Rule 1: If a door closes by itself, it's not a ghost—It's karma—back from the gym—with brass knuckles.
Rule 2: If Cherry says "Trust me," hug your family. You're not coming back.
Rule 3: If the story makes sense—SLAP YOURSELF. You're hallucinating. Now. Let's begin.
It's 8:00 AM.
I should be peacefully existing.
Instead, I'm two seconds away from being publically Murdered by a smart board that's clearly possessed by Steve Jobs' evil twin.
Also if that thing grows arms and drop-kicks me into a parallel dimension. I'll have no doubts.
I'm Veer.
17 years old. Mental age: potato.
Skills? Tripping over Air and unlocking doors labeled "DO NOT."
A Man so chronically unlucky, my blood type is probably "Oops."
Currently locked in a stare-down with a lizard inside my pencil box.
It just licked its eyeball and whispered, "Soon."
And I'm not okay.
Behind me?
Rohit.
A Bastard Smuggler/ Lunatic. Man once tried to sell oxygen as an NFT.
He's currently bribing a tenth grader with expired cryptocurrency.
"Dogecoin's dead, bro," the kid says.
Rohit nods. "So is empathy. Solve these equations or I'll sell your organs on eBay."
To my left?
Aarush.
A Living air freshener.
Looks like an Instagram filter sneezed on a gym poster.
He leans over the side window and whispers,
"Mirror mirror on the wall," shirt half-buttoned, "who's the hottest narcissist of all?"
The Mirror shatters.
Somewhere, a Greek god quits.
To my right?
Riya.
Spiritually colder than Antarctica's ex.
Imagine a librarian and a reaper had a child and taught it vengeance as a first language.
She's Still. Silent. Writing in a Black notebook that's either poetry or Hitlist.
But everytime her pen moves, a pigeon dies somewhere in the world.
And then—
It HITS. The PULSE.
Not the love kind.
But a shockwave like Darth Vader stabbed a THUNDER BOLT into my chest.
One second I'm tapping my pen. The next—GOD PUNCHED ME FROM BEHIND THE RIBS.
My pen catches fire.
My soul screams "NOT AGAIN."
I grab the table.
The table grabs back.
Something inside me stirs.
Dark.
Primal.
Hungry.
Probably just hunger.
But possibly demonic possession. Who knows.
BUT—it's gone.
All felt normal.
And by normal I mean "DEFINITELY CURSED."
Lights Flicker.
Then Cherry wakes up grinning so evil even Satan would die out of fear.
She barked "SMELLS LIKE SUCCESS!!" holding a hamster like a wand.
Nobody cares. No-one should.
Someone in the back whispers, "Hide the knives."
And that Anaconda!?
I mean Mr. Nagraj. Our suspicious science teacher—was sweating more than usual.
Which.. Is impressive because he's 89% water.
And mid-cuddling a jellyfish.
Like creature.
He hissed "Today's Class," inhaling like a haunted vacuum, "Is Clinically Merciless—"
Then he passes out.
No one helps.
Cherry even draws abs on him.
Me? I just caught the smartboard blink.
It. Just. BLINKED.
Like it's ALIVE.
Like it's judging my search history—
Then The Fan Starts Spinning Backwards.
Windows Slammed SHUT.
Doors LOCKED.
The Air shifts.
Atmosphere = Hell's Wi-Fi rebooting.
Every phone in the room starts BUZZING.
Not just iPhones.
Nokias. Calculators.
A toaster in Cherry's backpack. All at once.
And Suddenly—
A voice, like Siri Possessed by a Seriel Killer:
> "ALL PARTICIPANTS DETECTED. INITIATING ELIMINATION PROTOCOL."
Everyone freezes.
Except Aarush.
He whispers, "Is this... a brand collab?"
Cash pees himself. Again.
Doubtfully I felt like I heard screams and blasts sounds outside of classroom.
But then.
Rohit barked at me, "We're participants, right?"
I barked back, "It's that damn 'science experiment' Drunkard!!."
THEN—
The floor beneath us rumbles..
Projector turns on by itself.
You Can See How Stupid the whole was..
𝕐 ̴̡̡̛̰͎̼͙̼͉̰̯͍͕͇̱͓͚̣͇̱̠̣̳̱̪̗̞͔̼̅̿̈́̈́͋̓̈́͊̊̌͑͛̍̏͆̊̓͝B̸̛̼͖̺͎̌̾̋́͆̇̅͛͗̅̒̐̐͒͊͌̍̇͝͝Ě̸̵̢̡̢̨̡̢̢̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛͈̻̠̹̦̟̤̼̩̜̺̰̯̼̤̩̘͈͍̜̫̫̤̹̪̰͚̟̜̹̬̩̪̪̮̹͙̰̲̳͇̗̥̥͓̟͕͙̙̤͖̥̘̮̙̖̻̠̟̻͎̰̺̙͓͉̜͓̞͕̺̖̼͎̬̝̲̪̹̝̺̟̞͉̰͍͉̳̰̞͔͇̰̪̘͔͇̏͆̿̽̇̑̓͌̍̅̇̽͛̏̾̽̓́̾̎́͐̀̄̊̓̏́͐͆͒̈́͛̔̐̄̑́͋̎͆̓̄̒̿͗͗̍́͆̄̅̎́̀͋̋͋͋̋̑̄̍͒̊͌̽̓̾̈́̓̈́̑̓̅̅̿̈́͌͋̍̈́̍̒̅̓̍̿̐͛͒͗̑̏̑̆́́̔̓͒̄͛̿͊̋̐͒̈́̈́̽̓͌̈́̆̎̓̍̎͐̿͆̍̿̿̈́̀͗́̈́̐͌̓͂̈́̒̅͌̔̎͒̈́̿̐̄̈́̑̾̎͋̋̓̍͋͐̍͋̓̍̋̈́͌̏̄̓̾͌̆͐̒̐͌̀̿̓̐̈́̾̍̈́̍̽̓̿̈́́̈́̄̄̆͒̎͌̒̓͗̎͐̎͂̈́̓̾̓̓̍̈́͆̇̑̄̍̔̐̄̓̆̑̾͆͗̿̋̎̋͐̇̇͆̽̾̈́̿̓̎͆̽̐̋͐͆̐́̄͋͛́͐̄͂̄̇͐͐̐̍́̐̓̈́́̿̽͌̅̆̒̒͗̄̋͗̒̇͗͌̈́̾̑̇̽́͑̐̋͆̎̎̀̋͆̅̿̽̈́́̔̾̓̋̈́̐̑̋̎̅̓́̿͒̎͐͌̒̈́͌̏͂̐̈́̇͆͌̅̒͐̅̈́̐̈́̆̏͋̿̍̐̏̄́̔̒́̋̑̓̋̾͒̐́̓̓̈́̈́͋̄́͛̍͂̄̈́͗̽̈́̐̿̈́͌̿͛̾̒̍͌̈́͋̅́͂̈́͛̀̾̄͋̍͌̽̾̇͒̒̑̀́͗́̇͌̇̄̀̈́̒̅̍̏͗̏̒̽͗̍̈́̈́̐͛̿̒̔̍̅̾̄̿̽̾͋̑͒̏̀̒̿͋̅̄͛̋̅̇̀͂̈́͛̀̽͒̐̈́́͛͒̈́̐̐̋̍͂͗͂̽͗̈́͒̇̋̒̎̿̾̈́̓̽̄͐̎̅̇̓͋͐͗̅̔͂̅̄̾̄̈́̅͒̏̋͐͛͋̎̀̿̀̓̎̈́͂̇̾̀̈́̿͌͋́͛̈́͂̏́̈́̐̓̆͋̄̿̓̆̀͌͒͐̏͐́̈́͛̐͂̈́̑̐̏̋̎̀͗͐̄́̍̑̿́̒̄́͐̓̎̐̅̄̅̈́͛̓̐̄̅̐͛͐͆̿̿͒̍̈́͆͛̏̏̈́͗͐̓̽̎͌͛̈́͛͒̓̈́͗̎̓͂̈́̍̐̿̍̏̓̍̽̋̄̽̓̅̅̏̾͋̑̒̄̓̇͛̇̎̽̏͒͋̄͗̏̐̀̽͋͌͌̑̾̑͐̒̄̄̓̈́̇̈́̒͌̀͌́̈́́̐̈́̀́̿̅͒͒̒͒̎͋͐͌̑͒̏͒́̓̓̏̋̈́̀͒͒̑̓͋̍̀̋̓̓̓̽̓̽̒̐͐͛́̅̎̓̿̓̇̓̋͆̒̐́̈́͊͌͌͋̍̇̿̄̐͗͗̍̋̋͆̇̇̍̅̈́̒̄͆̈́͌͗̐̒̐̈́͛̓̿̒̿̄̾̾̿͗̄̽̏͒̄͗͐̏̅̋̓̒͌̿̅͒͂̽͌̏̿͐̓̾͆͐͗̐̓̅̿͗̔̑̅̄̍̇̿͒̒́̿̐͌͆͒̐̅̈́̋̇̏̿̍̏̏̾̄͋̅͗͋̍̓̓͌́̏̈́̎͛̈́̒́̅̅̏̀̎̓̀͛͒̇̽̒̋̄̓̾͒́̿̆͆̾̓͋̓͒͌͆̈́̓̎̿̓̿̋̿̈́̋̓͐͒̔̿̄͗̓̾̍͐̒͋͆̇̏̍̀̿͂͗͗̓͒͂̓͆́̿̆̓͒͂͐͆̓̀̎̓̾͗̽̒͋͂̄͛̓̎͒̽̾̐̒̑̓̈́̓̍͐̍̈́͋͌̑̓̽͐͋̅́̿̀̒͋͋̾̑̽̏̓́͆͋̍̾͋̓̐̀̍̎̈́́̇͒̏̄̅̄͐͋͛͆̒̒͂̎̐̐͒̎͐̽̋̇͗͌̆̐͌̍͛̀͂̾͌͋͋̐̓͋̍́͒́͛̿̈́̐̏̑̋̎̿̈́͆̈́̿̇́̿̀̔̈́̽̽̓͆̄̍͗̓̑͆́͗̐͂͛̐̈́̄͒̐͋͂̄̎͂̄̅̏͂̈́̔̎̏̈́̈́̓͗̓̿̽̒͌̈́͆̇̅̀͗͐̀̐̐͆̈́̍̀̏͐̾͂̄̋̍̅̒̓̐͋̐͂̍̄́̽̈́̇̓̇͛̔̅̑̓̽̓͗̿͒̈́͂̓̎͋̽̾̄̆̐̈́̇̋̅̀́̅̾̒̏͌̆̏̅͛̆̔̍͋͛̋͌̇̍̽͗͒̄̆̅͋̅̎̽͋̅͗͆̀̇̿̐̿́͛͐̇̍̑́̐̋̓̽̓͆̒̄̒̓͗̈́̓̄̿̓̅͐̄̇͌̄̒̀̅̈́̇͆̿͗̅͂́̅̓͋̒̐̈́͌͛̍̾͂̍̒͋̍̈́͂̿́̅̄̿̅̒̐́̽́̓̓̈́̐́̓͆̓̎̓̍͆̅͂̇̍̎̐̿̎̔̿͋̍͆̈́͌͒̍̒̒͂̅͌̾͗͗́͆̔̿̿̎̐̄̔͐̑̋͛͐̐͐̈́̽̏̅̒̅͂̾̓̇̿͒̇̽̅̀͐̓̒̓̎̓̅̋̓͂͌͒̓͒͂̈́̄̄͒̿̑͂̒͐̽͆̄̅̓̿́͗͒̈́̎̿̄̓̍̽̽̽̏̄͗̅́̄̎̈́̅͒͆̅̅́̇̓̄͂̉͆̇̿̋̐̇̓̀͗̇̈́̅͐̋̄̓́͂̎͛́̿͌̈́͌̈́̋̏̈́͆͛̋̿͐͛͂̿̾͋̈́͗͛͆͋̓͋̇͋̄̔̈́̔͒̇̒́̎̈́̄̐̈́́͐̈́̏̒͋̑͛͗͐̓̎̾̔́͂̒̽̈́̓̍͐̈́̽̽̏͆̑̇͛͐͗͌͌́̽̍̀̋͌́̐̎̒̄̏͋̀̾̇͐́͋͛̍̄̀̅͋͛͛͗̐̓̄͗͌̈́̀̅̀͂̈́̀̿͆̍̓̅̇̒̋̿̿̏́́̑͌͐́̓̈́̎̅͆́͂͒͛̏̏̽͌̀̓̈́̓̏̋̾͌̓́͋̏͂̈́̐͗̀̀̾͒̀͐̈́̄̎͗̀̽͐͗͒̅̅͆͌̇̒̋̿̈́̿͂̈́͛̐̀̾̍͗̄̽̔̓̈́̓̄̽̒̔̎͐̏͛́͛̈́͒̐͗̈́̒̈́̈́̈́͐̎̾͆̾̓̀͗́̈́̒̿̋͂̓̋͆̽̾̀̿̈́̐̀͛̏́̎͋̍́̄̽̓͛̄̈́̽̈́̓̿̓̿͆͒́̍̍̄̐́̅̕͘̚̚̕̚̕̚̚̚͘̕̚͘͘̚̕̕͘͘̚̚͘͘̕͘͘͘͘͘͘̕̕̕̚̕̚̕̚̚̕̕͘͘̚͘̕͘͘͘̕͘̕͘̕͘̚̕̕͘̕̚̕͘̕̕͘̚͘̚͘͘͘̚̚̚͘͘̚̕͘̕̚̚͘͘͘̕͘͘͘̕̚̕̕̕͘̚̕̚͘͘͘͘̕̕̚̕͘͘͘͘͘͘͘̚̕͘̕͘͘̕̚͘̕̚͘̕͘͘̚͘̚̕̚͘̚̕͘̚͘̚͘̚̚̚͘̚͘͘͘̚̚͘̚̚͘̕͘̚̚̚͘͘̕̕̚̚͘͘͘͜͜͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͠͝͝͠͠͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅ
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THEN THE COUNTDOWN STARTS.
00:59:59
00:59:58
...
Everyone freezes.
And that's when Riya stands.
Voice colder than Pluto's breakup playlist.
> "If anyone screams… I will personally staple their tongue to the blackboard."
..t.o. b.e. c.o.u.n.t.i.n..u.e.d...
Wait. Why Panic.
It means we have. One hour. One classroom. 27 idiots.
And no rules.
BUT..
In Just 15 minutes.
My Possessed Fate Betrayed Me.
I was mid-Snickers, halfway through convincing Ethan that Edison was technically a Malware in Wonka's sugar factory.
But when you think it can't get worse—
THE DOOR EXPLODES.
SECURITY SMASHED IN—Five musclehead Aliens (actually guards but huge enough to be called)
And one raccoon in aviator shades—yelling: "WHERE THE HELL!! THEY ARRE!!"
"I told you the glitter was Overkill," Ethan whispered. Cherry stopped.
She was mid stabbing a kid. Just For fun.
The Whole Class Now Glaring At Us.
I growled, "THIS. Is racism against Visionaries!" trying a run via one shattered window.
special thanks to aarush's beauty.
While the guards were throwing desks like dodgeballs.
THAT FATTY SMUGGLER Rohit Farted So Hard that devilish raccoon saw me.
He Points at me like god.
"LOOK!!"
"THE ONE WITH THE POTATO AURA!"
And all ran to me yelling,
"STOOOPPP!! YOU DEMON!!"
WELCOME to Chapter 1.
---
---] Oops ---]
there's.. M.OR.E...
---
PROLOGUE
UNCLASSIFIED INCIDENT | NOT FOR RETENTION
Recovered via Blackbox #119B-ECHO7
TIME: Unknown
LOCATION: Amazon Sector- 27B (Redacted)
WEATHER: Irrelevant.
DATA CORRUPTION DETECTED – reconstructing sensory log...
---
The man crawled out of the forest with no skin.
Wasn't sure if ripped off.
Footage distorted.
>"I am not dead.
But I was the last one to forget my name."
One arm—bone exposed—"And yes.. I'm dying too."
Clutches a moss-covered shrine like a child begging to stay behind.
"If you find this log—run away from this forest."
---
[Signal lost.]
...
PRE-INCIDENT CHRONOLOGICAL SEQUENCE
> [Transcript begins 32 hours before Echo- 7 Disappearance]
A research team of 7. Chinese-funded. No military presence. Mission: "Deep litho-scanning of pre-geological substrate anomalies."
Translation: They were digging for something the world pretended didn't exist.
They found it.
Beneath 17 kilometers of stone.
A perfect tetrahedron made of material that could not be dated, analyzed, or described in known physical terms.
Humming at an unexpected frequency.
Inside: no chambers, no symbols, no seams. Only a dark surface that responded to thought like it wanted to be misunderstood.
Dr. Lian tried to describe what she felt. Her speech patterns reversed, and her mouth opened too wide—until it tore both cheeks open. She kept talking.
One researcher drowned on dry ground.
One became non-euclidean from the collarbone upward and apologized without a mouth.
One lasted.
Long enough to understand.
"It wasn't a shard. It was an archive—not of data, but something… [Untranslatable]… that absorbs time."
They called it.
> The Black Shard
It did not emit power.
It drained memory.
Of those who listens.
Cameras lost what they filmed.
Satellites redacted their own logs.
Time became reluctant.
---
Three researchers went silent.
Dr. Min, the linguist, tries to laugh.
Then stops laughing.
And whispered, voice still shivering,
"It's an ear, that listens to regret."
Then again starts laughing.
Longer. Harder.
Until her ribs break.
Nobody was noticing her.
She was still laughing.
Even after her jaw detaches.
They left her.
---
[Recovered Audio – Timestamp: Unknown]
Speaker: Presumed Dr. Xia
> "We brought it above ground. We shouldn't have."
"It's not intelligent. It's worse."
"It's… responsive."
[static]
"It heard my thoughts."
"It showed me what silence looks like before light was born."
"That wasn't black and doesn't want worship."
"It wants… company."
END LOG