# quantum hodl

**Published by:** [MichyAgape](https://paragraph.com/@michyagape/)
**Published on:** 2025-04-18
**URL:** https://paragraph.com/@michyagape/quantum-hodl

## Content

draft, chapter one: Moss Grows Frank woke to a body that wasn’t his. His limbs sprawled across the apartment’s coarse carpet, each fiber poking into his skin like a grudge. It wasn’t painful, exactly—just a tactile annoyance. Weird, though- he was quick to realize that no pulse stirred in his chest, no warmth bled through his veins—just a hollow scrape of air through lungs that didn’t care, tasting of steel and a sweetness too sharp to trust. “Not right.” he thought aloud. The silence was complete, absolute, overwhelming, a tidal wave drowning the city’s usual growl—horns, shouts, the sour stink of exhaust—all gone. His eyes, gummed shut, pried open to a ceiling of cracked plaster, its fractures taunting like a code he’d never crack. Déjà vu clawed his spine, this moment a shadow of something lived before, slipping through his grasp like ash. An ache gnawed behind his eyes, heavy, a green stone sinking in his skull. He scraped his fingers into the carpet, nails snagging, and shoved himself to sit, the air thick, too clean, crushing him with its stillness. His jaw clenched. This silence, this sterile trap of a room—it was bullshit, and he wasn’t buying it. Frank had always sniffed out lies, and this place reeked of one, dressed up like perfection but hollow as a con. He hauled himself up, legs unsteady, and staggered to the bathroom mirror. The face staring back was wrong—pale as bone, smooth as a mask, eyes like fogged glass, dead. He leaned in, breath cold, no fog. What’s wrong now? he thought, used to weird but not like this. Dead, the word hit him, unbidden. He wasn’t alive. The ache pulsed, sharp, and a flicker of green kudzu flashed—thick, climbing a stone wall—then vanished. He gripped the sink, knuckles white, porcelain creaking. He wanted to smash the mirror, break this lie, but that stubborn itch to know why it felt wrong held him back. The apartment mocked him. Bed tangled, sheets twisted like a fight he didn’t recall, but the kitchenette gleamed, dishes sterile, coffee mug smug in the drainer. On the counter, a key glinted—old, tarnished, its jagged teeth etched with faint swirls. He snatched it, and a jolt ripped through him, vision buckling. A hum of bees, a flash of endless honey—then it snapped back. He cursed, the key warm in his fist, like it was laughing at him. Screw you, he thought, pocketing it, its weight tugging his jeans. He felt the urge to touch it again, which pissed him off. Why did he need it? He didn’t know, and that gnawed at him. The ache throbbed, a question he hated: Is this me, or their game? He’d been hacking CorpSys’s mainframe when his motherboard fried. He remembered that. This was his apartment, but not. Had he been dosed? He searched his mind for memories of the night before. He didn’t trust this place, didn’t trust himself in it. He could handle not knowing, but he’d be damned if he’d stay caged. He stalked to the door, knob cold, resisting, but it gave with a groan. The hallway stretched too long, wallpaper curling, lights buzzing faintly. No neighbors, no life—just silence, heavy as before. He stepped out, the door clicking shut, locking with a thud that felt like a trap. His lip curled. He’d dodged cages his whole life—bosses, rules, promises, mostly unkept—and this wasn’t holding him. A hum broke the silence to his right, low, static-laced, like a radio losing signal. No lights further down that way—he thought, “Not again.” To his left, a deeper hum called him, familiar, like the grit of his old life. Noise was his world, his programming, his reality. He turned left, boots scuffing the floor. A faint green streak clung to the baseboard, thin, still. The key warmed, the hum scratched his nerves, and he pushed toward the stairwell, its concrete steps dropping into shadow. The air thickened, cold, rotting beneath a cloying sweetness. The key thrummed on his leg, syncing with the static in his teeth, and he hated how it felt right, like it owned him. The walls closed in, smooth, glowing faintly, engineered, not alive. His head split, a flicker of green moss curling over stone—then gone, leaving him raw. He gripped the railing, paint flaking, and descended. The stairwell shouldn’t go this deep, but it did, spiraling into a lie of a building. At the bottom, an iron door loomed, scarred, rain-slicked, a faint slot glinting under a flickering bulb. Frank pulled the key, knowing it would fit, its heat biting his palm, and jammed it in. The door rumbled, a sound like a building collapsing, and creaked open. No city waited—just a street, damp and empty, air heavy with decay and a faint green scent. The ground was slick, reflecting a red glow from a flickering theatre sign above: Closed. Beneath it stood a man, lean, in a worn coat, face half-lit, blue eyes sharp. Frank froze, the key burning in his pocket. The man tilted his head, a faint smirk. “Frank, right? Name’s Garth. Now Maintenance.” His voice was gravel, too real for this place. “You’re dead, pal. Been that way a while. Took you long enough to get out.” Frank’s chest tightened, confusion flickering. Dead? He steadied himself, giving nothing away, but smelling bullshit. Not from Garth- he seemed fine, and what he said even made sense- the mirror, the silence—it fit, so he accepted it. Something else though was… off. Garth stepped closer, unbothered. “You got options, though. Most don’t. You can tour the NOW facility, see the setup. You can reroll your life, try again. Or go to Hodl, sit it out til the Collective makes the living world right again. I’ll show you. Your call.” The hum pulsed behind Frank, the key thrummed, and the green scent sharpened. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Garth—he couldn’t get a full reading on him, but what he got was solid. He didn’t trust this choice, this place, and he didn’t know why, but that itch to know burned hotter than his doubt. So Frank nodded. “A man of few words, good. Let’s go,” Garth said, turning and walking into the theatre, now open.

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