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       ╱    11   12    1   ╲
      │    10   ╲  │    2   │
      │     9  ──●     3    │
      │     8        4      │
       ╲     7    6    5   ╱
        ╰─────────────────╯
              11:45 AM
        

I straighten my back. I hold stress there—my shoulders specifically. Stupid, really, to hold stress anywhere physically. It should remain trapped in your mind, like a prisoner. I tilt my head upward. There I go, speaking like I'm fucking Shakespeare or Keats or something.

I pull up Visual Studio Code. I had a specific goal this morning. I've had this goal longer than just this morning, but better late than never. I create a new file and stare at the blinking cursor. Name. I need a name. Something that… means more than it should. This is important, so I need to get it right. I type:

Stupid name.

Too dark. I delete that too. I keep typing names that run through my head. It should represent what it is. I land on something.

I go into the file and write the first thing that's needed. The thing that I always lost points for on every programming assignment. A header comment.

I sit back in my chair and look at the system directive I have just coded. Seems like a big task for a program to do, but this is more for formatting—keep me on track. I glance down at the time. 10:30 AM. Perfect, I've got time.

I stand up and walk over to my whiteboard and uncap a marker. The smell of the dry-erase marker almost knocks me over, but I start architecting. I draw a large box and label it SYSTEM in the center of the board. Everything will stem from this.

I finally sit back down at my computer and have to move the mouse to wake it up. My whiteboard now looks like one of those pinboards from a conspiracy thriller. My heart skips a beat—the realization of what I'm about to make causes my pulse to spike above baseline. Characters first, existential crisis the rest of the day.

Two done. The code formatting is colorful. Each value is distinct from the others. Colors combining to create a line of code that's almost poetic. Almost, but not quite yet. I look back over at the whiteboard. Two characters is what I planned—a programmer and an artist. But… it feels empty. Something is missing. Eli and Rowan remind me of, well, me. But that isn't all of me. Almost without thinking, I start typing again.

I'm not sure who these new characters are, but they feel right. Familiar, almost. Like parts of myself that I don't look at directly. I quickly create an array of the new characters.

I think about making it immutable for a second. These are the characters, but I think one or two might still be missing. Better not make it concrete yet. I'm splitting myself into four distinct parts. It feels like surgery without anesthesia. I take a shaky breath. Shaky breath, that isn't like me. I'm nervous. These four characters mean something. Something more than I know.

Yet, I'm here. They are there. Two different worlds. Fictional and mine.

I've been coding for a little bit now. 11:23 AM. I'm making good progress, but I feel behind. My cursor sits on the line. I just need a random time. I can adjust it later. I decide that I'll just set it for the same time that I'll come back and reconsider it. 11:45 AM.

The formatting freaks out for a second, and my screen flickers. Must have been an involuntary blink on my own part. The ticking of the clock on my wall is loud, louder than it ever has been. Each tick feels like it has a purpose. It's annoying. For a second, I think I'm going to stand up and take the batteries out. I put my hands on my desk to push myself up, but I stop.

The code has… something I didn't write. I have autocomplete on in VS Code, but that just completes things when I start typing. Not a whole variable.

I'm not sure how it got my name either. I haven't typed it anywhere in here. Must be pulling from system logs or something. I delete the line and try to save the file. A popup appears.

The only option it gives me is to recover the file. I do, and the line of code I deleted appears again. I delete it again. Same popup.

No matter. I know a way around this. I open Notepad and copy the code into it. I delete the variable and save the file to my desktop. I click the restart button on Windows. As soon as I do, the dreaded 'blue screen of death' pops up. Shit.

The loading bar at the bottom of the screen shows what files are being recovered from the system. C:\Program Files\Oblivion Remastered\sound.dll. C:\Program Files\Minecraft\seed_jun_8_2026.java.

All of the files seem normal. I'm halfway through watching when the screen shuts off. The Windows boot sound plays over my speakers. For a second, I think my computer is toast. I log in and reopen VS Code and my Notepad. The variable is back… in both files. I try to delete it again, but I still get the same popup message in VS Code. I then try to delete it in Notepad and… get the same error message. There's a logical explanation here. I know there is. Besides, it's just a string variable. It isn't going to hurt anything.

Okay, time to check if this thing compiles. This is the scariest part of coding for me. I hate running the program and the whole IDE blowing up in my face. VS Code screaming at me through large logs of red text. I probably wait too long to try compiling my code, but I've waited long enough on this project. I open a terminal, which I've formatted to be neon green on a black background. I start typing.

The terminal flickers. My command changes.

I wasn't supposed to run this yet. I haven't ensured it's secure to run on my system. It shouldn't even do anything. It's a system file with a bunch of Character variables declared with some strings.

I blink a few times at the terminal. A shiver runs down my spine. I didn't program a chat function. 925 terabytes is ridiculous. The system… shouldn't be asking questions. I rest my fingers on the keyboard as my brow furrows. I grit my teeth and start typing. I press enter.

The entire operating system freezes and then comes back to focus. The terminal maximizes with no close button.

A pit forms in my stomach. I'm being hacked, or this is a sick prank by Braxton or something. I almost rip the cord from the back of my computer when another message shows up on my screen.

Yep. This is a terrible prank.

"Okay, Braxton," I shout out into the air. I'm not sure where he would be hiding in my apartment, but he's here somewhere. He has to be. "Not funny."

I type again.

My head slowly turns to my closet door. Bo has been missing for four years. I put him somewhere and then he disappeared. I assumed I accidentally donated him. I stand up slowly and walk over to the closet door, placing my hand on the knob. The metal is cold under my hand. I creak the door open and look up. A gray accordion folder sits on the top shelf. My hands are shaking as I take it down. I can't see what's up there, so I reach up and move my hand around. Then I connect with something. It's soft, bead-filled, and dog-shaped. I bring Bo down and stare at him. He is—here.

I'm caught between horror and joy. Thank God Bo is still here. Thank God I didn't lose him. I nearly start praying with my eyes open, but catch myself before I do. I haven't prayed in six months and I'm not about to start now.

I bring Bo back with me to the computer and sit down. The console has a new line.

My throat is dry. I could just walk away. Call someone. Call Braxton. My hands are shaking as I put them on the keyboard. It feels like muscle memory. My mind is racing, and the only conclusion I can reach is to feed the narrative here and then I can… go? I start typing: "Bright red and blue lights..."

I press enter on the last line of that chapter. As I type, I'm actually starting to feel lighter. Like the story is being lifted off my shoulders and into the system. Bo sits next to me on the desk and watches me type. After each chapter, I look at Bo for reassurance, but he just sits there, like the inanimate object he is. The system always takes a second to process after I finish a chapter.

I turn back to my whiteboard, which has changed without me noticing. There's a crack on the wall—small and almost invisible—something that I hadn't noticed before. I'll have to call the landlord once I'm done with this story. My eyes jump from the crack to the whiteboard. It has a red checklist now. Coffee shop, check. Time malfunction, check. Park bench, check. Something is wrong, though. One of the check marks is… dripping. Before even standing up, I know what it is. I've seen this a million times while working in a hospital pharmacy back in college. I stand up and walk over to the whiteboard and run my finger under the drop. It's sticky. It smells metallic like—

I rush back to my computer and start typing, getting the substance on the keyboard.

My head slowly turns back to the whiteboard and it's bright dry-erase marker again. I look back down at my keyboard, and it's still covered with the red substance. I think I'm going to throw up. My hands return to the keys, this time without me thinking. My fingers find the keys before I know what I'm typing. My mind is sending signals to the rest of my body to stop, but I keep typing anyway.

I still know what I'm typing. I still have control over the words. Maybe I can change this before it's too late. Maybe the narrative can be saved and allow me to escape.

I submit the final chapter of the book. The system starts to load. I watch as the cursor blinks on the screen. Each blink gets slower. I think for a second that I might be done here. The system is going to let me go. I'm sweating profusely. My eyes burn. When was the last time I closed them? They're open. They stay open. I couldn't close them even if I wanted to. A water droplet falls on my head.

I stare at the screen. Our story? Ours? No. This is mine. I hold the copyright. A system can't hold a—

I slam my fingers down on Alt+F4. Nothing. I keep pressing my fingers into the keyboard.

My fingers slowly retract from the keyboard and curl into my palms. My hands ache. My wrists burn. Again? What does he—it mean by again? I hear a crash behind me, which makes me jump. I slowly start to take in my surroundings. I blink—when did I last blink? The apartment is in shambles. The floor has collapsed in places. Water is leaking from the ceiling. Wires spark.

My fingers return to the keyboard again. I try to stop. I scream. I try to think of something else. Bo. Braxton. Mark. Michael. My mind fades and I start typing again.

I gasp for breath. My vision clears. My computer is the only thing left. The rest is a black void. It's only me and a screen and a clock behind it. The face of a clock tower, hanging in the void. 11:44 AM. One minute to go.

I stare at the screen. All functions return true? I can leave? I'm free?

Return? What does this thing mean by return? I'm still… me. I'm not some sort of story. I can't be reduced to words on a screen. Characters that make up words. Symbols that make up characters.

Archived. That sounds… painful.

Time. I need more time. I didn't get to say everything I wanted to. Everything I needed to. Then the idea arrives.

← RETURN TO MAIN SYSTEM