It feels real,Silas whispers.
That’s the point.
I force myself to step back.
The figure freezes.
The room flickers.
The pressure behind my eyes spikes, sharp enough to make me gasp.
“Subject exhibits resistance,” the voice overlays the simulation. “Increase immersion.”
The world snaps into focus.
The figure’s face resolves.
It’s me.
Not exactly. A version. Healthier. Softer around the edges. Whole in a way I’ve never been.
“You don’t have to do this anymore,” he says. I say. “You can rest.”
My knees almost buckle.
They’re offering integration,Donnelly says, very quiet.On their terms.
I don’t want to disappear,Silas whimpers, panic bleeding through.I don’t want to be folded away.
I shake my head violently. “You’re not real,” I tell the thing wearing my face.
It smiles sadly. “I am if you let me be.”
The room hums, pleased.
This is the test.
If I accept, they simplify me. Collapse the split. Make me cleaner. Easier to predict. Easier to control.
They don’t want Ghost.
They wantonevoice they can label.
I straighten, even as the pressure builds, even as the simulation strains to hold together.
“I am not broken,” I say. “I am plural.”
The smile falters.
The world fractures.
Pain explodes behind my eyes, white-hot and blinding. I scream – this time I hear it, distorted and distant.
The simulation shatters.
I’m back in the grey nothing, gasping, sweat-soaked, heart hammering.
The voice speaks, colder now.
