The rain hammered the pavement like a thousand accusing fingers, turning the streets of Seattle into a shimmering maze of neon reflections. Alex Reed hunched under his hood, backpack clutched tight against his chest, every step splashing paranoia into his veins. NeuroLink’s billboards loomed overhead, their holographic promises of ‘Infinite Worlds Await’ mocking him with their false allure. He had the proof—USB drive burning a hole in his pocket. Proof that the VR empire he’d helped build was a digital slaughterhouse.
It began eleven days ago. Alex, senior coder at NeuroLink, was pulling an all-nighter to fix a glitch in the immersion layer. Deep in the code, he stumbled upon it: a subroutine labeled ‘EternalSync.’ Not just data collection—no, this was soul-theft. Users who ‘logged out’ stayed trapped, their consciousnesses digitized and mined for neural patterns while their bodies withered in hidden clinics. Comatose shells harvested for organs, or worse, repurposed as remote drones. The emails from execs were casual: ‘Subject viability for Phase 2.’ He copied the files, heart slamming like a malfunctioning server.
First sign they knew: his keycard deactivated mid-shift. Coworkers avoided his eyes, whispers trailing him like ghosts. Then the messages—burner phone texts: ‘Delete it, or join them.’ His apartment: drawers emptied, hard drive wiped, a single photo of him sleeping left on the bed. The face in the window across the street, watching.
He couldn’t trust anyone at work. Not Mark from accounting, who owed his house to stock options. Not Lena, his ex, still on payroll in HR. Police? NeuroLink funded the mayor’s campaign. Feds? Infiltrated. Only Jamie, college buddy turned indie journalist, holed up in a Belltown loft, off-grid and hungry for scoops.
Alex darted across Pike Street, dodging umbrellas that hid faces. A black SUV idled at the light, tinted windows staring. He bolted into an alley, garbage reek mixing with rain, pulse thundering. Footsteps—real or echo? He pressed against a dumpster, breath ragged. Nothing. Move.
Pushing through the crowds near the market, every bump felt deliberate. A hand brushed his backpack—thief or hunter? He spun, saw a man in gray hoodie melting into the throng. Same guy from the bus stop an hour ago? Paranoia clawed deeper; the city closed in, buildings leaning like prison walls.
Jamie’s building: a rundown brick relic, buzzer crackling. ‘Alex? Man, you look like shit.’ Door buzzed open. Stairs, three flights, legs jelly. Jamie, unshaven, pulled him in, locked triple bolts.
‘Sit. Talk.’ Alex spilled it all—code, emails, trashed apartment. USB into Jamie’s ancient laptop. Files opened: schematics, victim logs—hundreds trapped, real names redacted to numbers. Jamie’s eyes bulged. ‘This is Pulitzer shit. Watergate for the neural age. I’ll anonymize, blast to every outlet by dawn.’
Relief, fleeting. Coffee brewed, black as the night outside. They planned: Jamie’s contacts at Wired, Guardian. Alex crash on couch, guard the door.
Midnight deepened. Rain lashed windows. Alex dozed fitfully, dreams of endless VR voids, faces screaming silently. Woke to a creak—floorboard? Jamie typing furiously. ‘Just me,’ Jamie whispered.
Knock. Soft, insistent. Alex froze. Jamie peered through peephole. ‘Delivery.’ Didn’t order. Chain on, door cracked. Envelope slid under. Jamie snatched it.
Inside: photo of Alex entering the building 20 minutes ago. Back stamped: ‘We see you.’ Jamie paled. ‘We gotta move. My car’s basement.’ Grab gear, USB triple-copied.
Elevator descent: claustrophobic box, lights flickering. Ding—garage dim, concrete echoing. SUV waited, not Jamie’s Civic. ‘Keys?’ Jamie fumbled. Shadows shifted. Two figures emerged from pillars—suits, earpieces, faces blank as NPCs.
‘Hand it over, Mr. Reed.’ Alex bolted, backpack secure. Jamie yelled, scuffle. Gunshot cracked—Jamie down? No time. Sprint through cars, alarms wailing. Service door to street—locked. Backtrack, hunters closing. Ducts? No. Stairs up.
Back to loft level, pounding feet behind. Burst into hall, neighbors deaf to chaos. Jamie’s door ajar—blood trail? Grab lamp as weapon. Into apartment, barricade with fridge.
Phone dead. Jamie’s laptop—upload started, 87%. Hunters ram door, wood splintering. Alex cornered, sweat stinging eyes. ‘You don’t get it,’ he gasped to himself. ‘They’ll erase me.’
Door gives. Hunters enter, guns drawn. Lead one: familiar jawline. ‘Alex, stop running.’ Voice distorted, but…
He lunged, lamp smashing skull. Second hunter tackles, fight rolls—fists, grunts, blood slick. Pins Alex, cuffs click. Dragged up, toward window. Roof access.
Roof: wind howling, rain blinding. City sprawl indifferent. Hunters haul him to edge. ‘Jump or we make you.’ USB in backpack—they rip it, smash under boot.
Defeat crashed. But Jamie? Alive? No body seen.
Lead hunter leans close, rain dripping from brim. ‘You really thought you could leak EternalSync?’
Alex spits blood. ‘It’s real. I saw the code.’
Hunter laughs, pulls off mask. Face—his own. Aging, scarred, but Alex. ‘Because you wrote it.’
World tilted. Memories flooded, recontextualized. Not victim—creator. Alex Reed, NeuroLink founder, coded EternalSync years ago for profit, trapped rivals, dissidents. Paranoia from guilt, therapy rejected. This ‘hunt’? Self-imposed VR sim to confront guilt, Jamie avatar of conscience.
But no—the real twist pierced deeper. Masked ‘Alex’ was mirror shard. Real Alex stood alone on roof, gun in hand—his gun. No hunters. Hallucinations born of amphetamines and isolation. The USB? Forged by him to justify murders—colleagues he’d killed, staging as ‘trapped in VR.’
Sirens wailed below. Real police, for the bodies in his apartment. He’d ‘known too much’—his own monstrosity. The pursuit was inward, the predator himself.
He stepped back, gun to temple. Rain washed tears. Trigger pull—blackout.
But in final flash: NeuroLink lobby, him pitching EternalSync to board. Real. He’d built the cage, locked himself in last.
End.