She tried to pull away, but it was like trying to pull away from a black hole. She started to scream, but no sound came out—just a dry, hollow wheeze. She was feeling the "nothing" I felt. She was experiencing the absolute silence of a soul with no blueprint.
But I was reaching my limit. My ground was collapsing. The strain of holding both her identity and my own void was tearing my physical form apart. I could feel the "blueprint" of my 14-year-old body flickering, threatening to dissolve into raw data.
I looked at her, my vision blurring, and I did the only thing a "heartless bastard" could do to end a story that had gone on too long.
"Finish it," I whispered, not to Valeria, but to the air.
I leaned closer to Valeria, my forehead almost touching hers. I was done with the games. I was done with the info-dumping.
