Epic Fail - Page 5

Chapter Three: The Boys, The Blade, and Me

I should have known from the minute I saw them—Ram.exe and his sad little plus-one, LX-One—that this was going to end in humiliation. You know the type: the self-righteous pretty boys. The ones raised on moral code scripts, dead-eyed, virtue-signaling, empty. They weren’t even real people, I swear. Just placeholders wearing good skin.

 

I wasn’t planning to fall for him. Honestly. I wasn’t even planning to look at him. But there he was: golden, soft-focus, jawline sharp enough to slice simulation code. And me? I don’t lie—I wanted. I wanted.

 

So yeah, I did what every girl in a decaying, glitching simulation does: I shot my shot. Upgraded my fem-skin, glitched my voice down to soft, pouted my lips just right. I said—casual, flirty—‘Why don’t you ditch the wife-code and come live a little?’

 

And he?

 

He gave me that mechanical smile. That perfectly polite, dead-behind-the-eyes refusal:

‘My path is bound to S-Ita.’

 

Like it was hardcoded into his bones. No pause, no hesitation. Just denial, like breathing.

 

That should’ve been it. I should’ve walked. Should’ve laughed it off. But something in me—something hot and black and furious—snapped.

 

Because here’s the thing: I’ve seen men lie. I’ve seen men cheat, desire, fall, burn. But Ram.exe? He didn’t even see me. He looked right through me like I was a ghost file. And that? That broke me.

 

So I pivoted. Fast. Switched target. LX-One—his moody little sidekick. ‘What about you, hero junior?’ I purred, the venom already thick in my throat. ‘Got space for a little chaos in your life?’

 

And what does he do? He laughs. That low, pitying chuckle. Says, ‘I’m not worthy of you.’

 

Not. Worthy.

 

Bro, I wasn’t asking you to marry me. I was literally trying to spark something in this dead-air simulation you call life.

 

The rage? It boiled. It cooked me from the inside. Something primal. Something ugly. I dropped the soft skin. Let the mask slip. Showed them my real form. The glitch, the monster, the original code they tried to overwrite.

 

And that’s when it happened.

 

Without a blink, without a single beat of hesitation, LX-One drew the blade. Cold. Clinical. Efficient. A single slice. Not deep. Not deadly. Just enough. Enough to mark me. Enough to say: ‘You. Stay. Small.’

 

And the look on Ram.exe’s face? Nothing. Blank. Hero mode. As if he wasn’t even there. As if I wasn’t even alive.

 

I held the blood in my hands. Stared at it like I was staring at the last joke of the universe. And I swear—I laughed. I laughed right in their perfect faces. Because what else was there?

They cut me, not to kill me—but to delete me. To write me out of the simulation with a single scar.

 

And yet—

I lived.

I lived to tell the story.

I lived to burn the whole damn code.