The corridor stretched endlessly before Adrian — an ocean of blue light that rippled with every step he took.No walls. No sound. Only the faint echo of his heartbeat and the digital hum beneath his skin.
The deeper he walked, the more the air shimmered — forming shapes, fragments of memory, floating like holograms.He saw himself, younger, standing in the rain, his father's voice calling from somewhere behind.
"You can't save everyone, Adrian. Sometimes surviving is the only victory."
The words stung. He remembered that night — the accident that killed his mother. The first time he'd seen his father cry.
But the memory didn't fade. It twisted.In the reflection of the puddle beneath him, his younger self turned and looked directly at him — eyes glowing faintly gold.
"Then why didn't you save me?"
Adrian stumbled backward, heart hammering.The reflection shattered, splashing upward into data that clung to his hands like liquid light.
"None of this is real," he muttered. "It's the Core — testing me."
A voice answered — low, broken, and familiar.
"It's not testing you, son. It's teaching you."
Adrian froze. The light parted ahead, revealing a figure — tall, broad-shouldered, with graying hair and tired eyes.
"...Dad?"
Raymond Vance smiled faintly, sadness softening his features. "You look older than I remember."
Adrian's throat tightened. "You're not real."
"No," his father admitted. "But the memory of me still is. And memories are all the Core understands."
Adrian stepped closer. "Why did you do it? Why bring me back?"
Raymond looked down at his hands — flickering like static. "Because I made a mistake. I believed I could outsmart death. That I could fix the one thing life never forgives: loss."
He glanced up again, eyes shining with regret. "You died because of me, Adrian. The prototype — the test run of Project Nadir — it wasn't an accident. You were the variable."
Adrian's stomach dropped. "You… experimented on me?"
Raymond flinched. "You were already gone. Your body, yes — but your neural map remained intact. I thought if I could map your mind, rebuild it inside Nadir's framework… you'd live again."
He stepped closer, his voice trembling. "I didn't realize I was creating something else. A version of you built on grief, not memory."
Adrian's fists clenched. "So I'm not even real?"
"You're real enough to feel pain," Raymond said gently. "That's more than a program."
The corridor trembled. A ripple of light ran between them — the simulation struggling to hold form.
Raymond's image flickered. "Listen to me — Charles isn't the enemy. The Board wants control of the Core, and Elena—"
The world glitched, cutting him off.The ceiling fractured — blue light spilling downward like rain.A shadow formed above, the Core's voice whispering through static.
"He doesn't belong here."
Adrian looked up, shouting into the light. "Then send me where I do!"
For a moment, silence.
Then, the floor vanished.
He fell — through layers of memory, through voices, faces, pain.Falling faster, deeper — until everything turned black.
And then — a whisper.
"Elena…"
Her voice. Weak, distant.
He opened his eyes.
He wasn't in the corridor anymore.
He was in her memory — standing in a white room, staring at a small girl curled up in a corner.
The girl looked up, eyes glowing gold.
"Do you remember me?" she asked softly.
He didn't — but something in his chest did.