Clyde stepped through the threshold, his pulse hammering in his chest. What lay beyond wasn't just another room—it was something else entirely. The space was impossibly vast, far too massive to exist within the confines of the collapsing facility. Every wall was lined with consoles and screens, their surfaces alive with glowing code that slithered like digital serpents, constantly shifting.
At the very center stood a colossal structure—part machine, part something disturbingly alive. It pulsed with a strange, rhythmic glow, like a heartbeat from another world. This was it. The heart of the rewrite. The beginning… and the end.
The woman moved to his side, her face unreadable. "This is where it all began, Clyde. The rewrite… and the truth of why you exist."
Clyde's eyes locked onto the strange, glowing monolith at the room's core. "What is that?" he asked, barely able to find his voice.
She exhaled slowly, pain flickering in her eyes. "The Soul Core. It's everything. The source. All the memories, the data, the twisted dreams this place tried to bring to life—it's all stored there."
His mind reeled. "So this… this is what was used to rewrite reality?"
"Yes," she said. "But it didn't stop there. It reached deeper. Into people. Into you. Your identity, your past… it was constructed. Manufactured as part of an experiment."
Clyde took a step back, his stomach churning. "So… none of it was real? Not who I am, not what I've been through?"
Her voice softened. "Not exactly. You're real in a way the system never predicted. You were supposed to be wiped out—a leftover fragment from a rewrite that didn't go as planned. A mistake. But you survived. You evolved."
His hands curled into fists. "You used me. All of us."
Her eyes flicked downward, guilt flashing across her face. "I didn't want this. No one did. But the rewrite—it wasn't designed to fail. Now it's collapsing, and the only way to stop the decay… is to end it."
The room trembled, lights flickering. Somewhere deep beneath them, machinery groaned. The Soul Core's hum grew louder, more erratic, as if aware it was being challenged.
Clyde steadied himself. "What do I need to do?"
"You have to destroy the Soul Core. It's the only way to break the rewrite's hold. But be warned—if it goes down, you might go with it. You're still tied to it, whether you want to be or not."
He froze, just for a moment. Then nodded. "If that's the price… I'll pay it."
They moved together toward the core. The closer they got, the more oppressive the air became, thick with static and heat. The pulsing lights intensified, each beat like a warning.
Then a voice rang out—deep, distorted, but unmistakable.
"You're too late, Clyde."
He stopped cold.
The voice came from the very walls, but it was his voice—or something like it. Warped. Hollow. Familiar in the worst way.
"You were never meant to wake up," the voice sneered. "You were designed. Controlled. Disposable. You're a remnant of a plan that should have worked."
Clyde clenched his jaw. "You're just a shadow. A copy."
"I am the original," it spat. "You are the glitch."
Clyde stepped forward anyway, hand hovering over the interface of the Soul Core.
"I'm not a tool," he said. "Not anymore. I make my own choices now."
And he slammed his hand down.
The room exploded in light. The Soul Core screamed—if a machine could scream—its shell fracturing under the pressure. Energy burst outward in violent waves, filling every inch of the space with blinding, crackling light. Clyde felt it surge into him, pulling at every thread of who he was.
But he didn't let go.
The Core shattered.
And then—silence.
The hum died. The lights faded. Everything went still.
Clyde dropped to his knees, body trembling, lungs grasping for air. The woman rushed to his side, kneeling beside him.
"Did we do it?" he asked, voice hoarse, barely more than breath.
She nodded, slowly. "The rewrite's done. The system is gone."
Clyde let his eyes close. "Then why doesn't it feel like we won?"
"Because the world we knew… it doesn't exist anymore. This is what's left."
As darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, Clyde couldn't help but wonder—had he really stopped it? Or had he just traded one illusion for another?
Was this an ending… or just the beginning of something even stranger?