The Day the System Stopped Answering
Leon called again.
"System."
Silence.
A pause. Just one short breath held tight, like motion itself could ruin what should have responded. Silence stayed solid. The slab there - normally buzzing soft under its skin - gave no glow, not even a tremor.
Again he said "System," this time the syllable tight like a wire wound too far.
Still nothing.
A prickle climbed the back of his neck, sluggish yet burning. Shoulders hunched upward as a quiet click pressed from his palate - small noise, edged with held-back frustration.
"System… answer."
Silence.
This wasn't calm. It didn't bring quiet. Instead, a chill sat there. Hollow, unmoving. Refusing to shift.
A shape of light hung in front of him, still, without pulse, much like something once alive but now emptied of motion. It stayed where it was, silent, not even pretending to stir.
Breath dragging itself from his lungs, Leon sat stiff. A twitch ran along his cheekbone, teeth clenched tight.
