I don't answer them.
Not the silver-haired "join us and live" guy. Not the creepy mask lady with her floaty cult vibes. Not even the Heart whispering in my head.
Because how do you pick sides when you don't even know the rules?
Clipboard floats beside me, tilting its molten-glass head. "Indecision. Classic."
"Shut up," I mutter.
The silver-haired man chuckles like I'm amusing him. "You'll learn, Glitch. You either choose a side… or a side chooses you."
The masked woman tilts her head. "And the ones who can't choose? They end up in the Pit."
"The Pit?" I ask.
Clipboard makes a show of tapping its clipboard. "Ah yes, the recycling process."
That word again. I turn to it. "You've said that before. What does 'recycled' even mean?"
It pauses, almost like it's deciding how much to tell me. "Do you want the pretty version or the honest one?"
"Honest."
"You get broken down. Piece by piece. The City uses what's useful. And what's left?" It gestures vaguely. "Fills the walls. Or the streets. Or the… well. You've walked on them already."
My stomach flips.
"You mean—"
"Yes." Clipboard nods toward the glowing, fleshy street under my feet. "Parts of the City are made of the unworthy."
The silver-haired man steps forward, smiling like this is all a game. "See? All the more reason to join us. Better to be used well than to be used as pavement."
The masked woman hisses. "Better to die fighting than to become one with this abomination."
---
I don't reply. I can't.
Because that's when I see it.
At the far end of the street, two robed figures are dragging someone — or something — toward a massive fleshy gate. The "someone" is thrashing, screaming, clawing at the ground.
A person.
Human. Or close enough.
"Wait—what are they doing to him?" I ask.
"Processing," Clipboard says simply.
The man's screaming gets worse as they reach the gate. It opens with a wet, tearing sound, and they throw him inside. The gate slams shut.
Silence.
Then the walls nearby shift. A face — his face — appears in the fleshy surface for a moment, mouth open in a silent scream. And then it melts away, absorbed.
I stagger back, bile rising in my throat. "Holy—"
"Recycling," Clipboard says, unbothered. "Quick. Efficient. No waste."
The silver-haired man rests a hand on my shoulder like we're friends. "Still think you can survive this city alone, Glitch?"
The masked woman's voice is softer, almost coaxing. "Or will you choose freedom?"
Clipboard floats between them. "Tick-tock, Kael. The Heart doesn't like hesitation."
In my head, the voice booms again:
"Decide. Or be decided for."
And for the first time since I died, I realize something.
This place doesn't just kill you.
It uses you.