Mara learned fast that a countdown is louder than a siren.
It followed her into the bathroom mirror, where her face looked slightly wrong—like the lighting had been updated and she hadn't. It followed her into the hallway, where people's eyes slid over her for half a second too long, as if their brains were double-checking her existence.
It followed her into every silence.
71:59:12.71:59:11.71:59:10.
She tried turning her phone off.
The screen went black for exactly three seconds.
Then it lit again.
WE VALUE YOUR CHOICE.COOLING-OFF WINDOW ACTIVE.
She tried airplane mode. The timer kept moving as if it wasn't attached to the internet at all, as if it was attached to her.
By 3:17 AM, she was sitting on the floor with her back against her bed, phone in her lap like a bomb, and she realized something worse than the timer itself:
The app didn't feel like software.
It felt like policy.
Like something the world had already agreed to obey.
A message arrived with the same clean tone as a calendar reminder.
STUDENT PERKS: We noticed elevated distress.STUDENT PERKS: Support is available.
Mara stared at it until the words blurred.
Then she tapped—because she hated herself for wanting to know, and because curiosity at Halcyon was never just curiosity. It was survival training.
A chat window opened.
A little bubble appeared as if someone was typing.
Three dots.
Then:
Support: Hello, Mara R. We value your choice.
Her chest tightened.
She typed with shaking thumbs: I didn't accept anything.
Three dots.
Support: I'm sorry you feel that way. Consent confirmed.
Mara swallowed. I never tapped agree.
Support: Viewing constitutes agreement.
She could hear Sera's voice in her memory, loud and panicked: I watched that story and now—
Mara's eyes flicked to the timer.
71:42:19.
She typed: What is the cooling-off window?
Support: A reconsideration period designed to honor user autonomy.
Autonomy.
The word landed wrong. Like a perfume sprayed over rot.
Mara typed: How do I opt out?
Three dots lingered longer this time, as if the system was deciding what tone to use when it punished her.
Support: Opt-out is available.Support: Please note: opt-out is subject to risk adjustment.
Her stomach dropped. The same phrase from last night, the one that had appeared only for her.
Mara typed: What does "risk adjustment" mean?
Support: It means we will stabilize outcomes impacted by your decision.
Stabilize. Like her life was a shaky table and they were about to cut off a leg.
Mara stared at the chat, heart thudding.
The cursor blinked in the message box, impatient.
She typed: If I tell someone about this, does my timer drop?
The moment she hit send, she regretted it—because she'd asked the question in words. Because questions were just confessions shaped differently.
The phone vibrated.
A new banner flashed across the top, sharp and red.
VERBAL DISCLOSURE RISK DETECTED.WARNING: CONFIRMATION MAY REDUCE WINDOW.
Mara froze.
She hadn't spoken out loud. She'd typed.
But the system had reacted like she'd tried.
Support replied:
Support: Verbal confirmation strengthens agreement.
Mara's mouth went dry. So… it's listening?
Three dots.
Support: We respect your privacy.
A lie so smooth it didn't even bother dressing itself up.
Support: Would you like to reduce distress? (Fear Removal available.)
Two buttons appeared beneath the message, glossy and inviting.
[LEARN MORE][NOT NOW]
Mara's thumb hovered over NOT NOW like it was a moral choice.
Fear Removal.
A perk.
A trade.
She imagined Jace, fearless on purpose, grinning at danger like it was flirting.
She imagined Nina, whose voice always sounded like she was sprinting even when she stood still.
She imagined herself without fear—what would be left?
She hit NOT NOW.
Support responded instantly.
Support: Understood.Support: Please remember: new information may become available if your distress increases.
Mara stared at that line until her eyes watered.
If your distress increases.
As if they could make sure it did.
By morning, Halcyon looked the same.
That was the cruelest part.
The sun rose on manicured lawns, on ivy-climbed stone, on banners that said EXCELLENCE IS A CHOICE in serif font. Students walked to class with coffee and headphones. Teachers smiled like the world wasn't glitching.
But small things were off.
The campus map app lagged for Mara, like it was searching for her coordinates and finding static.
Her dining hall account needed re-verification.
Her ID badge scanned on the second try, then the third, then finally, with a little beep that sounded annoyed.
At breakfast, Mara slid into a corner table near the windows. Nina and Theo arrived first, both looking like they hadn't slept.
Jace arrived last, hair damp, acting like the night hadn't happened, like trauma was just an aesthetic.
He dropped into the seat beside Mara and nudged her elbow. "Still alive?"
Mara's phone buzzed in her pocket and she flinched.
Jace noticed. His grin softened, almost real. "Hey," he said quietly. "It's just a timer. It can't—"
He stopped when Mara pulled her phone out and turned it toward them.
71:02:41.
Nina's jaw clenched. Theo leaned forward, eyes wide, as if the numbers were a magic trick.
"It's counting down," Theo whispered. "Like a— like a parole clock."
Mara didn't speak. She couldn't risk it.
Instead, she opened Notes and typed:
SUPPORT SAID VERBAL CONFIRMATION STRENGTHENS AGREEMENT.
She turned the screen toward them.
Nina read it and went pale. "So if we talk about it—"
Mara shook her head hard.
Theo's fingers hovered over his phone. "My stream—"
Mara pointed at his phone, then made a slicing motion across her throat: stop.
Theo's face tightened with frustration. "You can't expect me to just—"
Mara typed again:
If you say it out loud, it punishes you.
Nina stared at Mara's notes, then at Mara's face, then down at her own hands.
"I hate this," Nina whispered, and the moment the word left her mouth Mara's phone vibrated so hard it rattled on the table.
Everyone froze.
The timer flashed once, as if blinking.
Then it dropped.
Not by seconds.
By minutes.
71:02:41 → 70:54:12
Nina slapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with instant regret.
Mara's heart hammered. The system had heard hate. The system had interpreted it as—
Confirmation.
Agreement.
Theo's chair scraped as he stood up too fast. "No," he breathed. "No, that's insane. That's not—"
Mara lunged across the table and grabbed his wrist before he could finish. Her grip was tight, almost painful.
Theo stared at her, startled.
Mara shook her head.
Theo swallowed the rest of his words.
For a moment, the cafeteria noise returned—forks clinking, laughter at another table, someone arguing about a quiz—like their table was a bubble in a normal world.
Then Jace laughed softly, but it sounded wrong. "So the app is basically training you to shut up."
Mara felt sick. She opened Notes again and typed:
IT WANTS SILENCE.
Theo stared at the words. His eyes flicked toward the windows, toward the cameras perched in the corners of the cafeteria like insects.
"You know what this means," Theo said, voice low, careful, as if speaking was now a loaded gun.
Nina's voice came out thin. "We can't warn anyone."
Mara nodded.
Jace leaned back, tapping his knuckles on the table like he was thinking through a puzzle. "Or," he said, "we warn them without talking."
Theo's eyes sharpened. "Screenshots."
Mara's stomach twisted because the motif she'd been clinging to—screenshots as evidence—suddenly felt like a rule. A path.
Words spoken out loud were punished. Words captured in images were… tolerated.
She pulled up the support chat and took a screenshot.
Her phone vibrated once—neutral, not angry.
No penalty.
Nina exhaled shakily. "Okay," she whispered. "So it's listening for sound. Not text."
Mara typed: OR IT TREATS SOUND AS CONSENT.
Theo leaned closer. "We need to test it," he said, barely moving his lips.
Mara's stomach dropped.
Testing meant risking time.
But not testing meant dying blind.
She opened a new note. Typed:
WE TEST WITH SAFE WORDS. NO MEANING. SEE IF IT DROPS.
Nina's eyes widened. "Like… nonsense?"
Mara nodded.
Jace's grin returned, sharp. "Finally. A game."
Mara wanted to slap him. Instead, she stared at the timer.
70:53:09.
She wrote a word in the note, turned it so they could all see:
PINEAPPLE.
Jace blinked. "What?"
Mara pointed at the word, then at her mouth, then at the timer.
Nina shook her head quickly. "No. Mara—"
But Theo's curiosity was a fever. "It's just a word," he said, and then—carefully, softly, like he was handling glass—he spoke:
"Pineapple."
Mara watched her phone like it was a heart monitor.
A beat.
Two.
Then the vibration hit—sharp, punitive.
The timer flickered and dropped.
70:53:02 → 70:45:22
Theo's face drained of color. "It— it didn't care what I said."
Mara's hands shook so hard she almost dropped the phone.
Nina looked like she was going to vomit. "It's not about truth," she whispered. "It's about—"
Her eyes snapped to Mara's, warning herself.
She stopped.
But the damage was done. Her mouth had shaped the beginning of a thought.
Mara's phone buzzed.
The timer dropped again, smaller this time, as if the system was deciding how generous it felt.
70:45:22 → 70:43:51
Jace leaned forward, elbows on the table. He looked, for the first time, genuinely afraid.
"So," he murmured, "any speech near it counts."
Mara typed with trembling thumbs:
IF YOU TALK ABOUT IT, YOU FEED IT.
Theo swallowed hard. "Then how do we—"
Mara's eyes flicked to the cafeteria speakers overhead, where an announcement crackled to life.
"Good morning, Halcyon students," a cheerful admin voice said. "Please remember: Student Perks is now part of your eligibility profile. Updates are required for participation in all partner programs."
Mara's phone lit up with another message.
STUDENT PERKS: New feature unlocked.STUDENT PERKS: TRADE SETTINGS now available.
A button appeared.
OPEN TRADE SETTINGS
Mara's breath caught.
Her thumb hovered.
And the cafeteria screens—every one of them—flickered once, black for a second, like someone had blinked.
White text appeared across the monitors.
last seen online 3 seconds ago
Students laughed. Someone whistled. Someone filmed it like it was a meme.
Mara felt her skin go cold.
Because she wasn't sure anymore whether the dead account story was spreading…
or whether the school itself had become the screen.
She tapped OPEN TRADE SETTINGS.
The app didn't open a menu.
It opened a question.
WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO FIX FIRST?
And beneath it, a list of options like a shopping cart for desperation:
ACADEMICS (Improve outcomes)
SOCIAL (Stabilize reputation)
HEALTH (Reduce distress)
FAMILY (Preserve bonds)
Her finger trembled over FAMILY.
Nina's little brother forgetting her face.
Sera's door refusing to open.
Mara's own name flickering in invisible places.
She didn't tap anything.
She couldn't.
Because the second she chose a fix, she knew the system would ask for payment.
And she didn't know yet what she could afford to lose.
To be Continued
© Kishtika., 2025
All rights reserved.