Clyde had always imagined the end of the world would be loud. Explosions. Screaming. Sirens. But this?
This was quiet. Too quiet.
The air was still, unnaturally so. Even the trees had stopped swaying. Like nature itself was holding its breath, unsure whether to keep pretending this world was real.
Beside him, Rhea's fingers curled into fists. Her eyes—always sharp—were scanning the crimson sky, the way it shifted and pulsed like a living wound. The Architect stood just beyond them, motionless, but Clyde could feel the weight of his presence. Calculated. Cold.
"He's rewriting it already," Rhea murmured, almost to herself. "Reality isn't just breaking—it's being bent."
Clyde looked around. The ground beneath his feet flickered like bad reception. The mountains in the distance started to blur, as if someone forgot to finish rendering them.
"This world isn't real anymore," Clyde whispered. "It's a memory on life support."
The Architect finally moved. One step. Then another. Calm. Confident. "You were never supposed to get this far, Clyde. The rewrite was meant to fix everything. Eliminate the chaos. Perfect the system."
"Funny how your version of perfect means erasing people," Clyde shot back.
The man didn't flinch. "People are unstable. Emotions. Choices. Flaws. You call it freedom—I call it interference."
Clyde stepped forward. He didn't have a weapon. No grand power-up. Just the truth—and a growing fire inside him. "You turned me into data. You made me question if I was even real. But you forgot something important."
The Architect tilted his head.
"I remember now," Clyde said. "Not just the pain. Not just the resets. I remember who I was before all this. Before you rewrote me."
Rhea's voice rose, low and fierce. "He's not your tool. He's not your pawn. And he's not going to run anymore."
For the first time, the Architect frowned.
Then, the ground cracked open between them.
A glitch split the earth like a scar, and from it rose twisted shapes—creatures made of broken code and half-formed thoughts. Their eyes were blank, their movements jagged.
"Protocol: Purge the remnants," the Architect whispered.
But Clyde didn't move back.
He stepped forward.
"I'm done running."