The Rewritten

Cal wakes to the smell of coffee. The morning light filters through his blinds, golden and warm. It should feel familiar, safe. It doesn’t.

He stands, expecting the usual stiffness in his back. But his body feels… different. Lighter. Taller? A vague unease coils in his stomach, but he shakes it off and heads to the kitchen.

A woman stands by the counter, pouring coffee. She turns and smiles.

“Morning, babe,” she says, placing a mug on the table.

Cal stops cold.

She’s beautiful. Soft brown eyes, dark hair. A face he’s never seen before in his life.

“Who… who are you?”

Her smile falters. “Very funny. You always do this before coffee.”

“I’m serious. Who the hell are you?”

Her brow furrows. “Cal, are you okay?”

His name. She knows his name.

He stumbles back, almost knocking over a chair. His eyes dart around the apartment. It looks right. His sofa. His books. His jacket slung over the chair. But the pictures on the wall—

A framed photo of himself, arm draped around her. Another of them laughing at a beach he’s never visited.

Something in his mind crackles, like an old TV struggling to hold signal. A static-laced tone tickles the back of his skull:

“It’s catching up on you.”

The doorbell rings. Cal flinches.

The woman—his wife?—moves towards the door.

“Don’t,” he blurts.

She hesitates, confused. But it’s too late—the door opens.

A man stands on the threshold. Late forties. Suit and tie. Cold, assessing eyes. He holds a small, sleek tablet in one hand.

“Calvin Voss,” the man says smoothly. “You’re experiencing residual inconsistencies. A side effect of a mid-cycle rewrite.”

Cal’s breath is shallow. “Rewrite?”

The man glances at the woman. “Please step aside, ma’am. Your husband is overdue for a stabilisation update.”

She hesitates, then looks at Cal. There’s something almost… robotic in the way her concern flickers into place. As if she, too, is running on some kind of script.

Cal backs away. “What the hell is going on?”

The man speaks calmly. “You opted for an identity revision. New life, new memories. But sometimes the mind resists. Think of it like a software bug.”

A red notification flashes on the tablet screen:

SUBJECT CALVIN VOSS – INTEGRATION FAILURE DETECTED. RESET REQUIRED.

Cal’s pulse surges. They’re going to erase him. Again.

“Run,” the voice in his head insists.

He doesn’t think. He moves—bolting past the woman—his fake wife—through the door. The suited man shouts, but Cal is already sprinting down the hall.

He has to remember.

Has to stay real.

Behind him, a voice crackles from the tablet’s speaker, calm and clinical:

“Subject non-compliant. Initiating reset.”

The world halts.

And Cal is waking up to the smell of coffee.