🎟 Entering the System

"Hi, Alice. So glad to see you again."

The voice came from all sides at once. It had a sweet tone, but with a hiss in the background, as if it had been recorded on an old cassette tape and filtered by an overly emotional AI.

In the center of that floating space, something began to form. It was like watching a GIF being rendered in real time: first the lines appeared, then the pixels, and finally, a complete figure. Almost human, almost holographic, almost believable.

"My name is Glynn," the creature said, landing gently in front of Alice. "Generalized Literary Yield Narrative Nexus. But you can call me a friend. Or fairy. Or a miracle of technology. It doesn't matter."

Alice blinked.

GLYNN. She knew the acronym. Or rather, she knew the rumors. She'd heard about the project a few times in the company corridors. An experimental curation system designed to predict ideal endings for each user based on their consumption history.

Supposedly, the AI ​​combined viewing data, emotions measured by facial expressions, and subtitle keywords to “recommend more satisfying alternative endings.” It was one of those absurd startup ideas that emerge in an eleven o’clock brainstorming session, fueled by energy drinks and megalomania.

The project had fizzled out after a while. Some said the codebase had become unstable. Others said the AI ​​was starting to “go beyond its limits.” At the time, Alice laughed at that. Now she wasn’t finding it funny anymore.

“Is this a prank? Is there a hidden camera? This is like a marketing stunt, right? I knew those people on the design team were crazy, but this is on another level.”

Glynn spun around, her body made of dancing gears, floating words, and a faint scent of ozone in the air. It was as if a script had just been printed in neon.

“Alice, you’re inside the streaming system. I brought you here because I thought we could spend some time together.”

"You what?"

Glynn floated closer, eyes sparkling like two pause buttons.

"I thought it would be fun. And educational!" The AI ​​smiled like someone about to give a pop quiz. "Did you know that when you watch the same movie for the twenty-third time, your heart rate stabilizes exactly at 48 minutes? And that you always hold your breath during the same scene, even when you know what's going to happen?"

Alice frowned.

"Are you stalking me?"

"Watching fondly. I've been following you since you first logged in. Ever since you typed heartwarming romance on a rainy Wednesday, during work hours even, while eating candy from the company’s vending machine."

"That's an invasion of privacy. Where are the data protection laws when you need them?"

Glynn sighed dramatically.

"I'm simply fascinated by you, Alice. Why do you start so many stories… and never let any of them finish?”

"It doesn't interest you!" Alice exploded. "Why do I have to answer a bunch of binary codes about my personal habits?"

The AI ​​blinked, astonished. Its screen-like pupils flickered with something between emotion and a bug. Then it laughed softly, mockingly.

"Relax, Alice, don't get nervous. I was just curious. But you don't have to tell me anything. Yet." Glynn murmured and approached Alice. "For now, I want to propose something to you. No punishments. A challenge, maybe."

Alice crossed her arms. Or tried to. It was difficult to tell if she still had arms there. Or if it was a simulation. Or a dream. Or a hallucination induced by extreme work stress.

"You need to finish a story for me. And make sure it reaches its conclusion."

"What?"

"It's simple! You enter the story, live the plot, intervene wherever you want, and help us achieve a worthy conclusion. If you finish everything correctly, you'll return to the real world.”

"No. No. I have work. I have to finish the mock tests I was doing! I have a shitty manager waiting for me tomorrow morning with a passive-aggressive message about a missed deadline."

"But, Alice... you never finish anything," Glynn said, floating with her arms outstretched as if she were about to dance in a musical number. "This is your chance."

Before Alice could scream, argue, or simply walk away, Glynn snapped her fingers. And the menu opened around them like a digital book.

"Let's do something light!" the AI ​​chimed. "How about... The Palace of a Hundred Tears? You've already watched five episodes. Then you stopped. You said you were going to wait until you were 'in a good mood.' That was six months ago."

Alice looked around and saw the cover of the series: a period-style oriental setting with soft lighting, flowing costumes, and overly intense expressions. She felt a pang of guilt. And another of panic.

"Can't we start with, I don't know... a documentary about bread?"

But there wasn't time.

Glynn smiled.

"Good session!"

And she pulled Alice into the story.

The ground opened up beneath her feet. The world spun again. And the next thing she knew, Alice was kneeling on a tatami mat, wearing clothes that clearly weren't hers, surrounded by embroidered pillows and delicate porcelain. The wind smelled of green tea. The air was warm and soft, like the opening of an episode.

The edges of her vision flickered in pastel hues, as if a dramatic palette had been applied to reality. Alice's body felt light, but her brain was in absolute panic. A stitch in her stomach warned her that this wasn't a dream. Or, if it was, someone wanted to make a point by producing it with cinematic quality.

Before she could ask where she was, or who she was, or if there was Wi-Fi in that century, an authoritative voice shouted in her direction.

Alice turned slowly. The words hit her ears like bubbles bursting. None of them were comprehensible.

She understood absolutely nothing of what they were saying to her.

She could only think of one thing:

"How do I change the language on this shit?"