You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone. A tired cliché, I know. But when what’s gone is your memory, I suppose it doesn’t matter much, does it? You can't miss what you can't recall.
To hell with it. That seemed to be the only sentiment I could truly grasp in the swirling confusion that was my current consciousness.
"Where in the blazes are we?" I muttered, the words scraping my throat. I addressed the question to the indifferent, towering trees, but of course, he answered. The one with the perpetual, idiotic grin. D.
"Isn't it obvious?" D chirped, practically vibrating with an energy I found profoundly irritating. "A fantasy world! Full of magic and swords, I bet! This is epic!"
I just stared. He, like me, possessed no recollection of his past. Not even his name. All he had, all I had, was a single, stark letter tattooed onto the palm of our right hand. His was a clean, bold 'D'. He was a lanky fellow, blond hair flopping artfully into eyes that sparkled with an almost painful optimism. He looked like a badly drawn anime protagonist, the kind whose cheerfulness could curdle milk. His clothes, or what was left of them, were as tattered as mine.
"If this is a fantasy world," I drawled, my voice dripping with the sarcasm I felt pooling in my gut, "then where are our gleaming swords? Our crackling spells? Because all I see are three individuals dressed like they lost a fight with a disgruntled badger." And frankly, we smelled like it too.
"No." The monotone voice emerged from a shadowed figure slumped against a tree. Z. "We're dead. This is probably some kind of low-budget purgatory."
He was the third member of our amnesiac trio. His black hair, lank and greasy, fell across a pale face. The dark circles under his closed eyes were so pronounced they looked like bruises, or perhaps a permanent state of being. He seemed to carry the weight of a thousand sleepless nights. His palm, I’d noted earlier, bore a jagged 'Z'. Fitting. He looked one stiff breeze away from collapsing.
I had just woken up to this nightmare. A hostile forest, annoying companions, and oversized insects everywhere—it was like Lost, but worse. Less budget. Less fun.
Weird. I could recall some trashy piece of pop culture, yet my own name was a blur. My past? Gone. Who was I? No clue.
"Alright, enough," I snapped, a reluctant sense of responsibility settling over me. Someone had to be the adult here, and it clearly wasn't going to be Mr. Sunshine or the Zombie guy. I took a proper look around. We were deep within a forest.
This wasn't some well-tended park; this was the real, untamed wilderness. Ancient trees, their bark like gnarled skin, clawed at a sky barely visible through the oppressive, emerald canopy. Moss hung in damp, tattered curtains from their branches. The air was thick, humid, heavy with the scent of decaying leaves, damp earth, and something else… something subtly, almost primordially, unsettling. Sunlight struggled to penetrate the gloom, dappling the forest floor in shifting patterns of shadow and muted green.
No paths. No signs of civilization. Just… trees. Endless, suffocating trees.
"Priorities," I announced, more to organize my own thoughts than for their benefit. "Shelter, water, food. And for the love of whatever deity might be listening, some actual clothes. These rags are an offense."
A sudden, grotesque gurgling sound sliced through the relative quiet. My head snapped towards D. He clutched his stomach, a sheepish expression replacing his usual manic grin.
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"Oops," he offered. "Maybe… maybe food first? My stomach seems to be staging a rather loud protest."
"Or shelter," Z mumbled, his eyes still closed, voice barely a whisper. He hadn't shifted from his spot against the tree trunk. "Rule of threes, you know. Three minutes without air. Three hours without shelter in extreme conditions. Three days without water. Three weeks without food."
I blinked.
For a moment, a flicker of something other than disdain passed through me. Maybe the human embodiment of exhaustion wasn't entirely useless. "Shelter first does sound logical," I conceded. "If we intend to embrace this charming, rustic lifestyle." My gaze swept the hostile woods again.
"But there has to be a way out of this. A way back." Back to where? The thought was a hollow echo.
Just as the weight of our predicament began to truly crush me, another sound intruded. Not a natural one. It was a soft, almost crystalline ding. Clear. Precise.
My head shot up. D looked around wildly, eyes wide. Even Z managed to crack an eyelid, a flicker of surprise in his otherwise deadened gaze.
Then, words shimmered into existence. Not on a screen, not on parchment. They simply appeared, hovering in the air directly in front of my face, translucent and glowing with a faint, internal light. Visible only to me, it seemed.
[System Initializing... Welcome, Subject J-3D1H]
[Memory Engrams: Critically Corrupted. Identity Protocol: Defaulted to Designation 'Jay'.]
[New Quest Received: The First Step is the Hardest]
- Objective 1: Identify a source of potable water.
- Objective 2: Secure a source of sustenance.
- Objective 3: Construct a rudimentary shelter (Optional).
Time Limit: 24 Standard Terrestrial Hours.
Rewards:
- 10 Experience Points
- Stat Allocation Feature Unlocked
Failure Penalty: Potential System Deletion.
I stared, dumbfounded. "System Initializing?" I read aloud, the words tasting alien on my tongue. "Subject J-3D1H? What in the unholy hell is this?"
D’s face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "You see it too? A quest! I told you! It’s a game! This is so cool!"
Z groaned, the sound of someone who had already resigned themselves to death. "Fantastic. We’ve been kidnapped and drugged. Right now, some back-alley butcher with a fake veterinary license is probably rummaging through our organs."
"It’s not a hallucination, you imbecile," I snapped, though a cold dread was curling in my gut. This was too structured, too… digital. "It’s giving us objectives. Water, shelter, food." Exactly the priorities I had just listed.
Coincidence? Highly improbable. The timing was too perfect.
"See?" D bounced on the balls of his feet, pointing a finger at the air where, presumably, his own message hovered. "It's helping us! This is our tutorial level!"
"Or," I countered, my gaze fixed on the chillingly bureaucratic phrase 'Potential System Deletion', "it's a very elaborate, and frankly insulting, way to document our demise. It doesn't sound like a victory screen to me." My jaw tightened. This wasn't some lighthearted romp. This was real. And that thing," I gestured to the lingering, translucent text, "just put us on a clock."
Z, with surprising alacrity for someone who looked like he was actively decomposing, pushed himself off the tree. "Twenty-four hours. Shelter first, then, according to the rule. And this… system."
"For once," I said, "I agree with the narcoleptic. We need to move. Now. Find a defensible position, hopefully near water. D, you're on 'spot anything remotely useful or edible' duty. Try not to eat poisonous berries. Z, you try to stay conscious and point out anything that looks like it wants to eat us." I took a deep breath, the damp, earthy smell filling my lungs. "I'll take point."
D gave a mock salute, his enthusiasm undiminished. Zeta merely grunted, a sound I interpreted as weary acceptance.
Right. One foot in front of the other. Surviving this green hell, this bizarre, game-like reality, had just become my sole focus. And maybe, just maybe, figuring out who or what was calling me 'Subject J-3D1H'. Because I was nobody’s lab rat. And I intended to make that abundantly clear.