[OBJECTIVE: REACH THE MEMORY FRAGMENT]

  Okay, Lucien thought. Objective. Path. Obstacles.

  As if summoned by the thought, the first hurdle appeared. A section of the static floor shimmered in front of him, then bulged upward. Three insect-like constructs skittered into existence, their bodies formed from garbled, chittering text. They were small, no bigger than his hand—if he had a hand.

  He tried to form one now.

  He focused, concentrating on the familiar feeling of clenching a fist. A hazy, translucent outline of his arm appeared, flickering in and out of existence. It felt sluggish, disconnected, like trying to move a limb that had fallen asleep. He looked back at the creatures and thought to Echo, What the fuck are these things?

   she answered.

  So… they're literally just bugs?

   she corrected.

  He let out a breathless, lungless sigh. Yeah ok.

  The data-mites charged, their chittering rising in pitch.

  Lucien moved to intercept, pushing his will into his digital form.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  He swung.

  His arm moved half a second too late, passing through the space where the first mite had been. It skittered past him, the garbled text scraping against his leg, and a jolt of raw pain shot through him. A red warning flashed across his vision.

  

  [INTEGRITY: 2%]

  He stumbled back, his translucent form violently flickering. His [PULSE] skill was grayed out on his HUD, a mocking reminder of the power he no longer had. He was weak. He was a target.

  He clenched his teeth in a phantom sensation, but the feeling of resolve was real. He had to rely on pure grit. He lunged again, ignoring the sluggish response of his limbs, and managed to stomp a foot down on one of the mites.

  It dissolved with a digital shriek.

  But the other two were on him. One latched onto his arm, the other onto his chest. Searing, agonizing static flooded his consciousness. The world dissolved into a screaming whiteout, his HUD flashing.

  

  [INTEGRITY AT 0%. COGNITIVE DE-RESOLUTION IMMINENT...]

   Echo screamed.

  And then he was gone.

  It wasn’t really like pain. Pain was physical, and this was something deeper. This was his self unraveling, his mind being plucked apart thread by thread. Each thought split into raw syllables, each syllable into noise, each noise into nothing. He tried to hold onto his own name, but even that dissolved into meaningless fragments:

  L…u…ci…e…n…

  The sensation was everywhere and nowhere—a million screaming voices clawing across the inside of his skull, images flickering by so fast he couldn’t tell if they were memories or hallucinations.

  And then—there was a violent jolt.

  He was back in the blackness of the safe room, his entire consciousness screaming with the phantom pain of dissolution. His [INTEGRITY] bar was back, but it only showed 2% now—a sliver of red.

   Echo yelled, tears in her voice.

  His consciousness may have been digital, but failure still had real consequences. Death was not a reset of the simulation or reboot of the computer. It was a step closer to oblivion for them both.

  He pushed the fear down and re-entered the dungeon. The data-mites skittered in the same pattern as before. This time, he didn't try to overpower them. He was slow and clumsy, but he was patient. He dodged, waited—then stomped. It was ugly, brutish work—a far cry from the surgical precision he was used to. But he was making progress.

  Until he made a clumsy mis-step and he "died" once more. The whiteout came like an avalanche—his thoughts peeled away, his non-existent skin and bones fracturing into pixelated noise, the sound of his own voice screaming without breath or body to make it real. His HUD disintegrated into shards of light before collapsing into black.

  When he re-appeared in the safe room, trembling with residual static, the message blinked almost as if taunting.

  

  [INTEGRITY: 1%]

  He only had one more try. Succeed or die.

  Her small, hopeful voice played in his head.