***
The fluorescent lights of the 44th floor hummed a sickly, incessant tune. It was 3:17 AM on a Wednesday, and I was on hour seventeen of what was supposed to be a sixteen-hour shift.
My name? It didn't matter. In this fluorescent-lit purgatory, I was just 'Team Lead,' 'ASAP-Girl,' or, my personal favourite, 'Hey-You-Can-You.'
My monitor was a blurry soup of cascading code and ominous red flags from the server. My unread emails had breached the 2,000 mark, a digital monument to my own personal hell. 'We just need to push this quarter's release,' my boss, Mr Henderson, had said, his smile all teeth and no warmth. That was three quarters ago. Every quarter was "the" quarter, a perpetual sprint with a finish line that evaporated just as you reached for it.
My stomach gnawed on itself, a hollow, acidic ache. Dinner had been a lukewarm cup of coffee from the sludge machine, my third since midnight. My apartment, a tiny, overpriced shoebox I hadn't seen in 36 hours, felt like a distant dream. Did I even have a cat? No, I'd wanted one, but you needed to be home to keep things alive. I couldn't even keep my desk plant from turning into a brittle, brown skeleton.
I rubbed my temples, the familiar throb of a migraine beginning its assault. The office was a ghost town, a vast, open-plan graveyard of ergonomic chairs and dark monitors. The company had an "efficiency" policy, motion-activated lights. If you sat still for too long, you were plunged into darkness, a grim metaphor for my entire career. I was the only one here. The only fool who hadn't, or couldn't, go home.
Why was I doing this? Oh, right. The paycheck. A paycheck that evaporated almost instantly between rent, student loans, and the delivery fees for the food I ate at my desk. I wasn't living. I was a battery, being drained to power a spreadsheet.
My only escape, my one guilty, precious vice, was hidden on my phone. Webnovels.
With a trembling hand, I unlocked the screen, ignoring the fresh batch of work emails. I opened the familiar app, the bright colors a balm on my bleeding-out soul. My thumb went straight to my favorite.
[The Black Rose's Heart]
It was my secret—a cheesy, tropey, childcare romance fantasy novel. The plot was ridiculous, the characters predictable, but I loved every word. It was about Lady Rosaline, a kind-hearted saint, who was hired as the governess for the 'Cursed Child' of the Northern Duke, Kaelen Voronoff. She heals the traumatized boy and, of course, melts the frozen heart of the impossibly handsome, incredibly dangerous Male Lead, Duke Zander Voronoff.
I was 450 chapters in. The plot was just getting good—Rosaline and Zander were finally admitting their feelings, and Kaelen was on the path to becoming a well-adjusted, powerful mage.
"So much better than how it started," I muttered, my voice a dry rasp in the silence. My thumb, of its own accord, kept scrolling back, back, back into the chapter list, just for a second. "God, that first arc was so weird. That first governess... the one who got executed? Elara... something? Ugh, she was so stupid. All that power and money she wasted, and she just... died. Thank god they got to the real story."
I sighed, locking my phone. Easy for me to say. I was just a sleep-deprived wage slave. What did I know about surviving a fantasy novel?
Bzzt. Bzzt.
My laptop screen flashed—a new pop-up.
[URGENT!!] - Server Failure 004 - IMMEDIATE ATTENTION REQUIRED.
A laugh bubbled up in my chest, but it came out as a dry, hacking cough. Immediate attention?. My entire life was a state of immediate, agonizing attention.
The pain in my chest, which had been a dull ache, suddenly squeezed. It wasn't a throb. It was a vice. A cold, giant hand is grabbing my heart and wringing it out like a wet rag. My breath hitched. This wasn't indigestion. This couldn't be a panic attack.
This was... it.
"Oh, no," I whispered, my fingers slipping from the mouse. "No, no, no, not like this. Not for this. I haven't even... I haven't even paid off my loans..."
My hand spasmed, knocking the graveyard of empty energy drink cans off my desk. They clattered to the floor, a pathetic, tinny avalanche in the morgue-like silence. I tried to stand, but my legs were concrete. I tried to reach for my phone to call for help, but it was just inches out of reach.
I looked around the vast, empty office—rows and rows of dark monitors, of empty chairs. My own reflection stared back at me from the black screen of my neighbor's desk—a pale, hollow-eyed stranger with lank hair and a rictus of terror.
'Ah,' I thought, a strange, detached calm settling over the panic. 'This is how it ends.'
Not in a blaze of glory. Not surrounded by loved ones. But at 3:19 AM on a Wednesday, choking on my own exhaustion, over an email server that wouldn't even remember my employee ID.
My head hit the desk. The keyboard clacked under my cheek. My last, bitter, conscious thought wasn't of love, or regret, or a life well-lived.
It was: 'I didn't even... get... my overtime pay...'
Then, the humming of the fluorescent lights... stopped. And everything, finally, went dark.
... ... ... Darkness. And cold. A profound, absolute, silent cold.
There was no time, only... me—a floating, disembodied consciousness. I tried to remember my name. It was... it was... #8841? No, that wasn't right. I... I liked to read. I read... The Black Rose's Heart. Yes. That was me—the woman who died for a server.
A single point of light appeared in the endless darkness, and I'm falling into it. It was pale blue, and it wasn't a light. It was a text. It was a box.
[...System Booting...]
[...Searching for a compatible soul...]
I... what? Was I hallucinating? Was this the B-plot of a bad sci-fi movie? The text flickered, cold and impersonal.
[...Soul Fragment Detected: ID #8841-KOR]
[Status: Damaged. (Chronic Malnutrition, Severe Exhaustion, Caffeine Toxicity)]
[World-Data "The Black Rose's Heart" detected in memory cache.]
[Searching for nearest compatible vessel...]
[...Vessel Found: 'Elara von Steiner'.]
[Probability of Survival: 2.3%]
[Commencing transfer.]
Elara... von Steiner? Wait. Wait! The name echoed in my fragmented mind. That was... that was the stupid one! The one who died!
[Commencing transfer... 3... 2... 1...]
No! I tried to scream, but I had no mouth. Not her! Not the starter villain! Stop! ANYONE BUT HER!
[Transfer Complete. Welcome, Player.]
My head felt like it was split in two.
No, that wasn't right. It felt like it was split in two, dunked in ice, and then run over by a truck...
(End of Prologue)
(Author's Note & Poll)
Welcome to the survival mission! ✒️ If you enjoyed the start, please Add to the Library so you don't miss Chapter 1 next #TickyTockThursday!
👉 QUICK POLL! (Comment on the answer to vote):
If you were reborn with a 2.3% survival rate, what is your #1 priority?
A) Master the System. (The "Gamer" route)
B) Escape the whole story. (The "I'm Outta Here" route)
C) Fix the plot / Heal Kaelen. (The "Change My Fate" route)
D) Just survive. (The "Pragmatic Survivor" route)
E) Find the Male Lead! (The "Romance the Lead" route)