The following is a pre-edited excerpt from my forthcoming novel Network Error, available soon.
Chapter Three
As I stumble forward, the floor jolts with a sharp, whip-like pulse, forcing me into the wall. This isn’t just a tech malfunction; the world is fracturing like a fragile egg. STEM is on—it draws power from my heartbeat—but the satellites and servers have gone silent. Even if all of the power is out—which doesn’t make sense, since it’s renewable and backed by several layers of backup generators—the satellites should still be feeding me data.
But it’s just me inside my head with my local data, alone as the world folds in on itself.
I run down the corkscrew halls of the Turrim, but I literally don’t know how to exit. I’ve never left before, and I never downloaded the exit plan in fear my parents would limit my data access. I can assume the exit is on the ground floor, which is a difficult distance to determine, since beyond the subtle glare of sky, the city looks dark, virtually invisible.
I scream for my parents as the Turrim shakes violently in response. They have to be heading up to help me evacuate, right?
Right?
I have no sense of how far I’ve descended when I spot a benchmark. Small lights have sprouted along the surface, blurred by the torrential rain. As I run, the light dances. It’s fire. The city is burning.
“Dad!”
The tremors intensify, reverberating through my very being. The very world outside blurs, the fires flickering in and out, the rains like a waterfall distorting everything.
The Strata-Dome has made contact. It shaves off the top of the home, my world, everything I’ve ever known.
“Mom!”
The glass windows on my right crack so suddenly I almost fall over. Rather than shattering completely, the windows form a web of cracks outside where they’re hit by the winds carrying falling chunks of metal. What will I do when I get out? If I get out. With the wind and rain this intense, how can anyone survive?
Can’t overthink.
I have to run, focus on a goal and achieve it. Just like in SIM. The winds pick up, the Strata-Dome torn asunder, welcoming more hellish weather. Pieces of my Turrim fly into the glass like old-fashioned bullets against metal.
The glass explodes in a shattering symphony of wind that dries my eyes and steals my breath. I can’t see. I can hardly move nor register the shards of glass on my skin when I hear the rush above me, the motion and chaos descending.
The Turrim is collapsing. This is it.
No time to think. I dash through the broken floor-to-ceiling window and pray that my leap of faith is well-guided. I might not have my STEM, but I trust a 30-foot fall is more survivable than being buried by a building.
My body falls from darkness, into darkness. My life does not flash before my eyes. I can’t recall anything—no happiest memories, no proudest moments, no times when my heart sputtered, nor when my dopamine dumped.
I’m sixteen years old, and all I know are artificial experiences and friendships through a filter. If I’m going to die, I don’t want my last emotion to be self-pity. So, I stop thinking. I draw a deep breath and watch the flames surge as my body falls.
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