Two months later. Saturday.
My apartment smelled like cold coffee, burnt dust, and the faint, bitter tang of stress. The heater clicked like a dying cicada, and my cracked window let in a whisper of icy wind that barely stirred the stale air. I was cross-legged on the floor, hunched over my aging, overheating excuse for a laptop. The poor thing wheezed like it was two minutes from self-destruction.
In front of me was my thesis presentation—the final, glorious monument to my academic career. Or at least, it was supposed to be. Right now, it looked more like a half-decayed carcass of bullet points, broken formatting, and placeholder graphs. "Slide 4: Comparison of Nonlinear Models" stared back at me like a personal insult.
I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand. It was all a blur. I hadn't slept more than four hours a night in weeks. Between club shifts, coffee shop double duty, and the endless drudgery of finishing my thesis, I was more shadow than person.
My stomach growled angrily. The fridge held a bottle of ketchup and half a stale slice of bread. I considered eating it. Decided against it. I could survive a few more hours. First, I had to finish slide 5.
Then my email pinged.
I blinked. That sound had become a small dose of dopamine. Maybe a class update. Or a reply from my advisor. Or a new round of corrections—those always brightened my day.
I clicked it.
Subject: Notice of Mandatory Appearance — Disciplinary Committee
My heart skipped.
Dear Miss Wintershade,
You are hereby requested to appear at the University Disciplinary Committee office on Monday, 08:00 a.m. sharp, to discuss an urgent matter regarding your academic conduct.
Attendance is mandatory. Please be punctual.
That was it. No explanation. No warning. Just a cold, curt summons.
I read it three times, hoping the words would change.
They didn't.
What urgent matter? What academic conduct?
I hadn't cheated. I hadn't plagiarized. Hell, I barely had time to breathe, let alone commit fraud. I'd poured every waking hour into my work. If exhaustion were a crime, sure. But this?
My chest tightened. I stared at the screen until my vision blurred.
What the hell was going on?
Monday. 7:45 a.m.
I stood in the corridor outside the Disciplinary Committee office, staring at the frosted glass door like it might explode. The building was too warm. My palms were sweating. My brain was buzzing with every possible worst-case scenario.
The secretary behind the desk looked up, gave me a glance that said "not now," and went back to typing. I sat.
The clock ticked.
And ticked.
8:00 came and went.
8:15.
8:30.
Finally, the door opened.
"Miss Wintershade?"
I stood like I was rising for judgment.
Inside, the room was colder. A long, polished table. Three professors I vaguely recognized. One woman in a blazer with her hair scraped into a tight bun. And a man in a suit, already flipping through a stack of paper. Legal.
"Please, have a seat," the woman said.
I sat. My hands trembled in my lap.
"We've called you here regarding a serious breach of university policy," she began. "We will present the findings, after which you may respond."
My mouth was dry.
The suited man pushed a folder across the table. "Miss Wintershade, over the past several months, you've repeatedly accessed the university's supercomputing network—resources allocated exclusively for senior research projects."
I frowned. "I asked for permission. Professor Demir said—"
"Verbally?"
"Yes, after class. He said I could use it as long as I was careful."
They exchanged glances.
"We contacted Professor Demir," the legal rep said. "He denies giving you any authorization."
"That's not true," I said quickly. "We spoke in his office. He even nodded."
"There is no written record," the woman said flatly. "No ticket requests. No paper trail."
"But I asked! I swear I asked."
"Regardless," she said, "the unauthorized usage has triggered multiple issues. Not only were your simulations run during peak hours, but you also bypassed scheduled system queues."
"I didn't bypass anything! I used the scheduling tool!"
The man across from her added, "There's more. You accessed a restricted dataset from the EUDC archive. That dataset was licensed only to doctoral researchers on grant funding."
I blinked. "I didn't even know it was restricted—"
"You used a graduate login. Someone else's."
My mind spun. "It was cached from the lab computer—I didn't even realize I was still logged in under—"
"Furthermore," he continued, "on March 2nd, your code was deployed in a background script across multiple lab clusters without sandboxing, leading to system-wide slowdowns and a partial crash of the architecture department's server."
I just stared.
"That script wasn't meant to propagate," I said, voice trembling. "I ran it locally. I don't know how it—"
"Whether intentional or not, the disruption caused delays in critical research."
Then the killing blow.
"Our financial audit estimates the damages and licensing violations at approximately 1,100,000 euros."
I couldn't breathe.
"You're joking."
"This is no joke," the lawyer said. "Effective immediately, you are expelled from the university. The matter will be forwarded to legal authorities. If restitution is not possible, the university reserves the right to pursue full damages through court."
"You can't do this! I worked for this—I didn't mean to—"
"Miss Wintershade," the woman said firmly. "This meeting is over. You will receive a summary via email. Security will escort you from campus."
They stood.
I didn't.
My legs felt like lead. My thoughts like broken glass. I stumbled out of the room in silence.
The world outside looked the same.
But everything had changed.
I walked aimlessly. Through the main gate. Down the street. Onto a tram. Off again. I wasn't even sure where I was headed.
My phone buzzed. I didn't look.
When I finally reached my apartment, I dropped my bag at the door and sat on the floor.
Then I opened the email.
Subject: Formal Disciplinary Ruling
I clicked it.
It was all there. The same words. Expulsion. Unauthorized access. Financial liability: €1,100,000. And then, at the bottom:
A monthly interest rate of 12% will apply to the unpaid amount.
I dropped the phone. My chest tightened. My mouth tasted like copper.
This wasn't just a mistake. This was my erasure. My life—erased by a spreadsheet and a few missing signatures.
I curled up on the mattress. And I cried.
Deep, ugly sobs that shook my whole body. Sobs that tore out from some place I hadn't even known existed. I cried for everything—my future, my debt, my failure, my loneliness.
And eventually… I just couldn't anymore.
My tears dried up, but the pain stayed. The hole inside me felt bottomless.
I lay there, eyes wide open, staring at nothing.
And then—
POV: Unknown
Across the galaxy, something stirred.
A small sphere of brilliant white-blue energy, encased in a shell of seamless alloy, shifted course. The sphere had wandered for eons—searching, analyzing, waiting.
It changed direction.
A perfect ninety-degree pivot. Now accelerating.
Through asteroid belts. Solar winds. Gas clouds. Starfire.
Unstoppable.
It passed Jupiter.
Then Earth.
Straight through atmosphere. Through air and light and gravity.
It phased through a thousand obstacles without slowing.
Until it reached a small, crumbling apartment in Frankfurt.
Passed through the concrete ceiling.
And entered the skull of a young, broken woman.
Max Wintershade.
POV: Max
Pain.
A white-hot lance behind my eyes. My entire body jerked.
I screamed—maybe.
My brain was on fire. My limbs stiffened.
And then—
Initializing System…
1%
2%
Blank.