Kyle stood motionless, his mind struggling to process the interface that had just branded itself into his consciousness. The white motes had become a part of him now, their cold fire settling into his bones like winter in the projects.

  Marcus broke the stunned silence first,”what the fuck was that” his voice cracking with hysterical revelation. "Its like we are in a fucking game, bro."

  The absurdity of it struck Kyle like a fist to the gut. Here they stood, covered in orange blood, one JT already lost to this nightmare, and Marcus was talking about video games. Yet something about those words resonated with the floating character sheet now etched behind Kyle's eyelids.

  "Yeah, for sure. Like, have you ever played Zelda? This shit is like Zelda," Kyle heard himself say, the words tasting foreign on his tongue, as if borrowed from some alternate version of himself—the kid who'd sometimes escaped to the game store instead of running corners.

  “I remember yellow light from the shit you killed would absorb Link's body.”

  Dex spat on the ground, the glob of saliva dissolving into the soft earth. "Fucking nerds."

  "Shut your bitch ass up," Marcus snapped, eyes wild with conviction. "I'm serious. This is some kind of game."

  Kyle's gaze drifted back to the dead creature, its blood still seeping into the soil, its essence somehow absorbed into his being. Numbers and categories now organized his existence. Level 1. Stats. Abilities. The terminology settled into his understanding.

  "We survived a lot of shit growing up," Kyle said, his voice low, contemplative. "I was never good at Zelda, though. But I know what I did to win." His lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I put in cheat codes."

  "Nah, deadass though," Marcus insisted, stepping closer, his body practically vibrating with realization. "But this is more like Elden Ring. I wonder if pain exists here the same way?"

  The question hung in the humid air only a moment before Dex’s open palm cracked against the back of Marcus’s head, the sound unnervingly sharp.

  “How’s that feel, idiot?” Dex’s voice oozed contempt. “You heard JT—did he sound like he was having a good time?”

  Kyle watched Marcus rub the spot, his face darkening, but he didn’t challenge Dex.

  The mention of JT's name fell between them like a corpse, heavy. Kyle's stomach clenched as the memory of that scream—abruptly silenced—replayed in his mind. They'd run. Left him behind. The brotherhood that had survived two decades of street warfare had fractured in seconds.

  The shame of leaving him to die in such a way.was digging something deep inside Kyle. They fought together, died together, he had Kyle's back, and yet Kyle kept running.

  Dex paced like a imprisoned beast, his movements increasingly erratic. Kyle recognized the signs—back home, this was when Dex would find someone to hurt, channeling grief into violence before it could consume him. But here, with no clear target, that energy had nowhere to go.

  Marcus had gone quiet, retreating inward as he always did in crisis. His fingers worked methodically at his clothing, the repetitive motion a meditation that kept panic at bay. In the projects, Marcus had been the planner, the one who could see three moves ahead while everyone else was reacting. That same calculation showed in his eyes now, adapting to survive.

  Kyle stood between them—the mediator, the translator of their brotherhood—feeling the weight of keeping them together when their fourth corner had been violently torn away. Back home, they'd each had their role. Here, with the rules rewritten and JT gone, those roles were shifting beneath their feet like quicksand.

  He used what kept him from getting too emotional to break the silence.

  "We can't let his second death end in vain," Kyle said, the words dragging up from somewhere deep and raw. "Let's try to keep pushing through this shit."

  Dex's eyes narrowed, a shadow passing across his features. "Second death, huh? Was that supposed to be funny?"

  Kyle met his gaze without flinching. In the Five-Eight, you never showed weakness, especially when you felt it most. "I mean, a little bit. Shit, maybe he'll have a third. Who the fuck knows?"

  The words were callous, a shield against the grief that threatened to swallow him whole. It was easier this way—to treat death as just another obstacle, another corner to navigate. Sentiment got you killed in Spanish Harlem. Maybe here too.

  Behind the facade, something twisted in Kyle's gut. JT had been there when he'd lost his first tooth, when he'd caught his first case, when he'd buried his mother, and now he was gone, torn apart in a strange wilderness while they ran like scared children.

  Kyle's eyes dropped to his hands, still sticky with the creature's dark orange blood. Eight unbound points floated in his mind, waiting for assignment. Another reminder that whatever rules governed this place, they weren't the ones he'd lived by. Death wasn't final here—it was a transaction, a currency exchanged for power.

  The interface in his mind flickered with potential, with choices he'd never been offered before. In the Five-Eight, your path was chosen before you took your first breath. Here, for the first time, he faced options.

  "So," he said, his voice steadier now, "we either figure this shit out or we die. Again." His eyes lifted to meet those of his remaining brothers. "And I don't know about y'all, but I'm not too keen on finding out what a third death feels like."

  Marcus nodded slowly, his earlier frenzy settling into determined focus. Dex merely gripped his spear tighter, veins standing out along his forearms like worms beneath soil.

  Kyle closed his eyes, letting the interface flood his consciousness again. Those eight unbound points hovered in his mind's periphery, a temptation and burden both. The memory came unbidden—sixth grade, his mother still trying, still believing she could salvage something from the wreckage of her life. The fluorescent lights of that doctor's office had cast everyone in a sickly pallor as the man in the white coat spoke about Kyle's wandering mind, his inability to focus, the ADHD diagnosis that would follow him like a shadow.

  "Yeah, that fucker wanted to put me on medication," Kyle muttered to himself, the bitterness of that day still fresh after all these years. His mother had nodded along to the doctor's words, her hands clutching her purse so tightly her knuckles went white—the same way Dex now gripped his spear. "Fuck that shit."

  But now, staring at those unbound points, a dangerous question formed. What would it feel like to be smart? To have clarity of thought for once in his miserable life? The streets hadn't valued intelligence—not the kind measured in books and tests. But here, in this blood-soaked surreal landscape, perhaps different rules applied.

  Something reckless and hungry unfurled in Kyle's chest as he allocated six points to intelligence, his decision made before caution could intervene. The confirmation pulsed through his mental interface, and the change rushed through his mind like a cocaine high—familiar yet terrifying in its intensity.

  It wasn't becoming someone else—it was becoming more himself with the volume cranked until every frequency hit like a bass drop. His ADHD still fired thoughts like ricocheting bullets, but now each impact left marks he could read, patterns he could trace.

  The jungle revealed itself in layers: birds adjusting flight paths along thermal currents; the beast's blood oxidizing in real-time; memories surfacing with painful clarity—JT's nervous finger-tapping pattern; his mother's copper-flame hair in summer light; the serial number KG549032 on his first piece.

  Then it came.

  Kyle had been six then, not understanding the poetry in his father's words, only the warmth of those palms against his cheeks. By eight, his father was serving ten to fifteen, and the visits became collection days—gathering fragments of the man to sustain him through absence: the scent of Old Spice and prison soap, the precise way he aligned his cuticles when he was thinking, the slight lisp on words with 's' sounds that only emerged when he was exhausted.

  Now, with his enhanced mind, Kyle could assemble these fragments into a coherent whole for the first time. His father's choices, his absences, the fierce protection he offered during his brief presences—all of it crystallized into a pattern Kyle couldn't have recognized before. His father had been trying to give him something beyond the streets, beyond the cycle, even as he was being consumed by it.

  The realization struck Kyle with physical force—how many other patterns had he missed, connections that might have altered his path if only he'd been able to see them?

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  The jungle around him shifted, or perhaps it was his perception that changed. His newfound intelligence wasn't just a tool for survival; it was the key to a door his father had tried to show him long ago—a way of seeing beyond immediate threats to the broader landscape of possibility.

  "My intelligence just literally quadrupled, my G. I definitely feel the effects," Kyle said, each syllable carved from the thick jungle air. "I wouldn't say my brain works differently. I just feel more... you know what I mean?"

  Dex's face twisted with familiar skepticism, the same look he'd worn when Kyle claimed he could flip a half-brick in an afternoon. "Nah, son, I don't."

  Marcus leaned forward, curiosity etched across features. "What did you start with?"

  "I started with two," Kyle admitted, the truth bitter on his tongue.

  Dex's laughter cut through the jungle air—cruel yet comforting in its normalcy. "Fucking dumbass. I had three." The familiar mockery carried no real malice, just the casual brutality that had bound them since childhood.

  Kyle noticed Dex's slight weight shift, a tell he'd always sensed but now interpreted with crystal clarity. His eyes slid to Marcus, who stood unnaturally straight.

  "What about you, Marky Mark?"

  "Five," Marcus replied, chin lifting. "So yeah, you motherfuckers are dumb."

  Kyle let that sink in for a moment. Five was more than double what he'd started with. Back home, who was smartest never mattered much—who was quickest to pull, who had the most heart when shit went sideways—that's what counted. But here, these numbers suddenly meant everything.

  He studied the character sheet floating in his mind again, trying to make sense of the strange categories and values that now defined him in this world. There had to be a way to get more information.

  "I tried asking in my mind what all the numbers mean and got nothing. It seems like this place isn't forthcoming," Kyle said, testing the weight of this new vocabulary on his tongue, words he'd heard in courtrooms but never used himself.

  "Forthcoming," Dex repeated in a mocking voice, the corner of his mouth hitching up in that familiar half-smile that could mean amusement or danger, sometimes both.

  "I put three in intelligence and you're right, I do feel something," Dex continued, running his hand over his close-cropped hair, "but yet I feel the same."

  Kyle nodded, fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air as he considered his remaining points. "I'm going to put one in strength and one in agility."

  "I'm putting the remaining points in strength and vitality," Dex said, his voice carrying the same casual authority it had when dividing up corners back home. "I think that's health and shit."

  Their eyes turned to Marcus, who stood with his head slightly tilted, as if listening to music only he could hear.

  "Mark, stop being so fucking mysterious over there," Dex called. "What are you doing with your points?"

  Marcus blinked, pulled back from whatever internal calculation had consumed him. "Well, if you idiots have to know, I'm putting three in intelligence and one in everything else but resilience." His finger tapped against. "But do you see that shit at the bottom, though? Affinity, core type, energy... I wonder what the fuck that is."

  "I don't know, but how much energy do you have?" Dex asked, a new curiosity edging his voice. "I have one hundred and forty two”

  “That's more than me. I have one hundred and twenty," Marcus replied, forehead creasing.

  Kyle felt a weird, cozy glow in his chest—took him a second to realize it was pride. “Well, guess who’s winning now? I’ve got four seventy-four.” He spread his arms like a showman unveiling a jackpot. “I’m not trying to brag, but seriously, that’s, like, four times what yall have.”

  .Kyle looked at his stats again “I could have sworn it said something lower just a minute ago? Maybe boosting my intelligence or something jacked it up?”

  Kyle realizing something further “look if you check, it’s zero,” Kyle answered. “So I don’t think we can actually use it yet. I’m pretty sure that’s where the magic is.”

  For a fleeting moment, Kyle wondered what JT would have had if he'd made it to this point—how his numbers would have stacked up.

  The jungle's cryptic sounds filled the silence that followed.

  Kyle watched Dex pace, shoulders tight with restless energy. "So what do you nerds think we should do now?" Dex stopped his pacing, waiting for an answer.

  The question hung in the heavy air. Kyle sifted through possibilities, cataloging priorities with an awareness that still felt strange.

  "Well, lets think about this, what's most vital," Kyle said. "We need to survive, right? So maybe we should focus on finding water 'cause i don;t know about you but im fucking thirsty."

  Dex ground his teeth.. "Alright genius, how are we supposed to do that?"

  Kyle's fingers tapped against his thigh, a rhythm he hadn't consciously chosen. "I'm just using my thoughts here, but maybe we follow other animals, see where they go. Or maybe we find some footprints in this soil, see where that leads."

  sweat pouring down Dex’s eyebrow.

  “Yo, can you stop being a smartass, you do that shit sometimes.”

  They fanned out, eyes fixed on the ground. Kyle's gaze caught indentations in the soft earth—wide, splayed marks that reminded him of dog paws but larger, deeper.

  Marcus crouched nearby, tugging at his sweat-soaked shirt. "We should get more comfortable." He pinched the fabric away from his skin.

  Without discussion, they set to work. Kyle tore at his sleeves, fabric ripping along the seam. Dex followed suit, slicing his jeans at the knee with the edge of his spear. Marcus worked methodically, creating strips they could use as makeshift belts.

  Kyle tied the fabric around his waist, cinching his newly-made shorts. "This ain't the hood no more, bro. No need for swagger."

  Dex snorted, adjusting his own belt. "Speak for yourself."

  Kyle's attention returned to the tracks. He studied them, fingers hovering just above the soil. The imprint felt fresh, edges still defined in the spongy soil. He glanced up, following their direction.

  "These head that way." Kyle pointed through a gap in the dense vegetation, toward where the sun cast longer shadows. "If it's an animal, it might lead to water."

  Marcus finished with his modifications, wiping sweat from his forehead with a torn sleeve. "Worth a shot."

  Dex retrieved his spear. "Better than standing around waiting for something else to try eating us."

  They moved in formation—habits from the streets transferring seamlessly to this jungle. Kyle took point, eyes tracking the paw prints while scanning for movement ahead. Dex covered their flanks, spear ready. Marcus brought up the rear, glancing back every few steps.

  The jungle thickened with every step, vines and broad leaves closing in around them. Kyle felt the brush of peculiar plants against his bare arms, each contact leaving trails of dewy moisture. Some of these strange organisms recoiled at the slightest touch, curling in on themselves like timid animals. Meanwhile, vibrant blossoms opened up in a riot of exotic colors—some studded with menacing thorns, their leaves painted in gradients of blues and purples.

  "You seeing this shit?" Kyle whispered, nudging a purple-veined leaf with his knuckle. It shrank away, trembling.

  Marcus leaned in, eyes wide. "Plants don't move like that back home."

  "Nothing here works like back home," Dex muttered, keeping his distance from the vegetation.

  Kyle was distracted by tiny animal-lizard hybrids darting through the foliage, each sporting a bushy tail and reptilian claws. Their purple hide shifted in hue to match the riotous colors of the jungle, making them almost ghostlike when still.

  The tracks led them deeper into the jungle, winding between twisted trunks and hanging vines. Kyle cataloged everything—the way certain plants grew in clusters, how the light filtered differently through various canopy sections, the gradual increase in moisture in the air.

  "Listen." Kyle said. They paused.

  A distant sound cut through the jungle noise—water moving over rocks. Kyle felt a surge of satisfaction.

  "Told you," he said, unable to keep the pride from his voice.

  The sound grew louder as they pushed forward. The vegetation thinned, giving way to a small clearing. A stream cut through the jungle floor, water running clear over smooth stones. On the opposite bank, a creature bent to drink—a four-legged beast resembling a cross between a hyena and a jackal, but with armor-like scales covering its back, and front legs each scale glistening with a subtle, teal metallic sheen.

  Kyle froze, hand raised to halt the others. The creature remained unaware, muzzle dipping to the water's surface. Its matted fur hung in green patches between the armored plates.

  "What the fuck is that?" Dex breathed.

  “Shit, I think we should kill it” raising his spear in an awkward position.

  Kyle shook his head once. "I have no fucking clue, but there are other smaller things we can kill.”

  Marcus shook his head in agreement.

  They watched as the creature finished, head lifting to scan its surroundings. Its eyes—amber and alert—swept across their position without catching. It turned and trotted into the jungle, disappearing between thick trunks.

  A notification flickered in Kyle's mind:

  [New skill acquired: Tracker (Novice 3)] The ability to read subtle disturbances in nature, interpreting faint marks in soil, broken twigs, and trails. Your eyes decipher the hidden language of the wilderness, understanding movements and behaviors through the signs left behind.

  Kyle stiffened as information flooded his brain. Patterns in the dirt jumped out with new clarity—weight distribution.stride length and gait, track shape and detail, disturbance to vegetation, hair, fur, or feather evidence and much more.

  "Did you guys feel that?" Kyle turned to the others, eyes wide. "I know how to track now. Like, really track."

  Dex's brow furrowed. "Feel what?"

  "No, bro." Marcus shook his head. "Nothing here."

  Kyle's hands moved in small gestures, trying to capture what he couldn't explain. "It's like... I just understand it now. The tracks, the signs. Everything."

  Marcus exhaled. "Coast clear?"

  Kyle nodded, stepping into the clearing. "Let's not waste time."

  Kyle crouched at the stream's edge, arms outstretched. His fingers broke the surface, sending ripples across water clear enough to see the smooth stones beneath. The coolness shocked his skin after the jungle's heavy heat.

  He rotated his wrists, watching the orange blood dissolve in tendrils. Kyle dipped deeper, forearms submerged. His nails scraped at the dried patches clinging to his skin folds, knuckles pale as he pressed harder. The blood flaked off, forming tiny rust-colored clouds that dispersed downstream.

  He glanced over his shoulder, jaw tight. Kyle scrubbed between each finger methodically, hunched forward, shoulder blades sharp beneath his torn shirt. The water around his hands gradually cleared. He flexed his fingers, inspecting the creases of his palms, then dunked them once more.

  Kyle bent forward, cupping water in his palms. He splashed his face once, twice, then a third time. His shoulders tensed at the cold. Thumbs pressed against his closed eyelids, dragging outward to his temples. His jaw worked side to side as he rubbed circles over his cheekbones.

  Water dripped from his chin, tinted faintly orange. He dipped again, scrubbing harder at the hairline where sweat had trapped the blood. Fingernails scraped along his jawline, catching on stubble. He twisted his neck, exposing the underside to inspect his work in the stream's reflection.

  He cupped his hands and lifted them, water leaking between his fingers. He hesitated, eyes darting to Marcus and Dex as they mirrored his movements.

  "You first," Dex said, nodding at Kyle.

  “I mean we just watched that creature do it” Kyle said. more to himself then anyone.

  Kyle brought his hands to his mouth. The water hit his tongue—no distinct flavor, just wetness against his parched throat. He swallowed, waited, then filled his hands again.

  "Tastes alright," he said, voice rough. "Like bottled water, not the chemical-filled shit we got out of the drain."

  Marcus grunted his agreement, face dripping as he drank greedily. Dex maintained smaller sips, eyes never settling on one spot for long.

  Kyle ran the back of his hand across his mouth. The creek’s gentle murmur echoed nearby, an unsettling mix of the familiar and the unknown. He stood straighter, rolling his shoulders until they relaxed.

  "I got to tell you guys, I think we can go hunting now. Like, I feel like I know so much about tracking animals out of nowhere."

  Dex snorted, flicking water from his fingertips. "Alright, boy wonder. Don't you think we're going to need a place to, you know, sleep?"

  Marcus stood, water droplets catching in his stubble. "A shelter."

  "Yeah, that's important." Kyle scratched his neck, eyes drifting to the darkening jungle around them.

  "Yeah. Step two, I guess," Kyle said, his words hanging in the humid air as the peculiar sphere began its descent beyond the trees.