The night had spilled over the city like ink. The fluorescent glow of the Replay platform still lit every alleyway, but to Lia, the light now felt too harsh, like an operating table under a surveillance lamp.
Back home, she opened a new message from USER_0417.
"You've dug too deep. They're watching you now."
"Stop streaming publicly. Step back. Observe."
USER_0417 had reached out to her before, offering support when she was on the verge of breaking down—but this time, the tone felt different. Less like advice, more like an order. She tried to ask more, but all she received in return was a slowly fading "no internet" icon. Then the account went "temporarily deactivated."
She was about to shut down her terminal when the screen suddenly flickered.
A red system alert popped up:
Replay System Notice:
Your actions have violated Clause 3.1.4 of the Reality Interference Conduct Policy.
Your account has been flagged as an "Unstable Node."
Viewing privileges temporarily suspended. Upload frequency restricted.
Her fingers trembled.
She clicked to view more details—only a single line of code appeared:
Node_4389206_Instability_Flag=True
Replay had never used this classification on ordinary users. "Unstable Node" wasn't punishment—it was containment.
The system now saw her as a potentially uncontrollable element.
The doorbell rang.
She held her breath instinctively and walked slowly to open the door.
A middle-aged man stood outside. His coat was neat, his face blurred like a censored live feed—only his eyes were sharply in focus, like nails hammered into her chest.
"Miss Lia. We need to talk."
He held up a transparent ID card.
In the center, the Replay Certification Seal hovered:Lv.3 Reality Agent.
A Reality Agent.
Lia froze. The man walked in uninvited, sat down in her living room, and kept one finger resting on the ID.
"Replay has recorded… rather intense segments from you," he said, glancing around.
"You seem unusually fixated on the idea of 'being seen.'"
Lia hesitated, her voice unsteady. "I… I just want to find the truth."
Her tone lacked the conviction it once had, as if even she was unsure whether this reason still made sense.
"Truth?" The agent chuckled. "Do you know Replay's original purpose?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
"Replay wasn't meant to be a social platform. It was originally a judicial aid tool to certify eyewitness facts and the authenticity of reality. It was built for law, policy, governance, and order."
Lia felt every nerve tighten.
"In other words," he continued, "the system doesn't record everything—it only records reality that has been approved for existence."
Lia spoke softly, "So… anything you don't approve just isn't real?"
"Correct." His eyes were cold. "Replay operates not on 'seeing is believing' but on 'the system must first believe, so others may see.'"
The air turned brittle.
"You're trying to make unauthorized realities visible through yourself. That's a breach."
Lia lowered her gaze, processing every consequence carried by each word. She said nothing.
"Those people's 'existence rights' have already been revoked. If you keep pushing, you'll be next."
He stood, straightened his coat like a man concluding a business call.
Before stepping out the door, he looked back and said:
"You're not the storyteller. Don't fool yourself into thinking you can be the author."
As the door clicked shut, Lia collapsed to the floor.
Replay wasn't just a neutral platform—it was a structure that decided whose stories deserved to exist.
She thought of those faces she saw but could no longer replay, children, elders, the missing eyes clinging to the edges of light.
She suddenly realized: every record she made might not just be resistance—it might be delusion.
She looked at her livestream terminal. It felt like a door. One that, once opened, might never close again.
Her hand reached out, hesitated, retreated, then finally steadied. She took a deep breath and turned the device on.
System notice:
Partial camera access restored.
Trial mode active.
Lia sat in the dark, watching the image come back frame by frame.
She didn't know what the next step was. Or if anyone still believed her.
But for now, she had no choice but to keep going.
Not because she was ready to fight, but because she was afraid that if she, too, went silent, even the proof of their existence would vanish.
---
Chapter 6: Mini Skit
(Lia turns off the terminal and sighs)
Ding-dong!
Lia (pupil shrink moment):
…No way. Is reality sending red alerts now?
(A voice comes from behind the door)
Reality Agent:
"Miss Lia, we need to talk."
Lia (nervously):
…Who are you?
Reality Agent (pulls out a glowing transparent card):
"Replay Authorization Badge. Lv.3 Reality Agent. I'm here to discuss some 'realities'."
Lia (internal monologue):
How am I supposed to stop him? That card is literally glowing red.
(The agent steps inside like he owns the place and sits, calm as if he's waiting for a latte)
Reality Agent:
"You seem… overly obsessed with being seen."
Lia (awkward smile):
"I mean… I just want the truth to come out…"
Reality Agent:
"Do you even know what Replay was originally made for?"
Lia (shakes head silently)
Reality Agent:
"Judicial aid. Certifying reality. Not a glorified selfie platform."
Lia (quietly):
"So… anything you don't certify… doesn't count as reality?"
Reality Agent (shrugs):
"If the system doesn't recognize it, you're invisible. Don't fantasize about resurrecting ghosts via livestream."
(Air turns cold enough to freeze thoughts)
Reality Agent:
"You're recording unauthorized existences. Keep digging, and next deletion might be you."
(He stands up, flicks his coat like a curtain call)
Reality Agent:
"You're not a narrator. Don't fantasize about being the author."
🚪 Door: SLAM!