—Zeta—

  This was the worst time of my life.

  Even if I didn't remember anything at all. Which I didn't. So, logically, this current waking nightmare had to be the absolute nadir of my existence, remembered or otherwise. Shit.

  Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours, give or take a few spent in blissful unconsciousness. Not that I was counting. Much. Each sunrise, assuming we could even see the sun through the oppressive, leafy ceiling of this cursed forest, brought with it the same soul-crushing routine.

  Wake up, usually to D humming some annoyingly cheerful, off-key tune or Jay prodding me with his stupidly practical spear-stick. Try to ignore the gnawing emptiness in my stomach. Fail. Listen to Jay outline the 'plan' for the day, which usually involved more walking and more disappointment.

  We’d abandoned the idea of a permanent shelter after the first few days. Jay, in his infinite wisdom, decided our best bet was to escape this green hell.

  We stumbled upon a river—a muddy, uninviting ribbon of water winding through the trees—and the consensus, or rather Jay’s decree (with D’s enthusiastic seconding and my weary grunt of non-objection), was to follow it downstream. Rivers lead somewhere, apparently. Civilization. The sea. A cliff.

  Honestly, at this point, a cliff didn’t sound too bad.

  After finding water and eating the so-called rabbit meat, the System message popped up again.

  [Quest Complete!]

  A waste of time, of course. Did this really mean we were trapped in a simulation, just like Jay kept insisting? That was too far-fetched, wasn’t it?

  No.

  We were screwed. We were dead.

  Our days blurred into a cycle of damp foliage, the constant drone of unseen insects, and the squelch of mud beneath our worn-out footwear—or, in my case, the rags barely holding my feet together.

  We’d gotten marginally better at surviving. Jay, ever the pragmatist, turned out to be surprisingly good at setting snares for small, unfortunate creatures. D, with his sling and an almost terrifyingly good aim when he wasn’t overthinking it, occasionally brought down birds or things that looked suspiciously like squirrels—if squirrels had too many eyes. My contributions? Mostly avoiding catastrophic failure. Though, on one glorious occasion, I tripped over a patch of tubers that turned out to be edible. Even a broken clock, I guess.

  The System continued its torment, delivering pop-up notifications like a condescending dungeon master.

  [Collect 10 Dry Twigs for Kindling!]

  Reward: 2 XP

  [Successfully Navigate Treacherous Root System!]

  Reward: 1 XP—plus a sarcastic ‘Well Done!’ from Jay when I face-planted.

  It was like the universe had assigned us the worst fetch-quest generator known to man.

  Our 'weaponry' hadn't improved much.

  Jay still had his trusty branch, now a bit more spear-like after he'd painstakingly sharpened one end with a piece of flint.

  D had an impressive collection of smooth river stones for his sling. I still lugged around my rock lashed to a stick. The liana bindings had frayed and been replaced several times. It was less a weapon and more a symbol of my general unwillingness to engage with this whole 'survival' charade. Still, it had saved my skin, or at least D's, from that demon rabbit, so I kept it. It felt… appropriate.

  The real breakthrough, if you could call anything in this mess a breakthrough, came courtesy of D’s relentless, almost pathological need to understand the 'game mechanics'. For the entire first week, he’d been muttering commands at the empty air.

  "Status open!"

  "Show me stats!"

  "Character sheet, activate!"

  "For the love of all that is holy and pixelated, display interface!"

  Jay and I mostly ignored him, attributing it to sunstroke or a particularly virulent strain of optimism-induced madness. Then, one evening, as Jay was meticulously failing to start a fire with damp wood and I was contemplating the existential merits of just lying down and letting the forest reclaim me, D let out a shriek that nearly sent Jay into the fire pit.

  "Eureka! I did it! I actually did it!" He was staring wide-eyed at a point just above his left wrist, a manic grin plastered across his face.

  "Did what?" Jay grumbled, nursing a singed eyebrow. "Discover a new way to annoy us into an early grave?"

  "No! The status screen! It’s real! Look!" D thrust his arm out. We saw nothing, of course. "Okay, okay, so you can't see mine, but I can see it! I just had to… uh… think it really hard while saying 'Status'?"

  Jay raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  I just sighed. Another one of D's flights of fancy.

  "No, I'm serious!" D insisted. "Focus on your tattoo, right? That letter. Then just… will the information to appear. And say 'Status' out loud. Or in your head. Head works too! I think."

  Jay, ever the pragmatist, gave it a try. He stared at the 'J' on his palm, his brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment, his eyes widened slightly. "Well, I'll be damned."

  He then spent a good five minutes silently absorbing whatever glowing nonsense had appeared for him. D, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with excitement, urging me to try.

  With the enthusiasm of a condemned man being offered a slightly more comfortable noose, I stared at the 'Z' on my palm. Status, I thought, feeling utterly ridiculous.

  And then, it was there. Translucent, faintly glowing text hovered in my vision, superimposed over the dreary forest.

  [Z - Level 1]

  Designation: Subject Z-4N8A

  Health Points (HP): 45/45

  Stamina Points (SP): 10/38 (Fatigued)

  Mana Points (MP): 44/44 (Untapped)

  Attributes:

  Strength (STR): 6

  Dexterity (DEX): 5

  Constitution (CON): 15

  Intelligence (INT): 11

  Wisdom (WIS): 8

  Charisma (CHA): 3 (Socially Detrimental)

  Skills: locked

  I stared. 'Socially Detrimental Charisma'. The System had a sick sense of humor. And 'Fatigued' was a permanent state, as far as I was concerned. 'Untapped Mana'? What was I supposed to do with that? Cast 'Summon Pillow'?

  D, meanwhile, was rattling off his stats like he’d won the lottery. "Level 1! My Dex is up to 14! And my Charisma is only 12, which is clearly wrong, I'm very charismatic!"

  Jay, ever reserved, simply grunted. "Intelligence 16. Wisdom 14. Seems about right. Skill locked. Very useful…"

  He didn’t elaborate, but I caught the briefest flicker of satisfaction before his expression hardened once more into its usual grim facade.

  So, we were lab rats with stat sheets. Fantastic. Just another layer of digital despair piled onto our already miserable existence.

  Which brings me to tonight—cold, exhausted, and, because the universe has a twisted sense of humor, bored out of my mind.

  We’d managed to catch something vaguely fish-like from the river. Jay, ever the survivalist, gutted it with grim efficiency and skewered it over the fire. The flames crackled, casting restless shadows that stretched and shifted across the trees, making the forest feel more alive—more watchful.

  For once, D was subdued. The novelty of the status screens had started to wear off, replaced by the creeping realization that higher stats didn’t magically make our lives any less miserable. He absently poked at the sizzling fish with a stick.

  "You know," he said, his voice unusually quiet. "I try to remember home. A face. A place. Even a favorite food. Nothing."

  Jay didn’t look up from his meal. "No point dwelling on it. What’s gone is gone. We focus on what’s here. What’s next."

  "Easy for you to say, Mr. Roboto," D muttered. Then, louder: "But what if this is it? What if there’s no ‘next’ beyond this forest? What if we’re just stuck in this loop forever? Hunt, sleep, repeat until we rot."

  "Then we adapt," Jay said, his voice flat. "Or we die. Those seem to be the options."

  I snorted. "Can we really die if we’re already dead?"

  Jay just shot me a glare.

  For a while, the only sounds were the crackling fire and the distant hoot of some nocturnal creature. It was almost… peaceful. If you ignored the constant, underlying dread.

  "I had a dream last night," D said suddenly. "I was in a room, full of books. Floor to ceiling. And I was reading. I felt… happy." He poked the fire again. "Then I woke up here, with a mosquito biting my eyelid."

  Jay actually grunted something that might have been sympathy. Or indigestion. Hard to tell with him.

  I found myself saying, "I dream of silence. Just… quiet. No birds. No D humming. No System telling me I’ve earned 1 XP for breathing."

  D looked at me, surprised. "Wow, Zeta. Deep."

  "Just tired," I mumbled, already regretting opening my mouth. Social interaction was exhausting.

  We ate the fish. It was bland, slightly muddy, and full of tiny bones. Gourmet dining, this was not. As the fire died down to glowing embers, a comfortable sort of weariness settled over me. Maybe tonight, sleep wouldn't be an escape, but just… rest.

  Then D yelped. "Ow! Something bit me!" He started scratching furiously at his forearm.

  "Probably another mosquito," Jay said, already wrapping himself in his tattered blanket, preparing for what he called 'strategic repose'.

  "No, man, this itches," D whined, pulling up his sleeve. In the dim firelight, I could see angry red welts blooming on his skin. He scratched harder. "Like… like crazy."

  I felt a prickle on my own arm. Then another on my leg. A persistent, annoying itch. I scratched idly. Probably just chiggers. Or forest fleas. This place was probably lousy with them.

  Jay grunted, shifting. "Something's definitely biting." He scratched his neck.

  The itching intensified. It wasn't just a surface itch anymore. It felt… deeper. Like something was moving under my skin. I scratched harder, a cold knot of unease tightening in my stomach. This wasn't normal.

  D let out a strangled gasp. "Jay… Zeta… look." He held out his arm, his voice trembling.

  In the faint, dying glow of the embers, I could see it. The welts on his arm weren't just welts anymore. They were… raised. And under the taut skin, something was moving. Tiny, pale, worm-like shapes, wriggling just beneath the surface.

  My blood ran cold.

  I looked down at my own arm, where the itching was now a frantic, crawling torment. I could see them there too. Small, thread-like things, squirming, burrowing.

  Jay swore, a harsh, guttural sound. He was staring at his own hand, his knuckles white as he clenched his fist. "What in the godless, blighted hells…?"

  Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through my usual apathy. I clawed at my skin, trying to dig them out, a choked sound escaping my throat. They were everywhere. Arms, legs, torso. A thousand tiny violations.

  The firelight glinted off something on D’s tear-streaked face. Not tears. One of the… things… was emerging from a pore near his eye.

  This wasn't purgatory. This was just hell. A very specific, very itchy, very wriggly kind of hell. And we were the main attraction.