Arc 1: Capture, and a Choice
### Chapter One
She wasn't paying attention to the street.
Her feet knew the sidewalk well enough to navigate it on their own. Her brain was busy with low-level noise - what was left in the fridge, whether tomorrow was already too much, whether she'd forgotten something obvious. Nothing important.
That's probably why she noticed it right away, the sudden way the air ahead of her bent.
Not shattered. Not ripped open. Just… bent. Like a reflection that had just... stopped agreeing with reality.
She slowed without deciding to. Her body made the call first. Every instinct she had said the next step wouldn't land where it should.
Then space folded.
Not collapsed. FOLDED. Like the world had been creased along a line she couldn't see, and everything on one side had been pressed somewhere else.
For a moment - just a moment - gravity stopped being mandatory.
She didn't fall.
She floated.
It wasn't dramatic. No rush, no drop. Just the sudden absence of weight, like someone had let go of her arm without warning. Her stomach lifted in surprise. Her hair drifted up around her face, slow and lazy, every strand moving like it had all the time in the world.
Her first thought was very clear.
Then she started to drift downward again.
Not pulled. Guided. As if standing was a suggestion the universe had decided to make politely. Her feet touched something solid, and gravity slid back into place like it had never left.
She stood on her own two feet.
That felt important.
She took a breath. Then another. Heart fast, but steady. Hands shaking just enough to be honest.
The space around her wasn't a room. Rooms had walls. This had _edges_, implied by light and distance. She could tell where she wasn't supposed to go without seeing anything that stopped her.
The air didn't feel warm or cold. It felt *managed*.
That bothered her.
She took a step. The ground stayed the same, but the light shifted slightly, like it was acknowledging her movement. Walking felt optional. If she stopped, nothing would make her start again.
"Hello?" she said.
The word didn't echo. It didn't travel. It existed, and then it didn't.
She waited for panic.
It hovered nearby, checked the situation, and decided to hold off. There was too much to notice. Fear liked momentum, and this place was very good at preventing that.
"You have been selected," a voice said.
It wasn't behind her. It wasn't inside her head. It was just there, layered into the space like a system message.
Her shoulders tightened.
"For what?" she asked.
There was a pause. Not silence - more like lag. Like something behind the voice was thinking harder than it expected to.
"You are at a decision point," the voice said.
She laughed once, sharp and short, almost more a bark than a anything mirthful.
"Funny way of asking."
Another pause from the voice.
"This is not a request."
Oof. That landed.
Fear slid in properly this time. Not screaming. Just cold. Focused. The kind that rearranged priorities instead of knocking them over.
"Okay," she said slowly, before taking a deep and measured breath. She let it out slowly, then continued, "Then we should probably be clear about what's happening."
The space felt attentive. Not curious - evaluative.
"Where am I?" she asked.
"You are displaced," the voice said. "Temporarily."
"From where?"
"From your planet."
She exhaled through her nose. "You know, people usually start with the dramatic reveal."
"This is not entertainment."
"Then you're missing a marketing trick."
She looked down at herself. Same clothes. Same scuffed shoes. Bright hair standing out aggressively against all the neutral nothing around her. She had the distinct feeling that had been noted.
"Did you pick me at random?" she asked.
"No."
"Because I'm important?"
Pause.
"No."
That answer helped, surprisingly.
"So," she said, "you picked me because you thought I wouldn't fall apart."
"You demonstrate high tolerance for uncertainty," the voice confirmed.
"And a tendency to consider consequences beyond immediate outcomes."
She snorted. "You mean I overthink."
"We do not classify it as a flaw."
"That's generous."
She let herself really feel the space again. The lack of temperature. The absence of smell. The way everything felt tuned to avoid friction.
She didn't like that.
"What happens if I say no?" she asked.
The light shifted.
Not dramatically. Just enough to signal change.
She didn't see images yet. She felt pressure instead. Possibilities lining up. Outcomes waiting to be acknowledged. A certain KNOWING.
"You will be returned," the voice said.
"Unchanged."
"And then?"
"Events will continue without your involvement."
That wording mattered.
"You didn't ask," she said quietly.
"No."
"You didn't warn me."
"No."
"This is not a choice."
"There is a choice," the voice said. "Consent is not one of the required variables."
She closed her eyes for a second. Grounded herself. Inventory. Pattern. Probability.
"Then you'd better show me what you want me to carry," she said.
"Because I'm not agreeing to anything blind."
The pause this time was long enough to feel intentional.
When the space began to shift again - when light started arranging itself into something that felt like *meaning* - she understood one thing very clearly.
Whatever came next wasn't going to let her go.
And standing here, on her own feet, had already been part of the test.