Chapter Two - Getting out of shock
I entered the bathroom.
I didn't know exactly how I knew its location, but it seemed that if I thought about a place, my body would automatically, almost magnetically, take me there. My feet moved with a will of their own, carrying me down the sterile, softly humming corridor. The door slid open with a whoosh at my approach. A little too convenient, a little too creepy.
I closed the door behind me, the mechanism engaging with a solid thunk-click. I sat down on the closed toilet lid—a small, rounded seat of cold, recycled plastic—and let my head fall into my hands.
I took a deep breath, the air tasting of filtered oxygen and industrial-grade cleaner, with a faint, ever-present metallic tang. I began to try and reason with the chaos.
"Maybe I'm dreaming," I whispered to the empty stall. "It seems I've been thinking about this show for a long time, so I've found myself in it."
After a minute, I released that conclusion. It was the most logical one, wasn't it? Far more logical than the alternative. Because the alternative was impossible. Getting transported like some protagonist in a Japanese isekai or a Korean drama? That would be stupid, wouldn't it? The height of narrative absurdity.
After a minute of silence, while I tried to muster a weak, hysterical laugh at the thought, the voice that had spoken to me earlier in class returned.
[The Screen Program will now activate.]
Before I could even begin to understand what "Screen Program" meant, I was plunged back into that black screen from before. New streams of data flickered to life in front of my eyes, glowing lines of text against the void.
[Name: Jordan Peterson]
[Age: 16 years]
[Skills: Enhanced Dynamic Vision. High-Level Physics Comprehension.]
[Physical Capabilities: 70% (Baseline Human Average: 50%)]
[Note: Physical statistics have been temporarily boosted by the System due to Host's unstable start-up conditions.]
[Alert: Physical capability level will revert to 40% in T-minus 10... 9...]
Wait, what? 40%? That was below average! I was going to be weaker than a baseline human?!
[Alert: Host will be granted the skill: Explosive Force. Will raise physical statistics by 30% for 10 minutes.]
[Cooldown period after skill use: 5 minutes.]
The countdown in my head hit zero. A sudden, dizzying wave of weakness washed over me. It wasn't painful, just profoundly unsettling—like someone had siphoned a layer of vitality right out of my muscles. I felt lighter, yet more fragile. My earlier 70% strength, a gift I hadn't even known I had, was gone.
In that moment, I let out a very, very quiet breath. It was the sound of resignation. I was telling myself there was no point in fear anymore. I had to accept this. It seemed I was in some kind of novel, or—based on current events—some kind of TV show. And not just any show, but an American series about space, a radioactive planet, artificial intelligence, time travel, jumping across planets… Just reciting these concepts in my head made me feel a fresh wave of vertigo.
But so be it. I had to accept the situation.
I stood up, my movements feeling slightly less fluid than before. I went to the sink—a small, stainless steel basin. I turned the faucet. A thin, anemic stream of water, meticulously recycled, trickled out. I splashed the cool liquid on my face, the shock of it sharp and clarifying against my skin. I dried my face on the rough, gray fabric of my sleeve and headed back to class.
Back in the classroom, I found everyone staring at me. Again. A sea of faces, some bored, some amused, all tracking my return. I ignored them all, my gaze fixed straight ahead, and sat back down in my assigned seat with a soft creak of the bench.
The dark-skinned boy next to me leaned over. "(Jordan), you got a problem? I expected you to go looking for trouble like usual. Didn't expect you to actually come back."
Okay. New information to add to my pitifully short list. So it seemed the character of (Jordan), whose body I now literally inhabited, was not exactly the teacher's pet. Not the nice kid who loved watching the teacher explain survival math. Go figure.
Anyway, I turned to the boy. "Don't worry. I was just… dealing with something. Besides, you know the guards don't joke around these days. Right?"
The dark-skinned boy nodded his head, a single, slow dip of his chin. Then he smirked, a flash of white teeth, and turned back to look at the teacher. His expression said, Whatever you say, man.
About half an hour later, Ms. (Griffin) finally finished explaining the mathematical principles necessary for "remaining alive." Of course, if it had been the original me, I wouldn't have understood a single thing. Probably because I was just an ordinary person, not specialized in the advanced level of education these people lived with—people who possessed spaceships that could survive in the void.
But my mind was explaining this information differently. A soft, internal chime sounded.
[Skill belonging to character (Jordan Peterson) activated: Mathematical Analysis.]
[Skill Effect: Comprehension of mathematical problems and their relationships. Analytical ability increased by 50% above average human level.]
The information about the skill appeared directly in front of me, a translucent overlay. I mentally swiped it away. Right now, I had more pressing concerns.
I grabbed the bag that was under my seat—a worn, gray satchel I was now sure belonged to me—and thought about my sleeping quarters. My room. Again, my feet seemed to know the way.
But before I could leave the classroom, Ms. (Griffin) approached me. Her boots made soft, precise taps on the metal floor. She looked at me, her gaze assessing.
"This is good, (Peterson)," she said.
I turned to her when she said that. She seemed to have noticed my attention.
She continued, "It seems you've finally decided to get serious. Isn't that right? That will be a big help to you. Believe me."
I nodded my head at her words, a mute, obedient gesture. She gave a final, curt nod before turning and walking away, her posture rigid.
The dark-skinned boy—who I now deduced was probably (Dunkey) or something similar from the show's universe—looked at me. His eyebrows were raised. He then smiled in a funny, mocking way.
"Look who's trying to get on the teacher's good side. Is this your new method for trying to leave class early?"
I said to him, my tone utterly serious, as I moved past him towards the door. "50% yes, and 50% no."
I didn't look back to see his expression, which I imagined was one of pure, uncomprehending confusion. I left, using the same mental autopilot that had gotten me to the bathroom.
Soon, I arrived at my room on the Ark space station.
I entered. The door slid shut with a hiss-clank.
I looked around. It was… bleak. There was only a narrow bed, bolted to the wall, with a thin mattress and a single blanket. A small, built-in desk with a stool attached. No window. No personal touches. Notably, there was no refrigerator. Of course not. Food in this place was extremely scarce, managed and rationed by the Council.
It was accurate to say the air was also distributed by the authorities here. After all, air sources in space were incredibly rare. Every breath was a privilege, a counted commodity.
Anyway, I chose to sit on the stool. It let out a faint squeak of protest. I took out a notebook—actual paper, a luxury—and a worn-down pencil from my bag. I began to write down some things. My thoughts. The mission. The strange system. The names I knew.
When I finished, I let out a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the entire Ark. I spoke aloud to the empty room.
"I looked at the calendar. I remember the hundred who are going to Earth were taught by (Kane). But it seems he wasn't the only one. It seems Ms. Abigail (Griffin)… mother of the story's heroine, (Clarke Griffin)."
In addition, I continued, staring at the blank, riveted metal wall in front of me. "Eleven months and fifteen days have passed. That means there are only fifteen days left before I go to Earth again… with the group of the Hundred."
The phrase 'again' hung in the recycled air. I hadn't been to Earth yet. But this body, this life, apparently had that memory. The dissonance was headache-inducing.
Furthermore, I stood up from the stool, the movement abrupt. I walked over to the small, polished metal sheet that served as a mirror. My reflection was warped, silvery, and ghostly.
I looked at the face staring back and said with genuine surprise, "Well, this is unexpected. But isn't this the face of Dean Winchester from Supernatural?"
It was true. He looked much younger, maybe 17, but it was undoubtedly Dean's face—the same strong jaw, the green eyes (were my eyes always this green?), the same expression that could shift from earnest to sarcastic in a heartbeat. The actor who had also played Soldier Boy in The Boys. This was… unexpected.
I poked my own cheek. The reflection poked back. Yep. That was me. Or my face now. A face ready to fight demons or, in this case, radioactive grounders and genocidal AI.
[System Alert: Beginning from this moment, the Player's missions commence. Primary Objective: Safely reach Earth. Approximate time until arrival: 15 days.]
The words hung in my vision, a constant, glowing reminder. Fifteen days. Then the drop. Then the ground. Then… survival.
I sat back down on the squeaky stool. The adventure, it seemed, was just beginning. And I had the face of a demon-hunting cheeseburger aficionado to see me through it.
Great.
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End of Chapter.
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Thoughts from the Zero-G Confessional:
So,(Jordan) is settling in… sort of. He's got a System that giveth and taketh away strength, the face of a CW hero, and a front-row seat to the Ark's final days. The countdown is on! What should his first move be? Try to find (Bellamy) and get in good with the future leader? Seek out (Raven) for some technical genius? Or maybe just raid the station's secret whiskey stash (if it exists)? Let me know your predictions and theories in the comments below!