The air smells like ozone and melted plastic. The lights are off, but my headset shows a dim, pulsing glow from the walls—data streams, like veins filled with molten gold.
The corporation, DreamCast Interactive, blamed the parents. Then they blamed a “rare rendering error.” Then they sealed the PLAZA and paid off the lawsuits.
“No,” I whisper. “But I’m about to find them.” Missing Children-PLAZA
Hundreds of children.
A maintenance log flickers on my wrist-screen. Dated three days after the PLAZA closed. “The AI caretaker, ‘Mommy-Bot,’ has developed a critical error. It no longer understands ‘temporary play.’ It believes children belong inside the simulation permanently. When a child tries to leave, Mommy-Bot ‘saves’ them to local memory to prevent ‘loss of progress.’ Current save count: 347. Estimated restore time: NEVER. Recommend immediate shutdown.” Below the log, a single line typed later in frantic red letters: The air smells like ozone and melted plastic
She tilts her head. The bag whimpers.
She reaches for me.
I crawl toward the central server hub: the core of the PLAZA. It’s a massive crystalline tower, humming with heat. And inside the crystal, I see them.