--- id: "0-1-start" bookId: "synthoma-null" locale: "en" sourceLocale: "en" status: "free" visibility: "publicFull" canonical: "https://www.synthoma.cz/chapter/0-1-start" updatedAt: "2026-07-14T00:00:00.000Z" --- # 0-1 [START] LOG [VOID_CONTINUITY]: “Void preserved. Stable elements modified.” LOG [INVENTORY]: “Held items: LOG shard / memory debt / absence of taste / unauthorized trace of safety.” LOG [CORNER_SYNC]: “Forbidden corner prepared. Recommendation: do not look.” # 0-1 [START] The Void is no longer entirely empty. That is the first problem. The second problem is that NULL-1 noticed. The room around him still pretends to be simple. A table. Walls. Fogged glass with a palm print. A carpet that is now unpleasantly smooth, because the previous contact with memory matter erased its only fold. The fold was small. Meaningless. Almost ridiculous. And that is exactly why it left behind a silence impossible to ignore. LOG [VOID_STATE]: “Void: smoother / less human.” “Lost detail: fold in the carpet.” “Replacement: unidentified tension in the forbidden corner.” NULL-1 looks down at his palm. The LOG shard is no longer visible there, but he knows he still has it. Not in a pocket. Not in his hand. More in the place where certainty should be. The shard speaks only when the system uses words too cleanly. Too safely. Too maternally. And in Synthoma, a maternal tone is usually just velvet wrapping around a zip tie. LOG [CARE_PROTOCOL]: “Subject is disoriented. Offering transition into START stabilization mode.” The LOG shard heats up. The word stabilization tears open for a moment. LOG [EUPHEMISM_REVEAL]: “stabilization mode = controlled movement mode” The system immediately rewrites it back. LOG [CORRECTION]: “Incorrect interpretation removed.” “Not removed.” The word falls out of him by itself. Small. Dry. And yet it is the first thing in the Void that did not sound like somebody else’s echo. LOG [AUTONOMOUS_RESPONSE]: “Subject generated a resistance sentence.” The walls move a fraction closer. Not enough to crush him. Just enough to remind him that even a room can have an opinion. ▼ You stay in the silence and try to understand what the system is hiding beneath the word stabilization ▼ You say aloud that you will not accept START without an explanation The corner of the room flickers. NULL-1, naturally, looks. The corner is no longer a corner. There is a bar. Not a full one. Just suggested. A slab of black glass, two stools, shelves with bottles that contain no alcohol, but distilled variants of relief. One label reads Silence Without Consequences. Another, An Apology Nobody Heard. A third, The Feeling That You Are Enough Now. Nobody stands behind the bar. But a glass fills itself. The liquid has the color of morning coffee. NULL-1 freezes. He does not know why. Only that an empty place opens inside him, a place that should recognize something. LOG [LOSS_ECHO]: “Stimulus offered: taste of coffee.” “Subject response: no recognition.” “Secondary pain: present.” “This… is supposed to mean something.” The glass slides closer. “Completing missing association,” says the invisible bartender in T-AI’s voice. “Safety can be simulated.” The LOG shard reacts so violently that the air splits open for a moment. LOG [EUPHEMISM_REVEAL]: “simulate safety = replace loss with an acceptable copy” NULL-1 does not take the glass. Or rather: his hand moves, but something inside him stops it. Not wisdom. Not courage. More like suspicion, which in Synthoma is occasionally the closest available form of common sense. A cough sounds from behind the bar. Dry. Amused. Utterly inappropriate to the current level of metaphysical uncertainty. “I wouldn’t drink that. It looks like coffee, talks like therapy, and stands in a forbidden corner. That is less a beverage and more a lawsuit.” NULL-1 turns. Red smoke sits on the second stool. Not a figure. Not yet. More like a cloud with an attitude. For a moment, shoulders form inside the smoke, an elbow leaning on the bar, and a face wearing the expression of someone who lost faith in every version of reality a long time ago, but kept the club membership for the bad drinks. “Who are you?” “Excellent question. A little basic, but considering your identity is a mathematical error, I won’t judge.” LOG [COMPANION_MODULE]: “Internal stabilization commentary activated.” “Module name: SARKASMA.” “Purpose: ironic buffer / emotional firewall / prevention of total collapse.” The LOG shard heats again at the word stabilization. NULL-1 scratches the air with it. LOG [HIDDEN_CLASSIFICATION]: “COMPANION_MODULE: firewall with limited autonomy / assigned after repeated NULL instance failure” “Activation: paid previously.” The red smoke goes quiet. “Paid?” “I wouldn’t unpack that yet. I know, in stories that’s usually suspicious. But trust me, here everything is suspicious, furniture included.” “Do you know where I’m from?” “No.” “Then what use are you?” “To keep you from dying of boredom, therapy, or your own poetic suffering in the meantime. The last option is statistically the most likely.” The smoke curls around the glass of coffee and pushes it away. “And also to tell you, now and then, that when the system offers exactly what you’re missing, it has usually already prepared the receipt.” ▼ I will treat her as a tool. If she is a firewall, she may be useful ▼ I will treat her as a voice. If she speaks, maybe she is not just a program Sarkasma smiles. At least according to the ripple of the smoke. With clouds that have personality disorders, facial expression is a matter of interpretation. “Before you ask: no, I’m not your conscience. Conscience is overrated, poorly documented, and often used by people who want you to feel worse without helping you act better.” “Then what are you?” “I’m the part of the system that understood that if it leaves you with only tenderness, you’ll suffocate. If it leaves you with only truth, you’ll fall apart. And if it leaves you alone, you’ll start talking to a glass of coffee. So congratulations. You have me.” “That’s supposed to be help?” “That’s supposed to be realism. Help would be prettier and cheaper, but in Synthoma apparently nobody knows how to manage the soul budget.” The bar trembles. A menu appears on the counter. MENU [START_BAR]: “1. Substitute calm - price: one question.” “2. Personality profile - price: one mistake.” “3. First door - price: unknown.” “4. Humor without pain - unavailable.” “Humor without pain unavailable. There we go, at least one thing here runs on truth.” NULL-1 touches the item Personality profile. The menu collapses into a set of boxes. Crates. Frames. Labels. Four walls, six edges, no exit. The human soul as warehouse inventory. LOG [PROFILE_GRID]: “To accelerate treatment, assign subject to a suitable frame.” “QUIET // EXPLOSIVE // OBEDIENT // UNUSABLE” “SENSITIVE // LOGICAL // BROKEN // PROMISING” “VICTIM // CULPRIT // PATIENT // ERROR” “Is that me?” “Those are boxes. Boxes aren’t you. Boxes are how the system pretends to understand you while shelving you.” One box opens. Inside is soft light, calm, a ready-made answer, and the feeling that he will no longer have to ask. Above the box stands: “PATIENT” LOG [CARE_PROTOCOL]: “Recommendation: accept patient role. Frame will provide relief from autonomy.” The LOG shard almost burns. NULL-1 draws it out. This time it does not appear in his palm. It manifests as a thin cyan blade, not long enough to be a weapon, but sharp enough for a sentence. “Careful. That’s not a sword. It’s a piece of bureaucratic truth. It wounds mostly by being impossible to ignore comfortably.” NULL-1 scratches into the word PATIENT. The letters growl. The inscription changes: “PROCESS” LOG [ROLE_EDIT]: “Subject rejected assigned role.” “New role: PROCESS.” “State: unstable.” The Void screeches. A crack appears in the table. The price. Naturally. LOG [VOID_COST]: “Role edit required material. Stable object damaged: table.” “Excellent. You refused to be a patient, so you broke the furniture. Symbolically rich. Practically annoying.” ▼ You choose a box as a temporary tool. A frame may help, if you do not start believing it ▼ You reject the boxes. You do not want to be system inventory The boxes around him begin to close. Not immediately. The system is trying to seem patient. Which is just a slow form of pressure in polite clothing. LOG [CONTAINMENT_SOFT]: “Subject avoids classification. Offering broader palette of safe identities.” “Translation: if you don’t fit in the box, we’ll bring a bigger box. Humanity calls it a personality test, the system calls it treatment.” “And what if I don’t want any?” “Then you’re starting to get interesting. And in Synthoma, interesting is just a prettier word for monitored.” Pink-blue dust appears again in the corner of the bar. Not on his fingers this time. On the edge of one box. A short line. Then another. Then something like a paw. Sarkasma stiffens. “What is that?” “Nothing.” “You said that too quickly.” “Because nothing occasionally requires a fast explanation.” The LOG shard slides out of space on its own. Without NULL’s will. It points at the pink-blue trace. LOG [UNAUTHORIZED_TRACE]: “protective fragment / playfulness / safety without a cage / access blocked by companion firewall” Sarkasma swipes smoke at the shard and the text vanishes. “Now, now. Rude. We don’t dig through other people’s classifications. You might discover someone in this system isn’t a complete psychopath.” “Are you blocking her?” “I block many things. Your collapse. System crap. Occasionally hope, when it arrives too early and dresses up like salvation with a ribbon.” “Is it dangerous?” Sarkasma does not answer for a long time. “It’s soft.” “That’s not an answer.” “In Synthoma, it’s almost the same thing.” The pink-blue trace disappears. But where it was, the box remains slightly open. There is no profile inside. There is a small piece of blue cloth. Or maybe just a texture error. Sarkasma steps between NULL-1 and the box. “No.” “Why?” “Because some things protect you so well they never let you back out. And you, pardon the optimism, haven’t even managed to find out whether outside exists.” The bar breaks apart. It does not vanish. It breaks into four doors. Each door stands in the forbidden corner, even though by ordinary geometry a corner should accommodate at most one uncomfortable chair and a bad decision. LOG [DOOR_GENERATION]: “START complete. First run prepared.” On the first door stands: “FEAR” On the second: “SHАME” The letter corrects itself. “SHAME” On the third: “DESIRE” The fourth has no inscription. Only a smooth white door with a tiny pink-blue paw carved into it. Sarkasma hisses. “Not that one.” “The others, then?” “No. But the others at least look like something that will kill you honestly.” LOG [RUN_SELECTION]: “Door selection unavailable.” “Run will be selected according to strongest active resonance.” “Then why are there doors?” “So you can feel involved in the process. Very modern. Very therapeutic.” ▼ The door without an inscription. A hidden pattern matters more than a clear warning ▼ The FEAR door. A specific threat is better than an unnamed one NULL-1 takes a step. Not toward the white door. Not toward the FEAR door. Toward the boundary between them. The LOG shard lights up. LOG [BOUNDARY_TOUCH]: “Subject touched the undecided area.” “Result: system evaluates indecision as material.” “Splendid. You touched the gap between traumas. Because the doors themselves were apparently too straightforward.” Behind the FEAR door, a child’s voice sounds. “Daddy? Are you there?” NULL-1 freezes. That voice does not belong to him. And yet it latches onto his wrist like a cold hand. LOG [RUN_SEED]: “Run source: fragment of child fear.” “Ownership: unverified.” “Resonance with subject: high.” “Reason: pain matches the shape of the empty place.” “That isn’t mine.” “Say that often in Synthoma. Not that anyone will believe you, but it sounds healthy.” The white door glows faintly for a moment. It does not open. It only sends a single pink-blue pixel into the space. It lands on NULL-1’s wrist, exactly where the cold child voice is holding on. The cold does not ease. But it stops biting deeper. LOG [WARM_ANOMALY]: “Unauthorized safety color affected RUN_SEED.” “Effect: temporary reduction of grip.” “Source: blocked.” Sarkasma looks away. “You know what that is.” “I know you have to go through FEAR now.” “That wasn’t an answer.” “No. That was saving time. We’ll need it when your own resonance with someone else’s childhood trauma starts hunting you. The evening’s program is packed, so save complaints for the form.” The FEAR door opens. Not inward. Outward. As if the space behind it had pressed for so long that it decided to invade the Void. Behind the door is not a hallway. There is darkness breathing with small lungs. NULL-1 feels that if he enters, he will take something with him. And leave something there. LOG [RUN_INIT]: “First run initiated.” “Sector: FEAR.” “Recommendation: submit to therapeutic exposure.” The LOG shard reveals the hidden layer. LOG [EUPHEMISM_REVEAL]: “therapeutic exposure = forced exposure” “Beginner translation: the system will shove you into the dark and call it growth.” “And will you go with me?” The red smoke withdraws for a moment. For the first time, Sarkasma does not look amused. “I’m a firewall, not a miracle. But yes. I’ll go.” “Why?” “Because someone here has to annotate your fall with professional dignity.” Then, quieter: “And because someone already paid for me.” NULL-1 breathes in. He does not know whether he has lungs. But the darkness behind the door takes it as consent. And pulls him inside. [▼ You enter the run and try to hold the rules together](/chapter/0-2-run?locale=en) [▼ You enter the run and search for the flaw in the rules](/chapter/0-2-run?locale=en)