“Done yet?”

  My supervisor’s voice snapped me out of my trance. His bloodshot eyes, framed by deep shadows, mirrored my own exhaustion. I saw them doubled in my terminal’s screen just before it dimmed from inactivity.

  My desk was a battlefield of coffee-stained disposable cups, tangled cables, and unread reports. The monitor was flanked by two faded Post-its with reminders I’d ignored for weeks. The air reeked of stale sweat and burnt coffee.

  “Almost,” I lied.

  He nodded without conviction, too drained to argue. I stood, my head throbbing as if ready to split. Thirty hours without sleep. I no longer knew if I was awake or just hadn’t collapsed yet.

  I shuffled to the break room—a cramped, poorly ventilated space where steam from scorched coffee thickened the air. Elena greeted me there, radiant as ever. I never understood how she managed it.

  Her chestnut curls were pinned with a pen, her espresso-dark eyes still bright despite the grind. Her laugh came easy, her voice warm, her energy inexhaustible. She’d worked here longer than me, yet somehow didn’t hate life.

  “Another all-nighter, Dorian?” she asked, her smile making this hell worth returning to.

  I nodded, half-smiling, fumbling for words. I never knew what to say to her.

  She chuckled, the sound melodic. “We really need a vacation, huh?”

  “What’s that?” I replied, awkward.

  She shook her head, amused. As she brushed past me, her perfume lingered like a happy memory.

  “Just finish this project… hang in a little longer,” she said, leaving.

  My heart raced, and not from sleep deprivation. I approached the coffee maker—a chrome relic, screeching and stubborn, stained with rust. I poured a cup, gulped it like an antidote, then filled another to take back.

  On my way out, I collided with Jonas. His glare froze me.

  “Watch it,” he hissed, crowding me. “Don’t like how you eye my girl, nerd.”

  My gut churned. For a second, I considered throwing the coffee in his face. But it wasn’t hot enough to hurt—just annoy. Not worth it.

  “Didn’t know you two were…” I started.

  “None of your business.”

  He grabbed my collar, dragging me back into the break room.

  “Listen,” he whispered, breath hot in my ear. “Stay away from her. We’ll be cool.”

  I smirked humorlessly.

  I knew his type. Hallway sharks. They smell weakness, exploit it. Crush you.

  I’d met them all my life. Knew how to handle them—trial and error. This time, error.

  I slammed the cup down, coffee splattering the floor. My body moved before my mind.

  Grabbing his wrist with my left hand, I yanked his tie with my right, twisting him into a basic judo lock. He hadn’t expected it. I seized his hair, drove my knee into the back of his legs, and forced his face inches from the table’s edge. He whimpered.

  Leaning close, I prepared to speak slowly—

  The door burst open. Elena stood there, a tray of trembling cups in her hands.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “What the hell are you doing?!”

  I released Jonas, who scrambled toward her like a wounded dog.

  I didn’t know what to say.

  She did.

  “Are you crazy?” she exclaimed, helping my supposed attacker to his feet.

  “This isn’t what it looks like…”

  The words sounded ridiculous, even to me.

  Her slap, no so much.

  Sharp. Precise.

  My cheek burned—not from the pain, but the betrayal in her eyes.

  “I didn’t think you were like this,” she said, taking Jonas with her before storming out.

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

  My first impulse was to smash something. But everything here was already half-broken. I clenched my fists, counted to ten. Again. Again.

  I left, thinking maybe I could still salvage the situation. Then I remembered the spilled coffee and returned to clean the mess, seething with rage, shame… and perhaps a broken heart.

  Two hours later, I finally headed home. I pressed the button for the parking garage, and the elevator doors slid open as my phone rang. Unknown number. I answered.

  “Ark? That you? Hello?”

  Ark.

  I hadn’t heard that name in years.

  Not since Regulus Online.

  For a moment, I felt it—the protection glyph burning in the palm of my hand.

  The weight of the crystal daggers on my combat belt.

  Nova’s fearsome smile as she punched my chest. Her gauntlets crackled with [Warm Hands]—a skill we had looted from the corpse of the Vulcan Titan.

  “Holy shit… Ark, it’s me. Thirteen!”

  I froze.

  “Thirteen…? The Thirteen?”

  A smile escaped me. Memories of raids, missions, endless nights flooded back. Our clan: Oblivion. World-ranked #2… though we all knew we’d been robbed by Blue Dynasty’s pay-to-win crap.

  “Can’t believe it… Thirteen! How long’s it been?”

  “Over ten years,” he said. “Twelve since our last raid in Fresh Mines.”

  A memory ignited: golden ruins, black magic, fire rain, intertwined voices.

  “Heard you’re at Motech’s main building. Still there?”

  How did he know? I hesitated, but nostalgia outweighed suspicion.

  “Yeah.”

  “Sweet. I’m nearby. How about beers for old times’ sake?”

  I paused.

  His voice sounded chipped, forcedly cheerful for a guy like him—at least for the guy I had known before.

  There was something he wasn’t saying.

  We hadn’t been friends outside the game. Shared a world, yes—but pixels. Though not just any pixels.

  Ultra-realistic ones.

  Regulus Online wasn’t just a game. It was the first full-immersion VR system. No toy headsets or laggy haptic gloves. This was another league.

  The device? LinkDive. A sleek, minimalist headband, worn like a sci-fi crown. Connected via “chaotic waves”—marketing fluff, I’d thought. But once you put it on, reality vanished. Sight, touch, smell, taste, balance… all transplanted. A universe where you became who you wanted.

  The first time I logged in, I’d cried. Not from joy—confusion. Like waking in another body. Stronger. Freer.

  Regulus’ world was vast: floating mountains, bioluminescent seas, cities built on colossal trees. Where even the stones whispered secrets to those with [Arcane Lore] level 50.

  PlusOne, the company behind it, promised to revolutionize entertainment. And did. At its peak, 15 million active players, an in-game economy rivaling small nations. We logged in daily. Some lived there.

  Some died there.

  Literally.

  The first reported death: a Korean player whose body shut down mid-session. Then seizures. Comas. PlusOne vanished overnight—servers erased, offices empty. Not even the Codex Regulus, the game’s core, survived. Some claimed the government destroyed it; others said it’s still hidden in the cyber void.

  I didn’t know what to believe. Only that I’d buried that past. Until now.

  “Ark?” Thirteen’s voice snapped me back.

  “Yeah… still here.”

  The elevator doors opened. I slumped into my car—a rust-patched sedan that groaned like a resigned sigh.

  “So? Beers?”

  I gripped the wheel. Part of me said no. Another part… needed it.

  “Sure. Where?”

  He gave me the address, and I plugged it into my sluggish GPS.

  I could almost see a notification pop up:

  [Hi, Ark23. Welcome to Regulus Online. What would you like to do today?]

  I smiled, for the first time in years, feeling the sincerity in it.

  The car purred—a soft, content sound—and I drove off.

  Toward the embrace of old nostalgia.

  Toward the chance to feel alive again.