The first thing he noticed was the air. Clean. Almost too clean. It didn't smell like dust or rot or blood. It smelled like nothing—manufactured nothing.
Kael blinked against the morning light. The hall he'd just crawled through didn't exist anymore. He stood on smooth glass pavement, surrounded by pristine architecture: arc-shaped towers, luminous signs, floating sky-trains. Perfect symmetry. People walking like clockwork.
Not a scream. Not a whisper. Just soft music playing from somewhere invisible, gentle piano notes drifting through the breeze.
His blade was gone.
No weight in his palm. No hum in his spine. Just smooth skin.
[SYNC LEVEL: 14% — MEMORY BLADE LOCKED]
A flash in a window caught his eye. His reflection. Normal. Too normal.
But he didn't trust it.
He walked.
No one looked at him. No one spoke. The city moved like a looped dream. He passed a café where people laughed too perfectly. A child skipped in place—exactly the same motion, again and again.
He turned. So did the child.
Her eyes were blank.
No pupils. Just loading circles.
A digital voice echoed over the city:
"Welcome, citizens. Your safety rating is green. Emotional variance stable. Sync integrity at 97%."
Kael's skin crawled. He looked around for anything real—anything wrong.
And then he saw it.
A man in a black coat with a fractured sync implant on the back of his neck. Standing still in the middle of a moving crowd. Looking directly at Kael.
The man smiled.
And bled. Just a little. From the corner of his mouth.
He mouthed something:
"Reset didn't work."
Then vanished.
Kael spun. No one noticed. The city carried on.
He backed into an alley and dropped to his knees. His heart was pounding. Or maybe the world was.
Then… a voice. Behind him.
Not the girl. Not the man.
A woman. Whispering. Close. Too close.
"You're syncing wrong, Kael. They'll notice. They always do."