The foreclosure of reality was a silent affair.
There were no explosions, no screaming civilians, no dramatic musical swells. There was just the steady, creeping whiteness. It started at the city limits of New Seattle and moved inward, consuming streetlights, mailboxes, and coffee shops. One moment, a building was there; the next, it was simply... un-rendered. Deleted from the disk to free up space.
"It's moving faster than I calculated," Elara-Zero said, her eyes scanning the horizon from the dashboard of the Generic Getaway Van. "The Auditors are deleting the outer sectors at a rate of three blocks per minute. We have less than an hour before the Space Needle gets scrubbed."
Elara Vance gripped the steering wheel. Her knuckles were white. She wasn't wearing her tactical vest anymore—it had been dissolved by an Auditor's touch in the previous skirmish. She was wearing a hoodie she found in the back seat, stained with motor oil.
