With a thunderous laugh, he vanished.
A soft ding rang out where he’d stood. Miles, chest heaving, staggered forward and spotted a jet?black dagger skidding onto the cracked stone floor. As he reached down to pick it up, a voice echoed inside his mind:
“Congratulations, Player Miles. You have cleared the Doomsday Survival Game. Rewards will be issued based on your physical condition.”
Miles frowned.
“Reward generated. You have received a unique item: the Game System. Enjoy your continued play.”
He froze. “Game System? What kind of reward is that? Does the game actually go on after the final boss?”
Before he could ponder, the world went black. A surge of pain stabbed through his skull—and everything faded away.
When he came to, Miles lay on his dorm?room floor, the VR helmet clutched in one hand. He ripped it off, rubbing the ache behind his eyes. “What the hell just happened? I’ve logged four years nonstop—never once did this helmet glitch.”
He fiddled with the cables, then tapped the power switch again and again. The device was dead. Worse, he hadn’t even bought it himself—it had appeared in his mailbox out of nowhere. No store carried this model; no support desk existed.
In frustration, he hurled the helmet onto the bed. “Perfect timing… Graduation’s in days, and my only escape just flatlined.”
His phone buzzed. Caller ID: Aria. Miles hesitated—his ex?girlfriend. They’d met freshman year, fallen hard, then broken up when her powerful family intervened. Aria’s grandfather was a high?ranking general; her relatives demanded obedience. Miles, an orphan with nothing to offer, had no chance.
He flicked the answer button. “Hello?”
“Miles, are you okay?” Aria’s gentle voice trembled. “Graduation’s so close… Can we have dinner? There’s something I need to tell you.”
He let out a hollow laugh. “No thanks. You know my situation. I’m an orphan with nothing. Meeting up will only make it harder on both of us.”
Silence. Then she sighed. “I understand. Just… promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “You too.”
He hung up and headed to the empty dining hall.
The cafeteria buzzed silently; most students were still in lectures. Miles swiped his meal card, picked a basic tray, and settled into a corner booth. The overhead TV flickered to life with breaking news:
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Terror attack at Westcon Pharmaceuticals. All staff missing. Twenty?seven bodies recovered—brutally mauled, signs of accelerated decay. Death occurred less than twenty?four hours ago.”
Miles’s stomach lurched. In the game, low?level zombies looked just like that. He shook his head. “Too much playtime… Real life doesn’t work like that.”
He took a bite—and then a crisp ding echoed inside him. A translucent panel blinked into view above his tray: the same quest interface from the game.
Milk almost shot out of his nose. He stared, wide?eyed. It read:
New Mission: Investigate the Westcon bioweapon incident.
Reward: 100 Game Coins
Expires in 24 hours.
His heart pounded. So that’s the “Game System” reward… Did they implant some chip in my brain?
He slammed back his food and sprinted back to his dorm. Inside, he flopped onto his bed and thought, “Open Task System.” The mission glowed before him. He clicked it: same details as the cafeteria notice.
He groaned. “Bioweapon investigation… Me? Some college kid? I’m not exactly combat?ready.” Then he noticed the coin icon. Game Coins… There must be a shop.
“Open Trade System,” he muttered. A full item menu materialized: all the in?game gear, categorized neatly. His jaw dropped—prices were absurd. A basic dagger was 45 coins; one mission only paid 100. He’d have to grind dozens to afford decent equipment.
Then he remembered the Helllord’s dagger—and his own end?game armor. Maybe they were already in his inventory? He summoned his backpack: empty, except for a blinking mail icon.
He clicked it—and the Helllord’s dagger appeared in his right hand, suspended in midair before dropping cool and solid into his grasp. The twisted metal and humming dark energy made his blood thrill. He knew that feeling from countless boss fights.
A stats window popped up beside the blade:
Doom Blade LV 1
Attack: 100
Durability: ∞
Special: “Gene Devour”
Upgrade Progress: 0%
Miles grinned. “Not bad… But how strong is 100 attack? Wish I had something to compare it to.”
He opened his character panel:
Miles – Novice Demon Hunter LV 1
Strength: 0.7
Agility: 0.9
Vitality: 0.6
Focus: 1.2
He sighed. “Figures. Shut?in stats. Guess I’ll need to train. At least my focus is above average.”
He lay back, absorbing the system details and letting his mind settle. When night fell, he re?sheathed the Doom Blade and, both anxious and excited, grabbed his jacket and set off for Westcon Pharmaceuticals.
Westcon sat on the city outskirts—quiet, remote. Police tape crisscrossed the entrance; uniformed officers stood guard. Journalists milled at the perimeter. No one had emerged from the sealed labs, not even forensic teams.
Miles blended into the reporter crowd until a commotion erupted among the parked body carts. Corpses twitched. Skeletal figures lurched to life. Slow, rotting—zombies.
Gunfire cracked. Screams sliced through the air. Reporters bolted toward the action; guards shouted and moved to intercept.
Miles’s heart pounded as he watched a patrolman fire point?blank at a shambling corpse—bullets tore through decayed flesh with little effect. The officer stumbled back, panic on his face. The zombie staggered forward, dragging shattered limbs.
Without hesitation, Miles flicked his wrist—the Doom Blade shimmered into his hand. A zombie lunged; he stepped into its reach, plunged the blade through its jaw and into the brain.
Black veins writhed along the dagger as it siphoned the creature’s gene essence. With a final shudder, the monster collapsed into a dry husk.
The upgrade bar ticked up: 1%.
Another data window popped up:
Rotting Zombie LV 1
Strength: 1.0; Agility: 0.2; Vitality: 5.0; Focus: 0
Miles’s lips curled into a determined smile. The apocalypse had just become his ultimate game—and he was ready to play.