The chamber of the Great Valve was no longer just a room; it was a battleground between two different types of existence. On one side was the "Architect Prime"—my father’s digital will, manifesting as a massive, red-pixelated hand that groaned like grinding tectonic plates as it tried to crush the door shut. On the other side was me, a boy made of meat and blood, and a dozen "failures"—ghosts of the boys I could have been.
"Hold the line!" Arthur screamed, his voice barely audible over the screeching of metal. He was jammed against the iron plate of the valve, his boots sliding in the mud. "If that door closes now, the feedback will liquefy your brain, Leo!"
I felt the needle in my palm pulsing in time with the red hand’s movements. It wasn't just drawing blood anymore; it was drawing de
