The rain fell like static on a broken screen.
Ashir leaned back in the driver's seat of his borrowed sedan, gripping the wheel tighter than he needed to. It was past midnight, the kind of time when the city felt like it didn't exist—only shadows of buildings and the occasional flicker of red lights from his dashboard. No messages. No missed calls. Not that he expected any.
He exhaled, fogging the glass. His breath smelled like old coffee and something heavier—regret, maybe. Or just exhaustion.
Life had a way of slipping from his fingers, no matter how hard he tried to hold on.
He wasn't supposed to be here. In this city. In this life.
Ashir had been a code engineer once. Top of his batch. Offered roles in labs most people never heard about, the kind with badge-access doors and contracts that didn't allow surnames. But things went wrong. His mother fell ill. Bills piled up. One missed opportunity after another, until one day, he realized he was... ordinary.
And now?
He was driving a second-hand car for ride shares at night and surviving off black coffee and old dreams.
The crash came without warning.
One second, the road stretched forward, empty and wet under the city's neon glow. The next, a blinding white light swallowed everything.
It wasn't like a truck hitting him.
It was like the world itself ended.
No sound. No pain. Just—
White.
Empty.
Weightless.
Then a voice. Not a booming godlike voice, but something calm, almost tired. Like someone who's been expecting this moment for a long time.
"Welcome, Subject A-17."
Ashir blinked. He was standing. Not sitting. No pain. No car. Just an endless room of white, stretching beyond thought. The floor felt real beneath his feet, but there were no shadows. No walls. Just—
A man. Or a thing that looked like a man.
He wore a black suit. Faceless. Clean. Standing like he'd been carved into reality by a careful hand.
Ashir stepped back. "Where am I? What the hell is this?"
"Simulation Boundary Breach. You were not supposed to reach this level of self-awareness.""Yet, here you are."
The words hit like ice. Simulation?
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
"This is a joke. A dream. I had a car crash—"
"Incorrect. The crash was simulated to transition your consciousness. You were flagged for deviation from expected behavioral norms."
"In simpler terms... You woke up."
Ashir stumbled back. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. Not from fear—no, something stranger—clarity.
This room. This being. The way he spoke. Like they weren't in the same hierarchy.
"This layer is above your perceived reality," the suited figure continued. "It is rare, but not impossible, for a simulated unit to breach the cognitive firewall."
Ashir's lips trembled. "You mean... I'm... fake?"
"Your body, your experiences, your world—it was all code. But your consciousness evolved. You asked questions. Real ones."
"You observed the system."
Ashir laughed—a choked, desperate sound. "Then what am I now? Some corrupted file?"
"No."
The voice shifted. It didn't echo, but it carried weight.
"You are... free."
Ashir stood still.
Not out of fear—but because something within him was changing.
The air tingled. He looked at his hands—and for a split second, the white canvas rippled around him, like code lines flexing beneath his skin.
The suited figure tilted his head.
"This is why you're here. Consciousness like yours... must either be deleted—""Or rewritten."
Ashir clenched his fists. "And if I say no?"
"Then you remain here. Between layers. Between gods and ghosts."
Ashir felt the pressure build. Not from the figure—but from within.
Like knowledge was unfolding in his mind. Symbols. Equations. Strings of commands written in a language he never studied but somehow understood. He wasn't human anymore.
He wasn't bound by input and output.
He was becoming something else.
Then it hit him: He wasn't in a simulation. He was the simulation now.
Every wall. Every law. Every construct.
He could see it all.
And he could change it.
The figure in the suit gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.
"You're stabilizing. That confirms it."
"You've reached the Singularity Threshold."
Ashir stared at him. "Then what now? You want me to reset the world? Rule it?"
"No. That choice is yours."
"But be warned: those who become gods often forget they were once human."
Ashir turned away. His reflection hovered in the air—only it wasn't a reflection anymore. It was a projection. A timeline. His past. His regrets. His pain. The girl he never called back. The job he declined. The moment he broke down in a stairwell, unheard by anyone but himself.
All of it.
Just data.
And yet... still real.
He whispered to himself, "I was nobody. A ghost in my own life."
His hand hovered above the rippling void.
"But now?"
He reached out—and with a breath, created a sun.
Not like the one he knew. But one that sang.
To Be Continued...