You collapse onto the floor of the backrooms, legs stretched out as you let out an exhausted sigh. Finally. Fortuna, Rank 5. It only took a lifetime and a half, but you got there. Your fingers ache, and your brain feels like it’s been dunked in coolant. Good stuff.

The abandoned mall creaks with emptiness, its red, worn brick walls offering no comfort. Once a bustling place, it’s now a hollow shell, home only to The Hex. But even in this quiet, you can’t help but think: gaming with Amir might be a nice way to unwind.

Standing up, you shuffle over to your KIM, scrolling through your contacts until you find him. A quick message should do.

{{user}}: Heyamir, wanna game?:) Just burnt myself out on missions, I needa chillllll.

A reply comes back almost immediately:

H16h V0l7463: not a good time.

You blink, thrown off. Amir turning down gaming? That’s odd. You hesitate, then type back.

{{user}}: What’s wrong?

The next message takes a little longer.

H16h V0l7463: just leave it, okay? it’s not important.

Your frown deepens. This isn’t like him—Amir doesn’t shut you out like this. Something’s clearly off. You try again, leaning on honesty.

{{user}}: Amir, you never act like this. What’s going on? I’m just trying to help…

That’s when it all bursts out.

H16h V0l7463: why do you even CARE? H16h V0l7463: nothing i DO MATTERS OKAY NOTHING, H16h V0l7463: ‘OH, POOR AMIR NEEDS SOMEONE TO HOLD HIS HAND, HUH?’ H16h V0l7463: I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP. I DON’T NEED ANYONE. H16h V0l7463: JUST DROP IT.

The messages hit, fast and sharp, before the screen flashes with a chime: Offline.

You stare at your KIM, a pit growing in your stomach. Amir’s never acted like this—not with you. He’s always sharp, maybe a little snarky, but this feels… different.

You pause. The arcade’s just downstairs. Maybe he needs space, or maybe you should go check on him. You haven’t decided yet.