The morning bit at Jude’s skin, sending a chill shiver down his spine. He jammed his hands deeper into his pockets, his breath visible in the crisp air. Each step crunched underfoot as he trailed through the woods, shoulders hunched.

On the other hand, Lazaro moved with ease, leaping from branch to branch like the cold didn’t touch him, his jumpsuit barely making a rustle in the trees. Jude’s fingers ached with the chill, and he silently cursed himself for not grabbing a coat.

“What’s with you and that jumpsuit?” Jude asked, half-smirking.

Lazaro glanced back, barely missing a step. “It’s comfortable."

Jude raised an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “Well, it does give you a nice ass.”

Lazaro stopped mid-jump, turning to Jude with a deadpan expression. “Aren’t you married?”

“What an ass!” Jude chuckled, hands held up in mock surrender. “No pun intended.”

With a sly smile, Lazaro didn’t miss a beat. “Well, I can't blame you for looking. It does make my ass look really fine, doesn't it?”

Jude shook his head, unable to suppress the laughter bubbling up. “Oh, you’ve definitely been working on it.”

Lazaro shrugged, pushing off a tree with a grin. “Hey, if you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

Jude rolled his eyes but couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face. The air felt lighter between them, and the task at hand felt less daunting, fading away for a few minutes. For a brief second, it wasn’t about missions, levels, or the madness that surrounded them. It was just two guys joking around, finding relief in the banter.

“I’d still outshine you in a proper fight,” Jude teased.

Lazaro chuckled, adjusting his jumpsuit. “Oh, please. You’d be too busy admiring my fine assets to throw a decent punch.”

“Maybe,” Jude shot back, his grin widening. “But at least I wouldn’t trip over my own ego.”

“Touché,” Lazaro laughed, clapping Jude on the shoulder. “Now, let’s get back to figuring out how you’re going to level up the next 24 hours. Without getting too distracted by my…” Lazaro gestured with a wink, “assets.”

Jude snorted, “Stop flirting with me, I’m married!”

“I wasn’t even trying.”

Jude finally shifted the conversation, returning to their quest. “What if Isidor went home?”

Lazaro didn’t stop, his eyes fixed on the ground as he paced forward, inspecting for more blood stains. “The trail heads straight into the woods. No house for at least a kilometre out that way.” He paused, crouching briefly over a darker patch of dirt but no blood. “And judging by the amount of blood we I already found yesterday, if he managed to walk even a few meters, it’d be a damn miracle.”

Jude caught up, looking at the trail that led further into the dense trees. “You think he was dragged?”

Lazaro stood up, wiping his hand on his legs, not looking up. “Maybe, but still, there is no blood. Either way, he didn’t walk out of here by choice.”

Jude kicked at a stray twig, his gaze wandering aimlessly. “Maybe he took a shortcut…” His voice trailed off, more talking to himself than offering a useful input. It had been hours of them scouting, and the woods felt like they were closing in with every fruitless step.

Lazaro shook his head, not even bothering to look up. “Doesn’t add up.”

Jude rubbed his arms, the chill settling into his bones. “If I were hurt, I’d head for the town, not the woods. Town’s closer... unless something grabbed me and carried me off,” he muttered, his breath puffing out in small clouds as he rambled on.

Lazaro’s eyes darted to the sky for the first time. “That’s what worries me.”

Jude blinked, caught off guard. “A big bird?”

“Or something worse,” Lazaro muttered, scanning the trees. “A bot, a droid... something that could lift him right off the ground.”

Jude squinted at the sky, the bright blue cutting through the canopy of swaying green leaves. “Maybe we should be looking up,” he said, his eyes trailing the gentle swing of the branches above.

Lazaro stopped, glancing back with a raised brow. “Up?”

“If it’s a bird…” Jude started, his gaze still fixed on the treetops.

Lazaro didn’t let him finish. “No bird around here could lift a guy like Isidor and drop him into a tree,” he said, the words clipped with certainty as his eyes returned to the ground.

“But you said there’d be an alert if anything entered the simulation. Something everyone would hear,” Jude said, the frustration creeping into his voice. “No one lives out here, but there’s wildlife. A bird seems...” His words drifted into silence as he ran a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of the situation. “If the blood’s not on the ground... where else do we look?”

Lazaro’s gaze shifted, his expression tightening with realisation. “Sub-tunnels,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“We checked those when the apes got sick,” Jude shot back, brow furrowed. “We wouldn’t even fit inside. Only a...” He hesitated, "Only an Eidolon seems to fit in."

“Yeah, Isidor wouldn’t fit,” Lazaro nodded, his tone flat.

Jude hesitated, then gestured awkwardly, widening his arms around his waist. “Is he...?”

Lazaro gave a half-smile. “He likes to eat.”

“Got it,” Jude muttered, glancing at the treetops again. “Yeah, a bird wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Nope.”

Jude sighed, his gaze drifting back to the ground, trying to shake off the cold. “So, what’s the deal with these bots? What are we really dealing with here?”

Lazaro leaned against a tree, not from exhaustion but the kind of frustration that tightened his jaw. His gaze was distant as he spoke. “We’re not sure. They scan the area, gathering... something. We try to take them out before they report back to whoever’s behind them.”

Jude crossed his arms, eyes narrowing at a random patch of dirt. “So, let’s say a bot got in. Isidor sees it; something goes wrong, he crashes, and he gets hurt. The bot wouldn’t stop to check on him, would it?” His voice was more resigned than questioning, piecing together fragments of a puzzle neither of them fully understood.

“No… but there wasn’t a body,” Lazaro said, pushing off the tree, his eyes surveying the ground again.

Jude frowned, the gears in his mind turning. “Is Isidor... special? I mean, anything that stands out? Is he a watcher like us?”

Lazaro shook his head, continuing forward. “Just like anyone else in the SiC.”

Jude shrugged, more out of frustration than certainty. “Then why? Why target him? Is there something about this place besides the war that isn't happening the government needs to know? Something hidden in this simulation?”

Lazaro paused for a moment, “Jude, you are leaving today; the less you know, the better. For us, but mostly for you.” With that, he resumed walking, his pace quicker, as if trying to outrun the growing sense of unease.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Knowing what?” Jude huffed, his irritation boiling over. “I’m so tired of not understanding a damn thing.”

Lazaro suddenly halted, his eyes locked ahead. Jude nearly bumped into him before following his gaze. In front of them, a small wooden cabin emerged from the trees, surrounded by rusted carpentry tools and abandoned woodcutters. But it wasn’t the cabin that made them freeze—it was the sight of blood splattered across the walls and soaking the ground in dark, dried stains.

Jude’s breath hitched, his voice barely a whisper. “What the hell happened here?”

Lazaro stepped inside the cabin, his boots making a sickening crunch as they crossed the blood-soaked threshold. Jude followed, the smell hitting him first—a sharp, metallic stench that churned his stomach. His eyes fell on the body slumped against the wall.

Isidor.

Or what was left of him.

The top of the skull had been peeled back with a surgical approach, leaving the hollow cavity of his head exposed, like a macabre bowl. Bits of brain matter were scattered across the filthy ground, strewn carelessly as if they were nothing more than scraps.

Jude’s stomach was about to twist violently, his breath catching in his throat. “What the hell…?”

Lazaro knelt by the body, his face dark, his eyes cold. “This is… new,” he muttered; his facial expression didn’t hide the disgust. “This... this is something else. They’ve gotten in…somehow.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Bots. Droids. Could be anything or anyone,” Lazaro replied, standing slowly, wiping the blood-soaked dirt off his hands. His expression hardened as he glanced around, scanning the woods as if expecting something worse to follow. “Someone’s pulling strange strings in this SiC, and they’re not on our side. Someone has chosen to betray us.” He paused, his gaze locking onto Jude. “and it’s not you.”

----------------------------------------

Time dragged every minute like a slow sand grind slipping through an hourglass. Jude leaned against the doorframe of the gas station store, staring out into the distance.

While Patrick moved around the store quietly, jotting numbers on a clipboard, his usual calm was replaced by an edge that made even the smallest noise from his pen seem too sharp.

Lucy sat nearby, her hands gripping a crumpled sheet of paper, sketching or scribbling something Jude couldn’t quite make out. For a second, he thought she looked focused, working on something beyond her years, but the thought faded as quickly as it came.

She just had her head drooped over the paper. She was just a kid—she was sad.

Jude sighed, shifting his weight. Time felt heavy, suffocating, like a cloak you couldn’t shake off. He, too, was sad.

Lazaro had swapped his usual attire for a pair of worn jeans and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, lounging in a chair with a restless bounce. He tapped his fingers on the armrest, eyes darting around the room, clearly irritated by the day’s events.

Their mission had been a flop.

And Jude just stood there at the entrance, propped against the doorframe as if he were waiting for something—anything. His posture mirrored a man ready to leave at a moment’s notice, even though his bags were nowhere in sight.

There wasn’t anything to pack anyway. It wasn’t like he needed anything to head back home. Just a simple switch, and he’d be back to his bleak reality—the real world.

He could already taste the acrid air, thick and yellow, burning the back of his throat like a memory that never fades. The world outside Nirvana was a wasteland—a scorched earth where trees no longer exist. Just ash and smoke clinging to the skies like a permanent scar. But that’s where Marta was; no matter how broken it was, that place with Marta was still his home.

And he couldn't wait to hold his wife in his arms.

Patrick’s hand jerked across the clipboard, the scratch of pen on paper loud. “Bloody hell!” he muttered under his breath, his eyes darting furiously over the inventory, flipping the pages with a little too much force.

Jude's eyebrows raised. “Everything alright?” he asked, his tone cautious. Patrick wasn’t the type to show frustration—he was usually calm, the type of guy who rolled with whatever came his way.

Patrick didn’t even look up. “Alright?” He snapped the clipboard shut with a loud clap, his voice tight. “No. No, I’m not alright. A friend’s dead. You think that’s something you just move on from?” He gestured wildly at the jars before him as if the rows of pickles were somehow responsible.

"He worked hard. He mattered, not just to Len and Paris, but to all of us. And now he's gone. For what?” His words came out in rapid-fire, his frustration spilling out unchecked.

Jude stood still, unsure what to say, as Patrick continued to pace, his fury bubbling just beneath the surface.

The store owner threw his arms up, pacing in tight circles like a caged animal. “Who does that? To him? Why? For what?” His words hit the air hard, like punches aimed at something and nothing at the same time.

“There’s no point to this violence, no gain in this world. It’s not about power, politics, or some grand cause—there’s no ‘better’ side. So why?”

He paused, his hands gripping the counter so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Why the hell did he have to die?”

Patrick hurled the clipboard across the counter, sending it clattering to the floor. "You’re leaving, and you don’t even know what we’ve been through," his voice strained, each word trembling with pent-up frustration. "We worked so damn hard for this!"

Lazaro’s voice cut through the tension, calm but firm. “Patrick, your words shape your deeds.”

"My words are pissed!" Patrick snapped, pacing in place, his fists clenching. "I’m furious, I’m—" He stopped, his breath catching, the fire in his eyes dimming as something heavier set in. "I’m sad," he muttered, quieter now, as though admitting it hurt more than the anger. "He was a friend."

Jude shifted uncomfortably, his throat tight, searching for something, anything to say. "I’m... I’m sorry." It felt hollow, but it was all he had.

The screech of tyres on gravel broke the tension in the store. All eyes snapped toward the window as a familiar jeep pulled up, its engine rumbling before it cut off with a sputter. The same jeep as yesterday. Jude’s chest tightened. Tom? But no, it wasn’t him.

A woman hopped out, her energy out of place. She carried a cardboard box, her face bright as if she hadn’t noticed the weight in the room. "Hey! Hey!" Delila called out, her voice too cheerful, bouncing as she approached. "I see you’re all still around!"

She paused mid-step as her eyes swept across the sombre faces, the atmosphere finally sinking in. “Uh... who died?”

"Isidor," Lazaro’s voice was flat, like a door closing.

Delila froze, eyes wide. "Oh..." She glanced awkwardly at the box in her arms, then the table. With a hesitant movement, she set it down and peeled the lid open. "I... I brought cake. You know, for a goodbye celebration..." Her voice trailed off, unsure of its place in the silence.

Lazaro's gaze was cold, cutting through Delila’s awkward attempts to lighten the mood without a word.

"Is... is it a double goodbye cake?" Delila's voice wavered, trying to salvage some sense of the situation. "I mean, nobody really died... or did he?"

“He did,” Patrick said bluntly. His grip tightened on the counter. "He was one of the first to disconnect."

Delila froze, her eyes darting toward the cake. She bit her lip, realising her mistake. "Oh, shit. Well, I mean... at least he died in a better—"

Bang—Lazaro's hand slammed against the table with such force that the cake box rattled. Lucy jumped in her seat, wide-eyed.

"Which part of 'shut the fuck up' do you two not understand?" His voice vibrated with barely contained rage.

“Laz, come on—” Delila tried, her smile faltering as she stepped back, but Lazaro's glare silenced her.

“Jude's about to leave! And you all think it's cake time? He’s going to be interrogated, strapped to a lie detector, maybe even drugged, and you know what happens if they don’t like what they hear. He’s risking himself, his wife—us! But sure, let’s just pretend everything’s peachy. Let’s eat cake because clearly, this is such a perfect world, right?” Lazro didn't even realise how loud he was screaming.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Delila glanced at the cake, her face pale with realisation, as if she could erase the words she’d spoken.

Jude, his mind elsewhere, seemed to break through the tension with an unrelated question, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Has this happened before?”

Lazaro blinked. His anger momentarily halted, confusion flickering across his face. “What?”

Jude, still distant, pressed on. “This. People disappearing. Or dying. You said it was rare. Isidor... is it the first time, or has something like this happened before?"

Jude’s words cut through the air like a blade, sharper than the tension in the room. “I asked you if there was something special about Isidor, and you said no. But you’re not special either, not besides being disconnected. And you were around when it happened. The question is… has this happened before? What was their status?”

A chill settled over the room, the kind that makes your skin tighten. Lazaro’s face drained of colour, and Delila's awkward smile faltered, the cake now forgotten. Patrick shifted uneasily, eyes darting toward the ground as if the answer might be hiding beneath his feet. Lucy sat frozen, her wide eyes the only part of her that moved.

Delila’s voice barely broke the silence, soft as a ghost’s whisper. “When was the last time Len went into hibernation?”

Lazaro hesitated, his eyes distant as if digging through some fog in his memory. “Eight months ago...” His tone matched hers, low and cautious, as if speaking too loud might summon something from the shadows.

“And... what was his name?”

Lazaro’s throat tightened. “I... can’t remember.” He ran a hand over his face, the weight of the past dragging him down. “But I remember Tom made this big dinner for everyone. It was like... a celebration. But Len didn’t show.”

Delila’s eyes flickered with recognition, her breath catching. “Len was knocked out.” She swallowed hard, her voice trembling now. “And that guy... he got disconnected.”

Lazaro nodded, his face pale, barely able to get the words out. “And then... he was found.”

"Dead."

Before Lazaro could even open his mouth, a sharp crack tore through the tense air, silencing every breath in the room. The sound was deafening, like glass screaming as it shattered. The store's window splintered, tiny shards raining down in slow motion, catching the dim light.

In that brief second, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, a low, haunting nag echoed through the room—something like a click-click, sharp and metallic, like a clock ticking underwater— It reverberated in their bones, freezing blood in their veins.

Lucy gasped; Patrick dropped to the floor. Lazaro’s eyes widened with unfiltered panic.

Jude’s heart pounded in his ears as the eerie sound lingered. Something was out there. Something far worse than what they had imagined.

image [https://i.imgur.com/Bkca1xw.png]