The Restoration Protocol

47 || binary dreams

"I can see it written all across your face, dear," the man soon goes on. "No, more than that, I can hear it in your own words. I've been inside your brain, Mariko. In the time before my consciousness was uploaded into Abe, I existed as an overseer in the Dream State System, able to recognize and process the memories of any user currently in the dreamscape. Yours, especially...connected with me."

A new image, projected by Claude, appears close to where Mariko is standing – it's an image of her, transparent and surrounded by a faint blue glow which glitches as pixels blink in and out of existence.

"Your thoughts and feelings from the moment you first entered Paracosia, Miss Mariko...I've seen everything. I know that you don't want to go home."

"What does that have to do with anything?!" Mariko shouts. Claude's face has disappeared again but she knows he hasn't really gone anywhere. "And you don't really know that, anyway! People are...people are allowed to change their minds..."

"But you haven't."

His confidence only drives deeper that chill in her bones. With nothing else to look at, Mariko fixes her gaze on the transparent copy of her. It moves in place. Appearing to act out things that have passed, indistinct memories on silent replay. She wonders if this is what Claude saw through his eyes.

"You haven't changed your mind," he continues in a moment. "And if you think you have, it's only because you're still shielding yourself. And I must tell you the truth, Miss Mariko. If the current Paracosia is restored – that is, this version you've come to know – your consciousness will be expelled from the game. I have begun to tear down the developers' safety protocols, but activating the original backup will restore these safety protocols as well." He draws in a deep breath, and Mariko feels the air pass by on either side of her. "This current virtual world has deemed my presence a threat. Outside of the Vault, I am a virus in its eyes. Therefore you, an innocent user, will be ejected against my will, and you will never be able to return. You will have no choice but to go...home."

The transparent Mariko vanishes with the cold utterance of that word. It was not spoken in fondness, but with the same dread Mariko has associated with it for the past six months. Not a space of warmth.

"...and no one deserves to return to the grim reality you have waiting for you..."

Denial, on the other hand, stokes the fire in her chest. It's kept her going all this time. Holding its hand even now, Mariko whispers a broken, "What...are you talking about...?"

"Oh, Miss Mariko...please, you must be honest with yourself..."

She hears a loud noise in the distance. Like a muffled explosion, drawing an involuntary gasp from her that leaves her breathless in an instant. She inhaled something. She's sure of it. A spark. Ash from something that wasn't built to be burnt. Whatever it was, it touched the back of her throat and forces her eyes shut. Her body tenses from the inside out.

A metallic taste lingers on her tongue. Painfully distinct, something that no dream could replicate without drawing from a direct memory. And she knows now this is a memory. Her knees buckle and she cowers on the ground at the mercy of that sound.

The sound of crackling fire, like the sharpening of death's blade.

"You remember...don't you...?"

"Please, stop..." Mariko whimpers, pressing her hands tightly to her ears. Claude's voice still bleeds through.

"There's no way he could have survived that. Inhaling smoke is one thing, but for the ceiling to have fallen down upon him... he got the worst of it. I've seen into your memory, Miss Mariko. I'm so sorry..."