Voice Initiated
My name is Lain Ryder.
I think I’m dead.
Or dreaming. Or in something’s memory.
I was trying to help. That’s what makes it worse.
I followed a voice. My sister’s. She’s been gone a year. I knew it wasn’t her. But my heart lied better than my head.
I said her name: “Wren.”
The air folded. The world went silent. Then I fell through myself.
Now I’m here.
Render Layer: Glass Teeth
Everything echoes here.
Your footsteps loop behind you like someone following.
But when you turn, it’s your own shadow. Crying.
It doesn’t have your face.
The buildings grow backward. Upside down. Windows reflect things that never happened.
I saw my father, alive. Smiling. But he never looked at me. Just through.
There are others. Some stuck like me. Some worse.
Some hollow.
Encounter: David(?)
He found me near the waterline—a glass lake where the sky drowns.
He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t age. Mouth sewn shut but still talks.
“I opened the door.” he said, voice vibrating from his chest.
He called himself David Holloway.
The one from the videos.
The man who lost his daughter to the well.
He says it feeds on memory-shaped grief. And we are “rendered from regret.”
“Every time someone speaks our names in sorrow, it feeds.
Every time they forget us, it starves.
But if they love us and remember us just enough… we stay.”
I asked how to escape.
He laughed. A sound like shattering wind chimes.
“Escape? There is no door out.
Just one in. And it only opens for grief.”
Error_Mirror Detected
The longer you stay, the more you remember wrong.
I remember Wren’s voice—but now it ends my sentences.
I remember her laugh—but I hear it when I cry.
I remember her face—but now it’s my own when I blink too slow.
I found a mirror.
It didn’t show me.
It showed a girl in my room. Wearing my hoodie. Petting my dog. Laughing with my friends.
She looked just like me.
Except she had no shadow.
And she said, “Thank you for trading.”
Resistance Protocol
David told me there’s a way to fight back.
“Memory is code here. Think hard enough, right enough, and you bend the realm.”
So I did. I sat. I remembered. Wren’s real voice.
The way she called me “lantern” instead of Lain.
The time she sang in the rain even though she was sick.
And for a moment, the walls cracked.
Sunlight came through.
I ran.
Loop Invasion
Didn’t matter.
Sunlight turned to static.
Sky blinked.
Now I’m back where I started.
Same hallway. Same footsteps.
Same voice in the drain saying:
“Lain Ryder.
Come deeper.
Let’s make a new memory.”
Final Broadcast
If you hear this. If this bleeds into your dreams, your screens, your walls—don’t answer.
Don’t say my name. Don’t think it in sorrow.
Because if you do… I’ll see your face here.
And then we’ll both be stuck. Rendered. Echoed. Replayed forever.
Tell Wren…
Forget me.
Please.
TRANSMISSION LOST…