Nothing prepares you for the end of the world. Not even a grandfather with an 80-foot bunker and a food stock that could have lasted ten years. Not even if that grandfather taught you everything he knew about survival and the wilderness.
What good was a bunker and food stock when you were ripped away from the world you had always known? What good was wilderness training on plants you might never come across again, on landscapes and climates that would soon be completely unfamiliar, on animals and dangers that would read like children's bedtime stories?
Honestly, Grey wasn't sure what he had expected the end of the world to look like. He had always thought his grandfather had a few screws loose, though he loved the old man. But if he had had an idea, it certainly wouldn't have been like this.
The streaming lights, the robots that stripped him of all his clothes and practically scraped off a layer of his skin with their sponges and towels. And then came that pompous host's voice, a bobbing head and a floating microphone belting out incoherent words over a roaring crowd.
He—if that hovering head could have been called that—hyped up the audience as though they were at a normal sporting event instead of the end of life as Grey had known it.
Grey could have sworn it was all a joke, a sick dream, maybe some elaborate prank pulled off by a reality TV studio with way too large a budget and execs with dick for brains.
But the first and last blade to his gut had woken him up to the reality.
This wasn't a joke. This wasn't a prank. This wasn't a dream.
He had really been transported into an intergalactic reality TV show, and his death was the entertainment.
—
[You have died. Better luck next time. Oh wait, there won't be a next time. Toodle-oo.]
—
**
Grey shot up, his eyes opening wide. He breathed heavy, pressing a palm to his chest, and then quickly to his stomach.
"What the hell—FUCK! OW!"
He had still been in the middle of trying to find the knife wound in his belly when his arms and legs were splayed apart. Mechanical arms rushed him from the sides, two of them holding scissors and the others carrying sponges and steel wool that would have been better suited for cast iron pans than human skin.
His clothes were torn apart, his favorite jeans, his lucky pair of underwear, too. He thought for a moment that they'd yank his junk as well to add trauma to injury, only to realize he had had these thoughts before.
Déjà vu?
Grey's eyes opened wide, the realization hitting him.
Was this another sick joke? Did this reality TV show make him experience this over and over again? Were they just going to repurpose his life as an extra until they were satisfied?
The idea that he had come back to life didn't sink in the way it should have for Grey. There was no elation, no happiness, just a deep, existential dread.
That was until they tightly wound that stupid floral suit on him again, with the puffy collar that looked like it belonged on a rich middle-aged lady from Midtown more than a 19-year-old like him. Then came a mechanical arm with a huge white glove on it that slapped him on the ass so hard he flew all the way up and through the hole in the ceiling.
Before he could fall back down, a circular platform perfectly formed to the hole caught him, seamlessly blending into the stage's floor with a puff of smoke.
Grey squinted on instinct. Sure enough, those beaming lights came again. Then that voice.
"Welcome one! Welcome all!"
The lights were so bright that Grey couldn't quite see how large the crowd or even the stage was. He could vaguely see a few shadows to his side, but he had no idea how far it stretched out.
The first time he had been here, though, he remembered the floating head saying—.
"I know you've all been anticipating it, well here we are! The 3021st Genesis Games are here! This time, we have a special sponsor you've all been anticipating. The Monelay have been waiting on the sidelines for the great honor for so very long. Whether they will be granted a seat in the Genesis Council will be decided on how well received our 3021st season is!
"You all know what that means. We'll have all the stops this season! No more of the usual slop! No more cutting corners! They've even paid for me! The Great Udon! Smite the Great to host after a 37-season hiatus!"
"SMITE THE GREAT!"
"SMITE THE GREAT!"
"SMITE THE GREAT!"
The roars of the crowd shook Grey's eardrums, his expression sinking as a new realization hit him.
"We're not going to wait! We're starting off with a bang! I told you the Monelay were pulling out all the stops, and I wasn't lying. This year we have…"
A drumroll that almost shook Grey off his feet echoed through the stadium.
"… A Cracked World!"
The crowd fell into a sweeping silence before they erupted again. Feet stomped their seats, and through the blaring lights, Grey managed to catch sight of something and duck as a bra twice the size of his body flew overhead.
"That's right, ladies and gentlemen! The Monelay have broken the embryonic shell of a world and released them into intergalactic stardom before their due time! We have only had such an event three times in 3020 seasons, and this season will be the fourth!
"These unpredictable little nutcrackers will give us some much-needed entertainment as the games gear up! Will they crash and burn?! Will they swim and flourish?! Only time will tell!
"I do have some favorites, though. I'll have to let you in on some of my little secrets as time goes on. For now, let's begin! Welcome your contestants!"
The roar of the crowd shook the stadium again as Grey dropped back down through the floor, the clothes he had been wearing quickly ripped from him. Or, rather, they were almost ripped from him.
Just like last time, one of the mechanical arms ran into the other, leaving him with no pants and a floral suit jacket with a puffy, fur-lined, pink collar.
The mechanical arms scattered.
—
[Scan in progress. Please select your weapon]
—
Grey hardly registered the words that floated in front of him. He was now sure.
His life hadn't been repurposed, he had been sent back in time. Otherwise, why would all the introductions be the same? Why would the mechanical arms collide against each other at the same angles, flashing with the same sparks, leaving cuts in his clothing with the same jagged edges?
But…
What good was another attempt when he had barely lived half a day on his first attempt?