The hum of the pod faded into silence. For a heartbeat, there was nothing — not even the sound of his breath. Then came the light.
It burst through the darkness like a sunrise detonating inside his skull — a blinding flare that slowly bled into the golden haze of a burning sky. The first breath he took tasted like smoke and metal. Heat rolled across his face, carrying the scent of scorched earth and static electricity.
Reever blinked, squinting against the glare as the wind whipped across his cheeks. It felt real. Too real. Every grain of dust clinging to his skin, every vibration running through the ground beneath his boots — even the thump of his pulse syncing perfectly with the distant rhythm of gunfire echoing through the ruins.
He stood at the edge of a shattered skyscraper, the city below drowned in a storm of smoke and plasma fire. Towering silhouettes burned red in the distance. The sky — gold, cracked with violet lightning — stretched endlessly above him like the inside of a broken simulation trying to hold itself together.
Then, in the corner of his vision, a soft flicker. His HUD blinked to life, crisp and responsive, as if summoned by thought.
[Match Type: Battle Royale][Players Remaining: 67]
Reever's lips curved into a faint smirk. His voice came out rough, confident, alive."Alright then… show me what you've got."
He crouched, his movements fluid — instinctive. His hands found a rifle lying nearby, its surface gleaming with black chrome threaded by molten-orange veins of energy. He hefted it experimentally, feeling the familiar weight settle perfectly in his grip. The cold metal pressed against his palm, humming faintly like something alive. Even the oil on the handle and the minute vibration of the mechanism felt exactly right.
"God," he muttered, chuckling under his breath. "You kids really did it."
From the rooftop ahead, a shadow darted between debris — quick, deliberate. Reever's instincts flared awake. His world narrowed to a tunnel of focus. His breath steadied, the background noise dulled. He moved without thinking — a crouch, a pivot, a perfect aim down sights.
One squeeze of the trigger.
Bang.
The recoil jolted through his shoulder, sharp and satisfying. A split second later, the air filled with the smell of ozone and cordite. The target flickered — body dissolving into static, pixels scattering like dying fireflies.
"One down," he murmured, almost smiling.
A blip appeared on the radar — then another. Two hostiles, moving in tandem, closing fast.
Reever rolled into cover behind a half-collapsed concrete wall. Shards of debris scattered as gunfire rattled against it, splinters of stone bursting into the air. His body reacted before thought — peek, burst-fire, reset. The rifle kicked three times, rhythm steady.
One shot missed, another grazed. The third connected. The enemy's outline wavered — then shattered like glass sinking through water.
[Killstreak: 2]
Adrenaline surged through him — not through fingertips and controllers, but through his bloodstream. The neural dive wasn't simulation. It was embodiment. Every impact, every breath, every heartbeat synchronized perfectly. He could feel the gust of air from a nearby explosion, the heat licking his cheek, the faint metallic taste of dust settling on his tongue.
It wasn't a game anymore. It was a memory brought to life.
Reever moved like he had decades ago — fluid, precise, unstoppable. He vaulted a ledge, hit the ground rolling, slid behind the twisted hull of a crashed dropship. Sparks crackled from the engine beside him, reflecting gold across his visor.
The HUD pulsed. The map's safe zone was shrinking. Far in the distance, the storm wall churned — a vast curtain of static thunder rolling inward, swallowing the skyline piece by piece. Through the distortion, three new signals flared. The final survivors.
Reever's lips curled. "Endgame," he whispered.
He peeked from cover, marked his angles. A plasma grenade rolled in his palm — weightless, humming. He tossed it underhand. The device bounced twice, blinked once, and detonated in a cascade of blinding blue. The explosion tore through the plaza, rippling with concentric waves of light.
Two enemies vanished instantly, disintegrating mid-scream into golden dust.
The third charged out of the smoke — dual pistols flashing, muzzle flares tearing through the haze.
Reever side-stepped, fluid and fast. His body remembered every motion before his mind could form them. He switched to melee, pivoted on his heel, and drove the strike home with brutal precision.
Impact.Silence.
The opponent froze, glitching for a fraction of a second before bursting into a slow, beautiful scatter of light.
[Victory: Reever — Winner's Circle]
The battlefield fell still. Only the wind remained, whispering across the empty ruins. The golden sky above flickered softly, shedding digital confetti that shimmered for a moment before dissolving midair.
Reever stood in the center of it all, chest heaving. Every breath burned with something he hadn't felt in years — not pain, but purpose. The kind that used to fill stadiums with noise, that made millions chant his name.
His fingers twitched slightly, instinctively searching for the phantom feel of a controller. For a fleeting second, he could almost hear it — the distant roar of a crowd that no longer existed.
Then came the voice — smooth, familiar, synthetic.
"Congratulations, Player Reever. Champion."
He laughed quietly, half breath, half disbelief. "Still got it," he murmured. "Still—"
A sudden pain lanced through his chest. Sharp. Crushing. The world around him faltered, its golden light dimming to gray. His vision flickered — once, twice — before the sky fractured into jagged shards of static.
The rifle slipped from his hands. His knees buckled. The smell of smoke gave way to nothing.
[Warning: Neural Sync Instability Detected]
The voice distorted, glitching between tones. His HUD spasmed with red alerts.
"Guess… that's it, huh?" he muttered, forcing a breath. His hands reached out, brushing against air that suddenly felt thick, heavy — like moving through water. Every color began to drain from the world. The city froze mid-motion. Even the confetti hung still, suspended in time.
His pulse slowed. His HUD dimmed to a faint glow. The horizon's last light stretched out before him — a broken skyline, bathed in a dying sunset.
Then came the dark.
Complete. Infinite.
It wasn't the dark of death, or sleep — but the kind of void that felt alive, humming faintly at the edges, waiting for something to happen.
Then, through it, a voice.
Not the announcer. Something else. Softer. Curious.
"Player Reever. Would you like to continue playing?"
He frowned weakly. The words drifted through him like an echo. "Continue…?"
The void shimmered. Before him, glowing softly, appeared a familiar prompt.
[YES] — [NO]
For a long moment, Reever just stared. He could barely move. Barely breathe. The choice blinked, slow and patient, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
He smiled faintly, almost to himself. Then, with what little strength he had left, he whispered, "Yes."
The word rippled outward like a signal.
The light blinked once.
Outside the pod, alarms blared to life. Monitors screamed with flatline tones. Doctors rushed into the hospital room, shouting commands as machines flared red.
Inside the system —
The world restarted.