*
*System Log: New Simulation Initiated.*
*Subject: Trey O'Malley. Trauma Source: Accidental Guilt / Delayed Realization.*
*Emotional Loading: 91%*
*Warning: Visual Overload Risk Detected.*
*Begin.*
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*Drip.*
The sound pulled him from silence. A cold tap echoed against tile. Trey stood in a dim kitchen, fluorescent light flickering overhead. His hands were damp, his shirt stuck to his chest with sweat. He blinked. There was blood on his hands.
He looked around—everything was still. Silent. Too silent.
The walls of the house were pale yellow, old and worn. A birthday banner hung half-fallen above a small table. The cake was still untouched. Around it, party hats lay scattered, unused.
He walked forward slowly. Each step made the wooden floor groan. Something wasn't right. His heart pounded.
He entered the hallway. Photos lined the wall—himself, apparently, at age six. Then at ten. Then fifteen. Always with the same smiling parents. A little sister in every frame. There was joy captured in each moment.
But no one was here.
He moved toward a door cracked open. From inside: a *drip… drip… drip*.
He pushed it.
Bathtub. Overflowed. Water was pink. No—it was red.
His sister's lifeless body lay submerged, eyes open. Hands limp. Balloons floated in the air above her.
Trey screamed.
Memories hit—like a train.
**FLASHBACK:**
A loud knock. He opened the door.
A group of kids from school. "Hey! Come on! We're going cliff-jumping!"
"But my sister's—"
"Dude, she'll be fine. Just lock the door."
She was in the bath. He remembered. Playing with bubbles.
He left. Locked the door. Told himself he'd be back in an hour.
It had been five.
He dropped to the floor, his knees shattering against tile. "No… no, no, no…"
He felt her small hand in his.
It twitched.
But it wasn't real. Her hand hadn't moved.
The sound returned: *drip… drip… drip…*
He turned. Blood was now coming from the ceiling. A pool was growing. The cake in the kitchen was soaked in red. Every photo on the wall now showed only him—alone—his sister's face scratched out.
Then came the whispers.
"You left her…"
"She called for you…"
"She drowned waiting for you…"
He screamed again, covering his ears, but the whispers grew louder, forming voices, then a chorus—chanting, accusing, weeping.
The hallway melted—walls bleeding. The doorways stretched longer. Hands came through the floorboards, clawing at his ankles. Small hands. Wet hands.
He pulled free, running, slipping in blood, falling face-first into the soaked hallway.
Suddenly—
The lights burst. The walls cracked. His sister stood at the end of the hallway.
Bloated. Water dripping from her mouth. Her dress clung to her wet, bruised skin. "You forgot me…"
He crawled back, breath rapid. "I'm sorry! I—I didn't mean—!"
She opened her mouth. From it came a scream, but not her voice. It was like hundreds of drowned voices all shrieking at once.
The tiles under him split. He dropped through the floor—into a black void filled with red water.
He was underwater now, trapped, blind, deaf. Hands pulled him down. Hundreds of them. Cold, small, broken hands.
His lungs screamed. He opened his mouth to cry.
*Drip.*
His eyes went wide.
Everything stopped.
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*System Report: Subject Deceased. Cause of death: Psychological Overload—Severe Guilt Response.*
*Simulation Cycle Complete.*
*Reinitializing Mind for Next Upload.*
*Loading…*
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