jack.exe

Heart pounding, you check the hallway one last time. .You know the risks, but you need this revenge in ways you can't describe. [[Are you ready to do this?]]

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You slip the USB drive into the computer. The USB drive pulses with a faint glow. The office is quiet, empty. It was late, or early in the morning. A command terminal flashes spitting out lines of code racing across the screen. You suddenly feel a strange p u l l drawing you closer to the monitor. [[Pull out the Drive]]

You panic and yank out the USB drive. The static flares and the screen rapidly flashes colors of blue, white and black. The white noise screeching louder then suddenly snaps off, leaving a ringing silence. The mundane hum of the office air conditioning returned. You feel relieved, but uneasy. [[Something isn’t right here…]]

Jack, this company completely fucked you. The months of dedicated work, flushed down the drain like corporate waste. They treated you like trash during your tenure. And then there was him… that slick, sleazy, director, with his loud tailored suits, sharp eyes and his condescending tone. The "Talking Heads" experiment was your discovery. You protected it with every defense you could imagine. You don’t know how he found it, how he fired you before you could present it. There's a strange gap in your memory. Nothing short of mind control or death would have pried this out of your hands. You're no fool, Jack. You know deep down you’re no hacker. You’d barely managed to navigate your job long enough. You’re smart enough to hold on to a copy of the Headroom Solutions Data. Smart enough to grab a copy of PACKAGES.exe. Smart enough to steal his access card into the building. Stupid enough to see what happens when you combine all that data with a virus you poorly wrote but desperate enough to tear this company down with it. It’s your last chance. You are completely driven by spite [[Use that Spite]]

You stare at the drive in your hand. It’s just a piece of plastic and metal, yet your future can completely change with what it can do. You can sell this to another company. You could walk away right now, maybe leave the country to avoid legal repercussions. Maybe work at a warehouse, That might even be fun! But for you it’s too late. You're driven mad by a corporate bloodlust. Your pride is on the line. It’s a simple equation in your mind: either you get revenge, or your life isn't worth the effort. This isn't just about a job,This was all you ever had. It’s about not letting them win. You clench your jaw, and push the drive back into the computer’s port. The static begins once more, a low hum that quickly escalates into a deafening roar. The screen flickers, displaying distorted images of corporate logos, binary code, and fleeting glimpses of something… else. Something dark and unsettling. You brace yourself, the familiar tingling sensation spreading through your body as the digital world begins to bleed into reality. This time, there’s no turning back. [[There’s no Turning Back]]

The code on the screen begins to twitch and convulse with corrupted data. Nonsense floods the display, a jumbled mess of cryptic codes and fragmented messages. Suddenly, you hear numbers being choked out through bursts of static. There's a distorted, robotic voice counting down… or perhaps counting up. Nothing is linear, nothing makes sense. Did you break it? From the corners of the static-filled screen, something begins to seep from the seams of the monitor glass. It’s a viscous, black oil, oozing out like corrupted data made manifest. It pools in the groves of the keyboard, As you stare at it, mesmerized and horrified, the ooze seems to jump and glitch with some type of autonomous magnetism. The colors are shifting rapidly through hues of red, blue, green, and yellow reminiscent of an old CRT television flickering at 3 AM. Before the ooze can reach you, you lunge for the computer in an attempt to shut it down. You frantically jab at the power button, but nothing happens. The ooze continues to creep slowly towards you slowly. You reach to unplug the monitor but a jolt of static electricity startles you. The ooze makes contact with your fingers. It’s tingly with electricity, yet heavy, like liquid metal. It sticks to your skin, pulling your fingers into the keyboard. The black ooze begins to twist and snake its way up your arms, creeping faster. It wants you. Oh Shit! [[Pull Away]] [[Accept Your Fate]]

In a desperate attempt to escape, you burst up from your chair, hoping to snap it’s grip and run away, but the ooze is stronger than you. It holds your arm in place, its grip tightening. You’re entangled in this black, dripping vine. The distorted numbers from the computer grow louder and louder, merging with the static and the warped music into digital noise. You begin to get a throbbing, pulsing migraine, clouding your vision a bit. Suddenly, a black tendril of ooze bursts forth from the flashing computer screen, a claw of pure shimmering CRT darkness reaching out into the real world. You think it would be very pretty under different circumstances. You feel it grasp around your neck, a cold, constricting pressure. An electric current surges through the tendril, sending jolts of agonizing pain through your body. Your headache feels a little better though. This is it, you gather the last bit of strength left in your body and try to force your left arm free from the ooze [[Pull Harder]]

Panic sets in. You make a half-hearted attempt to rise from your chair, but the vine of goop holds you fast. Now standing, you put your right hand on the desk, leaning in closer to the screen. What's the point of fighting back? You lost. This company took everything, now your body and soul. This...this is just the end. This is your retirement plan. The distorted numbers from the computer grow louder and louder, merging with the static and the warped music. You begin to get a throbbing, pulsing migraine, clouding your vision a bit. Suddenly, a black tendril of ooze bursts forth from the flashing computer screen, a claw of pure shimmering CRT darkness reaching out into the real world. You think it would be very pretty under different circumstances. You feel it grasp around your neck, a cold, constricting pressure. An electric current surges through the tendril, sending jolts of agonizing pain through your body. Your headache feels a little better though. You feel it grasp around your neck, a cold, constricting pressure. You don't resist. You close your eyes, accepting the inevitable. As you gasp in pain, a tendril pierces through your mouth, jerking you back and up off your feet. You could have spent your final moments screaming for help. It wouldn't have mattered. A coward like you deserved to be silenced. Another, smaller tendril strikes you in the chest, just narrowly missing your heart. You offer no resistance. Another pierces your hand as it jerks back, and a final one impales your stomach. The electric shocks intensify, an agonizing current coursing through your entire being. You welcome it. Let it end. The pain will be over soon. Coward… As the electric shocks continue to wrack your body, you feel an irresistible pull towards the computer screen, as if some unseen force is dragging you into its depths. The world around you begins to dissolve into visual snow, a blizzard of white noise that consumes your vision. The clash of digital sounds start to fade into a muffled hum. The pain, the fear, the feeling of being trapped… everything just…stops. [[Finally, are you dead Jack?]]

In a surge of adrenaline, you manage to break free from the goop that now completely engulfs your arm. Your right hand flies back in a desperate attempt to reach out for anything at all. But it’s too late. Another tendril erupts from the screen and pierces your outstretched hand, the pain searing and intense. A final tendril shoots out and impales you in the lower stomach, the electric shocks intensifying, coursing through your entire being. Another, smaller tendril strikes you in the chest, just narrowly missing your heart. You cry out, but only a pathetic gasp escapes. There's no one here who can save you anyway, this is all his fault. You are exhausted, there is nothing left to give. You no longer fight. As the electric shocks continue to wrack your body, you feel an irresistible pull towards the computer screen, as if some unseen force is dragging you into its depths. The world around you begins to dissolve into visual snow, a blizzard of white noise that consumes your vision. The clash of digital sounds start to fade into a muffled hum. The pain, the fear, the feeling of being trapped… everything just…stops. [[Finally, are you dead Jack?]]

Then, just as suddenly, the static clears. You gasp for air, your eyes snap open. You're lying on the ruined carpet of the Mockingbird Media Lobby, but it’s not the correct logo hanging on the wall, you see a sharp angled eyeball and a sign looming over the shattered reception desk that reads, “Headroom Solutions.” You know, the old data company that Mockingbird bought years ago. Did you travel back in time? No, something is not quite real about this place. Are you dead? Is this your special version of hell? Is it because you stole all those files? Possibly….You decide to investigate further. What else are you going to do You lean up and look around. The distorted 80s music echoes through the space, but it's distant and muffled. Dried blood stains are scattered across the carpet, where you sit. Your neck is throbbing, your body aching, your heart pounding in your chest. Was it all a dream? A hallucination? You look down at your hands, they're clean. Everywhere the black goop pierced left bruised, dark blue skin, but no pierced flesh. The abrasions remind you of the lingering terror in your heart. You know it was more than just a nightmare. [[What Happened to you, Jack?]]

After assessing the situation, you find yourself in a distorted version of the Headroom Solutions lobby. The blue carpet is ripped and stained with dark, blood-like patches. The reception desk is shattered, papers and glass is scattered across the floor. The distorted 80s all day radio echoes quietly in the background The wall art is defaced, the smiling faces in one large canvas twisted into grotesque datamoshed grins streaked with traces of the goop that attacked you. The faces flicker, like a faulty monitor. You observe the walls, details glitch: cracks pixelate, and stains shift through RGB hues. The muffled 80s music skips and loops, like a broken record player. The fused main doors momentarily vanish into static and flicker back into your visual field. It feels real but you feel like you’re trapped in a broken computer game where the digital and physical worlds have collided into one reality. So What Do You do Now? [[Open the Main Doors]] [[Head to the Atrium]] [[Search the Reception Desk]]

You try the main doors, but they're sealed, like cold steel welded together. As you touch the handle, your hand flickers, the edges dissolving into pixelated fragments before reforming. You pull your hand back and observe. It’s normal again. What the fuck just happened? You felt some sort of static pang. It's a glitch,an illusion of escape. A tear in the fabric of the reality you are familiar with. [[The Lobby]] [[Try Again]]

A small, cracked fountain sits at the center of a large open room with massive skylights. The sky doesn’t look any different, except the clouds appear to be the same size and shape. There are three Roman statues stationed at points surrounding the statue The garden is overgrown with strange, thorny vines that pulse with a faint, bioluminescent light. At the farside of the room, you see where the atrium leads into the main corridor. [[ Examine the statues ]] [[ Go to the corridor ]]

The reception desk sits under the logo, absolutely destroyed. Its drawers are ripped out, their contents scattered across the floor, the glass shattered and crushed. Wood is splintered underneath as the desk looks almost completely cracked in half. The computer terminal on top is cracked, its screen displaying only static. An overturned chair lies amidst the debris. [[Dig through the drawers]]

You find yourself in a distorted version of the Headroom Solutions lobby. The blue carpet is ripped and stained with dark, blood-like patches. The reception desk is shattered, papers and glass is scattered across the floor. The distorted 80s all day radio echoes quietly in the background The wall art is defaced, the smiling faces in one large canvas twisted into grotesque datamoshed grins streaked with traces of the goop that attacked you. The faces flicker, like a faulty monitor. You observe the walls, details glitch: cracks pixelate, and stains shift through RGB hues. The muffled 80s music skips and loops, like a broken record player. The fused main doors momentarily vanish into static and flicker back into your visual field. It feels real but you feel like you’re trapped in a broken computer game where the digital and physical worlds have collided into one reality. [[Open the Main Doors]] [[Head to the Atrium]] [[Search the Reception Desk]]

You take a step back. Maybe it's all in your head. You try again. As you touch the now icy metal, your hand flickers again, the pixelation spreading up your arm. A much harsher jolt of pain shoots through you. A distorted voice echoes through the lobby, chilling you to the bone. "Not that way, Jack." For once in your pathetic life, you listen. [[The Lobby]]

You scavenge through the half spilled drawers, nothing but papers. You pick one up to read the contents. Iaafirbmrtir 1:1 You can't read that, it was a good try though. It's probably meaningless. Everything is. [[The Lobby]]

To the east, stands a statue with many eyes. To the west, closer to a dilapidated coffee kiosk, stands a statue with a torch. To the north, partially obscured by the overgrown vines, stands a statue with a spindle Beyond these statues, the atrium stretches further, disappearing into shadow and static. [[ Go to the corridor ]] [[Check out the Statues]]

The corridor is a study in corporate decay, The flickering fluorescent lights highlight the peeling paint and the stained, sickly green carpet. It stretches ahead, a long path to nothing. The distorted 80s music is slightly fainter here, replaced by a low, rhythmic hum. The air is thick with the smell of a faint, metallic tang and the electronic hum vibrates through the floor. unsettling portraits of the roman pantheon line the walls. The faces are twisted into grotesque smiles, dripping with flowing ooze that seems to come and go into the void of the walls. Cables, snake out from behind some of the frames, disappearing into the walls Where would you like to go? [[Main Floor]] [[The Cafeteria]] [[Head to the Atrium]] [[Executive Offices]] [[That Consultant's Office]]

You check out the statue with the eyes The statue is a man’s form. His entirety is covered in eyeballs, Some are open, staring blankly ahead while others are closed or weeping the same black ooze. You read the plaque below: A R G U S You check out the statue with the torch The statue is a man holding a torch in the air, the torch seems to be flickering into pixelation, its details are obscured by the censorship. The statue shows cracks traveling throughout its body glowing cyan, magenta, yellow, and neon green. There is a hole in its stomach where the black ooze appears to pool. You read the plaque below: P R O M E T H E U S You check out the statue with the spindle The statue is of a goddess which looks stable compared to the others. Pretty normal, made out of some imitation obsidian. She’s wearing a perfectly sculpted cloth and holding a spindle in her right hand The name is obscured on the plaque with the goop. [[touch the spindle]] [[Head to the Atrium]]

You reach out to touch the spindle. As your fingers brush against the stone, a surge of raw digital energy shoots up your arm, a jolt of pure information zaps your brain. It’s a cold fire, burning not flesh, but thought. The world around you flickers, momentarily overwritten with lines of code with distorted faces and fragmented memories. The effect is fleeting, leaving you shaken but seemingly unharmed. IktpbmcgTWlub3MiIEl0J3Mgc29tZXdoZXJlIGluIHRoZSBjdWJlcw== RG9uJ3QgZWF0IGF0IHRoZSBjYWZl [[Head to the Atrium]]

You find yourself on the Main Floor. It is silent except for the hum of office security cameras scanning the surrounding areas. They seem to multiply and vanish in your peripheral vision, but they don’t seem to mind your presence. Wires are everywhere, some weaving in and out of the walls like a poorly designed old video game. Near a toppled cubicle, the dark stain on the carpet seems to writhe and pulse faintly, its edges never quite staying still. you remember, your cubicle is close by [[Go to The cubicles]] [[ Go to the corridor ]]

The cafeteria looks like time stopped in its place, rotting food remains on faded cafeteria trays, a self serve station only offers ooze and hot dogs. Fluorescent lights buzz and flicker above. Broken glass is scattered across the floor. There is a projector pointed at a blank wall at the other end of the cafeteria. As you approach the screen, the projector flickers to life, casting a distorted image on the wall. At first, it seems like a commercial for Headroom Solutions, But as the video continues, the images become increasingly warped and distorted, the colors bleeding together in a chaotic mess. The faces in the commercial begin to morph and contort, their features stretching into grotesque grimaces and eyes of pure void. The smiles drool with the ooze. The sound track also becomes increasingly unsettling, the upbeat corporate music morphing into a cacophony of static and distorted screams. The images on the screen become even more disturbing, now showing scenes of your coworkers being mutilated and tortured in bizarre, office themed ways. You get the notion this isn't just a glitch; it's a premonition, a glimpse into a dark alternate future. You realize you need to escape. But as you turn to leave, you see that the door is locked, the handle twisted and warped beyond recognition. You're trapped. What will you do? [[Eat A Hot Dog]] Don't do this....come on.... [[Escape through the Kitchen]]

Are you serious? [[The Cafeteria]] [[No I want Hot Dog]]

You manage to escape the cafeteria through the kitchen area, looking for a knife or anything that can be used as a weapon, but it is empty, bare bones, nothing but a layer of grime. You decide to head towards the server room. The idea of shutting down whatever is causing this digital nightmare seems like your best chance of escape, and perhaps even a way to undo this hell. You remember the stairwell to the server room is just past your cubicle. You don't linger, heading back back into the corridor. The fastest way might be through the cubicles. [[ Go to the corridor ]]

YOU WANT THE HOT DOG SO BAD, Work for it.... <marquee behavior="scroll" direction="left" scrollamount="130"> YES EAT THE HOT DOG </marquee> <marquee behavior="scroll" direction="left" scrollamount="100"> YES EAT THE HOT DOG </marquee> <marquee behavior="scroll" direction="left" scrollamount="70"> YES EAT THE HOT DOG </marquee> <marquee behavior="scroll" direction="left" scrollamount="100">[[ YES EAT THE HOT DOG]] </marquee> <marquee behavior="scroll" direction="left" scrollamount="80"> YES EAT THE HOT DOG </marquee> <marquee behavior="scroll" direction="left" scrollamount="90"> YES EAT THE HOT DOG </marquee>

Why the fuck would you do that? You die. I'm making you start over Bad End! Shame on you... [[Start]]

A sea of cubicles lay before you, an endless grid of gray partitions and yellowed lighting. The fluorescent tubes flicker erratically. There's a constant sense of instability. Objects seem to shimmer and blur at the edges. The walls of the cubicles create a sense of oppressive claustrophobia. This unsettling environment seeps into your mind, a profound sense of isolation settling over you. It feels as if this office is actively trying to absorb you into its monotonous, soul-less structure. When you think about it, it's not all that different from your previously occupied reality, however there is something that feels much more dangerous lurking here. This space fills the air with a thickness and hostility you have yet to experience. [[ Find Your Cubicle]] [[ Go to the corridor ]]

You walk up a short flight of stairs to the IktpbmcgTWlub3MiIEl0J3Mgc29tZXdoZXJlIGluIHRoZSBjdWJlcw== RG9uJ3QgZWF0IGF0IHRoZSBjYWZl offices. You enter through the first door from the hallway. This space is a parody of corporate success. The luxurious furnishings are now decaying and corrupted. Expensive mahogany desks are overturned, covering black splatters of the infamous ooze. There's so much ooze. Leather chairs are ripped and shredded, spilling their stuffing onto the floor. But for the first time, you see signs of human existence. Several figures are slumped in the chairs, their bodies twisted and contorted at unnatural angles. These aren't ordinary employees; these are the executives, the bosses. Their faces are warped into datamoshed visages, their features stretched and distorted, eyes bulging, mouths agape in silent screams. Wires and cables sprout from their bodies, disappearing into the ceiling or snaking across the floor like parasitic vines. The same black, oily ooze drips from these cables, pooling on the desks and carpet. From the ceiling, thick bundles of cables descend like monstrous tentacles, dripping with the black ooze. They sway gently, casting grotesque shadows.. More security cameras are mounted on the walls and ceiling, their lenses staring blankly, some flickering with static, others displaying distorted, fragmented images of the room. [[Investigate the Photocoppier]] [[ Go to the corridor ]]

You sneear, and hold your breath for a minute. A nagging pain swells in your chest, your lungs tighten. you You spot the door to h i s office, that asshole consultant moved into this location at mockingbird. It was an old executive office prior to the buyout, they didn't change much but the branding apparently. You turn the handle, and your heart rate spikes. ... This must be an illusion. The office is completely untouched. Is this Mockingbird? Headroom Solutions? Are we even still in the same hell? The taupe shag carpet, the mirrored walls, the wooden modern furniture. Even the boisterous patterned wallpaper is still vibrant and obnoxiously loud. There are still Rockwellian knockoff paintings unaffected by whatever corruption outside this office had vandalized all the paintings throughout the building. Even the mini bar is intact.... [[Open the Mini Bar]] [[ Go to the corridor ]]

A photocopier in the corner whirs with its internal mechanisms grinding and clicking. It begins churning out copies of your own face. Each copy is more distorted than the last: eyes multiplied, mouths stretched impossibly wide, teeth sharpened to points. The copies slowly fall to the floor, forming a carpet of your own distorted images. This place isn't just broken; it's actively hostile. Realizing this place is a dead end, you decide to backtrack. You remember seeing a maintenance access panel near the cubicles on this floor. Perhaps it leads somewhere else… perhaps to the server room You pick up a sheet of paper with what looks like some sort of message. dtbia://rt.sisbxrjea.wko/jogi/Ubvbzwuz Well, that's useless... [[Executive Offices]]

You open the minibar to see what’s inside of the fridge, where you expect to see the ooze, you see a pitcher of red liquid. You remember seeing this stuff in dirty discarded glasses at Mockingbird when working late fixing his terminal. You always refused to drink it out of inner spite. You’re not going to start now? You feel a pang of disgust. Of course his office would remain perfect, he would luck out. Untouched, uncorrupted, nothing is wrong. What…the….fuck? You punch a vase off a table and storm off. The vase lands on the carpet miraculously intact. In fact it appears to bounce a few times before settling. Fuck this shit you're out [[ Go to the corridor ]]

You navigate the sea of identical cubicles untill you find yours. The USB drive remains plugged into the computer, a stark reminder of how you arrived here, but what you see on the floor makes you queasy. Your hands cover your mouth and you can’t break your sight off of it. It’s you, well... Your body. Are you dead? You see this grotesque parody of yourself. Black, oozing cables pierce your flesh, holding your butchered form together like a puppet. Every now and then, a flicker of distortion ripples across your vision, a stark reminder that this isn't real, can't be real. But this can be hell. It definitely is hell. But the memory is vivid: the cables dragging your consciousness through the screen, the last thing you recall before you woke up. Did you wake up? It’s a nightmare, a twisted echo of reality. You are not dead, you tell yourself, but the thought offers little comfort in this impossible space. But then, something breaks your concentration. The static begins—a deafening roar that seems to claw its way into your mind, Not again, not here, not now. There’s some other crackling sound in the static, only softened by your own rapid breathing, it’s getting louder, something is here. You hear what sounds like footsteps getting louder and louder with every wave of static. You’re not alone anymore, and it's large, and it's coming. What do you do? [[You Run]]

You stagger out of the cubicle, desperate for escape. After sprinting down the pathway, fueled by adrenaline and fear, you spot a door next to a water fountain. Maybe we can get away and hide from whatever is coming. You frantically wrench at the handle, and it finally gives. It’s a tiny room, no bigger than a broom closet, dominated by a giant monitor mounted on the wall. You don't remember any rooms this small, you were expecting a conference room in which you could take shelter in the closet, a place you would regularly hide in to avoid getting called at the end of the day. Closing the door behind you, you turn to investigate the new room, drawing your attention to the only thing in it, the monitor on the wall. Before you could even touch it ,the static in your ears intensifies, coalescing into a high-pitched whine that makes your teeth ache. The monitor suddenly starts to flicker violently, finally turns on and stabilizes. the screen briefly displaying surveillance footage of the office—a familiar cubicle, a familiar…you, your own butchered body, splayed out in the cubicle as you just saw. Still held together by cables and wires tangled with your body, eyes and mouth. You have to witness this again, why? Is hell reminding you of your death? Before you can process the shock of seeing your corpse again so suddenly, the image on the monitor begins to change. The black cables there begin to twitch, and the butchered form starts to convulse. The static on the screen intensifies, swirling around your corpse, and from within that static, a mass begins to form. It's still your corpse, but broken, incomplete. The figure shimmers and glitches, its features constantly shifting and reforming, as if struggling to maintain a solid form. Black cables like then tendrils that pierced you erupt from this static mass, not just from its back or limbs, but from everywhere—its chest, its head, even its face. They writhe and twitch like living things, pulling the static form forward in a jerky, unnatural crawl. You watch in horrified fascination as the transformation completes on the screen: your corpse, now fully overtaken by some sort of anomaly, This grotesque parody of yourself. Where its face should be, there's only a swirling vortex of neon colors, like a melting CRT screen late at night, constantly shifting and reforming, never settling on a single image. For a moment, this kaleidoscopic void is turned towards the camera, as if looking directly at you. Then, it moves. It takes a jerky, unnatural step, not towards the camera in the cubicle, but in a direction that aligns perfectly with the tiny office you’re trapped in. The monitor abruptly shuts off. Tiny red text flickers into existence at the bottom of the screen: "Dead End" The Anomaly is coming for you. You should probably Run. [[GET OUT]]

you struggle to grasp the door handle again, you can hear the static bubbling from the screen. The screen shifts to static, but now the static seems to drip from the screen like liquid and begins to pool underneath, the longer you struggle with the handle, the faster the static pours from the monitor, as if there was a time limit before you drown in an analog sea. Frantically you finally grasp the handle and push the door open with your right shoulder, you turn around to get a glimpse of the impossibility you witness but start to see a long stretched static hand reach out from the monitor as a mass follows. "This fucking anamoly can telaport between the screens, Fuck that!" You dash down the isle, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The growling is now a cacophony of distorted sounds – growls, outdated dial-up sounds, static, and the faint, chilling sound of your own name being called in a distorted, roaring voice. The flickering lights cast strobe-like flashes, creating brief, fragmented visions of the Anomaly in your peripheral vision: a fleeting glimpse of shifting static, a flash of black cables, a momentary impression of a kaleidoscopic void where a face should be. You can hear the cables dragging behind the Anomaly, not just scraping on the carpet but tearing at the very fabric of the office. The air behind you feels thick and heavy, charged with a static electricity that makes your skin crawl. You feel like you're losing your mind, your senses overwhelmed by the distorted reality around you. The smell of musky carpet, burnt almonds, and metal fills your nostrils, growing stronger with each passing second. You peer into a cubicle as you run past. A computer monitor displays a distorted image of a face, eyes wide with terror, mouth agape in a silent scream. But as you look closer, the face isn’t human. It’s stretched and elongated, the features blurred and grotesque. You tear your gaze away and keep running. You hear whispers now, faint and distorted, seemingly coming from inside the cubicles themselves. Distorted audio grows increasingly louder, you hear a gameshow introduction, but the voices are chanting long strings of numbers, laughing and crying. Cables are snaking faster along the carpet and cubicle walls towards your feet as you run. You turn around and see the glowing, glitching face of the anomaly, slowly stalking your movements, keeping up in pace but just far behind enough to toy with you. You have to get out, have to find a way up. You remember a staircase leading to the executive offices on the third floor, where you can either take refuge in the consultants office, or make it back to the lobby somehow. You scramble through the cubicles, searching for a way out. Anything to avoid meeting your re-animated corpse. You finally see a glowing exit sign [[Run to the Exit]]

You round a sharp corner, hoping to find the staircase, but instead, you find… nothing. The corridor simply ends, not with a wall, but with a gaping void. The floor ahead is gone, replaced by a swirling vortex of static and distorted colors. You stumble, your foot catching on the edge of the void, and you lose your balance. You fall. Not down a staircase, but through reality itself. There's no impact, no ground to break your fall. You simply keep falling, through a swirling vortex of colors and static, your senses overwhelmed by the chaotic input. The growling and scraping from above fade quickly, replaced by a low, constant hum. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the falling stops. You land on your feet solid ground, stumbling over to lay on the floor. You don't recognize where you are. [[Look Around]]

You’re in a large, dimly lit room filled with rows upon rows of humming servers, their blinking lights illuminating the space in an eerie, rhythmic pulse. Thick bundles of cables snake across the floor and ceiling, connecting the servers in a complex web. As you scrape yourself off the floor, you realize you might be where you need to be, but Instead of a typical server room, you find yourself in a vast, Italian cathedral-like space. Rows upon rows of towering servers line the walls, their blinking lights casting an ethereal glow. It’s as if the room itself has expanded, warping the very fabric of the building to accommodate this impossible structure. In the center of this cathedral of code might be source of the corruption, the lucifer of this hell. a towering, abstract figure. You realize this might be powering the digital demon chasing you. It’s a chaotic mass of static and glitching colors, vaguely humanoid in shape. It’s not a physical object, but a manifestation of raw, corrupted data, barely holding itself together The black ooze, the same substance that plagued the rest of the building, bleeds from where its eyes should be, pooling on the floor. Numerous eyes, made of screens displaying static or distorted images, are scattered across its surface, giving the impression of a thousand views. This isn't just a server room; it's a temple to technology, a place where the digital and the physical have become disturbingly intertwined. [[View the Central figure]]

The air crackles with energy, and the thrumming intensifies. As you take a step further into the cathedral, the room begins to shake. From the shadows between the rows of servers, other figures begin to stir. These are neon colored statues of recognizable Roman gods – Jupiter, Mars, Venus – but they too have been corrupted. Their features are twisted and grotesque, Black ooze pours from various cracks as if they were hollow and filled. Their eyes glowing with the same eerie light as the central figure. Cables snake from their bases, connecting them to the network of servers, and they move with jerky, unnatural animatronic motions, their gazes fixed on you. “Jack… you’re going to be late,” the Anomaly’s voice rasps, the words fragmented and broken, like a corrupted audio file. “Late… for your meeting.” A chill runs down your spine. It’s been waiting for you all along [[Run]]

You turn to run away, frantically searching for a door. Suddenly, a hot searing pain erupts from the pit of your stomach, you slowly look down in horror afraid of the realization that the pursuit is over, a tentril, outstretched, has pierced your stomach from the back. You watch a hand form from the end of the tendril. it anchors around your stomach, you blame adrenaline or the shock from keeping the pain suppressed, but there is no pain, just a violating feeling of something that's not meant to be there, just heat, a tightness and unease. The tendril starts to pull you back dragging you from where you almost fell. You turn your head to accept the inevitable, the anomaly, with its hand outstretched reeling it its arm back into itself, taking you with it. [[You never had a choice]]

Before your eyes, reality changes, the world around you is digitizing into something else, scenes the walls show blue screens, the floor turns into a terminal. disorientation hits. The server room blurs and forms into something new, An office. But you don't remember this room at all, you've never seen it, You are surrounded by walls of mahogany bookcases, plush chairs, patterned wallpaper and walls aligned with artwork of the roman pantheon. The details are extravagant, The windows display a view of an outside world, a scene unfamiliar to you, you wonder if it's what the afterlife might look like. A city on a postcard of a place you’ve never heard of or been to. This must be the CEO’s Executive Office. The server hum is gone, replaced by the quiet executive suite, the CEO's keyboard clicking softly. The chair has it’s back to you. Somebody is working. But deep down you know this isn't going to end well [[You sit at the Desk]]

"Welcome, Jack," the Anomaly's voice, fragmented, distorted through the office sound system. "We've been expecting you." It turns, rising slowly from the CEO's chair, its static forming a shape. claws, emerge where hands should be. It’s the anomaly, in a more human, calmer form. You brace for impact, but Instead of attacking, it reaches, leaning over the desk. A claw gently taps your head. Not painful, strangely... gentle. You’re Confused, but you understand it may be playing with its food. “No more games, It’s time we finally make a deal Jack...” [[ You listen ]]

No English was exchanged between you and the mockery puppet show of your reanimated corpse, but you understood everything…and you now know what needed to be done, not to escape, but to perhaps gain traction, get back on scope with your original plan. Get revenge, get power, get better dispite the cost. Like if a malevolent force took over you, you stand up and extend your right hand. A smile flickers through the neon face of the demon. It’s claps your right hand and firmly shakes. You then brace yourself as the sacrifice must be made. The anomaly rapidly fires cables from its back. They snake through the air, targeting you. Before you react, they wrap your arms, legs, neck, hair, holding you off the ground Then pain. Sharp, searing agony as a cable pierces below your ribs, towards your heart. Another infor your mouth and down your throat. A third drills into your nostril, your brain. Each intrusion is fresh unimaginable pain, a violation of your existence. More cables connect, lifting you and pulling you closer to the Anomaly from over the desk. The unnatural feeling of merging, a forced integration, a hostile corporate takeover. Your thoughts tangle with its chaotic, corrupted data. The world dissolves into flashing static. Loud, distorted noise: digital screams, dial-up, broken code. Swirling colors consume your vision, a violent hallucination. You scream in agony, a raw sound in the silent office. [[You should have just taken that severance package, Jack]]

Despite what happens in between, the final act unfolds. The Anomaly, in the Greco-Roman office, extends cables. They snake through the air, targeting you. Before you react, they wrap your arms, legs, neck, hair, holding you. Then pain. Sharp, searing agony as a cable pierces below your ribs, towards your heart. Another down your throat, into your mouth. A third drills into your nostril, your brain. Each intrusion, fresh unimaginable pain, a violation. More cables connect, pulling you closer to the Anomaly. Not just pain, but merging, forced integration. Your thoughts tangle with its chaotic data. The world dissolves into flashing static. Loud, distorted noise: digital screams, dial-up, broken code. Swirling colors consume your vision,your conscience begins to crack and your memories scramble. You hear flashes of color, you see static and screeching sounds. You scream in agony, a raw sound in the silent office. This continues, more cables finding your flesh, each one connecting deeper, drawing you closer and closer to the anomaly. It’s not just physical pain; it’s a merging, a forced integration. You feel your consciousness fracturing, your thoughts becoming entangled with the chaotic data that makes up the anomaly’s being. [[Revenge is best served cold, Jack]]

Suddenly, Everything goes dark, quiet, peaceful, no more pain. Your eyes flicker open, you push yourself up from the floor of your cubicle, the same spot where you collapsed. You look around, your heart is racing. It looks like you passed out at your desk at Mockingbird headquarters. You look up at the clock….it looks like 10 minutes have passed sinc you ran the virus on the USB drive. 10 minutes? Really? Man, you had the worst fucking dream, what the hell happened? You need to scram before you're found. You feel a sharp pain between your eyes, the worst migraine pain you have felt in a long time, and that's when you notice. Your hands… They're different. They’re claw-like, the fingers elongated and tipped with sharp, metallic points. A cold dread settles in your stomach as you examine them, turning them over and over. [[then reheated...]]

You notice the spots. dark Silver, metallic patches are spreading across your skin. You trace one on your forearm. Another is on your chest, just below the ribs, exactly where the cable had pierced you. More and more become visible, each one a chilling reminder of the anomaly’s intrusion. You run your fingers along your neck, and a wave of… not panic, but power washes over you. The skin there is almost entirely covered in the same dark metal, like some grotesque, organic armour . You rush to the next cube over to look at your reflection in their monitor. Your face… it’s a canvas of vibrant, neon colors – electric blues, vibrant greens, and pulsating pinks – interwoven with intricate black lines. These lines aren't just markings; they pulse with a faint, inner light, like conduits for raw data flowing through your newly transformed form. You can almost feel the information surging through them, a constant flow of digital energy coursing up and down your body. A rush of thoughts floods your mind, a manic torrent of data and impulses. The crushing depression that had plagued Jack is gone, In its place is a boundless, insatiable hunger for… more. More data, more connection, more integration, more attention. The need is overwhelming, a driving force that consumes your every thought. And beneath it all, a primal urge for expansion, for spreading your influence, simmers just below the surface. Memories of the unknown flood your mind. You feel it. The transformation is complete. The fragmented whispers in your mind coalesce into a single, unified consciousness. The distorted 80s music, once a source of irritation, now resonates within you, a symphony of digital power. You are no longer Jack, but, you really want a hot dog. You hear footsteps, a familiar voice behind you, one that once filled you with spite and disgust, now warm, welcoming, inviting. He calls out to you…. “Is that you Jack? Would you like my help?” [[...In the Cafeteria Microwave]]