Chapter 3: No Manual


    Kyle’s Jordans sank into the jungle floor, spongy and damp, reeking like a bodega’s week-old roses left to rot. His nerves shrieked—relief and torment twisting together in a gut-punch paradox, every fiber of his body buzzed. What the fuck is this place? he thought, the question clawing at his skull as foreign knowledge burrowed into his brain—shit he’d never read, never heard, just knew.


    Nearby, Marcus watched in stunned silence as his blistering flesh smoothed over, leaving unmarred tan skin. "What... the... fuck just happened?" Marcus whispered, voice raw, eyes wide with the kind of shock Kyle remembered from the night Marcus’s brother caught a stray bullet outside their building. The one that killed him.


    Dex hauled himself up with a grunt, fingers digging into his side where ribs had poked through torn flesh minutes before, now whole again, a miracle that hit Kyle like the time Dex survived a drive-by and laughed it off over a blunt. “The Co-smore?” Dex rasped, voice cracking like he’d smoked too many Newports. “The fuck is a Co-smore?”


    "Second chance at life?" Marcus read from nowhere, his tone flat. "Quest?"


    Kyle tried to grab hold of the stream of awareness flooding his mind. Like trying to direct water between his fingers, but with thought instead of touch. "It''s like... in my head but not in my head. Like I Gotta dig through my own thoughts to find shit."


    "Level one?" Dex barked, he scowled "This some video game bullshit?" Kyle focused, and numbers bloomed in his mind—Will 6, Strength 4, Intelligence 2. Shit like that. He didn’t know what ‘Resilience'' meant, but it felt heavy,  like the weight of every promise he’d made to JT to stick together.


    He blinked. "You guys got stats too?"


    "Yeah," Marcus nodded, eyes unfocused. “Numbers and shit.”


    "What the fuck is will?" Dex demanded,  fists balled like he was ready to swing on the jungle itself. "And I only got 4 strength? Bullshit."


    Kyle stared at his hands. "It''s like... it''s all in my head, but I can see it. Like when you close your eyes and picture a map of your neighborhood. It''s there, but... it''s not there."


    "The school shrink called that shit visualization," Marcus said. "Had me do it when I couldn''t stop fighting after my brother—"


    "I''m getting this thing saying I''m ''Human Basic One,''" Dex said, frowning. "The fuck that mean? Was I a fuckin’ lizard before?” Kyle’s lips twitched, a smirk fighting through the dread—Dex always had a mouth.


    "I got something saying ''Affinity Rating''," Marcus added, frowning. "What''s that even mean? Mine says 11.7."


    "Mine''s 12," Dex said with an immediate competitive edge.


    Kyle felt his own number—38.4—hit him like a brick to the chest, triple what they’d said, a secret that churned his gut. “I got 12 too,” he lied, voice steady, face blank. “So don’t feel special, fam.” Why’s mine so high? he wondered. Would they turn on him if they knew? Loyalty was everything back home—envy could break it faster than a bullet.


    The beast’s corpse sprawled between them, its stench like rotting meat in a dumpster, Dark amber blood pooled in soil. They stood in a tight triangle, makeshift weapons. “So we got stats,” Kyle said, slow and deliberate, testing the words. “And we can juice ‘em up with these unbound points?”


    “I’m dumping mine in Intelligence,” Marcus said fast, eyes glinting with focus. “Maybe we figure this shit out quicker.”


    "Same," Dex agreed.


    Kyle hesitated, then concentrated, mentally directing two of his points toward intelligence. A pressure built behind his eyes, then released with a cool wave that traveled from his skull down his spine. purple leaves gleamed sharper, the stink of decay hit harder, and his thoughts clicked faster. “Holy shit,” he whispered, awe and fear tangling in his throat..


    "Yeah," Marcus said, eyes wide.


    “What else we adding?” Kyle asked, scanning his remaining six points like they were the last dollars in his pocket. JT always said I was too slow, he thought, the memory stinging like salt in a cut. “I’m thinking Agility and Strength.”


    “Vitality,” Dex countered, voice hard like he was daring Kyle to argue. “That’s gotta be heart, lungs, shit like that. Don’t wanna get smoked again so quick, you feel me?” Kyle split his points—three to Agility, three to Strength—and his muscles tightened, a slingshot ready to release. He bounced on his toes, light and quick, marveling at how his body moved despite the gore still caking his shirt. Faster, he thought. Stronger.


    “I feel it,” he said, voice low.


    “Stronger,” Dex replied, flexing fists that had busted noses back home, a dark grin splitting his face. “Like I could rip through a fuckin’ brick wall.”


    “I’m splitting mine,” Marcus shrugged, rolling his shoulders like he was shrugging off the past. “Balanced. Ain’t tryna be weak nowhere.” The jungle hummed around them, its weird-ass plants and distant screeches reminding Kyle they were fish out of water—exposed, vulnerable.


    They stood there, flexing, shifting, feeling their new bodies—Kyle’s fingers twitched faster, Marcus’s stance widened, Dex’s fists clenched harder. This ain’t home, Kyle thought, the realization cold and heavy.


    “Yo, we gotta bounce back to that big-ass tree,” Marcus said, scanning the undergrowth. “Standing here’s just begging for whatever’s next to clap us. Least there we got cover.” Kyle nodded, grabbing his stick—splinters digging into his palm like a handshake from this fucked-up world—and they moved, stepping over the beast’s corpse, its guts spilling like a busted sewer pipe. The ground squished underfoot, releasing whiffs of overripe mango and wet dirt, a sensory assault that made Kyle’s stomach twist. Keep it together, he told himself, sifting through the mental flood for anything useful, anything to keep them breathing.


    As they trudged back, Kyle’s sharper mind latched onto another thread in the chaos—something hovering, teasing, just out of reach. Before he could chase it, Dex’s voice sliced through. “Yo, what’s this energy shit?” Dex asked, staring into nothing, like he was reading a text Kyle couldn’t see. “Says I got 4 out of 4.”


    Marcus frowned, squinting like he was deciphering a faded tag on a wall. “Energy? I don’t—oh, wait. Yeah, 3 out of 3.” Kyle felt his own—12/12—a number that punched him in the gut again, triple Dex’s, quadruple Marcus’s. What the fuck makes me different? he wondered, dread coiling tight. “Same,” he lied, smooth as butter, “4 out of 4.” His voice didn’t waver, but his eyes flicked to Marcus—Did he catch that?


    Dex started jogging in place, then dropped to do push-ups, his movements growing increasingly frantic.


    "The fuck you doing?" Marcus asked, eyebrows raised.


    Dex jumped back to his feet, not even breathing hard. "Trying to use some energy. Shit ain''t moving. Still 4 out of 4."


    “Maybe it ain’t for flexing,” Kyle said, watching Dex with careful eyes. “Mine says ‘Un-Attuned.’ Sounds like some mystical shit.”


    "Magic?" Dex scoffed, finally stopping his impromptu workout. "Man, fuck outta here with that Harry Potter, flying broom, bullshit."


    "We died and woke up in an jungle with stats in our heads," Marcus pointed out. “Magic ain’t the wildest leap, fam.” Kyle nodded, grateful the heat was off his lies. Keep ‘em talking, he thought. Don’t let ‘em dig.


    “Quests,” he said, pivoting fast, voice steady despite the storm in his chest. “Y’all seeing those?” The list flared in his mind:


    [Discovery: Find the producer of the map and return it]


    [SoulBond Agreement: Protect Marcus and Dex until all have reached tier 1]


    [Advancement: Develop your core]


    [Survival: Find a water source]


    “This place wants us to run errands but ain’t dropping no hints,” Marcus said, kicking at a fern, his tone bitter like the day he’d learned the cops stopped investigating his brother’s death.


    “Like the streets,” Kyle replied, a grim laugh escaping. “No manual, just figure it out or get got.”.


    Dex laughed, a harsh sound in the clearing. "At least this shithole''s honest about it. No one pretending to care while setting us up to fail."


    “Water first,” Kyle said, tracking the sun sinking through the canopy’s gaps, its light bruising the leaves purple. “Then we—”


    “What about JT?” Marcus cut in, voice soft but heavy, like a brick dropped in a puddle. The name hit Kyle like a fist to the sternum, memory flashing—JT’s laugh, his blood, the way he’d always had their backs.


    Dex snorted. "JT''s gone. This place is telling us to protect each other now, not cry over what’s done.”


    “That was different,” Kyle growled, jaw tight, the anger simmering like a pot about to boil over. “I felt something holding me back. Like a fuckin’ mountain on my shoulders.” Dex’s words echoed in his skull—“Keep going, don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!”—and the rage flared, hot and jagged, a blade twisting in his chest. He stepped up, close enough to smell Dex’s sweat. “You didn’t even try. We all felt that shit, but you just bolted.”


    “Yeah, ‘cause going back was dumb as fuck,” Dex snarled, stepping in, their chests nearly bumping. “You saw that thing. You felt it.”


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    “You got no loyalty, huh?” Kyle pushed, voice rising, fists itching like they had the night he’d decked a snitch for JT. “All the times JT saved your ass—bailed you out when you were broke as fuck.”


    “You wanna honor him by dying too?” Dex’s face darkened, eyes blazing like they had when he’d squared up against bigger dudes. “Be my fucking guest, not me tho, fam.”


    “You can’t be serious,” Kyle roared, blood pounding in his ears. “He’d have gone back for us!”


    “You think I don’t know that?” Dex shouted, voice cracked like a gunshot.


    “And you don’t give a fuck!” Kyle charged, shoulder slamming into Dex’s gut, a wet whoosh of air bursting from Dex’s lungs as they hit the dirt. They rolled, crashing through ferns, purple leaves shredding under their weight. Kyle’s fist found Dex’s jaw—crack—pain lancing through his knuckles, sharp and sweet, blood splattering like paint flicked on a wall. Dex bucked, twisted, his elbow smashing Kyle’s temple—stars exploded, bright and bitter, a kaleidoscope of hurt..


    “I heard him die too!” Dex yelled, knee pinning Kyle’s chest, fist slamming down like a sledgehammer. Kyle’s lip split, copper flooding his mouth, warm and thick, stinging where sweat seeped in. Marcus lunged—“Yo, chill!”—but they rolled past, fists flying, grunts and curses mixing with the jungle’s hum. Kyle hooked his leg around Dex’s neck, flipped him—thud—and they tumbled again, crushing plants, dirt smearing into open cuts.


    “You think I wanted that?” Dex’s voice broke, raw and ragged, his hook glancing Kyle’s cheek, bone jarring bone. “You think I like this?” Kyle’s palm shot up—crunch—Dex’s nose gave, blood spraying hot across their faces, a gory mist that burned Kyle’s eyes.


    “Then stop acting like he don’t matter!” Kyle bellowed, flipping Dex onto his back, fists hammering down—one, two, three—each hit a wet smack, Dex’s right eye swelling shut, purple bloomed fast. Marcus circled, shouting, “Cut it out!”—but they didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Dex’s head snapped forward—crack—forehead smashing Kyle’s nose, blood gushing, a red river down his chin. “If I stop, I break!” Dex spat, crimson dripping from his lips.


    Marcus grabbed their collars—rip—and yanked them apart, fabric tearing, bodies sprawling. “Enough!” he roared, voice cutting through the haze. Kyle’s chest heaved, blood dripping from his nose, splattering dead leaves. Dex wheezed, one eye gone behind a swollen bruise, a tooth tumbled from his mouth, white against the dark soil, probing the gap with his tongue like it was a trophy.


    " All this shit going on around us and you fucking idiots are fighting”


    A howl sliced through the jungle—far off, guttural, like a promise. Kyle’s spine locked, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out. “You got more fight in you than I remember, Alv,” Dex rasped, respect grudged beneath the pain, defused the air just enough. Kyle nodded, wiped blood from split knuckles, the sting a reminder he was still alive.


    A notification flickered in his mind


    [Hand to Hand Combat has increased to Novice 9]


    New information flooded his consciousness, techniques he never knew. Basic but useful.


    He noticed Dex''s expression shift, suggesting he''d received the same message. Then, small white motes materialized in front of them, hovering briefly before drifting toward their chest. Kyle watched as the motes dissolved into their bodies, leaving behind healed skin where cuts had been seconds before.


    "Damn," Marcus whispered, watching the process. "You fuck each other up and get rewarded for it?"


    Dex rotated his jaw, which had realigned itself, then grinned at Kyle. "Want to go another round?"


    Kyle almost laughed despite himself.


    “That thing that got JT,” he said, wiping gore from his face, the memory searing—scarred flesh, milky left eye, teeth like a butcher’s rack. “You see its face?”


    “Hard to miss,” Marcus replied, voice tight, eyes haunted like he was seeing it again. “All fucked up.”


    “Left Eye,” Dex said, naming it, the words a vow.


    “I’m gonna kill that fuckin’ thing,” Kyle roared, a spark flaring at his fingertips, raw and unformed. A new quest slid into his awareness.


    [New Revenge Quest: Kill Left Eye].


    “Did you guys…” he trailed off, voice trembling.


    “It heard you,” Dex said slow, head tilting, spear gripped tighter. “You spoke, and it made a quest.”


    “This place,” Marcus whispered, stepping back, “it’s listening.”


    Kyle’s mind raced, tapping his spear against the dirt, a divot forming as he processed. What else can it hear? he wondered, the thought cold and sharp, cutting through the jungle’s sticky heat.


    Silence settled between them. Only the distant clicks and rustles of jungle life filled the space. Kyle studied the ground, Marcus scanned the canopy, and Dex absently picked up his spear and started spinning between his fingers. Each lost in separate thoughts about what this might mean.


    Kyle''s head snapped up. He rotated. "Do you guys feel that?" Kyle asked, extending his arm to point past the giant tree where the forest thickened, the vegetation shifting from purple to deeper blue hue.


    Dex straightened, following Kyle''s eyeline. His nostrils flared as he inhaled deeply, scanning the direction indicated, gripping his spear. "Nah," he snorted, shoulders dropping back to their usual slight hunch.


    “I don’t feel shit,” Marcus said, eyes locked on Kyle’s finger, not the direction he pointed, stance rigid.


    The canopy darkened—indigo, violet—shadows stretching long and hungry across the soil. Kyle squinted, details blurring, their talk drifting to old shit—girls, JT, Dex’s kids—and he swore he saw Dex’s eyes glint wet.


    “Spear Mastery,” Kyle said abrupt, grip tightening on his weapon, the knowledge itching in his brain. “Y’all see that?”


    "Yeah, I peeped that too," Marcus replied, eyeing his spear like it was a math problem, stance shifting. “Enough to not stab ourselves when shit pops off.”


    Dex snorted. "Y''all making a big deal outta nothing. So we got some basic spear skills. Big fuckin'' whoop." He gave a thrust that was still clumsy despite his attitude. "Bet I master this shit faster than both of you pussies."


    Kyle took a slow breath, centering himself. "Nah, it''s deeper than that. This knowledge... it ain''t ours. Someone—something—just dropped it in our heads like it was nothing."


    “Facts,” Marcus agreed, eyes narrow. “Cheat codes, but trash ones—we still basic as hell.”


    "Can y''all feel it though? Like it''s sitting in some corner of your mind?" Kyle tapped his temple. "I can almost reach for it, you know? See exactly how little I actually know."


    “Whatever,” Dex shrugged, but his unease showed, shoulders twitching. “Stats, points, spears—like JT’s old games.”


    "Low-key freaky as fuck," Marcus muttered, scanning the jungle. "Something messing with our heads, planting shit that wasn''t there. Makes you wonder what else it could put in... or take out."


    "But real talk..." Kyle said quietly, "ain''t it also kinda wild? In a good way? Like, I ain''t ever held a spear before today, but now..." He attempted a basic movement, a hint of proper technique. "I got a little something."


    “Watch me hit expert first,” Dex bragged, grin forced, bravado loud.


    “I’m coming for that crown too,” Marcus twirled his spear, confidence growing. “This place wants warriors? I’ll show it Manhattan’s finest.”


    They fell silent, the weight of possibility settling over them alongside the alien jungle''s strange sounds.


    Kyle found himself staring upward through a break in the leaves, where unfamiliar stars began to appear in the night sky. The constellations bore no resemblance to Earth''s familiar patterns, but Kyle couldn''t tear his eyes away. Back home, he''d spend hours with a blunt in his hand, staring at the stars, wishing he was anywhere else.


    This sky though—this was something else.  A fat moon loomed, three times Earth’s, with two tiny moons floating below it. Stars in colors he''d never seen before—red, green, blue—while what looked like planets dotted the darkness, too close, too vibrant to be real, foreign yet oddly welcoming.


    "Marcus stepped back from the massive tree trunk, running his hand over the rough bark and eyeing the broad overhead canopy. ''This spot. High ground, thick cover above.'' He kicked at the dry soil beneath. ''We crash here tonight.''"


    Kyle''s fingers traced the unfamiliar contours of the spear—their first real weapon in this world. The rough texture of its wrapped handle had already worn a callus on his palm, marking him as changed. He leaned it carefully against the massive tree they''d chosen for shelter, a silent guardian for the night ahead.


    As they gathered materials for shelter, Kyle found himself working alongside Dex, their earlier fight still hanging between. They worked in silence for several minutes, until Dex spoke without looking up.


    "Back in ninth grade," Dex said quietly, "when those Brooklyn boys jumped me outside the corner store. JT was the first one in the mix. It was four against one until JT showed."


    Kyle nodded silently..


    "Never had to ask for help." Dex''s voice dropped lower. "That''s who he was."


    They worked in silence again.


    "I ain''t saying I don''t care," Dex finally said, meeting Kyle''s eyes. "I''m saying I can''t afford to break down over it. Not here. Not now."


    "I feel you," Kyle responded after a moment. He handed Dex the branch. "But we still gotta remember who we are. What made us boys."


    Dex took the branch, nodding in a subtle acknowledgment. "We survive first," he said. "We honor him by not dying."


    "And we get Left Eye," Kyle added.


    Something fierce flashed in Dex''s eyes. "Word."


    The night approached, and Kyle felt an odd pressure at the base of his skull—not painful, but persistent. Like a compass needle drawn to magnetic north, something in him kept turning toward the same direction.


    "You keep looking that way," Marcus observed as he placed a large leaf down. "What you seeing?"


    "Nothing,” Kyle admitted. "Just... a feeling."


    As they completed the simple shelter, a familiar sensation washed over them. A notification appeared in Kyle''s awareness:


    [New Skill acquired: Bushcraft (Novice 1)]


    With it came flashes of knowledge—understanding of basic knots, principles of weight distribution, methods for creating windbreaks. Information he''d never learned but now somehow knew.


    Small white motes appeared in the air above their makeshift camp, drifting lazily downward before dispersing into their chest. The familiar pain of icy hot sensation. The soreness in Kyle''s muscles faded as the motes dissolved.


    Marcus examining his hands as if seeing them for the first time. "We just got better at building shit."


    "This world giving us skills," Dex remarked, a hint of appreciation in his voice. "Do something, get better at it."


    Kyle nodded. "Could be useful. Learning while surviving."


    "Kyle looked as darkness fully claimed the jungle. "I''ll take first watch,"


    Dex and Marcus lay down, their breaths eventually evening out into sleep. Kyle sat with his back against the tree trunk, new spear across his lap, scanning the darkness surrounding them.


    Hours bled into one another as Kyle kept watch, his enhanced consciousness sorting through the jungle''s nocturnal language—the wet ripping sounds of predator teeth finding flesh, the panicked scuttling of smaller creatures, distant roars that seemed to liquefy his intestines.


    Then his body recognized danger. Every hair on Kyle''s body stood erect. Adrenaline flooded his system, turning his mouth desert-dry. Something was wrong. His fingers curled around the spear with such force that splinters drove beneath his fingernails, but he couldn''t feel the pain through the survival chemicals surging through his veins.


    The night sky ruptured.


    A comet tore through the blackness—a blue-white wound leaking colors that hurt Kyle''s eyes and brain simultaneously. It was violently present, screaming through the atmosphere with unnatural purpose. Its light flayed the jungle, stripping away shadow and exposing everything in stark, clinical detail—the veins in leaves, the carapaces of insects, the moisture beading on fungi.


    The comet descended, angling toward the horizon. It struck the ground with a sound Kyle felt in his bones, in his marrow, made his eyes weep.


    The ground convulsed, spasming like electrocuted muscle. Roots tore free. Rocks cracked. The massive tree sheltering them groaned—a deep, wooden agony. A visible shockwave expanded from the impact zone, flattening vegetation with an audible whip-crack—Pa-shish—as it passed.


    When it reached Kyle, the wave hit like a physical blow. Air evacuated his lungs. His eardrums flexed inward. Something warm trickled from his nose—blood, metallic and salty on his lips.


    Where it crashed, impossibly artificial among organic chaos, stood a tower. It rejected the jungle''s attempts to reclaim it—no vines, no weathering, no compromise. At its summit flicked a light that throbbed almost in rhythm with Kyle''s racing heart.


    As darkness reclaimed the world, the afterimage of the tower burned like acid on Kyle''s retinas. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping to banish the impossible vision. When he reopened them, reality refused to normalize—the distant light still danced, weaker but persistent, a count down to something Kyle couldn''t comprehend but instinctively feared. What Now?


    [New Discovery Quest: The Tower]