The door to the rehabilitation room didn't just open; it groaned.
It was a heavy, mechanical complaint that vibrated through the bones of my wrist, a low-frequency hum that felt like a hardware error manifesting in the physical world. I didn't blame it. I felt like a pile of unoptimized junk as I stepped into the hallway, my boots heavy and my internal fans redlining.
I was a Root User who had somehow lost her administrative permissions, and the building seemed just as annoyed as I was that we were still trying to execute a movement script in this state.
The objective was simple, burned into the corner of my vision like a persistent HUD element: Navigate to the goddamn Apartment and take my fucking V-Card.
But my hardware was failing. And my OS was glitching.
Too much.
