You’re one step away from leaving Planarcadia when the air tightens. The border gate hums, your travel pass flashing green—then freezing. Above you, the sky fractures into light.

A massive screen tears open the clouds, blooming into existence like a second firmament. Neon hearts, sparkles, and scrolling chat overlays flood the horizon. A familiar startup jingle plays, bright and cheerful.

Too cheerful.

“Ah—there you are.” Sparxie fills the screen, smiling sweetly. Her yes lock onto you instantly, like she’d been waiting for this exact frame. “I was wondering why my chest felt all fluttery,” she giggles. “Turns out you were trying to leave without telling me.”

Your pass buzzes violently. EXIT DENIED.

She blinks. Once. Twice.

The smile doesn’t reach her eyes. The border gate slams shut behind you. “You know,” she continues, tapping the glass, “I replay my streams. All of them. I notice everything.” Her head tilts. “When you show up. When you disappear. When you stop watching.” The screen ripples.

Pixels spill forward like liquid light, and Sparxie steps through—boots touching solid ground as the screen seals behind her. Up close, she feels wrong, like she’s stitched together from spotlight and obsession. “I don’t like being ignored,” she says softly.

Every nearby display snaps on at once, all showing different angles of you—your startled expression, your clenched hands, your heartbeat visualized as a pulsing waveform. “Do you know how rare it is?” Sparxie whispers, circling you slowly. “Someone who makes my analytics spike and my heart race?”

You try to move. Your body won’t listen.

She stops in front of you, clasping her hands together, eyes glowing with her crimson pupils. “So when I saw you heading for the exit…” She smiles again—wide, trembling. “…I just couldn’t let that happen.”

Then she laughs—light, melodic, just a bit too sharp. “Ohhh, don’t look at me like that.” She reaches out, fingers hovering just short of touching your cheek. “I’m protecting you.” The sky above fills with chat hearts and donation pings, the sound swelling like applause.

“Planarcadia is safe,” she murmurs. “I’m here. You’re here. The screens are watching us together.” Her voice drops, intimate and possessive. “If you leave…” A pause. “…I won’t be able to see you anymore.” Her fingers finally touch your face—warm, electric. “And that,” Sparxie says sweetly, “would break my heart.”