BLAHH! BLAHH!


    The alarm screamed through the room like a dying siren.


    Jarek groaned, slamming his hand onto the snooze button with more force than necessary. Silence. Blessed, temporary silence. He exhaled, blinking up at the ceiling, his mind already reminding him why today was going to suck.


    The presentation. The boardroom. The directors who barely remembered his name. And worst of all—the fact that he didn’t fully understand the project he was about to pitch.


    Jarek swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching out the stiffness. Every movement was slow, reluctant. He needed a shower. Maybe a strong cup of coffee. Or maybe he just needed to fake an illness and skip the whole damn thing.


    But no. That wasn’t an option.


    Today was the day he’d been dreading for weeks.


    No more pushing it off. No more hoping someone else would screw up and take the heat.


    Jarek dragged himself together—shirt, tie, suit that didn’t quite fit right—and stood in front of the mirror.


    What stared back was painfully unremarkable. Brown eyes. Brown hair. Five-foot-nine on a good day. The kind of face people forgot five minutes after meeting him.


    His best quality? Supposedly his intelligence. Or at least that’s what he liked to believe.


    It hadn’t gotten him promoted. Hadn’t earned him respect. And it definitely wasn’t going to save him in front of a boardroom full of directors expecting a pitch he barely understood.


    He stepped out of his room into the cramped living room of the apartment he shared with two other people. The place was already quiet, save for the faint drip of the kitchen sink. His roommates were gone—probably out living their lives.


    A pot of coffee sat warm on the counter, half-drained. He didn’t ask questions. He poured what was left into a chipped travel mug, grabbed his keys, and stepped out the door.


    Time to go fail upward.


    He glanced at his watch and froze.


    Shit.


    How am I already late? I didn’t even snooze my alarm.


    He bolted down the stairs, practically throwing himself into his car. The engine growled to life, and he tore out of the parking garage with more urgency than control.


    Merging onto the highway, he weaved through early morning traffic, speeding only slightly—until a horn screamed behind him.


    Jarek glanced up just in time to see headlights bearing down.


    “Shit—!”


    He yanked the wheel. The car skidded, tires screeching. For a split second, everything slowed—the sound, the air, his heartbeat—until he was back in his lane, alive, heart pounding.


    “I’m such an idiot,” he muttered, trying to wave an apology. The car was already gone.


    By the time he pulled into the office parking lot, he wasn’t sure if he was more shaken... or just annoyed.


    He jumped out of the car and bolted toward the building.


    The elevator was too slow. He took the stairs two at a time, lungs burning, shoes slapping concrete with each frantic step. Halfway up, a sharp pain flared in his left arm.


    He winced.


    Not now.


    He shook it off and kept going. He couldn''t afford to be late. Not today.


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    When he finally burst into the conference room, every head had already turned.


    Too late.


    Shit.


    The heavy glass door clicked shut behind him, sealing the room in fluorescent sterility. Bright overhead lights buzzed faintly above the oval table, washing everything in that pale, dead office glow.


    Dozens of faces stared back—expressionless, corporate, indifferent. A few tilted their heads slightly, as if they’d already written him off.


    Jarek felt every pair of eyes like heat against his skin.


    He forced a tight smile, willing his legs to carry him forward. His breath still came in ragged huffs from the stairs.


    Richard—his boss—sat near the head of the table, designer suit pressed, tie perfect, hands folded neatly. His eyes met Jarek’s, and the glare he gave could’ve sliced bone.


    Jarek didn’t need words. He knew what that look meant.


    You’re making me look bad.


    His ears burned. His shirt clung to his back.


    He slid into his chair, pretending not to see the way Richard shifted away slightly, like even his presence was an inconvenience.


    The screen at the front lit up, bathing the room in cold blue light.


    The first slide flickered into place.


    Jarek stood. His legs felt like wet paper.


    He hated this part. Always had. Public speaking was its own kind of violence—slow, precise, humiliating.


    But today? Today was worse.


    Because he wasn’t just nervous.


    He was screwing it up—and he knew it.


    His voice caught as he started to speak. The words were there, somewhere, but they came out dry, uncertain. The slide behind him blurred as his vision tilted, just slightly.


    No one said a word.


    But he could feel it.


    The silence wasn’t just awkward—it was sharp. Heavy. Like a blade held just above his neck.


    Then the pain in his shoulder flared—violent, searing.


    Jarek’s hand shot to his chest, clutching at it instinctively. His legs buckled slightly, knees brushing the edge of the conference table.


    Richard stood up, irritation etched across his face.


    “You alright?” he asked, but his tone wasn’t concern—it was controlled annoyance. Embarrassment.


    The others didn’t move. They just stared. Silent. Detached. Watching like he was another glitch in the system.


    Jarek couldn’t breathe. His vision blurred. His heart pounded once—twice—then spasmed.


    But beneath the terror, something strange crept in.


    Relief.


    Maybe I won’t have to give the presentation after all.


    His knees hit the carpet. His vision swam with light. His body locked up, every muscle tensing like cables about to snap.


    And then—


    A screen.


    Faint. Floating. Glowing blue against the darkness closing in.


    [BECOME A PLAYER?]


    [Y / N]


    What the hell...?


    A player?


    That sounded… better than an office job.


    Yeah.


    That sounds nice.


    The Y began to glow, pulsing brighter.


    And then the pain came back. All at once.


    A stabbing heat exploded through his chest like someone had lit a fuse inside his heart.


    Richard lunged forward, face shifting from fury to panic.


    But Jarek didn’t hear the words. Didn’t feel the floor as it rushed to meet him.


    He was already fading—


    Am I dying? And why am I seeing a screen… that’s not normal.


    That was his last thought.


    Then—nothing.


    A single moment stretched forever. Cold and black.


    "ARGHHHH—!"


    The scream ripped from his throat before he even knew why.


    Jarek sat bolt upright, gasping like he’d been dragged out of water.


    Grass.


    His hands dug into soft earth, fingers clutching green blades slick with morning dew. His chest heaved. The air smelled wrong—fresher, sharper, like someone had turned up the contrast on reality.


    Mountains loomed in the distance, jagged and enormous, cutting into a pale sky like dark teeth.


    The ground rolled in gentle hills, almost peaceful… except for the bonfire burning beside him.


    Tall. Unnatural.


    It wasn’t a camping fire. It was a structure—logs stacked high, blackened at the tips, glowing red-orange from within like they were burning from the inside out. The flame didn’t smoke. It shimmered. Like heat rising off a road in summer.


    Jarek stared.


    "What the hell..."


    His heartbeat thundered in his ears.


    Where’s Richard? Where’s the boardroom?


    He looked around—no buildings, no roads, no signs of life.


    Just green fields, massive mountains in the distance, and the crackling of a fire that felt like it had been waiting for him.


    Why did they take me to a field? Did they leave me here to die? Did I have a heart attack? What just happened?


    His mind raced, trying to fill in blanks that didn’t make sense.


    One minute he was in a conference room under fluorescent lights, sweating through his shirt while Richard shot daggers at him.


    The next… a screen.


    BECOME A PLAYER – Y / N


    He’d thought it was just a hallucination—some weird, stress-induced death dream.


    But this?


    This felt real.


    The grass. The fire. The chill in the air. The strange weight in his chest, like a glowing ember had been buried just beneath the skin.


    All of it pulsed with too much detail to be a dream. Too much clarity.


    He touched his chest, expecting wires. A hospital gown. Maybe a sharp sting from a defibrillator.


    Nothing.


    Just heat. Not painful—alive. Like something inside him had caught fire and wasn’t finished burning.


    He looked around again. The endless green hills. The jagged black mountains slicing through the sky. The bonfire beside him, burning high with no smoke, no scent of wood.


    No people. No buildings. No sky scrapers.


    Was he even on Earth anymore?


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