Digital Onion

Chapter 1

1.1 The Dream

Damai stood in the middle of a vast, desolate cityscape. Towering skyscrapers leaned precariously, their glass facades shattered as if an earthquake had torn through the heart of the metropolis. A heavy mist blanketed the streets, and the only sound was the faint hum of electricity sparking in the distance. The sky above was a sickly green, with black clouds swirling unnaturally.

In his hands, he clutched a small, glowing sphere. It pulsed with warmth, as though alive, but he had no idea what it was or why he held it. He felt an overwhelming sense of urgency—a need to protect it at all costs.

Behind him, shadows began to stir. Figures emerged, humanoid but unnervingly distorted. Their faces were featureless, and their movements were erratic, like marionettes on broken strings. They moved closer, their silent advance quickening Damai's heartbeat.

"Run," a voice whispered, faint but clear, cutting through the suffocating silence.

Damai turned and ran, the glowing sphere guiding his way through the crumbling city. As he sprinted, fragments of the world around him flickered, like a broken screen struggling to display an image. He caught glimpses of other places: a peaceful village, a war-torn battlefield, a lush paradise. Each appeared for only a moment before dissolving into static.

The shadows closed in, faster now, their movements impossibly fluid. Damai tripped and fell, the sphere rolling from his hands. It came to rest a few feet away, its glow intensifying. The figures loomed over him, and for a brief, horrifying moment, he saw their eyes—empty, hollow voids that seemed to pierce his very soul.

Then the sphere burst into a blinding light, and everything vanished.

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Damai jolted awake, drenched in sweat. His room was dark, the faint glow of the city outside seeping through the blinds. He clutched his chest, his heart racing as though he'd actually been running.

The dream was back.

It wasn't the first time. For weeks now, the same dream had haunted his nights. Each time, the details shifted slightly, but the core remained unchanged: the city, the shadows, the sphere. It felt vivid, too real to be a mere figment of his imagination.

He glanced at the clock. 4:17 a.m. He had only two hours before his shift started. He groaned, burying his face in his hands. Another restless night, another exhausting day ahead.

As he lay back down, his mind raced with questions. What was the dream trying to tell him? Why did it feel like more than just a dream? And why, no matter how hard he tried, could he never shake the feeling that he was running from something far greater than he could comprehend?

For now, there were no answers—only the oppressive hum of the city outside and the certainty that the dream would return.

1.2 Routine in the Cage

Damai's alarm blared at precisely 6:15 a.m., its shrill tone cutting through the silence of his small, cramped apartment. He slapped the device with more force than necessary, silencing it. The dream lingered in his mind, vivid and haunting, but the harsh reality of the day quickly pulled him back into focus.

The walls of his apartment were made of the same sleek, metallic material that defined the entire Xeertopia: a blend of cold utility and artificial sterility. A holographic screen on the wall automatically lit up, displaying his daily schedule in bold, unforgiving text:

7:00 a.m. – Commute

8:00 a.m. – Shift Start: Data Processing Unit 4

6:00 p.m. – Shift End