Free Read Sample NOIR a Dark Colleague Romance

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Chapter 1

"Hoi... thinking of jumping, huh?"

The tall young man, standing with his eyes closed at the edge of the rooftop parapet, flinched and nearly lost his balance. "Damn, I almost fell!"

"What?! You should’ve fallen," the girl with almond eyes and messy hair muttered, shifting impatiently.

"I blocked the door with a chair! You shouldn’t have been able to get in!"

"Well, I’ve been here since this morning," she shrugged, not looking up. "You’re just disturbing my nap."

The young man, still steadying himself, sighed heavily. 

He recognized her instantly—Arya Cempaka, his classmate. 

She was known for skipping class to sleep in corners or hidden spots. 

Strangely, no teacher ever scolded her. Maybe it was because she aced every exam, who knows?

"You're the new kid, right?" Arya asked lazily, leaning over the edge and peering down. "Damn, it’s packed down there." 

The crowd had gathered, and firefighters were already setting up rescue mats.

"Shit, this is a mess," he muttered under his breath.

The tall young man crouched down, scratching his head. 

“Well, here’s the thing. If I don’t jump, don’t you feel sorry for them? They’ve gone through all this trouble with the fire trucks and rescue mats. I might as well jump, so they don’t waste their effort.”

Arya let out a short laugh. “Really? So, are you going to jump or not?”

“Not at first. I just wanted to enjoy the spring breeze up here,” the young man said, his voice innocent. “But then they started making a scene, and I figured… why not? Maybe it’s a good idea to just jump.”

“Well, your suicide attempt is already a failure in my book,” Arya remarked dryly. “But hey, don’t worry, you can try again next time. Come with me!” 

She grabbed Alwin’s arm, her fingers closing around it firmly. 

“Wait a minute… your name’s Alwin, right? Yeah, that’s right! You’re joining my club from now on!”

Alwin froze, surprised by the way her hand tightened around his arm. 

Something felt off. Despite her carefree attitude, Arya seemed a little too intent on keeping him from jumping. Her grip tightened as he tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let go.

“A face like that would be such a waste if it dies,” Arya said, pulling him harder. “So come on, hurry up! It’s too late for you to be standing around here.”

Alwin’s tall frame was jerked forward as she dragged him toward the rooftop exit. 

Just as they reached it, the door rattled, someone trying to break through from the other side.

“Ugh, what a mess,” Arya muttered, clearly annoyed. “If you really wanted to off yourself, do it at home. At least then it wouldn’t cause such a scene. Make a big fuss at your own place until you actually do it, for crying out loud!”

Alwin shrugged nonchalantly. "They're the ones overreacting. I wasn’t planning on doing anything," he protested.

"Well, don't go trying to kill yourself here next time," Arya said, her voice laced with a strange mix of annoyance and concern. "You’ll just end up causing trouble around the academy."

"Yeah, well, that's your problem, not mine!" Alwin shot back.

"This is a private academy, you know," Arya continued, her tone sharp. "If there's a suicide here, no one's going to want to send their kids. It won’t look good."

"Still your problem," Alwin replied, unfazed.

"Ugh, you’re really impossible!" Arya muttered, but there was a hint of emotion beneath her calm demeanor. "You know, my business will be lonely if you die, you bastard."

Alwin raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"You should join my club," Arya said with a big grin. "It’s guaranteed to be fun!"

"What club?"

"Azari Dating Club. Ever heard of it? Oh, wait, right, you’ve been asleep for two years. This club’s super famous around here! It’s exclusive—only the coolest, most beautiful people can join. You should be thankful I recruited you directly."

Alwin blinked, still confused. "What club is this, exactly?"

Arya leaned in with a sly smile. "In short... we run a hired partner business. My club provides people to chat with, watch movies with, or just hang out. We hire out girlfriends and boyfriends for all sorts of social reasons."

Alwin stared at her, trying to process what she just said. "Wait... you mean I’ll get paid to be a hired boyfriend?"

"Yup," Arya answered with a shrug.

Alwin glanced at Arya, his expression indifferent. "Does my face look like I need money?"

Arya paused for a moment, inspecting Alwin's face with a more serious gaze. 

"No, not really. But you do need to connect with the outside world. This club could be the perfect escape from your routine and stress. Besides, being a host here might introduce you to new people and ideas that could change your perspective on life."

Alwin scoffed. "Bullshit," he muttered, clearly uninterested.

Before Arya could respond, the loud crash of the rooftop door being broken down echoed through the air. 

The sound of heavy boots followed, and soon a group of firefighters rushed onto the rooftop. 

Their expressions were serious, clearly prepared for a tense situation.

"Freeze!" one of the officers shouted, stepping forward with his hands up, ready for action.

Alwin sighed, raising his hands in mock surrender. 

Arya looked at the scene in confusion, then panicked. "Wait, why am I getting arrested? I wasn’t the one standing on the edge! He was the one looking like he was about to jump!"

The officers ignored her protest and quickly moved to restrain both Alwin and Arya. 

One of the firefighters turned to Arya with a stern expression. "We have to do this for security reasons."

With that, they escorted the pair down the emergency stairs, making sure to attract as much attention as possible. 

The other students watched the scene unfold, some recording it, others whispering among themselves.

                                          *

Free Read Sample THE UNMADE (a disciplinary diary) A Dark Psychological Thriller Body Horror

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CONTENT WARNING 18++

This book contains mature themes and graphic content that may be disturbing to some readers.

Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Please prioritize your mental health and well-being.

If these themes may trigger trauma or cause distress, we encourage you to consider whether this book is right for you at this time.

 

 

Prologue

I used to wear the sentence 

they will leave me because I am not enough

like a coat two sizes too small—

every goodbye tightening the seams,

every silence proof I should shrink.

I counted myself in deficits.

Too much. Not quite. Almost.

A math problem where I was always the mistake.

I checked my ribs.

My voice.

My gentleness.

Then it hit.

What if it wasn’t a flaw,

but a luxury item,

and they were shopping with empty hands?

Because not everyone who touches gold

knows how to hold it.

Chapter 1

The silence hit harder than the electricity. My heart hammered against my ribs like something trying to escape. 

The steel table seemed to vibrate beneath me. I was wrecked. My mind was an empty, echoing chamber.

They took my eyes first. Not with hands, but with technology that felt criminal. 

The edges molded to my cheekbones and sealed the world away behind polished black. 

Then came the suction. 

Negative pressure kissed my eye sockets until vision collapsed into velvet darkness. I saw nothing.

Then my ears. Foam pushed deep, plugging out all sound. 

My own pulse became monstrous and amplified, pounding inside a coffin. 

I tried to speak, but the gag swallowed my voice. A silicone plug fused to straps welded beneath my jaw.

I was locked onto the restraint frame. A fixed horizontal slab of slick black polymer. 

My position was absolute: flat on my back, arms and legs spread wide like a specimen mounted for inspection. 

My back arched painfully, forcing my diaphragm upward and locking my breath into shallow, frantic gasps. 

My wrists and legs were wrenched into a maximal stretch. The pressure on my shoulders and thighs screamed.

Heat began to build in my lower pelvis, radiating from the pressure of the probe.

The voice came last. Not Ardent's. The machine's.

"Sensory inhibition complete. Neural stimulation commencing."

I sensed the final intrusion. Something blunt, oiled, and patient pressed against me. 

I grunted and thrashed in a desperate reflex. The steel ratchets on the spreader bars bit into my skin with sharp bruises. 

The blunt head pushed forward, then sank with a hydraulic sigh. 

It entered slowly, stretching me until I burned. The anal probe was a cylinder of metallic warmth packed with electrodes. 

It forced my spine into that painful arch and ignited a deep internal fire.

The shock came everywhere at once. Chest to cock to ass to brainstem. 

A net of lightning yanked my body into a single, screaming chord. 

My muscles seized and locked solid. Drool burst past the gag in white froth. 

I gagged on my own heartbeat, choking on air that wouldn't stay in my lungs.

 

The day before, my body had failed me. It rattled against the frame like a puppet jerked by lightning. 

Thick drool pooled behind the gag. I tried to roar, but the cloth caught the sound and turned it into a wet gurgle. 

Back then, I thought that was the worst it could get.

I woke to white light. Not soft, but weaponized. Light sliced across chrome walls like scalpel blades. 

Everything gleamed like polished bone. My throat tasted of antiseptic and iron. 

My limbs felt heavy, anchored by matte-black leather restraints that bit into my skin.

Footsteps cut through the hum of machines. Precise. Unhurried.

Then he appeared. Dr. Ardent. He looked like a predator in sterile skin. 

His white coat fit like a funeral shroud over gloves as black as oil.

"Mr. Vey," he said. His voice was smooth as an engine.

My tongue felt glued to the roof of my mouth. I closed my eyes. 

For a second, the white room vanished. I saw flashing bulbs on the red carpet. 

I heard my mother's frantic whispers, reminding me to smile because the mortgage was due.

I was the Golden Boy. Since the day my father walked out, I had been the fix. 

I was the paycheck that kept my siblings fed and the lights on. 

I worked until my soul felt like frayed wire. I pushed through exhaustion with pills, then more pills to sleep. 

The Golden Boy became just a shell held together by chemicals. 

I had tried to end the noise once—thinking of hotel nooses and bathtub pills—but even my death would have been too expensive for my family to afford.

"You understand why you're here," Ardent continued, breaking my trance. "Detox isn't punishment. It's precision. We remove the noise."

I choked out a dry laugh. "Noise? It's screaming static. A constant tear in my brain."

"Exactly," he whispered. "The boy the world used. The boy who carried a family on his back until he broke. We are going to erase that version of you."

The straps cinched over my wrists, pulling them wide above my head until my shoulders burned. 

Polymer cuffs clamped my thighs and ankles. I was spread wide, opened like a book no one asked me to write.

Ardent peeled away my clinic gown. He moved with mechanical patience. 

"Baseline contact points—nipples, penile root, perineal access." Servo arms slithered down from the ceiling like chrome vipers.

When the first disc touched my skin, it was freezing. Electrodes clamped down. 

A low current hummed, and my chest seized. My muscles twitched violently.

He applied lube. Clinical, odorless, obscene. He wrapped my member in a polymer sheath coiled with conductive threads. 

It was snug like a second skin. It cinched at the base with a hiss. The lock clicked.

The hum in the table deepened. A jolt stole my breath and hit my system. 

My hips arched upward against the spreader bars, then slammed back down as the current ebbed.

"Good," Ardent said softly. "That is coherence. You'll learn to crave it."

I jerked against the cuffs. My mind flashed to my mother and sisters—the people I had destroyed myself to save. "Go to hell."

"Hell," Ardent said, leaning closer, "is loud. It's the sound of people needing things from you. We are going to make you quiet."

Free Sample (Vol 2) : A Rebellion Romance in dystopian post apocalyptic world vol 1-6 is now available, Velvet Eden by Tizzz

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Vol 1: https://www.dannesyawrites.com/2025/12/get-ready-rebellion-romance-in.html

Chapter 13

Velvet Eden’s private quarters suffocated with heat and something heavier—desire, maybe, or danger in disguise.

Alke stood at the threshold, his fingers clenched white around the edge of the silk curtain that passed for a door. 

Crimson fabric bled through his grip, soft as sin. The scent hit him first—sandalwood, smoke, and something darker, feral. It scraped down his throat and made his mouth go dry. His chest tightened, breath catching despite his best attempts to remain composed.

Inside, Laich waited—like a fallen angel holding court in hell.

Bare-chested, skin bronzed by candlelight, his body was a map of silver tattoos that shimmered with each flicker of the flame. 

They curled over his chest, wound down his arms, symbols of a story Alke couldn’t decipher—but burned to trace. The club owner’s long white hair tumbled over his shoulders, catching light on the silver threads woven through like captured starlight.

“You came,” Laich said, voice lower, softer than Alke expected. Genuine surprise softened the edge of his usual predatory drawl. His green eyes held something unsteady—hope, maybe. Or a vulnerability he quickly masked behind a half-smile.

That look struck something deep inside Alke, twisted it.

He’d spent the past three hours pacing his sterile apartment, hands fisted, breath ragged, uniform still hanging untouched like a relic from a life he no longer recognized. In the mirror, he’d seen a man unraveling. Starved for something he never dared name.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said. The words scraped out, raw and exposed. His whole body was coiled tight, every muscle ready to bolt. He should’ve turned around, vanished into the shadows, completed the mission like the disciplined soldier he was trained to be.

But Laich smiled. That slow, knowing smile that had plagued Alke’s sleep.

“‘Shouldn’t’ is such a limiting word,” he murmured. He stepped forward, barefoot on the plush carpet, graceful as a predator. “It assumes someone else gets to decide what you deserve.”

The air between them vibrated with tension. Alke could feel the heat pouring off Laich’s body, sense the subtle rise and fall of his chest, the curve of a faint scar along his collarbone like a crescent moon. 

Every detail screamed danger. Every inch of him was forbidden. And Alke wanted him like he was drowning—like he’d never wanted anything in his life.

“The government—” he began, but Laich cut him off with a low, velvet laugh.

“The government isn’t here, Marcus.” The alias rolled off Laich’s tongue with practiced ease, turned into something obscene—sweet and sticky like honey over poison. “Just you. Just me. And all this space between us... waiting to be filled.”

Another step. Laich’s chest now just inches from his. The flicker of candlelight danced across his skin, casting shadows like whispered promises.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice dipped in sin. “Not what they told you to want. Not what’s safe. Not what’s allowed. Tell me what you want—here, now.”

Alke’s breath came in short, ragged pulls. The silk-draped walls pulsed with heat, heavy with secrets. Beyond the curtain, the muffled sounds of pleasure bled through—gasps, moans, the soft rustle of skin on silk, the quiet symphony of surrender.

“I want…”

The words caught in his throat like broken glass. How could he explain it? 

That he needed to be touched so badly it hurt? 

That he’d spent his whole life building walls so thick, the idea of lowering them—of letting someone in—was more terrifying than war.

Laich moved closer still. His breath ghosted over Alke’s skin, warm and intoxicating.

“You’re safe here,” he whispered, and those three words nearly undid him. The gentleness in them—a mercy Alke had never been offered—burned more than any cruelty.

Laich raised a hand, slowly, palm open, not quite touching. But Alke could feel the ghost of it, like static at the edge of his cheek. 

His body screamed for contact, even as his mind screamed retreat.

“One touch,” Laich said, voice a low hum. “One real touch, and I’ll show you what paradise feels like.”

Alke trembled. His orders echoed in his head: Arrest him. Complete the objective. Stay in control.

But then Laich’s thumb hovered over his lower lip—not touching, just there, close enough for Alke to taste the salt and warmth of him in the air.

“Please,” he breathed, before he could stop himself. The word cracked out, desperate and unguarded. Not the voice of a commander. Not a soldier. Just a man unraveling.

Laich’s eyes darkened. His voice dropped to a growl wrapped in silk. “Please what, beautiful?”

He leaned in, voice brushing along Alke’s nerves like a caress. “Say it. Say what you need.”

The music shifted in the background—low, pulsing, carnal. The candlelight danced along the silk walls like flame-kissed ghosts. Their shadows tangled across the floor.

Alke swallowed hard. His gray eyes met Laich’s, molten with something he could no longer deny.

“I need...” His voice cracked. “I need to feel something real.”

Laich's smile turned wicked, sharp enough to carve through resolve.

“Then let me make you feel everything.”

His fingertips finally—finally—brushed Alke’s cheek, and the world narrowed to that single, electric point of contact.

 A jolt shot through Alke’s nerves, violent and exquisite, ripping a gasp from his throat. He arched into the touch like a man starved for it, like thirst meeting rain.

Laich’s thumb traced the sharp line of his cheekbone, slow and reverent. His fingers moved with the kind of precision that felt less like seduction and more like worship. And then—

Buzz.

A harsh vibration at Alke’s hip broke the moment like a shattering mirror. The glow of his comm device spilled against his uniform.

Status report overdue. Enforcement teams standing by. Confirm target acquisition.

Everything crashed down in an instant.

The mission. The lie. The inevitable reckoning.

Alke tore himself back, breath hitching. His face drained of color as he read the message that made him the executioner. 

Outside, he heard the unmistakable thud of boots on metal stairs. Backup. Early. Inevitable.

Reality crashed back into the chamber like ice water. 

Alke jerked away from Laich's touch, his face going pale as he read the words that condemned them both. 

Behind him, he could hear the distant sound of heavy boots on metal stairs—his backup, coming to complete the mission he'd abandoned.

Laich's eyes went wide as he saw the device, understanding dawning with horrible clarity. "You're—" he started, but the word died as the first shouts echoed through the outer chambers of his club.

"Government raid! Everyone on the ground!"

Free Read Sample (Book 1) : Cosmic Lore based Litrpg Fiction: Saint of Forgotten Names 3rd installment is now out

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ARC I: The Man With a Page in His Mouth

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Chapter 1: The Man With a Page in His Mouth

The Circle of the Dead

The first sensation was blood—thick, metallic, coating his tongue like a communion he'd never consented to take. Not pain. Not fear. Just that ancient, coppery taste that spoke of endings and beginnings in equal measure.

Then came the text.

Not words spoken or written on parchment, but burned directly into his vision—flickering, corrupted letters that seemed to writhe with their own malevolent consciousness:

[SYSTEM INITIALIZATION... ERROR]

[SUBJECT: ELIAS_NULL]

[NARRATIVE COHERENCE: 34% | DECLINING]

[ROLE ASSIGNMENT: ██████ | FAILED]

[IMPROVISING PARAMETERS...]

[WARNING: You are not supposed to see this]

"What the hell?" Elias's voice cracked like dried parchment as consciousness clawed its way back into his skull. His eyes, stubborn and sandpaper-dry, fought against the oppressive darkness before finally surrendering to sight.

The text pulsed behind his eyelids, refusing dismissal. Numbers and symbols that shouldn't exist crowded his peripheral vision like parasites feeding on his perception.

[CORE ATTRIBUTES - STATUS: FRAGMENTING]

NARRATIVE WEIGHT: 0.34/10.00 [CRITICAL]

├─ Reality Anchoring: UNSTABLE

├─ Story Significance: UNDEFINED

└─ Erasure Resistance: 12%

TRUTH/LIE BALANCE: ???/???

├─ Accepted Truths: ERROR

├─ Rejected Lies: ERROR  

└─ [Cognitive Dissonance: SEVERE]

SANITY: ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓░░░ (67/100)

└─ Draining per revelation: Variable

MEMORY INTEGRITY: 0/100 [TOTAL FAILURE]

└─ Last Backup: NEVER

└─ Corruption Events: CONTINUOUS

A lone gaslight sputtered overhead, its weak flame performing a death rattle dance. Shadows writhed across stone walls like living things, painting a theater of the damned around him.

He wasn't in a bed. He wasn't in safety. He was sprawled on raw stone that seemed to pulse with malevolent hunger beneath his aching body.

And he was not alone.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, the words scraping his throat raw.

[BLASPHEMY DETECTED]

[The Mouthless Church disapproves: -1 Standing]

[Current Standing: UNKNOWN | -1 | UNKNOWN]

[Note: All gods are characters. All prayers are monologue.]

Bodies. Dozens of them. Arranged in a perfect circle around him like offerings to some unspeakable god. Each face was alabaster pale, eyes wide open and staring at nothing.

All of them were smiling.

Through his corrupted vision, each corpse displayed hovering text—information he didn't want but couldn't unsee:

[Ritual Participant #1]

Name: Dr. Victoria Knowles

Status: DECEASED [Narrative Completion: 100%]

Cause of Death: Voluntary Unwriting

Final Expression: JOY [Mandatory]

Role in Story: ███████ [REDACTED]

Last Thought: "My daughter will be—"

[Ritual Participant #2]

Name: [EDITED OUT]

Status: NEVER EXISTED [Retroactive]

Paradox Level: HIGH

Smile Status: PRESERVED

[ERROR: This person remembers not existing]

[Ritual Participant #3]

Name: Dr. Edward Kramer

Status: DECEASED [Loop Count: 17]

Cause of Death: Recursive Narrative Failure

Final Words: "Elena... which Elena... which..."

Smile Authenticity: 0%

"No, no, no," Elias breathed, his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged bird. "This isn't real. This can't be real."

[DENIAL REGISTERED]

[SANITY: 67 → 64]

[Tip: Accepting impossible truths reduces Sanity drain]

[Warning: Rejection of reality may cause Narrative Ejection]

But the air told a different story. It tasted wrong—sickly-sweet with the cloying perfume of funeral roses, undercut by something electric and wrong. Ozone. Like lightning had made love to death and left its signature in the atmosphere.

Panic, sharp and primal, flooded his system. He tried to move, muscles screaming in protest, joints grinding like rusted hinges. Every inch of his body felt like it had been disassembled and rebuilt by a madman with a grudge against proper anatomy.

[PHYSICAL STATUS CHECK]

├─ Motor Function: 23% [SEVERELY IMPAIRED]

├─ Neural Pathways: REFORMING

├─ Pain Receptors: OFFLINE [Temporary]

└─ Cellular Integrity: UNDEFINED

[DEBUFF ACTIVE: Post-Ritual Dissolution]

Duration: Until First Movement

Effect: -80% to all Physical Actions

Note: Your body forgot how to be a body

"Come on, move!" he commanded his treacherous limbs. "Get up, get out, get away!"

He managed to sit up, barely, only to gag as something foreign scraped the back of his throat. He spat, retching.

[FOREIGN OBJECT DETECTED]

[Analyzing... Please wait...]

[Analysis Complete]

A page fluttered to the stone—crisp, yellowed, covered in sprawling black glyphs that seemed to writhe and coil when observed directly.

[ITEM ACQUIRED: Fragment of the Inverted Gospel]

Rarity: UNIQUE [Cannot be destroyed by normal means]

Type: Narrative Artifact [Living Document]

Weight: 0.0 kg [Exists partially outside physics]

PROPERTIES:

├─ Whispers truths the Architect rejected

├─ Grants skill: [Veilwalker's Sight] 

├─ Passive: Reality appears 23% more honest

└─ WARNING: Attracts hostile entities

CORRUPTION LEVEL: ████████░░ (87%)

└─ This page wants something from you

CURRENT STATUS: Dormant [Awakening in progress...]

└─ Synchronization with host: 12%... 13%... 14%...

"What the hell is this?" He clutched the parchment instinctively, fingers trembling. The symbols seemed to pulse with their own inner light, responding to his touch.

[CONTACT ESTABLISHED]

[The page recognizes you]

[The page has always been yours]

[The page was in your mouth because you swallowed it yesterday]

[Yesterday hasn't happened yet]

[SANITY: 64 → 61]

He looked across the circle of corpses, his voice barely a whisper: "Are you... are you sleeping? Please tell me you're just sleeping."

Silence answered, thick and suffocating.

With shaking fingers, he reached toward the nearest face. The skin was waxen, cold as winter stone, pliant like overripe fruit.

[INSPECTION: Ritual Participant #7]

Name: Professor Elena Vasquez

Profession: Theoretical Metaphysics [Deceased]

Time of Death: 3 hours ago | 3 years ago | Never

Paradox: Body is both fresh and ancient

[KNOWLEDGE ACQUIRED: Pattern Recognition]

All victims show identical smile curvature: 43.7 degrees

This precision is intentional

Someone wanted them happy at the end

"Dead. They're all dead." The words fell from his lips like stones into a well. "But why them? Why not me? What makes me so fucking special?"

[QUERY REGISTERED]

[Accessing Narrative Database...]

[ERROR: Your file is corrupted]

[ERROR: Your file doesn't exist]

[ERROR: You exist anyway]

[TRAIT REVEALED: Anomalous Existence]

Effect: You slip through cracks in the Architect's design

Consequence: Things that shouldn't notice you... do

Rarity: BUG | FEATURE | THREAT

The question carved itself across his consciousness in jagged, bleeding script.

Then—thud.

He froze, every muscle locking in place.

[THREAT DETECTED]

[Calculating danger level...]

[ERROR: Threat level exceeds measurable parameters]

[Recommendation: RUN]

[Secondary Recommendation: PRAY]

[Tertiary Recommendation: ACCEPT FATE]

Another thud. Louder. Rhythmic. Heavy as a giant's heartbeat made of iron and malice.

"What is that?" he breathed into the suffocating silence. "What's coming for me now?"

The sound echoed through the stone chamber like doom given rhythm.

Thud. Scrape. Thud. Scrape.

[ENTITY APPROACHING]

Classification: ARCHITECT'S SERVANT

Hostility: ABSOLUTE

Intelligence: HIVEMIND

Purpose: RECOVERY OF ANOMALIES

[SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 0.03%]

[Update: 0.02%]

[Update: You should have started running]

"Oh God, it's not walking," he realized, scrambling backward across the stone. "It's... it's dragging something."

From deep within the walls came answering sounds—metal on stone, slow and deliberate. Not chaotic. Coordinated. Purposeful.

"They're all coming," he whispered. "Whatever they are, they're all coming."

[MULTIPLE ENTITIES DETECTED]

[Convergence Point: YOUR LOCATION]

[Estimated Time to Contact: 47 seconds]

[NEW SKILL AVAILABLE]

Would you like to learn: [DESPERATE FLIGHT] ?

Cost: 5 Sanity

Effect: +200% Movement Speed for 30 seconds

Side Effect: Mild hallucinations, moderate paranoia

[Accept] | [Decline]

Elias didn't understand how he knew what to do, but his thoughts screamed Accept with primal urgency.

[SKILL LEARNED: DESPERATE FLIGHT]

[SANITY: 61 → 56]

[DEBUFF REMOVED: Post-Ritual Dissolution]

[NEW DEBUFF: Everything is Chasing You (Because It Is)]

[SKILL ACTIVATED]

Duration: 30 seconds

Your legs remember how to fear

The Architects of Horror

Elias dove behind the remnants of a fallen pillar, pressing his body into its shadow as if darkness could make him invisible. His pulse hammered against his ribs with desperate urgency, but his limbs now moved with supernatural speed and precision.

[STEALTH CHECK... FAILED]

[They can smell your narrative weight]

[They can taste your paradox]

[They know you're not supposed to exist]

The sounds converged on a massive door at the chamber's far end—a towering slab of black steel etched with sigils that hurt to look at directly.

[WARNING: Observing these symbols reduces SANITY]

[Current Rate: -1 per 3 seconds of observation]

[SANITY: 56 → 55 → 54]

[Look away. LOOK AWAY.]

A thin strip of light bloomed beneath the frame like a malevolent sunrise.

Then came a soft, almost obscene whirring.

Click.

Something slid beneath the door—a claw. Not flesh or bone, but segmented metal gleaming with surgical precision. It latched onto the portal's edge and began to pull.

[ENTITY IDENTIFIED: Reclamation Unit]

Type: Biomechanical Construct

Purpose: Retrieval of Escaped Narratives

Threat Level: EXTREME

Special Ability: Cannot be reasoned with

Special Ability: Cannot be escaped

Special Ability: Very good at its job

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," Elias mouthed, his voice stolen by terror.

The door groaned open with the sound of a tomb being violated. Light spilled in like infected blood, carrying with it a voice that commanded without raising itself above a whisper.

"Status report. Is the specimen secured?"

[ENTITY IDENTIFIED: The Director]

Classification: HIGH NARRATIVE AUTHORITY

Threat Level: REALITY-BREAKING

Current Mood: CLINICAL CURIOSITY

[YOUR STATUS]

Designation: SPECIMEN

Threat to Order: SIGNIFICANT

Recommended Action: IMMEDIATE CONTAINMENT

Elias flinched. The words were spoken with clinical precision—low, unhurried, carrying the weight of absolute authority.

A figure stepped into view, cloaked from head to toe in midnight black, its hood casting shadows where a face should exist.

"Not entirely, Director," the cloaked figure replied, its voice like pages turning in a burning library. "One subject appears to have... persisted beyond expected parameters. An anomaly."

[TRAIT CONFIRMED: Anomalous Existence]

[You are now classified as: NARRATIVE THREAT]

[Bounty Posted: Your Existence]

[Interested Parties: 47 | 48 | 49 | Rising...]

The silence that followed carried more menace than any scream.

"An anomaly." The Director's voice was glacial steel sliding between ribs. "How... unfortunate. And unexpected. The neural dissolution protocol has never failed before."

[INFORMATION ACQUIRED: Neural Dissolution Protocol]

Effect: Erases consciousness completely

Success Rate: 100% [Until you]

Note: You should not have survived

Note: Your existence breaks their statistics

"Indeed, Director. The subject shows signs of cognitive retention and motor function. Most irregular."

"Contain it," the Director commanded. "Intact. No corruption to the neural pathways. We cannot allow another cognitive bleed, not with the dimensional currents already destabilizing."

Elias's rational mind reeled, trying to process the clinical jargon carved from nightmares.

Specimen. Anomaly. Neural dissolution. Cognitive bleed. Dimensional currents.

[KNOWLEDGE FRAGMENTS ACQUIRED]

[Building Database: The Architecture of Reality]

NEURAL DISSOLUTION PROTOCOL

└─ Erases self while preserving body

└─ Allows consciousness transplant

└─ You were supposed to be empty

COGNITIVE BLEED

└─ When memories leak between realities

└─ When truth infects the lies

└─ When the story breaks down

DIMENSIONAL CURRENTS

└─ The flow of narrative energy

└─ Currently: UNSTABLE

└─ Cause: Unknown [Suspected: You]

"They're talking about me," he realized with dawning horror. "I'm the specimen. I'm the anomaly."

They weren't rescuers. They weren't even remotely human.

They were the architects of this charnel house. They had orchestrated this circle of death.

And he was supposed to be part of it.