Nightmare Sphere 0 -

Protocol: Origin

You wake to the sound of your own ribs cracking against a floor made of frozen milk and broken mirrors.

Choose your nightmare.

To your left: a door that breathes. Its handle is a human radius bone. Behind it, something whispers numbers in reverse.

You are —a discarded vessel. A husk meant to carry a god-king’s consciousness, rejected for a flaw so small no one bothered to record it. Your eyes are two chips of obsidian. Your heart is a clockwork turbine that runs on screams. nightmare sphere 0

You stand in a corridor of stretched velvet and weeping stone.

They called it the .

To your right: a staircase that goes up, down, and sideways . At the top, a nursery rhyme. At the bottom, a furnace that once burned a star.

In the beginning, there was no light. Only the sink . Protocol: Origin You wake to the sound of

You are not a hero. You are not a prisoner.