"Access granted," the synthetic voice announced.
The automatic door slid open, and Jin stepped inside. He took off his jacket and walked to the far end of the room, tossing it onto the bed. Then he dropped onto the mattress himself, hands folded behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
The concrete surface had shallow pits, and they looked like old bullet marks. The only sound in the room was the low hum of the ventilation fan.
Dawn was close, but Jin had no urge to sleep. First the convoy job, then days of tracking the gang members. There was still plenty left to do before he could afford a proper, very expensive rest.
And even in sleep, the clock kept ticking, slowly pushing Jin toward failure.
A dull thirst tugged at him — a reminder he'd ignored too long. Jin reluctantly opened his eyes.
Four hours had passed since the alley.
The trip to the half-empty motel on the outskirts, where he was currently staying, took longer than he expected. Not exactly a safe place, but the chances of running into trouble here were much lower than anywhere else.
Finally, Jin pushed himself up from the bed. The blackened excuse for a blanket hung off the side of a yellowed mattress. Two pillows lay at the headboard — one of them torn open, and if you looked closely enough, you could see flies slipping in and out of the stuffing.
A vending machine stood to the right of the door.
Jin walked up to it and peered through the fogged plastic window. The selection was pathetic: a couple of packets of instant noodles, a few types of energy bars, and an assortment of sodas.
He settled on a pink can labeled Bubble Blood, pulled his money chip from his pocket, and slid it into the reader. After receiving the product code, the machine buzzed, rattled, and finally spat the drink into the tray.
Jin leaned against the machine's glass and cracked the can open. The fizz snapped through the room, cutting through the oppressive silence cast by the gray concrete walls. Staring at the opposite wall, he took a sip — the sugary liquid coating his mouth as he bobbled the taste.
A few minutes later, the can was empty, and Jin felt a small surge of energy.
"SoulLink System. Check status."
A sudden spike of pain stabbed through his skull — sharp enough to make Jin clamp his jaw shut.
He squeezed his eyes closed, every muscle in his face tightening as he fought through it.
Then, just as suddenly, the pain vanished.
Jin let out a deep breath, his face still burning from the strain of muscles unaccustomed to tightening so violently.
"Fast check completed," the female voice said.
"Brain damage — not detected."
"Occipital cortex integrity — normal."
"Cerebellar activity — normal."
"Would you like a detailed report of each brain zone's status?"
"No, that won't be necessary," Jin replied. "Sola, what's the immersion level?"
"Echoverse type — Memory Mirror."
"Hostile personality entities — none. Assimilation probability — zero percent."
"Immersion analysis: compatibility level ninety-four percent. World rejection — not detected."
"Identity disruption not detected."
"Remaining immersion time — two days, five hours, forty-three minutes."
"The nutrient solution should last six days. Three have already passed… the fourth is almost over." he thought.
"SoulLink System — initiate Assist Mode," Jin said.
"Warning. Assist Mode is foreign to all Echoverse-level systems. Prolonged use may lower compatibility and trigger a defensive response," Sola said.
"Relax. It's fine. A few minutes won't make a difference," Jin replied.
"Enable interface mode."
A bluish interface flickered into existence before his eyes, filling with elements as it loaded.
It was visible only to Jin, looking like a layer of augmented reality.
Information windows appeared beside every object in his field of view.
Compatibility of echochip simulation systems and third-party implants is possible by connecting it to the data channel between the echochip host machine and the brain.
It literally intrudes on connection, supplementing or altering the information being fed directly into the person's mind.
Such interference gradually disrupts data consistency, distorting the simulation immersion.
Jin straightened up and looked around the room. His gaze stopped on the jacket he'd thrown over the metal chair.
An interface flickered into existence beside it — several stacked blocks of information hovering in the air.
[Dark brown jacket]
[External Info]
[Internal Info]
[Origin — External]
Jin focused his sight on the general information block, and it instantly expanded over the others.
[Dark brown, cracked at the cuffs and scarred by years of use — this jacket has survived more streets than most people. Manufactured by Urban Industries, standard issue for low-grade enforcers and freelance mercenaries back in the 2060s. Smells of ozone and synthetic oil.]
"And it's pretty damn heavy," he said. "Databases won't tell you that, Sola."
He picked up the jacket and reached into the inner pocket.
Pulling out a familiar chip, he held it up before his eyes and focused.
A moment later, the description appeared — but this time it looked different.
[Unknown data chip]
[External Info]
[Internal Info]
[Origin — Unknown]
"Show me external info," Jin said.
The panel materialized… empty.
A single line blared across the center:
[NO INFO]
"Internal info?" he tried, hoping at least one block would give him something.
[NO INFO]
Jin sighed.
Staring at the last line, Jin sank into thought.
Rules and data form the foundation of every Echoverse.
Rules define how an object interacts with the world — whether it is internal, external, or anomalous.
The simulation fully created and controlled internal objects.
Living entities — if you can call them that — follow the same logic, their behavior driven entirely by the system.
External objects come from outside.
Such objects and the people using them — are foreign to the Echoverse and can't fully submit to its control.
They can determine their own actions and behavior patterns. But that freedom isn't absolute.
Once an external object enters an Echoverse, it becomes part of it — even if only temporarily.
To maintain compatibility, the core rules inevitably shape it.
These rules are immutable and universal.
It's like gravity: no matter what legs you've got, human muscle will never let you jump to the moon.
The second component is data. The information about the object, about its nature.
A person can't jump to the moon — but they can jump to a certain height.
A height their body allows — that is their physical data.
Everything that characterizes an object, such as its appearance, durability, behavior, or potential actions, is data. A massive collection of metrics, parameters, and numbers used by formulas and calculations — in Rules.
Rules cannot exist without data, just as data cannot exist without rules.
"But what if the system included an override mechanism from the start? A program designed specifically to alter only the key object — reshaping it, hiding it, making it hard to find while still keeping it under control of the simulation." Jin thought.
"The unknown object exists — so there must be data on it. And it has a physical representation, which means it obeys the rules applied to physical objects."
Jin felt he was possibly on the right track.
"Sola, remind me of the Memory Mirror formation process."
"According to my data, Memory Mirror echo creation comprises four steps."
"The first is connection. Connection AI breaches the inner regions of the brain, linking to the hippocampus and its adjacent areas."
"The second is extraction. Extraction AI consumes memory fragments. This step causes severe neural shock. Estimated lethality rate: ninety-seven percent."
"The third is construction. Construction AI uses the gathered information to structure the data and define the rules. After that, it builds the simulation core."
"The fourth and final step is creation. All AIs merge with auxiliary subsystems to form a God Entity — the governing presence that controls the world based on the core."
"God Entity is Rules. The simulation core is Data," Jin concluded.
He leaned against the vending machine again. He was missing a lead — he could feel a key detail slipping through his fingers. After standing still for a moment, he finally spoke:
"Give me the compatibility status."
"Compatibility level: ninety-two percent," the voice announced.
Jin looked at the chip. An information window appeared to the right of it.
"Scan the current world state with an anomaly scan. Find every object that is neither external nor internal and somehow relates to the chip I have. Any anomaly object decreases simulation integrity. Look for weak spots."
"Warning. Anomaly Scan will significantly decrease the compatibility level. Estimated post-scan compatibility: approximately sixty-five percent," the voice cautioned.
"Would you like to proceed?"
Jin knew the scan would be hurtful.
It is an invasion of simulation to reveal connections and inner parts. The scan connects to the brain, infecting it with various viruses. Then, it slips into echochip through the information channels, imitating that the brain acts as normal. The simulation thinks that the person is doing nothing while being examined deeply.
However, with every second, compatibility is decreasing. Viruses send responses to scan systems that are outside of the simulation connection process. It gradually overloads neural channels, which causes irreversible integrity losses, creating visual anomalies and entities behavior deviations.
The implants ramped up to maximum power, heating neural links and provoking raw, physical pain.
"Yes."
He lowered himself to the floor.
"Anomaly scan activated. Do not perform any actions that may alter objects or your state."
Jin felt a chill crawl down his spine. Cold metal bit into the back of his neck. Dozens of wires seemed to burrow into his skin. His legs felt the wet, suffocating cold wrapping around them, as if he were submerged in a bath of ice.
A wave of relaxation spread through his muscles and tendons — too deep, too complete. His body was slipping out of his control.
"Approximate scan time: ten hours."
Pressure started to build inside his skull.
It felt as if someone had opened his head and was methodically examining everything inside. His mind was emptying — thoughts forming slowly, sluggishly.
Something else occupied half of his consciousness. Something foreign, but not hostile.
Sleep pulled at him, heavy and relentless, while his mind tried to resist — weakening with every passing second.
"Oh… I agree…" Jin mumbled, his voice delayed and was barely audible.
He blacked out.