The digital world on the giant projector screen was dying. A cascading waterfall of green and black code was devouring his beautiful, intricate interface. His team, his stats, his entire world—deleted.
> execute: protocol_zero
The game's over, Ethan. And you just lost.
Daniel's voice, cold and final, echoed in the stunned silence of The Gaffer's Dugout. Ethan's heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. His sister's horrified face, the confused murmurs of his friends and family… it was all a nightmare.
And then he woke up.
He sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, the ghost of the corrupted code still flickering behind his eyes. His heart was a frantic drum solo in the quiet of his room. He looked around. No party. No projector. No Daniel. Just the familiar, comforting darkness of his own bedroom.
It was a dream. A vivid, terrifying, and utterly convincing stress dream.
