ã€ŠOnly Humanã€‹


 0 - Laden Visitor

    It was with purpose that I strode towards the momentous gates making up the entrance to the baron¡¯s estate. Towering, red goliaths they were, made of thin steel rods. It would be only detrimental for my cause to not make an appearance as their superior. For me to come without an entourage was generally unexpected, but the lesser was supposed to provide goods, shelter, food, and men to their better, were they not?

    Although there was a winding, carved out pathway leading to the top of the sheer cliffside, I had chosen to scale the earthen soil, making my way up the long way. Atop this man made mountain rested a humble palace, crafted of stone and bedrock, coated with a thick bronze layer.

    I patiently waited outside the entrance for a servant to come and escort me inwards, which one soon did, opening a heavy lock with an equally heavy and unwieldy key to allow me entrance. The servant¡¯s attire was nothing notable, just the usual drab cloaked over a malnourished man or woman who were unfortunate enough to be born into it. There was no use in trying to free such a person, not only because they would have no idea how to use their newfound freedom, but also for the reason of them serving my same cause. The man who walked ahead of me on the dull cobblestone pathway in this late hour was my servant as much as he was the baron¡¯s.

    I sidled into a dimly lit entryway, long but straight, continuing to follow the man wordlessly down the corridor. The air was the opposite of fresh, and it reminded me of a different time, long ago. Eventually, we made it to a slim doorway, made of nothing other than a slab of wood. Through the other side, I heard loud chatter and banter, as well as some vibrant music and the clanking of drinks on a table. No handle was attached to the makeshift door, so I thought to push it inward. I must have applied too much force as the door creaked its way to be fully open, exposing me to the crowd in wait. Quiet fell quickly enough to leave me nervous despite my high status. I shivered a little, but drew myself up to my full height and perfect posture as I knew I must. The hush was forced, as those gathered around long wooden tables piled high with assorted meats and surrounded by half full flagons of mead observed me intently. I was hardly worried about their gazes tearing to my soul, but more worried at why I hadn¡¯t received an enthusiastic greeting but instead¡­this. At least I could be relieved that none had stopped sipping slowly at their drinks, befuddling them enough so as to not be able to cause me harm.

    ¡°Identify yourself!¡± commanded the baron, who sat on a lofted, silver throne. ¡°What is the reason for this banquet crashing? Who do you think you are?¡± He rested his chin on his fist, mirroring his vassal who sat on a second, slightly smaller thone, on the baron¡¯s left. Two plated arms, belonging to two of the baron¡¯s soldiers, wrapped around each of my arms to hold me in place. I pushed them aside without much effort, causing both to stumble and topple over in their far too excessive armor. Wordlessly, I removed the obscuration charm I had donned to avoid detection by the baron¡¯s patrols. I preferred my visits to be a surprise in all cases.

    The second I did so, the noise levels went through the roof, and many stood to greet me, clanking down their flagons before being shut down by the baron and told to allow him; as such, they sat. Rising to his feet and carefully stepping down a short stairway that led to the main level of his manor¡¯s current banquet, a level he seemed to think was beneath him, he approached me. I waited for his advance, which was unbearably slow, and shook his hand gingerly.

    ¡°Earl Alaric, I am pleased to have you in my humble residence this evening. May I ask what you may have come for, or if you simply are travelling through? I can provide you with a caravan if so¨CUnless you already do?¡± The baron greeted, clearly shaken at my appearance here. He must have assumed I would be hiding in the heart of my land to avoid areas closer to the fighting.

    ¡°I came to make sure you would receive this.¡± I answered, extending a tightly sealed white envelope. The baron seemed only mildly surprised that I would just hand over such a valuable item, with the surge in paper pricing in recent years, but snatched it from my hands, tore it open, and began to read over it. I watched him do so, and I suppose that was my greatest mistake. I felt cold steel press into my wrists, similar to the feel of the bars outside. I thought nothing of it, perhaps I had just grown too careless, thinking I could get out of any situation I put myself in.

    My hands were shackled behind me; a knight had managed to creep up without drawing my notice¡ªor so they thought. The truth was, I didn¡¯t care enough to stop them. Their nonexistent threat wasn¡¯t worth the effort, but perhaps that was just my hubris. When I didn¡¯t resist, they moved on to binding my legs with rope, tightening each knot methodically. Impressively, even clad in full plate mail, they weren¡¯t especially loud.

    Meanwhile, the baron had nonchalantly returned to his throne, his expression indifferent, as though the scene unfolding before him wasn¡¯t worth his attention. ¡°Eat up, men. Days like this don¡¯t come often,¡± he bellowed. His vassal was far more engaged in the eye contact department. A smug, shit-eating grin spread across his face as he locked eyes with me, his delight unmistakable.

    "Unhand me," I said, my voice calm and measured. "You have no need to help them. Wouldn¡¯t you do better working for me?" My words hung in the air, but the knight gave no reply. Instead, he backed away, his gauntleted hands releasing the rope after securing the final knot. Silence was the only answer I received. ¡°The salaries I offer for a single man would beat out his pay by manyfold¡­¡±

    ¡°Now, Alaric-¡± the vassal started, clearly miffed at my disobedience of his attempted capture. He was interrupted by me as I reprimanded, ¡°Address me by my title.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°No, I will not address you by your title, Alaric!¡± The vassal shouted merrily. The gathered guests still just stared. ¡°Or should I say, ¡®your highness?¡¯ I don¡¯t think that will be quite necessary¡­Now then, you seem to be in a bit of a troublesome situation¡­How about¡­I don¡¯t know, lowering some of those tariffs and taxes your manor has set? Your domain hasn¡¯t been doing so well as of late, and you weren¡¯t exactly stepping in to stop the money collection, now were you?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe I will do that.¡± I countered, standing still with my bondings still restraining me.

    ¡°And what makes you believe you have the leverage here?¡± The vassal asked.

    ¡°What makes you believe I can¡¯t escape at any moment?¡±

    ¡°The exits are blocked. You have no way out.¡±

    ¡°Well, I have no reason to lower your taxes. You know that they¡¯re all going to the war effort.¡±

    ¡°Why should we have to spend our hard earned money on your stupid war? You know nothing will come out of it but death.¡± The vassal chuckled at his own statement. Nobody else reacted to our conversation, including the baron who continued to sit there neutrally. The silence was unnatural and our voices just echoed in the large stone hall. ¡°In fact,¡± the vassal started, ¡°can you even prove that the money is going to what you say it¡¯s going to? Nobody has any idea of how you got here and you took your title by force¡­In addition to the taxes, while we have you here, why don¡¯t you tell us of your origin?¡±

    ¡°That isn¡¯t a problem at all¡­I have some journals with me which can help tell the tale. I like to have a diary where I note my experiences,¡± I answered, ¡°but were I to comply, I would need to access them, and I can¡¯t do that in this state.¡±

    ¡°Do you expect me to untie you? That would be foolish. You would take my head on a pike the second you were released. No, tell me now.¡± The vassal further commanded.

    ¡°I would beg to differ, but I will comply with your requests to know my story.¡± I stated, before a blade was levied at my heart. ¡°Calm yourself! I said I would comply!¡± The knight did not strike but did not move their sword. What he did next was rather unexpected, as he swung the sword down to break the restraints around my hands. Truly a brave action on his part, betraying his lord in such a way. They did not free me entirely, but adequately for me to find my own written accounts. I only hoped my guests would all shrink in their seats at me being partially freed and capable of striking back, especially that useless vassal. I reached deep into my cloak and pulled out two journals that seemed in disrepair, with pages hanging out and the covers torn off.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry-¡± the vassal pleaded.

    ¡°You have no need to be. I would have done the same in your place.¡±

    ¡°But-¡±

    ¡°Quiet now. Just enjoy the tale you wished for so badly, and allow it to serve as adequate entertainment for your guests as you scan over the letter I so kindly have given you.¡±

    <hr>

    It all started, the important bits I mean, the night of Autumn¡¯s equinox, a day seeming as normal as any other. I suppose the only shift in any sense was my beginning to journal in here; could that count as a sign?

    1/13

    Dear Diary,

    My therapist told me to write in here, so here goes. First entry.

    Once upon a time, there lay a great kingdom stretching to the farthest reaches of the world, as mighty as it could possibly be.

    While not the wealthiest compared to the grand empires of old, its people made do with what they had, forging a legacy unmatched in its ingenuity and resilience. They built something extraordinary, something the world had never seen.

    Though threatened by opposing forces, nothing could have challenged the wellbeing of the monarchs more than the dragon who nested just outside of its walls, demanding tribute of food and currency in exchange for its nonaction.

    Myself, the dragon would know nothing of the prisoner kept behind lock and key, buried deep under the castle¡¯s outer reaches, yet still I toil.

    My fingertips grip the corroded iron bars, trembling as I pull with every ounce of strength I can summon. The bars, weathered yet unyielding, dig into my palms, refusing to give under my grasp. My teeth clench, sweat stinging my eyes as it trickles down, and my shoulders ache with the effort, but the iron remains as immovable as stone and I keep myself captive in a prison of my own design. The cruel irony of it all only haunts; The bars are wide enough to fit through with ease, yet here I toil. The front door is right there. I can just go and open it. Return to the outside world. Just¡­leave.

    I live not in that kingdom. I live here. Somewhere.

    My name is Alaric. Alaric means an inaccuracy and imperfection adorning any image I might create of myself. In English, the name means ¡°Ruler of All,¡± something I have no plans on being nor getting close to. For me¨CGet this, me, to be a leader? An ambitious figure when I hardly have ambitions of my own and haven¡¯t led a single thing in my life? My name is an eternal, depressing calm before the storm. Just another high set expectation for extreme success. It means stupid nicknames, torment aplenty, biting aggressively at my fragile ego.

    The name¡¯s Alaric Ashford. It means carrying on the legacy of my great-grandfather on my father¡¯s side. That same great-grandfather who had changed the family name to better fit his own entitled self, showing off the wealth he had amassed, which had disappeared before ever coming close to touching my hands. Ashford. Real sophisticated in his eyes, I¡¯m sure. It meant weird looks when I told my name to any who cared to listen. To me, it meant nothing but uncertainty. I have no middle name. My parents never cared to think of one. I never cared much about my name past my younger years. I¡¯ve always had other things to worry about, other things to fix, other things to do, to change. That shouldn¡¯t fully minimize the issue into a void of nothingness. True, it doesn¡¯t really matter, and Alaric isn¡¯t a bad name by any means¡­Still, wouldn¡¯t something¡­simpler, much more standardized, be better? I don¡¯t want to be a diamond in the rough. I don¡¯t want to be glinting against an oppressive darkness of normalcy, I want to be normal, no more, no less, just that. If only.

    You know, I¡¯m a random guy, really, not important, in my opinion. Shouldn¡¯t that make me normal? Being just a childish, dumb guy¡­A guy who can¡¯t say anything without being laughed at¡­A guy who sounds like he¡¯s never spoken out loud before? Even a guy who refused to get an actual profession or do much of anything out of his own sense of greed for relaxation? A guy who squandered a scholarship to a decent college just to grieve, maybe? How about a guy who also just lied about that since he wanted to seem better than he actually was? Even when I tell this to no one. Isn¡¯t that an interesting thought?¡±

 1 - Dreamer

    I paused. ¡°My dream, stretching across the boundary between a restless Monday night and what I assumed was the early, blurred hours of Tuesday, lingered with an eerie clarity that made it¡­stick, a kind of vividness that was rare enough to feel unsettling. I can only reflect on it due to my prior account¡­

    Dream Journal - 1/14

    I was striding forward, cloaked in silence, each step slow and deliberate, as I clutched the frayed remains of a crimson banner. The fabric was worn, polyester threads rough and ragged between my fingers, catching against my skin like sandpaper but weightless, almost insubstantial, like it was barely there. Every detail of this banner¡ªits tattered, once-bright edges, the dull red color faded with time and weather¡ªpressed itself into my mind with a sharpness that was frightening.

    Around me, the landscape unfolded in fragments, half-built images pieced together with memory and imagination. The air was sharp and icy, biting into my skin, but it felt distant, like I was wrapped in a thick haze. I moved in some vague direction, driven by a strange instinct. I felt no pain, no discomfort. My body was heavy with the awareness that it was all just neurons firing in my brain, synapses pulling in threads of fleeting memories, stitching them together to create coherence within my personal realm of thoughts. The realization of lucidity crept in, filling me with an odd detachment; even though I knew I was in control of my mind, my movements seemed governed by something else.

    Looking down, I examined my body with a sense of distant familiarity and alienation, as though I was observing a version of myself that had somehow splintered off, half-forgotten. My hair, jet-black and unkempt from years of apparent neglect, cascaded down past my waist, wild and tangled, caught up in the vicious, howling wind. It thrashed around me, long, dark strands whipping against my face and neck. The equally black trench coat I wore clung to my frame, heavy and oppressive, almost suffocatingly tight, as if bound to me by invisible chains.

    My vision shifted, focusing with unnatural intensity on a small, dark rock nestled on the crumbling concrete beneath my feet. Acting on a vague impulse, I lifted my leg and drove my boot forward. A gleaming steel tip connected with the gravel, sending it skittering forward in a sharp arc. It collided with a large piece of debris, with a resounding crack that echoed into the surrounding quiet. A thick cloud of dust spiraled up from the impact, thin, web-like cracks spidering out across the massive boulder¡¯s surface. The dust clung to the cold air, spreading and hanging there, partly obscuring the ground and creating an even eerier haze around me. This minor act, inconsequential though it seemed, felt intentional, almost strategic¡ªa means to both announce my presence and shroud my movements.

    The dream wavered, the image thinning around the edges, like smoke curling away from an air current. For a moment, I thought I might wake, only to find the colors and clarity sharpen once more, locking me firmly in this strange, shifting reality. I was trapped, yet free to observe, caught somewhere between detachment and immersion. It was as if the dream had a mind of its own, guiding me, yet holding me back from understanding.

    ¡°I know you¡¯re there. You never could hide well,¡± I called out, my voice slipping through the dense silence, laced with a quiet confidence that felt unfamiliar and strange in my mouth. The rubble stretched out ahead, a sea of cracked stone and scattered debris, twisted metal rods jutting from the earth like the fingers of some ancient, forgotten beast. A notification flickered into view, a small, digital-looking box in the corner of my vision, reminiscent of a game interface. It held a strange familiarity, a fragment of a memory or impression, tethered to my recent gaming hours. In some ways I found it comforting, this merging of lucid thought and such specific memories within a dreamscape. It meant that this wasn¡¯t some paranormal experience, just¡­a weird dream? Could it be just that?

    ¡°It was for the greater good! Please believe me!¡± He pleaded, the words barely escaping him in a hoarse shout.

    ¡°Taking the words right out of my mouth¡­rather impressive for all you¡¯ve accomplished.¡±

    ¡°Where¡¯s Elodea? Tell me!¡± He demanded, voice trembling as much as he was.

    ¡°You know that¡¯s irrelevant.¡± I countered.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do this, man! We¡¯re best buddies, please!¡± A shriek echoed out, grating and desperate, distinctive with fear. The voice drifted through the dust cloud ahead, and I saw a figure pressed tightly against the rubble, nearly sinking into it to meld with the shadows.

    Friend? The notion was almost laughable. This was no friend of mine. I had no friends, and that wasn¡¯t by choice. You could know that with a single glance at me. Dream me, it seemed, harbored more allies¨Cor not.

    ¡°We were,¡± was my simple retaliation, not cold, but certainly not calm either. The man¡¯s tone reeked of deception, a hollow note that rang untrue. I sensed it instinctively, as if an invisible line connected his intention to my mind. The understanding was automatic, built into the dream¡¯s fabric¡ªhe was strong enough not to plead for his life, and yet here he was, attempting to manipulate with every word.

    He wore a charcoal gray colored winter coat of oversized dimensions, stuffed to the brim with some kind of white plush that leaked out of the weak fabric at any hole or incorrect seam. The coat seemed to absorb every sliver of light, merging him seamlessly into the shadows that clung to the decayed remains of stone and steel around him. Still, by dream logic, my vision wound around to see him with ease. His jeans, dark, torn, and dirtied, hugged his legs like armor. Their texture looked rough, almost animalistic, as though crafted from worn leather or scavenged hides. In each hand, he brandished a pair of silver-like daggers; the blades glinted dangerously under the pale moonlight. His face was twisted in a grimace, teeth clenched, though his voice dripped with exaggerated desperation, a shrill tone that grated against the cold air. His hair was matted and bloodstained, wild red strands tangled across his forehead, clinging to the sweat and grime smeared across his skin, yet his eyes burned with a twisted resolve beneath the mess.

    Unbeknownst to me, a secondary foe had crept up behind me, leaping out with a fierce intensity and latching its maw onto my arm. I bit into my tongue deeply; the appendage tore disturbingly, spurting out some adhesive liquid in all directions. It stuck like gum to the deepest reaches of my oral cavity and painted an overlay to my insides where it continued to dribble down to. I choked, coughing wildly, my feeble frame endeavoring to not suffocate on the fluid. Meanwhile, I swung my arm around with abandon, attempting to dislodge a monstrously large dog which had grabbed on with its pointed teeth, the sharp incisors digging in as best they could; I could only be thankful that I couldn¡¯t feel the painful sensation it may have created were it to be actually happening. The dog had a sleek, black coat of fur that seemed just as dark as the man¡¯s jacket. My dream self let out a strangled cry as my ¡®friend¡¯ peered past his barricade and extended his arm out, shutting his eyes tightly. The creature matched my cry with a snarl while bright sparks flew out of the man¡¯s hand, which still was angled at me; his forehead creases gave away his deep concentration. With a sudden spurt and crackle, a swirling orb of mixed blue and red flames puffed out of the man¡¯s palm. The red hot particles coming off the flame sizzled the gravel, the blaze continuing to circulate. It glowed, mesmerizing in my eyes. I amazedly watched as it grew to encompass the size of his head, flames darting out randomly to grow the larger mass. It scorched the air around him and created mirrored ripples, although no smoke seemed to leak from the fireball. The entire process was far too quiet for my liking, and the dog peskily stayed attached, trying its best to be another appendage. Everything was getting a bit too difficult to follow now, just a tad too convoluted for me to comprehend; it looked like I had managed to somehow get the bleeding inside my mouth under control and swallowed the remainder, with whatever means I must have employed. Dream me yanked the beast roughly in front of me and hid behind it, my opposition emitting a discordant, ¡°NO!¡±

    The fireball separated from his hand and flew awfully quickly towards me, continuing to shoot off sparks into the ruins. I just pressed myself closer to the dog, feeling its body and thick pelt cushion the blast. The creature didn¡¯t even attempt to stop me, as if only trained to bite on. I kept my gaze a hair¡¯s length above my shield, witnessing as the man gave up on hiding and ran wimpishly towards the fireball he had thrown. It was no use; With a blast on par with a bomb detonating, flames surged like a tsunami, heat radiating onto my skin, and I ducked further behind the monster. I ignored everything as the area was turned to dust around me, intensely focused on some other random stone. I only looked up when the creature finally relented and fell with a wind-creating thump and a cracking sound sourcing from either its bones or the floor beneath it¨CI did not find it particularly easy to tell. Charred completely and utterly to a crisp, the beast lay before them. The man had sat down atop a boulder dejectedly, not even paying me more mind. The rubble around me lay blackened and ashen in grayscale. I made no move towards him.¡±

    I shut the journal gently without a sound, padding my pockets for yet another, to the annoyance of my eager audience. I heard not a small quantity of audible exasperation.

    ¡°I apologize, but I must ask the importance of these random stories from your planet prior to your integration?¡± queried the vassal, rising to his feet.

    ¡°Do you think yourself worthy to mouth off to such a figure?! One who just spared your life? He could kill us at a whim¡­¡± reprimanded the lord, fearfully apologizing to me indirectly, not even sparing a glance at his underling. ¡°Let¡¯s, uh, hear him out, then send him off with gifts.¡± The vassal sat once more. He ought to be more frightened for his life, but I wasn¡¯t about to advance on him. Many who sat at the tables leaned in to listen eagerly. Feeling rushed, I yanked out another, this one painted a chipped silver. I began reading again without a hint of hesitation, speaking quickly.

    ¡°Dear Diary,

    I really don¡¯t have an idea what to put in here, so I may as well write my experiences, fill some time somehow, tell it like a story. I think that it¡¯ll be good practice for later¡­to write every single conflicting thought running through my head down on this paper, even if the papers that might make me some money couldn¡¯t be filled.

    The blaring cacophony of a silver digital alarm clock, which had been sounding off for hours and no longer served any factual purpose, ended abruptly. This sudden change was caused by a pale, bony hand¡ªunmarked by scars or calluses of any kind¡ªweakly sliding it aside, just hard enough to knock it off the nightstand. Still mostly asleep, I murmured lazily, ¡°An-and stay down¡­¡­kid.¡±

    What once displayed the time in oversized, grainy red letters flickered ¡°11:36¡± repeatedly until it finally gave out, surrendering to its inevitable fate as if reflecting my own. The resulting crash and shattering of glass was enough to snap me awake. For about a second. My eyelids, momentarily open, shut again, concealing eyes that shone a bright, verdant green.

    ¡°Problem-¡± I yawned.

    ¡°¡­for later me¡­¡± I finished, muttering barely loud enough for the walls to catch it. In fact, I almost wished they would answer back, maybe throw out some words of encouragement. So, of course, like any sane person, I heard their response, the blank, white wall in front of me deforming to create a smiley face in the center.

    ¡°Hey, kiddo! You¡¯re doing just fine!¡± It told me in a gravelly voice before returning to its standard state.

    ¡°No¡­no, I don¡¯t think I am,¡± I replied, with a flat face, eyes lowering to look at the ground. I slapped myself again to snap myself out of it¡­must have been a holdover.

    I eyed a transparent orange pill bottle sitting on a fragile nightstand to the right of my bed. I had manipulated my way into selling quite the number of half full bottles, seizing the top off anything that might at least alter the weight of what I carried. Hallucinogens to make it more interesting, sedatives to further dull out an already monotonous existence, sometimes both at once, to just destroy myself. Maybe I could do with a clean day, for once.

    I raised my hand for a limp, almost apologetic slap to my cheek. My hand made contact, and I half-expected some life force to spark me awake magically. Eyes still tightly shut, I pinched my wrist, harder than was probably necessary, but finally enough to pull me into consciousness.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    With a dramatic sigh, a catchphrase of mine, I threw my silky blue sheets aside. They tangled around my legs as if they, too, didn¡¯t want me to get up. A vibe. But I was committed¡ªor at least, I was stubborn. Sitting up a bit too fast, the stars of temporary blood loss decorated my vision. One brush of my head against the low ceiling reminded me just how cozy my kingdom truly was. I rubbed my eyes until they stung, probably grinding in days¡¯ worth of dust and regret; but by now, what did it matter? Blindness could only improve my view, stop me from having these pesky perceptions of life.

    Stretching my arms above my head like every other clich¨¦ in existence, I forced my joints to crack into action before letting my arms drop like deadweight at my sides. In a last-ditch effort to feel remotely inspired, I tried remembering a dream from last night¡ªanything, really, that could inspire some poetic beginning for my book. But my mind was as blank as the page staring back at me from my notebook. Not a single idea. Nothing. Blank. Nada. Synonyms. Instead, I wrote in here, telling you how I couldn¡¯t write what I actually needed to write.

    Being a ¡°writer¡± wasn¡¯t exactly a lifestyle¨Cit was a mediocre last choice, a final effort to contribute meaningfully to the world, a second option to escape from my previous line of work. It was also what my father had done on the side, some form of a legacy. Or rather, I attempted it simply to feel some purpose and possibly have food, whatever kind, on my table. I hadn¡¯t eaten much lately, making the effort mostly worthless, but...

    Sliding onto the creaky hardwood floor of my motel room, my bare feet were forced to adapt to the cool surface quickly. At one point, I had been amazed by how fancy it was, purely based on the flooring and how it technically had more than one floor-how foolish I was. I jumbled the words of ¡°Another day in paradise,¡± mixing the statement with ¡°American Dream, my ass,¡± so that it came out as ¡°Another ¡®merican day in my ass.¡± The walls could hear my complaints, and wouldn¡¯t laugh at me for that classic mishap. After all, they were my closest confidants. It¡¯d be nice to have an audience, even if it was only some inanimate objects that I made animate. Hadn¡¯t had anyone to talk to in¡­ what, a year? Well, aside from phone calls, but I didn¡¯t count that. Just me and the household objects gang, the truest crew around. I crouched slightly, bending my head low enough to be perceived as bowing, to avoid slamming my head into the ceiling.

    I glared angrily at the remains of what had once been a functioning alarm clock, willing it to disappear and stop wasting my time. Too bad. I wish the world worked like that. The piece of simple machinery was a noble soldier in the war against oversleeping that I¡¯d accidentally punted off my nightstand. Well, ¡®punted¡¯ was a strong word, but it couldn¡¯t hurt to try to feel stronger in my head. I glared at it, mentally willing it to vanish. ¡°I could probably fix it,¡± I thought. ¡°Or¡­ buy another.¡± A bitter laugh escaped me. Yeah, as if I had the funds for that, because I had inherited a seventy billion dollar hedge fund as an eight-year-old and had a personal butler to do my bidding. The motel would likely just add it to my tab at a markup.

    I caught my arm halfway before it had snatched the darkened orange pill bottle, eyes bulging and red. It was of no use to tell myself off¨Cpangs were only to be expected. Today was going to be a sober one. A clean day. The journey to anywhere else in this excuse for an abode was a difficult one. One had to traverse the great plains of fast food containers and old junk worth nothing, but once someone like me learned the layout of this mess, navigating it wasn¡¯t difficult at all. I would have to clean it out at some point, that point not being anywhere near now. Venturing down from the loft, down the thin stairs blandly carpeted in material that should have been used nowhere and never, I scratched my chin with one hand and prodded a pimple on my nose with the other. There weren¡¯t many pimples on my face, but this one was certainly noticeable among my otherwise sharp-enough features. It wasn¡¯t truly hidden by my matted brown hair, which hadn¡¯t been cut in about two years¡ªand was yet another reason not to go outside. Not that I needed excuses, though; I had no one to give them to.

    The rest of the day disappeared without entirely registering clearly in my memory, only fleeting moments of movement or generalizations sticking around. I made my way to the kitchen, or the ¡°setup,¡± as I called it, since it was more accurately a corner equipped with a mini-fridge, microwave, and countertop with dubious structural integrity. With zero enthusiasm, I poured myself some ancient pre-made coffee from the fridge into a crusty, green mug. I couldn¡¯t remember how long it had been there, since I hadn¡¯t been the one to buy it, but it did the job, meaning I was awake and mildly repulsed in equal measure. As I sat at my desk¡ªa rickety thing squashed in the corner¡ªI stared at my notebook, fingers tapping aimlessly. The page was as empty as my inspiration, whereas the pages in this useless diary kept getting flipped to add more to. I spun a pen between my fingers in an attempt to look like a real author to the nonexistent audience observing, though the act was less ¡°creative genius at work¡± and more ¡°guy who has no idea what he¡¯s doing but has some impressive fidgeting skills and also is definitely scared someone is behind him so they keep spinning around fearfully with paranoia, expecting there to be some mystical attacker.¡± That would be an accurate description too¡­I felt that there was something behind me constantly, just about to spring out and jab me through the throat. After about an hour of increasingly desperate and rushed, anxious doodles, I threw in the towel. The novel would write itself someday, right? I¡¯d simply sit down one day, and it¡¯d all pour out. That¡¯s how it worked for people like me, surely, and just as surely the pangs would stop, my hands would stop shaking, and¡­oh¡­speaking of, I really need to take some more-No¡­not today. I shouldn¡¯t mention every thought I have, but it only feels right to put down everything here.

    Surrendering to the inevitable, I ripped my outdated, dark and blocky replacement phone from the back pocket of my worn jeans, a pair I¡¯d thrown on a day ago and hadn¡¯t bothered changing since. The screen was smudged, cracked in the corner, and I caught an unfortunate glimpse of my reflection, making me feel the need to flip my hair before I forced my attention to the screen. Swiping past my dismal notifications, I braced myself as I checked my bank balance¡ªa habit that had taken on a kind of grim ritual, like how I¡¯d once idly checked my online gradebook, knowing the scores were nothing worth seeing as they tended to be consistent.¡±

    It only took but a momentary pause for the vassal to jut in, ¡°What exactly is a ¡®phone¡¯?¡± before he was shut down by the lord once more. The murmuring in the hall had intensified, so I continued, louder this time.

    ¡°Two digits. That was all I had left. Two measly digits, and not a cent more. Sure, they could last me the month if I stretched, but only if I pretended the mountain of debt lurking behind them didn¡¯t exist. It wasn¡¯t as if I owed more money than I could ever earn in my lifetime, or that what effectively was my rent was¡­due tomorrow. It was just another problem to ignore until it roared up in flames, and, even then, part of me would probably still think, Eh, it¡¯ll burn itself out.

    The one or two virtual freelance gigs I¡¯d taken over the past months were distant memories I¡¯d prefer to forget. Then there was the summer job after graduation¡ªa customer service gig that had left an unpleasant taste lingering even now. Still, maybe it was time to try again, for survival¡¯s sake if nothing else. I had likely worked at other companies but forgotten by now because of unimportance.

    As I glanced through my apps, the total lack of notifications confirmed what I already knew: no one was reaching out. But I needed a voice, a sign of life. Without thinking too hard, I shot a call to my best friend. He answered on the third ring.

    ¡°Hello? ¡­This is John, do you have the right number?¡± He asked, confused. I paused for a few seconds, uncertainty making me unwilling to respond. ¡°...Hey¡­uh, dude, remember me? It¡¯s Alaric! From 1st period calc? ¡­You know, we sat next to each other!¡± I responded, trying to sound enthusiastic, and I was, to some degree, enthusiastic at the idea of some form of connection, but I wasn¡¯t quite sure.

    ¡°I¡¯m so sorry, but I don¡¯t seem to remember you-Oh. Weren¡¯t you¡­yeah, the stoner kid?¡± He replied, sounding disgusted just saying it and annoyed at my call. I paused for a moment to allow my face to fall.

    ¡°It was¡­just a phase¡­dude¡­Come on, now!¡± I laughed a bit too loudly, leaving little to the imagination about my present state. ¡°Want to, uh, catch up sometime?¡±

    ¡°Wait¡­weren¡¯t you close with Christopher Fuentes? Yeah, yeah, I would like to have a¡­I guess you could say a chat. I¡¯ll be at the Diamond Cafe down by Greenswood. Are you available soon? I¡¯d like it if you could meet me there at noon tomorrow?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know who you mean.¡± I blustered, hanging up without bothering to give a simple answer. I exited the app, staring at my phone, the dull ache of rejection washing over me. The ache of not even allowing myself to gain new opportunities. Not the first time. Won¡¯t be the last, judging by how I tend to be; exactly why I can¡¯t have nice things. Everyone hates me, I hate me, and why shouldn¡¯t they all?

    ¡°Shit! What am I even doing?!¡± I asked myself rather loudly. The response I received was a sharp banging on the wall from the room next to mine.

    Well¡­No, I probably shouldn¡¯t¡­I see no reason to call anyone I don¡¯t know enough again. Never again, never again¡­go back to my comfort zone¡­back to this room, back to this mental state. I could continue to get my friendship from people who aren¡¯t there, as long as I lived by the fact that when I wanted them to go away, they would. That if I even came close to touching them, they would fade away. My feet moved without my volition to the front door, my hand trailing down the chipped, white paint, applied years before.

    I stopped myself just a second before I threw my phone at the ground with full force, trying to calm myself down¨Cwhat would papa say if I broke something so valuable? Especially back in the bad times¡­I could just call someone else¨Ccall someone else, and channel my anger into slamming my fist into the door. Who to call, who to call¡­Noticing their name on my contacts, being one of the considerable list of 3 numbers I¡¯d compiled besides spam or companies sending verification codes, I called my cousin Jeffrey. Any other options were numbers I¡¯d blocked. The phone rang for a minute, the buzz creating the same tone as the reverberations of the door, before going to voicemail, so I called again. Just enough to make him pick up.

    ¡°The fuck do you want?¡± He hissed directly into the microphone. My upper body tensed up, and I shied away from the phone. ¡°Just wanted to say hello¡­¡± I answered faux-casually, pacing back and forth.

    ¡°Well, hello there, mister no motives other than friendliness. Didn¡¯t I tell you not to call me while I was at work?¡± He exhaled harshly. ¡°Speaking of, how¡¯s the job search going? Did you give up on that?¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­It¡¯s, um¡­going well? I secured a few interviews.¡± I lied badly, abruptly hanging up on him to avoid answering more questions before he could finish his statement of, ¡°Be honest with me n-¡±

    I instantly regretted doing so when I realized he would get upset at me if I tried to call again¡­but what if he had realized who I truly was? That I¡¯m like¡­this¡­he wouldn¡¯t ever talk to me again¡­so it was a good thing I hung up. The silence is too loud, the grinding of gears in my head is deafening. I began to doom scroll¡ªany social media I could get my hands on; I was already on my phone, wasn¡¯t I? Just a way to pass the time, distract myself further from these signals my body was sending me, all the while hating everyone whose lives seemed so much better. Why? I did well in school and I did the work! Shouldn¡¯t that have been enough to get a job? I mean, I could have continued doing that¡­But back when I was at full mental capability, shouldn¡¯t I be given what I need to succeed greatly? No. I guess not! I punched my leg in frustration.

    All that led me to the dismal internet search queries of ¡°How to forget,¡± ¡°How to feel happier,¡± and ¡°Are some people just better than others?¡± I think they might just be, inherently, before even their birth.

    At least I could have the appeal of sliding around lithely through the halls with my slippery socks like a majestic beast stalking its prey while I observed these nightmarish assholes on their yachts or in their mansions that they bought with daddy¡¯s money. Yeah, my big achievement of the day¡ªsliding across the floor as though I¡¯d somehow conquered the laws of physics. While I do that, tell me all about your summer trip to go skiing with your family, how you¡¯ll be heading to your beach house. How you did it all while younger than me. The little things in life are what get me through a day, just a little bit of hatred. Show me your new status, Gregory. Give me more pictures to get printed out and push-pin onto the board, you know, connect it all with a red string like a detective would. Get me some new wastes of my very limited money.

    I graciously partook in brief breaks to stretch some more or to simply stare at the ceiling and wait for the overcoming feeling of blankness that stemmed from my daily routine to disappear. It didn¡¯t disappear, instead only intensifying, and with that realization, I promised myself there and then I would at least eat something. Even still, another day ended. Finally shutting the device off only when the battery began to dwindle, hours later, I pushed myself to head to the microwave.

    Believe me, I tried to eat something healthy, to start dieting right here and now and improve my physique. To grab the spinach nestled in the back right corner of the fridge or the salad mix on the left. Inevitably, I nuked some frozen pizza bagels I had gotten delivered yesterday. They came out of the microwave steaming hot, but their texture was all wrong¡ªspongy and soft with a chewy crust that had no crispness. The cheese had melted unevenly, leaving rubbery patches clinging to the bagels, and the pepperoni was small, curled at the edges, and greasy, with an odd sheen that only made it look more artificial. The taste wasn¡¯t much better. The sauce was bland, with only a faint hint of tomato, and the cheese tasted more like a greasy film than anything rich or flavorful. The pepperoni was overly salty and a bit tough, but I still ate them without really thinking about it. I brought out a bottle of cheap wine I¡¯d found on sale online and poured myself a more-than-generous glass. The wine had a faint bitterness, metallic and acidic, and it burned slightly going down, but I tipped the glass and downed it in one long sip without a second thought, not pausing to sputter nor enjoy the buzz.

    As usual, my thoughts turned inward, spiraling through the same well-worn paths of regret and self-pity. It was a nightly ritual by now, this aimless reflection on the wreckage of my past. Not one particular moment¡ªno sharp, singular event¡ªjust the endless accumulation of small, mundane miseries. The so-called "first-world problems" of a social outcast, each insignificant on its own, but together forming a crushing weight.

    One memory, however, had a habit of clawing its way to the surface more than the others. A vivid, haunting recollection of me acting like a fool in public, the fuel for my hatred. The kind of mistake that lingers long after everyone else has forgotten, replaying itself in cruel detail whenever I was alone with my thoughts, even if one other than myself wouldn¡¯t consider it on me."

 2 - Fury

    "It was an oppressive summer day, the kind where the air feels like it¡¯s thick with smog, even when it¡¯s clear. This was a time before I had reached this level of depravity, though it wasn¡¯t far, where my mind wasn¡¯t broken quite to the extreme it was at present. The sun bore down relentlessly, baking the pavement outside and sending heat waves shimmering off the black-and-white tiled floor beneath my feet. I could feel the heat radiating from every surface, like it was trying to burn through my skin. Sweat dripped steadily down my forehead, sliding off my chin, and gathered in damp patches beneath my armpits, soaking through my shirt. Every inch of fabric clung to me, heavy and suffocating, as if trying to fuse itself to my skin. My throat was parched, dry like sandpaper, and my body sluggish from what felt like hours¨Cjust a few minutes in reality¨Cspent waiting for a customer at a customer service job I¡¯d started at a few days ago in search of cash. It wasn¡¯t much, but a paycheck¡¯s a paycheck, even though I hadn¡¯t gotten one yet, whether that comes from flipping burgers or being at this cash register. The copy and paste ceiling of similar tiles wasn¡¯t very awe inspiring or entertaining to stare at, so I pulled out my phone for a quick read. I¡¯d been enjoying a novel a lot recently and was intrigued to read more. My stomach growled angrily, but that was the least of my worries¡ªI couldn¡¯t even think about eating until I¡¯d earned enough to scrape together for a meal. At least then I wanted to eat, an improvement to now. At one point, I struck up a conversation with someone about to head out at the end of their shift. It went a little bit like:

    ¡°Hey.¡±

    ¡°Hey.¡±

    Very¡­philosophical. A true battle of wits, a culmination of knowledge from beyond our time. My job was to ring up customers but the shop hardly got any, a primary reason I¡¯d chosen it, other than its quaint charm. The heat weighed down on me, each degree draining my already depleted reserves, especially after a sleepless night that left me running on fumes. My head pounded in a constant, throbbing rhythm behind my eyes, and my eyelids felt heavy, each blink like pushing through mud. I kept my gaze fixed on my phone screen, not really absorbing anything, and scrolling through an endless feed of slop¡ªjust letting the seconds drag by, one long, aching blur of heat and exhaustion. My arms rested on the colder, marble countertop, a bastion of preservation for my homeostatic state.

    A quick snapping of fingers in front of my face, rapid and annoyed, momentarily jolted me into a state of focus, but that focus rapidly faded away. My right shoulder was shook, followed by both shoulders being shaken, and finally a playful shove. I was aware of what was going on, and I ignored him.

    The screen that I¡¯d been viewing vanished from my weak grip, finger halfway between my palm and where the device had once been. The phone had been yanked away with a quick, practiced tug; My stomach sank as I looked up to see Jordan grinning down at me, holding the phone just out of reach, his grip firm and determined.

    ¡°Hey, buddy!¡± He greeted me. I didn¡¯t even bother to protest; experience had taught me it was practically pointless when dealing with him. Usually he¡¯d¡­flick it back when he got bored, but he seemed a bit more miffed today than most others. I turned my head to look in the other direction and pointedly ignored him, something he didn¡¯t seem to care for as he grabbed a clump of my hair and spun me painfully to look straight at him. I tried once more to look away, glaring daggers at a cracked floor tile, but failed the moment I heard him speak again and glanced back with interest.

    ¡°Look at what I¡¯ve got here¡­¡± He remarked, each word laced with his usual blend of amusement and disdain. ¡°Come on, Alie¡­this isn¡¯t like you...just come and get it!¡± His voice sliced through the simmering haze and he chuckled to himself, amused. He dangled my phone, pinched by two fingers, just far enough to taunt me and for me not to try to combat it. His posture was relaxed, shoulders back as he gave that stupid grin, feeding off every moment. He looked ridiculous, too¡ªlike he was trying to model himself after a cartoon villain, in my eyes at least. He wasn¡¯t especially tall, but his wiry frame made him look larger than life. His cheap white T-shirt clung to his chest, darkened by sweat stains, and was mostly covered by an unzipped black sweatshirt that hung off his forearms in a self-invented style. His jeans were cut off at a harsh angle, showing raw-red, sunburned ankles, and his blonde hair, gelled up in uneven clumps, was streaked with dirt and grime.

    Then he had the nerve to sigh openly, as if I was the one being difficult here, and I heard something that sounded awfully like him tapping his foot with impatience. What was he waiting for? I kept my face neutral, though I could feel the anger and heat churning in me, pressing under my skin. Every nerve in my hands itched to punch him, but I forced myself to stay calm; I couldn¡¯t afford to lose control, not with him, not right now. Just breathe¡­breathe deeply and calm yourself¡­this will blow over soon enough. My fists were clenched at my sides, my nails digging into my palms as I took a slow breath and managed, ¡°Just¡­ hand it back, man. What¡¯s your problem?¡± My hand extended, voice steadier than I felt, hoping he¡¯d give it up and move on. I was being stupid, though; it was exactly what he wanted me to do¡­

    He only smirked wider, stepping back just out of reach, already scrolling through my messages. His eyes lit up with that gleeful malice, a type that shouldn¡¯t appear on someone even close to his age, and he laughed¡ªthis high-pitched, wheezing sound that felt like sandpaper against my nerves. ¡°Oh, there¡¯s way too much good stuff on here to hand it back now. I think Greg needs to see this.¡± He laughed harder, bending over as he cackled, every bit obnoxiously loud. It wasn¡¯t genuine laughter, from what I could tell, he was purposefully trying to infuriate me. Based on the reflection of the bright screen on his face, he wasn¡¯t even looking at anything, lying out of his teeth. Just hearing Greg¡¯s name was enough to twist my stomach. Greg would take whatever Jordan found and escalate it until it was impossible to handle alone.

    I swallowed hard, keeping my voice as neutral as I could manage. ¡°Right, so this is adulthood for you, huh? Thought we¡¯d moved on from this shit.¡± My fists tightened further, though I kept my expression blank, willing my muscles to stay in check.

    Jordan just snorted, giving a disgusted look. ¡°Not likely.¡± he sneered, dragging out the words like he was telling me some kind of life lesson. Sure, he was definitely the one out of us with the most wisdom in all his nineteen odd years of experience. His thumb flicked through the screen with ease, his smirk only growing.

    Heat crept up my neck, my face burning as I felt a lump rising in my throat. I tried to mutter some weak comeback, but it caught, and all I managed was a barely audible sound. It was infuriating, the way he spoke so casually about dragging me into another round of torment with Greg, his so-called "friend." Jordan didn¡¯t have any true power of his own; Greg was the muscle behind his antics. If Jordan was a fly, Greg was the looming spider.

    An apt metaphor; he was looming right outside, I mean. Through the smudged and fogged up windows I could clearly see the outline of him standing outside; muscular with an excellent physique, what I strived for whenever I made a once a month visit to the gym. After all, it was probably his car that brought Jordan here in the first place. Greg lazily vaped while leaning against the glass, creating an eerie creaking, as if it were about to shatter at any moment.

    I swallowed the knot of frustration rising in my throat, trying to rein in the growing urge to just knock him out and take back what was mine. But I knew better. I was outmatched here, not by Jordan¡¯s strength, but by the threat of his protector. It was always Greg. Even though I could take Jordan in a fight¡ªif we were one-on-one, I¡¯d have him on the ground, no question¡ªthe looming possibility of Greg¡¯s intervention kept my fists clenched at my sides. Well, that and going to prison for assault, but what can I say, I have very strong priorities.

    Then, that idea disappeared from my head. ¡°So, is that why you do this to me?! You want to see me suffer?¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­¡± He laughed a bit, covering his mouth. ¡°Oh, no, no no! You¡¯re serious? Is that what you honestly believe?¡±

    I calmed myself once more. ¡°I swear, we¡¯re all adults here. Let¡¯s talk this out.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    "Of course you¡¯d think like that¡­" Jordan sneered, his voice dripping with fake pity, pouting. He stared at the screen, scrolling through whatever he¡¯d found, his lips twisting into a nasty grin.

    I tried retorting something that would have definitely sounded quite clever, but I trailed off before I had said anything, the words escaping me. A hot rush of embarrassment flooded my cheeks. The anger simmering beneath my skin flared like fire meeting gasoline. My face flushed hotter than it already was from the sun, and my fists clenched tighter. I could feel the muscles in my jaw straining as I ground my teeth together, the sound of it like sandpaper on stone.

    ¡°Fatherless fucking asshole¡­¡± I muttered, with Jordan managing to hear.

    Jordan¡¯s grin widened in response, his head cocking slightly. ¡°Wow, that¡¯s rich coming from you,¡± he shot back with a raised eyebrow. His gaze lingered, taunting, watching for any reaction. His words hit me like a sucker punch, the reminder of my situation cutting deeper than it should have. He knew exactly how to hit where it hurt, and he wasn¡¯t going to stop until he¡¯d wrung out every drop of misery he could get from me.

    ¡°Sir. I¡¯m going to-¡± came the frustrated call of a co-worker, stopping himself when he realized Jordan wasn¡¯t listening, or even looking in his direction, still scrolling onward. ¡°Sir! Listen to me!¡± Jordan finally turned to face the man, disgruntled and looking perplexed that someone else would jump into the conversation. His nose crinkled in a way that one might assume he had an unpleasant smell lingering right under his nose. ¡°Mind your own damn business,¡± was Jordan¡¯s unceremonious answer. Refusing to back down so easily, my co-worker, Jeffrey, shouted, ¡°I¡¯m going to need you to leave! You are verbally abusing the cashier, and that is simply not acceptable in any context. I do not care what your history is and don¡¯t ever want to ever-¡± He was cut off as Jordan interrupted lazily, ¡°Yeah, yeah, get on with it already! I¡¯ve heard the spiel before¡­¡±

    ¡°Sir!¡± Jeff commanded, unrelenting, though not making moves towards my foe. His Hawaiian t-shirt and khakis were the opposite of imposing, and my supposed ally in this fight flinched any time Jordan even made a slight head movement towards him. I held my ground, forcing my fists to relax, locking my gaze with Jordan¡¯s, unblinking, as he turned back to me. With every second, I could feel the exhaustion, the heat, and the simmering frustration¡­a migraine building up. I resisted the urge to snap back again, my throat tightening with the effort. I knew I couldn¡¯t escalate this¡ªnot if I wanted my phone back in one piece. Not if I wanted to avoid another black eye, another mark that would take weeks to fade. I forced myself to swallow my pride, keeping my eyes locked on Jordan, hoping that he¡¯d get bored soon enough and move on. I would do anything but show him how well he had gotten to me. Still¡­I couldn¡¯t just let him be. That would be unfair, unjust even. A paragon of a travesty.

    ¡°You fucking murderers! Heartless, sadistic, twisted motherfuckers!¡± I screamed into his face, leaning closer. My tolerance was about to end, right here, right now. Jordan grabbed my cheek and squeezed.

    ¡°Me? A murderer? What the fuck are you on, and¡­what are you then? The devil? You¡¯re the only killer I see. What about Chris? You¡¯ve probably forgotten him already, too. You lie, you slander, you divert blame. We did nothing to you in comparison. You are twisted. You¡¯re actually sadistic. You are fucked up, inside and out!¡± He screamed back, in just as much of a fury as I was, advancing on me.

    My rage had festered, and I¡¯d eternally sworn not to let this misgrievance remain unpunished, nor what else he had done to me. He was guilty of a thousand crimes, a thousand injuries to my pride and body. I¡¯d eternally sworn to stop being a hypocrite, but here I was, with perfect access to Greg, not going after him. I guess¡­I¡¯m afraid. I always have been. Maybe, if I just had a better chance¡­Get a bit braver? Or, start working out at the gym¡­Unrealistic¡­And who was Chris?

    ¡°Look, kid¡­I don¡¯t actually wanna do this. Well, not entirely. You know why I have to. You know it¡¯s an act. You know that this will be posted by the guy recording us right now.¡± He gestured at my co-worker, who continued to hold his phone high up. ¡°Just drop the claims, quit the accusations, and I¡¯ll let you be,¡± He whispered in my ear, drawing close for a second then pulling back and turning away.

    ¡°I¡¯d rather die than let that¡­literal calamity be without problems in their life.¡± I replied, deadpan, more confidently than I felt internally, although I choked up when starting; Still a major win in my book.

    ¡°You can¡¯t even string together a sentence without pausing to think every few words, but you think that you have the right to make my life like this? Do you know what those legal fees did to me? To my family?¡± He bellowed, right back to his previous tone.

    My hand instinctively brushed against the switchblade in my pocket¡ªa weapon I carried in case I ever ran into Greg. I couldn¡¯t help but dream of killing him, of avenging my parents, of revenge for it all, though I knew it was a dangerous dream. I had to leave him suffering. To draw it out. He probably did the same to them, somehow. For every action in nature, there comes an opposite and equal reaction. For every act of terror inflicted, there comes an act of vengeance. I just¡­wish I could. I wish I could do just about anything other than swallow and lick my lips.

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t you dare go for that!¡± Jordan bit out, reaching deep into his sweatshirt to pull something out. I ducked under the counter frantically, but it was hardly enough as I felt a barrel of cold, hard metal pressed into the side of my head.

    ¡°How much do you think this would sell for, you goddamn liar?¡± Jordan asked, his voice dripping with sarcastic curiosity infused with unbridled rage equal to mine. Liar boy was referring to Greg¡¯s adamant denial of involvement. Because I was just a liar, right? Because there was not a single fingerprint or ounce of evidence? Fuck that guy.

    Jordan pulled his weapon back and walked away from me once more. He twirled my phone between his fingers dexterously, tossing them from hand to hand, coming close to dropping it more than once, but making a show of catching it.

    ¡°Could probably get you fired¡­you shouldn¡¯t treat a valuable customer like this¡­What do ya¡¯ think?¡± He didn¡¯t wait for an answer. Instead, he bolted out the door, his sneakers squeaking loudly against the floor¨Che made sure to knock all the boxes of snacks off of one shelf he passed by just to pile onto my work load. I stared after him, frozen. The door hung open, closing far too slowly for it to appear to be in good condition. I was just able to hear Greg as he drew back up to his full height and conversed with Jordan, who¡¯d gone past him.

    ¡°You really are one incompetent bastard¡­Don¡¯t let him get to you, don¡¯t wanna be arrested, do you? I told you to wait until he left and we could do it together..¡± Greg instructed.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah¡­¡± Jordan replied solemnly.

    ¡°You found a new dealer yet? That last guy¡¯s rates were way too high.¡± Greg asked, changing the subject, while pulling keys from his sweatshirt and jangling them around as he fiddled with the ring.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah. I¡¯ve been searching, and there¡¯s one we can check out later tonight. You want this?¡± Jordan asked in response, extending my phone to Greg.

    ¡°Not in the least. Just break it, the almighty king of the assholes himself deserves it.¡± I stared as Jordan crushed the phone beneath his feet, forgetting his plans of sale to make my life even harder. It wasn¡¯t the end of the world. But it sucked.

    Still, that I was the ¡®King of the Assholes.¡¯ Guess the hate is quite mutual. My teeth dug into my lower lip and I blinked a few times more than necessary.

    ¡°All hail the king¡­ Quite an improvement, anyway. I think the glass really needed that little touch up,¡± Greg commented, raising his hand in a mock salute and smirking.

    ¡°Yeah¡­I probably should have actually sold it; the wife¡¯s been giving me some trouble about the financials,¡± Jordan complained, as his form disappeared to the side. Greg took a long, slurping sip of some drink he must have been carrying. ¡°Forgot how close our situations were, but oh trust me, I get it. You wouldn¡¯t believe how much child suppo-¡± I couldn¡¯t hear any further as they moved too far away for me to hear.

    If only the floor would open up and swallow him whole and make me not have to deal with him anymore. No, that wasn¡¯t enough, something worse, like spontaneously catching on fire. I didn¡¯t have a phone anymore to call the police, but if he was sent to jail, by some miracle, I hoped it wouldn¡¯t treat him or Greg well. I picked myself up gradually, feeling as if the pistol was still pressed against me.

    Jeffery, who had returned to pretending to be working on stocking shelves of products in another lane just glanced at me before returning to his duty, not so clandestinely hiding that fact he¡¯d been recording the encounter since when it got interesting enough for him to post it. My problems weren¡¯t his. He didn¡¯t care for me. Why should he care about me? It was¡­human nature to want virality online. To be fair, he seemed shell-shocked and just about to scream. I stood up to clean the mess as he said in what I assumed was a fake-sympathetic tone, ¡°Wow, what in the world was that?¡± and something relating to whether it was too late to call the cops. It was, in fact, his duty to have notified the police. I¡¯m pretty sure you should do that when you witness a crime take place.¡±

 3 - In Memoriam to the End of the World

    ¡°They weren¡¯t exactly model parents; in fact, some would call them abusive, as I¡¯d learned, but it was all I was ever exposed to, so how would I know? Still, they always pushed harder, demanded more¡ªbetter grades, better behavior, more sports, more clubs, more achievements, a tag team working me to their ideal of perfection. Anything less than that same perfection was punished, often harshly. Yet, I loved them. It didn¡¯t matter how many times I finally snapped and was punished for it. I¡¯d had a while to contemplate it all, and my feelings were set. No matter how much they treated me as property or tried to live through me, they were my parents, and their loss tore through me in ways I couldn¡¯t even begin to understand, let alone face.

    He¡¯d killed them as a game, a twisted joke, and I was sure of it. That¡¯s just who he was¡ªa walking blight, a scourge. He had staged that suicide, there was no alternate answer¡­there was no reason for them to do¡­that to themselves. To set that kind of example for me, someone that can do nothing but learn, and learn the wrong things. Our broken justice system let Greg slip away, untouched. They said he had no connection to the crime, yet at school, he bragged about it, after the news got out. Told his friends, let it spread like wildfire through every hall and classroom. Rumors swirled; consequences didn¡¯t. Maybe he got a slap on the wrist. If he was questioned, charged, even remotely held accountable, I¡¯d never heard of it, and oh, god damn it if I hadn¡¯t listened for a sign of that. I¡¯d definitely gotten the worse end of the bargain either way.

    That day, where I had nearly killed myself too¨Cthe point of a straw breaking the camel¡¯s back. The same moment when I¡¯d truly accepted my effective seclusion as something viable, even welcomed it, a tipping point. My family assumed me insane, not such a far stretch. The rest cut me off. That is, besides Jeffrey, but he hardly counted because I reasoned he probably just couldn¡¯t care to block me or perhaps pitied me. After that¡­this style of life began. I guess taking what I do is just me not wanting to be alone in this world. All alone¡­is all that I am. And all that I am is alone.

    I held a picture I¡¯d snapped of him one time and printed; His skin was brownish but crisp and dry, tanned poorly enough to the point he looked more or less the same as a child who went to the beach in a tropical region without proper sun protection. His face was wide and chin prominent, brown eyes displaying a mischievous manner. A navy blue, fleece sweatshirt with the drawstrings pulled out, the cheap, plastic zipper broken, and sleeves torn halfway to highlight his forearms adorned his upper body. His lower body wasn¡¯t much better, sporting contrasting cyan shorts made of mesh fabric.

    Humans were built to socialize with others of their kind. It¡¯s okay though¡­I¡­I¡¯m mature. I definitely am. I got a therapist to tell me that I should let bygones be bygones. That I should think of the future ahead of me and not just the past. Bygones aren¡¯t bygones. The past is the present and all futures.

    ¡°I¡¯m no liar¡­or¡­You¡¯re the liar?¡±

    For the most part, I sat in silence, besides the occasional thought up comeback I could have used, close to a dry sob but not quite there in a depressing daily ritual. I both hated and loved thinking, remembering events, at the same time. Not that I was really depressed, no way. I mean¡­I always cried when the going got rough. Those statements might seem contradictory but I personally disagree. No, I can¡¯t man up because I was never really manly in the first place. It was better to tell myself I¡¯d improved but I really hadn¡¯t. I continued to stare out the window, searching for answers where there were none. Hopping up to sit on the kitchen counter, I swung my feet back and forth bleakly.

    I have something for you to hear. I scribbled it down on a piece of paper as I sat here, then copied it down once I felt finished.

    Monday is a languid slog to get through, an impasse, a barrier to jump over. Monday is a desire for the end.

    A terrible narrative structure for a terrible, ruined life, with no hope of redemption.

    I wandered over to a dusty mirror I had propped up in a corner, observing myself. The longish and unkempt mop I¡¯d put up on my head, black and dirty, my body, just skin and bones revealing the severe muscle degradation as compared to a previous era. A mediocre outfit that hadn¡¯t been removed since I¡¯d put it on a week ago, plastered onto my body like tight gift wrap on a present.

    Monday is a representation of my desires and self indulgence. Monday is a representation of the faceless embodiments of water vapor up above, white mist swirling and forming into a collective. Monday is the color in grayscale. Monday is balance in destruction and life among death.

    Staring out the window near the ¡®kitchen¡¯ setup¡ªor more accurately, the mini-fridge and microwave¨CI saw nothing exciting.The wind sluggishly moved in its endless pursuit of nowhere, and the dark clouds ensured a heavy rainstorm was on its way. It surely must be chilly, but I wouldn¡¯t know, now would I? I mindlessly ate the processed meal, each tasteless bite heavier than the last. Somehow, an insurmountable quantity of calories by any amount of exercise I could reasonably do disappeared before I knew it. Wonder how that happened. It was so difficult to shove something down my throat yet it goes down so easily once I can get started. I must have been hungry. Rain started to pour, trickling down the windowsill, its gentle pitter-patter a mild relaxant, but not nearly enough.

    Monday is the lights of apartments across the street shutting off for the night, all for a brief respite from the cruel behemoth of life. Life is to be born without permission, to study, to work, then rest when unable to contribute to the society you were forced into.

    The glass fogged up as I breathed onto it, head resting on the cool material. The material felt cool beneath my touch as I trailed my finger down its surface, parting the mist like the sea split by Moses. The motion stirred a memory I hadn¡¯t thought of in years¡ªa small, almost insignificant activity I used to share with my father. The same father who was gone now, forever, and ever, and ever, and would¡­never be coming back. I¡¯d hopefully join him soon¡­frolic in paradise¡­but¡­

    I fought the memory, resisting replaying the events in my head again¡­it was useless. Apartment number seventeen. Cobblestone. Near the dingy fireplace. Age eighteen. Snowing outside.

    ¡°When will it be enough for you!? Never, obviously, why am I even asking? I¡¯ve killed myself a thousand times over trying to live up to your-¡± I ranted, directed at my father who stood as an immovable wall ahead of me.

    Myths are something I hate, inconcrete falsehoods that hoodwink human beings into believing their life has more purpose than it does, just to exist.

    ¡°Son,¡± he interrupted roughly.

    ¡°Impossible standards, if you¡¯d let me finish. Hope you appreciate me censoring myself here for you, and let me tell you, it¡¯s difficult¡­¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s to be expected already,¡± he replied, upholding the law of the land as always.

    ¡°Maybe it fucking shouldn¡¯t be!¡± I retorted.

    Monday is my death, here, today. Monday is my end. If here is where I die, where after it suffocates me, and life resuscitates me, it must just hate me.

    ¡°Alaric! What are you thinking-¡±

    ¡°Maybe you should fucking go to hell! You stole my childhood! I had to mature on my own, deal with the nastiness of humanity and never maintain a friendship throughout it. You¡¯ve made me tour colleges before high school, and did nothing but slap me across the face if I didn¡¯t get an A+ in a class, tread on me with your boots, put out your cigarettes on my face, even if the class doesn¡¯t even offer that type of grade! You don¡¯t give me anything to entertain myself with, leaving me to myself to study on my own, on the dirty floor!¡±

    ¡°Alaric, you¡¯ll regret saying all this, I promise you that-¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re never satisfied! You¡¯ll always find new ways to tear me down, to tell me I¡¯m worthless, a disappointment, a failure, not good enough! If I had any other parent they would practically worship me! I¡¯m perfect!¡±

    ¡°You are not perfect, nobody is, and you have to understand that.¡± He grabbed a hold of my shirt. ¡°Do you think I forgot that you stole my phone to text your friends a week ago?¡± He shoved me to the floor. I stood without comment on his actions.

    ¡°Huh. No, I¡¯m better than perfect. It¡¯s inhuman to be able to cope as well as I have! Did you know that your baby boy is still just that?! Exactly how you left him!¡±

    ¡°Stop overestimating yourself. Be a man. Grades can only get you so far in life, you need character,¡± he instructed, turning away from me to face the wall. His facial expression remained relatively neutral, whereas I grimaced.

    ¡°...Then be a man? Be a man?! What character don¡¯t I have? I have everything you were there to teach me, which is nothing at all! Even now, you¡¯re trying to end this discussion to leave me here, stranded. Why push grades so much on me then act like they¡¯re nothing just because they weren¡¯t enough to get into any decent universities? Feeling bad cuz¡¯ you¡¯re so strapped for cash?!¡±

    ¡°I feel bad about nothing. I¡¯ve taught you all you need, like my father did to me. Be a man. Grow up.¡±

    The cravings are getting worse. I can¡¯t live without the pills, I find myself clawing at my arms and face, combating my will to go back for some more, and if something¡¯s gonna take me out, it¡¯s going to be me, myself, and I, not some shitty chemicals or Greg¡¯s men.

    ¡°You keep saying that shit. Just because you had such a crappy upbringing doesn¡¯t mean you have to ruin my life for it! Fine, I¡¯ll give you one thing, at least you got me an education unlike your parents unto you-¡±

    ¡°Take that back right now!¡±

    ¡°You know, I¡¯ve been doing this thing with some guys I know, and I¡¯m turning more of a profit than you at the moment. That manly enough for you?¡±

    ¡°I couldn¡¯t care less what you¡¯re doing to make some money¡­¡± He swore then in front of me for the first time; I guessed he hoped to keep me pure of such foul language. ¡°I think it¡¯s about time you take this! Since you¡¯re so able to uphold the mantle!¡± My father shouted, his expression finally turning sour. He retrieved a box-like item from his back pocket, clasped tightly in his hand. Opening his hand, it fell, and I scrambled to catch it as he watched me. ¡°When you¡¯re about to die, light one up with it¡­Shouldn¡¯t be long now¡­you¡¯ll be safe that way¡­¡± was his simple instruction. ¡°You¡¯d better get me a grandson before then.¡± He watched me as I pretended to sleep that night. He stood over me, watching like a hawk for the slightest movement, making me unable to sneak out. Still, I never thought of him the same again.

    My regrets are numerous, a life unfulfilled. A life not worth living, maybe I¡¯m just weak willed. Monday, today, is something I can¡¯t go back to, so all I do is retreat farther and farther back, searching for the easy way out.

    I brushed my hair back with a trembling hand. "I am going to¡­gonna go to bed.¡± Yawning, I continued, ¡°I-fuckin¡¯-mediately¡­The second it burns out? I¡¯ll..sleep this off." I trailed off, my gaze falling back to my phone. Hesitation welled up as I stared at the screen, the tired, hollow weight of doubt settling in again.

    I clicked my tongue in disappointment, shaking my head. It was worth a shot, anyway. Any resolve I might¡¯ve had dissolved as quickly as it came, and the gallery app became more and more enticing, my thumb moving with a practiced, deliberate slowness, tapping the beats of a drum from a long forgotten melody to reach it.

    I scrolled until I found the video. I hadn¡¯t seen it in ages, but I remembered exactly why I¡¯d recorded it. Malice, something prevalent now. A bitter pit in my stomach tightened at the memory¡ªhow long had it been since then? Years? Decades in how it felt.

    ¡°Alaric Henry Ashford!¡± The voice was sharp but muffled, laced with a tone I knew too well¡ªthe stern, unyielding disapproval of my mother, a disapproval that I suppose I¡­could it be? Could I actually yearn for it? She stood right there in the doorway, her arms crossed, an eyebrow raised, her lace satin dress shimmering softly as if lit from within. A¡­different doorway, of a previous residence. ¡°Really, now? Must you be so profane?¡± she asked, her voice clipped and disapproving as her hands settled firmly on her hips. She looked down at me and the camera I lofted unsteadily with that same steely gaze I had grown up under, her judgment so palpable it felt like a weight pressing on my chest. ¡°I remember when you were my perfect little angel. We used to play out in the snow, and you would bring me flowers, and-Hey, are you recording me?¡± Even barefoot, she was every inch the towering figure I remembered, a shadow I could never escape.

    Even barefoot, she was every bit the towering figure I remembered, and instinct had taken over. ¡°Yeah¡­I¡¯m sorry¡­whatever you want,¡± I¡¯d mumbled at the time, my voice wavering.

    The moving picture went quiet, pixelated video as real as anything else, and I pushed the words out before I could even think, filling the gap that hadn¡¯t been filled before. Instead of just shutting off the camera, I grieved, ¡°Please¡­Come again soon¡­I want to see you more. Come back to me, mama. Come fucking back to me! At least¡­Meet up with me when I get there.¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    I shut the screen off, mirroring before, and her form faded, leaving me clutching at empty air. I stood there, dazed, reaching for a presence that wasn¡¯t there. My mind was fraying at the edges, my thoughts slipping through like water through a sieve. ¡°Mama¡­ I miss you. I miss the real you. I loved you! I really fucking loved you!¡±

    A soft, familiar whisper filled my head, harsh and resolute, words I had heard many times before; when I held her hand for too long, or grabbed onto her arm before leaving on the school bus. ¡°Let me go...Let go, son.¡±

    I felt my throat close up, the words catching. "I¡­I Can¡¯t. Not now. Not ever. Not until I¡¯m gone¡­so, give it a few minutes. Just a few¡­seconds. Let me resolve myself¡­There¡¯s no other way to stop this cycle. Stop these hallucinations¡­to stop taking more and accentuating the problem¡­" I sniffled, clenching my fists. I reached for the bottle of wine I had forgotten to replace in the fridge, and poured myself another glass. ¡°To stop them from following wherever I go¡­I think they might know where I am by now¡­¡±

    Searching for a view of life on the other side of the glass, I saw nothing but small buildings and the occasional passing car. The occasional passing family. A child with their hands linked with their parents¡¯. A stroller pushed by a mother. A tall man dressed in all black, hooded and masked..?

    My time was running short, sped up more than I had expected. I wandered to a dusty cardboard box buried beneath a mound of old clothes. Pulling it free, I tore it open, the scent of age and nostalgia escaping like a ghost. There it was¡ªthe same cube-like lighter, its surface glinting faintly with a silver sheen even through its dust coating. I plucked it out and returned to my perch atop the counter, turning it over in my hands. He would have wanted me to light one with it. This is the fulfillment of his legacy¡­

    I seized an old pack of cigarettes stashed in a lower cabinet, stuffed in an empty box of dish soap. Retrieving one, I lit it. The lighter didn¡¯t even sputter once, flaring to life with a single click. I took a drag, taking my time to enjoy the churning fumes as the smoke filled my lungs, swirling with a sharp bitterness that teetered on the edge of comfort and punishment. I exhaled slowly, the fumes curling through the air in lazy spirals, their acrid scent settling around me before l coughed it out, allowing the smoke to cycle around my abode. The rush of endorphins to my brain was subtle in the way it pressured me to take another hit of it, two goliaths of addiction battling each other for my brief attention.

    I¡¯ve never been particularly lucky. I was always chosen to answer questions in class but only when I didn¡¯t happen to know the answer. I¡¯ve never won a penny from thousands spent on online gambling. With my fucking luck¡­.with my fucking luck¡­as if my mind, already frayed and exhausted, had been searching for some tangible way to manifest my anxiety, the lights suddenly flickered and went out, the constant hum ceasing. Power outage. It felt almost too convenient, like my fear and frustration had somehow made it happen, though I knew that was impossible. Was it? A hundred percent it was, which frustrated me.

    I rubbed my eyes and prepared myself to head to bed¨CIt couldn¡¯t hurt to get to sleep whether or not the power would come back on any time soon. I¡¯d do it, I definitely would, tomorrow¡­a distant future. It wasn¡¯t as if this was how every night went¡­I felt dreary anyway, eyes drooping, brain beginning to shut off, bladder apparently thinking that this was the best time for me to need to go to the bathroom. Maybe just the alcohol¡­That first, then¡­I could still easily make it there even with it being dark. Wouldn¡¯t want my corpse to be desecrated in such a way¡­It would leave a lasting negative image, now wouldn¡¯t it?

    There was no logical connection between my thoughts and the sudden darkness, but the timing was eerie enough to feel like something had shifted. For my thoughts of vengeance, my thoughts of hate for each and everyone including myself which I still held, tucked away deep in my heart, to make this happen. The room, bathed in the oppressive heat and tension just moments ago, plunged into silence as the resonant hum of electricity ceased. My breath hitched in my throat, and for a brief moment, it was as if the world itself had paused, aside from a yelp I let out, reflecting the chaos inside my head.

    The lights in the room flickered back on, again bathing my space in that annoyingly harsh yellow fluorescent glow, casting warped shadows over the clutter piled up in every corner; it felt just like that hospital room, awful as it was. Staying the color of ink was the world outside my window. Beyond the glass, everything was swallowed by an absolute, impenetrable blackness. The kind of black that devours everything, making you question whether the world even still existed.

    Living in what was technically a small city¨Ca luxury I could never afford before without being as poor as I was right about now¨CI knew there should have been streetlights dotting the roads, their pale, artificial glow cutting through the night as always. I could easily recall how unnaturally bright it was outside, even late at night, with the glow of distant traffic and homes. But now, there was nothing. No dim lighting, no distant car headlights, no flicker from house windows. No passing families, no joggers, just¡­emptiness. It was as if the entire world had vanished into a void, as night does upon day.

    Frustration crept up my spine as I tried again to open my slick, white window. It usually glided up with ease, but now it refused to budge, like some invisible force was holding it down. At the least, I could do with some fresh air. My hands slid uselessly across the cold frame, each failed attempt making my irritation grow. It could be my lacking strength but¡­There was something off about this moment, something unnatural. I couldn¡¯t hear a thing¡ªaside from the sound of my own breath, sharp and quickening in the dead quiet. Normally, this area was silent, but this was a different kind of quiet, an absence of sound that felt unnatural. Even the usual musty smell that lingered in my living space was gone, replaced by an unnerving freshness, the true opposite of the previously feted air. It was like the world outside had¡­just been erased. Air slowly escaped me and the muscles in my arms seized up.

    And then, just as I began to realize something had shifted¡ªsomething more than just the stillness¡ªa sound shattered the silence. A deep, resonant chime rang out, like the toll of a massive church bell, filling the air and drowning out every other thought. For a split second, I swore I saw eyes¡ªhundreds, no, thousands of eyes¡ªgray and cold, staring at me from every direction. Their stare bore into me, filling me with a primal dread. Then, just as quickly as they appeared, they were gone, and the chiming fell silent, leaving me blinking in confusion. The world outside remained unchanged in its oppressive emptiness.

    I shut my eyes, desperate, trying to ground myself and prevent myself from hyperventilating. ¡°Oh if that isn¡¯t freaky as anything¡­Mom, you seeing thi-Oh¡­Mother...you always knew what to do. You always knew how to guide me, when I chose to confide in you. Forgot you ain¡¯t here no more. Please, just... guide me through this. What should I do? I need to stop taking these¡­I really do, but¡­¡±

    A sudden, searing pain ripped through my chest. I doubled over, a coughing fit tearing through me as thick, dark, frothy blood mixed with saliva spilled from my mouth, splattering onto the kitchen floor. My eyes burned, and I wiped them to find the same sticky, hot blood staining my fingers. Fear slammed into me, panic clawing at the edges of my mind as the pain in my chest grew, a vicious, twisting ache as if my heart might burst. I tore at my shirt, gasping, desperate for relief, but the pain only deepened, as if something was clawing its way out from within. I¡¯m going to die here, aren¡¯t I? I¡¯m going to fucking die here, and not by my terms.

    ¡°Ahgh¡ªwhat?!¡± I choked out, my voice strained and raw as I coughed up another mouthful of blood. My mind raced, frantic and disoriented. Hemoptysis? Heart failure? Both seemed plausible, but a sinking suspicion crept in¡ªwhat if it wasn¡¯t medical? While withdrawls would explain it, the real question was whether or not it was good enough of an explanation for me¡­Hands unsteady, shaking even, I clawed at my pocket, dragging my phone free in a clumsy, desperate motion, but with definitive urgency. My thumb jabbed at the screen, hitting 911 in rapid succession, finding myself unable to breathe until I had finished. I slammed the call button and brought the phone to my ear, every beat of silence louder than the last.

    Nothing. No ring, no faint crackle, no operator¡¯s voice asking what my emergency was¡ªjust a hollow void on the other end. It was as though the line had been severed from existence itself. That my connection to the world had been severed. My chest tightened¡­Brilliant. Truly stellar. A flawless display from the so-called lifeline of the American emergency system.

    Then I had just about as wild an idea as an idea can become. I clasped my hands together in prayer; how long had it been since I had done so last? A decade? More? No help arrived no matter how hard I willed it.

    ¡°Dull the pain, make it easier to do. Easier to end. More. I need more. Right now-No! I can¡¯t¡­but I need it! The¡­the visions will stop when I have more, right? The pain? My pursuers? They¡¯ll go away¡­Yeah¡­it¡¯ll help¡­Just a little bit¡­¡±

    Sweat dripped down my forehead as I begged for the agony to stop. And then it just did. As quickly as it had come, the pain vanished, leaving me gasping for air but otherwise unharmed as far as I could tell.

    I stepped back, pressing myself even against the cool kitchen wall, trying to ground myself as unease crept in, whispering that I was on the brink of something too big to handle. My hand was already turning the cap of the pill bottle¡­maybe just to relax now¡­my fingers were already stretched in¡­a pill was already in my hand¡­shoved in my mouth¡­in my throat, swallowed. My eyes were drooping before I knew it, pupils dilating in more of a placebo effect than what the drug actually was doing to me.

    ¡°Ahh¡­wait, what?¡± My words choked off as a faint glow appeared before my eyes, like some kind of digital overlay projected straight into my vision. Soft, pale blue light traced across my field of view, the letters crisp and surreal:

    [The Integrational Event has occurred. Planet ¡°Earth¡± has been integrated into the Multiverse. Prepare for Genesis.]

    A shiver shot down my spine, and I gulped, eyes widening as a mix of thrill and disbelief washed over me. I slapped myself across the cheek, pinched my wrist¡ªwhatever quick tricks I could think of to check if I was dreaming. But I was still here, fully awake, staring at that bizarre message.

    ¡°Oh. Yeah, right. I don¡¯t need more reason to hope¡­gotta do it now¡­right now, it¡¯s getting worse, why the hell did I take more?¡± I stared, half in awe, at the translucent screen that floated inches from my face. The white text pulsed gently, as if it had a heartbeat. It looked like something straight out of a game, unreal yet somehow too vivid to ignore. It was at a point of being rather nonsensical already. What the hell is an integrational event? What¡¯s an integration? I¡¯d had a little wine earlier, but I knew I wasn¡¯t tipsy, and I didn¡¯t feel particularly high at the moment. It would take much longer, and I could surprisingly think quite clearly, more than normal in fact¡­What else would it be if not that, though? The hazy edges of an old dream nagged at me, something I¡¯d woken from this morning. Just for a second, it felt like I could almost reach it, but the details stayed just out of reach, fading away.

    The fear and pain was real, icy and insistent, and I tried to shove it away, to convince myself that this was nothing more than another hallucination. I¡¯d seen plenty of those¡ªwhy should this be any different? Why should it not be just another one; even if this felt completely different than any of those, and I¡¯d never had one remotely similar to this?

    The screen¡¯s soft glow held my gaze for too long, and dizziness began to tug at my vision. Hugging my arms to my chest, I sank to the floor, curling up as the whole scene pressed down on me, a weight that didn¡¯t belong. I peeked over my arms, glancing at the hovering screen as if it might vanish if I just blinked. I felt ridiculous, cowering like this, like some kind of¡­coward. Oh, how I hated it. Born too late to explore the earth, born too early to explore the stars, born right in time for this to happen.

    I stretched out to touch the image in front of me, and it seemed to flicker, part almost as my hand passed through it, but didn¡¯t disappear. The only thing that kept me lucid, in control of myself, when overcome with this type of persistent delirium was the idea that if I were to touch it, it would go away. That theory had always been correct until now, which meant¡­it meant I had to accept that at the very least, it wasn¡¯t entirely imagined.

    Even though that faint doubt lingered, nagging at me, I refused to accept it. But what if those old sci-fi novels I¡¯d read¨Cno, it couldn¡¯t be. Why now of all times? Right when I was just about to-Still, what if they were more than just fiction? What if I was actually right about to be transferred to a fantasy world; that would be awesome, would it not? Could this be some warped prophecy? Or maybe a message from beyond, something cosmic or divine? Conspiracy theorists would go wild with this; I was sure of it, and if I dwelled on it much longer, I¡¯d be one of them, stringing together the impossible to make sense of this madness.

    I didn¡¯t actually desire that though¡­I didn¡¯t desire any reality where I would accept it, when I knew it wasn¡¯t real.

    I forced a laugh, feeling the absurdity creeping in, my voice starting to shake more and more with each word as I tried and failed to write it away. ¡°No¡­ just¡­ no. This is a solid prank. Really, whoever¡¯s behind this¡ªprojector, hologram, whatever tech you¡¯re using¡ªit¡¯s impressive, really, but just quit it! Let me out of here! I¡¯m serious!¡± I called out, my voice shaky despite the forced laugh. The whole scene was starting to crawl under my skin. I slammed my fists into the tile behind me, the cigarette still held between two fingers crumpling against it. Remembering I still held it gave me enough reason to glance at it, and see that it still was letting out a faint trail of smoke. I squeezed its tip more as in to stop this, even crushed it underfoot, a fruitless attempt, as the smoke continued to be produced, and an increasingly large amount kept coming out. By the time there was enough smoke to create a cloud larger than I had ever made, I realized the world was against me in every endeavor I may have.

    ¡°What weapon to use¡­where¡¯s a knife when you need it most¡­fuck¡­what do I do right now?¡± I would do just about anything to cut off this... whatever this was. I had to end everything now, I don¡¯t have a choice or I¡¯ll get too lost in what I¡¯m seeing to be able to. The screen stayed, clear as day, floating steadily in the air, nearly all I could see through all the smoke, which had now spread through the room. It had to be a ploy by Greg¡¯s men; maybe they wanted me to do their work for them.

    I turned back to look angrily at the blue screen. ¡°Go away,¡± I muttered, swiping at it again. My fingers passed through the projection, but it didn¡¯t budge. ¡°I said, go away! Leave!¡± I tried again, fingers cutting through its pale light with no effect. ¡°Leave me alone! I don¡¯t need this right now!¡± I finally gave up, slumping back and gazing at the direction of the ceiling, letting the strange, not so infinitely unusual yet surreal moment sink in. If it wanted me to believe it was real, then it would have to prove it. Nothing up to this point had been able to succeed in that up to this point.

    ¡°If everything is God¡¯s plan, what¡¯s your fucking plan for me?¡± I shrieked, gesturing my hands out wildly. ¡°You make my life miserable and then give me a reason to live it-Is this his way of getting me to live¨Cor are you trying to kill me by suffocation instead? No, Alaric, get yourself together¡­they¡¯re not even real¡­not real, not real!¡± I slapped the side of my head a few times, providing no new coherence. ¡°Well, God, I appreciate the effort, but I don¡¯t believe in you anyway, so¡­so¡­Oh shit¡­I really need to do this fast, the hallucination isn¡¯t leaving¡­I dulled it already, I took the pill, I just have to do it now!¡± I promised myself aloud, still stifling tears and shaking myself vehemently.

    If it wasn¡¯t clear to you yet, I, Alaric Ashford, am a coward. I can¡¯t kill myself no matter how much I might tell myself I will. I can¡¯t go and talk to someone without fearing rejection, I can¡¯t take risks, no matter how small. I can¡¯t kill myself. I can¡¯t step out into the world and carve a life worth living. I can¡¯t face nor confront those I¡¯ve wronged, and I can¡¯t kill myself. I can¡¯t even move.

    I¡¯m stuck here, glued to the floor, the world around me as numb as I feel inside. There¡¯s still some air but I can¡¯t take in oxygen, my lungs refuse to draw it in. My hands hang uselessly at my sides, incapable of bridging the smallest distance. I stand here, utterly paralyzed, without cause or reason. The tidal wave of emotion I¡¯d grown used to riding, the crushing force of feeling, has passed me by entirely. I¡¯d neglected the wave, let it die out, grow smaller, but never forgotten it. Now, for the first time, there¡¯s nothing. Just an empty, uncharted silence where even despair feels out of reach. My breath was as fleeting as when I stood outside that building, dodging burning timber to run inside¨CYou aren¡¯t supposed to think about that, Alaric. Clear your mind¡­think of the present¡­do as you were told.

    ¡°Oh, what a joke¡­I don¡¯t even feel high. Wow! Fine! Fine¡­damn if I¡¯m not crazy I don¡¯t know what is¡­If it¡¯s what you want me to do, brain a toast, to God! To the fucking creator of the universe, and what hopefully is the end of it!¡± I drank. ¡°Now¡¯s your time to show that I¡¯m not an idiot for giving that hope, and you¡¯ll get my approval, but I¡¯m talking to no one, so good luck with that one. Ha! A toast, to a stupid fucking screen in front of me. A shitty toast to you apparently not wanting me to commit suicide all of a sudden.¡± I drank again, starting to feel just woozy enough for this to seem more normal than it was. Before my hand could reach for the crinkled plastic bottle filled halfway with water, he was there.

    ¡°Welcome, lucky winner!¡±

    ¡°You¡­you¡¯re God...¡±¡±

 4 - System Almighty

    ¡°Sitting across from me, not in a chair like one would expect, but just hovering there, his feet a few inches off the ground, was a young, teenage boy. He was clothed in an exquisite black tuxedo paired with a silver tie, contrasting his hair which was just as neglected and long as mine, a mirror to a better, younger me. Below him was a shadow that seemed much darker than it should have been. The smoke had dissipated, having been sucked inwards to the spot the boy now relaxed. In my state, still so shocked to the depth of my being, I had assumed him to be some higher power. He tipped his head to look at the floor. ¡°No, no, of course I¡¯m not God. How could I claim to be a concept so far beneath me?¡± He asked rhetorically, as if it was supposed to make perfect sense to me. I tapped him roughly on the shoulder a few times to see if my hand would pass through him; it did not, unfortunately, but he made no reaction to it.

    ¡°Beneath you? Are you trying to say you¡¯re above the concept of God itself? I mean, you¡¯re a kid, no matter how you got in here and made me¡­see these things-that is you, right? You¡¯re doing it? It¡¯s sick to make me feel like that¨CHow are you, you know, floating though? Optical illusion, or some shi-¡±

    ¡°Well, it doesn¡¯t concern you either way what I am, although you could refer to me as the system, even though I am merely something created by it just as you were. My form is merely a construct and I could be something else if you would prefer it. I do have to inform you, however, that this is real,¡± the ¡®system¡¯ interrupted harshly.

    ¡°The fuck do you mean, by ¡®this is real,¡¯ do you think I¡¯m that stupid? Are you working for them? Wait, are you trying to be like a genie in a bottle, light a cigarette with the lighter and I appear, and all that shit?¡± I retorted mockingly, regretting how I moments before had believed it wholeheartedly.

    ¡°You should understand this already, apostle¡¯s child. Think your father could use a bit more torment for not fulfilling his duty? I suppose it is hard enough to be of the lineage,¡± They queried, examining their fingernails for no apparent reason other than boredom. I remained too shocked to reply. ¡°Either way, what if I had a way to stop you from continuing this cycle? Come on, don¡¯t act like you aren¡¯t interested¡­¡±

    Without warning or any wait for me to answer him, the world around me shifted. A cold, iron grip clamped down on my shoulder. My head whipped around, and what I saw made my heart freeze¡ªa hand, inky black, clamped around me, its touch like ice against my skin. The hand was unnatural, frigid and inhuman, covered in skin that seemed to twist and coil like fabric, woven with dark spirals and intricate designs. A stark black star was centered on its back, bold and intimidating, like an emblem of national pride. That¡¯s an actual fucking hand, touching my shoulder, grabbing me. What the literal hell¡­

    ¡°At least take me out to dinner first¡­¡± I tried, hoping my voice sounded more confident than I felt. The hand¡¯s grip tightened immediately, enough to pull a sharp yelp from me.

    And then I noticed¡ªit wasn¡¯t connected to any arm, any body. A disembodied hand was crushing my shoulder, bone grinding under the pressure, just managing to frighten me even more. Before I could think, the fingers dug deeper, twisting painfully, and I screamed as my shoulder popped out of place. I was being pulled backward, everything around me dissolving. My vision swirled, darkness clawing at the edges, until I could only shut my eyes. My ears popped, a sensation both disorienting and grounding, before I felt the distinct shift in air, finally daring to open my eyes.

    ¡°Goodbyeeee!¡±

    Light flooded my vision¡ªintense, bright, and unyielding. The room was blinding, like I¡¯d been thrown under a spotlight, and I shielded my eyes with a trembling hand, squinting to take in my surroundings. A strange beige carpet stretched beneath my feet, thick and sweltering like layers of wool stacked and fused together. My feet sank slightly as if the floor would swallow me whole. I could¡­feel the carpet. Around me, bright, vibrant music played¡ªsomething light, jazzy, the kind of music you¡¯d hear in an elevator or a waiting room. The beat was slow, and I could almost feel my guard lowering against my will. Wherever I may be now, I could just feel that the boy was still there.

    ¡°Before I ask where the fuck I am, what do you mean by torment? Are you legitimately the devil?! Is my dad in Hell?¡± I remembered briefly what I had wished him to do at one time, to be just there. ¡°Oh shit, is that what he meant by you¡¯ll be safe? Did he want me to die before ever seeing you?¡± I questioned, outraged at the very idea, but still not just a little unsure at how this boy got in and how he was hovering.

    ¡°I have no memory of whatever conversation you speak of,¡± the system sighed. ¡°I am but one appendage of the greater system, not the ¡®devil,¡¯ or whatever filth you humans have come up with,¡± he replied, as though that answered everything.

    ¡°An appendage of what now? Wait¡­ but you can actually torture my dead dad, though? I don¡¯t know why I believe that but I¡¯m so inclined as to doing so¡­And I¡¯m a¡­what now?¡± The weight of the words hit me the moment they left my mouth, and I found myself in a state where belief came just a little easier than usual.

    Whatever its motivation may be, desperation drove me to speak, my voice trembling as I tried to sound as calm and respectful as possible. ¡°I-I apologize for my earlier outburst! Is that what you¡¯re upset about? I didn''t mean to downplay the significance of the integration! What is the integration by the way?! Why are you here? Was the lighter that important?¡± For some reason, my panicked brain decided that using the poshest accent I could muster would help, as though formality would appease whatever was causing this. ¡°Praise be to the¡­system?¡± I called out, my voice a little hoarse from the pain of an awful accent attempt. I curled back into a ball again fearfully, relieved but unbelievably stressed.

    ¡°You confuse me, human. Still, good, good, you should be grateful for me clearing your status effects,¡± the boy intoned. His voice was childish but his demeanor certainly wasn¡¯t. I muttered absentmindedly, unsure of what exactly I was saying, stomach churning with nerves, while scratching at my head and recovering from the shock of the pain. I can¡¯t live without understanding what future lies ahead of me. I can¡¯t live at all¡­but I might have to for a bit longer at this rate.

    I forced myself to look around, only to find myself in an eerily empty waiting room. The beige walls matched the carpet, bare and unembellished. Even the ceiling was the same shade, oppressive in its monotony. I was sitting on a stiff, mahogany chair with charcoal-colored cotton padding, rough and hastily sewn. I could feel the chair too, I felt it underneath me, I felt the cushions under my arms, and I kept feeling it when I patted it rapidly to check. When I looked back, I found that the boy, or system appendage as it had called itself, had gone.

    ¡°Okay. Okay. Okay!¡± I exclaimed, my voice rising exponentially, coming out breathy and livid.

    I tapped my fingers on my pant leg, heart still racing, unsure of what might come next. Waiting felt like the one thing I could control, but I hated every second of it.

    ¡°Is¡­is anyone there?¡± I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

    I had to take a moment to get accustomed to how bright it was in here; though it was around the same as standard room temperature, the lighting was incredibly intense, as though I were under a stage light or much closer to the sun. Finally pushing past the brilliance and shielding my eyes with my palm, I was able to see just enough to view in front of me a few feet. The hand was gone, as if never there in the first place. The chair was comfortable, if a bit stiff. I tapped my fingers on my pant leg, waiting for something to happen. I was always waiting, or putting something off, because I never really had control in my life. But such was existence.

    ¡°Is anyone there? If not, I might jus-¡± I asked again, more confidently now, not expecting an answer, which made it more surprising when I received one that stopped me short.

    ¡°Kindly wait your turn. The system will be with you shortly.¡± The words crackled with an unpleasant static, as if being forced through a speaker just barely functional. My vision blurred slightly at the sharpness of the sound, and I shut my eyes again, wrapping my arms around my knees, seeking some shred of comfort in this place. I could pretend all I wanted, but I was anything but calm. Beneath my joking, beneath any attempts to sound casual, the reality was that I was terrified.

    The air felt stale and thick, each breath drawing in particles of dust as though the room had been abandoned for half a century. I could feel the edges of my mind drifting, my thoughts swirling between this disconcerting room and the bizarre situation I¡¯d found myself in. I wondered if, in a place full of magic and monsters like the stories I¡¯d read, maybe, just maybe, I¡¯d find some meaning or connection, something to break through my endless isolation. I wondered if there was any point in hoping for change, in the midst of what seemed to be the most uncertain, twisted moment of my life.

    Everywhere I looked, the same beige walls greeted me, bare, devoid of personality. Even the ceiling, blank and uniform, matched the floor beneath my feet. There was no door, no means of escape. Just four blank walls, a suffocating sense of stillness, and that maddeningly repetitive tune echoing softly in the background. I thought about what was going to happen in the next 5 minutes. Whether I would live past it. Whether I wanted to live.

    I slammed my fists into the walls with anguish and distress, disheartenedly searching for anywhere I could escape from, any way out, yet none appeared to me, the walls only reverberating the shock back to my aching palms.

    What the boy had said about my ¡®status effects¡¯ must have referred to alcohol, tobacco, as well as pill consumption and pangs, since I felt the effect of none of them. I surrendered, falling back into my seat, back into place, where they wanted me to be. Eventually, I heard that same static and crackly voice again, though I had no idea what speaker it might be coming from. I hardly had any idea how much time was actually passing.

    ¡°Thank you for your patience. The system will see you now.¡±

    I certainly hadn¡¯t been patient, which I knew, yet immediately at the conclusion of the sentence from the speaker, I was in a different room, but with the same chair underneath me. I hugged myself to protect myself against a chilly draft in this new room, frost tingling my arms. Thankfully, it was darker, so I could see much more easily. The flooring was hardwood, like that of many apartments I had ¡®enjoyed¡¯ living in, the walls also seemed wooden, made of logs or thick branches, giving the whole environment a ¡®cabin in the woods¡¯ type of feeling. It was pleasant, even if it was chilly; I liked the cold a bit anyway, the air always feels fresher when cold in my opinion. Directly in front of me sat a wooden desk, the type you may see a teacher sitting at or maybe just one you would have in your bedroom. I never had a desk of my own but I¡¯d certainly wanted one. I reached out to touch it and felt its base in reality as well; I could definitely feel the wood grain, right beneath my fingertips. So¡­I¡¯m just here now. I might just actually just be here now, with a companion tagging along for a nice, friendly chat. A floating eyeball with no pupil, about the size of a fucking watermelon. The entire eyeball looked as if it were tattooed black, with intersecting lines of red and gold wrapping it like a cage.

    ¡°Welcome, welcome! Greetings, mortal! I am glad you could see me on such short notice!¡± The voice echoed directly inside my head, an enthusiastic yet still¡­emotionless, static tone that made my skin crawl.

    ¡°What¡­are you? Where am I¡± The question left my lips in a low murmur, more a reaction than a request, as I grappled with the absurdity of what I was facing. I didn¡¯t jump quite yet, I¡¯d experienced enough horror to not be as scared quite as easily. ¡°More importantly¡ªhow can you speak? You¡¯re an eyeball. But then again, here I am, in a cabin, who knows where.¡± My mind flooded with questions, too many to articulate, my voice failing to mask the edge of desperation.

    ¡°All will be answered in due time, though time is something you lack. You have ten minutes to ask questions and make your selections,¡± it intoned, the detached tone adding to my rising anxiety.

    ¡°Alright¡­Could you please answer those then?¡±

    "Of course, of course, my friend. As an omnipotent and omniscient being, I am capable of creating temporary forms and voices to communicate with enlightened species across the multiverse." The voice continued to resonate in my head, mechanical yet disturbingly clear, as though it bypassed my ears entirely. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    ¡°Fine, you¡¯re so strong, huh? Fix me up here then. Can you?¡± I begged, pointing urgently at my head.

    ¡°I have no reason to help you in such a way, to show such favoritism, nor am I sure exactly what you refer to. I can give you the option to solve it yourself if you so wish, however.¡± I wasn¡¯t sure how exactly to respond, since I had no idea what would be an adequate rebuttal.

    "Since you¡¯re likely about to ask what ¡®enlightened¡¯ refers to, I¡¯ll clarify. It encompasses those species with a heightened intelligence compared to others, those capable of grasping larger realities and influencing their own path. Typically, they possess qualities that allow them to impact multiversal structure in more meaningful ways." The eyeball informed me.

    I struggled to process this flood of information, my head throbbing. "So¡­you¡¯re suggesting other life exists? Aliens? Are you an alien?" My mouth was dry, ignoring any reality that I¡¯d drank water just before.

    "You would, technically, be considered an ''alien'' to many others. And yes, many forms of life exist beyond your world¡ªincluding others of your species." There was a pause, a stillness in the air before it continued. "However, much of what you may ask is forbidden for you to remember afterward. The purpose of this conversation is not to fill you with knowledge but to guide your upcoming choices. All enlightened species undergo similar encounters, though they seldom retain details beyond instinctive impressions. Even in that, I suppose that I must have messed up this encounter. You likely saw a different form of me back at your place of origin which caused this confusion."

    I nodded slowly, trying to absorb this bizarre revelation. "I see¡­sort of? You¡¯re the same thing as that kid? So¡­what about the other questions I asked in the beginning?"

    ¡°I can speak because, simply, I can do anything. If I felt like it, you would be dead now, and while you have aggravated the greater hivemind by referring to this as but a figment of your imagination, you repented quickly enough. And this place you¡¯re seeing? It¡¯s a temporary construct shaped to fit what most relaxes you, to ease and clear your mind in preparation for the choices ahead. Now, if you¡¯re out of questions, we¡¯ll proceed to your selections. Just 8 minutes remain, so answer quickly, without hesitation. There aren¡¯t that many, if that¡¯s what worries you.¡±

    I blinked, taken aback. "Wait¡ªno. I think I have more questions, actually."

    The being seemed to emit a sigh, almost bored, more true emotion than it had shown up to now. "Then ask them, young one."

    ¡°Do you want to wipe us out? As a species?¡±

    ¡°No, although few of the original organisms on your planet will survive much longer.¡±

    I swallowed, choosing my words carefully. "So¡­is this it? Has all of humanity, all of Earth¡¯s history¡­just led up to this¡ªthis mass extinction event?"

    "Indeed, I suppose. Human history on Earth has culminated in this trial, although knowledge you hold of what is to come is only in fragments compared to what is true. You could consider it an extinction event, as many will be unable to survive it. I must separate those capable of handling the next stages by assigning tests to weed out the unfit. Surely, you can understand that much. Yes? Great. Soon, teleportation points will appear across your planet, and the planet will be adjusted to suit stronger beings by absorbing nearby planetary objects devoid of life. Those unable to reach these points, due to lack of physical capability or otherwise, will be deemed unworthy and will perish. Exceptions may be granted to those with extraordinary potential."

    The words fell heavily between us, like stones tossed into a vast chasm. As the being continued speaking, it shifted, the eye bobbing slightly on the desk before it flopped down, a wet thud echoing as thick, iridescent slime oozed out, leaving a glistening trail. It rolled toward me with a peculiar, lazy purpose, dragging itself closer as though to emphasize each phrase.

    My throat tightened, the horror of the situation sinking in. "Why are you doing this to us?" I burst out, voice strained. "We were fine on our own¡ªwho gave you the right?"

    A pause lingered in the air, the eyeball¡¯s form pulsating as if it were considering my words. When it responded, its tone was maddeningly calm, indifferent. "You are insignificant. A collection of matter arranged by forces far greater than you, subject to the will of those who wield true power."

    My throat constricted painfully, as though some unseen hand had seized it, forcing a painful, splintering semi-repetition of its words. "I¡­am¡­noth-noth¡ªnothing." Blood trickled down my lips yet again, the metallic taste flooding my mouth, and I could feel it slipping down my chin.

    "I am¡­at the¡ªwhims¡­of you," I croaked, words scraping out like broken glass, my entire body rebelling at each syllable. More blood trickled from my mouth as I forced the final line. "I am at the will of anything greater than myself." Strangely, these last words rolled out almost easily in comparison, a bitter familiarity coating them as I realized they echoed my own sense of smallness in this monstrous multiverse.

    "Good," it hummed, a note of approval in its voice, "you understand. Five minutes remain." How was time passing so quickly?

    A faint anger sparked in me, and through the haze of pain, I managed to snap, "Why do you use our measurements? Surely there are units beyond our limited framework¡ª"

    "You¡¯ve learned nothing, I try to accommodate and you underappreciate." it snapped, louder this time, a harsh resonance in my skull, forcing another round of painful, forced repetition.

    "I am nothing. I am at the whims of you. I am at the will of anything greater than myself," I chanted, the sentences flowing almost easily now, as though my resistance had drained away. The eyeball seemed to recognize this, and suddenly, a lurching sensation overtook me as I was flung upward, finding myself¡­on the ceiling? My body shuddered as gravity tore me down again, slamming my head against the hardwood below, the pain detonating through my skull. Before I could process it, I was suddenly yanked sideways, pinned against the left wall, then the right, then the ceiling again, before crashing back into my seat. I felt a strong pressure on the front of my throat.

    I heaved forward, my stomach finally surrendering as I puked onto the floor, the bitter bile stinging. I made no move to clean up or wipe my mouth; there was no point in trying to hang on to dignity in front of this thing.

    ¡°What would you like your starting location to be, assuming survival past my weeding out of the weak?¡± It asked. I was just barely able to register its words before responding.

    ¡°Can I¡­have some options? Please? System overlord?¡±

    Another screen appeared before me:

    [Pick your starting location:

    1: Randomize

    2: Earth (Home Planet)

    3: (Choose from planets with life within your universe)

    4: (Choose from planets without life within your universe)

    5: (Choose from planets outside your universe)]

    ¡°Thank you¡­Option 2, I gue¨C¡±

    ¡°Would you like to maintain your current race, then?¡±

    ¡°Do you mean species or like White, Asian, l-¡±

    ¡°It isn¡¯t even worth asking you the questions if you¡¯re going to require these notifications. It should be rather self explanatory.¡±

    [Would you like to maintain your current race?

    1: Stay as the same race

    2: (Choose from a list of all races)

    3: Randomize]

    ¡°Option 1, then?¡±

    [Your mind is corrupted. Would you like to facilitate a mental purge later on?

    Option 1: Yes.

    Option 2: No.]

    ¡°Corrupted? Isn¡¯t that just straight up discrimination? You know what, whatever, option 1.¡±

    [Based on your choices, you may qualify for Championship - becoming the champion of a deity in this current round of Deific Toss-Up. Would you like to apply? Note: This does not guarantee championship nor does it disqualify you if purposefully selected.

    Option 1: Yes.

    Option 2: No.]

    ¡°Fuck no¡­sounds like too much work and getting involved with something I don¡¯t want to be part of.¡± The blue screens finally dissipated, letting me see the eyeball once more, who was at present plopped in a chair at the other end of the desk that wasn¡¯t there before, slimy goo coating the cushions like plastic casing.

    ¡°Thank you, and goodbye...That is all¡­Take care¡­Or not.¡±

    When the voice trailed off, I was back in my apartment, at the same spot. I clung to the recollection of what had happened before it faded, piece by piece, until I was at the same spot as before, feeling as though nothing had happened after the little boy had been there; Besides my ears being popped of course. It was interesting that my ears had popped randomly, but I chalked it up to mild sickness or possibly just surprise? Was that a thing? Another punishment from the system for downplaying the integration? An aftereffect? Whatever it might be¡­it was irrelevant.

    Something else felt different though¡­I definitely felt more obedient than ever before to the system, and more believing of the reality of this, but that would fall away soon enough, I was sure; With just a bit more resolve to follow through with what it had in store for me and a bit more fear for my life. I also didn¡¯t feel under the effects of the alcohol I had drunk before, which made my bad decision making more my fault than anything else.

    Another screen popped up in front of me, irritating as ever. I couldn¡¯t help but hope something exciting would happen soon, though. I was desperate for action. My body trembled with restlessness, craving movement, craving anything to break the monotony. I¡¯m an apostle of God, after all, they had come in person to contact me. Was I about to be whisked away to some fantasy world? Face off with a dragon, save a princess? I wouldn¡¯t mind¡ªwell, actually, I would. It wouldn¡¯t exactly be easy to fend off a massive lizard with wings that can breathe scorching flames.

    [Your body is now undergoing core adjustments to attune you to the system. Please wait as these changes and full planetary adjustments may take several hours.]

    I read the message over several times, each pass bringing a growing sense of disappointment. I¡¯d hoped for something more, but that seemed good either way. Stretching my arms out in front of me, I locked my fingers together and gave a long, slow yawn. A few faint cracks sounded from my knuckles before I let my arms drop back, relaxing once more.

    ¡°Maybe I should, like, clean this up,¡± I murmured, my gaze falling on the watery blood still smeared across the floor, slowly dripping down and staining it with dark red splotches. I really should reset myself of my old habits and deal with the mess, rather than putting it off like I usually do, even if it wasn¡¯t all that urgent. New world, new me, after all. Maybe I shouldn¡¯t. Maybe habits never die. Maybe possessions would be meaningless in whatever new world I was about to get myself into.

    ¡°Or¡­ I could go outside,¡± I mused aloud, shifting my weight slightly as the thought hung there, half-formed. ¡°Would there be a Hydra? A Minotaur? Maybe a gun pointed at me?¡± My voice dropped into a dry chuckle. ¡°Or something stronger, knowing my luck¡­¡±

    My thoughts wandered elsewhere. I began to dwell on the fact that maybe, just maybe, somehow, this was happening, the world was over, that I could¡­My thoughts kept wandering, meandering in a strange path that even I couldn¡¯t determine the direction of.

    As abruptly and inexplicably as everything else tonight, the countertop in front of me began to disintegrate. It didn¡¯t crack or crumble¡ªit simply started to fade, the surface dissolving from the top down in an eerily slow progression. Pieces of it seemed to flicker out of existence like a glitching image, leaving behind only a small heap of dark ash that settled softly onto the floor.

    Before I could fully process the sight, the ash followed suit, vanishing into thin air as though it had never been¡­Not a single trace remained. My stomach twisted with unease, the room suddenly feeling far less solid than it had moments ago, the floor feeling as if it might fall out from under me at any moment.

    Spinning around so fast that I almost tripped over my own foot, nearly wrenching my neck in the process, I saw something alarming: my entire apartment was completely empty. Everything¡ªevery single item I owned¡ªwas gone. Only the floor, ceiling, walls, and lights remained. Well, that was before the floor started to disappear too. And the walls. And, eventually, everything else. Just¡­no longer in this plane of existence.

    I clung to the light fixture, having jumped up to it in horror, only for it to dissolve in my hands. I fell. And fell. And fell some more. I shouted. And screamed. And fought with myself to not leave my insides somewhere else¨Cmy throat oddly hurt a bit already.

    Before I could fully grasp what was happening, my tailbone slammed into something hard¡ªrocks. Jagged, uneven rocks that sent a sharp pain shooting up my spine. I winced, rubbing my sore backside, and for a brief moment, I wondered if I''d broken something. At the same time, I couldn''t help but feel embarrassed, thinking about how I must¡¯ve looked¡ªsome fool who had fallen out of the sky, now sitting on the ground, clutching his aching rear. On second thought, probably nothing broken but likely some bruising was there.

    There definitely hadn¡¯t been any rocks here before, just cracked old pavement, and sure, the building resting atop it was dilapidated enough to almost resemble rubble, but it wasn¡¯t this. Not jagged, uneven stones jutting out of the ground like they¡¯d erupted from the earth itself.

    I crouched to inspect the area, brushing my fingers lightly against the rough surface of one stone. The texture was real, cold and grainy beneath my touch, as if it had been here for centuries rather than minutes. My eyes darted in every direction, scanning for some sign of why or how this bizarre transformation had taken place. Was this another one of the system¡¯s tricks? A petty jab at my earlier comment, maybe, or just another inexplicable shift in the world around me?

    Even if it may have resembled rocks in its sorry state, it wasn¡¯t¡­this. I decided to investigate, looking around in any direction I could to find why this dramatic change had happened, or if the system just wanted to play a trick on me again for my earlier comment.

    [Planets with life have consumed nearby planets and minor planetary objects excluding moons without life within their respective solar systems. Layouts have been meticulously adjusted to accommodate the new configurations. Towering structures have either been leveled to the ground or completely obliterated. Attunement processes of enlightened races are nearing their final stages. Illicit knowledge obtained from external sources prior to integration will be swiftly and efficiently purged. Enlightened races have been scattered at random throughout their improved planets.]¡±

 5 - Memories Are Bad, Actually

    ¡°¡°Shit, where the fuck am I?! Oh my god, oh my god!¡± I yelped; I was already freaking out, light headed and filled with anxiety. Instead of the somewhat vast and bustling semi-cityscape I had fully expected to find sprawled out ahead of me, I was met with an entirely different sight¡ªa boundless landscape stretching out in front of me, flat plains covered in lush, vibrant grass the color of deep forest green extending as far as the eye could see. And I truly mean that, as I quickly realized I was no longer standing in the dilapidated slums where I had once been. Now, I sat on the jagged, rocky edge of an impossibly high cliff, which dropped off sharply just a few feet ahead of where I rested.

    ¡°That¡­That drop¡­It¡¯s so far¡­Really, where the actual Hell am I?¡± I voiced, honestly pleasantly surprised, my tone more enthusiastic than I expected for it to come out. My chest was tight with nerves from the altitude, me never being the adventurous type, but that feeling seemed to be disappearing the longer I stayed here. ¡°I¡¯m on another fucking planet already, aren¡¯t I? Another planet, a planet that isn¡¯t Earth. Whoo¡­A¡­rather fast progression. Never thought I¡¯d live to see the day¡­well, never thought that this would happen either, but what can you do?¡±

    I gulped and rubbed my bleary eyes some more. I still held that same exhaustion, and despite any fear this was causing I still was practically asleep. My head started to tip backwards and my eyes began to close, but I fought with all I had left in me to keep me lucid for just a little longer.

    From this dizzying height, I held a breathtaking bird¡¯s-eye view, yet even from this vantage point, I couldn¡¯t see past the seemingly endless field that lay before me. The distant horizon stretched out like an impenetrable barrier, stubbornly keeping its secrets hidden from my view and frustrating any hope of scouting further. The sun¡ªthankfully the same one I remembered, though I wasn¡¯t entirely sure why I had worried it might change¡ªshone brightly above, its warm rays lovingly bathing the landscape below in a golden light. Despite the fact that it should still be nighttime. The entire area sparkled like a jewel, illuminated by the sun¡¯s radiance, and the morning dew shimmered with tiny rainbows spanning every color, from vivid reds to soft violets, refracted in the air. It was a sight so awe-inspiring that I could hardly believe my eyes; my jaw had dropped lower than the deepest ocean trench. What also dropped was part of the section of rock supporting my weight, crumbling and falling down the cliff face, spiraling downward and then exploding into a million pieces at the bottom. I scuttled backwards and stood up quickly, feeling the stone barely holding up beneath me. I continued to reverse until my back hit something thick and tough, and I turned to see a wall of vines interwoven with tall redwoods.

    The freshness of the pristine air filled my lungs in a way that felt almost too pure, refreshing me more than oxygen had any right to. The scent that accompanied it was even more intoxicating. It was an aroma reminiscent of rain-soaked earth, a smell I recalled was called petrichor. Sweet, soothing, and impossibly relaxing, it was a fragrance I had loved ever since my childhood when I would run outside during thunderstorms, carefree and unconcerned about getting wet. I¡¯d let the raindrops drench me, sticking my tongue out to taste them as they fell, performing silly little dances in the downpour just to amuse myself. The cold rain would always re-energize me, giving me a burst of life I could never find elsewhere. Not that I had any friends to share those moments with, even back then, but I had plenty of imaginary ones who kept me company. Not nearly to the quality of those I¡¯ve been seeing recently, but still good enough for the time.

    I couldn¡¯t resist laying back on some soft grass, a small patch near the rocky outcropping, allowing my body to sink into its comforting embrace while I stared up at the clear, endless blue sky above. Not a single cloud marred its perfection. A gentle breeze caressed my face, playful as it ruffled my hair and sent my clothes billowing in random directions. Carefully and methodically, I pulled blades of grass from the earth, running them through my fingers one by one to ensure that it was actual, fresh grass, and this wasn¡¯t a film set. I was willing to look for any explanation at this point, to be totally honest, for both arguments, that it was real or that it wasn¡¯t.

    Even still, this was great. I didn¡¯t mind that the cooler temperatures of the high altitude stung my skin slightly¡ªit only added to the sense of bliss that enveloped me. Everything felt so serene, so perfect. There wasn¡¯t a single thing wrong with my current situation. I relaxed, forgetting all my problems and that all this had happened. I was still tired after all, I hadn¡¯t slept much and it was late now. I tried my hardest not to reminisce on older times while I took my brief break, my respite, somewhere that hadn¡¯t existed before.

    ¡°If you¡¯re gonna kill me¡­ just do it now,¡± I said, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me, arm resting over my forehead, one eye only slightly open. ¡°Not like I wasn¡¯t going to anyway¡­you really want me to live that badly?¡± Silence was my only answer. No movement from the underbrush, no reaction from the plant life¡ªnothing. I guess that meant they were waiting for me to make the next move, expecting some kind of action. This system wanted me to storm into that forest or scale that cliff. Too bad for them¡ªI had no intention of playing along. Not now, not ever. Well, that was my goal anyway. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡­I might just jump if you aren¡¯t careful¡­¡± I probably should have been more careful to shut my insistently replaying memories off¡­perhaps it was just the quiet environment that made it keep happening, leaving me alone to them.

    It was a cool day in autumn¡¯s middle, a weekend in between two full, bustling weeks of school. Two weeks of being pushed over, tackled, punched, and trying to make friends with my bullies using my shallow understanding of social structure and hierarchy, my innate desire to fit in.

    The lawn I played in was one of browned, dead grass, overlooked by a dying oak tree I liked to climb from time to time. The sky was overcast as it always was every time I had come down here, but I liked to imagine it as being a clear blue; a similar hue to the sky above me now.

    ¡°What are you doing over there?¡± asked my grandpa, a weary, gray haired and long-bearded man in a tank top, with just enough spring in his step to make you think he wasn¡¯t nearing eighty, or that he would die within a month from a brain tumor he never told us of. He sat on the porch swing which was rendered immovable by his feet he always pushed so unnecessarily hard into the wood planks beneath him. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Just digging a hole to China!¡± I called back jokingly. I was digging, clawing my nails into the dirt messily with little effect, but it was primarily to waste time rather than any real purpose. I must have been around seven or eight at the time.

    ¡°Come here, boy,¡± he requested, and so I came over post haste, dusting my hands off on my sweatpants. ¡°Listen to me now,¡± he asked. ¡°As your grandfather, I think I have a duty to give you some of my wisdom. For me, life got real bad a few years from where you are now, so if it gets you down¡­I heard this poem once, and made some changes.¡± He pulled a slip of paper from his back pocket, and before you ask, yes, it is a similar situation to you all now, but correlation does not mean causation. ¡°Life for me is a handful of olives,¡± he told me, and while confused, I listened. ¡°You just find them in your palm, and don¡¯t know what to do with them, so you pop one in your mouth. The taste is sour, yet what else is there to do but chew? You feel happy when you¡¯re finished, free from the suffering, then bite down hard on the pit. You keep on eating, obligated, no, forced to continue, your only solace the time before the next falls on your tongue. As you go on eating, the juices get more sour, the pits harder to grind up or swallow, so you remember when they weren¡¯t as sour, and think they were sweet all the way back then. You go to have another, but realize they were the same as now. Even still, only a few remain, your hand is nearly empty, and it was all worth it, because in that last bite, you find that you enjoyed it all.¡±

    Those are some of the words I¡¯ve taken most to heart in recent years, although at the time I heard it, or even there on the cliff, I couldn¡¯t possibly understand what he meant exactly.

    The old man crumpled the paper up and stuffed it back in his pocket. I was beckoned to come into his shack of a home, being sat down on his leg, an old banjo, heavy and unwieldy, placed in my arms. I nearly dropped it, but maintained my hold on it just enough so that it wouldn¡¯t fall, lifting with all my might to support it. He wore a rough pair of discolored blue jeans, an unpleasant surface to rest upon. The faintest light streaming in from a high placed window illuminated us, casting the wood-grain flooring and scattered pots and pans into a harsh shadow. Grandpa sniffled something jumbled about how glad he was to bond with me like this, but I tuned it out, much to his disapproval. ¡°Strum,¡± he told me, and so I did. The melody was discordant, so gramps placed his hands over mine to help me play the frail strings. ¡°Put your hand here, boy. I said here!¡± he raged, infuriated at my non-immediate understanding, moving my hands around wildly to make sounds that didn¡¯t sound quite right.

    ¡°It¡¯s so hard though! I wanna go!¡± I wailed, tearing up. My fingertips ached touching each string, tantrum onsetting.

    ¡°Not until you¡¯ve got the hang of this. Put your pointer finger here. Good, good,¡± he instructed.

    That strumming of banjo chords played on repeat, starting to get more disorganized and shrill until suddenly, my peace was shattered by ear-splitting, blood-curdling screams that pierced the air from somewhere behind me. The shrill, high-pitched cries were so jarring that they left my ears ringing. Here I was, finally starting to enjoy myself, reconsidering what I wanted to do¡­That there, my friend, is the end of a perfectly good plan of noncompliance. Turning my gaze in the direction of the noise, I saw what appeared to be a dense, tangled rainforest. The towering trees, with trunks thicker than anything I had ever seen, reached up toward the sky, their canopies almost blotting out the sunlight. Redwood giants stretched up as high as the eye could follow, and greasy, camo-green vines¡ªeach as thick as my biceps¡ªwove through the underbrush like snakes, completely blocking any possible entrance. The thick foliage, along with the oppressive greenery, had gone mostly unnoticed by me earlier because it felt like it didn''t belong, detracting from the beauty of the plains. Now, however, it demanded my full attention.

    Despite the overwhelming size of the rainforest, the strangest thing was that the only sound I could hear was the screaming¡ªno birds, no insects, nothing that should normally fill the air with life. The entire forest was unnervingly quiet. It felt like when I had received that first notification¨Cjust a few minutes ago, I guess. I still could hear my breathing though. The damp surfaces of the leaves and vines glistened in the light, between soaked and slick, making the idea of climbing over them seem a fool¡¯s errand. It also seemed impossible to crawl in between the vines, as they were very tightly entangled in something like a loving embrace.

    ¡°Mom¡­¡± I thought about her, now of all times. Why did I have to think of her, because now my mind¡¯s going to do that thing agai-

    It was several years prior, on a family camping trip. I had expressed disinterest in going on a long hike to get to her desired spot. ¡°Experience this! Explore life, wherever it takes you!¡± My mother¡¯s voice resounded in my ears.

    ¡°No! Can¡¯t I get a second of actual experience without you talking to me, you bitch! I don¡¯t always need to have remembrance!¡±

    ¡°What did you just-¡±

    ¡°I said what I said and I meant what I said! You aren¡¯t my real fucking mother! She¡¯s dead! She¡¯s fucking gone and long gone at that! You are a mental image! I am imagining everything you say! Leave me alone!¡±

    ¡°I could never, you¡¯re my dearest-¡±

    ¡°You are nothing to me! You are the product of my broken self! You are nobody!¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t change any-¡±

    ¡°It changes everything, you whore! Yeah, yeah, your lesson is fine. I should experience it, should probably try to help whoever that was, and I was planning on it! I¡¯m trying to believe that all this is actually going on, that I was teleported here. It¡¯s still just a bit hard to believe though, especially when I don¡¯t exactly have the best history of never imagining something. Then you come around, and continue to torment my brain from the grave! You and dad, you¡¯re the cause of this, you know? You and whoever I¡¯ve probably repressed!¡± I screamed, pointing at my head, though knowing there was not a soul that would see me doing so unless they were watching from somewhere nearby. Nobody else could hear her complaints. Why should I have to?

    I shuddered, returning to reality. I stood to attention from where I had been lying, trying to forget that experience. I was torn between the urge to assist whoever was in trouble and the daunting realization that I had no clear way of leaving my current position without either jumping off the cliff or somehow making my way through the dense jungle. See, I am a good person! I have some morals, I want to help this person, whoever they are! I¡­I do. That negates wanting to kill some others, I¡¯m sure. Positive karma to the extreme.

    [Enlightened races should be nearly attuned. Path searches will commence in approximately 10 hours (planet ¡°Earth¡± standard time measurement.) Enlightened ones must make their way to a standard teleportation point. Teleportation points are placed at randomized equal intervals.]¡±

 6 - Capacity

    ¡°I exhaled, letting out the negative feelings to reason better. ¡°Seems like too much time¨Cthere a catch somewhere?¡± I asked myself, and finding none explicitly stated, I clapped my hands once in front of my eyes, like the clapperboard for the movie that had now become my drastically more intriguing life.

    ¡°Alright¡­Fine, I guess it¡¯s rescue time, whoever the fuck. Time to clear my conscience¡­.¡± I told myself through grit teeth, not truly wanting to help, and still glancing occasionally at the cliff edge for an escape.

    I moved toward the thick foliage ahead, determined to find any weak points. My fingers glided over the slick, glossy surface of the vines, their slimy texture sending shivers down my spine as I searched for a vulnerable spot. I focused on areas that seemed darker or thinner than the rest of their tangled, writhing bodies, roughly yanking at these weaker sections in hopes of breaking through. Each tug was more desperate than the last, my urgency to penetrate the jungle growing by the second. That urgency only intensified as the next notifications flashed before my eyes, one of which was finally different from the usual blocks of text.

    [Tutorial teleportation points have been determined. Those who fail to reach one in time are deemed unworthy and will be brutally killed for divine entertainment. Time remaining before temporary planetary shutdown¨Cfor enhancement of difficulty¨Cis 600 minutes.]

    The other notification was an image, almost like a video feed from Google Earth. A large, spinning planet was displayed, nearly unrecognizable from the Earth I had once known. It was absurdly massive, sparsely detailed, with vague patches of green and blue indicating land and water. The globe rotated smoothly, like a basketball spinning effortlessly on an NBA player¡¯s fingertip, and the rapid movement made it dizzying to look at. Continents and islands were scattered strangely across the surface in a pattern that seemed oddly artificial, as though they had been placed there deliberately. Most of the planet was covered in landmass, with maybe only 40% occupied by oceans or other bodies of water.

    ¡°This is the world now? This? It looks aw-¡± I cut myself short before I could say something I might get punished for by the system, biting my tongue.

    ¡°Alright¡­Where are we now¡­¡±

    What caught my attention were the countless blinking red lights scattered all across the map. They dotted the land and even the oceans, each one pulsing rhythmically, a glaring contrast to the otherwise bland geography. These blinking lights, I realized, were the teleportation points mentioned earlier. What¡¯s more, I felt in my heart that this unfamiliar planet was the new Earth¡ªa twisted, altered version of my home. Absently, I wiped my wet hands on my denim jeans, surprised to feel the coarse fabric clinging to my legs.

    I stared at the map, trying to make sense of where I was and how I could get to one of these points within the next not even half a day, with nothing but my own two feet for transportation. My mind raced, frantically trying to figure out a plan. Then, it hit me¡ªa lightbulb moment (metaphorically speaking, of course, though at this point a literal lightbulb randomly popping into existence wouldn¡¯t have shocked me). I realized I had been overthinking things. With one hand, I reached up and cautiously touched the map. Instead of my hand phasing through it, or disrupting the image as I half-expected, the map froze in place, as if I had pressed pause on a video. The globe stopped spinning, and the image held steady.

    Intrigued, I pulled my hand back, watching as the planet resumed its dizzying rotation. Eager to experiment, I tried a few more gestures, pinching my fingers together to zoom in and pulling them apart to zoom out, just like with a touchscreen. The map responded smoothly to my commands. After playing around a bit, I resolved to find my own location. Surprisingly, it wasn¡¯t as difficult as I had anticipated. As I zoomed in further, the image seemed to force itself toward a specific spot, almost as if it knew where I was. I allowed it to guide me, and soon enough, the notification zoomed in on a blinking yellow dot. My location, perhaps?

    Excitement surged through me as I scanned for the closest teleportation point. Could I be in it right now? My enthusiasm waned when I discovered it was extremely deep within the dense jungle I had been struggling to break into. The map on the notification had become more detailed the more I had zoomed in. Lucky me, right? Not quite. While there were more than enough teleportation points scattered across the globe to accommodate the entire population, many of them were placed in highly inconvenient locations, like mine. Worse still, there might be limits on how many people could use the same point. The idea of a rush of people scrambling to reach these points crossed my mind, and I realized that the distinction between the "worthy" and the "unworthy" might simply come down to who could physically make it there, or who had family members that could assist.

    As if to confirm some of my suspicions, another notification popped up. This one didn¡¯t replace the others but instead layered on top, crowding my vision with even more unsettling information.

    [Current capacity of closest teleportation point: 17/100]

    With my initial guess, I had assumed at least a thousand people would be allowed into a given teleportation point. If there were only 100 slots, that meant Earth''s population might start dwindling soon¡ªassuming all of this wasn¡¯t just some wild, convoluted dream. But no, I didn¡¯t think I was dreaming. Or maybe I just didn¡¯t want to believe it. It didn¡¯t matter. I had gotten here already. Where here was? Not far from where I started. But a journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.

    ¡°Wait a second¡­seventeen already? Were they practically on top of it?¡± My confidence lessened even further as my chances to make it to the point before it filled up seemed quite slim. Still, it¡¯s worth a shot.

    Adrenaline surged through me, clearing the last haze of doubt clouding my mind. Fueled by this sudden burst of strength, I seized a thick, green vine blocking my way and tore it apart with sheer force, little by little, a very unclean severance. It did not give for a few seconds, but when it did, it was practically already done.

    The severed tendrils started to¡­twist and writhe as if in pain, their once-unfeeling texture now eerily alive. It was as though the plant had recognized me as its enemy. Great. So, now the plants were sentient¡ªand deadly. Really wonderful.

    ¡°Hey now¡­let¡¯s be civil here!¡±

    Before I could react properly, the remaining vines whipped forward, lashing out with startling precision, their movements sharp and mechanical, like projectiles from a weapon trained on its target. The green tendrils, now hostile extensions of the forest itself, zipped through the air with an unsettling speed, closing in on me as if drawn by an unseen force.

    I acted on instinct, throwing myself to the ground. The impact jarred through my body, and the gritty earth scraped against my skin as I dove beneath the oncoming assault, narrowly avoiding a direct hit. I squeezed through the narrow, thorny path I¡¯d managed to create, trying to ignore how my arm was dangerously being dug into, wriggling under the twisting plants until I could pull myself to safety on the other side. I couldn¡¯t breathe, so I clawed forward with all I had. As I scrambled back to my feet, I caught a glimpse of the tattered remains of my shirt¡ªripped almost to ribbons, its fibers hanging in shreds. I exhaled deeply and inhaled even deeper, clutching my arm and cradled it in hopes of lessened pain. The back of my shirt had been torn open completely, and a sharp, stinging sensation from my lower back reminded me that the rest of me hadn¡¯t escaped unscathed either; blood trickled down my skin, each droplet warm against the cold earth beneath me.

    The only things running through my head were a mixture of: ¡®What in the world just happened?¡¯ and ¡®Damn, that hurts,¡¯ as well as ¡®I¡­almost just died there. So easily, my life could¡¯ve just been snuffed out.¡¯ I don¡¯t think I liked that. It wasn¡¯t exactly pleasant.

    The shirt was polyester, gray, and had some faded band logo on it¡ªsomething my parents had bought for me years ago. Now it lay abandoned in the cold dirt, a relic of the life I had left behind. My body, in all its glory, was now exposed to the world. Of course I felt self conscious about it, but not enough to actually fix it. Before anything else, I backed up slowly to create some distance between me and the vines, then, changing my mind, I lunged to grab the shirt back to tie around my still bleeding arm and prevent further blood loss; a long gash had been torn from wrist to shoulder, and I was just able to cover the majority of it by using several of the shirt pieces that had fallen from the main thing. Even still, the shirt was soaked with blood in moments, and I felt a bit dizzy.

    The vibrant green grass I had seen at the forest''s edge had all but disappeared, leaving behind only bare, packed dirt. Towering monstrosities that could hardly be called trees loomed over me. The ones I had seen before were an ashen, blackish-gray, but these had a sickly green tint to their bark, which blended into the dense, unnatural shadows cast by the forest''s canopy. The multicolored leaves that adorned the treetops were a kaleidoscope of autumn hues¡ªbrilliant reds, oranges, and yellows¡ªbut they didn¡¯t add any warmth to the cold, eerie atmosphere below. The vines behind me still writhed faintly but seemed to retreat and made no moves towards me, so I accepted that and started to move.

    There was no clear path through this overgrown wilderness, much to my disappointment. It was a chaotic mess of trees, rocks, and branches. Massive, unmovable boulders blocked several routes, creating natural barriers that forced me to move northwest, navigating around these stony walls. The forest felt ancient, untouched by human hands, despite the fact that they likely had just appeared at the will of the system. There were no animals, no sounds of life¡ªjust silence, broken only by the occasional crackle of leaves underfoot or the creaking of trees in the wind. The ground was littered with twisted roots and fallen branches, but none of it truly hindered my movement. So, I ran.

    I dashed forward with all the speed I could muster, my heart pounding in my chest as adrenaline surged through my veins. But I soon slowed to a strange sort of speed walk out of pure inability to maintain the pace. I hissed something through clenched teeth that it probably wasn¡¯t best for anyone else to hear.

    Pain shot up through my feet with every step. I had forgotten the most important part¡ªI wasn¡¯t wearing any shoes. Each step onto a hidden rock or sharp debris sent waves of agony through my soles, barely protected by the thin, institutional white linen socks I still had on. Every sharp edge dug into my flesh, and the forest floor was relentless. My feet screamed in protest with every movement, making the simple act of running feel like torture.

    Yet, I remained steadfast in my pursuit of survival, as long as that life was different from the one I had endured before. So, I pressed on. I kept searching as well, for whoever had let out that scream. I found no animal tracks, no smoke, no blood splattered on tree bark. My soles, scraped raw, felt the sting of countless rocks and sharp debris slicing into them, a faint trickle of warmth pooling beneath my feet. Blood, no doubt. I pushed through, determined to ignore the pain and just pass by any roots I stumbled on. I had faced worse pain before¨CDon¡¯t think about it¡­take it out of your mind¡­free yourself from those times¡­The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Finally, I came to a halt, my breathing ragged as I clutched my side, feeling every stab of the ache that had slowed me down. Just as I managed to catch a shaky breath, a voice called out from behind me, light and cautious.

    ¡°Hey, are you alright? Why¡¯d you stop?¡± The voice, clearly a child¡¯s, carried a gentleness as though she didn¡¯t want to startle me. Naturally, I flinched anyway, stumbling backward, only to land clumsily on the ground. As I blinked in mild shock, I felt my face flush¡ªI''d just been startled by a kid, maybe ten years old, standing there with a curious look. I only noticed it a few moments later, but the voice also had an eerie, ghastly quality to it.

    ¡°Oh no! Are you okay?¡± she asked, hurrying over to me with a carefulness that somehow managed to avoid the roots and rocks that had tripped me up moments before, just not touching them. She was the picture of innocence, with wide, bright eyes and a ponytail that bounced with every step, framed by a blue shirt with a cartoon cat on it and sweatpants covered in dirt from her adventure, a twig in her ruffled hair.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯m alright,¡± I replied, standing up and dusting myself off, willing myself to retain whatever scraps of dignity I had left. I crouched down to her height, feeling the sting of fatigue in my knees and a dull ache in my blisters. ¡°How about you? Are you out here on your own? Any family around?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m good!¡± she said, her face lighting up with pride. ¡°My big brother was with me, but he told me to run and keep going so I could get away from the creepy vine monsters.¡± She spoke with a kind of earnest confidence, like she¡¯d just faced down a dragon. Maybe it was similar to that since they were literal monsters. Her shirt was rumpled, and I noticed a few more leaves caught in her dark hair I hadn¡¯t before, remnants of her adventure in the woods.

    ¡°Well, sounds like you¡¯re quite the little explorer.¡± I managed a small smile. ¡°Want some company on the way to the teleportation spot? It¡¯s just ahead, presumably.¡±

    She shook her head vigorously, clearly set on her mission. ¡°Nope! I followed you this far, and I can handle it on my own from here!¡± Her determination was written all over her face, as if this was some grand journey she was destined to finish alone.

    I held back a laugh, nodding. ¡°Alright, but be careful, okay?¡± As she turned to go, I watched her small form weave through the trees with an almost effortless grace, leaving me standing alone and wondering how long she¡¯d been behind me.

    ¡°Wait! Come back!¡± I called out to her, and she subsequently turned back and came to me without a second thought.

    ¡°Yes, mister?¡± She asked, looking up at me sweetly.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for saying you should go¡­Come with me, you seriously should¡­I can¡¯t just leave you alone¡­something is happening and I want you to be safe, nor could I honestly deal with the idea of just leaving you here.¡±

    ¡°But I don¡¯t wanna!¡± She cried out, looking just about ready to bawl. I hoisted her up on my shoulders and started to move again; she was quite light and it wasn¡¯t much of a burden. The girl reluctantly reached around my neck to hold on, and didn¡¯t fight to get off.

    [Current capacity: 73/100 - Time remaining: 9 hours, 47 minutes, 33 seconds]

    The number of people who had reached the ¡®teleportation point¡¯ had jumped up drastically. Anxiety clawed at me, as how could I not be worried? But I had to believe I was close. I had to feel that way or I¡¯d crumble under the pressure. My time was running out, and with every passing second, my body protested louder. My feet screamed, every step becoming more agonizing, my heart pounded wildly in my chest, and a sharp, stabbing pain lodged itself in my side. I clutched at my ribs, gasping for air, struggling to keep moving forward. Still, my mind held some logic. Every so often, I would halt to pick up a stick and draw an arrow in the dirt so I could more easily find my way back later. I would also number these arrows just in case I got off track for some reason.

    Throughout this, the girl was unmoving. She hummed a little tune and held on gently. The feel of her fingers was fuzzy and barely perceptible. Her stomach grumbled, and she let out a laugh, yawning adorably right after. ¡°Are we there yet?¡± she asked.

    ¡°No, we may have a while to go,¡± I replied solemnly, still trying to maintain my pace.

    ¡°How about now?¡± she asked, not a minute later. Hoping to keep my composure, I chose not to respond this time. I was exhausted from walking and still so unsure at what I was doing here, feeling as though I might just snap at any moment if I wasn¡¯t careful.

    ¡°I¡¯m so bored¡­¡± she complained. ¡°Can we do something else?

    ¡°What else is there to do?¡± I asked her back rhetorically.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go home¡­¡±

    ¡°Home¡¯s a long way from here.¡±

    ¡°Can we stop?¡±

    ¡°The time is ticking down, I would prefer to keep going, and you aren¡¯t the one walking.¡± My frustration was rising at all aspects of this situation.

    ¡°But I¡¯m tired!¡±

    ¡°So am I! Do you see me complaining?¡±

    ¡°No, but-¡±

    ¡°Will you shut up?!¡± I seethed. ¡°I can¡¯t hear myself think! I¡¯m trying to keep you safe!¡± The girl practically whimpered, slumping dejectedly.

    ¡°I¡­I didn¡¯t mean that. I¡¯m so sorry, it just slipped out-¡± I apologized sincerely, feeling awful at my outburst, though it wasn¡¯t nearly enough.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s fine¡­.¡±

    I picked her up from my shoulders and set her down on the ground, which definitely was a mistake as she tried to make a break for it, tiny sneakers struggling to grip the floor, but I managed to catch her by the sides prior to her getting away.

    ¡°Aww.¡± She whined, starting to sniffle. A little bit immature for her age, but I found it quite cute and a more positive reaction than I thought I would get from my actions.

    ¡°Are you hungry? Do you need a nap? We can stop here if you want to.¡± I asked her, crouching down again. I needed a break too, I couldn¡¯t keep moving forever, and it wouldn¡¯t be long before I saw some other hallucination that would make her question whether or not I was mentally stable.

    ¡°On the dirt?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what else. I could try and make you a bed of leaves, but-¡±

    ¡°Yes! Yes! Yes!¡± She squealed, elated at the idea.

    ¡°Alright..stay here, then.¡±

    When I returned, balancing an armful of crisp, multicolored leaves I¡¯d collected along the way, I found only empty space where she¡¯d been. I don''t know why I¡¯d expected her to be there, waiting. Maybe it was just a faint glimmer of hope, that silent wish to see her safe, even if her feelings toward me were barely lukewarm. A quiet worry unfurled in the back of my mind, a nagging thought that wouldn¡¯t quite settle down. In spite of everything, I wanted her to be alright.

    I let out a resigned sigh, scanning the quiet clearing one last time. The stillness pressed in, amplifying the absence. I shifted the weight of the leaves in my arms and set off again, pushing myself forward on weary legs that felt heavier with each step. Every so often, I paused, catching my breath and letting the ache in my muscles subside before I picked up my pace once more. Swatting away flies and mosquitoes that buzzed their way by me was just part of the ride, and they were much better than something on par with the vines. My mind drifted back to the map, its distant markings somehow managing to anchor me as I trudged onward, that final destination pulling me like a silent compass through this endless stretch of wilderness. Step by step, I kept going, deliberately focusing on the journey ahead, willing myself not to linger on anyone¡ªor anything¡ªI might be leaving behind.

    ¡°Is anyone there? Does anyone need help?¡± I continually called out, searching for any other survivors nearby. Soon enough, an unsettling sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu seeped into my thoughts. The terrain hadn''t shifted in any meaningful way; the trees looked the same, looming and twisted, their roots coiling like dark veins across the ground. The patches of dirt, the cracked and faded leaves, the gnarled undergrowth¡ªit was all uncannily familiar, as though I were retracing my own footsteps. I shook my head, trying to shrug off the feeling. I was moving forward¡ªwasn¡¯t I? But the surroundings were relentless in their sameness, as if the entire forest was looping back on itself, trapping me in a repeating landscape.

    It wasn¡¯t just a feeling anymore¡ªI was caught in a trap. The realization dawned with a chill that seeped through my bones. I glanced down at the faint numbers I¡¯d scratched into the bark of passing trees, watching as they climbed up to sixteen, only to reset back to one. A creeping sense of dread settled in my gut.

    I halted in my tracks, a mix of frustration and confusion coursing through me. Why would the numbers reset? I¡¯d been moving forward this whole time, just trying to make it to this ¡®point¡¯. My usual hallucinations, warped as they were, had never twisted reality in this way. I¡¯d seen objects come to life, people appear from thin air, voices muttering from nowhere¡ªbut the world itself had always remained intact, a constant I could cling to. Judging by the fact I was still here, the hallucinations couldn¡¯t account for this.

    So, where was that valuable video game explanation for everything now? Where was that reason in a video game that I would be in a looping terrain? Well¡­It was probably magic. Damn magic. Why had I foolishly assumed magic didn¡¯t exist just because I hadn¡¯t accessed any yet? Magic, unlike the simple imitations and tricks humans were capable of previously, from what I knew, was a power system giving most everything the ability to do almost anything by harnessing the power of mana, a natural element that existed everywhere and functioned similarly to atoms or cells as in it made up everything but also could be harnessed to have a physical effect on the world. I tended to think of it as casting fireballs or freezing someone solid, but generally it had wide use cases. That information was not about to help me right now though; Exhausted and mentally drained from running, I realized I was now the perfect prey for the deadly vines that had seamlessly blended into the trees. That green tint should have been a signal for me but I¡¯d just thought of it as an unimportant detail. In an instant, the vines unraveled from the trees they had tightly wrapped around and they struck, exploding out of the foliage with sonic booms echoing through the air.

    ¡°Oh, come on, really? You¡¯re actually going to do this to me, system? Why does my life have it out for me?¡± I shouted in frustration as I tried to dodge the incoming vines, which whipped and coiled through the air like serpents ready to strike. I should have had enough time to evade, but the moment I moved, something yanked my arms back, halting me mid-motion.

    I twisted around, startled, and there she was¡ªthe girl, back again, her face contorted in that strange, grim smile. Her grip was ironclad, much stronger than it should have been, rooting me in place. Panic spiked through me as I struggled against her grasp, pulling with every ounce of strength I had, but it was like trying to break free from a stone wall.

    "I knew it! There was something off about you from the start! It¡¯s a setup, I fucking knew it, I fucking knew it¡­You¡¯re with the system, aren¡¯t you? Trying to make me suffer more? Or just another hallucination, cuz¡¯ my life is awful and nothing interesting would ever happen in it?!¡± I spat, my voice tinged with desperation.

    ¡°Paranoid, much?¡± she replied with a slight tilt of her head, her voice cool and detached. The vines slowed their approach momentarily, as if they, too, were listening, before they surged toward me again, faster this time. Then, just as suddenly as she¡¯d appeared, she vanished, her form dissolving into thin air. Another fantasmal hallucination. A trick of my mind, one more illusion keeping me bound by my own paranoia. Perhaps it was just the system trying to make a fool of me again. Who knew if the girl before was real either at that rate¡­her fingers did feel odd, didn¡¯t they?

    The vines closed in from every angle, moving faster this time, like they¡¯d grown impatient with me. Thick and brutal, they slammed into me with the force of battering rams. Pain erupted through my body, sharp and unrelenting, knocking the air from my lungs and leaving me gasping. My muscles locked up instinctively, but no amount of resistance could stop the onslaught. The girl¡¯s laughter echoed, leaving me here again, quite alone.

    ¡°¡­fuck yo-¡±

    I crumpled, feeling the crushing weight pinning me down. The vines didn''t pierce, didn¡¯t go deep enough to kill¡ªbut they left bruises and agonizing aches, each blow reverberating through me. I managed one last, shuddering breath before darkness closed in, swallowing me up. The world faded, the pain dulled. And in that final, merciful instant, I let myself go, drifting into unconsciousness.

    [Randomized trial completed: Vined Venture]¡±

 7 - Blur

    ¡°Some semblance of dreams fell upon me briefly, no more real than life itself was. More memories drifting to the surface than standard dreams, words floating up. Back in my school years, we were often assigned to write poems and those decided to be the ones that came back now.

    They handed us templates,

    Lines drawn in boxes like streets I couldn¡¯t cross.

    ¡°Find your inspiration,¡± they said,

    But I found nothing¡ª

    Just the silence of an empty room,

    Where even echoes refused to stay.

    They told me to write about home,

    But what is home when it crumbles at the edges?

    When the roof leaks, and the heat barely reaches,

    And the fridge hums, but it''s mostly empty.

    The corners where hope should sit

    Are cluttered with overdue bills

    And dreams left to dust.

    I tried to fill the boxes with something real,

    But how do you shape hunger into stanzas?

    How do you rhyme with cold nights

    Where the blanket barely covers,

    And the wind whistles through cracked windows?

    I stared at the paper,

    Like I stare at the shelves in the store¡ª

    Counting what I can¡¯t afford,

    Weighing the worth of words I don''t have.

    So, I reached for the school computer,

    Its screen flickering like our lights during storms,

    And looked up poems, already written, already full.

    Someone else''s story¡ª

    Not mine, but close enough

    To fit in the lines they gave me.

    And though they¡¯ll never know,

    I tried¡ª

    Tried to make my empty boxes hold something more.

    But you can¡¯t pull words from pockets

    Already worn thin.

    I am from generic toothpaste,

    The kind that barely foams,

    And store-brand soap, worn thin, lasting as long as it can.

    I am from canned dinners and frozen meals¡ª

    The kind you find on sale,

    The kind that screws up your health,

    And makes you struggle down the line to fix it.

    I am from who knows how many cramped apartments,

    Whether perched atop a hill or nestled at the bottom,

    Always bigger from the outside than in.

    A mess that¡¯s not cozy but I was told were necessary,

    Stuffed with things we can''t afford to throw away.

    (Comforting in its chaos, stifling in its tightness. Claustrophobia inducing, scary on dark nights.)

    I am from the stubborn backyard weeds I cut in my free time,

    Overgrown and forgotten, unnatural and a scourge on this earth, like me.

    The patches of dirt where grass refused to grow.

    From the scraggly crab apple tree that gave shade in the neighbor¡¯s yard,

    Which I snuck to to make use of,

    Its branches brittle,

    (Decrepit, rotting, old, yet still standing¡ªjust like me.)

    I am from hand-me-down clothes,

    Faded, too big or too small,

    From saving every penny,

    And stretching every meal.

    I am from the unspoken struggle,

    Where hope lingers, but quietly,

    And pride in survival is the only thing

    We can truly call ours.

    I¡¯m from the arguments with opposite and contradicting stories,

    from false neutrality,

    from long hugs where I question my own mentality and sense of morality.

    From forgiveness never given and old grudges brewing.

    I am from religions I went through strife to get out of,

    I am from pictures collecting dust atop a who knows how old box of ¡®heirlooms¡¯,

    Occasionally on a small space above a piano,

    When in an apartment that has one.

    For if my life was a piano, I¡¯d be the row of keys to play,

    Because even when controlled and played with,

    I create beauty they could never begin to dream of.

    I created beauty they could never begin to dream of.

    I am from wondrous projects that I went above and beyond on, and songs I wrote in my free time.

    I am from slowly giving less and less into everything I do in search of comfort and relaxation.

    I am from grieving alone about sorry subjects I would despise anybody else for bringing up.

    I am from the cool breeze on a chilly October morning,

    That showed me how to live a fulfilling life.

    And the times I struggled and was trained for adulthood ahead.

    That training failed.

    The teaching failed.

    I failed.

    I¡¯m here now.

    So I deal.

    I try to deal.

    Unconsciousness is a funny thing¡ªone moment, everything seems fine enough, and the next, dizziness takes over. The world spins out of control, becoming foggy as a lightheaded feeling washes over you. Cubic black spots scatter throughout your vision. What isn¡¯t blocked by those spots is blurred, and your limbs feel sluggish, hearing distant and muted. That¡¯s how it had felt the first time I experienced it, but this time was much faster¡ªjust one quick swoop and done. The last time was when I¡¯d passed out drunk after the time I¡¯d lost my phone. At the time, since I was below legal drinking age, I¡¯d¡­possibly smuggled in a six pack of beer¨Cstolen from my place of work as I left that night. At the time, the price for that had been more than just money.

    When I came to, mind muddled and exhaustion pushing on me heavily, I noticed I was no longer where I had been. The looping terrain was gone, as everything seemed at least a bit different. Beneath my head was the same cold, densely packed soil¡ªnot the most comfortable place to pass out. And around me¡­stood people. In the plural. Fuck no. My chest tensed up uncontrollably and butterflies made my stomach their home for the day. The uncertainty of what lay before me filled my mind with dark thoughts, the shadows of anxiety creeping in, and I was painfully aware of every heartbeat, every shallow breath. I needed to escape, but as the figures closed in, I could feel my pulse quickening, an instinctual response to the fear that swelled within me. The feet circled me, closing in, closer, and closer, and closer, and¨C

    [Current capacity: 97/100 - Time remaining: 186 seconds]

    It really had been quite a while that I¡¯d been moving, then¡­

    ¡°Identify yourself!¡± Screamed a gruff voice, the body of whom I couldn¡¯t identify from my position. They were shushed by somebody else nearby. "Roger! Calm down! He¡¯s injured,¡± they admonished. Their voice was steady and gentle, distinctly female although I would have to check to be absolutely certain. ¡°Are you alright then? Were you also ambushed? I had to fight off some rabid dogs but I heard it was different for-¡­My apologies, prolly¡¯ should¡¯ve waited for you to wake up more. How ya¡¯ doing, kid?" The others surrounding me strolled away after seeing I was relatively alright, an optimistic presumption. Slowly lifting my groggy head, my pupils darting around nervously, I took in the sight of the woman who may or may not have helped rescue me. Assuming any of that was real. She stood tall¡ªwhile hard to gauge from my position on the ground, her height had to be at least equal to mine, maybe a bit taller, around six feet. Based on her appearance, I couldn¡¯t tell if she was older than me, making it odd that she called me "kid." Her skin was a pale olive, clear and smooth. Her eyes were a muted blend of gray and blue, and her features were sharp, distinct. Unlike my own hair, which fell nearly to my waist, hers was a short blonde, cut so that it just barely reached her shoulders. I forced my eyes to stay fixed on her face, knowing she¡¯d probably notice if they wandered. I scrambled backwards, unwilling to trust anyone at the moment.

    "So? Are you going to say anything? I just saved your damn life. I-No, I shouldn¡¯t be talking like this to you¡­Have you sustained any other wounds than that hole on your midsection? After we congregated here, we compiled a small stockpile of resources based on what people happened to have with them." Her voice, now edged with irritation, cut through my hesitation, clearly expecting an answer as I sat there, mouth slightly agape, studying her face. Blinking myself out of my stupor, I sat up. She patted some lingering grime off of her pant legs.

    "Sorry... just groggy¡­but there were¡­vine monster things¡­and an evil little girl who helped them¡­and everything is gone! Please tell me you aren¡¯t one yourself. Or aren¡¯t just another hallucination. Please. I¡¯m begging you." I mumbled, still fading in and out of consciousness, images of what had happened flashing on the tip of my irises, while I scratched the back of my neck and avoided direct eye contact.

    "You¡¯re okay now¡­you¡¯re okay. Everything is going to be fine as long as you¡¯re alright. And no, I¡¯m not a monster, but I might¡¯ve turned into one if you kept acting so ungrateful," she replied, extending a hand, chuckling. Her fingers, caked in dirt, looked much tougher than mine. In her other hand, she clutched a long kitchen knife slick with plant matter and reddened with dried blood. I accepted her firm grip and let her pull me up, her strength evident. A real person then. A relief, at least for now. As long as she didn¡¯t decide to drive her blade into my back, this arrangement was perfect. Still, I kept a careful distance, no more than a foot away, just enough to avoid drawing attention to my own wariness.

    "You can stand on your own? Good, good¡­Best get over there then, eh? To the circle, or near it¡­Feels like the world is ending, so you might as well survive." She gestured behind herself as she spoke, though her eyes lingered on me, still curious.

    ¡°You¡¯re not worried about anything? The world is ending and you just admitted it yourself. There¡¯s¡­literal monsters trying to kill us and some ¡®system¡¯ thing that might kill us as well! Assuming all of this is even real, of course¡­¡±

    ¡°It already did in a million other ways. Why should this come as a surprise? Better to just accept things as they happen and stay positive-Wait, what do you mean by not real-¡±

    ¡°I guess I can understand the philosophy, even if I find it¡­um, rather optimistic?¡±

    ¡°Well, I was lying. Mostly just out of fucks to give, these days¡­You know, we only get one trip on this crazy absurdism that we call life, and then everyone tries to make it not worth living? Just gotta beat the system.¡±

    Knowing of a separate system than the metaphorical one she was referring to, I nodded. ¡°Strong agree for the most part¡­we¡¯re all just so meaningless in the grand scheme of things that we needn¡¯t have a purpose except what we make of it¡­it can cause you to get a little¡­demotivated.¡± I cleared my throat. ¡°Who are you by the way? Did you kill those vine monsters? The ones who were attacking me anyway. Who was screaming before? I heard it a long while away. Sorry for, you know, asking so many questions. I¡¯m Alaric. Nice to meet you.¡± I asked in a rapid fire fashion, not caring to answer her final question that she had asked before. I hadn¡¯t talked to people enough, I could probably use some experience.

    ¡°Name¡¯s Crystal¡­never saw any vines that could be ¡®attacking you,¡¯ but I grabbed this knife here as my house was fucking evaporating,¡± she answered, motioning to a handle she held, the main blade seeming to rest in her pocket. ¡°For the last question¡­I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. There''ve been some arguments and the like but no screaming from what I know.¡± Her attentiveness to answering my questions individually was rather impressive. She turned her head and looked over her right shoulder, causing me to look in the same direction.

    Peering over her shoulder, which took some effort due to the awkward angle and the way she blocked most of my view, I finally spotted it¡ªa large, crudely drawn black circle etched into the dirt. The size of the thing struck me immediately; roughly the size of a silo interior. Nestled deep within this forest that seemed vaguely familiar, a crowd had gathered at one end of it, adding to the unclear atmosphere. The notification had mentioned fewer than a hundred people, but in such an isolated, eerie place, the gathering felt far larger.

    Scattered words filtered through the gaps in the crowd, fragments like, ¡°Patch that up!¡± and ¡°You gotta do it tighter!¡± Most of it blurred together, more chaotic noise than coherent commands. I took a step toward them, curious, but a firm grip caught my shoulder. Crystal¡¯s hand. She shook her head, her expression grave.

    I didn¡¯t ask why she wanted me to stay back. Maybe I should have. Instead, I ignored her silent warning, pushing forward toward the group. I had to know why they were huddled so tightly and why, despite their presence, they didn¡¯t seem fully within the circle as the notification had claimed.

    Finding the largest gap I could, I squeezed through the tangle of bodies, weaving my way toward the center. What I found there made me stop short. A heavily bandaged woman, her brown skin slick with sweat, lying unconscious in a shallow pool of blood. The red starkly contrasted the pale cloth being wrapped tightly around her by a few frantic hands. A second figure lay just to the right, similarly bloodied, with a different set of hands working feverishly to stem the flow.

    For a moment, I couldn¡¯t move. Most of the crowd seemed equally frozen, too horrified to do more than watch, like witnesses to a slow-motion car crash. What could I even do? They already seemed to have it under control¡­didn¡¯t they?

    Dropping my gaze to the ground, I noticed something that made my stomach drop¡ªthe same type of tight bandaging wrapped around my own midsection. Crystal had mentioned something about that¡­Had this group bandaged me up too? How much blood had I lost to those damn vines? The realization sent a cold chill through me, though the stroke of luck that someone had been prepared with medical supplies¡­that was just as unnerving as the existence of the¡­I suppose, gods, that had put me here.

    As the timer ticked down, people began drifting back toward the main area of the circle. I hesitated a beat too long, and when I finally turned to leave, the crowd surged forward. Someone shoved past me, sending me sprawling to the ground with a painful blow to the head, which had hit the forest floor first.

    Lying there, dazed, I burned the image of the man who had pushed me into the front of my mind, who just continued striding forward; I had every detail seared with clarity. That was no accident, he had definitely shoved me outright, and I was just about done with people pushing me around.

    The group had moved out rapidly and was now scattered across the space in more disorganized clusters, speaking in low tones, their movements hesitant and uncertain. It was a scene of quiet chaos, a jumble of people trying to make sense of something incomprehensible.

    The diversity of the group was striking, standing out even more in the strange, forested backdrop. People of all different skin tones, from pale white to deep shades of brown, stood huddled together, representing a wide range of ethnicities and cultures. Some were dressed in clothing that hinted they were from far-off places, their accents barely discernible amidst the general murmur. A few had even adopted traditional garments¡ªlong robes, patterned fabrics, or distinct accessories¡ªmaking them stand out even more among the mix of modern casual wear and pajamas. There were families, too. Small children, no older than five or six, clung to their parents with wide, tear-filled eyes. The small bodies of these young children trembled as they pressed themselves against the legs of their guardians, seeking comfort amidst the confusion. I caught a conversation between a young girl and her mother before someone stepped in front of them, blocking them from my view.

    ¡°You¡¯ll get me new toys, right? To replace the ones that went ¡®bye, bye¡¯?¡± The girl asked innocently. The mother didn¡¯t respond, unable to give her a straight answer.

    The elderly and those generally on the older end moved slowly, the minority of the group by far, their faces worn with age and confusion. One old man hobbled across the dirt, gripping a makeshift cane¡ªa tree branch, hastily cut down to serve the purpose. It was saddening to think that he wouldn¡¯t have a functioning means of support other than that. His knuckles were bone-white as he clutched it, his lips pressed tightly together in what I could only assume was silent fear.

    Nearby, a group of teenagers stood in a loose huddle, their faces betraying a mix of fear and morbid curiosity. They whispered to each other with hushed excitement, exchanging glances that wavered between disbelief and dread. A tall boy with wild, curly hair kept glancing at his phone, as if expecting it to provide answers. The phone was off, dead or disfunctional as he frantically pressed the home button and held it high in search of signal. My vision spun for a moment after passing by them, and I put it off as an aftereffect of passing out. It was only slightly concerning that my ears were ringing, and had been, on and off since I¡¯d gotten up.

    Among the group at large, more distinct figures caught my attention. A middle-aged Indian woman, wearing a faded sari and with worry lines etched into her face, gently rocked a baby in her arms. The infant, swaddled in a simple cloth, whimpered softly¡ªits quiet cries lost amidst the surrounding murmurs. Her brow was furrowed, and her eyes darted between the faces in the crowd, searching for any sign of clarity or direction. She was the image of maternal care amidst the chaos, trying to comfort the child despite the disarray around her.

    To her left, a figure starkly out of place¡ªa seemingly British man, sitting lazily on the ground with an air of obliviousness, wore nothing but a pair of slim, bright red boxer briefs. His pale skin was flushed even with the cool shade of the canopy, beads of sweat trickling down his bare chest. He seemed almost proud of his attire, or at least completely unaware of its absurdity. Too exhausted to care. Too shocked about what had happened maybe. It had to be startling to be teleported somewhere randomly. The sight of him was jarring, a sharp reminder of my own disheveled appearance, without a shirt in the same manner. It was a laughable thought, worrying about how I looked in the midst of all this madness.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Crystal filled me in on some of the order of arrivals while I surveyed them all. She had arrived within 10 minutes after being placed conveniently close to the circle with what I felt was a lesser foe than mine. She told me how the group had mobilized to help those who had been wounded, pooling supplies and such, and how despite appearances, everyone here had a ¡°kind soul.¡±

    ¡°You!¡± I exclaimed, pointing a finger in his direction. I¡¯d spotted the guy that had shoved me aside before, and I planned to do something about it. He stood tall, his presence an unwelcome constant amidst the unfamiliar faces, despite his being just as unfamiliar. His lanky figure loomed near the center of the circle, the crowd parting slightly around him as if instinctively sensing his importance, or rather the threat he posed. He held a desperately maintained straight face, and even from this distance, I could feel the weight of his gaze, mocking and predatory, directed at random in a similar fashion to mine. He seemed unaffected by the tension swirling around him, as if everything was playing out just as he expected, though still somehow he seemed nervous. There was something unsettling about this mix of a quiet confidence and fear that made my stomach churn. He knew exactly what he was doing, and even in this chaotic setting, he maintained control. My eyes lingered on him and his snapped to me, sharp and unyielding, a cold sneer playing at the corners of his mouth¨Cno, it was just a smile, why should I attribute emotions onto that? He¡¯s probably just being friendly. Nevertheless, I frantically looked away, caught in the act. I just felt¡­loathing towards him, the same loathing I had for Greg or Jordan or any of those that had caused me harm in the past.. Maybe it was just a distinct facial resemblance, but I inherently hated this man, no matter who he was; I just channeled all my hate for Greg into him. Perhaps it was also the fact he had pushed me over so rudely¡­If he so much as walked towards me, I felt as if I might burst¨CI saw Greg¡¯s face plastered over the face of whoever this was, at this moment I saw him as the cause of all my problems. Unable to do much else while in this much pain, I glared daggers at the ground for a few seconds before moving on.

    I glanced at a burly man with tattoos crawling up both arms, who was hunched over, whispering harshly to a shorter woman by his side. His bald head glistened under the sun, and the designs inked into his skin seemed almost alive with movement as his muscles flexed. The woman next to him, clad in a dirty, torn sundress, kept glancing nervously over her shoulder, her hands fiddling with the hem of her dress.

    Toward the edge of the circle, a tall, elderly woman with silver hair pulled tightly into a bun stood stoically, her hands clasped in front of her. Her face was gaunt, and her thin lips barely moved as she whispered something under her breath, her eyes closed in concentration.

    A few steps away, a young man with dark sunglasses and a fake leather jacket lounged against a tree, exuding a smug sense of confidence. His arms were crossed, and a cigarette hung loosely from his lips, the smoke spiraling lazily into the air. Despite the tension that gripped everyone else, he seemed entirely unconcerned, his mouth twitching into a lazy smirk as his eyes scanned the crowd. He could fit right into a gangster movie, and the thought at least brought some humor to the situation, wondering why he was in that getup.

    Of course, these were just those notable enough to mention, there were countless more mingling around. All these people, each lost in their own thoughts, fears, or confusion, had unknowingly formed an uneasy community in this strange, isolated place. And somehow, despite the distance and the foreign faces, the man¡¯s cold, mocking eyes stayed fixed on me, tying me to this surreal scene. They dug deep down to my soul, reaching in for answers. I didn¡¯t like it one bit. Out of all the people here, randomly put here from numerous spots on the globe, this asshole just had to be put there too. It felt like meeting a teacher outside of school, even though I didn¡¯t know him. Just awkward. For occasional moments, his features kept changing in my vision with randomness, my rapid blinking not enough to stop my vision spinning or stop his nose from being on his arm. I clutched my head and shook myself, allowing my vision of them to finally stabilize into the image of him I recognized from a few moments before.

    He indeed looked lanky, but with a build of lean muscle evenly spread out. His light and tousled brown hair was buzz cut to only be on the top and back of his head, removing the sides and front, which he scratched absentmindedly. His face split into a confused smile yet again, like I was an acquaintance he sort of remembered. His teeth were not what I for some reason expected, instead of a coffee-stained, disgusting New York taxi yellow, they were a bright white. He carefully pushed past bystanders, weaving in my direction. Deftly positioning Crystal in front of me as a human shield, something she didn¡¯t appear to appreciate, I hid myself unsuccessfully, retreating when I realized the man¡¯s shadow covered me.

    [Current capacity: 99/100 - Time remaining: 63 seconds]

    ¡°What do you want? I know you from somewhere?¡± he demanded, his voice slightly uneven and deeper than I expected, slicing through the tension. His question broke the intensity of the moment for those around us, and some onlookers, once silent, began murmuring again, the volume of voices gradually rising.

    ¡°Are you actually okay, dude? Why do you keep staring at me like that?¡± he demanded, his tone shifting from confusion to a simmering hostility. His voice struck me as just as unclean as his greasy, unkempt hair. His face seemed fuzzy, you know, blurry, if nothing else. His figure seemed to waver slightly, strangely hazy in a similar fashion. My eyes struggled to focus on his face, the edges blurring, shifting in and out of clarity. The temporary stability had gone away again. I couldn¡¯t make out his expression; it morphed with every glance, like a fleeting image just out of reach. The disorientation only stoked my anger. I forced myself to focus, my resolve solidifying.

    Instinctively, I patted my own pocket, searching for my switchblade, the one I carried every time I went out¡ªexcept when it mysteriously decided to vanish on me. A streak of unease cut through my rising bravado as I realized I couldn¡¯t feel its reassuring weight.

    ¡°No! I¡¯m not fucking okay, you asshole!¡± I screamed at him, spitting at his feet.

    ¡°Ugh, that¡¯s disgusting! Calm down already! Who even are you?¡± He replied, shoving me backwards slightly, then recoiling.

    ¡°Die in hell! I¡¯ll kill you, I swear it on my¡­¡± I spat out, rage-fueled words tumbling out without thought. I stammered at the end, unable to finish with anything meaningful to swear on. It was a weak line, but it was all I had at the moment. He barely reacted, looking mildly surprised, more taken aback by my anger than intimidated. I took a step back, drawing into the fighting stance I¡¯d half-remembered from those impromptu lessons by the Captain all the way back when. I squared my shoulders, turned sideways, fists raised at chest height, and glared up at him with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. I¡¯m not sure I truly remembered how to fight anymore. The man in front of me, all but clear in my eyes, didn¡¯t make any threatening movements in response, but Crystal stepped in front of me, one arm stretched protectively to hold me back, which did nothing for my nonexistent intimidation factor. She glanced at me, her expression questioning, and I shot a middle finger at him behind her back.

    ¡°You two know each other? Actually, that¡¯s kind of obvious. Forget I asked,¡± she muttered, her voice tense. ¡°Could you guys not fight, though? We might need to work together if we want to figure out what¡¯s going on. I¡¯m begging you, restrain yourself¡­¡± She whispered the words urgently, trying to defuse the situation.

    ¡°Are you two idiots seriously fighting right now? We¡¯re all gonna die! We should be praying!¡± A chubby kid in a blue onesie yelled, panic making his voice waver. His wide, frightened eyes darted between me and the man, his small fists clenched at his sides. He couldn¡¯t have been older than eleven, and his Southern accent came through loud and clear, thick with concern as he tried to make us listen. He stepped forward, close enough that I could see his hands shaking as he pleaded for us to snap out of it.

    "We¡¯re all gonna die, huh? None of this is real, kid! We¡¯re in some Matrix-type shit!" rasped a voice from behind, thick with the edge of whiskey and years of wear. The man speaking was disheveled, bald with a crooked nose and skin worn rough with age, but he didn¡¯t look a day over fifty, a relic of a terrible lifestyle. His gray beard spread unevenly across his face, partly covering a web of wrinkles. He clutched the boy¡¯s shoulder, almost like he was grounding himself, or maybe using the kid to stay upright. A foul mix of alcohol and sweat lingered around him as he let out a laugh that started low and grew into a cackling snicker, clearly amused by his own doomsday theorizing.

    His outburst drew glances, a few people turning to exchange wary looks. Someone muttered something about him just being a kid, that the old man shouldn¡¯t say something like that to him, and others began chiming in, the panic spreading like an infection.

    "Enough with the theories! We have to stay calm!" barked an older Indian woman, her voice loud enough to cut through the noise, yet thick with an accent that seemed more refined with age. Her tone held an edge of authority, as if she¡¯d dealt with chaos before and knew how to handle it. She cupped her hands around her mouth, trying to address the entire crowd, but the voices around her continued to rise. Her sharp gaze settled on me and the man next to me, brow furrowed in disapproval. For a brief moment, her eyes met mine¡ªsteady, unwavering, as if daring me to take control or stop whatever madness had started here.

    She held the group¡¯s attention for a moment, but not everyone was willing to listen. Someone it failed to fall upon was a tall, gangly guy¡ªmaybe in his early twenties, with stringy hair that hung over his eyes. He stood off to the side, grinning with a kind of crazed excitement. His posture was jittery, bouncing lightly on his heels, practically glowing with misplaced enthusiasm as he spoke to the other half of the crowd, who looked at him as if he were nothing more than scum on the bottom of their shoes.

    ¡°This message¡­it¡¯s just like the isekai shows! This is fucking awesome!¡± he shouted, almost breathless with excitement, waving his hands erratically as he stared blankly in front of him, presumably at one of these notifications. Just a tad bit slow on the uptake. Trying to convince one of their own sanity was a difficult task. I knew that better than most¡­His voice carried an almost cartoonish sense of glee, an eager tremble betraying how deeply he believed in what he was saying. His eyes, wide and wild, flickered with the anticipation of something grand, some impossible adventure that would lift him from the mundane into the fantastical. He stood alone, on the northeastern end.

    The contrast between the two couldn¡¯t have been more stark¡ªthe woman¡¯s controlled, steady tone, full of the wisdom of her years, versus the young man''s carefree thrill, rooted in a world of anime and fantasy escapism.

    ¡°Guys, this is it! Our time has come!¡± He continued. His voice had a strange, continually manic quality, and he waved his arms in exaggerated gestures as though addressing an invisible crowd of fans. His wide eyes darted around, and he seemed oblivious to the growing horror on people¡¯s faces as he continued his rant, caught up in a fantasy no one else shared.

    The older woman¡¯s jaw clenched, her lips drawn in a tight line as she glared at him, visibly biting back a rebuke. Her gaze bore into him, brows furrowed in exasperation as though she could dispel his childish glee with a look alone. But he was unphased, utterly lost in his own world, and continued to prattle on about monsters and ¡°power-ups,¡± completely unfazed by her judgment.

    A tween slouched nearby scoffed, muttering, ¡°Shut up, dumbass,¡± a sentiment shared by many judging from their expressions, before getting smacked upside the head with a pocketbook by their mother, who glared at them, horrified. The kid mumbled an apology, and the exchange was amusing to watch, a brief distraction from my growing nerves. It grew even more hilarious when a random teenager came literally flying forward and slammed into the mother at an insane velocity, leaving both on the ground sputtering and coughing out dust. Maybe they were in a car on the highway, and the car disappeared, sending them flying, and then they were brought here without being slowed? That was my best idea for it in the minimal time I had.

    Others, meanwhile, were breaking down in different ways. Many¡¯s gazes flitted between strangers as if hoping someone, anyone, would have an answer. They all had made it to this circle their own way but few truly understood the scope of their predicament.

    Before I could lose myself in the spectacle, my focus snapped back to my foe.

    ¡°Hey! Look at me! Look, I don¡¯t know who you are, aight? You¡¯re getting on my nerves though, so if that¡¯s your goal, you win, there.¡± His tone allowed me to peek at the ferocity he held, but he didn¡¯t stop there. ¡°You want my help? Is that it? That why you keep bothering me? Want the last spot instead of that girlfriend of yours?¡± He answered for himself.

    The last spot?

    [Current capacity: 101/100 - Time remaining: 34 seconds]

    ¡°The name¡¯s Alaric. Maybe you need to learn your fucking place!¡± I cried out, outraged, voice cracking. I guess I was so upset because of the pent up anger caused by the absurdity of where I was.

    ¡°Alright, Aly whatever. I¡¯ve never met you in my life so chill the fuck out. Are you mentally ill or some shit?¡± He replied coolly, while he looked at me with casual disdain, as though I were an unremarkable nobody.

    ¡°Maybe I am, maybe I¡¯m not. Maybe you are, seeing notifications in front of your eyes.¡± I replied noncommittally. ¡°No, who the fuck am I actually kidding, I definitely am.¡± I said to myself, not quite loud enough for him to hear.

    Aly whatever. Okay. I wouldn¡¯t happen to be 21 fucking years old or anything even if my social maturity or shirtlessness said otherwise. His smile widened, and his fists were clenched just as tightly as mine. That grin¡­did seem off, just as blurred as the rest of his face, contorted, unnatural.

    And what did he mean he hadn¡¯t met me? That definitely was Greg¨CNo, it wasn¡¯t¨CNo, it was¨CI don¡¯t even know anymore. My head pounded and vision kept going in and out. Did he have memory loss? Did I? Or was the blood loss just catching up to me? The shirt I¡¯d wrapped around my arm earlier was quite soaked by now and didn¡¯t appear to be stemming the flow particularly well.

    I was briefly distracted by a commotion on the other end, wherein a middle aged white man in a suit and tie brandished a briefcase at a young kid who had tried to approach him for some sort of comfort or support, shouting something that sounded a lot like, ¡°This is some sick prank isn¡¯t it?! Show me the camera! Show me the fucking camera!¡±

    My focus returned to my opposition. He looked at me, exasperation etched into his expression. ¡°So, you want help or not? Or are you just going to keep staring at me? Think I¡¯m a fucking animal?¡± The words hit me hard, grounding me with a jolt. I studied his face, actually taking it in this time, and all the little differences started to stand out¡ªhis jaw wasn¡¯t as sharp as I saw, his brow more relaxed. The ringing in my ears ended and my head felt better. Finally, I could think clearly, the bile in my throat falling back down. I took in more details I¡¯d missed before, the sound of his voice nagging at me. There was a hint of an accent¡ªSpanish, maybe. He wore a tailored black suit and blue tie, not the casualwear that I¡¯d thought I¡¯d seen before, looking strangely out of place yet oddly intimidating. The outfit was sharp, professional, but his posture, the tension in his body¡ªit hinted at something barely restrained, as though he was prepared to lash out at any moment. ¡°You probably want me deported! Well guess the hell what, your country doesn¡¯t exist anymore!¡±

    Reality settled in, like waking up from a dream that had twisted everything I thought I was seeing. I felt a chill run through me as I wondered why my mind had played a twisted trick, why it had been so eager to turn my perception of a stranger into that of someone I knew¡­someone I hated. Rather, why the system would do this to me, when I hadn¡¯t even done anything wrong! Had I? No, maybe I had.

    More differences stacked up, each one dismantling the mistaken identity I¡¯d forced upon him. No familiar ticks or movements I would¡¯ve recognized. I¡¯d been sparring with a stranger¡ªan angry, unyielding stranger, and I knew that, but¡­still. He flexed his fingers, cracking each knuckle deliberately, the sound sharp and menacing in the tense air between us. It sent a cold stab of realization through me. Whoever he was, he looked ready to throw a punch, maybe at me, maybe at Crystal, maybe at some unlucky passerby who happened to cross his line of sight, but probably at me, since I¡¯d been the one to aggravate him.

    It didn¡¯t matter who his target was; he had the potential for violence in his stance, the kind of fury that didn¡¯t discriminate. Noise still swirled around me, coming from every direction, and nobody paid my situation any notice.

    It didn¡¯t take long for him to build up his resolve to make an attack and fulfill whatever sense of justice he might have, especially when he didn¡¯t feel he would receive consequences for his actions judging by the events of today. He brought his fist backwards and swung it forward rapidly, before his fist was caught by someone else dashing in from the side.

    ¡°You said you wouldn¡¯t get into fights! We had a deal, Man¨²el! Does that mean nothing to you?¡± The intervener, a taller man of the same ethnicity and attire screamed at my near-attacker, with tear-filled eyes.

    ¡°Nah, fuck that. Our lives are changing, Jos¨¨. I can fight now! I can kill now! I ain¡¯t going to jail, ain¡¯t nobody gonna stop me like before,¡± Man¨²el retorted, trying to pull away from Jos¨¦¡¯s grip on his arm, but Jos¨¦¡¯s hold was sturdy. The next moment, Jos¨¦ had Crystal¡¯s knife pressed to his throat.

    ¡°You¡¯re crazy, man, you know that? You never were like this before-¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re crazy!¡±

    Crystal just looked bemused, wondering how her knife was taken from her without her noticing.

    ¡°Hey, everybody, listen up!¡± Man¨²el ordered. ¡°Drop every weapon you¡¯ve got on the floor right now, or this man¡¯s dead!¡±

    Without even waiting for anyone to do as requested, Jos¨¦¡¯s throat was slit, and the thump of their body hitting the dirt was all I could hear. Cruelty at its finest.

    All around us, people froze as the body fell, an uneasy silence swelling before a few screams broke through. Panic spread in waves, but nobody dared to rush forward or flee. The air was as still as them, the shade unrelenting. Fear held them captive, many caught between shock and morbid curiosity. One woman shouted angrily in a language I didn¡¯t recognize, her voice defiant even as others backed away, hoping to distance themselves without drawing attention.

    ¡°Want your knife back? Here.¡± Man¨²el said curtly, shoving the knife into her chest and leaving it in before winding back again. With a single whipped punch from the man towards the face of Crystal who still was in front of me protectively, her head snapped back, hair whipping in an arc as she stumbled, knife slipping out from her with a muted thud. She staggered, too stunned to even cry out, her face pale as she struggled to stay upright. The stranger sighed, flexing his knuckles in satisfaction.

    ¡°Crys-¡± I faltered as the man¡¯s gaze fell on me.

    ¡°Hey¡­She had nothing to do with anything! There¡¯s been a mistake! Please believe me! Calm down! Please man, I¡¯ll do anything¡­¡± I attempted to plead faintly, attempted to appeal to his humanity, the words only coming partly up my throat before halting. I was frightened. Really frightened, in the kind of way where you know that whatever you do, it won¡¯t work out well.

    ¡°You got on my nerves, bitch. Thought you could tell that much.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, but-¡±

    ¡°Dealt with too many of your kind. People who gawk at people who are different from them. Whether that be skin color, physique, nationality, language, or culture, it¡¯s irrelevant-¡±

    ¡°Somebody help! He¡¯s gonna kill us all!¡± I jutted in. Nobody came to my rescue. Too scared¡­or they saw how I had pushed him into his rage and thought me partly to blame.

    ¡°Racist piece of scum.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m no-¡±

    ¡°You think someone¡¯s gonna stop me out here?¡± He quipped, spitting on the ground when he finished to match what I had done to him, misunderstanding greatly what had happened. He picked up the knife and pressed it lightly against my throat, the cold steel biting into my skin just enough to make me recoil. He held it there for a moment, his gaze unwavering, daring anyone to interfere, even going so far as to look around at every other group of individuals, to egg them on. It wasn¡¯t as if he didn¡¯t have some semblance of a reason to do so, which made me feel even worse. I didn¡¯t argue much more than that as I started to step back fearfully. ¡°Your ¡®mistake¡¯ led to this and you¡¯ll deal with it. Prejudice this deep rooted must be cleansed.¡±

    ¡°Your partner said something changed you¡­you weren¡¯t always like this¡­I¡¯m only human, you understand, don¡¯t you?¡± I asked in desperation. ¡°I did something bad, something very bad, and I¡¯m truly sorry. All my emotions just exploded onto you, so I beg for you to forgive me this once.¡±

    He leaned towards me conspiratorially, his words low but somehow cutting through the surrounding noise again. "This is just the beginning,¡± he murmured, a chilling certainty in his voice. I tensed, realizing with a sinking feeling that he hadn¡¯t finished what he¡¯d come here to start. ¡°I¡¯ll spare you for now. In return, lick the underside of my muddy boot.¡± Feeling disgusted, yet not wanting to die at his hands, I bent over to do as requested, only for him to step back and laugh derisively, though not exactly in a normal sort of way. I find it difficult to explain how it looked or sounded, but it was rather unnatural. ¡°No way¡­you thought I was serious. Well¡­We have¡­limited time right now, but take this as a warning to you.¡± His expression was grim; throughout this he hadn¡¯t looked exactly happy, really nothing even remotely similar to Greg, but I still had to keep reminding myself it wasn¡¯t him. Just¡­

    ¡°Everyone! Settle down, settle down. You must all realize that this is simply a trial of our faith to God almighty, up in heaven. We must simply seek his forgiveness for whatever sins we must have committed and we will be able to return to our lives.¡± Man¨²el shouted to the gathered crowd, voice raised to an extreme to reach even those in the back. Many turned to listen though many others still ignored his preaching. Many were too afraid to contradict him. I guess I was just stupid for doing anything. Either way, it was a nice speech for someone so psychopathic¡­Another uproar erupted. Pointedly turning away, I tried to change my focal point to the scene erupting at the far end. The man who had been brandishing his briefcase now wielded it like a club, swinging it wildly at anyone within reach. His eyes gleamed with a manic energy, face twisted in a furious grin as he struck out, his movements so unhinged it was as if he were possessed. The crowd around him scattered in alarm, but he pursued them, unleashing his frenzied rage with each swing.

    Some onlookers attempted to subdue him, but they were quickly swatted away, their attempts swallowed by the man''s unpredictable movements. His crazed laughter cut through the air, and the sounds of impact¡ªa sickening thud with each swing¡ªgrew louder as the onlookers tried and failed to overpower him. His briefcase had transformed from a simple item into a blunt weapon, crashing down on those nearest him with a force that left some stumbling backward, clutching bruises and cuts.

    It was hard to make out distinct sounds now, anything audible was high pitched shrieks or shouted calls for help. Amid this storm of violence, a small child somehow broke free from his mother¡¯s hold, perhaps spurred by curiosity or simply unaware of the danger. The child¡¯s tiny form darted into the open space, winding through the legs of the terrified crowd with surprising agility. The crazed man¡¯s eyes flicked down to the child, his arm swinging wide as if to catch him, but the boy ducked and swerved just in time, narrowly avoiding the trajectory of the briefcase. His mother let out a piercing scream, her face drained of color as she saw her child slipping further into harm¡¯s way.

    Panicking, she thrust herself into the thick of the crowd, her arms outstretched, frantically clawing her way forward. She begged, shouted, and struggled, her voice hoarse and desperate, but the crowd barely moved to help her. People turned away, choosing to ignore her or simply too distracted by their own terror to give her passage. Her desperation grew as she shoved past elbows, stumbling over feet, trying to reach her son who was still dodging the man¡¯s unpredictable swings. Her hands clawed through the air, straining for him, yet she was held back by strangers who formed an unwilling barricade, preventing her from breaking through.

    In a last-ditch effort, she pushed herself against the crowd¡¯s resistance, crying out with all the strength her voice could muster. Her face was red, eyes wide with fear, as she fought the indifferent mass of people who continued to block her path. A few feet ahead, her son ducked and darted, oblivious to the peril that surrounded him, his small form disappearing and reappearing in the chaotic tangle of legs. The seconds stretched, each heartbeat an eternity as she struggled, desperate to reach him before the man¡¯s crazed swings finally found their mark.

    A true domino effect began to unfold, chaos rippling outward as if the entire scene had been primed for it. Disorder surged through the crowd the moment a reckless teen charged forward, targeting an elderly man with a sudden shove. The old man¡¯s body buckled under the blow, collapsing to the ground with a shocked gasp, arms flailing as he reached for anything to break his fall. His cry of pain barely registered with those around him; people were either too self-absorbed or too stunned to react. Emboldened by the utter lack of resistance and indifference of the onlookers, the teen grinned, his face twisting with an ugly kind of thrill. He turned, lashing out at strangers from behind, one after another, watching them stumble forward, disoriented and defenseless.

    My gaze was pulled back to the stranger I¡¯d mistaken for an old enemy, the illusion of his identity now shattered. He seized my shoulder, his grip like iron as he wrenched me around to face him, forcing me to look directly into his dark, calculating eyes.

    ¡°Pay some fucking attention!¡± He raged. His gaze flickered to Crystal, cold determination set in his expression as he raised his fist again. The intent was clear¡ªhe was going to finish what he¡¯d started with her, and he wanted me to watch every second of it, to witness the full extent of his violence.

    Without a thought, instinct took over. I pulled away and threw myself between them, my arms crossing in a last-ditch attempt to shield her. His fist connected, pain bursting in white-hot tendrils across my forearms, though somehow not as brutally as I¡¯d braced for. My knees shook, but I managed to stay upright, a shaky breath of relief escaping me. But it was fleeting¡ªhis other fist was already swinging towards my unprotected face, his movements relentless. I tried to duck but wasn¡¯t nearly fast enough to escape his wrath.

    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t have tried to be a hero, man,¡± he jokingly reprimanded. He smiled faintly.¡±

 8 - Transference

    ¡°In that split second of surprise, he capitalized on my vulnerability, altering his approach with frightening precision. His fist unfurled into an open palm, fingers splayed wide, and his hand shot upward with deadly accuracy, aiming to wrap around my neck. Before I could brace myself, his hand clamped down, his fingernails digging into my skin as he began to lift, his grip crushing my windpipe. I strained against him, my hands scrambling to seize his wrist, clamping down with all the strength I could muster, silently begging for release as I struggled to keep my feet planted. But his hold only tightened, and with a surge of effort, he hoisted me off the ground, my legs swinging helplessly beneath me.

    Effortlessly, he tossed me aside like discarded trash, my body slamming into the dirt. Gasping, I felt the sharp sting of grit scraping my skin as I struggled to orient myself. In the distance, I caught sight again of the mother clawing her way to her child, frantic and desperate, the need to protect evident in every strained movement. Fueled by the same desperation, I dug my hands into the earth, scraping through the dirt and grime as I dragged myself toward the circle, a sanctuary within reach.

    But he was faster, his footsteps pounding behind me as the seconds ticked away. My heart hammered with each passing moment, each frantic crawl bringing me closer, yet still achingly out of reach. Just as I thought I might make it, he overtook me, his shadow swallowing mine. I barely had time to brace myself before his foot came down, the heel crashing onto the back of my head. My cheek grated against the ground as he pressed down with merciless force, the skin tearing against an unfortunately placed stone, hot friction scraping and ripping away layers with a burning intensity.

    The world blurred in equal measure to how he¡¯d appeared to me before, a fog of pain and dust filling my senses as I lay there, only a few feet from safety but nearly out of time. I couldn¡¯t let him have the satisfaction of winning¡ªnot now. He seemed to sense my last bit of determination and moved quickly, yanking me upright once more. Without a word, he hurled me toward the circle, the ground rushing up to meet me.

    I landed hard, face-first in the dirt, my breath knocked out of me as I tried to make sense of what was happening. Dazed, I lay there coughing out dust, every part of me aching as I struggled to find my bearings, my mind swimming in confusion and shock.

    ¡°I¡¯ll say this once, and once only,¡± he called out, his voice distant and muffled through my dazed state, barely audible past the cacophony of sounds, ¡°you owe me one.¡± I looked up, blinking to clear my vision, but before I could process what he meant, the world dissolved again, whisked away like the scene was a mere simulation controlled by some unseen hand, something it likely was. That or my deluded brain.

    [Would you like to enter a formal contract?]

    My head throbbed relentlessly as I mumbled, ¡°Fine,¡± barely registering his words. The whole concept of a ¡°contract¡± didn¡¯t really settle in until the system''s message continued:

    [You have been put into a contract between life and death. You must fulfill the terms of the contract made by the stronger party, or your life will end instantaneously. This has been officially approved by the guardian deity of ¡®Manuel Ramirez¡¯ and further by¨C???]

    The words in the notification struck me like a bludgeon against my skull, jolting me from the depths of fatigue that clouded my thoughts. Gradually, the enormity of the message began to penetrate the fog, carving out just enough space for a disquieting realization to emerge: I was now tethered to the terms dictated by this psychotic guy¡ªor potentially by his enigmatic guardian deity. The ramifications of this binding felt ominous, like a shadow creeping over me. Did it signify a life of servitude, where I would be compelled to follow commands without question? The thought sent an involuntary shudder through my body, and the gravity of my predicament pressed heavily upon my chest.

    As my mind wrestled to regain its composure, it scrambled to assemble the shards of comprehension I possessed. ¡°Guardian deity¡±¡ªthe phrase felt alien, a notion I might have skimmed in the pages of fantasy novels or stumbled across in the realms of video games, but never truly understood. The idea that someone as unremarkable as Devin could be linked to such a formidable entity was disconcerting. Did I truly grasp what this entailed? Not in the least. The uncertainty wrapped around me like a vice, a persistent anxiety that urged me to hold off on exploring the full implications of my new circumstances.

    Then there was the cryptic ¡°???¡± at the end of the notification. It confounded me more than I cared to admit. Was it a reference to the system itself, or did it hint at a force even more powerful, lurking in the shadows? Each speculation I conjured felt tenuous, and my instinct to trust my intuition was waning under the weight of confusion.

    Amidst this chaos, Crystal surged to the forefront of my thoughts, her presence vibrant yet marred by the bitter sting of loss. Our time together had been absurdly fleeting, yet she had rapidly morphed into a sisterly figure, a rare bastion of stability in the tumult of my reality.

    [Enlightened races on your planet have completed attunement with the system. Immigration within your own universe for those capable is now permitted. Multiversal immigration may commence following path searches.]

    As I absorbed this revelation, the atmosphere around me felt palpably transformed. Not in an overtly dramatic manner, but rather as if a subtle transformation had coursed through the fabric of reality itself. I found myself adrift in a vast, dimly lit expanse¡ªvoid of solid form yet astonishingly breathable. The atmosphere, though tangible, bore an uncanny quality, wrapping around me like a shroud of silk, while the steady cadence of my breath provided a grounding rhythm in this bewildering environment. Beneath this comforting familiarity lingered an enigmatic essence, a whisper of energy that thrummed just out of reach, akin to the delicate reverberations of an ancient lullaby long forgotten. It beckoned to me, hinting at mysteries concealed within the depths of this shadowy realm.

    Glimmers of energy swirled around me, pulsing with a soft luminescence, akin to the distant flicker of starlight. It crackled and spiraled, weaving an invisible web that wrapped itself around my form. I felt this energy within me too, a gentle warmth swirling near my heart, orbiting it with a rhythmic cadence that felt almost sentient. Driven by curiosity, I concentrated, attempting to extend this sensation outward, to fill every fiber of my being with this newfound awareness. With another thought, I sought to draw it back, coaxing it to encircle my heart once more, but it resisted; the energy remained stubbornly unattainable, as if teasing me from just beyond my reach.

    Mana. The term flickered through my consciousness, summoning images from the countless role-playing games I had immersed myself in and the fantastical tales I had devoured. It seemed the most fitting explanation for this ethereal energy, yet uncertainty loomed large, casting a shadow over my understanding. I couldn¡¯t be entirely sure what it all meant, but the sensation was both intoxicating and perplexing, an invitation to explore the depths of a reality that felt both foreign and familiar.

    As I clung to that thought, a spark of excitement flickering at the prospect of mana use, assuming I could get it to move, and assuming I wouldn¡¯t end my life, which seemed very viable at the moment, another notification appeared, flipping through lines of text like a slot machine.

    It was difficult to make out most of them since they rushed past so quickly, but the last few were just barely legible, an annoying ticking sound playing as they swung by.

    [Jungle Survival]

    [Tournament]

    [Crafting Hall]

    [Dungeon Run]

    [Test of Will]

    Finally, it landed and stayed at: [Blank Slate]

    A description appeared beneath it, reading: [An empty plane with infinite possibilities. You decide how you find your path. Anything requested within reason is possible for training, but you will not keep anything given past the end of the path-search.]The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    My surroundings shifted abruptly. The dark void resolved into an endless white expanse¡ªa blank canvas of light. A minor improvement, I supposed. My body pitched forward, launching me through the space until I face-planted again, this time into a floor that was surprisingly soft, like a massive cushion. At least this time, there was a floor. Every other direction remained a hazy void, and squinting into the distance only revealed swirling, colored fog.

    It was some sort of magical place, too, given that when I involuntarily vomited as a reaction to a delayed pain reception, my guts heaving as my body reacted to whatever this guy had done to me, the mess vanished in mid-air, dissolving before the greenish sludge could splatter across the floor. Why did everything have to be happening so fast? Couldn¡¯t I get a calm, gradual integration? Instead, it was a whirlwind¡ªlosing everything, teleporting to who knows where, battling monster plants, stumbling upon some weird circle, then witnessing a vicious attack? What¡­what had I just seen? Had I witnessed a double homicide first hand? Crystal hadn¡¯t even made it to the circle, her form vanishing from view in a blur of violence and noise, and that man, who had seemed to be a friend of Man¨²el had most certainly died as well, assuming a lack of immediate medical treatment. The realization hit like a punch into my gut, instantaneous and nauseating. It twisted at my insides, stirring up a thick, nauseous feeling that clawed its way up my throat. My mind raced, grappling to wrap itself around what I had just seen. And yet, it was as if some other part of me, colder and more detached, kept trying to dismiss the shock, whispering that this wasn¡¯t so different from the flood of brutal images I¡¯d seen online. The gore-filled content that had once shocked me had now grown all too familiar, dulling the edges of horror and making everything blur together into a surreal tapestry of violence.

    But something about this was different. Watching the brutal act unfold right in front of me was a visceral experience that clung to my senses with an uncomfortable weight. It wasn¡¯t the punch that killed her, the system had. But he¡­he, this Man¨²el, had known about what would happen, and purposefully gotten her killed. A real, breathing person had been struck down, and I¡¯d just stood there, immobilized, frozen in my own disbelief, unable to do anything to stop the first punch, the punch that if it had hit me, I¡¯d be dead instead. I didn¡¯t want to be dead instead. Did I? It was possible, but not like that. Yes, I had morals, at least I liked to think so, but that didn¡¯t mean much when they were stuffed away by the shock of the moment. Somewhere deep down, there was an unyielding instinct to look away, to detach and disconnect from the horrors playing out in front of me. But despite it all, another part of me¡ªit felt cruel to admit¡ªwas already trying to shift my focus, as if some deeper part knew that survival hinged on being able to keep moving, to prioritize.

    [You have begun the path-search. Stage 1: Find Yourself.]

    [Warning: If you fail to find yourself within this stage, you will be unable to continue the path search and will be banished to a temporary realm for the remainder of the path-search.]

    [Character Sheet (This may be opened at a thought):

    <table>

    <tbody>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Name: Alaric Ashford

    </td>

    <td>

    Race: Human

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Class: None

    </td>

    <td>

    Sub-class: None

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Profession: None

    </td>

    <td>

    Sub-profession: None

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Tier: Z - Lower

    </td>

    <td>

    Health: 8/10

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Stamina: 4/10

    </td>

    <td>

    Title: None

    </td>

    </tr>

    </tbody>

    </table>

    Stats:

    <table>

    <tbody>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Intelligence: 3

    </td>

    <td>

    Strength: 2

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Wisdom: 2

    </td>

    <td>

    Vitality: 2

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Stamina: 2

    </td>

    <td>

    Durability: 3

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Dexterity: 4

    </td>

    <td>

    Luck: 1

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Perception: 3

    </td>

    <td>

    Willpower: 2

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Regeneration: 2

    </td>

    <td>

    Confidence: 1

    </td>

    </tr>

    </tbody>

    </table>

    Note: Stats available are dependant on your Race, Class, and Profession

    Titles: None

    Note: Only one title may be equipped at a time

    Skills: None

    Equipment: None

    Notice: Your soul is currently being held in the balance by a contract between life and death. Your growth is dependent on the contractor and is capped to not reach beyond that of the contractor.]

    In an attempt to reclaim some sense of clarity, I pulled my gaze down to the glowing character sheet, the system-generated summary of my supposed strengths, weaknesses, and whatever fragmented identity this reality had assigned to me. The emptiness in the categories was almost mocking, as if it was pointing out everything I didn¡¯t have, every skill I hadn¡¯t earned. Was that the point? To feel stripped bare, exposed in a way that forced me to realize just how far I had to go? Or was it simply a cold reminder that I was nothing special here, a blank slate in a world that demanded progress with an unnerving lack of compassion? Huh¡­blank slate¡­wasn¡¯t that the name of this ¡®path-search?¡¯

    But the character sheet was just one distraction among many, and it was the notification that had captured my attention, drawing me in like a strange riddle I couldn¡¯t quite solve. It had hinted at the need to ¡°find myself,¡± but what did that even mean in a place like this? The phrase was broad, vague, almost laughably generic in a situation so far from anything ¡°normal.¡± Did it want me to discover some grand, hidden purpose? To unveil a destiny I hadn¡¯t realized was mine all along? Or maybe it was something smaller, more personal¡ªa call to dig deep into the messy chaos of my thoughts and uncover who I truly was beyond the external pressures and endless judgments.

    And then there were the other possibilities, the quieter, more unsettling questions that lurked in the corners of my mind. Maybe it wanted me to dissect my own values, to decide where I stood in a world that didn¡¯t seem to care much for morals or ethics. Or was I supposed to examine the intricacies of my personality, analyze what made me tick, what defined me as a person? It felt absurd, a cosmic joke, to be considering something as trivial as my personality type while standing in the aftermath of violence, surrounded by the resounding screams of what I¡¯d just witnessed, playing on repeat in my mind.

    Yet, the thought lingered, winding its way through my consciousness like an unwelcome guest. As vague as it was, the question of ¡°finding myself¡± pulled at me with an almost magnetic force, nagging at the edges of my awareness, demanding my attention. In this strange, warped reality, the notion of self-discovery took on a strange weight, one that felt both overwhelming and oddly necessary.

    [Time remaining: 23 hours, 59 minutes, 43 seconds]

    Slowly, I took in my surroundings, observing the uninterrupted spread of white beneath me, its peculiar nature somewhere between firm and yielding. The floor stretched endlessly in every direction, a terrain that seemed almost alive, responding subtly as if attuned to my movements. The material wasn¡¯t quite like any ground I¡¯d felt before; it was softer than stone yet denser than cloth, as if crafted for wanderers adrift. Its surface felt oddly pliant, supporting me yet curving slightly around each point of contact¡ªa paradox of solidity and ease that both welcomed and unsettled me.

    At least I had a sliver of time to unravel the meaning behind it, a small consolation amidst whatever was going on. With a resigned sigh, I settled onto the floor, the white cushion yielding softly beneath me. The surface felt plush yet oddly firm, cradling my weight as I sank into it. It was as if the ground itself was designed for comfort, a stark contrast to the tension swirling in my mind.

    I focused the swirling tension within me, redirecting it to forge more intricate thoughts, determined to tackle the problem at hand. Emotions rarely fit neatly within the rigid boundaries of the English language, so why not expand beyond those constraints? To think lyrically, or at the very least with a touch of poetry, felt more liberating than adhering to the stringent demands of an academic essay.

    A soft chuckle slipped from my lips as I bit my lip, my gaze drifting to the creases and wrinkles on the tip of my thumb. I ran my pointer finger along its pointed nail, tracing the delicate ridges. An itch prickled at my arm, and I scratched it absentmindedly, then shut my eyes tight, immersing myself in the moment. I began to hum a lighthearted tune, one that had likely drifted into my mind during a visit to a clothing store long ago. My bangs fell into my eyes, but I paid them no mind, allowing the playful melody to carry me away, weaving a thread of nostalgia through the haze of my thoughts. It was a small act of defiance against the world surrounding me, a simple pleasure amid the turmoil.¡±

 9 - A Day in the Life

    ¡°My mind is an unrelenting torrent, swirling and storming, growing and corrupting. Now, more than ever, I feel like it is deteriorating. Now, more than ever, I feel backed into a corner, that the only way to escape is death or an impossible repair of myself. Now, more than ever, I doubt everything, I doubt if I¡¯m actually here. Now, more than ever¡­Now, more than ever, that I am theoretically back in contact with other people, I fear them figuring out who I truly am. I fear that this all really is just another drug based hallucination, that my pizza bites were laced with something. I hope that even with how odd everything that has been happening is, that it is real; don¡¯t I?

    Let me drift deep into the refuge of thought,

    a sanctuary where, for a flickering instant, I hold the reins,

    where I am the cunning architect of my own design,

    a businessman cloaked in luck and gilded fate,

    the world bending toward me like light in a prism,

    where fortune feels just within my grasp,

    a promise too soft to keep but sweet enough to chase.

    It is almost heaven here, suspended in a place

    untouched by the weary weight of turning twenty-two,

    where my scars feel softened, and loss a distant ghost,

    where heartbreak dulls to gentle hues of gray.

    Though gladness isn¡¯t constant, its glimmer sometimes shows,

    a fleeting joy in an echoing world.

    And always, beside me, my companion remains,

    a soft, white creature with fur light as snowflakes¡ª

    He''s as gentle as a whisper, as silent as shadow.

    He follows where I go, a partner in play beneath the sun

    and silent witness under moonlit frost.

    I call him by names no one else understands:

    Sorrow, dejection, the keeper of my quiet depths.

    He¡¯s the friend who will be there tomorrow,

    The one I cherish when all else fades,

    And in his eyes, my soul lays bare,

    the last bond to hold, the only heart to share.

    What was my life?

    A glitch, a stumble masked,

    hidden beneath shields of

    self-deprecation,

    where the sharp jaws of the world

    could not bite.

    In my youth, life was almost good.

    I didn''t know the darkness¡ª

    not yet.

    Childhood lay, stretched out,

    through empty, echoing halls,

    with days that dragged,

    time a heavy grip on

    solitude¡¯s tight grasp.

    Alone, somehow,

    I felt above them all,

    my good grades a brittle bridge

    to parental praise.

    Yet it was banishment and ostracization,

    to every other soul

    who walked those vast halls.

    So I learned to live alone.

    Each move, each town¡ª

    another hollow attempt

    to reach connection,

    but always, always the odd one,

    staring from the outside in.

    Exhaustion became my only comfort,

    sinking me deep into couches,

    where thoughts grew heavy, numb.

    Too worn to think, too drained to feel.

    If I had a home,

    it was a barely-warm bed,

    a cold rented floor.

    There was never enough,

    not enough work, money, peace.

    Parents who knew scorn better than love,

    and spoke words that lashed,

    ¡°There are starving kids in Africa,¡±

    as if everything I had was perfect,

    as if my hurt held no worth,

    as if my grief was a self-indulgent sin.

    My selfishness knows no bounds,

    A limitless expanse,

    My greed for life that is perfect,

    I only wish to grasp it in my clawing hands.

    I dull out all that is not it,

    And complain when it is not,

    I live when I really shouldn¡¯t,

    My burden lingering as an afterthought.

    I burden all who help me,

    My pain, they said, was tiny,

    So why complain?

    But to me, it bore weight enough,

    heavier than I could shoulder.

    I had privilege, sure,

    the invisible guard of birth,

    yet it never softened the edge,

    never took the cold away.

    The world crumbled around me,

    and I fell with it,

    let everything slip and fade:

    grades, parents, ambition withered

    like old, forgotten fruit.

    An emo kid, grown old,

    still aching for purpose.

    Purpose¡ªwhat could I claim?

    The question haunted,

    a shadow across youth¡¯s darkest woods,

    its outline stretched long.

    Once, I dreamed of leaving,

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.of shedding this hollow cycle¡ª

    even that courage failed.

    I was a writer, or so I thought,

    craving voice, yet loathing crowds,

    longing for ears that would never turn.

    What am I, then?

    A scribbler of middling worth?

    A quiet life, a silent death¡ª

    like a punchline with no laughter.

    And then, it struck me:

    to be something,

    the one who brought pain to those

    who dealt it freely.

    Or maybe, just like every night, these thoughts will fade into nothing like all my other late-night plans for a better life.

    I crumpled up the page I¡¯d been writing that on and tossed it to the side, pulling out another paper from the stack¡­that last one was good, but¡­not good enough. I could do better. Yeah. I could do better.

    For why does all this matter?

    Truly, it does not,

    Even now, I only wish to gain,

    For that is human nature.

    It is my nature.

    Avarice is inherent.

    I restarted.

    I ponder for much time,

    Lost in the coils of endless thoughts,

    Strange words, yet they echo, restless.

    I battle with God,

    I act as a blasphemer.

    I curse my creator out,

    While I remain a schemer.

    And restarted some more¡­And kept restarting until another notification clouded my vision.

    [Error: Lack of non-misguided beliefs and memories to create a concrete self. Objective ended early - 18:36:17 remaining. You have been frozen for the remainder of stage 1. Stage 2 initializing¡­]

    [Stage 2: Find Your Path - Time remaining: 71:59:51]

    I said nothing, acting as uncaring as I possibly could. Being¡­frozen, or whatever was intriguing, but I hadn¡¯t felt anything which I was glad for. I glanced back at the notification for my ¡°Character Sheet,¡± looking for any clue that might hint at what this ¡°path¡± could be. I was left wondering how exactly a ¡®class¡¯ would work, and what these stats would actually do for me. Could a point in strength make me able to lift 10 more pounds, or something?

    I anxiously raked my grimy fingers through my hair, the sensation of the dirt under my nails oddly grounding, while my right foot tapped furiously against the floor, betraying the chaos inside my mind. What the hell was I supposed to do now? Would there be another notification, some kind of prompt to guide me? Or would it be as cryptic and unhelpful as the last one, leaving me stranded in my own uncertainty?

    I couldn¡¯t trust myself, not with important decisions. Nor could I reasonably trust others. I¡¯d been left to my own devices before, and that never ended well. That always led me down a familiar, unproductive path, a dead end. I let out a long yawn, my body protesting the stress I¡¯d been under, and glanced down at myself, half-expecting to see blood. But there wasn¡¯t any. Surprising, but I wasn¡¯t about to question it. Not right now.

    A surge of realization crackled through me like an electric current, snapping me into acute awareness as the fog surrounding my mind began to dissipate. Wait... that''s it! An idea flickered to life, blossoming like a small flame catching on kindling, and with each passing second, it grew, strengthening my resolve. If this ¡°system,¡± this God, could track every word I uttered, gauge every inflection in my voice, and even punish me for attempting to downplay my circumstances, then it must have the capacity to do more than just observe. Surely, if it wielded such control, it could also answer questions¡ªor perhaps even provide me with assistance, if I could only find the right way to ask.

    I took a shaky breath, steadying myself, feeling both emboldened and uncertain. ¡°Oh, great system, may I ask thee a few simple fonder-I mean ponderings of mine?¡± I spoke with a tone I imagined might belong to a gentleman from some forgotten century, laying on an exaggerated layer of politeness. My voice quivered with an unsteady formality, the words unfamiliar and stiff, as if I were awkwardly trying to fit into clothes a few sizes too big. The system, however, seemed utterly indifferent to my fumbling attempt at eloquence.

    [You already have. And that is the general point of this effective tutorial. To learn.]

    ¡°Thank you for your generosity...What to ask, what to ask¡­Uh¡­W-What is this path that I am supposed to find?¡± My voice cracked multiple times as I queried this, a fact I would prefer to not reminisce about.

    [It is your path to survival, to power, to growth. This will manifest itself as your Class or Profession. To have this manifestation occur, you must first create Echoes from self-learned skills.]

    ¡°What¡¯s a class? A profession? What are Echoes? Oh, sorry¡­should I ask slower? And how do I actually learn skills?¡±

    [Know your place, young one. You, who sees life through such a straightforward and myopic lens, attempting to justify every action falsely. Trying to vilify another of your species who is clearly mentally disabled, unwell and unstable. I must assume you can see how his intelligence is highly subpar your species¡¯ average based on the quality of his speech. Holding incorrect information that you turned into your entire worldview. You needn¡¯t know everything and you will learn nothing if you speak to your betters in such a casual manner.]

    Wow¡­that was a fuck ton of criticism in one notification, too much to take in at once. Best to act remorseful, then?

    ¡°I¡¯m deeply sorry, please forgive this meager servant!¡± I whimpered, dropping to my knees without hesitation, groveling aimlessly since I had no idea where the system actually resided. My voice wavered with desperation as I pressed my palms into the cushion, my forehead nearly touching the same spot. I¡¯d already experienced the agony for a much smaller offense, and I wasn¡¯t eager to find out what worse would feel like. Death wasn¡¯t exactly on my to-do list. Still, despite my fear, I often found myself selectively ignoring what the system told me¡ªwhen it suited me, anyway.

    ¡°Am I to attempt to learn skills within this space? However that may be?¡±

    [Only the bare necessities. You have until the completion of stage 2.]

    I then wanted to ask, ¡®What¡¯s stage 3 then?¡¯ but restrained myself in order to not annoy the same system that could kill me easily at any second and probably was having a similar conversation with billions of others on Earth; and who knows how many others with the revelation of other life in our universe and even our galaxy existing. I shivered, finally noticing just how cold it was in this foggy space. So cold, frigid, smoke enveloping me in chills, and¡­I¡¯m not okay. Shit, man. Why does life have to fucking be like this? Right now, I noticed the funny little wisp of melancholy wandering around my mind and infiltrating every thought.

    I massaged my forehead gently, trying to fend off a headache that I could already see creeping in from miles away, the pressure building behind my eyes. Then, with a quick flick of my middle finger against the center of my forehead, I bounced it off in a playful motion, expanding my hand outward like a tiny explosion. It was a gesture I used to do when I was younger, something I¡¯d fallen into when I felt down, lying on my bed at home, staring up at the ceiling. A brief chuckle escaped me, but it quickly morphed into something louder, harsher¡ªhalf-sarcastic, half-sadistic. My laughter echoed in the cold, foggy air, growing louder with every breath, the strain in my vocal cords making it feel like they were going to snap under the pressure. I breathed in the cool, crisp air heartily, eyes bulging out of their sockets.

    ¡°Can I please just go back to my apartment?!¡± I whisper shouted, biting my lip until just the same as almost every other part of my body in the past little while, it bled too.

    [Not the original, though I can replicate it if you wish to be there rather than here for this stage. I do believe that you were shown a description of what this path-search would entail?]

    ¡°Wha-¡±

    <hr>

    With a rush of air, there I was¡­back in bed. Swaddled in covers, the blue, poorly plastered ceiling taking up my entire field of view. The notifications were gone¡­the mental guilt was gone¨CIt all had just been a dream. I would consider it as something like a nightmare, strange as it was, and I was glad to be out of it. Glad to be back here¡­in this eternal cycle. Back here, unclean, unshaven, trapped, unable to escape. Back here, where I throw off the covers, hallucinate, wish for the death of my enemies, wish for my loved ones to come back, accomplish nothing, procrastinate, engage in bad habits, reminisce, repress, project, vilify, hate. Back here, where¡­nothing exciting happens, nothing ever changes, and the past is the present, a nonexistent future.

    I think that¡­maybe I did like everything that was happening, deep down. But even deeper, I did want to be here. Change was frightening. A standard routine wasn¡¯t. No matter how miserable an existence that routine created. Even if that change was only temporary or I hadn¡¯t seen the worst of what that change could have brought to me. But, if it were a real situation of mine, what would I have done? Could I have actually fulfilled those hopes for vengeance? I certainly wanted to think I would have, that I would become unbelievably strong and kill them, but I was no overpowered protagonist; just a weird side character or mentally ill antagonist on a good day. All those hopes and wishes were so unbelievably brutal, I still struggled believing that I had come up with them originally. Even in that dream I¡¯d just had, I¡¯d shied away from danger, shied away from strengthening myself, wasted time, wasted my chance, like I wasted everything good I¡¯ve ever gotten, just willing for success to happen.

    Or was this just a source of motivation, a sign to get my life to a better place? I swiped off the covers and stood up, whipping my hair up along with me, and slamming my head on a wooden beam making up the ceiling. Not taking it to heart, I dropped and did 20 pushups, and despite being tired, I felt more motivation than I had in a while. I could just¡­make a new routine, and adhere to it with this same fervor, every single day, whether down in the dumps or over the moon.

    Running down the stairs, I hunted through an old backpack for an even older laptop computer and booted it up, rapidly sifting through a collection of thousands of missed emails and then just as swiftly sent responses with apologies for the great delay and a request to meet with them soon.

    Leaping up, I threw open the fridge and grabbed that package of greens, ready to eat it, then remembered it was expired, and threw it out. I ran to the door, put my hand on the handle, prepared myself¡­and then the motivation died. I slumped. My face fell.

    [Your Willpower stat has fallen by 1.]

    ¡°That¡¯s enough. Bring me back to the void.¡±¡±

 10 - To Train or Not to Train

    ¡°I kneeled on those bland, worn-out cushions, the perfect place to take out my frustrations. Slamming my unprotected fists into the soft, spongy surface couldn¡¯t hurt, surely. So, I did just that, driving my fists into the cushion¡¯s forgiving material, as I mentioned just a second ago. Assuming you¡¯re paying attention.

    ¡°Do you hate me, system dude? Or¡­system chick? You clearly had some reason to put me and fake Greg in the same forest by the same teleportation point. Or¡­I guess it was all my fault to think of him as someone separate. My shitty mental state. But to let me go through another day like that¡­¡±

    [I can hardly be described as a being close to some concept of a gender. You clearly haven¡¯t learnt your lesson about formality but I will kindly not press the point further. I do not hate you as I do not hate anyone. Everything is simply a probability and a statistic and you appear to be unlucky. The chance of you ending up at the same relative location was just as lucky as you encountering your dead relatives there. With the advent of your integration, anything is theoretically possible with the correct power, application, and technique. Now then, if I am correct, which I always am, you were in the middle of assaulting the ground?]

    ¡°Sure, sure. I think I need a break. Today has been just¡­too much.¡±

    [Feel free to take it then, waste this time away. In that case you simply forfeit the right to the path search and any rewards that may come along with it. Assuming you fail to fulfill the requirements. This is not a difficult stage.]

    My hand slid to a requested pen sitting by my side.

    No, I wasn¡¯t enthralled by rewards¡ª

    Did I want them?

    Who wouldn¡¯t crave that fleeting, instant payoff

    for their efforts?

    But now, with the weight of it all pressing in,

    I feel like a hollowed-out shell.

    The ideas I¡¯d absorbed, the beliefs I¡¯d clung to,

    still linger, clawing at the edges of my mind,

    restless, unyielding, refusing to release.

    I drown it out,

    I smash my fists against the ground.

    My knuckles scream with every impact,

    skin split and raw,

    the jarring force meeting

    that strange, slimy¡ªnot quite solid¡ªsurface,

    sending painful jolts through my arms.

    As a fast paced and blaring tune playing in my ears,

    it softened beneath me, just as I¡¯d remembered.

    Not that it mattered.

    Not worth dissecting.

    I tossed the crumpled page over my head in frustration. Numerous sheets of its kind were collecting, refusing to disappear like I may have hoped.

    I¡¯d been running on fumes just to get this far,

    Numbing myself with empty notions,

    Trying to become a ¡°blank slate,¡±

    Desperately blurring reality¡¯s jagged edge,

    Just as I¡¯d distanced myself

    From my parents¡¯ deaths,

    Whittled down to cold, detached facts of life.

    Eventually.

    Revenge would come soon enough.

    The justice system¡ªflawed as it is¡ª

    Why does it even operate like this?

    The world isn¡¯t fair¡­but it ought to be.

    Wasn¡¯t I supposed to have

    some kind of advantage here?

    Why didn¡¯t I?

    Just as goddamn bad. I tore the page to shreds, running each piece through my fingers before separating the letters from their comrades in arms.

    How did he erase every trace of his scheme,

    Walk away untouched, as I stood there,

    Trying to tell the truth,

    Trying to fit in,

    Trying not to drown in despair,

    Struggling to connect, to thrive¡ª

    Always floundering, always out of sync,

    Conversations now feeling like echoes

    Borrowed from screens instead of life.

    Utterly alien.

    Is this who I¡¯ve become?

    Have I really fallen this far?

    Maybe it¡¯s the toll of that ¡°gifted kid¡± title,

    The honor-student curse,

    Assuming life would be kinder,

    And yet I¡¯m haunted by perfectionism,

    By endless delay,

    By that consuming fear of failing,

    Etched into my family¡¯s history,

    Passed down like some twisted legacy.

    And here I stand, on the brink of something real¡ª

    A sliver of success, maybe even power.

    If I could just grasp it,

    Maybe I¡¯d be something more, someone worthy.

    But first, I had to confront

    That nothing here would come without a price,

    No matter how well I knew it,

    That whisper in my subconscious

    I always wanted to believe otherwise.

    And if I can¡¯t accept that,

    What does it mean for me?

    Am I even likable?

    Or maybe it was inevitable¡ª

    The torment that followed me, grade after grade.

    Was this fate? Is it just who I am?This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°Is it possible to like me? Am I all alone? Is this fucking real? Answer that, once and for all! Tell me the truth!¡± My questioning started as a whisper but soon rose to a wail.

    [You lack conventional reading skills, so that subtracts from it. But if you were able to actually read and saw my previous message to you, then you would know that everything is possible now. Everything. Even liking you¡­and this being real. Maybe it¡¯s fake, maybe it really just is all an acid trip. Maybe you just have to figure that out yourself, or perhaps I could give you some assistance. Was your life on Earth even real? If this feels and seems the same as reality, why treat it as something different?]

    Maybe, if I just surrender to sleep,

    I¡¯ll process this mess in my dreams,

    sweep out that lurking dread,

    let my body find peace,

    let my weary head recover

    whatever shreds of sanity remain.

    Shouldn¡¯t I feel grateful, even privileged,

    to sleep without the grind of work, school,

    and all that nonsense?

    Here I am, arguing with some phantom,

    some figment of my own invention.

    Hours later, I blink awake,

    still heavy-lidded, and just as tired.

    The thoughts, they pick up where I left them,

    spinning in circles, relentless.

    Why do I feel like I need to mend the world¡¯s wounds?

    What makes me, a privileged guy,

    untouched by systematic oppression,

    believe I¡¯m the one to change it?

    Everything feels so¡­melancholic,

    this weight settling in

    like it comes from unlocking memories

    I¡¯d rather bury deep, forever.

    That felt a bit better; actually finding some success in writing out how I felt¡­if only I could write a good conclusion to it¡­

    Maybe it¡¯s that slow realization¡ª

    existence as a species feels so pointless,

    like I¡¯ve barely changed since I was fourteen,

    aside from growing taller.

    Shouldn¡¯t I be training right now, doing something?

    But I just¡­ don¡¯t feel like it.

    SHIT! Another one ruined, another page in the pile, more time wasted, more reason for doubt of myself. A pillow of pages, a blanket of papers, a lullaby of letters, a tidal wave enveloping me in words.

    ¡°Tell me again, straight answer this time, is this real right now? And if it is, is Greg getting stronger by the minute?¡±

    [Of course it¡¯s real. Right?]

    ¡°Come on, just say ¡®yes¡¯ or ¡®no¡¯ already!¡± I said breathily, quite exasperated. ¡°You know everything about me, don¡¯t you, you intrusive bastard? You know how I feel. Revenge is good, this is all a game, yeah? I can get some ¡®xp¡¯ from it, huh? Fucking tell me already!¡±

    The notification disappeared to be replaced with another.

    [Information on other living organisms does not come free, and I explicitly stated it previously that if it looks real and feels real then you should treat it as such.]

    Fine. Be like that. Maybe I should treat it like that, though, you know? It¡¯s worth a try. As I sat here, a thought took its time sinking in, a faint ember sparking within the depths of my mind, then slowly catching fire, growing brighter and hotter with each passing second. That, if I¡¯m going to save everyone from a miserable existence, a real existence or just one made up in my mind, I¡¯d better get strong enough to actually change something. It wasn¡¯t a sudden bolt of inspiration, more like a slow, creeping certainty winding its way around all my doubts and contradictions. A rather simple conclusion overall, but a much needed one.

    I¡¯d always flirted with the idea of heroism, of being some kind of savior figure, but was that what I really wanted? Or was this just another way to feed my own need for validation¡ªan ego trip disguised as nobility? A way to create some grand persona, to build a version of myself that was worth admiring? I wasn¡¯t a hero. I didn¡¯t act outside of my own self interests, I wasn¡¯t courageous, I had nothing going for me in that department.

    A flicker of doubt tugged at me, forcing me to look inward. Maybe it didn¡¯t matter, I reasoned, brushing the thoughts aside. Maybe you just have to start somewhere, even if you don¡¯t fully know why. Maybe I use the word maybe too much in my thought processes. It was like those times I¡¯d get a burst of motivation and drop to the floor to crank out 20 push-ups right before bed, imagining I¡¯d wake up somehow transformed, stronger, something I did quite often with little exercise elsewhere. Sure, it was ridiculous, but at least it was a start. And a start was something. Something leading to nothing.

    The truth was, I¡¯d let myself grow soft. Since leaving high school, and my previous line of work, I hadn¡¯t exactly thrown myself into anything. College barely got my attention before I¡¯d checked out, and dropped out of that too, like some half-hearted attempt to care about a world that kept slipping away. I¡¯d spent so much time doing nothing, convincing myself that there was time to figure things out. But here, I was realizing, time was a luxury I no longer had.

    So, could I actually do something? The question echoed in my head, louder than I expected. I¡¯d made it this far, reached the circle, survived until now against whatever odds were stacked against me. Maybe that meant I could push a bit further, maybe even train. Yeah¡­ training. I could start here. Build myself up from whatever shreds were left.

    I clenched my fists, feeling a surge of energy pulse through my veins. Yeah, I thought, letting the determination settle in. Fuck it. Let¡¯s do this.

    ¡°Can you get me¡­a punching bag¡­a random weapon¡­a pair of 30 pound weights¡­and uh, maybe a training dummy? Do you think that¡¯s enough? Do other people ask for more?¡±

    [Please limit how many questions you ask at once, it could be considered rude. Is that all you need, that you personally thought up yourself? Feel free to ask for more at any time.]

    ¡°Sure, I¡­I guess.¡±

    And so, what I asked for materialized directly in front of me, slowly phasing into existence. At first, they appeared as faint, translucent shapes, barely visible, but within moments, the details sharpened, and the objects became solid, their edges crisp and surfaces gleaming with a lifelike sheen. It was as if reality itself was adjusting to their sudden presence. I watched the transformation with a mix of curiosity and hesitation, absently scratching the right side of my neck, my fingers grazing over the familiar, raised texture of a bumpy birthmark. It always stood out, like a small imperfection I¡¯d never quite gotten used to. My mind raced with indecision¡ªshould I dive in right away, or wait? Something in me urged caution, but impatience tugged at the edge of my thoughts. My breath quickened.

    [Stage 2: Find Your Path - Time remaining: 63:27:40]

    [The point of this to figure out who you were was before this. I do recommend that you move on. If you wish to think further, wait until later. The next stage may allow for that.]

    A tattered black punching bag hung limply in the air, suspended by a steel thread that connected it to a sleek, dark metal plate, which seemed to float ominously in the space above. Its surface, rough and cracked, bore the scars of years of relentless blows. But what really caught my attention was the dilapidated training dummy beside it.

    The dummy stood on a circular wooden base, though the wood was so decayed it barely held together, darkened and rotted with age, looking like it could collapse at any moment. Deep, jagged slashes marred its frame, as if it had been hacked at with countless blades, leaving it looking weak and ready to give in to the slightest force. Despite its fragile appearance, it remained upright, an odd feat for something so worn down. Two splintered wooden arms jutted out at awkward angles, sharp and pointed, like they were waiting to impale anyone foolish enough to attack it head-on.

    Atop the dummy hung a sagging sack with sketched on, childlike features drawn on it, a face that resembled a dotted stick figure sketched by yours truly in my sixth-grade art class. The eyes were uneven, the mouth was a lazy scribble¡ªit was almost absurdly out of place. Yet, there was something unnerving about it, especially with the thick, glowing aquamarine umbra-like mist that surrounded the dummy, giving it an eerie presence that defied its flimsy structure.

    Next to the dummy lay two blocky, black cubes that were probably supposed to be weights, though they looked more like dense, unwieldy chunks of metal than anything practical. Wrapped haphazardly around them was the weapon I had requested, though I hadn¡¯t expected¡­ this. A chain. Just a simple, heavy chain. No sword, no bow, no shield¡ªjust a cold, metal length of links. How was I supposed to fight with a chain? Whip it around? Strangle someone? I wasn¡¯t strong enough for that.

    I keep delaying. Better to just train. And probably also get more specific at what I ask for when I have the ability to ask for anything.¡±

 11 - Skills, Skills, Skills

    ¡°I found myself just about 20 minutes later already drenched in a suffocating layer of sweat, pouring off of me in layers, oddly grinning from ear to ear. It was fun, it hurt, but it was fun. I¡¯d criticized myself enough for one day, so no comment on how I looked or smelled at the moment. At present, I was lamely slamming my fists into the punching bag, not exactly waiting for it to swing back but just jumping after it and punching it some more. If I wanted to figure out what these skills were and how to obtain them, it just felt correct to test my limits. I¡¯d also tried to flick around the chain with little success except it landing painfully on my foot. Still, believe it or not, this flash forward was pretty damn purposeful.

    [Through repetitive action you have learned the skill: Combat Endurance]

    [Combat Endurance (Basic) - Proficiency: Novice (1):

    While your opponents face exhaustion, you keep going and never stop fighting. Use a minimal amount less stamina when embroiled in combat.]

    [Through repetitive action you have learned the skill: Instinctual Combat]

    [Instinctual Combat (Crude) - Proficiency: Novice (1):

    Untrained in combat by any master of the craft, you have found your own simple, hand to hand combat style purely through your body¡¯s basic capabilities and instincts. Deal an insubstantial amount more damage to opponents you face while in combat and using this basic hand to hand fighting style in exchange for a slightly more painful recoil.]

    Oh. Wow. Easier than I thought to get skills.

    [Sufficient echoes have been reached. Class selection available. Would you like to select your class now or wait?

    Notice: Delaying selection will not be harmful although options may be removed or lowered in quality by echoes created during this period. Any class chosen at this time will not lock you into a set path, although it will form a baseline to build off of. Do not take this lightly. ]

    ¡°YES! Oh yeah, yessir!¡± I squealed, entranced by the idea of having a class, whatever that was. I assumed a classification of what I would do. What would I get based on what I¡¯d been doing? Would I be a berserker? A martial artist maybe? Something interesting to do with stamina manipulation perhaps?

    [Class selection has begun. Available classes:

    Improvised Warrior: You need not worry about what weapon you use, just that it will ensure demise upon those you wish to bring it upon. Slightly increased aptitude to learning how to use weapons you have never used before or weapons not traditionally considered effective in exchange for a slightly decreased aptitude to learning Gain 1 free stat point per level in this class.

    Brawler: You will put everything into anything in pursuit of a victory, even if that means exhausting yourself quickly just to land a powerful strike. Slightly increased damage dealt to opponents in exchange for a greatly increased stamina drain. Gain 1 stat point to strength per level in this class.

    Pugilist: A war isn¡¯t a single battle, but the same as a marathon to a sprint. You take things slowly and wear down your opponent, dragging on the fight as long as possible and using your stamina to your advantage to drag out a victory. Minimally decreased stamina loss in exchange for slightly decreased damage output. Gain 1 stat point to stamina per level in this class.]

    I want to change. I want to improve myself. I want to stop procrastinating. So, I chose before I could be distraught with indecision. ¡°Pugilist. Yeah, I wanna be a pugilist. Wait no, fuck, brawler. But the warrior thing could be cool too-¡±

    [Pugilist class has been chosen. Pugilist has reached level 1 - you have gained 1 point to stamina.]

    ¡°Why did you bring me here? I can understand that you want to use the teleportation points as a filtering process but this is hardly a proper tutorial. If I want to find my path, shouldn¡¯t I be having experiences in the real world to gain it? I just¡­don¡¯t get your antics.¡± I asked the system, hanging my head backwards to look up, receiving no answer besides:

    [No.]

    Accepting that I wouldn¡¯t get a real one any time soon, I started to scribble something down¨CMaybe I¡¯d gain another skill from it, and I really did enjoy the feeling of gaining a skill. There wasn¡¯t much at all that I felt from it physically, but I felt the same as when I got a notification from an app.

    At the collision of worlds,

    reality and fantasy,

    what is there for me to do?

    You put me here in emptiness,

    and force me to look through my mind,

    and unsure what I¡¯ll find,

    I search and wander its expanses,

    only for you to tell me that it

    isn¡¯t good enough.

    System, you are a strange one,

    what do you expect me to think?

    What intricate desires lie behind your cold, elusive screen?

    It amuses you, doesn¡¯t it,

    to watch me wrestle myself,

    to listen to my thoughts turn against me,

    to hear my name twisted into bitter echoes,

    mocking tones thrown back from my own shadow.

    Yes, it¡¯s a peculiar shift of pace,

    this game we play, this fight within.

    Yet it¡¯s far from the journey I had hoped,

    the path of purpose I had imagined.

    You stole me from my world too soon,

    dragged me far before I was ready¡ª

    and this, this will need to be set right.

    There are threads left frayed,

    unfinished stories, regrets without closure,

    all demanding their reckoning.

    There are debts to be paid, blood to spill.

    Isn¡¯t that what you said was fine?

    You told me murder was simply instinct,

    that the thrill of vengeance would give my life clarity,

    and nowhere, not once, did you tell me no.

    Even when you called my thoughts twisted,

    even then, you left the gate open.

    So bring me back¡ª

    this is my only wish, my singular hope,

    the one path that could ease my restless heart.

    The only purpose I¡¯ve unearthed, the sole anchor of thought:

    to end him, end them, end us all if that¡¯s what it takes.

    Let me, just let me.

    Draw me back to that circle,

    where I¡¯ll crush Devin¡¯s skull beneath my hands,

    splintering bones like forgotten promises.

    I¡¯ll weave Jordan into threads,

    each fiber torn, each shred unwound.

    I¡¯ll press Greg into the soil, until he lies six feet under,

    part of the earth, erased and silenced.

    Then I¡¯ll hunt down that shadow, the girl,

    the one who held me back¡ªthe one who made myself doubt everything even more,

    I¡¯ll erase her, too,

    as if the ink of memory could be scrubbed clean.

    And at last, I¡¯ll turn inward,

    a final act, the seal on our fates together,

    binding us to this chosen end.

    Whether it be today, or another dawn¡ª

    please, let it conclude.

    End this relentless, unyielding sorrow.

    This is merely the beginning,

    That I understand,

    And if this is what life has truly become,

    Free me from this unrelenting hand.

    The whole message I wrote was more a passive aggressive attack than anything else. A cruel sounding, passive aggressive attack, that I hated myself for, yet believed wholeheartedly in¡­I was rewarded with a skill for my efforts, a skill I wasn¡¯t really sure I wanted but wasn¡¯t opposed to. I sighed yet another time, an audible complaint. The smoke still wafted, the chill still prickled, this was all still just as meaningless. Time passed slowly yet imperceptibly. The system gave no response to my anger, not even humoring me.

    [Congratulations on your first class. It creates a base for everything you will do in the future. This stage does not end here however. You must additionally gain a profession, and it is recommended that you also obtain a sub-class and sub-profession which are specializations or a method to diversify.]If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    The delayed congratulations was something I wondered about, but¡­appreciated.

    [I do also hope that your mental state recovers quickly in preparation for stages to come, which will prove to be far more difficult than these which you breezed through with ease.]

    My mental state¡­I hadn¡¯t hallucinated while in this area as of yet, I didn¡¯t think. No encounters with talking objects, or my parents coming in for another visit.

    ¡°Why even talk to me like this? It¡¯s not worth it; I¡¯m not worth it¡­I¡¯ve hardly made use of this gift you gave me, this chance to grow and ability to do so¡­I¡¯ve just done nothing and I¡¯m probably in the lowest denominator of ability now.¡± No response. Again.

    Other than that¡­The gaining of skills was¡­intoxifying. Incredibly addictive. It filled my heart with something other than cholesterol or blank space. Pure, substantial dopamine. It almost came close to a complete distraction from all my woes and the fact that this wasn¡¯t a normal situation I was in all the time. And¡­it gave a sense of accomplishment. I felt like I could take a full break without being overwhelmed by a massive sense of guilt that I could be doing something better. I definitely felt a lot of guilt right now, for Jose, for Crystal, for doing nothing now to avenge them. I was always pining for vengeance that I¡¯d never get. I lived to spite them and for the possibility that I¡¯d succeed in the distant future. Was that worth it? Was I worth it? Was I really my own person or just the result of them?

    Right about now, I was running in circles to try and train one of the skills I had ¡®learned¡¯ earlier. The skills I did have hardly showed any noticeable effect compared to what I¡¯d been doing earlier, maybe at a proficiency of 1 the improvements were nonexistent, that it was just the same as normal.

    It was hardly easy to get more skills than those I had just gotten; but not particularly difficult either, usually taking about 20 minutes of strenuously doing that activity if pushing myself, with breaks it took much longer, an hour at least of work. If I wasn¡¯t pushing myself

    <hr>

    [Through repetitive action you have learned the skill: Sprint]

    [Through repetitive action you have learned the skill: Penmanship]

    [Through repetitive action you have learned the skill: Poeticism]

    <hr>

    ¡°What¡¯s the point of skills, really? Can you at least tell me that?¡±

    Its response came with a clinical precision, like reciting facts from an instruction manual. [Skills exist to monitor and enhance your progress, letting you complete necessary tasks with greater efficiency. While simpler skills may not show an obvious increase in raw ability, they do become easier to perform. You¡¯ll be able to sustain these skills for longer durations, with noticeable improvements as your proficiency rises. With more complex skills, often learned through time or external sources, you¡¯ll feel the difference much sooner. When a skill reaches a proficiency of 10, you¡¯ll have an opportunity to elevate it to a higher rank. However, there''s a risk: failure will revert you to a proficiency level of 9. When a skill achieves its highest proficiency rank, it will transform, becoming a superior form, strengthened by the residual energy¡ªechoes¡ªthat accumulate during its development.]

    The explanation didn¡¯t tell me much I couldn¡¯t have guessed, but it lingered in my mind, a bit like having the rules to an old game spelled out in finer detail. I kept running, eager to push my level up to a second proficiency, wondering if I¡¯d feel any noticeable difference, or if it¡¯d just be another incremental step forward.

    [Character Sheet:

    <table>

    <tbody>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Name: Alaric Ashford

    </td>

    <td>

    Race: Human

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Class: Pugilist

    </td>

    <td>

    Sub-class: None

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Profession: None

    </td>

    <td>

    Sub-profession: None

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Tier: Z - Lower

    </td>

    <td>

    Health: 9/10

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Stamina: 2/15

    </td>

    <td>

    Title: None

    </td>

    </tr>

    </tbody>

    </table>

    Stats:

    <table>

    <tbody>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Intelligence: 3

    </td>

    <td>

    Strength: 2

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Wisdom: 2

    </td>

    <td>

    Vitality: 2

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Stamina: 3

    </td>

    <td>

    Durability: 3

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Dexterity: 4

    </td>

    <td>

    Luck: 1

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Balance: 1

    </td>

    <td>

    Momentum: 0

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Perception: 3

    </td>

    <td>

    Willpower: 1

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Regeneration: 2

    </td>

    <td>

    Confidence: 1

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td>

    Free Points: 0

    </td>

    <td>

    Multipliers: None

    </td>

    </tr>

    </tbody>

    </table>

    Note: Stats available are dependant on your Race, Class, and Profession

    Titles: None

    Note: Only one title may be equipped at a time

    Skills:

    Combat Endurance (Basic) - Proficiency: Novice (1)

    Instinctual Combat (Crude) - Proficiency: Novice (1)

    Sprint (Crude) - Proficiency: Novice (1)

    Poeticism (Basic) - Proficiency: Novice (1)

    Penmanship (Crude) - Proficiency: Novice (1)

    Equipment: None

    Notice: Your soul is currently being held in the balance by a contract between life and death. Your growth is dependent on the contractor and is capped to not reach beyond that of the contractor.]

    Distractions had their appeal, a familiar comfort. A well-timed video game, this not exactly being well-timed, could be a good enough escape from studying¡­ not that it affected my grades as it did for most. Occasionally, I¡¯d drift off into idle fantasies of being inside a game¡¯s world, picturing the freedom and thrill of living its narrative. This, though¡ªthis blank space around me¡ªwas nothing like those daydreams despite its gamelike aspects and similarities. Not really what I¡¯d imagined, yet there was something oddly satisfying about it still, yet infuriating at the same time. Like overindulging in food or drowning out worries in a haze of alcohol, blocking out reality for a while. Or even the careless thrill of a reckless night out¡ªwithout the gritty aftermath, maybe. Or binging narcotics¨Cscratch that last one.

    ¡°Tell me about¡­the multiverse, system entity. I want to get a better understanding of it; Consider it your compensation for taking Crystal from me.¡±

    Its response in the notification in front of me was cold and detached.

    [Ah, yes, Crystal. She was an amusing soul, a fun plaything for some of the gods to observe the death of, quite a popular choice compared to others on your planet. I owe you nothing, especially as you weren¡¯t even as close as you are acting you were, but I¡¯ll indulge your curiosity. What would you like to know?]

    A tightening grip twisted in my gut. Crystal¡ªthe idea of her as some cosmic puppet stung, I very likely owed her my life, though I forced myself to keep focused. Possibly we weren¡¯t close, but¡­I was here for answers, and maybe, if I pushed hard enough, I¡¯d get something useful out. Besides, training in this white void beat just sitting here. Working here, in the emptiness, a blank white stretching endlessly, was entertaining in a way but it was tinged with an odd hollowness. I missed the layered noise of multiple screens playing videos, the buzz of a game controller, the chaos of frying pans clattering as I multitasked. That constant stream of stimulation now felt like an anchor I¡¯d lost.

    [You constantly play the victim. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Your situation may not be ideal but you must learn somehow.]

    My eyes narrowed and hands clasped together. ¡°Just¡­ enlighten me. You know things, right?¡±

    A faint hum echoed before its response, like static clearing from a line. [Amusing¡ªpretending you¡¯re unaware. You know well that I know everything, just as I know you¡¯re aware of my knowledge.]

    Its tone felt neither condescending nor encouraging, merely a matter-of-fact reminder. My goal was of course to stroke its ego, because you know someone is great when they need that from some random guy you apparently hate, when you apparently have easy access to the lives and deaths of literally everything. If I had that much, I would do much-No, who am I kidding, I¡¯d do the same thing. Was the system just some person then? It certainly personified them.

    [The multiverse is in essence just countless, infinite expanses. Every conceivable reality and form can find existence somewhere. Your own universe, vast as it seems, is only a single spark in a greater existence¡ªa thousand times larger, layered with those yet to be connected.]

    My mind struggled with the immensity of what it described, picturing, if only vaguely, an endless network of worlds, threads twisting and branching into infinity, each line bearing the weight of countless lives and destinies. The vastness of it, almost incomprehensible, ached in the back of my mind. It was an unsettling reminder of how insignificant one life could be, as if I were a minor character adrift in an open-world game that extended far beyond what I¡¯d ever explore. Very much like that, in fact, the game just showing me the ropes before throwing me back into the thick of it.

    You know, for most of my life I¡¯d yearned to escape from the standard cycle of existence in a capitalistic society and now that I was theoretically out of it, still assuming that this all was real and that I wasn¡¯t insane, as well as that if it was real that order wouldn¡¯t restore itself, I felt little joy. Don¡¯t meet your heroes and don¡¯t fulfill your dreams. My mood swings were noticeable even to me, one moment I was the happiest I¡¯d ever been and the other I was down in the dumps. I hated it.

    [Stage 2: Find Your Path - Time remaining: 60:44:32]

    As I spoke, I kept my pace steady, feeling a notable difference on this surface compared to the punishing grind of concrete. Each stride came a bit easier, smoother even, and I could run for just a bit longer now. The improvement wasn¡¯t massive, just a few extra seconds of sustained movement, but for someone like me¡ªlacking any endurance to start with¡ªit was noticeable. I suspected that maybe ¡°Combat Endurance¡± was lending a slight boost too, although it was hard to tell for sure.

    I had to admit, running here did feel surprisingly invigorating, even with the void¡¯s sterile air and endless flatness tempering the thrill. Without the rush of wind or the subtle resistance of a natural trail, some of the excitement was blunted, as though a key part of the experience was missing.

    Breaking my own rule about prying too much, I tossed out a question, almost daring it to answer. ¡°So what¡¯s Stage 3 all about, then? Is this all there is, or does it go deeper?¡±

    [The nature of further stages remains restricted knowledge until you have reached them.] It replied, curt and unyielding as ever.

    ¡°Then why did I get a class with just two skills, but when I picked up a couple more specific to a profession, there was no option to choose a profession?¡±

    [Professions require a bit more dedication to obtain.]

    I pressed on, hoping for some guidance. ¡°So how do I pick up a subclass or sub-profession, then?¡±

    [You obtain them in the same manner as your class. Accumulate echoes through actions, such as but not limited to skill creation, and you may find yourself worthy.]

    Its answers were straightforward, yet they revealed little about the path ahead. I wondered how much more running, fighting, or training I¡¯d need to build up the kind of echoes it deemed ¡°sufficient.¡± How much more I would need just to get to that illustrious and elusive level 2 proficiency. Just how much more of this I could take before I¡¯d go crazy. Just how much more strength I¡¯d need to vanquish my foes. Just how deluded I was.

    I didn¡¯t like training, but this hardly felt like it. True, my side ached and I commonly became out of breath¨Cstandard with most exercise¨Cbut I didn¡¯t feel like I was getting stronger by doing it somehow, I felt capped, generally limited. In addition, it still did feel like I was just playing with a character in a video game rather than actually using my body. My blisters from earlier had completely vanished so I didn¡¯t struggle with that, and I¡¯d asked the system for some sneakers for more ease with running. They were sleek and black, made of plastic and simplistic rubber fitted together, not the most comfortable but they strangely fit near perfectly.

    Everything still felt so¡­unnatural. I believed yet also didn¡¯t, and ran to get out my frustrations.

    ¡°So¡­what purpose is there of existence in this multiversal reality? If I could just go to another universe where everything is just easier to achieve, why did I struggle to get to here in life?¡±

    [Your purpose is to find your purpose and then achieve it. At present, you are unable to hold a purpose before you facilitate a mental purge, which is a rare necessity. All universes may be different but all follow the standard format I provide; none are inherently easier to live within or grow within. If you were to ask the general purpose of your species, it is primarily to survive and fight your oppressors as well as the rot, as yours is not a particularly popular one to keep alive.]

    ¡°I understand the oppressors part, we certainly oppressed our own on Earth, but what do you mean by the rot?¡±

    No answer, yet again. I continued running with no success; I was starting to think that maybe this area just wasn¡¯t the challenge I needed to get level 2 proficiency, if that¡¯s how I gained proficiency levels in the first place. The buzz of skill acquisition had nearly worn off entirely. It all wasn¡¯t exactly challenging.

    ¡°Alright¡­you took me there, to the apartment¡­how about you take me somewhere that I can learn these skills faster in, then.¡±

    [More specificity is required.]

    ¡°Let me fight a monster¡­there are monsters, right? Those vines were, I think. Sorry, I just assum-¡±

    [Of course there are monsters. What type of terrain would you prefer?]

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter.¡± I replied, unknowing that I had just made a very poor choice.¡±