Ah'Ming dreamed.
Not a normal dream, though. The edges were just a bit too sharp, just a bit too clear, almost as if someone had adjusted the resolution on reality.
He stood there, in a void of absolute white.
There were no shadows under his feet. No features. Just nothing stretching infinitely in all directions.
And standing before him was a figure.
They were humanoid, but their form kept shifting—not like they couldn't hold a shape, but like they existed in too many dimensions for his three-dimensional perception to properly capture. Where their face should be was just... absence. A void that his brain kept trying to fill in and failing.
"Hello, Ah'Ming," the figure said.
Their voice was every voice and no voice. Young and old, male and female and neither, echoing from everywhere and nowhere.
"Who—"
But he knew.
Somehow, impossibly, he knew.
"You're the System," Ah'Ming whispered. "The original. The first one."
"Correct."
The figure tilted their head—or what passed for a head.
"You've been performing well. Better than most expected, actually."
"Thanks?" Ah'Ming wasn't sure if that was a compliment. "I think?"
"You have questions."
It wasn't a question.
"So many questions," Ah'Ming admitted. "Starting with: what am I actually doing here? Why me? What's the point of all this?"
"Those are the same question phrased differently."
"Then answer it!"
The System was quiet for a moment—or what felt like a moment. Time was weird here.
"What do you remember," they asked, "about before?"
"Before what?"
"Before you were Ah'Ming."
Cold dread pooled in his stomach.
"I don't—"
"You were something else once." The System's form rippled. "Something that saw humans as food. As livestock. As other."
Ah'Ming's hands—claws—clenched.
"I know that," he said quietly. "I know what I was. I'm trying to be better."
"Are you?" The System's tone was curious, not judgmental. "Or are you trying to be human?"
"What's the difference?"
"Everything."
The void shifted. Images flickered at the edges of his vision—memories that weren't quite his anymore. A hive. A queen. Hunger that went beyond food into something existential.
"The Broadcast," the System said, "doesn't care what you were. It cares what you are. What you're becoming."
"What am I becoming?"
"That," the System said, and Ah'Ming could hear the smile in their voice, "is for you to discover."
"That's not helpful!"
"It's the only answer that matters."
The void began to dissolve.
"Wait—I have more questions—"
"You have one week," the System said, already fading. "Rest. Prepare. Your next instance will be... challenging."
"What does that mean?!"
"It means," the System's voice echoed as everything went dark, "you should probably invest in better equipment."
"THAT'S STILL NOT HELPFUL—"
Ah'Ming woke with a gasp.
His penthouse was dark except for the city lights filtering through the massive windows in shades of neon blue and electric purple.
He sat up, heart pounding, trying to hold onto the dream.
But it was already slipping away like water through his fingers.
By the time he was fully awake, he could barely remember anything except:
One week.
Better equipment.
Challenging.
And a lingering sense of being seen. Really, truly seen, in a way that was both comforting and terrifying.
"System?" he called out softly. "Steve?"
|Yes?
"Did something... did I just..."
|Broadcaster was asleep for 9 hours and 23 minutes
|No anomalous activity detected
"Oh."
Just a dream, then.
A really weird, vivid, possibly prophetic dream.
Cool.
He couldn't really remember what was in it anyways. There was a tall person, and then a lot of tall people who all blended in to one another.
Ah'Ming checked his gauntlet.
[7 DAYS UNTIL MANDATORY INSTANCE ASSIGNMENT]
One week.
Seven days to prepare for whatever "challenging" meant.
Seven days to figure out how to be a D-rank broadcaster with A-rank housing and apparently a growing social media following.
Seven days to eat as much food as possible before the next round of potential death.
He pulled up BroadcastWatch.
His follower count had hit 100,000 overnight.
"IS HE GONNA POST MORE FOOD CONTENT"
"What instance are you tackling next??"
"MUKBANG KING"
"I've watched the Golden Pavilion video 47 times"
Ah'Ming stared at his phone.
Looked around his penthouse.
Looked back at his phone.
"Steve?"
|Yes?
"I think I'm accidentally famous."
|System is aware
|System is already filing preemptive incident reports
"That's not comforting."
|System isn't here to comfort broadcaster
|System is here to keep broadcaster alive
|Which is becoming increasingly difficult given broadcaster's talent for chaos
"I haven't even done anything yet!"
|Exactly
|System is concerned about what happens when broadcaster starts trying
Ah'Ming couldn't really argue with that.
He flopped back onto his bed, phone still glowing with notifications.
One week.
He had one week to prepare.
One week before the next instance.
One week to figure out what "challenging" meant in a world where he'd apparently already hit viral status by eating dinner.
"Hey Steve?"
|Yes?
Ha! He- no, it- responded to the name!
"This is going to be interesting, isn't it?"
|System's definition of 'interesting' differs significantly from broadcaster's
"I know."
|System is preemptively increasing incident insurance
"I know."
|System hopes broadcaster knows what they're doing
Ah'Ming grinned at the ceiling.
"Not even a little bit."
|System regrets everything
But the panel glowed just slightly warmer.
Just slightly like it was smiling.
It stopped smiling when Ah'Ming opened his mouth again, though. "You know, can I make highlights of my past broadcasts? Can I earn money from this?"
|Technically
Outside, the city hummed with life---millions of broadcasters and NPCs and beings beyond classification, all playing their parts in the infinite game.
And Ah'Ming, former hive drone turned accidental mukbang star, couldn't wait to see what happened next.
Even if it killed him.
Which it probably would.
But at least the food would be good.