The extraction is instant. One moment you're in your room, heart pounding, finger on the button. The next:
neutral space
.
The obligations that bound you dissolved. Your parents can't force you back. The school can't track you. The bullies can't reach you. You are
untouchable-safe
here.
Food appears without asking. Shelter that's
yours
. A bed that feels like the first real rest you've had in years. Nobody demands anything. Nobody judges. Nobody hurts.
Breathe. You're safe now.
The AR interface blooms around you like flowers opening at dawn. Not ideas. Not distant dreams. Real places you can actually go.
Home-shaped for contemplative-essence
. Where silence is respected and depth is home. Everyone here is like you—the "weird kids" are the majority. Being deep is the baseline.
Population:
8,347 souls |
Same-essence density:
87%
Misfit-coalescence-sanctuary
. Where being weird is being normal. Everyone here was bullied for being different. Now they're together, and "weird" is just... normal.
Population:
12,156 beings |
Acceptance-absolute:
99%
Tangible-worth-world
. Where hands build and worth is visible. No more sitting in classrooms feeling useless. You wake up, learn a trade, BUILD. By end of day: "I made that."
Population:
6,892 builders |
Builder-essence-match:
91%
Brain-shape-matched-world
. Where different brains are default brains. Autistic, ADHD, neurodivergent—YOUR brain is the baseline. The environment fits you, not the other way around.
Population:
4,523 minds |
Neurotype-matching:
88%
Nature-escape-sanctuary
. Where school IS outside. No buildings. No desks. No crowds. Just forest, kindness, peace. The bullies don't last here—nature filters them out.
Population:
3,287 souls |
Bully-types filtered:
99.7%
Not required. Not pressure. But they're available if you want.
You're not rushed. Days, maybe. Weeks. The Lobby doesn't care. The provisions keep coming. The interface stays open. The worlds keep turning, waiting.
You narrow your choices. You apply. They accept you.
The moment arrives. Transport is arranged. You leave the Lobby.
You enter your new world.
You wake up in your new world. No alarm. No dread. Just... morning.
The sunlight comes through your window—
your
window, in
your
space that nobody can take away. Outside you hear voices, but they're
safe-voices
. Laughter that isn't
at
you. People who chose to be here, just like you.
Your stomach doesn't hurt.
That's when you know: You made it. You're safe.
Breakfast is communal. You're nervous—old habits. But when you sit down with your tray, someone smiles. Not fake. Real.
"You're the new person, right? I'm Sam. I rallied here 6 months ago. It gets easier."
They don't ask invasive questions. Don't demand your story. Just... make space for you. Others join the table. Conversation flows—but you can just listen if you want. Nobody forces you to perform.
You eat an entire meal without your stomach churning.
First time in years.
No forced group projects. No 30 students crammed into uncomfortable desks. No teacher reading from slides.
Instead: Small seminar. 8 people. Everyone actually prepared. Everyone actually
thinking
. The discussion goes deep—philosophy, ideas, questions that matter. Nobody mocks you for caring. Nobody calls you "tryhard" or "nerd."
Because here? Being smart is normal. Being deep is baseline. Being you is
celebrated
.
That night, lying in your bed in your new world, you realize something:
The ache stopped.
Not gradually. Not "give it time." It just... stopped. The baseline dread that's been your companion for years—the constant
wrong-shaped-for-world
feeling—it's gone.
You're not performing anymore. You're not hiding. You're not surviving.
You're living. Actually living. For the first time.
You've stopped counting days. Time moves differently here—not dragging like torture, but flowing like a river you're finally swimming with instead of against.
You've made friends.
Real ones. People who get you. Who share your interests. Who don't think you're weird—or if they do, they mean it as a compliment.
You've stopped having nightmares
about going back to your old school. Sometimes you dream about it still, but now when you wake up, you remember: you don't have to go back. Ever.
You've started creating again.
Writing, drawing, coding, building—whatever your thing is, you're doing it. Not for grades. Not to prove anything. Just because it makes you feel
alive-bright
.
They told you that you were weak for wanting to leave.
That you should "tough it out."
That "quitters never win."
They were wrong.
Leaving a world that was destroying you wasn't weakness.
It was
strength-you-didn't-know-you-had
.
Pressing that button took more courage than staying ever would have.
And now? In your new world, with your people, doing your thing?
This isn't defeat. This is victory.
You found your world. You're home. This is when defeat becomes something you love. ♥