Volume 2 – Prologue
Chapter 1 (001): The Shock
The room existed in a narrow slice of night, where the world felt smaller and quieter than it did during the day. Not silent—never silent—but reduced to a handful of familiar sounds that blended together until they barely registered.
The steady hum of a PC tower beneath the desk.
The faint rush of air from an overworked fan.
The soft glow of a monitor cutting through the darkness.
He sat in front of it with the posture of someone who had done this countless times before. Shoulders loose. Back slightly curved. Hands resting on the keyboard and mouse, not with intent, but with habit.
This wasn't excitement.
This wasn't escape.
This was routine.
The game had paused itself again, a looping background animation filling the screen. He hadn't noticed when it happened. His eyes were still open, still pointed forward, but his thoughts had wandered somewhere shallow and directionless.
Time had been strange lately.
Days slipped by without leaving impressions. Mornings came whether he wanted them or not. Nights stacked on top of each other until they blurred together. There were conversations, responsibilities, faces he recognized—but none of it stayed with him long enough to feel real.
It wasn't sadness.
It wasn't anger.
It was something quieter.
A sense of waiting.
The thought surfaced slowly, like a bubble rising from deep water, then lingered.
Waiting for what?
He leaned back in his chair and let out a slow breath, eyes lifting toward the dark ceiling. The light above had been turned off hours ago. He preferred it this way. The dim glow from the monitor was enough. Too much light made the room feel exposed.
This place was familiar. Almost uncomfortably so.
The desk bore a shallow scratch near the edge. The chair creaked if he leaned back too far. The cables behind the PC were tangled in a way that suggested he'd given up trying to fix them a long time ago.
Normal things.
Safe things.
His hand moved on its own, nudging the mouse. The screen brightened as the game resumed, the character on-screen standing idle in a world far more colorful than the one he was actually in.
He watched it without really seeing it.
Another thought drifted through his mind.
How long has it been since I wanted something?
The question stayed longer than the others.
He didn't dislike his life. He wasn't miserable. There was no dramatic dissatisfaction he could point to. There was simply a gap—something missing that he couldn't name. Like a piece of himself that had been misplaced before he'd learned how to notice.
His fingers pressed a key. The character moved. He followed through muscle memory alone.
A minute passed. Maybe two.
Then the screen flickered.
Just for an instant.
A thin distortion rippled across the display, warping the image before snapping back to normal. The sound from the speakers crackled softly, then stabilized.
His brows furrowed.
"That's new," he muttered.
He glanced down at the PC case beneath the desk. The internal lights were steady. No warning indicators. No strange smells. No smoke.
Probably nothing.
The system was old. He'd pushed it harder than he should have more times than he could count. Small issues came with the territory. He refocused on the screen and let his attention drift back into the game.
The hum from beneath the desk deepened.
Not louder. Heavier.
The air in the room felt dense, like pressure building before a storm. The fan inside the case spun faster, compensating for something unseen. He rolled his shoulders without realizing he'd tensed them.
Another flicker crossed the screen.
This time, the lights in the room dimmed for half a second before returning to normal.
His heart jumped once, sharp and sudden.
Okay. That wasn't nothing.
He reached down instinctively, fingers brushing against the power button on the PC tower. Shutting it down seemed like the smart choice. He'd deal with it properly tomorrow.
The screen went white.
Not bright.
Not blinding.
Just white.
Sound vanished. The hum, the fan, the faint noises of the night outside his window—gone. The room felt hollow, as if the world itself had paused.
His breath caught.
Then the air snapped.
A violent surge tore through the system in a single instant. Power arced where it never should have, bypassing worn safeguards and frayed limits. The PC convulsed beneath the desk, metal rattling as energy escaped its confines.
His hand was still on the desk.
The shock reached him before his mind could react.
There was no time for pain.
No time for fear.
No time for regret.
Something sharp and overwhelming ripped through him, not burning, but severing—cutting cleanly through sensation, thought, and awareness all at once.
The world disappeared.
Silence followed.