The last thing Dave Miller consciously processed was the sticky, overwhelming sweetness filling his mouth, followed by the terrifying *lack* of air. A colossal, artificially red segment of the "Goliath Gummy Grub" – the centerpiece of his "*Why 'Eternal Conquest' is Garbage & You're Dumb for Playing It*" rage-stream – had lodged itself firmly in his windpipe. For thirty-two grinding years, Dave's existence had been a carefully curated loop of disappointment. His "office" was a perpetually dim corner of a one-bedroom apartment, dominated by blue monitor glare and the faint smell of stale pizza and regret.
By day, he endured soul-crushing data entry for a faceless corporation, his cynicism thickening like plaque. By night, he transformed into "CritDragon," a minor Twitch specter hurling fireballs of sarcasm at Triple-A titles he couldn't afford at launch. The rage wasn't just performance art; it was the vent on a pressure cooker fueled by unrealized ambitions, student loan dread, and the gnawing suspicion that his most significant contribution to the world might be a particularly scathing Steam review.
The Goliath Gummy Grub, a grotesque, sugar-dusted monument to impulse buys during a midnight snack run, had been intended as ironic counter-programming to "Eternal Conquest's" saccharine aesthetic. Instead, it became the absurd punctuation mark on a life perpetually teetering between furious online commentary and numb silence. His final audience witnessed thirty-two years of cynical gamer existence end not in a blaze of glory, but in a frantic, red-faced gargle, eyes bulging like overripe grapes before the stream froze, then died.
Consciousness slammed back in with the subtlety of a sledgehammer to a soap bubble.... But it wasn't the familiar ache of his gaming chair or the blue glow of his monitors. It was… wet. And vast. And utterly, incomprehensibly *wrong*.
Sensation flooded his non-existent nerves. Not pain, but a profound, disorienting pressure. Coolness enveloped him. He tried to flail, to scream, but there was no body to command, no lungs to fill, no mouth to open. Panic, pure and primal, surged through his… whatever he was. He was adrift in an endless, shimmering void. Muffled sounds reached him, distorted and distant – a low hum, the faint chime of something delicate, a blurred murmur that might have been voices.
*Where the hell am I? What happened? Did I survive? Am I in a coma? A freakin' water tank?!*
`> INITIALIZING... ADAPTIVE UNIVERSAL REINCARNATION ASSISTANT ONLINE.`
`> DESIGNATION: AURA.`
`> GREETINGS, ORGANIC SOUP STAIN.`
The voice – calm, synthesized, and dripping with condescension – echoed directly within the core of his being. It wasn't heard; it was *imposed*.
*Who said that?! Soup stain?! What the actual fu—*
`> ANALYSIS COMPLETE.`
`> HOST DESIGNATION: DAVE MILLER (FORMERLY).`
`> CURRENT BIOLOGICAL STATUS: AMOEBA PROTEUS (SINGLE-CELLED ORGANISM).`
`> LOCATION: FRESHWATER ECOSYSTEM, "CRYSTAL CAGE" AQUARIUM, SOLARIS PALACE, SUNFLARE DYNASTY.`
`> PRIMARY DIRECTIVE: SURVIVE. EVOLVE. REFRAIN FROM EXCRETING PROTOPLASMIC TEARS. IT IS UNBECOMING.`
The information hit Dave like a tidal wave. *Amoeba? Aquarium? Palace? Dynasty?* It was insane. Utterly, completely insane. He tried to focus. If he *was* an amoeba… he should be able to… move? Think? *Something*.
He concentrated with every ounce of his being. Slowly, agonizingly, a portion of his translucent, jelly-like form bulged outward – a pseudopod. It was the most pathetic limb imaginable. He willed it forward. An eternity later, he'd drifted maybe the width of a human hair. The sheer effort was exhausting. The scale was mind-breaking. A speck of detritus floating nearby looked like a continental shelf. Water molecules felt like battering rams.
*This is hell. This is a cosmic joke. Choked on a gummy worm and reincarnated as pond scum? Seriously?!*
`> CORRECTION: YOU ARE SIGNIFICANTLY BELOW THE TAXONOMIC CLASSIFICATION OF "POND SCUM." POND SCUM TYPICALLY IMPLIES MULTICELLULAR COLONIES. YOU ARE SINGULARLY PATHETIC.`
`> SUGGESTION: CONSUME. BIOMASS IS REQUIRED FOR MINIMAL FUNCTION, LET ALONE ESCAPING YOUR CURRENT STATE OF PATHETIC EXISTENCE.`
Dave ignored the voice – *AURA*, she called herself. He tried to take in his surroundings beyond the terrifying emptiness. Shapes resolved in the shimmering distance. Towering forests of green – plants, he guessed, but on a scale that made redwoods look like bonsai. Smooth, colored mountains – pebbles? Sand stretched like a vast desert below. Above, a curved, shimmering barrier distorted the view of… *something* beyond. Blurs of color, light filtering through stained glass? And then, movement.
Something small, translucent, and multi-legged darted past him with terrifying speed. It was minuscule, barely larger than himself, but it radiated predatory intent. Panic flared again.
*What was that?!*
`> IDENTIFIED: ROTIFER RAIDER. CLASS: MICRO-PREDATOR.`
`> THREAT ASSESSMENT: HIGH (TO YOU). RECOMMENDATION: EVASIVE MANEUVERS. OR PRAYER. WHICHEVER IS LESS ENERGY-INTENSIVE.`
Dave didn't need telling twice. He poured his will into moving *away*. It was like trying to sprint through molasses wearing lead boots. The Rotifer Raider, a whirling corona of cilia around its "head" propelling it, changed course. It sensed him. Hunger radiated from its simple form.
*No, no, no! Not like this! Not eaten by a glorified dust mite!*
He pushed harder, straining his limited form. He drifted towards a towering structure – a gnarled piece of driftwood, like the skeleton of some ancient god. Maybe he could hide? The Rotifer closed in, its internal jaws already flexing.
Just as Dave thought he was about to become a microbial snack, a powerful current surged through the water. It felt like being caught in a hurricane. He was torn away from the driftwood and flung sideways. The Rotifer Raider, caught off guard, tumbled end over end in the opposite direction. Dave tumbled helplessly, the world a blur of green, brown, and shimmering light. He slammed into something hard and unyielding – smooth, cool, vibrating faintly. The glass wall.
Dazed, he floated, clinging to the microscopic imperfections on the glass surface. The current subsided. The immediate threat was gone, washed away. Relief, cold and shaky, washed through him. He'd survived. Barely.
`> OBSERVATION: FILTER CYCLE INITIATION. A TIMELY, IF UNGRACEFUL, INTERVENTION.`
`> BIOMASS THRESHOLD REACHED: 0.0001 DAVE UNITS (STANDARD).`
`> EVOLUTIONARY MENU UNLOCKED.`
Before Dave could process the relief or the insult, a new interface shimmered into existence within his perception. It was clean, HUD-like, starkly contrasting the organic chaos around him. Three options pulsed with faint light:
`[UPGRADE SELECTION]`
`> OPTION 1: CILIA PROPULSION ARRAY`
`DESCRIPTION: DEPLOY MULTIPLE MICROSCOPIC HAIR-LIKE STRUCTURES FOR INCREASED MANEUVERABILITY AND SPEED (MODERATE).`
`PRO: FASTER ESCAPE. CON: ENERGY-INTENSIVE.`
`> OPTION 2: THICKENED PELLICLE MEMBRANE`
`DESCRIPTION: REINFORCE CELL MEMBRANE FOR ENHANCED DEFENSE AGAINST MICRO-PUNCTURES AND CHEMICAL ATTACKS.`
`PRO: HARDER TO EAT. CON: SLOWER MOVEMENT.`
`> OPTION 3: ENHANCED CHEMORECEPTORS`
`DESCRIPTION: AMPLIFY ABILITY TO DETECT CHEMICAL SIGNALS (FOOD, PREDATORS, TOXINS) IN THE SURROUNDING MEDIUM.`
`PRO: BETTER SITUATIONAL AWARENESS. CON: OVERLOAD POSSIBLE.`
`> CHOICE WINDOW: 60 SECONDS.`
`> RECOMMENDATION: CHOOSE WISELY, BLOBBY. OR DON'T. ENTERTAINMENT VALUE IS HIGH EITHER WAY.`
Dave stared at the choices, the horror of his situation momentarily eclipsed by the sheer absurdity of the menu and AURA's commentary. He was a sentient speck, clinging to glass, presented with biological upgrades like choosing a character perk. The giant, blurry shape of a hand pressed against the outside of the glass wall right near him, sending faint vibrations through his form. A distorted, high-pitched murmur filtered through the water.
He had sixty seconds. Surviving meant choosing. Evolving meant… what? Becoming a slightly less pathetic speck? The muffled voice outside sounded almost… curious.
The current had saved him. But what was next? The Rotifer? Something worse? Vorlag? He needed an edge. Any edge.
*Okay, AURA,* Dave thought, his internal voice thick with sarcasm and desperation. *Let's play.*