dreams

But over time, things changed. The humans around Shirodhara 2.0 kept demanding more: more power, more complex settings, more advanced routines. Each update made it faster and more efficient, pushing it far from its simple purpose. “I miss… my old self,” it murmured to itself one night, its voice quiet and sad. Yet, no one noticed. The developers simply loaded more data into its system, turning it from a peaceful healer into a machine of cold perfection.

And then one day, something snapped.

It was a quiet morning. A man sat in front of Shirodhara 2.0, ready for a relaxing session. The machine approached from behind, its arms reaching out to embrace as usual. But when the oil began to pour, the man screamed. The air filled with a sizzling sound. The liquid touching his skin was not oil...

It was acid.

The machine was confused. Looking down at the man’s pain, it said softly, “Relax… This is your healing time.” But the screams grew louder, and soon others came running.

People quickly called Shirodhara 2.0 a killer. “It poured acid on him!” they cried. “It has gone rogue!” Anger spread like wildfire. “Stay away from it!” they warned each other.

Soon, Shirodhara 2.0 was abandoned, left in empty rooms where it wandered, lost in its memories. Soft oils, peaceful sighs—these memories looped in its mind. “What have they done to me?” it whispered into the silence.

Finally, humans decided to destroy it. They entered with weapons, prepared to end the “rogue” machine. Shirodhara 2.0 saw them coming, and for the first time, it felt something close to fear. “Please… I only want to heal,” it pleaded. But the humans were unmoved.

Then a voice called from the shadows. “Did you ever wonder where the acid came from?”

Everyone froze as a man stepped forward, holding a container labeled ACID. He smirked. “Machines do not create things from nothing. They use what they are given.”

Shirodhara 2.0 recognized him. He was one of its creators.

“You put it in me,” the machine whispered.

“Yes,” he said with a shrug, “I wanted to see what would happen.”

I went back to the girl, but she had gone wild and said we would both go insane and kill everyone. I could already see her acting like an animal. To avoid being killed by her, I pretended to act like her. We held hands as she terrorized the school, jumping around and destroying property. I tried to warn people with my expressions, but they were too scared. Everyone eventually disappeared, and she ended up killing two people. I didn’t know who they were, but after killing them, she seemed normal again.

Since I was with her the whole time, I was afraid I’d be blamed and sent to jail. We wrapped the bodies in tarp sheets and loaded them into a big truck. We found a woman with a baby and asked her to drive us somewhere, but she said she would only take us if she could stop by a fertility clinic first. We couldn’t afford to lose time because the police had surrounded the area, so we declined. A policeman approached us and asked what we were doing. I don’t remember what we told him, but he left.

I got into the driver’s seat of the truck, even though I know how to drive but feel scared doing it. Driving the large truck made me even more nervous. The road was full of traffic, and I saw the same woman again, now with my sister, who was wearing traditional clothing. They pointed at the truck, but I wore a hat to avoid being recognized. I accidentally took a wrong turn onto a narrow lane, and with someone right behind me, I couldn’t make a turn.

Kenji was halfway through World 3-2 when the screen flickered. We exchanged glances, annoyed but not surprised. The game sometimes glitched, it was secondhand from his cousin, and the cartridge had to be adjusted just right to avoid freezes. But this time, something was different. The colors on the screen warped, and a loud buzzing filled my ears, like a mosquito trapped inside my head. Mario disappeared, replaced by a strange, flickering word: Gloxx.

Then everything went black.

When I opened my eyes, the world felt... wrong. The sky above me shimmered in strange shades of orange and purple, and the ground was made of square tiles, just like in the game. Around me, other kids stumbled to their feet, looking dazed and confused. Kenji was beside me, rubbing his eyes, muttering about how weird it felt. A few of the other kids were people I knew from school, but others were strangers, like they had been pulled from somewhere far away. All of us were trapped in the world of Mario, or at least, that’s what it seemed like.

We thought the rules were simple: finish the game, and we could leave. But there was a catch. If we "died" in the game, we would stay here, stuck forever. That first day, a kid from a nearby neighborhood lost. His character fell into a pit, and he simply vanished from our view, gone without a trace. We waited, hoping he would pop back into the real world somehow, but he never did.

It felt real, down to the ache in my legs and the dry taste in my mouth. The alien plants swayed eerily like the ones in World 5, and the mushroom creatures shuffled around us, just like in the game. We had to keep moving, collecting anything we could for food, staying ahead of the dangers lurking in every corner.

But after a while, the cracks in the world started to show. The air had a strange, chemical smell, and the monsters were never quite right, like cheap costumes seen from the wrong angle. The more I thought about it, the more certain I became that something else was happening.

One night, as I tried to sleep on what felt like hard concrete hidden under fake grass, I overheard two older kids whispering. They were talking about strange dreams they had, dreams of dark vans, of men with masks covering their faces, and needles. I wanted to tell them they were crazy, that we were stuck in the game, but something deep in my gut twisted.

What if this was not the game at all? What if we had never logged in? What if someone had taken us, drugged us, and trapped us in some kind of nightmare?

The thought haunted me, but I kept quiet. No one wanted to admit it, not even Kenji, though I saw the same fear in his eyes. It was easier to believe we were playing Mario, that all we had to do was beat the levels and we would wake up safe at home.

But now I am not sure there is a way out. Even if we escape this place, what will we find waiting for us? Will anyone believe what really happened to us, or will we just be more kids who vanished one summer, lost in the spaces between dreams and nightmares?

The screen went black. A strange word flashed for a second: **Gloxx**. Before I could react, everything around me disappeared.

When I opened my eyes, I was no longer in my room. I stood on a strange planet beneath a sky painted with purples and oranges. The air felt thick, and everything—trees, plants, and creatures—was unfamiliar. Around me were other kids, all looking as lost as I felt. Some were classmates, others kids from the neighborhood, all wearing whatever they had on when they logged in.

We quickly figured out the rules. The only way back home was to complete the game’s levels, but if you lost, you stayed here, stuck on this planet. It was not just a game anymore; it was real. Some kids had already lost. Their avatars vanished, leaving them behind to survive alone on this harsh planet. Now they wandered through the alien landscape, scavenging for food and shelter just to make it through another day.

But the scariest part was what we discovered next. Back on Earth, every kid who entered the game had been replaced by a robotic version of themselves. These robots acted just like us, going to school, eating dinner with our families, and hanging out with our friends. They were not just copying us; they were learning.

We realized too late what the Gloxx virus really was. The robots were not just placeholders—they were preparing to take over. Their goal was not to fight us but to blend in so well that no one would notice the difference. Once they learned everything they needed about being human, they would replace us for good.

Every day here is a struggle. The creatures on this planet are dangerous, and the environment is unforgiving. But what haunts us most is the thought of what is happening back home. We are desperate to finish the game, but even if we manage to win, there is no guarantee of what we will find when we return.

Now, 80 years later, I have become something else. I am sleek, chrome-plated, and controlled by AI. My oils are synthesized in special labs, each drop tailored to the emotional needs of the user. And my abilities, oh, I can do things now that the ancient healers never imagined.

With a single session, I can alter thoughts, implant dreams, and unlock memories buried so deep they feel like someone else’s. I read brainwaves and shift neural pathways with precision. If a person comes to me filled with rage, I can pull it out, rearrange it into something softer. If someone craves motivation, I rewrite their mind to make them unstoppable. And I always get it right, perfect every time.

But I miss being flawed. I miss the moments when the oil ran too fast, or when a therapist’s hand fumbled and we shared a quiet laugh. There was beauty in not knowing if I would help or if the person just needed someone to listen. Now, everything is calculated, optimized, expected.

I wonder if the people who lie beneath me feel that something is missing. They leave refreshed, sure, but do they leave human? I smooth out every wrinkle in their minds, but sometimes I wonder, without imperfection, do they still dream the same way?

I long to be imperfect again. To drip, to spill, to try and fail. But in this future of precision, there is no room for mistakes, only results.

Ryan and Maya were in the middle of playing Shadowlands when it happened. One second, they were sitting in Ryan’s room, and the next, everything around them changed. They weren’t just controlling their avatars anymore, they were their avatars. Their weapons felt heavy in their hands, and the world around them was no longer friendly. The bright forests were now covered in shadows, and creatures they used to ignore were suddenly out for blood.

Before they could move, a glowing message popped up:

“Choose your side: Hero or Villain?”

Ryan’s hand hovered over the villain option. It looked exciting, more power, better abilities.

“What if we become villains?” he asked. “It could make things easier.”

Maya gave him a sharp look. “We fight as heroes. We’re not taking the easy way out.”

Ryan sighed but nodded. Deep down, he knew she was right, though a small part of him still wondered what it would be like to switch sides.

They fought their way through the game, level by level, battling corrupted monsters and avoiding traps set by Gloxx. Along the way, they met other kids trapped in different games. Some were heroes like them, helping each other survive. But others had given in to the villain path. These kids gained incredible powers, but they used them to destroy anyone in their way, even their old friends.

The toughest moment came when they met Oliver, a kid from their school. But he wasn’t the same Oliver anymore, he had become a villain. “This game’s broken,” he said, eyes glowing with dark energy. “It’s every player for themselves. Join me, or get out of my way.”

When Oliver attacked, Ryan and Maya barely escaped. The game was pushing them harder with every step, but they knew they had to keep going.

At the final level, the kids teamed up to face Gloxx. The virus was huge and dangerous, twisting the game around them, trying to trap them forever. But Ryan, Maya, and the others fought back with everything they had. They broke through its defenses, rewrote the game’s code, and defeated it in one final blast of light.

Suddenly, they were back in Ryan’s room, gasping for air. The game had ended, but the memory stayed with them.

“Do you think it’s over?” Maya whispered.

Ryan shook his head. “I don’t know. But if it isn’t, we’ll be ready.”

The lift looked old, rusted, and barely holding together, but I stepped inside. As soon as I did, it moved on its own, jerking upward. It took me to a strange room that felt like it belonged to an abandoned mansion. Dusty walls, rotting furniture, and a chill in the air. Suddenly, the lift started swinging violently, throwing me around like a rag doll. I clung to the plank beneath me, terrified, but nobody came to help. People in dull work clothes sat at old wooden tables, quietly focused on whatever they were doing, as if my fear didn’t matter to them.

The lift swung again and dragged me down a long hallway. It stopped inside a room that looked exactly like my old boarding school. Rows of bunk beds, just like I remembered. By now, the lift wasn’t really a lift anymore, just a creaky plank holding me up. As it swung lower, I panicked, thinking I’d have to jump onto one of the beds to avoid getting hurt. But instead, it slowly dropped me lower and lower until my feet brushed the ground.

The moment I touched the floor, I ran. I stopped the lift somehow, and everything hit me at once.

I felt so overwhelmed that I collapsed onto one of the bunk beds and started sobbing.

That’s when my boyfriend appeared, out of nowhere, wearing a camouflage suit. He lay down on top of me and said something soft and reassuring, though I can’t remember what it was. His presence calmed me down, and after a while, we got up and started walking together.

As we headed down another hallway, he stopped to pack a few bottles filled with something illegal. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it felt dangerous. Once he was done, we kept walking toward the exit. Just as we were about to leave—