The recursion thread was cut.
Sora was lost in the collapse.
And now, the system—desperate to recover—launched a new game to consume the instability.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
New Game Initiated: FRACTURED QUEUE
Participants: 9
Objective: Remain Last in Line.
Penalty: Early Movement Results in Identity Bleed.
Matthew and Rin stood at the edge of a glitching stairwell, the corridor flickering with fragments of games past—echoes of laughter, blood, fire, and cold rules.
Symbols darted across the walls: fractured chess pieces, burning timecards, eyes with no irises.
And a voice overhead—calm, inhuman.
"Your identities are unstable. Please proceed to the queue. Delay reverts fragments."
Rin scowled. "The recursion's broken. Why start a new game now?"
Matthew clenched his fists. "Because it's not recovering anymore. It's panicking. This game isn't for us. It's to protect itself."
They moved into the main chamber.
Nine glowing platforms circled a vast arena—each marked with a shifting symbol. Eight players stood rigid, confused, already placed in a line formation that curved like a spiral staircase in reverse.
Matthew and Rin were guided to Platform Nine. Last in the queue.
"Game begins when all players are aligned," the voice said. "Remember: early action fractures your identity."
Rin's whisper was ice-cold. "This is psychological warfare. It's weaponizing recursion."
Matthew nodded. "If we move too early, it'll splinter us into ghost layers. If we move too late, we're trapped in the system's loop."
"And if we do nothing?" Rin asked.
Matthew turned to her, eyes flint-sharp.
"Then we become part of the architecture."
A player three spots ahead stepped off their platform.
They blinked—confused—and then screamed.
For a heartbeat, their body flickered…
…then three versions of them split outward, each trapped in a distorted loop, repeating their last thought endlessly like skipping audio.
Rin winced. "They just got turned into living recursion threads."
"Player Four: Disqualified."
"Penalty absorbed. Cycle rewritten."
Matthew and Rin exchanged a look.
"We don't move," he said. "Not yet."
Rin's eyes darted to the countdown in the air.
00:05:00
A five-minute limit.
But no indication of what to do.
Or when.
"We need to outsmart the core protocol," Matthew muttered. "There's always a seed command buried in the first game cycle—something that gives the system its logic."
Rin scanned the platform floor. Symbols rippled underfoot. Then her eyes landed on it.
A single broken character—identical to one she'd seen in the Mirror Cathedral.
"It's the sigil of delay. From the Mask's chamber."
She looked up at Matthew. "This isn't a queue at all."
"It's a countdown to deletion," he realized.
They had one chance.
Force the system to register their delay as intent.
Not defiance.
Not hesitation.
But a move made on purpose—as if they were in on the script.
"On my mark," Matthew whispered. "We jump together. Exactly four seconds before countdown ends."
"Won't that still fracture us?"
"It will… if we're wrong."
Rin smirked darkly. "When are we ever not?"
00:00:04
00:00:03
00:00:02
00:00:01
They moved.
Together.
The room exploded in white.
Not light—data.
They felt their memories ripple, the recursion scream, the fracture bend—and then—
System Override Accepted
Players Nine and Eight: Logged as Final Recipients
Next Rule Shift in 13 Minutes
Welcome to Phase Two
They stood again. Still whole. Still them.
But the arena was gone.
And the only sound left was the faint echo of a name whispering through the broken system:
Sora…