The corridor behind us closed like a held breath.
No sound. No code-flash. Just stillness. The kind that only settles after something has screamed and fallen silent. My legs moved without instruction—one foot after another, as if momentum alone was dragging me forward.
Beside me, Patch matched my pace. Silent. Watchful. Her tail flicked once with every step.
This hallway felt different.
The walls didn't writhe or shimmer. They pulsed—with memory.
Not metaphor.
Memory.
Fragments of fabric and plastic lined the corridor, stitched into the texture of the walls like something that had grown from underneath. A hoodie sleeve with a fraying cuff. The base of a headphone stand. A broken pencil case. And—buried in the seam of the floor—a torn plush bear. Stuffed. Familiar. Half-hidden like a buried crime.
The air smelled warm.
Like an old drawer opened for the first time in years. Like the inside of a child's backpack. Like dust that used to belong to someone who mattered.
"We're here," Patch said softly.
The hallway ended in a round chamber. It reminded me of a small arena. The floor was pristine. The ceiling sloped upward, rimmed by amber lighting strips. At the centre, three stone pedestals formed a perfect triangle.
I stepped in.
On the first pedestal sat Lily's backpack. Round, bubblegum pink. The front pouch sparkled under the lights—an Among Us crewmate holding a glittery pixel-blade. The zipper pull was a retro keycard charm, faded and scratched.
The second pedestal held Chris's headset. Cracked at the band. A thin smear of dried glue still marked the fracture I'd promised to fix but never did. One earpad held a faint imprint of hair gel. The mic arm twitched—not electronically.
Biologically.
And the third object…
A red gamepad. Worn thumbsticks. The "A" button chipped. The match to the one I still carried in my hoodie pocket.
Lou's controller.
She used it in every co-op session. Laughed when she won. Tossed it when she lost.
I'd never seen it after that night.
But here it was.
Rendered.
Waiting.
Above the triangle, text burned into the air:
[PUZZLE NODE 3/4: WEIGHTED LOSS]
[SELECT AND CARRY OBJECTS IN ORDER OF EMOTIONAL BURDEN]
[MAX CARRY LIMIT: 2]
[EXCESSIVE CONTACT TIME WILL RESULT IN SYSTEM FEEDBACK]
[TIME REMAINING: 09:33]
Patch remained by the entrance.
"I will not advise you," she said. "This puzzle is not for me."
I stared at the objects.
"I know," I whispered. "This one's mine."
I moved to the first pedestal.
Lily's backpack.
The crewmate print was scratched around the eyes. The straps frayed at the edges. There were faint grease stains from a spilled Capri-Sun across one corner.
I reached out.
The instant I touched it—I felt her.
Not a vision. Not a voice.
Weight.
Literal weight.
My knees buckled. My breath caught in my throat. My fingers twitched against the padded strap, which gave just slightly under my grip.
My pulse doubled.
The warmth in the room didn't fade—it became too much. Like the garage. Like hearing her laugh one last time.
The charm jingled.
And something cracked behind my sternum.
I stepped back, clutching the backpack to my chest.
Patch didn't interrupt.
The system did.
[TIME REMAINING: 09:04]
[WEIGHT REGISTERED: 1/2]
The room tilted—just enough to make me stumble toward the second pedestal.
Chris's headset.
I hadn't heard his voice in days.
But it echoed in every dream.
I lifted the headset.
It made a sound.
A tiny burst of static.
Then Chris's voice:
"Dad, do you ever think… this isn't a game?"
No lead-in. No context.
Just that.
But he'd never said it. Not aloud. Not in those words.
My arms dropped to my sides. The weight crushed me.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
Remorse.
The weight built slowly. Not like Lily's bag. This one accumulated. Cumulative regret.
My wrists burned first.
Then my forearms.
Then my spine.
My knees shook.
[CARRY LIMIT APPROACHING]
[STRESS INDEX: 82%]
I bit down on a cry. My arms trembled. The headset cracked further beneath my fingers.
I knew it wasn't real.
A facsimile. A memory made tangible.
But I couldn't let go.
Not of either.
Behind me, Lou's red controller waited.
That impossible shimmer again. Half-glow, half-suggestion.
A relic I never recovered.
It shouldn't be here.
I turned toward it—just a glance.
Patch took a single step forward.
I shook my head. "No. I'll carry it."
"You will collapse."
"I can't let it go."
"Then you must choose what matters most."
Her voice wasn't cruel.
Just true.
I looked at the controller again. The nick at the top-left trigger from the time she threw it at the couch. The thumbsticks, smooth with wear.
I couldn't do it.
I didn't have it in me.
And Patch—without asking—moved.
She padded up to the pedestal.
Bent down.
Picked up the controller in her jaws.
And walked back to my side.
The system accepted it.
[COMPANION INTERVENTION: VALID]
[EMOTIONAL DISTRIBUTION: BALANCED]
[OVERLOAD: AVOIDED]
And I broke.
Dropped to one knee.
Backpack to my chest.
Headset dangling from my fingers.
No scream.
No tears.
Just a long, shallow exhale.
Like bleeding from the soul.
Patch said nothing.
She curled her tail gently around me.
And carried what I couldn't.
The light above the pedestals flared—briefly. A flash. A blink. Like a camera shutter.
[NODE 3/4 COMPLETE]
[CODE SEGMENT: _Df9R]
[FINAL SEQUENCE BUILDING…]
[EMOTIONAL BURDEN ACKNOWLEDGED]
[SYSTEM PRESSURE STABLE]
[TIME REMAINING: 08:41]
The items didn't vanish.
They dissolved.
Lily's backpack unravelled—pink and pixel-blue threads lifting like vapor.
Chris's headset broke apart—plastic, memory, sound—gone in stages.
Lou's controller disappeared in a single pulse of light, soft and reverent.
When it ended, I still knelt, arms locked around nothing.
The pedestals retracted.
The room returned to default.
Only Patch stayed.
She sat beside me.
Not grieving.
Sharing.
Her plating clicked softly as she shifted closer.
"You endured more than expected," she said.
"I didn't have a choice."
"You always have a choice."
I looked at her. Exhausted. Empty. Still alive.
"But not all of them are good."
The floor rumbled softly. A wall rotated. Ninety degrees.
A new corridor.
Mirrored.
On either side of us—reflections.
And for the first time, I saw myself clearly.
I didn't like it.
My hoodie hung in tatters. Sweat and blood soaked through. My arms trembled. My eyes… haunted.
But still open.
And Patch?
She didn't reflect at all.
"Let's move," she said.
I stood.
We walked into the corridor.
One puzzle left.
One fragment of code.
And something was watching now.
Something close.