SYNTAX: Project ECHO

Chapter 16: Anomaly on a Tuesday

                             Anya Tanaka's world did not run on elegant code or sterile logic. It ran on lukewarm coffee, the cheerful beep of a dozen social media notifications, and the perpetual, frantic search for a matching pair of socks. Her apartment was a chaotic, lived-in sanctuary of mismatched furniture, stacks of well-loved fantasy novels, and a ridiculously fluffy cat named Nimbus who was, at that particular moment, refusing to get into his carrier.

"Honestly, Nimbus," she said, finally coaxing him inside with a bribe of salmon treats, "you'd think a creature with your majestic fluff would have a better sense of responsibility."

The cat responded with a regal blink, utterly unimpressed. She was already late, as usual. Grabbing her security pass and slinging her bag over her shoulder, she rushed out the door and down one floor to Mrs. Kimura's apartment. The door opened before she could knock.

"He gave you the royal treatment this morning, did he?" the elderly woman said, her eyes twinkling as she took the carrier.

"The full works," Anya laughed. "You're a saint for watching him, Mrs. Kimura. I'll bring you back some of those sweets from the Ginza market."

"You just worry about yourself, dear," the woman said, patting Anya's arm. "You look a little pale. Are you getting enough sleep?"

"Just the usual chaos," Anya replied, giving her a grateful smile. As she rushed out of the building, she barely noticed the black van parked across the street. It was just part of the city's background noise, another anonymous vehicle in a world full of them.

Her job was a world away from Kai's. She spent her days in the quiet, climate-controlled halls of the Tokyo Museum of Antiquities, surrounded by the patient, silent ghosts of history.

"You're staring at that pot like it personally offended you," a cheerful voice said. Her friend and fellow assistant, Yumi, leaned against the archive doorway, a mischievous grin on her face as she held out a cup of coffee.

"It might have," Anya shot back, gratefully accepting the offering. She gestured at the Edo-period ceramic bowl on her workbench. "This artist was a genius, but his signature is a complete mess. It's like he was trying to hide it." The bowl itself was a masterpiece of kintsugi, the art of repairing broken pottery with seams of gold lacquer. It was more beautiful for having been broken.

"Not everyone can be a perfect, logical machine like your brother," Yumi teased, then her expression softened. "Speaking of which, have you heard from the hermit kingdom of Kai lately?"

Anya sighed, a familiar mix of frustration and worry. "No reply, of course." On her desk, next to the ancient bowl, was a small, framed photo of her, Kai, and their grandmother, taken just a few years ago. Three of them. Now, there were just two, and one of them might as well be on another planet. The thought made her ache with a sudden, fierce need to leave her own mark on her brother's silent world. She pulled out her phone and sent him a ridiculous meme of a cat playing a tiny piano, adding the simple caption, "Thinking of you!" It was a silly, illogical gesture, but it was hers.

Before Yumi could reply to her earlier comment, the lights in the archive room flickered violently. The screen on Anya's terminal dissolved into a cascade of nonsensical, glittering characters. For a heartbeat, the symbols seemed to form into words she almost recognized—and then were gone, leaving her blinking at the black screen. At the same instant, a sharp, blinding pain, like a spike of pure static, lanced through Anya's head. She flinched, a small gasp escaping her lips as she pressed a hand to her temple.

"Whoa, you okay?" Yumi asked, rushing to her side as every terminal in the room went black.

"Fine," Anya lied, the pain already receding to a dull throb. "Just a sudden migraine."

"Did someone try to cast a spell near the Muggle technology again?" Yumi deadpanned, trying to lighten the mood.

Anya couldn't help but smile, though it felt strained. "Probably a rogue Confundus Charm."

"Tell me about it," their boss, Mr. Sato, grumbled as he tried to reboot his own terminal. On the news feed playing silently on a wall-mounted screen, the headline that had read "Global Tech Glitches Continue..." was replaced by a new, breaking story.

"Hey, look," Yumi whispered a few minutes later, once the systems were flickering back to life. She pointed to the screen. "Tech Giants Form 'Consensus' Coalition to Combat 'Coordinated Data-Poisoning Attacks.'"

Anya glanced at the screen, where a panel of serious-looking executives stood before a sleek, blue and white logo. "Great," she muttered, rubbing her temples. "Another excuse to track our data and sell us more stuff."

Yumi scoffed. "Probably. They're probably the ones causing the glitches in the first place."

The conversation moved on, but the name, The Consensus, hung in the air for a moment, a piece of seemingly mundane corporate news in a world that was slowly, quietly, losing its mind.

The feeling of being watched started on her walk home. The digital billboard across the street fractured into a screaming, pixelated mask before shorting out. Anya shivered, the headache from earlier returning as a faint, anxious prickle. Then she saw it: the black van from this morning, still parked in the exact same spot. Her intuition, a sixth sense she'd learned to trust, screamed at her.

She quickened her pace, the feeling of a cold, focused pressure on her back. She didn't stop at her own floor, going straight to Mrs. Kimura's. The elderly woman handed Nimbus back, her warm smile a small anchor in Anya's rising sea of panic.

"He was a perfect gentleman, dear," Mrs. Kimura said, then her brow furrowed with concern. "You're as white as a sheet. Are you sure you're alright?"

"Just tired," Anya managed, hugging Nimbus's carrier close. "Long day."

She practically ran to her own apartment, her hands trembling as she fumbled with the lock. She threw herself inside, slamming the deadbolt home. She let Nimbus out, and he immediately began purring, oblivious. Anya scooped him up, his familiar warmth a small comfort against the cold terror in her stomach.

She looked around her messy, familiar apartment, at the stacks of books and the half-finished cup of coffee on the table. For the first time, the place didn't just feel like home.

It felt exposed.