Vireon never had stars.
Only satellites.
They spun endlessly above, blinking messages no one really read anymore. "Stay Alert. Stay Honest. Stay Graded." Every corner of the sky was monitored, every signal filtered. But tonight, under those fake stars, Lyra felt something different.
The game had started.
She sat cross-legged on her bed, her tablet glowing dimly. That message "Welcome to the Game" was still on the screen. No source. No signal origin. No trace.
That was what scared her most.
Whoever sent it was smarter than her.
At least, for now.
She tapped once. A new screen opened. Black background. Three words in grey font:
"Ready to play?"
She hesitated. Her breath was shallow, heart hammering against her ribs. This could be a trap. A trace. A setup. But something deeper than fear spoke.
Curiosity.
She tapped again.
New message:
"Level 1: Decrypt the Lie. Time limit: 1 hour. Location: SchoolZone Lab B-7."
Lab B-7 had been shut down for over a year. "Maintenance issues." That's what the official board said. But Lyra had always wondered why no one talked about it.
She checked the time. 11:47 PM.
"I'm not getting sleep tonight," she muttered, pulling on her hoodie.
She slipped out quietly, aunt snoring, street lights buzzing above as drones patrolled like quiet vultures. Vireon had a strict curfew for minors anyone under 18 seen outside after midnight was subject to questioning. And if you failed the questioning?
You vanished.
She took the side alleys. Mapped them in her mind like a chessboard. Knew which shadows moved and which didn't. By 12:03 AM, she was at the SchoolZone perimeter.
No guards.
No cameras.
Not normal.
She scanned the side wall. Found the loose panel. Clicked it open, slid through. Her shoes hit the floor silently.
She was inside.
B-7 was deeper in the west wing long abandoned. Dust layered the air like memories. Lockers rusted, ceiling cracked, floor tiles broken like someone once tried to erase the place.
Lyra reached the door.
No lock.
Just a glowing keypad.
She smiled.
"Of course," she whispered. "This is the test."
Fingers flew across the keys. She bypassed the standard encryption in 42 seconds. Then came the trap firewall one that tried to mimic her own code. She blinked.
"Cheeky."
She rewrote it in real-time. Let it think it won. Then broke its loop from the inside.
The door clicked..
Opened.
The lab was still. Cold.
At the centre, a single desk. On it an old-style datapod. Not connected to any network. A true offline archive.
She walked in slowly.
Picked it up.
It whirred to life, and a projection appeared in the air: a video.
She tapped play.
A woman in a lab coat appeared. Younger. Tired eyes. Beautiful, in a broken way.
"My name is Dr. Sireen Elen. If you're watching this… you're my daughter. Or my legacy."
Lyra froze.
The datapod trembled in her hand.
Her mother?
She died in a lab accident when Lyra was five. That's what everyone told her. The records said it. The obituary confirmed it.
But this?
Dr. Sireen continued, voice shaking.
"They lied, Lyra. They lied about everything. About me. About the experiments. About what you are."
What… she was?
"I designed Project WITTED. Not for war. Not for control. For thought. Real thought. Independent, unpredictable intelligence. You were the first child born under it."
Born under it?
Lyra's breath caught in her throat.
"You're not just smart. You're built different. Your brain processes faster than most systems. And they want it. They always did. But I hid you. Changed your name. Left you with your aunt. And now… they've found you."
The video fizzled. Static.
Then black.
Lyra stared at the empty air.
Everything inside her shattered.
Her mother was alive once. Her life was a lie. And she was part of a secret experiment.
Project WITTED.
No wonder the system flagged her. No wonder the AI couldn't predict her. She wasn't part of their data.
She was the error.
The glitch.
The silence in the lab thickened. Then a new sound a soft buzz.
Behind her.
She turned.
A shadow moved across the broken tiles.
Lyra ducked just as something flew past her a needle dart embedding in the wall with a hiss. Her attacker stepped forward, masked, dressed in tactical black.
Not police.
Not android.
Real.
They knew she was here.
She grabbed the datapod and bolted.
Out the lab. Through the halls. Down the corridor she mapped years ago but never thought she'd run through with her life at stake.
Another dart hit the wall beside her.
She twisted through a broken door, slipped through the panel again, ran into the night.
She didn't stop until she reached the rooftops of the housing block, lungs burning, sweat cold on her back. She crouched beside the satellite dish, clutching the datapod like a lifeline.
The city blinked beneath her.
Fake stars. Real danger.
And one truth burned in her chest.
She wasn't normal. And they were hunting her.
But if this was a game?
She was playing now.
And no one no matter how powerful should underestimate the girl with glasses.