My ears were ringing. My hands were shaking. And my world was darkness, dirt, and pain.
Really, just a wonderful way to weather a storm.
The weight of my makeshift barrier pressed down on my back, digging into my skin like an impatient grave. I stayed as still as possible, doing everything I could to calm my breathing.
Inhale. Exhale. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
Don’t hyperventilate. Don’t panic.
Outside, the storm raged.
I could feel the tremors in the ground, each one a deep, guttural growl that sent vibrations up my spine. This wasn’t just wind and rain. This was fury. A storm with intent.
Back on Earth, I’d lived through bad weather before. Thunderstorms. Blizzards. The occasional hurricane warning that everyone ignored.
This? This was something else entirely.
The air felt charged, electric, unnatural. Like the sky wasn’t just tearing itself apart—it was watching.
This wasn’t just a storm.
It was a vengeful prophet. A message sent straight from the universe itself.
"YOU SHALL NOT SURVIVE."
Oh, wonderful.
Fantastic. Friggin’ brilliant.
And here I was, a complete dumbass in a glorified hole in the dirt, trying to convince myself this was a valid survival strategy.
I clenched my jaw, biting down against the raw frustration bubbling up inside me. I should have started making a real shelter days ago. From the moment I found water, from the moment I realized this world wasn’t going to hand me a safety net.
Instead, I took my time. I told myself I’d figure it out eventually.
And now? "Eventually" had run out.
I was hanging by a thread, and I knew it. I’d known it this whole time.
Yet, despite knowing better, I still took things at my own pace.
And now, trapped in a hole, feeling the weight of a world that wanted me dead, I did the only thing left to do.
I thought.
I thought about everything that brought me here.
And that brought me back to my final days on Earth.
###
It was just another Tuesday.
HR had called an all-hands mandatory meeting.
That was never a good sign.
My inbox was already on fire, my actual work was stacking up, and now I had to drop everything to play corporate trust falls with people I barely tolerated?
Fantastic.
I sighed quietly, pushed back from my desk, and joined the slow, zombie-like procession toward the bullpen.
At least I was getting paid for this.
Small victories.
The HR rep—a woman with the dead-eyed enthusiasm of someone who had clearly sold her soul for dental benefits—stood at the front, waiting for everyone to gather.
She clapped her hands together. “Alright everyone! Thanks for coming down! Before we begin, we just want to note that this will count as your break for the day.”
A low grumble rippled through the crowd.
She ignored it.
“But!” she continued, with a bright, forced smile, “Since we know that means you won’t have time to grab lunch, we bought pizza!”
I narrowed my eyes.
This had to be illegal, right?
But who the hell was I going to report this to? HR?
HR was the villain.
No escape. No survivors. Only pizza.
I made my way over to the sad little pizza table.
It was cheap garbage from the hole-in-the-wall place down the street—the kind of pizza that looked greasy but somehow still tasted dry.
The cheese? Fake.
The pepperoni? Sparse.
The crust? A crime.
Truly, the bare minimum.
Ah yes, nothing says “we appreciate our employees” like spending ten dollars to feed thirty people.
I grabbed a slice, slapped it on a plate, and stalked back to the main crowd.
HR clapped again.
“Today, we have a very special event for you guys! We’re doing team-building!”
The room let out a collective groan.
Like clockwork.
HR just laughed. “Now, now! I know everyone hates these things, but I promise it’s going to be a great time!”
Debatable.
“In the spirit of inter-department cooperation, we’ve split you into groups with people you’d normally never talk to! So try to be nice, m’kay?”
Inter-department cooperation?
What a load of bullshit.
Nobody in this room wanted to cooperate with anyone.
And HR knew it.
A whiteboard clattered onto an easel.
“So!” The HR rep beamed, flipping it around. “Everyone, please find your name on the list, and gather into your groups!”
The list.
There’s always another goddamn list.
I exhaled sharply through my nose. Just another day in the office.
Beautiful.
I scanned for my name.
Bottom of the list.
Lucky number 13.
As we broke into groups, an HR lackey came around and dumped a pile of useless shit on our table.
Spaghetti sticks, marshmallows, and rubber bands.
Ah. Of course.
It was one of those.
HR beamed. “Today’s task is simple! Build the tallest, free-standing structure you can using only these materials!”
I blinked.
We blinked.
Everyone in my group looked at each other in disbelief.
I raised a hand. “...How exactly does this help us with our jobs?”
HR just laughed like I’d told a joke.
No answer.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Of course.
I was now in a life-or-death survival situation, and what had HR trained me for?
A goddamn pasta sculpture.
Outstanding.
Back in the present—buried under dirt, hiding from the storm—I exhaled sharply.
I used to hate those meetings.
I used to dread those meetings.
Now?
I missed them.
Not because they were good, but because they were predictable.
Safe.
Back then, I had a job, a paycheck, an apartment.
Back then, I had electricity, running water, and a roof over my head.
Now?
I had none of those things.
What I wouldn’t give to sit through another bullshit team-building exercise right now.
I clutched the net of debris over me tighter, feeling the weight of the storm pressing in from all sides.
My fingers were trembling.
I took a deep breath.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Survive.
I could do this.
I had to do this.
No matter what I heard outside, no matter what happened in the storm, I just needed to stay in my hole and under my shit.
I clenched my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut. The wind screamed overhead. The ground shuddered beneath me. My fingers dug into the dirt like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.
And then—without even thinking—I started praying.
I’d never been a religious man. Never believed in fate. Never trusted in gods. But when you die and actually meet a goddess?
Yeah. That does things to your head.
Not that I felt good about it. Not that I thought she’d help.
But what else could I do?
I exhaled through gritted teeth. The ground trembled again. I swallowed down my fear and forced my thoughts somewhere else.
Warm. Safe. Silent.
I sat curled up in my shitty bachelor apartment, the blue glow of my laptop screen flickering in the dark. The smell of cheap instant noodles filled the air, barely masking the faint scent of stale coffee and exhaustion.
Outside, the city moved on without me.
I used to have a house.
I used to have a fiancée.
I used to have a life.
Now?
I had a half-empty ramen cup, a ten-hour workday ahead, and a creeping realization that I would never, ever escape.
Ding.
My phone lit up. An email from work.
"URGENT: New Project. All Hands on Deck. Mandatory Overtime Effective Immediately."
I stared at the message.
…That was it. No explanation. No context. Just a decree from the higher-ups, telling us all to brace for another round of soul-sucking, unpaid overtime.
I let out a slow, empty laugh. "Family," huh?
That’s what they called it in the last email.
"We know these times are difficult but remember, we're all family here. We're in this together."
Bullshit.
Family doesn’t watch you sink.
Family doesn’t throw you overboard to save their own asses.
The worst part? I had no choice but to accept it.
I needed the hours. I needed the money.
I needed to keep drowning, because the only other option was sinking.
I picked up my chopsticks, twirling the limp noodles around mindlessly. My stomach churned—not from hunger, but from something heavier.
I had worked here for eight years.
Eight years.
And all it took was one bad quarter for them to throw everyone under the bus.
First, they laid off twenty people. Then another fifty. Then a hundred.
And we all knew who was next.
Just last week, Mark—the guy from accounting, the one who always cracked stupid jokes, the one who bought me coffee every Monday because I "always looked dead"—
Gone.
No warning. No severance. No goodbyes.
Just… gone.
And now?
It was only a matter of time before I was next.
I stared at my screen. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
I wanted to say something.
I wanted to reply.
I wanted to tell them to go fuck themselves.
But instead…
I closed the email.
I picked up my chopsticks. I slurped down my noodles.
And I got ready for work.
Because that’s what good employees did.
Because this was my life now.
I flinched as thunder split the sky in half.
The storm howled. The dirt shook. The air itself felt heavy, like the whole world was pressing down on me.
And suddenly, that memory felt like a joke.
I thought I had it bad then?
I had four walls. A roof. Running water. Food.
I had something.
Now?
Now, I had a hole in the dirt and a storm trying to kill me.
I let out a sharp, bitter laugh.
"Guess I should’ve quit while I had the chance."
The wind screamed overhead. The cold crept in.
I clenched my fists.
I wasn’t dying here.
Not like this.
Not again.
This time, the memory came unbidden.
It was 6:30 AM.
The world outside was still waking up, the sky caught between the last traces of night and the dull glow of a city morning.
I sat alone in a half-empty café, the hum of quiet conversation and the occasional clatter of dishes filling the space around me.
My coffee sat in front of me, untouched. Steam curled from the surface—then faded. Just like everything else.
I should’ve been at work already.
But instead, I was here.
Waiting.
I checked my watch. 6:45.
And then—the door chimed.
She walked in like nothing had changed. Like we weren’t different people than we were before. Like we hadn’t unraveled.
She spotted me instantly. Slid into the booth across from me. Placed her bag neatly on the seat beside her.
And for a moment—just a moment—I almost convinced myself that this was normal. That this was just another morning.
Then she spoke.
"You haven't called."
I exhaled. Stared at my coffee.
Didn’t answer.
Because what the hell was I supposed to say?
Sorry, I’ve been drowning in work?
Sorry, I can barely keep myself together?
Sorry, I don’t want to hear you tell me you’re worried about me, because if you do, I might actually fall apart?
I shook my head.
Didn’t want to speak.
Didn’t want to be here.
But if I stayed silent, nothing would change.
Nothing could change.
So I forced the words out.
"I didn't want to talk..." My voice was hoarse, like I hadn’t used it in days. Maybe I hadn’t. "Things have been... rough."
I finally looked up.
And I hated what I saw.
Pity.
It was written all over her face. That quiet, soft-eyed sympathy like I was some stray dog she didn’t know how to help.
I clenched my jaw.
Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like that.
I wanted to be angry.
But mostly?
I just felt tired.
She sighed. Leaned forward. Rested her arms on the table.
"You know I’m just trying to help, right?" Her voice was gentle. Too gentle. "I just want to make sure you're okay."
I nodded.
Of course, she was.
She was good. Always had been.
She was the one who tried. The one who reached out. The one who wanted to fix things.
And I?
I was the mess.
The sinking ship.
The person who didn’t have the time, because time was just another thing I’d given away.
So I did what I always did.
I smiled.
A hollow, plastic, bullshit kind of smile.
"I know. Everything's fine."
She didn’t look convinced.
Didn’t matter.
"Things are just busy at work, that’s all." I took a sip of my coffee. It was already cold. "I’ll call when I have some time."
Lies.
All of it.
And she knew it.
Her fingers curled slightly against the table, her lips parting—like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.
Then, after a long pause, she tilted her head.
"You don't have to lie to me."
My grip tightened around the cup.
I forced out a chuckle. "I'm not lying."
She exhaled. Shook her head.
"Yeah, you are."
I stared at her.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
And then she sighed.
She looked down at her hands. Fiddled with the edge of a napkin.
Then, softly—like she already knew the answer— she asked:
"Are you happy?"
That stopped me cold.
Are you happy?
What kind of question was that?
Happiness was a luxury. A thing people talked about when they weren’t scrambling to survive.
My first instinct was to brush it off. To say something light.
But I couldn’t.
Not with her looking at me like that.
So I just stared at my coffee.
Waited too long to answer.
She took that silence for what it was.
And nodded.
"I thought so."
She wasn’t mad. Wasn’t disappointed.
Just… resigned.
Like she’d known this was how it would end.
She reached for her bag. Started to stand.
"I should go."
Panic flared in my chest. Stupid, useless panic.
I should say something.
Should stop her.
Should tell her… what?
That I’d try?
That I’d fix it?
That I’d call?
…But I wouldn’t.
We both knew that.
So I just nodded.
And let her go.
Thunder roared across the sky, shaking the very air around me. A deafening, primal sound—raw power ripping through the heavens.
I flinched. Squeezed my eyes shut.
Felt the hot streaks of tears on my cheeks.
…Shit.
I hadn’t even realized I was crying.
I wiped at my face, but the rain was faster, washing the tears away before I could. Not that it mattered.
I didn’t want to remember that.
That was supposed to stay buried. Locked away.
But the storm didn’t care.
It had ripped through my shelter, my plans—and now, it had ripped through me.
The wind howled outside, but… was it me, or did it sound weaker than before?
I strained my ears, heart still hammering in my chest.
The rain, still relentless, pounded the earth in heavy sheets.
But… was it softer than before?
Was the ground still trembling beneath me, or was that just the aftershocks in my bones?
I waited.
Minutes passed. Maybe more.
Time stretched, warped.
Patience.
That was the real test now.
Had the storm finally moved on? Or was this just the eye—a cruel moment of peace before the final onslaught?
I clenched my jaw, straining my ears.
Listened.
The wind howled, sharp and biting.
The rain pounded, heavy and relentless.
But then—just for a second—
A break.
A single breath of silence.
The storm exhaled.
And suddenly, for the first time all night—
I could hear my own heartbeat.
My breath hitched.
Was it over?
No. Couldn’t be.
I waited longer.
And then?
I exhaled.
Enough.
Whether the storm was over or not, I had to see.
I shifted, adjusting my weight, the damp earth sticking to my skin as I pushed up onto my elbows.
I grabbed the net of supplies.
Lifted it.
…Lighter than before.
Why?
My stomach twisted.
I pushed up onto my knees, my body stiff, aching. The cold had settled deep into my muscles, making me feel older than I was.
I took a breath.
Then, with one final push, I emerged from my grave.
And froze.
The world outside was…
Gone.
My shelter? Destroyed.
The half-built frame I’d agonized over, the tied sticks, the makeshift walls—obliterated.
There was nothing left except scattered remains.
Shattered sticks. Torn rope. Flattened debris.
Just… nothing.
Like an RPG where you forgot to save.
Like the universe itself had hit reset.
The cold realization settled in.
Everything I worked for? Wiped away in a single night.
My fists clenched.
A bitter laugh scraped its way up my throat.
Because of course.
Of course this happened.
The moment I actually started building something—
The universe decided it didn’t like that.
It didn’t want me comfortable. It didn’t want me thriving.
It wanted me to suffer.
I felt my jaw tighten, teeth grinding.
This was cruel.
This was unfair.
This was—
Something caught my eye.
A flash of stone.
Small. Unassuming.
I took a step forward.
Then another.
And there, half-buried in the mud, was my shitty little caveman axe.
Nothing more than a rock on a stick, held together by grass and desperation.
But it was there.
Somehow, it survived.
A shaky breath left me.
And then?
A spark.
Small.
But real.
Hope.
The universe tried to erase me. Tried to knock me down.
And yet?
I wasn’t back at zero.
I still had something.
Not just an axe. Not just a rock.
I had skills.
I had knowledge.
And most importantly?
I had survived.
That meant I could do it again.
I turned, eyes sweeping over the ruined land.
Before, I had been fumbling in the dark. Guessing. Stumbling. Learning.
But now?
Now I knew better.
This time?
I was going to do it right.
? Hunger & starvation arc
? Mud hut construction arc (failure edition)
? Ant fight club arc
? Storm of the gods arc
? Emotional trauma speedrun%
- MC finally gets to play this survival game on hard mode.
- New tools. New challenges. New mysteries.
- And maybe, just maybe… a friendly(ish?) face. ??
1?? What’s the ONE thing MC should build next?
2?? If you had to survive here, what’s the first thing YOU’D do differently?
3?? On a scale from “light drizzle” to “hurricane with a grudge,” how bad was this storm?