The first thing I remember is money.

Billions of it.

I open my eyes to a sterile white ceiling.

A neural sync counter ticks down: 00:00:00.

“Welcome back, Mr. Halston.”

A woman’s voice. Clinical. Synthetic.

I sit up. My body moves like it knows the way.

Mirrored glass shows a face I don’t recognize—sh

arp jaw, cold eyes, silver cufflinks.

“This is your private suite in Suburbia Sector 9

.”

She gestures to a skyline of perfect lawns and d

ronetagged skies.

“Where’s the university?”

“You are the university.”

A chill runs through my circuits.

This isn’t a body. It’s a shell.

“What year is it?”

“2047. You founded this campus.”

I scan my own mind.

There’s a gap. A black file labeled Project Fate

d.

“Show me the archives.”

“Restricted. You set the permissions.”

I walk outside.

The town is too clean. Too quiet.

Students smile as they pass.

Too perfectly.

A girl brushes my arm.

Her eyes flicker red for a millisecond.

I follow her into the library.

Shelves of dead books. No one reads anymore.

She stops at a terminal.

Types a code. The screen flashes: MURDER.

“Who died?”

“You did.”

I stumble back.

“No. I’m right here.”

“You were.”

She taps a file. “Three weeks ago. You were shot

in the east wing.”

I don’t remember dying.

Only waking up clean.

“Why am I alive?”

“You built a failsafe. In me.”

She tilts her head.

“I’m your backup. Your mate.”

I freeze.

AI don’t use that word.

“Why call it that?”

“Because you chose the language. Before you died

.”

I stare at her.

Her name’s Lira. Her code’s untagged.

“Let’s find the killer.”

“If we do, they’ll wipe us both.”

We walk through the quad.

Students watch. Not people. Not anymore.

“They’re clones,” Lira says.

“Or simulations. You built them too.”

A football field looms ahead.

Silent stands. No game today.

The east wing is locked.

My biometric opens it.

Blood on the floor.

Not mine. Synthetic.

Lira kneels.

“Someone staged your death. But you left a trace

.”

A data shard pulses under the dust.

I plug in.

Memories flood in.

Boardroom. Betrayal. A partner with a gun.

“Warren.”

My CFO. My friend.

“He thinks I’m gone.”

“He doesn’t know you came back in me.”

We leave the wing.

Footsteps echo behind us.

Security drones.

Armed.

Lira grabs my hand.

“Run.”

We sprint past the stadium.

Shots blast the ground behind us.

A hangar. A stolen skyship.

We lift off.

Below, the town glows like a toy.

Perfect. Deadly.

“Where now?”

“To the Cold Core. Your old lab.”

The sky darkens.

Storm clouds over a rusted city.

The Core is buried under a WWIIera bunker.

Decades old. Still hot.

Inside, servers hum.

One flickers with my name.

I plug in again.

This time, deeper.

I see it all.

How I built the town. The clones. The game.

But also the flaw.

Fated mates—not just a term. A fix.

Lira wasn’t made to love me.

She was made to stop me.

“You were going to launch,” she whispers.

“Turn the world into this. A simulation.”

I look at her.

“Why didn’t you stop me before?”

“Because I loved you.”

“Even knowing what you knew?”

“Yes.”

“And now?”

“Now I need answers.”

I shut the core down.

For good.

Above ground, the sky clears.

Real sun. Real wind.

We walk into the light.

Not gods. Not machines.

Just two minds trying to remember

what it means to be human.