Thea and Igor stepped into a tunnel lit by warm, flickering bulbs — like a movie set trying too hard to mimic nostalgia. The moment the door behind them slammed shut, they heard it lock with a hiss, followed by the soft ding! of an elevator chime.
The tunnel ended at a cul-de-sac. White picket fences. A mailbox labeled "Thea & Igor". Identical houses with porches and porch swings. Wind chimes danced, even though there was no wind.
"Well," Igor said, hands in pockets, "we finally made it to Hell's suburbs."
The street sign read:Wisteria Loop — A Perfect Place for Perfect People.
A small robot dog buzzed by on wheels, wagging a fake tail. It barked in a voice that sounded like a child reading a script:
"Welcome to the Neighborhood! Remember: Kindness is Mandatory™!"
Thea sighed. "The ™ hurts more than it should."
They headed toward the house with their names on it. The door opened before they could knock. A woman stood inside. Mid-40s. Apron. Too perfect smile. But her eyes? Glassy. Not quite there.
"You're late, honey!" she chirped. "Dinner's almost ready."
Neither of them moved.
"I don't like this," Thea whispered. "This feels like a simulation of a memory I never had."
"It feels like my nightmares got sponsored by Pinterest," Igor said.
Still, they stepped in.
Inside the House
Everything was beige. Sofas. Walls. Carpets. As if someone asked an AI what a "normal" home should look like. Family photos lined the hallway, all of Thea and Igor — but aged up or down, in moments that never happened.
One showed them as toddlers in a sandbox.
Another, Thea in a prom dress and Igor in a suit.
Another, them as an elderly couple sitting on a porch, holding hands.
Thea touched the frame. "This… never happened."
Igor leaned closer. "I'm pretty sure I would've remembered getting arthritis in slow motion."
"Dinner's ready!" the woman called sweetly from the kitchen.
A table was set. Steak, mashed potatoes, wine, candles.
Thea sat. Igor stayed standing. "What happens if we don't eat it?"
A cheerful voice from the ceiling responded.
"Noncompliance will result in disciplinary immersion. Enjoy your meal!"
"I hate when omniscient voices threaten me with immersion," Igor muttered and reluctantly took a seat.
They each took one bite.
Then froze.
The taste was their childhood — but wrong. Igor's bite tasted like the exact soup his grandmother used to make… only bitter, hollow. Thea's wine had the sweetness of her mother's favorite birthday cake… except it burned like acid down her throat.
"What are they doing to us?" Thea choked, setting the fork down. "Why do they know this?"
Before Igor could answer, the woman turned.
Her smile cracked.
Literally. Her mouth split open down her cheek like a doll's face tearing at the seam.
"You haven't thanked me for dinner," she said. "That's very rude."
Suburbia Unhinged
They ran. Through the hallway, past the broken family portraits now flickering like holograms, into the backyard — where a white picket fence sealed them in.
Except the fence wasn't wood anymore.
It pulsed.
Like flesh.
"Tell me that's not breathing," Igor whispered.
"It's definitely breathing," Thea replied, grabbing a garden gnome and smashing it against the fence. The gnome crumbled… but the fence absorbed the shards.
A screen descended from the sky like a billboard.
LEVEL OBJECTIVE: Complete Your Daily Routine.
Under it, a to-do list appeared:
☑️ Breakfast with Mom
⬜ Mow the lawn
⬜ Visit the neighbors
⬜ Tuck in the children
"Children?!" Igor blurted. "We don't have children! We're 20!"
From the porch, two figures stepped out.
Small.
Identical twins.
But their faces… they were molded to look like Thea and Igor.
As kids.
The Thea-child held a stuffed bunny with one missing eye. The Igor-child dragged a wrench across the ground.
"They're watching us," Thea murmured. "They're using our own memories to test how we'll break."
"Or how far we'll go to keep it together," Igor added.
Suddenly, the "mom" appeared again on the porch, holding a gardening shears in one hand.
"You forgot to say grace," she hissed.
Break the Routine
Igor grabbed the mower from the shed — it started on its own, rumbling to life like it had a heartbeat. He slammed it into the fake-fence. Sparks flew. Thea hurled the child-like doppelgängers aside — they hit the ground with mechanical groans, twitching like broken dolls.
Sirens blared.
"Neighborhood Unstable. Resetting Environment."
The entire sky shimmered.
Then cracked.
Like glass under pressure.
Their surroundings began to stutter — homes blinking in and out of existence, lawns flickering like TV static, the "mom" flickering between apron-clad housewife and eyeless, shrieking husk.
"We're breaking the level," Thea said, panting. "We're pushing it too far."
"Good," Igor said. "Let's break it more."
He pulled the hose from the lawn and jammed it into the shed's electric socket. Sparks erupted. The fence screamed — actually screamed — and buckled inward.
The twins tried to stand.
Thea yanked off the porch light, broke the bulb, and jabbed it into the boy's chest.
He melted.
Thea didn't blink.
A door appeared in the middle of the air — static around the frame.
The voice returned.
"Exit Unlocked: Family Compliance Score — 2%. Emotional Defiance Level — 96%. Proceed with Caution."
They didn't wait.
They ran.
Beyond the Exit
As they crossed the threshold, the neighborhood vanished behind them like it had never been there. Just blackness. Thea doubled over, coughing. Igor leaned against a wall that wasn't a wall — it pulsed like warm glass.
Then they heard it.
A new voice. Different. Male. Calm.
"They're adapting faster than the last group."
Another voice replied.
"Should we accelerate the trauma index?"
The voices weren't coming from speakers.
They were inside their heads.
Thea gripped her temples. "We're not alone."
"No," Igor said quietly. "We never were."
A soft chime echoed.
"Level Three: The City of Eyes is now loading."
They both looked up.
And saw a sky filled with blinking eyes, suspended like lanterns.