Raymond's fingers dug into the soft material beneath him---the bed, or whatever passed for one in this sterile white prison. His chest tightened, breath coming shorter than it should.
The text hung in the air like a taunt, clinical and impersonal, reducing everything he'd just survived to a grade. B+. As if the firefight, the laser that should have killed him, the terror of dying in a body that wasn't his---all of it had been nothing more than a performance to be scored.
His mind kept circling back to that single, crushing truth: he'd thought death would be the exit. The way out of whatever nightmare he'd been dropped into. But the system was still here, still tracking him, still treating him like a player in a game he'd never agreed to join.
Raymond's mind turned over the pieces, trying to force them into a pattern that made sense. If this was a simulation---and the system had confirmed that much---then participants were players. That meant structure. Rules. Infrastructure.
He pushed himself up from the bed, his teenage limbs responding sluggishly. The room remained featureless as he stood, every surface that same pristine white. No doors. No seams. Just walls that stretched into corners with geometric precision.
A lobby. That's what this could be. The space between scenarios where players waited, where the system processed results and prepared the next stage.
His lips twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile.
Or it was a prison. Some containment zone where the government---whoever ran this world---kept participants locked away between missions. Controlled. Monitored. Used.
Both options fit the evidence. Neither was comforting.
His gaze returned to the floating text, to the line still glowing in his vision.
[ Please check your activity log for breakdown of the mission rating ]
Worth trying.
Raymond focused his mind on the prompt, the same way he'd called up his system interface in the desert. The same mental pull, the same intent.
The display flickered.
New text materialized, replacing the congratulations message. A list---organized, clinical, each line stamped with its own assessment.
[ Activity Log ]
Failed to escape capture by the slavers of Cyber City. Rating reduced to E-.Escaped from captivity of the slavers during transport. Rating increased to E+.Found a caravan in the middle of desert. Rating increased to D-.Skill [ Basic Interrogation Technique ] generated.Came in contact with a native with hidden knowledge of the foundation of the world. Rating increased to B, Escalation Protocol initiated.Skill [ Basic Shooting - Handgun ] generated.Assisted in eliminating 5 Tier 0 enemies. Rating increased to B+, Escalation Protocol engaged.Overall no. of days of survival: 3. No bonus increment in rating.Difficulty modifier: Tutorial - Easy. No bonus increment in rating.Final mission rating: B+
Raymond's eyes widened as he scanned the log. Brief entries, clinical language, but they matched. Everything he'd done, every decision he'd made since waking in that container---recorded, categorized, scored.
His focus snagged on two lines near the middle.
Escalation Protocol initiated.
Escalation Protocol engaged.
The first had appeared right after he'd learned the truth from Rakheel. That the world was a simulation. That players descended periodically. That everything was constructed.
The second came after he'd killed the bandits. Right before the transformer had dropped from the sky and fired that laser.
His pulse quickened.
Was that the connection? Learn the truth, trigger the protocol. Kill enough enemies, engage it fully. Did the system send death robots after anyone who figured out they were inside a game?
He shook his head sharply.
No. That didn't track.
Rakheel had said the other players knew what this was. They'd talked openly about mission ratings, acted like they understood the rules. If discovering the simulation's nature automatically triggered an execution protocol, every player who entered would be dead within hours.
There had to be something else. Another condition. Another variable he hadn't identified yet.
Raymond's eyes dropped to the next line.
Overall no. of days of survival: 3.
Three days?
He ran through the timeline in his head. Waking in the container---that was day one, maybe. The escape from the train, the long walk through the desert until he found the caravan---day two. The firefight with the bandits and the robot attack---day three.
Except that felt like a stretch. The math didn't sit right. He'd been unconscious for unknown periods. Time in the desert had blurred together. Nothing about the sequence felt like it spanned seventy-two full hours.
Unless.
What if the original owner was alive longer? Got captured, spent a full day locked in that container before dying. Then I woke up in his corpse and the system just... kept counting.
His jaw tightened.
No proof. Just speculation.
But it felt closer to the truth than anything else.
His gaze moved down to the final entry.
Difficulty modifier: Tutorial - Easy.
Raymond's hands curled into fists.
Easy?
Kidnapped. Thrown into a desert with no water, no weapons, no information. Hunted by mechanical soldiers. Shot at by bandits. Nearly incinerated by a transforming death robot.
And the system called that easy.
He wanted to curse whoever designed this. Whatever entity or committee or sadistic programmer had decided that qualified as a tutorial on the lowest difficulty setting.
Raymond shook his head, the motion barely perceptible in the sterile quiet.
His eyes tracked back up the log, finding the two lines that had caught his attention earlier.
Skill [ Basic Interrogation Technique ] generated.
Skill [ Basic Shooting - Handgun ] generated.
The pattern clicked into place. The first had appeared after he'd worked Rakheel over---physically and psychologically---until the merchant broke and told him everything. The second came during the firefight, when he'd put rounds exactly where they needed to go despite the unfamiliar weapon and his teenage body's limitations.
So you can earn skills by doing them.
That made a twisted kind of sense. Practice became recognition became system reward. But what did the skills actually do? Did they improve his abilities directly? Provide knowledge? Adjust his body's muscle memory?
He focused on one of the skill entries, trying to pull up more details.
The interface didn't respond. No popup appeared, no additional information materialized.
Either the system didn't provide detailed descriptions here, or he was missing something about how to access them.
Raymond exhaled slowly, letting the information settle. The log had given him more questions than answers, but at least now he understood the shape of what he didn't know.
He mentally commanded the interface to go back.
The display flickered. The activity log dissolved, replaced by two new lines of text.
[ View Profile ]
[ Reward Settlement ]
Raymond stared at the two options, his eyes fixed on the glowing text.
His hands trembled. Just slightly. Involuntary.
View Profile.
Two words that might contain answers. The identity of whoever had owned this body before him. A name. A history. Maybe even a face that wasn't his own staring back from some digital mirror.
His thoughts churned, crashing against each other without resolution.
He'd accepted it by now. Had to. The transmigration, the simulation, the impossible reality he'd been dropped into---it had already happened. Fighting that fact would accomplish nothing. What was he supposed to do? Scream that he refused to participate in whatever game these higher beings were playing and put a bullet in his own head?
Ridiculous.
He wanted to live. Simple as that. Any normal human would.
As a mercenary, he understood transactions. Once payment was made, the job needed completing. No refunds. No backing out halfway through because the contract turned uglier than expected.
This was the same thing, just scaled up to cosmic proportions. Some unknown force had dragged his consciousness into this body, dropped him into a simulation, and set the game in motion. The payment? Power. Strength he could feel in his bones when he'd redeemed those Endurance points. Real. Tangible. Undeniable.
The agenda behind it all? He had no idea.
But whatever these entities wanted from him, he'd complete it. Survive it. Find his way through to the other side without getting himself killed in the process.
That was the plan. The only plan that made sense.
Still.
His focus hovered over the options, hesitating.
Questions about the original owner brought a different kind of resistance. Something heavier than tactical concern. What if this kid had family? Friends who knew his mannerisms, his voice, the way he moved? Raymond could fool strangers easily enough---he'd done it a hundred times across a dozen countries. But people who knew you? They spotted the differences. The small things that didn't line up. The moments where the mask slipped and revealed someone else underneath.
If he learned who this body belonged to, he'd have to carry that weight. Pretend to be someone he wasn't. Lie to people who might have loved the kid.
His jaw tightened.
He focused on [ View Profile ].
The display shifted.
A new interface materialized---cleaner, more structured. The layout reminded Raymond of character screens from video games, the kind with stats and equipment slots arranged in neat columns.
On the left side, a portrait. A young man stared back at him---teenager, maybe sixteen or seventeen. Dark hair falling past his ears. Smooth face, no stubble. Features that were... his, he supposed. The body he currently wore. The face he couldn't see without a mirror but had felt with his own hands back in the desert.
The right side displayed text, organized under a simple header.
=== PROFILE ===
NAME: [Ray #776784]
LEVEL: [1] [0 EXP]
TITLE: [None]
That was it.
Raymond stared at the sparse information, his brow furrowing.
He'd expected more. A dossier, maybe. Background information. Family connections. Employment history. Something that would tell him who this kid had been before Raymond's consciousness had taken residence.
Instead, he got four lines. A designation that wasn't even a proper name---just "Ray" followed by a six-digit number. A level counter sitting at one. Empty fields for a title and whatever "ELS" meant.
Brief. Clinical. Impersonal.
His eyes caught the navigation elements. A small page-turn icon sat in the bottom right corner of the display. At the top right, a close button---the familiar X symbol from every computer window he'd ever used.
Raymond focused on the page-turn icon.
The display shifted again.
New information populated the screen, organized under a different header.
=== ATTRIBUTES ===
STR: 4
AGI: 3
END: 3 (+4)
PER: 5
INT: 4
WIL: 7
He recognized them immediately. These were the stats from the store---the ones he'd seen listed for purchase back in the desert cave. Strength, Agility, Endurance, Perception, Intelligence, Willpower.
The +4 next to Endurance confirmed it. The boost he'd bought with his first reputation points, the one that had flooded his body with renewed energy and kept him moving through the night.
He focused on the STR line, trying to pull up more details about what the stat actually did.
Nothing happened. No description appeared, no popup materialized.
A sigh escaped him---quiet, disappointed. Either the system didn't provide that level of detail here, or descriptions simply weren't available for attributes.
He focused on the next page icon.
The screen shifted once more.
=== SKILLS ===
[ Basic Interrogation Technique ]
[ Basic Shooting - Handgun ]
Brief. Just like the other screens. Two lines. No descriptions. No details about what the skills actually provided.
Raymond pushed the question to the back of his mind and moved to the next page.
The screen shifted once more.
=== INVENTORY ===
Below the header, rectangular boxes materialized in a grid pattern. Neat. Organized. Most of them empty, just blank slots waiting to be filled.
One box near the top left wasn't empty.
A miniaturized icon occupied the space---the handgun. The same one Rakheel had given him before the firefight. Raymond recognized the angular lines, the distinctive grip, even rendered in tiny digital form.
Must've still had it on me when I 'died'.
Curiosity pulled at him. He focused on the icon.
A new prompt appeared over the gun's image.
[ Retrieve? ]
He confirmed mentally.
The air near his feet shimmered. Pixels flickered into existence for a brief second---tiny squares of light coalescing, solidifying. The handgun materialized on the white floor with a soft thunk.
Raymond bent down and picked it up. The weight settled into his palm, familiar and real. He turned it over, checking the grip, the slide, the trigger guard.
"Yes, exactly the same."
The words came out barely above a whisper.
But something nagged at him.
His brows drew together. He pressed the magazine release. The mag dropped into his waiting hand.
One magazine.
Only one.
He'd taken two spares from Rakheel's chest before leaving the tent. Used one during the firefight with the bandits. That left him with two total---one in the gun, one spare.
So where was the second?
His attention returned to the inventory interface, scanning more carefully this time. The grid of boxes. The empty slots. Then he spotted it---a section off to the side that read [ Ammo ].
He focused on it.
A popup window materialized over the inventory grid, pushing the background interface into a blur.
=== AMMO ===
[ 14 x .357 SIG = 2 Mags ]
A single entry. Clean. Direct.
Raymond gave a small nod.
So that's how it works.
The system didn't track individual magazines. It counted ammunition by caliber and converted the total into magazine equivalents. Made sense---plenty of firearms used interchangeable rounds. Standardizing ammo rather than tracking every piece of hardware separately kept things simpler.
He mentally closed the popup. The inventory grid returned to full view.
His eyes swept across the slots one more time, checking for anything he might have missed. Empty boxes. The handgun icon. The ammo counter. Nothing else.
Complete.
He closed the profile window.
The interface dissolved, leaving him back at the main screen with its two options still hovering before him.
[ View Profile ]
[ Reward Settlement ]
Raymond focused on the second option.
The screen flickered.