Chara’s outfit was on point. The bear mask? Iconic. The red jacket? Chef’s kiss. The combat boots? A statement. Unfortunately, none of it protected her from the fact that she was falling. Fast.

She hit the pavement with a thud that would’ve made a cartoon sound designer proud. It wasn’t like she planned on getting hit by a van and tossed into the street, but life had a habit of throwing curveballs directly at her face. As her consciousness slipped into darkness, she had one last thought:

I swear, if someone steals my mask, I’m haunting them.

Somewhere on the edge of existence where reality frayed like an old sweater The Architect observed. Chara’s soul flickered precariously, balanced between life and eternity, making her a perfect candidate for his plan.

This one has spunk, he mused, admiring her bold wardrobe choices. And excellent color coordination.

Without hesitation, he dove toward her, merging his essence with her fading spirit like an uninvited roommate moving in at 3 a.m.

“Good news! I’ve saved you!” The Architect announced as he materialized inside her mind. His voice was bright, cheerful, and deeply inappropriate for the situation.

Chara’s spectral form blinked at him, translucent and floating beside her motionless body. “Saved me? You killed me, you weirdo!”

“Oh, you’re still here?” The Architect tilted his head, genuinely surprised. “That’s… unexpected. Usually the soul just—” He made a vague swooshing gesture. “—evaporates.”

“Well, sorry for the inconvenience,” Chara snapped. “Next time I die, I’ll try to be more considerate.”

He ignored her tone entirely. “No matter! With me at the helm, your corporeal form shall stride boldly among the living once more.”

Chara stared at him, arms crossed, unimpressed. “Boldly stride? Dude, I just got hit by a van. I’m not striding anywhere.”

The Architect puffed up, offended. “I’ve existed since the dawn of time. How hard can being human be?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Chara said, counting on her fingers. “Walking? Talking? Not crashing into traffic? Basic stuff.”

“I am perfectly capable of all those things,” he insisted.

“Really? Because you’re currently possessing a corpse.”

“It’s only mostly a corpse,” he corrected. “A temporary inconvenience. I’ve already begun repairs.”

Chara floated closer, squinting at him. “Repairs? What are you, a cosmic mechanic?”

“Architect,” he corrected again, straightening proudly. “I build universes. I sculpt realities. I can certainly fix one slightly dented teenager.”

“Wow,” she deadpanned. “I feel so reassured.”

He clapped his hands. “Excellent! Then let us begin our partnership.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Chara held up her hands. “Partnership? I didn’t agree to anything.”

“You don’t have to,” he said brightly. “You’re unconscious.”

“That’s not how consent works!”

The Architect waved her off. “Details. Now hush. I must focus.”

Chara watched as he turned toward her body, which lay crumpled on the asphalt like a dropped action figure. “If you mess up my face,” she warned, “I will haunt you forever.”

“Your face will be fine,” he said. “Probably.”

“Probably?!”

He paused, then added, “In my defense, human anatomy is very squishy.”

Chara groaned. “Oh, this is going to be a disaster.”

“On the contrary,” The Architect said, glowing with cosmic confidence, “this will be magnificent.”

Her ghostly eyes narrowed. “You don’t even know how legs work, do you?”

He hesitated. “They… bend?”

“Wrong direction and you’re paying my medical bills.”

“Noted.”

As he lowered himself into her body like someone trying to operate a forklift for the first time, Chara sighed.

“Great,” she muttered. “I’m being resurrected by a celestial himbo.” --------------------------------------

The world didn’t pause when Chara died.

Cars screeched. People screamed. Someone dropped their iced coffee. Within seconds, a small crowd formed around her crumpled body in the street.

Chara’s ghost hovered above the scene, staring down at herself with a mix of horror and annoyance. “Great. I look like roadkill. Fantastic.”

The Architect, now fully settled inside her body, sat up abruptly—despite the fact that her spine had absolutely no business allowing that.

Bystanders shrieked.

“OH MY GOD—SHE’S MOVING!”

“Call 911!”

“I did call 911!”

Chara floated closer, glaring at The Architect. “Could you maybe not sit up like a horror movie monster? You’re freaking people out.”

“I wished to reassure them,” he said proudly, using her hand to give a stiff thumbs‑up to the horrified crowd. “See? All is well.”

A woman fainted.

Moments later, sirens wailed as an ambulance pulled up. Paramedics rushed out, skidding to a stop when they saw Chara’s body sitting upright in the middle of the road, smiling like a possessed doll.

“Uh… ma’am?” one paramedic said cautiously. “You were hit by a van. You need to lie down.”

“I AM PERFECTLY FUNCTIONAL,” The Architect boomed.

Chara groaned. “Stop yelling! You’re gonna get me tased.”

The paramedics exchanged a look that said we are not paid enough for this.

“Okay,” the other paramedic said slowly, “we’re just… gonna help you onto the stretcher, alright?”

The Architect nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Take me to your healing temple.”

“Please never say that again,” Chara muttered.

They loaded her into the ambulance. The Architect sat upright the entire time, legs dangling off the side like a child on a carnival ride. Chara drifted in after him, passing straight through the doors.

Inside, the paramedics tried to attach monitors.

The Architect watched with fascination. “Ah! Ritual wires!”

“They’re not ritual wires,” Chara said. “They’re—actually, you know what? Sure. Ritual wires.”

One paramedic took her pulse. “Huh. Stable. That’s… weird.”

The other checked her pupils. “Responsive. Also weird.”

The Architect leaned forward. “I have repaired the vessel.”

Both paramedics froze.

Chara slapped her forehead. “Dude. Stop talking.”

-----------------------------------------

By the time they reached the ER, the paramedics were whispering urgently to the staff.

“She sat up after being hit by a van.”

“She said she ‘repaired the vessel.’”

“She called the ambulance a ‘healing chariot.’”

Doctors rushed her inside anyway, because even if she was talking nonsense, she was still covered in bruises and road rash.

The Architect lay back on the stretcher, trying to mimic what he thought was “normal human resting posture.” It looked more like a corpse doing yoga.

Chara hovered beside him. “You’re going to embarrass me into a second death.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “I am blending in flawlessly.”

“You’re lying like a haunted mannequin.”

He adjusted slightly. “Better?”

“No.”

--------------------------------------

Once the chaos settled, they moved her to a private room. Machines beeped steadily beside her. The Architect immediately sat up and inspected her hands again.

“Thumbs,” he whispered reverently. “Truly the pinnacle of mortal engineering.”

Chara crossed her arms. “You’re obsessed with thumbs. It’s weird.”

Before he could respond, a nurse entered with a clipboard. The Architect instantly attempted “normal human behavior,” which resulted in a wide, unsettling smile and a stiff wave.

“Good morning, Chara,” the nurse said cautiously. “How are you feeling?”

“I AM—” The Architect began loudly, then caught Chara’s glare. “—functioning. Optimally. Yes. Hello, fellow human.”

Chara groaned. “Oh my god.”

The nurse blinked. “Right… well, I’ll just check your vitals.”

As she wrapped the blood pressure cuff around Chara’s arm, The Architect leaned toward Chara’s ghost and whispered—loudly.

“What is this ‘pressure of blood’? Is it dangerous?”

“It’s normal,” Chara hissed. “Stop acting like you crawled out of a cosmic egg.”

“I did crawl out of a cosmic egg.”

The nurse froze mid‑note.

Chara groaned. “Please stop talking.”

-----------------------------------------

After the nurse left—clearly rethinking her career choices—The Architect hopped off the bed.

“It is time,” he announced, “to explore this realm and master the art of humaning.”

Chara floated in front of the door. “No. Absolutely not. You can’t just walk out of a hospital.”

“Why not?”

“Because you were literally dead an hour ago!”

“Only partially,” he corrected. “And I have repaired the damage.”

“You fixed my body like it’s a broken toaster.”

“An elegant toaster.”

Before she could stop him, he marched into the hallway with the confidence of someone who had never used legs before. Chara followed, resigned to her fate.

----------------------------------------------

The first challenge was the automatic door.

It slid open.

The Architect screamed.

“It is alive!”

“It’s a door,” Chara said. “Calm down.”

He poked it cautiously. “It obeys me.”

“It obeys everyone.”

Next came the revolving door.

He entered.

He spun.

He panicked.

“THE PORTAL HAS TRAPPED ME!”

Chara laughed so hard she nearly destabilized. “You’ve existed since the dawn of time and THIS is your downfall?”

A security guard eventually freed him, though he kept a suspicious eye on Chara’s body afterward.

----------------------------------------------------

Once outside, The Architect was unstoppable.

He marveled at vending machines. “Tiny food vaults!”

He bowed to a parking meter. “A tribute pillar!”

He attempted to bless a dog. “Rise, noble creature, and fulfill your destiny!”

The dog levitated for three seconds before plopping back down, tail wagging in cosmic confusion.

Chara stared. “You can’t just give random dogs superpowers!”

“He seemed worthy.”

“He eats socks.”

---------------------------------------------------

Despite the chaos, something strange happened.

They started to sync up.

Chara corrected his posture. He listened.

She explained sarcasm. He tried it. Badly.

She stopped him from paying for a smoothie with gold coins. He thanked her.

It wasn’t perfect.

But then again, neither was the universe.

And somehow, that made it work.