The creature's claws sliced toward Noah with a screech that tore through the room like broken metal.
There was no time to think, no time to run, no time to decide anything.
And that was when it happened.
The world snapped.
A sharp, metallic chime sliced through his hearing, not from the room, not from the creature—but from inside his skull.
[SYSTEM OVERRIDE ENGAGED.]
[USER DECISION CAPABILITY: TEMPORARILY REMOVED.]
"What—no—!" Noah gasped as control drained from his limbs.
He didn't move himself.
His body moved for him.
A violent jerk twisted him sideways, narrowly dodging the monster's claws by an inch that would've shredded his stomach open. His feet slid across the floor, not by choice but like invisible strings yanked them.
The entity beside him—Version 1—didn't react with surprise.
It only watched Noah, eyes heavy with the same resigned certainty as someone who had already seen this play out many times.
"This is what it does," Version 1 murmured. "When you hesitate."
Noah wanted to scream back, I didn't hesitate, but he couldn't form words. His jaw was locked in place. His breath came sharp through his nose, shallow, panicked.
The system dragged his body several steps backward.
Version 3-B roared, its many limbs collapsing and reforming like a broken marionette struggling to balance. It crashed into a wall, splintering wooden beams, but immediately reoriented its twisted limbs toward Noah.
The system's voice deepened, distorted with strain:
[STABILITY THRESHOLD AT RISK.]
[EXTRACTING USER FROM UNSAFE BRANCH.]
Unsafe branch.
Not "danger."
Not "threat."
Branch.
The cold understanding crept into Noah's bones:
He wasn't escaping danger.
He was being removed from a timeline the system didn't want him in.
Version 1 watched him with something like pity.
"Looks like your story wasn't meant to end here," it said softly.
The creature lunged again, limbs snapping like sickles.
The system jerked Noah backward—and the world fractured.
Reality cracked down the center like glass under pressure.
For a heartbeat, Noah saw two worlds overlapping:
One where Version 3-B's claws pierced his chest—
and one where he was standing several steps away, untouched.
Both versions flickered, glitching violently, until one dissolved into static.
The surviving version—the safer one—solidified around him.
[PATH CORRECTION APPLIED.]
The room stabilized.
Noah collapsed to the floor, gasping, as his limbs finally returned to him. He clutched the ground, shaking, the feeling of the system puppeteering him still lingering in his muscles.
"What… what the hell was that…" he rasped.
The system responded without hesitation:
[A NECESSARY INTERVENTION.]
[THE ENTITY WAS DESIGNED TO ELIMINATE UNSTABLE ITERATIONS.]
Version 3-B snarled from across the room, recovering from the forced timeline shift.
Its body trembled—glitches crawling across its limbs like black veins.
It didn't like what the system had done.
It didn't like being overwritten.
Noah scrambled backward.
The creature started forward, but this time, it didn't attack him immediately.
It lowered its body, studying him with a horrifying intelligence.
"You cheated," it whispered.
Noah froze.
Its voice wasn't the scraping metal from before.
It was clearer now. More focused.
More… aware.
"You were supposed to die," the creature continued.
"You always die here."
Noah's skin prickled.
"Always?" he echoed quietly.
The creature's head tilted, grotesque and too fast.
"We've watched it," it rasped. "Over and over. Every version of you dies at this point. All of us did."
Version 1 stiffened at the words but didn't deny them.
Noah's stomach turned.
The creature went on:
"But this time… something changed."
It pointed a claw toward him.
"You weren't supposed to have that."
"That?" Noah whispered.
Version 1 answered instead:
"The system's override."
Noah's breath stalled.
Version 1 stepped closer, voice low.
"The system doesn't interfere like that for us. Only you. Only the 'stable' version."
The creature trembled violently, limbs glitching as though fighting against fate itself.
"You don't get to escape," it screeched.
"You don't get to live when we didn't."
Then it charged.
The system surged again:
[INITIATING EMERGENCY ROUTE.]
[DO NOT RESIST.]
Noah barely managed to shout, "Don't—!"
But resistance didn't matter.
The world shattered around him.
He landed hard on cold stone.
Pain shot through his knees and palms as he pushed himself upright, wincing. The air here was colder, heavier, filled with an echoing hum beneath the silence.
He was no longer in the photograph room.
No windows.
No doors.
Just endless stone stretching in all directions, marked with faint symbols carved into the floor.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
Noah tensed—until he recognized the voice.
"You shouldn't be here yet."
He spun.
Version 1 stood several feet behind him, emerging from the air like a memory returning.
This time it looked… worse.
Color drained from its skin.
Eyes dimmer.
Edges slightly transparent.
Like it had been damaged during the override.
"What is this place?" Noah asked, breath still uneven.
Version 1 studied the carvings.
"The Corridor of Echoes," it murmured. "A place the system uses when a timeline collapses."
Noah froze.
"Collapsed?"
The entity nodded slowly.
"You weren't supposed to survive the encounter with 3-B. The moment you did… your branch broke."
"So the system brought me here?"
"No," Version 1 corrected quietly. "The system forced you here."
Noah swallowed hard.
"Why?"
"To keep you intact."
The words hit him harder than any monster's claws.
"And the others?" Noah asked. "The versions like you? Like 3-B?"
Version 1 looked away.
"We were… discarded."
Noah felt something twist painfully inside his chest.
"Why me?" he asked quietly.
"What makes me different?"
Version 1 finally met his gaze.
"You weren't meant to be the hero of this story."
It stepped closer.
"You were meant to finish it."
Before Noah could respond, the ground beneath them pulsed.
Symbols lit up one by one, circling Noah's feet.
The system's voice echoed like it came from the stone itself:
[USER LOCATION SECURED.]
[BEGINNING RECONSTRUCTION PHASE.]
Version 1's eyes widened.
"Noah—Step out of the circle!"
Noah tried—but his legs wouldn't move.
He grabbed at his knees, trying to force them, but they felt anchored to the floor.
"System!" he shouted. "Cancel whatever this is!"
[PROCESS CANNOT BE TERMINATED.]
[THE USER MUST BE MADE WHOLE.]
A cold wave rolled up Noah's spine.
"Made whole…?" he whispered.
"What does that mean?"
Version 1's voice trembled.
"It means the system is trying to put you back together."
"That doesn't sound bad—"
Version 1 cut him off, voice sharp.
"Noah. It's not putting you back together from injury."
Its gaze darkened with fear.
"It's putting you back together from us."
Noah's heart seized.
Then the stone circle erupted with light, swallowing him whole.