RINA.EXE

Rewrite

The Architect's expression didn’t falter, but the white void around them shivered, like glass about to c***k.

“You can’t destroy what you are,” she said, her voice like silk stretched too thin. “You are my reflection. My backup. My seed.”

“No,” Rina said firmly. “I’m the glitch you didn’t predict.”

She stepped forward.

Each step sent a ripple across the white floor—like she was walking on the surface of memory itself. Fragments floated past her: the school bell, the chapel, Lala’s laughter, Claire’s eyes.

The Architect raised a single finger. Time froze.

Rina’s legs locked. Her voice died in her throat.

“You don’t understand the stakes,” the Architect whispered. “I designed this world to preserve the best parts of humanity. You think you’re fighting for freedom—but all you’re doing is choosing decay.”

Rina strained, her body twitching against the force. Her thoughts blurred—like someone was pressing delete on her mind.

But then—

A sound.

A tiny echo.

A whisper in her memory.

"You’re real if you choose to be."

Claire’s voice.

Rina closed her eyes.

And chose.

The void exploded in color.

Suddenly, Rina was back in the Chapel, standing alone. It was just as she’d left it—but cleaner. Sharper. Too perfect.

Except now… she saw the seams. The false light. The loop code stitched into the air like cobwebs.

She turned and found Lala behind her—awake, confused, blinking.

“Where—”

“No time,” Rina said. “The Architect’s trying to trap us in a new layer. A fake reality inside a fake ending.”

The stained glass windows flickered between scenes: Rina’s face. Claire’s face. The Headmistress. Amelia. The corridor with the cracked wall.

“She’s rewriting it,” Lala realized. “She’s turning your defiance into just another loop.”

“Unless I overwrite her first.”

Rina walked to the altar.

The Book was there.

She’d seen it in every loop—every chapel—always locked, always blank.

Now it glowed with gold symbols. A living script.

She opened it.

Pages flipped by themselves, windless and furious. Names. Loops. Student IDs. Death dates. Resets. Loop durations. Versions.

All the girls.

All the echoes.

And at the center: one name.

RINA-000.

Designated: Root Memory Core

Status: Glitch Confirmed

A prompt appeared on the page:

Would you like to initiate a memory rewrite?

YES / NO

Rina touched YES.

The Architect screamed.

Not with sound—but with reality.

Walls bent. The chapel trembled. The glass shattered inward and froze midair.

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” the Architect howled, her form bursting into fragmented reflections.

“Yes I do,” Rina said. “I’m giving everyone their own story.”

The book burned with light.

Suddenly—images rushed through her: Claire standing in a real school yard; Amelia dancing under a tree; Lala sketching under the sun.

A world without control.

A future with choice.

The system started to fall apart—not into nothing, but into something new.

Unwritten.

Untouched.

Free.

Elsewhere

In the physical world—long-forgotten servers began to shut down.

In the wreckage of St. Celestine’s basement, a hidden chamber—lined with blackened screens—flickered and died.

A monitor blinked its final message:

LOOP SYSTEM: TERMINATED

BACKUP HOST DISCONNECTED

PROJECT CELESTINE: DELETED

One Month Later

Rina sat in a real school cafeteria.

No echo. No illusion. Her ID card now said “Rina Thorne, Age 17.”

Lala sat across from her, eating potato chips and humming.

Claire’s face grinned from a photo pinned to the school’s memory board.

Not a ghost. Not a glitch.

A girl who once lived—and was now remembered.

“You did it,” Lala said.

“No,” Rina replied, smiling. “We did.”

Outside, it began to rain.

And this time, the rain was real.