Emma stopped. Looked back. "Excuse me?"
"Not today. Not next week. Maybe not even next year." Jacob opened his car door. "But eventually you'll look back and realize what you gave up wasn't as worthless as you thought."
Emma's laugh was sharp. Cutting. "You failed, Jacob. I'm going to be somebody. Why would I ever regret leaving nobody?"
She walked away.
Jacob watched her go with the same numb calculation he'd felt watching his parents' caskets lower into the ground.
Another person he'd loved.
Another probability error.
Another funeral.
His hand found the spot where she'd pressed the ring into his palm—still warm from her finger.
Three percent chance she'd stayed.
But he'd never calculated the reverse.
What were the odds he'd become somebody she couldn't afford to lose?
Jacob got in his car.
Turned the key.
The engine coughed. Sputtered. Died.
Of course it did.
Probability didn't care.
He tried again. Same result.
Third time. The Honda wheezed like an asthmatic chain smoker and finally caught.
Jacob sat in his running car, hands on the steering wheel, and felt absolutely nothing.
Empty.
Just like the awakening stone.
Just like his future.
He put the car in drive—
And the world fractured.
***
The temperature dropped thirty degrees in two seconds.
Jacob's breath came out in visible clouds. Frost spread across his windshield in geometric patterns that couldn't occur naturally.
The engine died again. This time, when Jacob turned the key, nothing happened. No cough. No sputter.
Dead.
He looked up.
The parking lot had changed.
Every car had vanished. The gymnasium, the street, the sky—all gone.
Jacob sat in his Honda Civic in the middle of an infinite white void that stretched in every direction with no horizon, no landmarks, no reference points.
Just white.
And one other thing.
A figure stood ten feet from his driver's side window.
It wore the approximate shape of a man in an expensive suit, but the proportions were wrong in ways Jacob's brain struggled to process. Arms too long by three inches. Fingers too thin. Face too smooth—like a mannequin that almost passed for human but failed in the uncanny valley.
When it moved, reality lagged. Afterimages trailed behind it like video game glitches.
Jacob's heart hammered against his ribs.
The figure tilted its head forty-five degrees past where necks should stop.
Then it smiled.
JACOB HAYES.
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Not sound—something transmitted directly into his skull like thoughts that weren't his.
YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED.
Jacob's hand fumbled for the door lock. Found it. Clicked it.
The figure passed through the car door like it didn't exist.
Now it stood inside the Civic, folded impossibly into the passenger seat despite being seven feet tall.
Jacob pressed himself against the driver's side door.
"What the hell are you?!"
I AM THE ADMINISTRATOR.
I OVERSEE ANOMALIES IN THE AWAKENING SYSTEM.
"The—the stone? You mean the awakening stone?" Jacob's voice cracked. "I failed! There's nothing to oversee!"
The Administrator's too-smooth face tilted the other direction.
INCORRECT.
YOU DID NOT FAIL YOUR AWAKENING.
THE STONE FAILED TO MEASURE YOU.
"That doesn't make any sense!"
YOUR EXISTENCE CONTAINS A PROBABILITY ERROR.
AN IMPOSSIBILITY THAT SHOULD NOT OCCUR WITHIN STANDARD PARAMETERS.
The Administrator raised one too-long hand. Reality bent around its fingers like light around a black hole.
A translucent screen materialized in the air:
[ANALYZING SUBJECT: JACOB HAYES]
[AGE: 18]
[PARENTS: DECEASED - GATE BREACH ALPHA-7, 3 YEARS AGO]
[PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE:]
- ATTACHMENT DISORDER: SEVERE
- ABANDONMENT COMPLEX: EXTREME
- RISK ASSESSMENT: PATHOLOGICAL
[AWAKENING ATTEMPT ANALYSIS:]
[SUBJECT APPROACHED STONE WITH:]
- HOPE: 94TH PERCENTILE
- DESPERATION: 99.7TH PERCENTILE
- WILLPOWER EXERTION: CRITICAL
[RESULT: SYSTEM OVERLOAD]
[THE AWAKENING STONE COULD NOT CLASSIFY YOUR EMOTIONAL STATE]
[IT REGISTERED AS:]
- TOO DESPERATE TO MEASURE
- PROBABILITY ANOMALY DETECTED
- ERROR: SUBJECT WANTS POWER SO BADLY THAT MEASUREMENT PROTOCOLS FRACTURED
Jacob stared at the screen.
"You're saying... I crashed the stone because I wanted it too much?"
CORRECT.
YOU BROKE THE MEASUREMENT SYSTEM.
HUMANS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE CAPABLE OF THIS.
BUT YOU DID IT ANYWAY.
The Administrator's smile widened. Too many teeth. Wrong shape.
AND FOR THAT REASON, YOU QUALIFY FOR THE CORRECTION PROTOCOL.
"Correction?" Jacob's mouth had gone dry.
THE AWAKENING SYSTEM HAS EXISTED FOR TWENTY-THREE YEARS.
IN THAT TIME, EXACTLY FORTY-SEVEN INDIVIDUALS HAVE CREATED MEASUREMENT ERRORS.
ALL FORTY-SEVEN WERE OFFERED THE SAME CHOICE.
The white void rippled like disturbed water.
Something massive moved beneath the surface.
YOU WILL ENTER THE TRIAL CHAMBER.
A door materialized behind the Administrator—massive, black, covered in symbols that Jacob's eyes couldn't focus on. Looking at them directly made his brain hurt.
SURVIVE THE TRIAL, AND YOU WILL RECEIVE AN SSS-RANK TALENT.
FAIL, AND YOU WILL CEASE TO EXIST.
Jacob's blood went cold. "Cease to exist? You mean die?"
WORSE.
The Administrator leaned closer. Its face was inches from Jacob's now.
IF YOU DIE, PEOPLE REMEMBER YOU.
IF YOU FAIL THE TRIAL, YOU WILL BE ERASED FROM CAUSALITY.
NO ONE WILL REMEMBER YOU EVER EXISTED.
YOUR PARENTS' FUNERAL RECORDS WILL SHOW THEY HAD NO CHILDREN.
EMMA WILL HAVE NO MEMORY OF TWO YEARS TOGETHER.
YOUR AUNT WILL FORGET SHE EVER HAD A NEPHEW.
YOU WILL BECOME A BLANK SPACE IN REALITY.
Jacob couldn't breathe.
Erased. Not dead. Erased.
Worse than death.
His parents would have died for nothing. All those memories—worthless. Every moment he'd existed would be retroactively meaningless.
"And if I refuse?"
YOU DON'T HAVE THAT OPTION.
The Administrator gestured.
Invisible force lifted Jacob out of his seat, through the car door, into the white void.
He struggled. Useless. Like fighting gravity.
"WAIT! I DIDN'T AGREE TO THIS!"
YOUR AGREEMENT IS NOT REQUIRED.
YOU BROKE THE SYSTEM, JACOB HAYES.
THE SYSTEM WILL NOW BREAK YOU.
OR REMAKE YOU.
WE SHALL SEE WHICH.
The black door swung open.
Beyond it: darkness so complete it seemed to devour light itself.
Jacob was pulled toward it.
Ten feet. Five feet.
"PLEASE!"
OF THE FORTY-SEVEN WHO ENTERED BEFORE YOU, ELEVEN SURVIVED.
YOUR ODDS ARE APPROXIMATELY 23.4%.
Two feet.
GOOD LUCK, JACOB HAYES.
YOU'RE GOING TO NEED IT.
Jacob crossed the threshold.
The door slammed shut behind him with the finality of a coffin lid.
***
[WELCOME TO THE TRIAL CHAMBER]