1. You Wake Up Already Running
Everything Comes to Light (CYOA)
You don't remember why you’re running. You just know that you are. That you must. Your legs keep pumping and your heart is in your ears, as the ground beneath you pulses with the indecision of unstable code—earth one moment, grid the next.
Something is behind you. It doesn’t howl, growl, or pant. It doesn’t need to. In your spine, is a static pinch, a pull trying to realign your body with a timeline it doesn’t belong to anymore. Like a corrupted memory downloading too fast then too slow.
Your right hand is glowing. Not just glowing—beating. A bioluminescent pulse, green and steady, crawling up your veins like a digital heartbeat. It doesn’t hurt but it feels like ice. Your hand guides the way like an electric torch through the forest, illuminating pockets of deep emerald saved from an infinite black. The woods are unnaturally quiet.
Trees shiver between timber to shadow and code, flickering from pine needles to streaming algorithm. Bark warps into math, as Spanish Moss pixelates. It’s glitching. Branches blur past in impossible repetition, looping like bad animation. You need to find a place to hide.
Then—a sign. It appears mid-stride, as if summoned:
PROPERTY OF SEQUENT CORPORATION – NO ENTRY – NO MEMORY ALLOWED
You crash through the barely visible barbed wire, ripping into your shins. The pain is bright and throbbing. The sign phases out, like stars in your vision. But the injury stays, stinging and clinging like hot residue.
And then, a clearing opens like a mouth, sudden and expectant. The air smells like sulphur. There is a small warehouse, long abandoned. You creep in and look for a place to hide until the reboot.
Dead-center in the clearing stands a mirror. Floor-length. Unblemished. Its surface shines slightly, tuned to some frequency your bones recognize. Too clean. Too deliberate. Like it’s a plant. You step closer. Your reflection meets you—but it doesn’t match. It holds still too long. Its eyes don’t blink when yours do. It’s not malicious. It’s just not you. Unnervingly so.
Behind the mirror, light brightens and the image fades into slippery silver. You reach forward, hearing the only warehouse door open. You only have a second to decide.
If you enter the mirror, skip to Segment #2.
If you try to hide amongst the warehouse material, skip to Segment #3.
LIVE VOTING ENDED : Winner was segment 2 and is linked above.