Now it was gone.

His heart slammed against his ribs. For six months, the school’s firewall had held. For six months, the descent had been locked.

And somewhere, deep in the static of the world, the descent was still falling—unblocked, and waiting.

Levels blurred. 10, 30, 60. The colors bled into grayscale. Then, at Layer 89, the whispers started—not from the game, but from his own headphones.

The lobby was empty. No avatars. No chat. Just a single blinking prompt: FALL ANYWAY?

But last spring, someone fell too far. A player named "Noctis" reached Layer 97, and the next morning, their chair was empty. The school called it an accident. The firewall went up the same day.

He hadn't reached the bottom. The bottom had reached for him.