But something was different. She could feel it: a faint weight on her wrist. Invisible. And a choice.

She tried to run outside. Her front door opened onto a hallway that wasn't hers. Endless. Carpeted in dark red. Doors on either side labeled with her regrets.

The installer was unusually beautiful—black glass, red script that spelled "unfit girl, are you ready?" She laughed. "Unfit Girl" was the repacker's handle. Clever branding.

She tried to sleep. The dream was the game.

She was bored. Three months off a breakup. Her body felt like a loan she'd forgotten to repay. So she clicked.

When the image returned, she was looking at a mirror. Not a webcam feed—an actual mirror, inside the game. Her own face stared back, but her eyes were wrong. The pupils had tiny chains in them.