The sound came again.Not loud. Not dramatic. Just a clean, neutral tone that cut through the hospital’s late-night hush like a blade through silk. Ding.Caelan lifted his head slowly. He had been sitting on the cold stairwell floor for an amount of time he could no longer measure, back against the wall, elbows on his knees. His phone lay dark in his palm, screen smudged with fingerprints he didn’t remember making.For a brief, irrational moment, he thought the sound had come from the building's elevator, perhaps, or a distant monitor. Hospitals were full of noises that pretended to be important.Then the air in front of him shifted.It wasn’t light. It wasn’t holographic, either. There was no glow, no spectacle. Just the unmistakable sensation of something being there where nothing had been before, like pressure against the inside of his skull.A presence. [SYSTEM NOTICE] Candidate identified. Eligibility: Confirmed.Caelan’s first reaction wasn’t fear.It was exhaustion.He clo

By the time Caelan returned to the apartment, the locks had already been changed.He stood in the hallway for a long moment, key half-raised, staring at the unfamiliar brass cylinder where the old one had been. For a second, his mind refused to process it. Muscle memory insisted the door would open if he tried hard enough.It didn’t.The key slid in, met resistance, and stopped.Caelan exhaled slowly and stepped back. The corridor smelled faintly of someone else’s cooking. The walls were bare, neutral—like the building itself didn’t care who passed through, only that they eventually left.He knocked once.No answer.He knocked again, harder this time, the sound echoing sharper than he intended. Footsteps approached from inside, measured and unhurried.The door opened just enough for his wife to appear.She looked… fine.Not tear-streaked. Not distraught. Her hair was neatly tied back, makeup minimal but deliberate. She was already dressed to go out, a slim purse hanging from her shoul

Caelan learned very quickly that the city treated the fallen differently.It wasn’t cruelty in the open sense. No one pointed or laughed outright. It was subtler than that—doors that didn’t open fast enough, eyes that slid past him like he wasn’t worth the effort of recognition, voices that hardened the moment money entered the conversation.By midmorning, he had showered at a public facility, changed into the cleanest clothes he had left, and spent what little cash remained on transportation. He needed to see Lyra again. He needed to remind himself why enduring mattered.The hospital lobby was busy, the air thick with antiseptic and muted anxiety. Caelan crossed it carefully, conscious of the way his shoes scuffed against the polished floor.He almost made it to the elevator before a familiar voice stopped him.“Well,” the man drawled, smooth and amused. “If it isn’t the ghost himself.”Caelan froze.He turned slowly.The man standing near the reception desk wore an expensive suit th

Hunger announced itself slowly, almost politely at first.A dull ache beneath his ribs. A faint lightheadedness when he stood too quickly. His body rationed energy without being asked, movements becoming economical, thoughts narrowing toward the essentials. Water. Warmth. Rest.By the second day, the politeness vanished.His stomach cramped hard enough to steal his breath, a sharp reminder that willpower did not replace biology. The smell of food followed him through the streets. Fried dough from a corner vendor, meat sizzling somewhere unseen. Each scent landed like an accusation.Caelan learned how loud hunger could be. How it filled the quiet moments, intruding between thoughts, reducing complex ideas into blunt need. He understood then why desperation made people cruel. When survival dominated the mind, morality became negotiable.He found himself watching others more closely, how they held their bags, how distracted they were, how easily something could be taken.The realization

The city began to shrink.That was the first way Caelan noticed it. Not physically, but perceptually. Streets he had crossed a hundred times felt shorter. Corners arrived sooner than expected. Crowds thickened faster, closing gaps before he consciously registered movement.Time, too, felt altered. Not slower. Denser.Compressed.He tried to remember the last time he’d acted on impulse.The thought stalled halfway through, as if his mind refused to supply an answer. Every recent decision, where to walk, when to speak, how long to pause—felt pre-filtered. The hesitation that once preceded action was gone, replaced by a smooth, unsettling certainty.Efficiency.That was the word the system would use.Caelan flexed his fingers slowly, watching how easily they obeyed. No tremor. No doubt. His body had learned a rhythm that no longer required permission.“You’re sanding me down,” he said. “Removing the parts that slow things.”[SYSTEM RESPONSE]Redundancy reduces survivability.“Those redun