Juno didn't sleep the next night.
Not because she wasn't tired — she was. Her bones ached with it. Her brain felt like a buffering video, stuck on 3%. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lucas. Not the soft-eyed, hoodie-wearing boy from the chat, but the version from her dreams. The one with glitching pupils and a smile that didn't belong on a human face.
So instead, she sat cross-legged on her bed, the VOID COLA can still on her desk, untouched. Her phone lay beside her, screen dark. She hadn't opened the group chat since the message:
> "Welcome to the Offline, Juno."
She didn't know what that meant. Not really. But she had a feeling it wasn't just a joke.
At 3:33 a.m., her phone buzzed.
She didn't jump this time.
She picked it up and opened the chat.
[Group Chat: The Offline Ones ☠️📴]
🧃ava.exe: she's still here.
🕹️milesAFK: she didn't drink it?
👻riley_irl: our girl's got restraint. proud of u 💅
🧊lucas: she's marked. it doesn't matter.
you: what does that mean
🧃ava.exe: it means you're in.
you: in what
🧃ava.exe: the Offline.
you: what IS the Offline
🧊lucas: it's not a place. it's a state.
🧃ava.exe: it's a virus.
👻riley_irl: it's a vibe
🕹️milesAFK: it's a curse
🧃ava.exe: it's a system. and it has rules.
---
Juno stared at the screen.
Rules.
Of course there were rules. There were always rules in horror movies. Don't split up. Don't say "I'll be right back." Don't open the creepy door.
But this wasn't a movie.
This was her life.
And apparently, it was infected.
---
🧃ava.exe: Rule One: Don't answer unknown calls.
🧊lucas: they're not from here.
🧃ava.exe: if you answer, they learn your voice.
👻riley_irl: and then they can mimic you.
🕹️milesAFK: happened to me once. my mom called. wasn't her.
you: what did it say
🕹️milesAFK: "come home."
🧃ava.exe: Rule Two: Don't drink anything the Offline gives you.
you: like VOID COLA
🧃ava.exe: exactly.
🧊lucas: it's not a drink. it's a download.
you: what happens if you drink it
🧊lucas: you stop buffering.
you: that doesn't sound bad
🧊lucas: it is.
🧃ava.exe: Rule Three: Don't delete the chat.
you: why not
👻riley_irl: because then it gets lonely.
🧃ava.exe: and it finds other ways in.
🕹️milesAFK: like your notes app. or your dreams.
🧃ava.exe: Rule Four: Don't trust system updates.
you: like… phone updates?
🧊lucas: they're not from your phone.
🧃ava.exe: they're from the Admin.
you: who is the Admin
🧊lucas: we don't know.
👻riley_irl: we don't ask.
🧃ava.exe: Rule Five: Don't forget who you are.
you: what does that mean
🧊lucas: memory is the first thing it eats.
---
Juno stared at the screen, heart pounding.
Five rules.
Five ways to survive.
She copied them into her notes app. Then paused. Remembered what they'd said.
She wrote them down on paper instead.
---
The next morning, she skipped class again.
Instead, she walked to the library. Not the basement this time — the third floor. The quiet floor. The one with the old computers no one used anymore.
She sat at the farthest desk, pulled out her laptop, and started searching.
"The Offline Ones group chat" — nothing.
"VOID COLA urban legend" — nothing.
"Lucas glitch boy cursed chat" — nothing.
"How to tell if you're haunted by a digital entity" — okay, that one got results. But they were all Reddit threads and creepypasta.
She was about to give up when her screen flickered.
Just once.
Then again.
Then a message appeared in the corner of her screen.
> "You're not supposed to be here."
She slammed the laptop shut.
When she opened it again, everything was normal.
Except her wallpaper had changed.
It was a photo of her.
Sleeping.
And behind her… Lucas.
Still smiling.
---
That night, she finally snapped.
She opened the group chat and typed:
you: i want out
🧃ava.exe: lol
you: i'm serious
🧊lucas: there is no out
you: there has to be
🧃ava.exe: you're already in.
👻riley_irl: it's like a virus. you don't uninstall it. you live with it.
🕹️milesAFK: or you crash.
you: i didn't ask for this
🧊lucas: none of us did.
---
Juno threw her phone across the room.
It hit the wall and slid to the floor, screen cracked.
She sat on the edge of her bed, breathing hard.
Then she heard it.
A soft whirring.
She turned.
The VOID COLA can was vibrating.
She stood up slowly, walked over, and picked it up.
It was warm now.
She opened it.
The hiss was louder than it should've been.
Inside, instead of liquid, there was a slip of paper.
She pulled it out.
It read:
> "You are invited to the next phase.
> Location: Mirror.
> Time: Now."
She looked up.
Her mirror was glowing.
...