The white-out wasn't just a flash; it was a sensory erasure of the soul. For what felt like an eternity, Kaelen Thorne existed as nothing more than a single, flickering point of consciousness in a sea of uncompiled information. There was no up, no down, and no "self"—only the terrifying hum of raw binary screaming through his mind. Then, the world slammed back into place with the bone-jarring force of a physical collision.
Kaelen hit the flooded floor of the mall, his boots splashing into the emerald ink that was now swirling around his waist. He coughed, spitting out a mouthful of liquid that tasted like copper and ozone. He braced himself for the toxic burn of the Sub-Routine Fluid, but it never came. Instead, a warmth radiated from his chest, spreading down his arms and into the water.
