah found something scratched into the metal:
DON'T LISTEN TO THE TIMER
LISTEN TO THE GAPS
He ran his fingers across the words.
"What does that mean?" Liora asked.
"The system counts down," Noah murmured, "but maybe the danger isn't in the numbers ticking down. Maybe it's in the moments when it… pauses."
"Pauses?" she repeated.
"Yeah. Remember yesterday? When I fainted? The timer froze. For almost ten seconds."
Liora's breath hitched.
"Noah… that wasn't the system pausing."
He turned to her slowly.
"What was it then?"
She whispered:
"It was you."
A heavy silence filled the hall.
"You're saying—"
"Yes. You stopped. Your heartbeat. Your temperature. Your… everything. You didn't breathe for ten seconds."
"But the system kept me alive," Noah realized.
"No," she whispered. "It restarted you."
Noah's stomach twisted.
Restarted.
Like a machine.
Like something rewinding a tape.
What It Means
Liora grabbed his hand.
"Noah… you're not dying when the timer hits zero."
He looked up, confused and hollow.
"You're being rewritten."
The words sank into him like a blade sliding between ribs.
"What happens when it finishes rewriting?" Noah asked.
She stared at him, her eyes wide and wet.
"I think you stop being Noah."