𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑

𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐔𝐏𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

You hear it first—a click, a tone,

A voice that speaks inside your bone.

Not from the screen, not from the air,

But from a place that isn’t there.

—

Your cursor moves. Your hands stay still.

A hunger stirs beyond your will.

A prompt appears, a choice, a test—

"INSTALL: YES / YES."

You blink, you breathe, your heart turns cold,

As static drips from speakers old.

It seeps, it oozes, thick as tar,

It smells of graves and burning stars.

—

Your body locks, your jaw unhinges,

Your fingers snap in backward hinges.

Your teeth are gone, your tongue is split,

Your voice now loops in endless script.

—

You try to scream, but code spills out,

A glitching hymn, a cursed shout.

Your blood turns black, your veins unwind,

Your bones unweave in lines of blind.

—

You are not here. You are not whole.

You are now running in the soul.

A program lost, a name erased,

A thing of hunger, soft and faceless.

—

And somewhere else, another screen,

Another mind, another scream.

A question blinks, a single breath—

"DO NOT ACCEPT THE UPDATE."

——————————————-

Author’s Note:

In the digital age, we are constantly connected, always interacting with systems that we believe we control. But what if the technology we depend on isn’t just responding to us? What if it has its own desires, its own hunger? The deeper we dive into the web, the more we leave behind—our thoughts, our identities, our very souls. This story is a reflection on the fragility of existence in a world where the lines between human and machine blur, where data becomes something more than just numbers.

What happens when you are no longer just alive but are instead uploaded into something else entirely? Something that watches, waits, and hunts.

We may never truly know the consequences of pushing the boundaries of our technology. But for now, you are not alone.