The Landmark Scanner echoed out, blunt and didn’t pause for thought:

"I stand in one place, yet guide you through,

A point of change for both me and you.

With levels to gain and paths to show,

What am I? Where do you need to go?”

Jude squinted at the words on the screen, a smirk playing on his lips. "Is it just me, or is this one a no-brainer?"

Teresa glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. "Alright, genius. What do you think it is?" she replied. "I’m thinking... 'map,' obviously."

Jude shook his head as he crossed his arms. "Nah," he countered, tapping his fingers against his arm as if to emphasise his point. "Think about it—it moves, right? Has to be 'GPS,' not some paper map."

“It said it DOESN’T move, idiot.”

“No, it said it moves!”

While Teresa and Jude traded ideas and insults back and forth, Lucy’s gaze fixed on the riddle, her lips moving in a faint murmur.

“I stand…” she whispered, her fingers brushing over the cool surface of the scanner. Her eyes flicked between the lines, a quiet certainty settling over her. She glanced at the two, still engrossed in their debate, oblivious to her realisation.

“It’s the Landmark Scanner,” she finally said.

Jude and Teresa paused mid-discussion, both turning to her in surprise, Teresa’s eyebrows lifting. "The Landmark scanner?” She tilted her head, the gears in her mind turning as she considered Lucy’s logic. “Actually… it does make sense,” she admitted. “Back before the downgrades, these scanners used to pull up the whole map of the cell. Showed every level, every path.”

Lucy’s confidence didn’t waver; she crossed her arms, a small, triumphant smile tugging at her lips. “Exactly. It says ‘I stand’—like it’s talking about itself, giving directions without moving. Only a Landmark would say that.”

The victory in her tone left little room for doubt.

Teresa gestured at the screen. “Go on, type it in then.”

Jude gave a small nod, his scepticism momentarily set aside. Lucy stepped up, her fingers poised to enter her answer, but as she looked at the screen, her smile faded. “Wait… only three spaces?”

Teresa tapped a finger on the side of the scanner impatiently, repeating, “Try ‘Map.’”

Jude crossed his arms, leaning in, unwilling to let go of his guess. “It’s GPS. Short, fits, and makes sense. Just try it, Princess.”

Lucy’s eyes darted between the two, her confidence visibly shaken, but still, her fingers danced over the keypad without hesitation. She entered Y, O, U and hit the final key, standing back as the machine blinked and processed her input. A victorious chime came as answer.

Teresa raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “What did you type?”

Lucy crossed her arms, a small smile breaking through. “You. The riddle said, ‘I stand,’ right? The scanner itself stands here, guiding everyone who uses it. Made the most sense.”

Teresa tilted her head, impressed. “Smart kid,” she muttered. “What exactly did they do to that brain of yours down on Earth?”

“Riddle Two.”

Lucy squinted, reading the lines aloud under her breath, “They speak without breath, think without a brain, helping you forward yet staying the same…Fed by tokens, their heart grows; in every command, their purpose shows. What are they?"

Teresa looked at the screen, the riddle lines still hovering in her mind like an itch she couldn't scratch. “Who is ‘they’?” she muttered, almost to herself.

Lucy tapped her fingers on the side of the machine, her eyes tracing over the interface. "And only three letters to work with. Whatever it is, it’s gotta be short."

Jude scratched his chin thoughtfully. “The only one who eats up tokens like this is Abel.” He looked around for any glimmer of confirmation. “But ‘AI’ is only two letters. Doesn’t fit.”

Teresa nodded, “Right, if ‘AI’ is out, then…”

Jude’s gaze shifted back to the screen, and a small, almost mischievous spark crossed his face. “What if we just… asked?” he suggested. “Hey, Abel? Mind solving this for us?”

There was a beat of silence, and then a faint hum crackled from Jude's and Lucy's minds, growing louder until Abel’s voice broke through, flat and mechanical. “I will answer the riddle for one token.”

With a quick nod, Lucy confirmed, “Fine. One token.”

Abel’s voice crackled through the static, choppy and warped, as though each word fought to escape from some distant, glitching source.

“A-I-S,” he finally managed, the tone flatter than usual and somehow… colder.

“We are idiots!” Lucy pressed her lips together, nodding as she typed in the letters. The screen blinked, a short tone signalling their success.

“Correct answer. You have one token left.”

She barely had time to exhale in relief before Abel’s voice returned.

“One token was deducted for my answer, and one token was deducted for the scanner's cheated answer. Correctness requires full independence from external assistance.”

“‘One token left’? We’ve been answering them right!” she protested, her gaze shifted to Teresa for backup.

Teresa shook her head, a sigh slipping through her lips. “Forgot how these machines work,” she complained, glancing warily at the scanner. “Moral watchdogs. One step out of the line, and you pay the price.”

The kiosk’s voice hummed back to life, as smooth and dispassionate as before: The third riddle.

“In endless sleep, it cradles life. To a world untouched by earthly strife. A final peace, yet strange and far, no war, no pain, no guiding star. What place is it, here nor there?”

"Let me guess, only three spaces?" Jude asked.

Lucy gave a quick nod. “Yeah. We only have one token left, so… two tries.” Her fingers tightened around the edge of the machine as she looked between them, her brow furrowing. "What happens if we fail?"

Jude shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “Probably just shuts off.”

Teresa scoffed. “Or it blows up in our faces,” she muttered, her eyes darting suspiciously around the edges of the machine. “With these things? Who knows.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Lucy’s eyes softened, her voice trailing off thoughtfully. “It… cradles life. Maybe it’s like a mom?” Her eyes drifted as if picturing something tender and safe, something that held you close.

Jude, brow furrowed, shook his head slowly. “Feels more like… death, though,” he muttered, his tone laced with a strange calm. “Final peace, like it said.” He tapped the screen, counting out letters in his mind. “But ‘dead’ has four letters, and ‘death’ has five, so it can’t be either of those. Maybe RIP?”

Teresa’s mind ticked through possibilities. “What about SiC?” She pointed to the screen. “Think about it: the first answer was ‘YOU,’ and the second was ‘AIS.’ It’s all been tech-related, right? SiC would fit.”

Lucy’s fingers paused mid-air as the screen let out a sharp, unforgiving double beep. Her eyes widened, watching the words blink coldly back at her: “Wrong answer. Zero tokens remaining. One last try.”

Her hand dropped from the keypad, fingers twitching slightly as she exchanged a quick, alarmed look with Jude and Teresa.

"Fuck!" Jude scanned the riddle again. His voice dropped to a whisper, “So, it cradles life… somewhere untouched by Earth? Like…a place that can hold life but isn’t really…here? Another world, maybe… or even the ground?”

Teresa's gaze sharpened, her eyes flitting over the words as if seeing them anew. Her lips moved silently, piecing the clues together, then stilled. She lifted her head with a flash of realisation, a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “A final peace… no guiding star,” she repeated under her breath, her expression hardening with quiet triumph. “I was right!”

Jude's protest shot out. “What? No way. We tried SiC, and it didn’t work!”

Teresa gave him a pointed look, her finger tapping impatiently against the side of the scanner. “No, it’s not SiC, Jude!” Teresa replied.

She took a small step back, gesturing to the three of them. “Look around us, think about it—we’re all inside here together, tied into this system…” Teresa's voice trailed off when she noticed something afar.

From across the parking lot, a figure dashed toward them, skirt flaring and shirt billowing wildly with each step. Without missing a beat, Jude and Teresa both snapped into action, guns raised, focused on the approaching blur.

Lucy’s eyebrows knit together in confusion as Jude held his rifle tightly, its chamber empty—a pointless shield, she thought.

The woman kept running, her face strained with effort, her hair bouncing in dark curls that framed a wide, almost frantic smile. In one hand, she clutched a clipboard, and in the other, a long pencil or maybe even a stylus held high above her head as if it were a flag declaring truce.

Teresa's eyes widened with a sudden recognition, her tense grip on the weapon relaxing as she muttered, “Fatima?”

Jude kept his rifle trained, his gaze darting between Teresa and the woman. “Who?” he asked, not lowering his aim.

With an exasperated sigh, Teresa shot him a look, then reached over and smacked his rifle down. “She’s a Saint, Jude,” she hissed. “For fuck’s sake, lower your gun. She’s a friend.”

The newcomer, oblivious to their brief standoff, waved her clipboard high in the air, her face lighting up in a wild grin.

As the figure drew closer, Jude took in the details—a young woman with a cascade of thick brown hair, lively, elf-like ears and a mischievous smile that seemed too big for her face. A thin, restless tail flicked behind her, almost in sync with her excitement. But something tugged at Jude's attention; the cascade of hair had shifted a bit too far to one side, tilting awkwardly.

"Hi!" the woman burst out, breathless and smiling. "I got here as fast as I could! The sensors flagged someone, but you know Thiago—he had to double-check and make sure it was safe, and that took forever, so I just ran! Did you... did you already activate it?" She leaned over, peering at the screen, eyes widening as she spotted the empty token count. "Oh no… you’re completely out of tokens!"

Jude’s eyes stayed locked on her hair, the uneven fall catching his attention more than anything she was saying.

She noticed his stare, one brow arching as she patted her head self-consciously. “What? Something wrong?”

Jude tilted his head, studying her hairline with a squint. "Your wig… it’s, uh… a little crooked…”

A flush of indignation coloured her cheeks as she protested, “It’s not a wig—it’s my real hair!” She huffed, fumbling to adjust it without a mirror, fingers pulling at it in frustrated, jerky motions.

Jude took a step closer, hands raised gently. “Here, let me. My wife has the same issue. It’s always slipping out of place.” He carefully straightened the wayward strands.

She stilled, watching him with embarrassment, melting into gratitude. "Thanks," she murmured, her cheeks still warm but softening as she gave him a small, shy smile.

A snap of Teresa’s fingers jolted the Friend back. “Fatima!”

“Oh!” Fatima blinked, her smile returning, the fluster vanishing as quickly as it had come. She lifted her clipboard. “Right! I’ve got the answers.”

"If you've got the answers all along, why not post them on the machine, like a poster or a Post-it?" Lucy asked, annoyed.

Fatima's smile faltered, her hand brushing nervously over the clipboard. “Oh, right, right. Protocol, you know?” She chuckled a bit nervously, glancing at the machine as though it were an overly strict supervisor.

“Can’t just hand them out to anyone who strolls in. Security procedure and all that jazz. That would be crazy, right?" Fatima’s nervous laughter trailed off as her gaze bounced between Jude and Lucy, searching for something. “They’re… friends, right?” she asked. “I mean… human friends? You trust them?” She cast a sideways glance at Teresa as if hoping for reassurance. “Thiago said it was two Saints and a kid, but…” She squinted at Jude, puzzled. “I see one Saint. What about him?” Her brow arched as she pointed at Jude. “You’re a Saint, too? You’re not even wearing the suit.”

She tilted her head toward Teresa, waiting, almost daring an explanation.

“Paris chose him,” she said with a certainty that made Fatima blink in surprise as if realising the answer had been obvious all along.

“He is that Saint*?* Paris chose him again? Why? The first time was a fiasco." Fatima said. “Well, he is the boss; what does little me know? Right? Oh well…”

No one stopped Fatima's rambling. “Oh… so now he is both a friend and a Saint?” She continued shaking her head, almost talking to herself now. “Paris is the one who knows everything and everyone… who am I to question? He does know how to pick most of his people who just… like things that fit. It’s strange, actually. He doesn’t look it, but that man has a freakish emotional intelligence. Scary, even. Like last week—I went to his place, and we were talking about—”

“Fatima!” Teresa snapped Fatima back to the present.

“Oh! Right,” she stammered, colour rising to her cheeks. She cleared her throat. “Sorry. Let’s get to it. So, the first one is...”

"We already got the first one," Lucy said.

"You got the first? Oh, good for you!" Fatima exclaimed, clapping her hands. She beamed a small celebration all on her own. “And the second one, ‘AIS,’ huh? That's the second response.” She threw a thumbs-up in Lucy’s direction as though they’d just solved a world crisis.

“Yeah, we got that one already,” Teresa interjected.

“Right, right—look at you, all teamwork and teamplay!” Fatima laughed, lifting her hand in a half-hearted cheer as if it were a victory dance.

Jude, though polite, leaned in, his voice urging, “And the third?”

“Oh!” Fatima grinned as if only now remembering the reason she’d come rushing across the lot. “It’s P-O-D.”

Teresa raised a brow, a satisfied gleam flashing in her eyes. “See? I told you—it’s all connected to the simulation,” she remarked with smug confidence.

"You didn’t say P-O-D. You said S-I-C,” Jude pointed out.

"Technicalities," Teresa muttered, waving a hand as though brushing off his comment.

Fatima, watching their back-and-forth, seemed to shrink slightly, her tail flicking nervously as her eyes darted between them. She took a half-step back, clutching her clipboard as if it might shield her from their quarrel.

Amid all the banter, Lucy steeled herself, tuning out the noise. Her fingers hovered over the scanner, visibly trembling. She rubbed her palms against her jeans, hoping to steady herself, yet the nerves refused to quiet down.

Taking a slow breath, she reached forward, her hand pressing firmly against the cold screen.

The touch seemed to ground her, her breaths falling into a rhythm as the screen scanned her fingers, capturing every nervous line and press of her palm. For a moment, everything else blurred into the background.

A chime echoed through the silence.

“Congratulations, you have reached Level 16; you have unlocked the Phantom Zone.”

Lucy’s hand slipped from the scanner, and she stood there, frozen, her wide eyes locked on the glowing screen. Her shoulders began to tremble, a faint, unstoppable shudder rippling through her as reality sank in. She took a shaky breath, her knees buckling beneath her, and suddenly, she was on the ground, clutching herself as the first sob escaped her lips.

Her frame shook with each breath, each tear she’d been holding back.

They watched her, silent, transfixed—Jude, Teresa, even Fatima.

At that moment, they all understood. This wasn’t just a level-up. For Lucy, it was a door finally cracked open, a path toward a life no longer shackled by illness or danger. She could finally be herself.

Kneeling with her fists pressed to the ground, her frame wracked with every breath, her cries were raw, unfiltered—years of silent battles suddenly given sound. She was just eight, yet her body had been forced into changes too fast, too unfamiliar, a life warped to fit into the unnatural pace demanded by this new world.

And now, with that trembling hand still clutching her path to freedom, she understood: she hadn’t just crossed a threshold for herself. She had opened a door for the countless kids around Earth, who might now have a future and hope for a normal life.

The weight of billions sat with her there, a quiet, profound victory marked not by shouts of triumph but by the raw, broken sobs of a little girl who’d finally won her own life back. She could finally love pink again.

Teresa nudged Jude, "Go ahead,"

Jude shook his head. “No,” he murmured, gaze fixed on the little girl before him. “Let her have this.” His lips curved, not in a smile, but in quiet, solemn acknowledgement. “She is making… history, isn’t she?”

When he turned to Lucy squatting on the ground, he almost could swear she mumbled between sobs, “This sky is PINK.”