Memory is a liar. It remembers only what it's told to, forgets what it's ordered to, and sometimes—just sometimes—it rewrites itself to survive. But what happens when memory itself becomes the battlefield? When your past isn't just hidden... but reprogrammed?
Location: Obscura District – The Wisp's Den
The Obscura District was more rumor than place. It existed in the overlapping blind spots of Halcyon's security grid—where old railways sank beneath forgotten highways, and where artificial light couldn't reach without flickering. Those who knew how to find it never arrived the same way twice.
Asher's boots splashed through a puddle of rainbow-stained water as he stepped out of the forgotten subway tunnel and into the zone. His breath fogged in the air. The atmosphere was... denser here. Thicker, like the city was suffocating on its own secrets.
Wires hung like vines. Graffiti glowed faintly under blacklight coatings. Strange signs—sigils, glyphs, anti-surveillance charms—were carved into metal and concrete alike.
He stopped in front of the neon-flickering sign: WISP'S. One letter dead. The wooden door below it looked as if it had never been opened willingly.Guarding it stood a man in an LED fox mask, chewing sloppily on nachos.
"State your encryption code," the man said, voice muffled behind dripping cheese.
Asher hesitated. "Uhh... I'm here to speak with Wisp?"
The fox-mask tilted its head. "Close enough."The door creaked open. A wave of heat, incense, and static spilled out.
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Inside the Wisp's Den
The place was chaos and contradiction. CRT monitors buzzed with snow-filtered images of unknown rooms. Rows of memory drives were nailed to the walls like hunting trophies, labeled with names and dates. Some blinked green. Others... bled rust.
In one corner, a vending machine dispensed glitching candy bars labeled "FOOD_404".
And in the center, on a raised platform surrounded by coiling wires and red silk curtains, sat Wisp.
She looked like time had draped itself over a person. Draped in a shawl that shimmered like oil on water, Wisp's cybernetic fingers typed on an invisible interface, her eyes glowing with a violet hue not found in any human database.
"Asher Blackwood," she greeted without turning.
He stiffened. "You know me?"
Wisp smiled faintly. "I knew the last version of you. Before the Rewrite."
A chill slithered up his spine.
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The Truth Unveiled (Kinda)
He placed the cursed USB onto her desk. "This came from the Core Archive. I need to know what's on it."
Wisp's expression turned grave. "You brought Core-spiked data here? Do you hate me, or are you just suicidally curious?"
She plugged it into a rusted panel embedded in her station.
Every monitor in the Den blinked.
The room filled with static as the data unfurled:— A sigil drawn in blood-like ink.— People in ritualistic robes chanting silently.— A floating city, blurred by some kind of anti-memory field.— And over it all, etched across each frame: He rewrites what He wills.
Asher's throat tightened. "What does that mean?"
Wisp's fingers stopped moving. Her eyes dimmed slightly.
"This city... this entire reality... is being overwritten. Layer by layer. And you... you were part of the last version, Asher. The one before the Rewrite."
Asher took a step back, hand gripping the side of a terminal.
"I've—lived this before?"
She nodded. "Not all of it. But echoes. Fragments. You might call them déjà vu. Or dreams. But they're bleedthroughs. Glitches in the continuity."
He pressed a hand to his temple. Static buzzed in his skull. Not pain. Not fear.
Recognition.
A weight long forgotten tried to claw its way back into the present.
"Who's doing this?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Wisp looked up. "They call Him the Archivist. Monarch of Memory. The King of Mirrors."
A pause.
"But the name that always returns... is Oblivion."
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Creepy Event #13 – The Hollow Caller
The Den pulsed. A low hum began to vibrate through the floorboards, like the world had suddenly taken a deep, vibrating breath.
Wisp's eyes widened. "No... not here. Not now."
The walls shimmered—liquid and glass at once. Monitors sparked. Screens fuzzed. A shape moved through the distortion.
A tall figure stepped forward, clothed in a cloak of black static. Its face was nothing. No features. No mouth. No soul. Just absence.
Asher froze. The air pressure dropped.
Wisp shouted a word he didn't recognize, throwing a glowing sigil onto the ground. A pulse of blue light surged upward, forming a dome of shimmering defense.
The creature screamed—without a mouth.
Then vanished.
Wisp dropped to one knee, gasping.
"It found you... You're marked now."
"What the hell was that?!"
"A Hollow Caller," she whispered, "a herald of Oblivion. It smells memory corruption and comes to rewrite or erase."
She pointed at the USB, her voice trembling. "Burn it. Whatever answers you think you want... trust me, some doors open both ways."
Asher looked at her. "What happens if I don't?"
She stood, face grim. "Then you'll see what happens when your own mind turns against you. And whatever you do—do not look into a mirror for the next three days."
He blinked. "Why not?"
Wisp's voice dropped to a hush.
"Because they'll look back."
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Return to the Surface – Rachel's Message
The journey out of Obscura was a blur. Asher moved on instinct. Somewhere between memory and movement, the city reassembled itself into familiar chaos.
But nothing felt safe anymore.
Every shadow had weight. Every sound, a second layer. The static was gone, but not the sense of being watched.
Back on the surface, under Halcyon's fractured sky, Asher pulled out his backup communicator.
One message blinked.
From Rachel.
"If you're seeing this… it means I'm running out of time. Don't trust anyone. Especially not me."
Static surged. Her voice warped.
"They're rewriting us… one by one."
Then, an image.
A cracked mirror.
And in it—Asher's reflection.
But its eyes were glowing red.
And it was smiling.
[End Of Chapter 10]
Preview for Chapter 11
– The Mirror TestAsher must undergo a dangerous rite to discover if his mind is truly his own—or if pieces of him have already been rewritten. But the only one who can guide him now is a masked lunatic who calls himself "The Archivist's Ex." And he has rules. Rule one: never blink twice near a mirror.