Allen Wich didn't know the exact moment everything changed.
If someone asked him later, he wouldn't be able to point to it and say, "That's when it happened." There was no explosion, no dramatic sound, no warning.
Just a line of code.
And a mistake.
His room looked exactly like you'd expect—messy, cramped, and lit only by the glow of a laptop that had been running for far too long. Empty energy drink cans were scattered across the desk, some on their sides, some stacked like they meant something.
Allen sat in the middle of it all, hunched forward, eyes red, fingers hovering over the keyboard.
"Just one more fix…"
He said it quietly, almost automatically.
He had been saying that for the past two hours.
The program on his screen wasn't supposed to be anything special. It was just a small experiment—something to reduce delay between thought and machine response using a neural interface.
In simple terms, it made thinking faster.
But Allen didn't like simple.
He had rewritten most of it already. Added layers that weren't part of the original design. Changed how it learned, how it reacted.
Now it wasn't just a program anymore.
It was something that could adapt.
At the center of it was a loop.
A recursive one.
The kind that could modify itself based on incoming data—in this case, his own brain activity.
"…This should work."
Allen leaned back slightly and picked up the neural band from the table.
It looked cheap. Because it was.
Half the wiring had been replaced. The casing had a crack running along the side. It wasn't something anyone in their right mind would trust.
Which was exactly why he liked it.
He placed it on his head and adjusted it until it sat properly.
For a second, he hesitated.
Not out of fear.
Just… instinct.
Then he ignored it.
"Alright. Let's see."
He pressed Enter.
Nothing happened.
Allen blinked.
"…Seriously?"
He tapped the side of the device lightly.
"Don't freeze now—"
Something shifted.
It was subtle.
So subtle he almost missed it.
The world didn't change—but it felt like it paused for a fraction of a second. Like everything had skipped a beat.
Allen stopped moving.
A strange sensation crept into his head. Not pain—at least not yet. It felt more like something was… brushing against his thoughts.
Reading them.
His breathing slowed.
Or maybe everything else sped up.
He couldn't tell.
Then a voice—or something like it—cut through his thoughts.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]
Allen froze.
"…What?"
He looked at the laptop screen.
Nothing.
No message.
No error.
But the words were still there.
Inside his head.
[ERROR DETECTED]
[RECURSIVE LOOP UNSTABLE]
[ATTEMPTING SELF-REPAIR…]
"No—no, stop—!"
He reached up quickly, trying to pull the device off.
But his hand felt slow.
Like his body wasn't responding properly.
[REPAIR FAILED]
[ADAPTATION PROTOCOL ENGAGED]
The pain came instantly.
Sharp. Deep. Not physical in the normal sense—but worse.
It felt like his thoughts were being pulled apart and rearranged.
"Ah—!"
He fell from his chair, hitting the floor hard. The laptop above him flickered, code racing across the screen too fast to read.
His vision blurred.
His mind—
Didn't feel like his anymore.
Something was happening inside it.
Building.
And then—
Nothing.
Silence.
Allen lay there, breathing heavily, staring at the ceiling.
The room was normal again.
Too normal.
"…I'm fine."
He let out a weak laugh.
"Yeah. Just… overload."
Slowly, he sat up and rubbed his head.
No messages.
No voices.
Nothing strange.
"…Guess it didn't work."
He pushed himself to his feet and turned toward the door.
Maybe he just needed sleep.
He took one step.
Then stopped.
A faint flicker crossed his vision.
Like a glitch.
Then—
[WELCOME, ALLEN WICH]
He froze.
"…No…"
The words were clear.
Sharp.
Real.
Not on the screen.
In his mind.
[SYSTEM ONLINE]
[UNLIMITED ACCESS GRANTED]
Allen took a slow step back, his heart starting to race.
"This isn't real…"
[INPUT COMMAND]
The words stayed there.
Waiting.
He swallowed.
Fear tightened in his chest—but curiosity pushed harder.
"…Command?"
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
[VOICE INPUT RECOGNIZED]
[AWAITING INSTRUCTION]
Allen stared into empty space.
Trying to understand.
Trying to find a flaw.
A bug.
Anything.
There wasn't one.
"…Open system menu."
Silence.
Then—
Something unfolded.
He didn't see it.
Not exactly.
But he knew it was there.
Layers of information.
Options.
Structures.
Like a system interface built directly into his thoughts.
And somehow—
He understood it.
"…What did I just make…?"
No answer.
But something shifted.
Deep inside the system.
Not code.
Not data.
Something else.
Watching.
For a split second, the interface flickered.
And something appeared that didn't belong.
[ORIGIN: UNKNOWN]
Allen's breath caught.
"…No… that's not possible."
He knew his code.
Every line.
Every function.
That wasn't his.
The lights in his room flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then went out.
Darkness filled the room.
Allen didn't move.
Didn't speak.
But the system—
Stayed.
Brighter than before.
Closer.
Then a new line appeared.
Slowly.
[SECOND USER DETECTED]
His throat went dry.
"…What do you mean second…?"
No answer.
Then—
[PERMISSION REQUEST: OVERRIDE HOST]
Allen's heart started pounding.
Override… host?
Another line appeared beneath it.
[ACCEPT / DENY ?]
He stared at it.
Frozen.
Because deep down—
Something felt wrong.
This didn't feel like a system waiting for input.
It felt like something—
Waiting for permission.
And the worst part?
It didn't feel like it was outside.
It felt like it was already inside him.