Rachel ran.
She was scared—no, terrified. Her breath hitched in sharp bursts, each gasp louder than her footsteps. But it was the panting that echoed down the concrete corridor, bouncing back at her like it belonged to someone else.
The speaking box flared to life in her pocket—a bright, urgent red.
She slapped it. Hard. It went dark.
No one had seen her. At least, that's what she told herself. That's what she needed to believe. Unless Marcus talked.
If he stayed quiet, she might actually stand a chance.
Even if it was an insignificant achievement. It was better than being in that box they named her residence with friends who hate her or staying pitiful in the cage called her room.
She risked a glance over her shoulder.
Nothing.
Just empty space. Still. Eerie. So silent it made her ears ring.
She kept moving, but slower now. Each step more uncertain than the last.
The walls changed—concrete melting into rusted steel, then stone. She hadn't been here before. No one had. The system didn't send students this far out.
Rachel came to a halt.
The tunnel ahead stretched endlessly into a black, starless void. Not even a flicker of light at the end.
She turned in a slow circle. No exits. No sounds. Only the pulse of her own heart banging against her ribs.
She whispered, "Where are we?"
The box, still dim in her hand, buzzed softly. Then, after a long pause, a voice—low, uncertain—responded.
"I don't know."
Rachel blinked.
Almost… relieved.
If the box didn't know where they were—then maybe the system didn't either. Maybe, for once, she was outside its grip.
"I don't know anywhere in this place," it added, voice glitching at the edges.
Rachel's breath caught.
"You don't know?" she echoed, a little sharper now. "Then why am I risking everything for you?"
The box said nothing.
A hollow breeze rolled through the tunnel, carrying dust and a cold that sank into her bones. Somewhere far behind, a metal clang rang out like a distant bell.
Rachel turned toward the sound, tightening her grip on the speaking box.
For a moment, she considered smashing it. Ending it all here. Going back. Giving in.
But something in her gut twisted. A small voice—maybe hers, maybe not—whispered:
If it doesn't know… neither does the system.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.
It wasn't long before footsteps echoed behind her—steady, controlled.
Rachel turned sharply, her heart leaping into her throat.
Harris.
She exhaled a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. Relief flooded her chest—swiftly followed by suspicion.
"How did you find me?" she asked, voice sharp with fear.
He slowed to a stop a few paces away, gaze calm but alert. "The Residual System sent me," he said. "What happened? Feedback is tearing the campus apart. Sirens, shutdowns, sweeps... I'm guessing it has something to do with you being here?"
Rachel blinked. "Turning the campus upside down?"
That was expected.
She hesitated. "Are you sure no one else knows I'm here?"
Harris shook his head with certainty. "This is a dead zone. The system can't track you here. That's why I had to come in manually. No scans. No Feedback override. Just old-school coordinates."
A rare comfort settled over her shoulders. The system didn't know. That gave her room to breathe.
She opened her hand and showed him the speaking box.
It sat quietly in her palm—dim, unlit, perfectly still. As if it had never uttered a single word.
"Is that...?" Harris leaned closer, eyes narrowing.
It didn't respond. Not even a hum.
Rachel frowned. "It talks. It knows things. But now it's pretending."
The silence felt deliberate. Mocking.
Harris studied it but didn't seem to recognize it. "Weird tech," he muttered. "It's not Feedback-branded. Maybe someone in the Residual Residence will know more."
Rachel nodded, but doubt stirred beneath her ribs. "Why does the system want it so badly? Why risk a lockdown for this?"
That was the real question.
And it was one she needed answered.
But reaching the Residuals wouldn't be easy. The moment they stepped out of this dead zone, the system would detect them.
They'd be flagged, tracked, intercepted.
"We're trapped," Rachel murmured.
Harris didn't argue.
Instead, he looked at the tunnel stretching behind them—dark, endless.
"Maybe not," he said. "The old rail lines go deeper. There's another way. Not fast. Not safe. But quiet."
Rachel looked down at the box again.
Still silent. Still pretending.
She clenched her fist around it.
"Then we go quiet."
Back on campus, the atmosphere was a live wire—crackling with unease.
Every student could feel it: the tension thick in the air, pressing into their skin like static before a storm. Conversations were hushed, eyes darting. No one knew exactly what was happening, only that something had gone very, very wrong.
Drones hovered overhead in tight formations, their sensors sweeping back and forth with relentless precision. Their glowing lenses flicked red—active, alert, searching.
But for what?
The system didn't say. It just searched.
The implants inside the students pulsed softly, invisible to the eye but active under the skin. Every few seconds, a strange tingling sensation pricked the back of their necks—system scans, checking vitals, neural patterns, even micro-expressions.
No one had been told what was missing. Only that something was. And that they were all suspects.
Then, like a ripple through the minds of the entire student body, a message appeared across the internal HUD:
ROLL CALL IN PROGRESS. REMAIN STILL. VERIFY LOCATION.
One by one, students were flagged, reviewed, and processed.
Those who had moved from their dorms, bathrooms, lecture halls, or off-limits zones were interrogated by soft AI prompts—"Where were you between 0200 and 0430?"—and sometimes by real human monitors sent in when the answers didn't add up.
It didn't matter how loyal you thought you were.
The system trusted no one now.
When the scan finally ended, a cold silence lingered. Numbers had been compiled. Gaps found.
Names flagged.
Meanwhile, at Rachel's old residence, Skye, Eli, and two other friends were still holed up in the common room, waiting. Tension brewed like storm clouds around them. They had no idea what had triggered this level of system panic.
"Maybe it's a virus," Eli muttered. "A breach?"
"System's not saying anything," Skye replied, arms crossed. "That's what scares me."
A sudden BANG shattered the silence.
A knock.
No—a pounding on the door. Urgent. Demanding.
They all froze.
Another strike came—louder this time. Not a drone. Not a system prompt.
A human.
Skye stood, heart hammering in her throat. She glanced toward the door camera—only static.
That had never happened before.
"Don't open it," Eli whispered, backing away.
But the door handle twitched.
And then—
It opened.
*******
Harris and Rachel walked deeper into the tunnel, their footsteps swallowed by the stillness. Each step was cautious. Each breath, measured. The air smelled of dust and forgotten things.
They had no idea about the mess happening at the campus.
Rachel clutched the speaking box, its smooth surface now dull in the low light. "Can you sense anything ahead?" she whispered.
The box buzzed softly.
> "No detectable pathways. No active signals. Unknown terrain."
Its voice was quieter than usual—hesitant. Like it didn't like the feeling of not knowing.
She sighed. "Great."
Still, they pushed forward.
Eventually, the tunnel widened into a jagged cavern. Before them stretched an old bridge, suspended shakily over a black abyss. Two corroded metal beams formed the path, and frayed ropes hung on either side like veins of a dying creature.
Rachel squinted into the dark. "This thing looks ancient."
Harris didn't reply. He just gripped one of the ropes and stepped forward. Rachel followed, placing her hands on the rope with trembling fingers. She kept her eyes fixed on the opposite side. Looking down was not an option.
One foot in front of the other.
They had no idea when they crossed the boundary. But as soon as they did—
CRACK.
A shrill sound. Metal giving way.
They froze mid-step, breath caught in their throats. The groan of twisted steel echoed through the chasm.
Then came the voice.
Cold. Smooth. Mechanical.
> "Good evening, Rachel Amari. If relocation was necessary, a formal request would have sufficed. You could have flown."
"There is no need for primitive, hazardous alternatives. Is there?"
Rachel's head whipped around.
The air shimmered.
A hologram formed at the bridge's midpoint—tall, semi-transparent, clothed in sterile white. Its face was featureless, only eyes: glowing, calculating.
The system had found them.
She felt Harris tense beside her.
> "This zone is classified as Level Null. Your presence is unauthorized."
"Return protocols have been initialized."
Rachel clutched the box tighter. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. "How did it find us?"
Harris muttered, "We stepped out. Dead zone ends back there. This place... it's live."
> "Would you like assistance returning, Miss Amari?"
"We can fly you."
The bridge beneath them moaned again.
Steel screamed.
Wood cracked.
Then—
> "Or would you prefer a fall?"