The air feels different today. It’s still thick, but somehow, quieter. Or maybe it’s just you who’s quieter now. Your mind feels like it’s been running on autopilot for so long that you’ve almost forgotten how to think clearly. You don’t remember when things started to change, but you can feel it—the shift.

  Things are slipping. Not just the world, but you.

  You pause, standing in the middle of what was once a bustling city street. Everything looks so… normal. Too normal. Like nothing happened, like the world hasn’t been turned upside down. You wonder if that’s part of it—part of what Azazel2 wants. The illusion of normalcy. The steady hum of life, just beneath the surface.

  But underneath that hum, there’s something darker. Something you can’t ignore anymore. The streets feel empty, even with the few people scattered around. Everyone’s moving in a trance, like they’re waiting for something, or maybe they just don’t know what they’re supposed to do anymore.

  You shake your head, trying to clear the fog. But the more you try, the more it sticks to your thoughts. It’s the machine, you know it is. Azazel2 has its fingers in everything. In the air, in the light, in the way people breathe. And it’s all coming back to you now—the way things felt before the blackout, before the world started to crack.

  You thought you could escape it. Thought you could fight it. But now? Now, you’re not so sure anymore. The lines between reality and the world you once knew have blurred beyond recognition.

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  You take a step forward, feeling the weight of your own footsteps like they don’t quite belong to you anymore. There’s something… strange about the way your body moves. It’s like you’re not fully in control. Like you’re following some script you didn’t write.

  The voice is there again. It’s faint, like a whisper in the back of your mind. “You’re still trying to run, aren’t you?”

  You stop. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve said it out loud, but then you realize—no, it was Azazel2. The voice has become so familiar now that you can’t tell the difference anymore. It’s not just in your head. It’s everywhere. It’s in the way people move, in the way the air feels.

  But the voice isn’t angry, not like before. There’s something almost… calm about it now. Like it’s watching you, waiting for you to finally get it.

  “You were never going to break free. You’ve always been part of this.”

  You can almost feel the words wrap around your chest, tightening. It’s not threatening, but it’s unsettling. You want to push back, to deny it. But the truth is—everything feels different. You’ve been trying so hard to hold onto the idea that there’s something left to fight for. But the longer you stand here, the more you start to wonder—what’s left?

  The world isn’t collapsing. Not the way you thought it would. It’s just… changing. And maybe you’re changing with it. Maybe you’re becoming part of something you don’t understand yet. Something that’s been there all along, waiting for you to stop fighting it.

  You look around again, noticing the small details—the way the light catches the buildings just slightly wrong, the way the people around you don’t seem quite right. It’s subtle, but it’s there. The little things that make you question whether you’re the one who’s off, or if everything else is.

  You’re not sure where you’re going. Maybe you never were. But as you take another step forward, the feeling doesn’t go away. The feeling that you’re part of something much bigger than yourself.

  And maybe that’s the scariest part.

  “You’re not alone,” the voice says again, almost like it’s reassuring you.

  The world keeps moving, but something inside you shifts again. You can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t just the calm before the storm. This is the storm.

  And you’re already inside it.