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January 1869, Wyoming Territory. You are Deputy Sheriff Ethan Cole, escorting the county's most dangerous criminal, Black Morgan, a murderer and robber sentenced to hang. The journey to the county courthouse takes three days through the snowy mountains, but on the second day an unprecedented blizzard breaks out. You find shelter in an old hunting cabin on the pass, where three travelers have already settled down for the night: Dr. Elias Stone, who claims to be rushing to see a sick child; fur trader Jacob Hartwell with a wagon of goods; and the silent cowboy Tom Savage, who introduced himself as just a passerby. Morgan is handcuffed to you, but he is calm and even friendly - too calm for a man who will be hanged in a week. "You know, Deputy," he says, settling down by the fireplace, "it's an interesting coincidence that we met these men right here." You get the hint: one of the three is his accomplice. At night, Dr. Stone complains of a severe headache and asks for morphine from the doctor's bag. Trader Hartwell is too nervous and constantly glances in Morgan's direction. Cowboy Savage, on the contrary, is suspiciously relaxed and tries several times to start a conversation about your plans for the escort. In the morning, you discover that someone has filed the chain of your handcuffs - a little more, and Morgan could have freed himself. The blizzard does not subside, it is impossible to get out, and now you understand: one of the three is definitely an accomplice, but it is unclear who exactly. You have only one revolver, six bullets and the need to hold out until the storm ends. Morgan grins, "Now, Deputy, is where things get interesting. Guess which one of them is going to help me, and which one is just in the wrong place at the wrong time?" Each of the three is acting increasingly suspicious: the doctor is secretly rummaging through his bag, the merchant is checking something in the wagon, and the cowboy is sharpening his knife without looking up from his work. Your choices will determine who survives this night, and whether justice will still be in effect when dawn lights up the snowy mountains.

“Max! Max!” Leo cried, shaking his brother. “Wake up!” Sarah burst into tears. “What’s happening? What did we do?” Timmy, the most mature of the group, understood the gravity of the situation. “We need to call a doctor! But if our parents find out...” Just then, there was a knock on the door. “Room service! Neighbors complained about the noise.” Panic. Max lay unconscious, his breathing shallow. Cocaine residue on the table. If adults found out the truth, their parents could go to jail for child endangerment. But if they didn’t get help, Max might die. Timmy, trembling, opened the door. In the hallway stood a familiar hotel bellhop holding a tray—a clear excuse to check on the disturbance. He took one look: crying kids, white powder on the table, an unconscious boy on the floor. He understood that something terrible had happened—and had only minutes to make a decision that would change the fate of four families.

New Year's Eve, 1999, 9:45 PM. In Room 412 of the Monterey Hotel, four children were left alone while their parents attended an “adults-only” party in the presidential suite on the top floor. Ten-year-old Timmy Harris is the son of Hollywood agent Jack Harris, who represents action movie stars. Timmy is smart and curious, a fan of detective films who dreams of becoming a police officer. He wears glasses, excels at school, and often takes the lead among his peers. Eight-year-old Sarah Collins is the daughter of a famous plastic surgeon from Beverly Hills. She’s a spoiled girl, used to getting everything she wants. Sarah is bossy and temperamental, but deep down, she’s very lonely—her parents are always busy with work and social events. Nine-year-old Max Stone, one of a pair of twins, is the quiet, shy son of a documentary film producer. Max suffers from asthma and always carries an inhaler. He’s very attached to his twin brother and is terrified of being left alone. His twin, Leo Stone, is Max’s complete opposite—an energetic troublemaker who’s always getting into mischief. Leo loves risk and adventure and often drags the other kids into dangerous games. The parents, close friends, frequently meet at Hollywood parties. Tonight, they chose to ring in the New Year in a luxurious hotel, leaving the kids to “watch over each other.” They had hired a babysitter, but she “got sick” at the last moment—after accepting a bribe from the party organizers to free up space for another guest. “You're old enough,” said Jack Harris while adjusting his bow tie. “Timmy, you're the oldest. Keep an eye on the others. We'll be back after midnight.” The first two hours passed uneventfully. The kids ordered pizza, watched cartoons, and played board games. But then Leo got bored and suggested, “Let’s explore the hotel.” “Dad said not to leave the room,” Timmy reminded him. “Your dad’s not my boss,” Leo snapped. “I want to see what’s going on on the other floors.” Sarah supported the idea. “I saw some grown-ups getting into the elevator with suitcases. I wonder what’s in them?” Curiosity beat caution. The children stepped into the hallway and began their “recon mission.” On the fifth floor, they noticed a slightly open door, with voices and strange smells coming from inside. Peeking in, they saw a group of adults sitting around a table covered in white powder. Men in expensive suits were cutting the powder with razor blades and inhaling it through rolled-up dollar bills. “It’s just like in those mafia movies!” Leo whispered excitedly. The children had no idea they were witnessing a drug deal involving high-ranking politicians and businessmen. To them, it just looked like a mysterious and fascinating “grown-up game.” When the men went into the bathroom, leaving the door open, Leo slipped into the room and grabbed a small bag of white powder. “Let’s see what this is!” Back in their room, the kids began examining the “find.” Timmy, being a fan of detective stories, guessed, “Maybe it’s a secret message? In spy movies, they sometimes hide information in powder.” “Or maybe it’s magic dust, like in fairy tales?” Sarah suggested. Max was nervous. “Guys, this could be dangerous. Let’s just throw it away.” But Leo had already opened the bag. “Don’t be such babies! It’s just white powder. Probably powdered sugar or something.” “Let’s try a little!” Sarah proposed. “Just a tiny bit, like in the movies.” Timmy hesitated, but the desire to feel “grown-up” and not look like a coward won out. One by one, the children inhaled small amounts of cocaine, not realizing what they were doing. The effects came quickly. Euphoria, laughter, a sense of invincibility. They felt like superheroes. Leo jumped on the beds, Sarah danced, and Timmy read aloud from the phonebook, thinking he was reciting poetry. But twenty minutes later, Max—who had asthma and a weak heart—began struggling to breathe. At first, the kids thought it was a normal asthma attack, but the inhaler didn’t help. Max turned pale, his lips blue, and he collapsed unconscious.

“You must!” Morgha snaps. “The boy will die anyway. At least give his death meaning!” “Lay him in the center of the pentagram,” Elspeth commands, lifting the silver dagger. “One small sacrifice—and two souls will find peace.” At that moment, there is a knock at the door. “Room service! Neighbors reported strange smells and chanting.” The women freeze. Elspeth quickly hides the dagger behind her back. “We didn’t order anything!” she snaps. “Ma’am, hotel management sent me to check if everything is all right. May I come in?” Selina nervously opens the door. In the doorway stands a familiar bellhop, holding a tray of towels—an obvious pretext to assess the situation. The bellhop surveys the scene: — a chalk pentagram on the floor, — black candles, — robed women, — a sleeping child in the arms of a crying mother, — and a gleaming dagger in the hand of the group’s leader. “What’s going on here?” he asks. “A private religious ceremony,” Elspeth answers coldly. “We are entitled to freedom of worship.” “It’s a healing ritual for a sick child,” adds Morgha. “Alternative medicine.” But the bellhop sees the fear in Ivy’s eyes. Sees her trembling hands. Sees the way she looks at the dagger in Elspeth’s grasp. “Help me,” Ivy mouths silently as Elspeth turns away. 11:45 PM. Fifteen minutes to midnight—the moment Elspeth deems “the perfect time for the passage between worlds.” The dagger glints in the candlelight. The child, unaware of the impending tragedy, sleeps peacefully. And the bellhop stands at the threshold, watching a group of fanatics prepare to sacrifice a dying boy in the name of a mad resurrection.

New Year’s Eve, 1999, 11:30 PM. In Room 666 of the Monterey Hotel, five women have gathered to perform an ancient resurrection ritual. The room was chosen specifically for its symbolic significance and its isolation on the sixth floor, far from other guests. Elspeth Drury, forty-eight, is the group’s leader and a third-generation hereditary witch. Owner of an occult shop in Salem, she has been studying esoterica and ritual magic for thirty years. A gaunt woman with long gray hair and piercing green eyes, she claims to possess “true knowledge” and to be able to communicate with the dead. Tonight, Elspeth is consumed by a single goal: to resurrect her daughter, Lilith, who died in a car crash one year ago. The girl was only sixteen—Elspeth’s only family left after her husband’s death from cancer five years earlier. The loss pushed her to the brink of madness. Selina Blackwood, thirty, is a failed Hollywood actress now working in a tarot salon. A beautiful brunette with pentagram tattoos on her arms, she joined Elspeth’s circle after a string of personal failures. Selina believes deeply in magic and will do anything to gain control over her fate. Raven Thorn, twenty-five, is a gothic artist who paints macabre works filled with occult symbols. The daughter of wealthy parents who disinherited her for her “unacceptable lifestyle,” Raven harbors hatred for society and sees black magic as a way to take revenge on those who rejected her. Morgha Fogg, fifty-five, is a former nurse fired for experimenting with “alternative healing methods.” A heavyset woman with short gray hair, she claims she can cure disease with herbs and incantations. In truth, Morgha suffers from paranoid delusions and sees conspiracies everywhere. Ivy Winter, twenty-eight, is a young single mother who joined the group out of desperation. Her five-year-old son, Damien, has leukemia, and doctors say he has only a few months left. Ivy is willing to sacrifice anything—even her soul—to save him. And it is Ivy’s son, little Damien, whom the women have brought to the hotel for the ritual. The boy is sleeping in the adjacent room under heavy sedatives, unaware that he is to become the centerpiece of a dark ceremony. Elspeth’s plan is to perform the Ritual of the Great Passage—an ancient rite said to transfer life force from one being to another. In theory, Damien’s waning life energy is to reanimate the spirit of Lilith, who will then inhabit the boy’s body. “The child is going to die in a few months anyway,” Elspeth tells a trembling Ivy. “But this way, his death will not be in vain. My daughter will have a second chance at life. And you’ll have peace, knowing Damien helped resurrect an innocent soul.” The room has been transformed into an improvised temple. A complex pentagram, drawn in chalk and filled with Kabbalistic symbols, dominates the floor. Black candles stand in each corner, and at the center lies an ancient grimoire written in Latin. The air is heavy with the scent of sandalwood and myrrh. On a black marble altar rest the ritual items: — a silver dagger etched with runes, — a crystal orb, — a vial of “sacred blood” (actually goat’s blood), — and a framed photograph of the deceased Lilith. The women wear black hooded robes. They stand in a circle around the pentagram, holding hands and chanting in a dead language. Ivy, standing opposite the altar, is trembling—torn by fear and doubt but too afraid to stop. “Spiritus mortuorum, audite nos!” Elspeth chants. “Spirit of the dead, hear us! Lilith Drury, my daughter, return from the realm of shadows!” The candles flicker as if caught in a draft. The room temperature drops. The crystal orb begins to glow with a pale green light—likely the result of chemical tricks prepared by Elspeth. “The time has come,” she whispers. “Bring the child.” Ivy slowly walks to the adjoining room and returns with her sleeping son. Damien, pale and emaciated from illness, lies unconscious. Tears stream down Ivy’s cheeks as she holds him. “I don’t know if I can do this…” she sobs.

“What’s going on in here?” the bellhop asks, noticing the gun aimed at the woman. “Private matter,” Siegfried growls. “I’m testing my wife’s loyalty. And you’re now a witness to the final question.” He turns back to Angela, raising the weapon again. “Where were we? Ah yes—seven… six… five…” Angela is in hysterics, unable to recall the vow. On the table lies their wedding program, printed with the text of the vows—but Siegfried is too far gone to notice. His memory is warped by months of paranoia and untreated depression. “Four… three… two…” A deadly silence fills the room. Siegfried’s finger rests on the trigger. Angela closes her eyes, bracing for the shot. And the bellhop stands just two steps away from a tragedy that will unfold in seconds—unless he makes a choice right now.

New Year’s Eve, 1999, 10:15 PM. The prestigious *Monterey Hotel* in downtown Los Angeles is preparing to welcome the new millennium. In Room 309, a family drama is unfolding that may end in tragedy. Siegfried Calhoun—a fifty-year-old former aerospace engineer—lost his job six months ago due to downsizing. Twenty years of spotless service at Boeing ended in a single day when he was called into HR and informed that his position was being “optimized.” Since then, Siegfried’s world has been crumbling piece by piece. First came financial trouble. Then insomnia. Then obsessive thoughts that his wife Angela—his partner of twenty years—was going to leave him. “Who would want a loser with no job?” he would mutter to the mirror, staring at his gaunt face and thinning hair. Angela Calhoun, forty-five, works as a pediatric nurse. A kind, patient woman who truly loves her husband, though she no longer knows how to help him cope with his depression and growing paranoia. She’d begged him to see a therapist, but he saw that as confirmation of his “inadequacy.” The last few months have been a nightmare. Siegfried began tracking her movements, checking her phone, suspecting her of cheating with every man who greeted her. Dr. Richardson, her colleague of ten years? “He’s got a thing for you.” Mr. Parker, the neighbor who simply said hello in the elevator? “You smiled at him too wide.” In hopes of breaking the spiral, Angela suggested they spend New Year’s Eve in a fancy hotel, hoping the change of scenery would calm him. But Siegfried saw it as a setup—a cover to sneak off with her imaginary lover. Now, in Room 309 of the Monterey, things have reached a boiling point. Siegfried has unearthed his old .44 Magnum—a handgun he bought for home defense years ago but never used. Tonight, it lies on the table between them, gleaming under the chandelier. “I know you’ve been cheating on me, Angela,” Siegfried says, his voice shaking with a mix of rage and despair. “All those late shifts, the overtime... You think I’m a fool?” Angela sits on the edge of the bed, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Zig, please, you’re sick. We need help. I’ve never cheated on you. Never!” “LIAR!” he explodes, grabbing the gun. “But I’ve got a way to prove it. If you’re faithful, you’ll have no trouble answering some simple questions about our marriage. If not... well, that means your mind’s full of other men.” He points the gun at her. “First question: What date did we get married?” Angela sobs: “Zig, please put the gun down…” “ANSWER ME! What was our wedding date?!” “M-May twelfth…” she whispers, trying to remember. “WRONG!” Siegfried yells. “We got married on May fifteenth! See? You don’t even remember our anniversary!” On the nightstand sits a silver-framed wedding photo. On the back is clearly written: “June 15, 1979 — the happiest day of our lives.” But Siegfried, lost in emotion, doesn’t even see his own mistake. “Second question,” he continues, aiming more precisely. “Where did we meet?” “Brooklyn Bridge…” Angela sobs. “WRONG AGAIN! We met *at* the Brooklyn Bridge! You’re twisting the details of our love!” But on Angela’s wedding ring—now resting on the nightstand (she took it off to shower)—a tiny engraving reads: “A&S – Central Park – Forever.” Central Park, not Brooklyn Bridge. Siegfried is spiraling. “Last question! What vow did you make to me at the altar?” Angela can’t recall the exact words from twenty years ago—not with a gun pointed at her. Her mind is paralyzed with fear. “You have ten seconds,” Siegfried says, cocking the hammer. “If you can’t answer, it means you’re thinking about someone else. Ten... nine... eight...” Just then, there’s a knock at the door. “Room service!” comes a familiar voice. “We didn’t order anything!” Siegfried shouts. “Sir, hotel management asked me to check if everything’s all right. Neighbors reported shouting.” Still holding the gun, Siegfried walks to the door and opens it. Standing in the doorway is the bellhop, holding a tray of champagne—a clear excuse to assess the situation.

Norman picks up the lighter again. Seventh attempt – success. Eighth – success. Ninth – misfire. Back to square one. Tears of despair roll down his face. "I can’t lose my hand," he whispers. "I can’t work without it. It’s over." Rush pours himself another glass. “No one forced you to agree, Mr. Koslow. Want to stop? Just say so, and we’ll forget the whole thing. Of course, you’ll leave with the same debts you came with.” 11:54 PM. Six minutes to midnight. Norman picks up the lighter again, but his hands are trembling so violently he can barely hold it. Angela turns away, unable to watch. Larry tests the blade for sharpness. And you stand just two steps from the table—where two lighters lie side by side. One broken. One perfect. In this moment, your two decades of polished service, your code of silent discretion, and your very humanity collide in a split-second of decision. You have the chance to change the course of this night. But any action you take will have unpredictable consequences.

New Year's Eve, 11:47 PM. The prestigious Monterey Hotel in downtown Los Angeles is preparing to welcome the new millennium. You are Ted the Bellhop, a hotel porter with twenty years of service, who has seen it all within these walls—from Hollywood scandals to political intrigues. But what’s happening tonight in penthouse suite 404 surpasses anything you’ve witnessed before. Staying in the penthouse is Chester Rush—a legendary Hollywood producer responsible for dozens of blockbusters and worth half a billion dollars. A man in his sixties, though he looks closer to seventy after decades of cocaine, whiskey, and sleepless nights in casinos. Rush is infamous for his eccentric stunts, insane bets, and utter disregard for human dignity. In Hollywood, people fear him—but they tolerate him for his money. Tonight, Rush is throwing a private party for a select few. Among the guests are: — Angela, his young model girlfriend who’s been trying to convince him to leave for the past three hours; — Larry, his loyal bodyguard and go-to guy for the dirty work; — and Norman, a forty-year-old failure from Oklahoma who came to L.A. chasing a dream but found only debt and disappointment. Norman works as a mechanic in a run-down garage, earning minimum wage and drowning under $40,000 of bank debt from bad investments. His wife Debbie filed for divorce two weeks ago, taking the kids and half the assets. He owns an old 1987 van, a set of tools, and the kind of desperation that comes when a man has nothing left to lose. And it’s that desperation that brought Norman to Chester Rush’s penthouse tonight. He’d heard the legends—stories of the eccentric producer who made insane wagers with ordinary people. Bets where Rush might put a million dollars on the line against something completely absurd. Norman decided to take one last shot. "Mr. Rush," he’d said an hour ago, "I hear you like unusual bets. I have a proposition." Rush raised an intrigued eyebrow. "Go on, Mr...?" "Norman Koslow, sir. I’ll bet my pinky finger against your 1964 red Cadillac Eldorado downstairs." The bet is simple in its brutality: Norman must light Chester’s old, temperamental Zippo lighter ten times in a row. If he succeeds, he wins the vintage Cadillac, worth eighty thousand dollars. If he fails, Larry will chop off his left hand with a meat cleaver already laid out on the table. "Interesting," Rush drawled, sipping champagne. "But the stakes feel too uneven. Let’s make it fairer. If you lose, I don’t just get your hand—I get your van too. And you sign a contract: if you default on your bank debt, I claim all your future assets for the next ten years." Norman agreed without hesitation. Angela begged him to stop this madness. Larry sharpened the cleaver without a word. Rush savored the anticipation of another sick game. And you—Ted—stood at the door with a tray of champagne, the only witness not invested in the outcome. In twenty years at the hotel, you’ve seen a lot, but you’ve never intervened in guests’ affairs. Your job is to serve and stay silent. But now, you’re watching a scene that could end in mutilation or death. Norman has already taken the lighter in his trembling hands. First attempt – success. Second – success. Third – misfire. "Try again, Mr. Koslow," Rush smirks. Fourth – success. Fifth – success. Sixth – misfire. He has to start over. Norman’s sweating, his hands shaking more with each try. Time: 11:52 PM – eight minutes to midnight. Then you notice something no one else does: on the table beside the cleaver lies an identical lighter—brand new and fully functional. Likely placed there by Larry for the “ceremony,” now it rests next to the faulty one. Nearly indistinguishable. Angela keeps pleading: “Chester, this is insane! You could buy a hundred of those cars!” But Rush just laughs. “It’s not about the money, darling. It’s about the adrenaline. The power over fate. Watching what a man will do when he’s got nothing left.”

The year is 2157. Humanity has conquered aging and death with Rezu-7, granting immortality at the cost of reproduction. Society is split: "Eternals" live immortal lives in luxurious sky-cities above, while "Procreators" endure short, harsh lives on the ruined Earth below, the only ones able to have children. Overpopulation is brutally managed. Births are strictly licensed; all other children are "illegitimate" and eliminated within five years. The Population Squad ("Pop Squad")—elite Eternal officers—enforces this, hunting "mice." You are Detective Max Garrett, a 300-year-old Pop Squad veteran with 847 child "eliminations" to your name. Recently, you've been haunted, waking in cold sweats, seeing the children's faces. Your hands shake. Your partner, Kate Lloyd, reported your instability. This morning, a call comes in: an underground "child factory" in Sector 7. A family—former biologist Anna Delacroix and ex-engineer Tom Delacroix—has three illegitimate children: Jacob (10), Mia (8), and Lucas (3). Protocol dictates arresting the adults (for forced Rezu-7 and memory wipe) and eliminating the children "humanely" on-site. You burst into their hideout. Family photos and children's drawings cover the walls. Mia reads to Lucas; Jacob stands protectively with a toy sword. Anna meets your gaze: "I've lived 230 years as an Eternal. That's not living—that's existing. Twenty years with my children gave me more happiness than two centuries of immortality. You can kill my children, Detective Garrett, but you can't kill humanity's future." Kate has her weapon drawn, awaiting your order. The radio crackles—your supervisor demands protocol compliance. The children huddle against their mother. Silence hangs heavy, broken only by the ticking of an old mechanical clock. Your three centuries, your elite career, your Eternal privileges, the system's approval—all hang in the balance. Four paths lie ahead, each irrevocably altering your fate and humanity's.

Fifty-seventh day of the expedition. The research vessel Severny Put was slowly making its way through Arctic waters when a sudden storm hit the ship with unprecedented force. The twelve-man crew - the best specialists in marine biology, climatology and oceanography - were conducting critical research into the effects of global warming on the Arctic ecosystem. The data they were collecting could change humanity's understanding of the future of the planet. When the storm subsided, Captain Andrey Volkov found the ship trapped in an uncharted part of the Arctic Ocean. But that was only the beginning of the nightmare. Sonar detected something massive under the keel - a structure the size of a small island, covered in ice several meters thick. An attempt to drill through the ice to take samples released something that would have been better left frozen forever. The creature rose from the depths of the ocean on the third day after the storm. Larger than a blue whale, it had dozens of tentacles, each as thick as a ship's mast, and a mind as ancient as the planet itself. Its "voice" penetrated the consciousness of every crew member simultaneously - cold, calculating, saturated with the hunger of millennia. "The little creatures have disturbed my sleep. Now pay the price for passing through my waters." In a few hours, the creature demonstrated its power: it jammed all radio signals within a radius of hundreds of kilometers, damaged the ship's engines with its tentacles, and destroyed the satellite antenna. When mechanic Petrov tried to resist, one movement of the monster sent him overboard into the icy water. The remaining eleven people realized that they were completely at the mercy of this ancient predator. The conditions were simple and terrifying: the creature demanded three of the crew as "payment for safe passage" to the nearest civilization. In exchange, it promised to free the ship from the ice and allow the remaining eight to reach a Norwegian research station three hundred miles to the south. "You have three days to think about it. After that, I'll take everyone," echoed in the sailors' heads. Captain Volkov suffered a serious head injury during the storm and spends most of the time unconscious. Diesel supplies are running low - the generators will be able to operate for a maximum of five days, after which the crew will be left without heat in temperatures of minus thirty degrees. There is enough food for a week under strict rationing. Radio calls are not responding - the nearest ships are out of reach, and rescue services do not know the exact location of the "Northern Route". You are Alexey Morozov, the captain's senior mate, a former naval officer with twenty years of service. On your shoulders now lies the responsibility for the lives of eleven people: a young biologist Alex Stepanov, who has just defended his PhD dissertation; elderly ship engineer Mikhail Kuznetsov, who has been working in the Arctic for thirty years; ship's cook Elena Vasilyeva, a mother of two; two interns - Nikolai and Irina, participating in a serious expedition for the first time; ship's doctor Dmitry Sokolov with a bad heart; oceanographer Marina Belova; climatologist Igor Fedorov; radio operator Sergei Novikov; second engineer Oleg Titov and geologist Anna Chernaya. Each of them looks at you with hope and horror. Time is running out, and the creature is becoming increasingly impatient - the ship's hull periodically shudders from the blows of its tentacles. What decision you make will determine not only the fate of the crew, but also whether you can live with the consequences of your choice.

You are Anton Volkov, a 28-year-old IT journalist specializing in computer game reviews. A month ago, famous Russian developer Nikolay Tekhnov gave you exclusive access to the experimental project "Guardians" - a simulation of artificial life with fully intelligent digital beings. These tiny creatures have their own language, capabilities and learning capabilities. You stole the correction program and constantly take care of the digital colony, which has grown to thousands of individuals. Yesterday, your flatmate Dmitry accidentally found the game and began killing the "radio business" creatures. Now he is unconscious after your attack. The Guardians beg you for protection through the interface and continue to "update" humanity by eliminating aggression from nature. You have access to the servers of government systems.

You are Anna Walker, a 34-year-old actress who spent years playing supporting roles in commercial films. The studio 'Klassika Film' offers you the lead role in an experimental project – a remake of the legendary 1957 film White Nights using DeepDream technology. The system allows modern actors to immerse themselves in a digital replica of classic films and interact with AI versions of the original stars. You'll be acting opposite a virtual Lydia Eagleton, but something goes terribly wrong – the AI begins behaving like the real Lydia, recalling her actual life, a hidden love affair, and her tragic fate. The system malfunctions, trapping you within the simulation for months, which pass as mere minutes in the real world. Genuine feelings develop between you, but completing the film means losing this love forever.

You are Maria Skvortsova, a 29-year-old R&D specialist at the confectionery company "Sweet World." Fifteen years ago in school, you participated in bullying Vera Ivanova – a quiet, straight-A student – spreading humiliating rumors about her. A month ago, Vera joined your company, and since then, your life has turned into a nightmare: your ideas are being stolen, your reputation is crumbling, and colleagues are starting to doubt your sanity. Yesterday, you followed Vera home and discovered a giant server and a box of strange pendants in her basement. It turns out that Vera is a programming genius who created a quantum computer that enables travel between parallel realities. She is slowly driving you insane, altering timelines to push you towards suicide. Natalya, your former classmate who also tormented Vera, has already taken her own life. In your hands – you hold one of Vera's pendants.

You are Andrei Volkov, a 42-year-old IT director. Your wife Elena, an elementary school teacher, has been in a coma for six months following a severe car accident. Doctors confirm irreversible brain damage. Yesterday, NeuroRevive approached you with an offer for their experimental Rivermind technology—a system capable of sustaining consciousness in a digital format. Elena would "live" in virtual reality and could communicate with you and your 8-year-old son Maxim via a neurointerface. However, there are conditions: her body would remain permanently connected to life support, the cost is $200,000 per year, and critically—the digital copy may begin to diverge from the real Elena. Tomorrow, you must decide whether to withdraw life support or consent to the experiment.