Darkness was not the absence of light.
It had depth—layers that pulsed and writhed like breathing flesh. It seeped into the marrow of thought, the folds of memory, the echo of a name the mind could no longer grasp.
He awoke in that darkness. Not with a scream. Not with a gasp.
With silence.
A cool, artificial wind brushed over his skin. It carried no scent, no sound. He couldn't see his own body, but he could feel it—every limb trembling beneath a weightless pressure, as if the void itself had hands pressed against his chest.
Then came the voice.
[Fear System Initializing…]
It wasn't sound, but presence. A chill that burrowed into the skull like static noise behind the eyes. He tried to move—tried to run—but found no ground, no muscle to command.
[Welcome, Subject #13: The Wanderer.]
Task Protocol Activated.
Objective: Survive.
Warning: Failure to comply will result in non-existence. Rebirth probability: variable. Emotional degradation: imminent.
He tried to speak, to demand answers, but his mouth wouldn't move. Words came back to him, drifting like debris in a black sea: name… door… mirror… fire… scream…
Who was he?
Before he could finish the thought, light burst through the darkness—harsh, surgical, not illuminating around him, but within. A beam cut across his vision and opened a rift in the void like a slit in the fabric of reality.
Through it, he saw a room.
A small, dimly-lit bedroom with rain tapping against a window.
[World #001: The Shadow.]
Assigned Role: Protagonist. Identity Uploading… Mary Caldwell, Age 28. Nightshift Nurse. Lives Alone. Trusts No One. Sleeps Lightly.]
Objective: Survive the Entity.
Survival Requirement: Last until sunrise.
His body jerked.
He wasn't falling—but sinking, absorbed by the image like ink bleeding into water. Reality collapsed around him as time snapped forward, and—
He was on a bed.
Breathing hard.
His fingers twitched against cotton sheets. A thin blanket lay tangled around his legs. The soft hum of a refrigerator echoed from a hallway.
He sat up slowly.
Rain slid down the windowpane beside her—his?—her? A reflection stared back. Pale skin. Short auburn hair clinging to a sweat-damp forehead. Eyes wide, shadowed, and—wrong.
He leaned closer.
The reflection didn't.
A slow smile stretched across the glass.
[Fear System Reminder: The Entity is watching.]
His—Mary's—heart began to race. He clutched at his chest, feeling his body shake in ways that weren't his. A scream built in her throat, but she bit it back.
It was beginning.
The first world.
The first horror.
He didn't know where he was. He didn't know what he had done. But deep in his bones, he knew one thing:
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't a game.
And this wasn't the end.
[Chapter 1: The Flicker ] – Commencing.