Monday morning started badly—I felt sleepy and exhausted, even though I’d slept six hours. I dreamed nonsense about spies and an old modem that refused to turn on. It was “fun” that the office internet was down: someone had cut the splitter linking several computers to the network, and the technician responsible for this mess was nowhere to be found. All I could do was go outside to smoke and wait for the technician’s return—probably at retirement age, like Jesus coming back. At least mobile data worked, so I managed to send an important work email...of course, nobody replied. After Easter everyone was wandering around like zombies, briefly describing their holiday trips. My work motivation level might have been two out of ten. It was weird—I’d been in this job nearly four years. The work itself wasn’t grueling, but it felt like everyone showed up by inertia, knowing it couldn’t get any better than yesterday.

  My phone buzzed with a cheerful disco ringtone. At st—someone had stirred awake in the central library!

  I rejoiced too soon...

  “THE DEVIL’S EYE RETURNS! 17 HOURS TO PREPARE! BUY 13 LEVEL-UP COINS FOR €450!!! OFFER VALID UNTIL THE DEVIL’S EYE ARRIVES!!! YOUR WORLD IS A MIRE OF FILTH! 80% OF THIS WORLD’S LOSERS WON’T SURVIVE 3 HOURS OF INFERNAL INTEGRATION!!! DON’T DELAY!!!”

  Of all the weird marketing emails trying to sell me junk, this was the strangest—some creative spam, like “buy a brick.” Hours crawled by as I paced, smoked, and ate sads... The technician finally fixed the splitter, and the internet ran beautifully for about an hour—then it died again across the entire building. My colleagues’ curses nearly outdid drunk construction workers’ arguments. Everyone went berserk; the technician yelled that the whole city’s network was at fault, they called him an idiot and demanded a cat do his job instead—maybe that would boost productivity. I had no energy left for this circus, grabbed my backpack, and slowly headed home. What a messed-up absurdity... The sun was pleasantly warm, the leaves rustled in the breeze. Damn, maybe I should change something. Get away from the city, sit by a forest ke, maybe even buy a cat or a dog? Walking home, I kept eyeing my phone. A flood of notifications kept arriving every few minutes— offers for new “systems,” “karma accumution,” “dimensional gates,” and “fate-forger weapons.”

  Along the street, people looked odd...some stood motionless, staring at their phones as if hypnotized. One young woman on the sidewalk waved her arms in the air—trying to grasp something invisible. An older man by a kiosk seemed deranged, talking loudly into thin air:

  “Accepting Warrior Css! Accepting Fire Magic!”

  Passing him, I felt a strange wave of heat—as if the air itself had become scorching. In the distance I heard a horn—not a police or ambunce siren, but an ancient wooden horn’s bst, ominous and hollow. Suddenly I realized that what I’d dismissed as nonsense was spilling into reality. My first thought: “I should have bought those Devil Coins...” my second: “I need to get out of the city while I still can.”

  My phone vibrated again—another thirteen offers to buy coins, wands, axes, swords, rapiers, armor, bows, even Skills like Psionics, Magic, Miracles, Shamanism, plus physical csses—Brawler, Bar Tamer, Acrobat.

  Worried, I sat on a bench, took a deep breath. “Rex, old man—it’s just some RPG ad. If someone told you this shit at a train station you’d just shrug and move on...” Calmed, I continued home. The world’s gone crazy: Brexit, corona, wars—things that shouldn’t be. Weird—when I was about twelve, an eccentric old man told my mom a prophecy about Russia’s colpse and millions dead. We were probably heading to Panga... Delicious ice cream, sun, wind, photos next to a pink plush hippo. That was so long ago—we never appreciated small moments; we lived well without realizing it.

  That night I slept restlessly. I dreamed the city’s sky cracked like an eggshell, and long bck ropes fell down to earth. I woke up sweating several times, but logic whispered: “Nonsense, old man— you overate sad.” In the morning I got out of bed and heated coffee. In the hallway I tripped over a newspaper—though I hadn’t subscribed for six months. The front page banner read:

  “INFERNAL INTEGRATION: LEVEL 1 ACTIVATED. PREPARE NOW.”

  I stared at it, feeling that sour anxiety rising inside me again. On the weather page, instead of sun or rain icons were strange symbols—fmes, skulls, lightning. I gnced out the window. The street looked almost normal, except...people were moving oddly. Some wore armor, others exotic hats or cloaks, and one girl held a shiny wand emitting blue light. Passersby looked at each other and exchanged odd hand gestures—like members of an ancient brotherhood.

  Farther down the street, something almost unimaginable stood looming: a creature four people tall, with a deer skull for a head. It carried a massive axe dripping dark liquid onto the pavement. I froze for a moment, squeezing my coffee cup so hard it slipped and shattered. I shouted in my head: “I need a dog. Today. The world’s gone mad, and I—Dominykas—once praised for my fwless philosophical insights—stand like an idiot thinking a dog could change anything while deer-skull giants roam the streets.”

  As best I could, I pulled on my shoes. My pn was genius: find a normal person first. I could get a dog ter, if I still had a face worth licking. Outside, the air smelled of heated metal. The leaves seemed to rustle without wind, and odd signs flickered on the pavement—shadows or holograms I couldn’t decipher: doors to nowhere, red circles marking...something.

  A few passersby were completely transformed: one young man in leather armor, barefoot, with two spears poking from his mouth, shouted about a “Thunder Amulet” and tried to trade it for a sandwich. Another woman had catlike glowing eyes and carried a folded green bow. I forced myself to look at the ground—if you don’t see the madness, maybe it won’t see you.

  Yet around the corner, a familiar voice called: “Dude, run!”

  I turned. It was Monika, my former accounting colleague, always squeezed into gray bzers. Now she was armored like a knight, a huge sword strapped to her back and luminous markings on her forehead.

  “What the hell is happening?!” I yelled.“The game has begun, Dominykas! Infernal Integration has started! Only those with levels survive. The rest become food.”“I don’t even have a level!” I whimpered, like someone hearing about corruption and rising energy prices again.“That’s why you need one—quickly.”

  She stepped closer and pulled something from her pocket—a small bck orb pulsing with inner light.

  “Take this. Choose your css. Now.”

  I took the orb, warm as if freshly pulled from a living creature’s guts. Words slowly formed inside it:

  CHOOSE YOUR CLASS: Spellcaster;Witch;Brawler;

  Wanderer; Street Mage.

  Choice: BRAWLER.The orb exploded in blue light. For a moment everything went silent—then —BOOM! A sudden thermal shock hit my chest. I gasped but immediately felt strange strength: my arms heavy and strong as steel, my legs sturdy as oaks, my shoulders broad as if I’d been hauling cement sacks daily. Above my head fshed glowing text:

  Monika sighed with relief:“Good. At least you won’t be blown over by the first gust of wind.”

  Suddenly a creature burst from around the corner—our old office technician, barely recognizable, now with glowing wire-arms and sharp metal teeth. He growled:

  “NETWORK DEMON. SEEKING SOULS...”

  Monika yelled:“Dude, your first test! Now or never!”

  I clenched my fists instinctively. My first strike awaited. First enemy. My first step into madness. I’d never been a brawler—my only fight memory was a third-grade scuffle with a boy named Dominykas Sakas. Yet the whole world decided to try something new on me? Monika the knight? She grew miniature potted trees! She struggled to open a jar of pickles...

  The demon technician spat green drool and screeched. I swung and punched him full force. — BOOM! His body flew back as if a fierce storm bsted from some secret world valve. Lightning flickered as his metal arms smmed into the pavement—and his screeching stopped. I exhaled, adrenaline coursing through me. There was something deep inside, something...like answering life

  for always fearing fights. But now I’d won. Monika watched with mild surprise, but her face stayed calm.

  “See, Dude, that was your first real trial.” She smiled.“Hope you liked it.”

  A female voice broke the silence:

  “ Network Demon defeated. XP 5 awarded. Coins 2.”“This is real...” my voice was soft but sure. “What is happening?”

  Two coins fell to the ground, nding with a soft, almost magical tinkle. They looked ordinary, yet strange—as if not of this world. One coin’s surface was cold and mirror-like, reflecting light and darkness at once. The edges were worn, but the design seemed ancient, etched with unknown symbols.

  “What does this mean?”

  The entire world no longer felt as it had minutes ago. Everything changed in an instant...

  A system message expined: “2 coins = 100 XP points or one additional skill.” XP points are a quick way to grow stronger—but a skill could unlock wholly new possibilities. What if choosing a skill let me achieve something XP alone never could?

  Slowly I felt something growing within—this wasn’t just a choice between points or skill. It was a chance to shape my destiny and future.

  “What should I pick? Acrobatics, then.”

  As the words faded, warmth flooded my body like stepping into a hot bath. I’d never been a dancer or runner, but I felt my coordination sharpen to superhuman levels. I could probably join a prestigious circus or compete in the Olympics now...

  We walked quickly out of the city. The thought of the forest wasn’t bad, but the nearest forest was 70 kilometers away. Grandpa’s cabin was much closer — only 6 kilometers from the city. The world hadn’t improved; it rained blood and toads. I wanted to believe I was dreaming, even pinched my face to wake up — nothing changed. People fought grotesque mutated versions of their friends and colleagues. I ran as fast as I could; luckily Monika made me wear her armor, and her sword gleamed with an unpleasant light.

  We reached the cabin at record speed. There were supposed to be a few birches growing there, a little wn — but it looked like we had arrived at an ancient forest. The grass reached up to our knees. Everything was overgrown.

  My clothes stuck to me with blood; cursing, I tore off my shirt and jeans. Monika’s armor stayed clean, but her hair and face looked terrible. Grumbling, I went to the shower. For a good 20minutes, I scrubbed off the dried blood. The icy water didn’t improve my mood — the boiler had been broken for half a year. It seemed pointless to buy a new one; I only spent about three weekends a year in the cabin. My coworkers didn’t understand why I paid for electricity in this mossy old hut in the countryside. Still, the cabin was like a thread to the past. Sentiments had lost value in this new world.

  Sitting on the couch, I turned on the TV. Of course, the news anchor — now armed with bows and daggers — shouted what was already obvious: the world had turned upside down. Some people forgot themselves and turned into demonic creatures, others gained coins and levels. These lucky ones fought in the streets or ran from the city... Monika washed her hair, and I just didn’t know what to say or think. There might be beasts in the forest — the report showed pets turned into muscle and fang monsters. Running away from the city was only a temporary solution. Euronews and CNN confirmed what I already suspected: this integration was happening worldwide.

  In this sughterhouse, fast and firm decisions were needed — people who acted and didn’t panic.

  Let’s admit it, a non-working internet drove me crazy. The End of the World was not for me. I just wanted to spend time quietly reading books, watching series and movies, sometimes pying a casual game on my Xbox. I had no illusions about solving any of the world’s problems. People talked a lot about climate change and the future. But were they doing any better than me?

  — Domininic, why didn’t you come to my party six months ago? You remember the housewarming of the new apartment?— I don’t know, I just wanted to watch a series premiere on Paramount channel. What difference does it make now?

  — Everyone came except you, it looks like you’ve been to maybe two party sessions in almost four years...

  Monika surprised me, she cared why I hadn’t come to a three-room apartment housewarming when the world had gone off the rails and blood flowed in rivers.— Monika, did you want me to come? Sorry if that offended you somehow, but damn, we meet by the coffee machine in the kitchen, you tell me about your little trees. I just watched some movie or series over the weekend. I wouldn’t have thought you’d notice I wasn’t there.

  — Don’t take it so personally, it just would have been nice to ugh at drunk Marin’s stories with everyone.

  When I think about it, I really didn’t know any of my coworkers with whom I spent eight hours a day. Yes, I knew who grows trees, who smokes weed, I knew Martinsgets drunk every possible chance...

  I would like their vacation photos and hearts on social media. I knew about Darius’s divorce and Migle?’s new house in the suburbs. I knew superficial things, they knew even less about me. My vacations were spent mostly at home — sometimes in the cabin, sometimes on hiking trips. Few photos on social media... I was a strange 34-year-old old man who no longer managed to hang out in bars and clubs. When I was 20, I drank mostly alone. Always thought tomorrow everything would change.

  Years went by; friends melted away — some moved to Engnd, some to Scandinavia. Coworkers and acquaintances seemed to at least believe they lived interesting lives.— Monika, I lived a very boring life. If I had come to those housewarmings, nothing would have changed...

  — Maybe... maybe you’re right. But you know, sometimes we all try to adapt to something that seems normal, even if it’s not our real life. It looks like everyone around lives actively, achieves something, engages with the world, but maybe even they don’t realize they’re also searching for something more. And you shouldn’t feel bad for not living an “interesting” life. We all have our own path and pace. Some people don’t have time to appreciate simple moments because they’re too

  busy with the world’s hustle.— It’s banal to hope for any of this... All positive truths are worn out. Their benefit is only as much as you yourself can believe in them.— I know... What we’re told about life is often just words with no real meaning because life is unstoppable and cannot be expined by patterns. Maybe not expecting anything from what’s supposed to be “good” is the only way not to break down from it all.— But maybe all we need is to just accept what is and surrender to it. Because there really is no other way. When all attempts to change something end, maybe that’s when there’s room for truth. No one should be forced to believe in something that seems banal to them. Or forced to deceive themselves, — her voice was calm, with no attempt to compin or give made-up answers.— I believe you don’t want to believe anything, maybe you don’t even want to believe yourself... But that’s good. Because when a person stops believing everything they once believed in, maybe then they start searching for what really matters.

  That was the truth for Monika. Maybe not always well expressed, but it was clear she valued only those things that remain when all other masks and lies wear off.

  I opened the fridge, took out two packs of beer, opened a can, and poured wheat beer into a cy mug. Monika followed my example. Not the worst way to await the end of the world — I turned off the TV and switched on synthwave music on YouTube. I wondered how long we’d still have internet and electricity?

  Monika always wore gray suits and earth-toned blouses, her hair was always tied in a steel bun — she always looked like a geography teacher from a bad comedy. Now, with loose hair, dressed in green shirts and jeans, she looked quite nice. Only now it occurred to me she was probably a bit younger than me. That outfit aged her by about ten years.

  — Monika, how old are you?— 33, why?— Nothing, just didn’t know how old you were.

  We drank beer, I don’t know when we fell asleep. The system’s voice pierced the silence. As soon as we heard the system announce a message, we both jumped up from the couch without thinking. The mugs with the st drops of beer slipped off the table, and my heart hammered in my chest like a hammer.

  “DUEL”...“Forest King”...The name sounded absurd — like some children’s fairy tale character — but instantly we knew: this would be nothing cute or funny.

  Monika instinctively grabbed her sword, which y by the door. Excited, I grabbed an old hunting axe from the corner that I kept more for sentiment than practical use.

  Outside the window, in the wn — now a jungle thicket — among the thick greenery, a silhouette began to emerge slowly. A gigantic creature, covered with branches and bark, its body looked glued from old roots, moss, logs, and some living mass. Its eyes — as dark as midnight — stared straight at our cabin.

  The system text glowed in the air: ? Duel activated.

  ? Rules: No running away.? Victory grants: Level up + Rare Skill. ? Defeat: Elimination.

  Monika gnced briefly at me. The eyes I always saw only behind gsses and neat hair now burned with a strong, almost wild energy.“We have to fight,” she said, and her voice was surprisingly calm.

  I nodded. There was nowhere to run. No one to compin to. Just the two of us... against the “Forest King.”

  The Forest King stepped forward — the ground trembled beneath his feet as his massive foot (like a tree trunk) smmed down. His body creaked and cracked, steam puffed from his chest like the breath of an old sauna stove.

  Monika stood slightly to my left, holding her sword with both hands. I clenched my axe, feeling sweat run down my back in cold streams.

  I panted heavily, not really knowing what happened, just charged like a mad boar, cutting at his knee. Monika stabbed with her sword. This wooden monster was huge and probably as strong as three oxen but too slow.

  Monika didn’t hesitate, stabbed again and again, green blood spattered everywhere. I chopped his legs with the axe. The creature staggered and finally fell silent forever. His legs y severed from the body, sweat ran into my eyes — probably how a sughterhouse worker feels after a hard day.

  We somehow won. If not for Monika, I would have been dead yesterday or worse, turned into one of those strange creatures like poor Clemens- the grumpy it guy.

  I sat down on a bench, and only then did it occur to me that in the whole city, or maybe even the whole country, there wasn’t a single Clemens, Alfons, or Jeronimas left... I might be the st Dominykas on the pnet. With trembling hands, I lit a cigarette. What am I supposed to do? The cabin wasn’t any safer than the city; the system wanted duels. If we stayed in the shelter, the system would send new forest kings or something even worse. Suddenly, with a melodic ping, a holographic screen popped up in front of me:

  Dominic;Profession: BrawlerLevel: 2;Skills:Acrobat;Bar Peacemaker;Baal Coins: 2;Awards:Skill: Drunken Master or 100 Exp.

  Drunken Master sounded great and seemed to fit the acrobat and fighter well. After another ping, another window popped up.??? The ping broke the silence as the system presented a second choice window:

  Choose an additional bonus, Dominykas Z?virblis:

  Drunken Master.

  Alcohol is not a hindrance but an advantage to you. When drunk, you get +2 to attack and defense in close combat but -1 to mental actions.(Requirement: at least one beer portion per fight)

  Quick Strike.

  Once per fight, you can make a second attack as a free action, but both attacks have -2 penalty.

  Stay Conscious.

  Once per day, when your hit points drop to 0, you can still act for one round as if nothing happened.

  You have 2 Baal Coins in your pocket.Can be exchanged for:A rare item from the bck market;A one-time help call (drone, healing, or even a bomb); Css change.

  Monika quietly watched your reaction. She held her long sword at her side; her hands were still trembling a bit. It seemed she had received some offer too but hadn’t chosen yet.

  Skill: Drunken Master.+2 close combat (attack and defense) when drunk. -1 to mental actions.Requirement: at least one alcoholic portion per fight.

  Bck Market – Rare Item (1 Baal Coin):Ping. The screen fshed with strange colors. It seemed the item chose you.Drunkard’s Belt.Has an integrated bottle holder with 3 “Beer Liquid” capsules.Each capsule can be drunk as a free action (once per round).After drinking: automatically activates the “Drunken Master” effect for one round.Can be refilled daily only at a special “Beer Tap” (usually found in bars or abandoned taverns).

  Monika gnced at you:“Well, fighter, now you’re a real world-ending bar peacemaker...” she smiled unexpectedly warmly. “I think the system talks to you in its own way.”

  Strange woman, Monika, focusing on details that change nothing — maybe positive thinking, trying to convince herself not everything is so bad. For now, we just sit in the shelter while horror with deer antlers wanders the city streets. Winning this duel will buy us some time. What’s the system’s goal? To wipe us all out? But why the game elements and skills? Just unleash mutants against civilians, and it would be over in a few hours. I didn’t understand something, but the game’s goal is to win, but for someone to win—someone has to lose. And to make it interesting and not one-sided sughter, we got skills? This whole thing seemed stupid; after all, creating a system and turning half the pnet into mutants would require technological or magical resources?

  — System, what is the goal of this game?— Humans winning against my created mutants. Yes, this game costs a lot of financial, technological, and magical resources.— The game requires resources. But the Infernal Empire has a surplus. Expenses? Nonsense. The

  entertainment is worth more — millions of Baal coins will change owners within a week. Average folks can become rich with one good bet. The Empire loved this game back when your ancestors hunted beavers for breakfast!I wanted to cry; we are reality show participants, only instead of stupid tasks and finals with calls, we fight and die for entertainment. Probably a very powerful civilization that values human lives at a couple of coins.

  — If humans win? What happens then?— This phase of the game will be over. The second phase should start in 27 days. For now, game masters and Aristocrats are discussing the next phase’s progress.

  No more questions. If I survive until the second phase, this horror will only continue. The game masters might decide to create a third phase. We are toys, and the only hope is that new toys will soon bore them. Or the stakes will just keep rising until only ruins and piles of corpses remain on Earth. If there are surviving winners, they probably get some prize. With a shitty prize, they will live on a pnet without infrastructure,without a future, among ruins. Are we going back to the Stone Age? Winners? Maybe? Only those winners will eat rats and sleep among the ruins. We won’t go back to the Stone Age—we will be ghosts of the Stone Age.

  Monika suddenly cried. Even she couldn’t deny that we were in the madhouse. No one would save or pity us. All that’s left is to py?

  I pulled out an old pnk — a shelter where for five years I kept a bottle of Johnny Walker Bck. I always thought: maybe when I get a promotion, a new job orloveinterrest... Maybe when friends finally gather at the cabin in the countryside, not just give empty promise to pacify me. But those five years disappeared. Luck never knocked on my door. Now I’m just another object at the betting game. A dog chasing a rabbit. Why didn’t I get a dog? I had time. Instead—beer, tv shows, Forza Horizon on Xbox. I never invited Monika nor the funny drunk Martins.

  I poured everything into old gsses with strange leaf patterns — maybe for juice, maybe cheap sparkling wine. But what does it change?

  This is not a celebration. This is a funeral.