As the game winds down, I feel the pull to check the Net again, like a string tugging at the back of my mind. That glowing hexagon icon has been lingering in my thoughts all night, but I try to shake it off as I pack up my dice and character sheet. The guys are still laughing, recapping the session and making plans for next week, but I’m already somewhere else.

Kyle nudges me with his elbow. “You sure you’re good, man? You’ve been more zoned out than usual tonight.”

I force a smile, hoping it looks genuine. “Yeah, just tired. Long day.”

Kyle doesn’t seem convinced, but he lets it slide. Sam, never one to miss out on a chance for a sarcastic remark, jumps in. “Maybe you should hit the hay, dude. You look like you’ve been through some kinda war zone.”

There’s a rare flicker of concern in his voice, and it almost makes me pause. But the truth is, I’m not tired—not in the way they think. My brain’s been running on overdrive, trying to process everything, and I’m just here, trapped in autopilot.

I shrug, pulling on my jacket. “Yeah, maybe. See you guys next week.”

As the words leave my mouth, an urge bubbles up, sudden and fierce. I should tell them. Kyle, Sam, they’re my best friends—they deserve to know what’s happening. But as I open my mouth to speak, a pressure seizes my chest, sharp and suffocating, like invisible hands are squeezing my lungs. I freeze, the words dying before they even form.

Instead, I just mutter, “Fun night, see you later,” and head for the door.

No one notices anything strange. They just give me the usual goodbyes, but inside, I’m rattled. What the hell was that? Why couldn’t I say anything? Why did it feel like the truth was physically being choked out of me?

The bike ride home feels longer than usual. The wind bites at my cheeks, cold and sharp, but I barely register it. The glow of the streetlights casts long, distorted shadows on the pavement, making everything look eerie, otherworldly. Normally, I’d find the quiet of the neighborhood peaceful, calming even. But tonight, it feels like a ghost town, every corner hiding something just out of sight. I can’t shake the unease crawling beneath my skin.

By the time I get home, the house is dark and silent. My parents are out, probably still at the movies, and the only sounds are the hum of the refrigerator and the steady tick of the hallway clock. I grab some cold lasagna from the fridge, not bothering to heat it up, and trudge upstairs to my room. I just need a moment, some space to think.

Dropping into my chair, I tap the mouse. My computer screen flickers to life, and there it is—the glowing hexagon, pulsing softly in the corner. It’s been haunting me all night. I click it without thinking, and immediately, a notification pops up.

Jessica. She sent the message a couple of hours ago.

Jessica: Hey, we gotta meet up. Do you live anywhere near Silicon Valley?

I grimace. I’m around twenty miles south of Silicon Valley, and I sure as hell can’t make a trip up there on short notice. I fire off a quick response, hoping it doesn’t make things worse.

Me: Sorry, just saw this. Was at a D&D game with some friends. We can talk through the app, though.

Her reply comes almost instantly, and the sharpness in her words practically stings through the screen.

Jessica: Are you serious right now? You’re off playing games while I’m here freaking out? We’re fighting for our lives tomorrow, and you’re out playing make-believe? Do you even care about any of this?

I flinch, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. She’s not wrong. I screwed up, and I know it. Sure, I needed the distraction, needed something to keep me from spiraling over all this madness, but that doesn’t excuse leaving her in the lurch like that.

Me: Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow you off. I just needed to clear my head. I tried telling my friends about the Net, but it was like something stopped me. I couldn’t do it.

Jessica: That’s a lame excuse, Greg. I canceled plans tonight to focus on this, and you couldn’t even take it seriously? This is life and death, and you’re treating it like some side quest!

I pause, trying to find the right words, but there’s no way to spin this. She’s right. I wasn’t taking it seriously enough.

Me: You’re right. I get it now. I’ll focus, I swear.

There’s a beat of silence before her next message comes through. It’s still sharp, but there’s less heat behind it now, like she’s forcing herself to cool off.

Jessica: Good. And about you not being able to tell your friends? Cassidy clued me in—there’s this ancient rule. Only beings above Tier 3 can invite others into the Net. There’s a Tier 5 called Justice that basically places a block in everyone’s mind.

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. Justice? Some kind of enforcer that stops us from dragging others into this nightmare? I hadn’t even considered the idea that there might be rules like that, let alone someone—or something—enforcing them.

Me: Didn’t know that. What did you do with your points, by the way?

Jessica: I put mine in Absorption. Got an ability that earns me credits based on task difficulty. We’re gonna need every credit we can get.

Me: I went for Body. Got this Telekinesis ability—Ghost in the Machine.

Jessica: That might be useful. Tomorrow morning, we log into the Net at the same time. Ethan won’t be able to separate us, and we’ll force him to buy the gear we need.

Jessica: Oh, and I will queue up some combat robots in my factory through the control panel. They’ll be ready by tomorrow.

Me: Wait, what control panel?

Jessica: Are you kidding me? You haven’t explored the app at all, have you? There’s a control panel icon on the taskbar. You’d know that if you were paying attention.

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Her frustration seeps through the screen, and I feel a fresh wave of guilt hit me.

Me: I didn’t know, okay? I’ve been trying to figure this out like everyone else.

Jessica: Sure you have. Since I’m doing all the work here—we can buy upgrades for our abilities and bases with credits.

Me: Upgrades? How do those even work?

Jessica: First one costs 100 credits, next is 1000, and it keeps going up from there. For the big stuff, it’s all auctioned off as they’re discovered. Lower upgrades? System-regulated.

Jessica: Oh, and the prices for base upgrades? They depend on a lot—what you want, who you hire, even the materials you need. Some of the really good upgrades are locked behind paywalls, and the prices get absurd.

I sit up straighter, trying to wrap my head around what she’s saying. This whole thing is a pay-to-win nightmare. Ethan had definitely left all this out on purpose.

Me: So it’s all just a free market?

Jessica: Yep. Another thing Ethan’s probably been banking on us not knowing. You should check it out—assuming you care about staying alive.

Me: Got it. I’ll look into it right now.

Jessica: Good. And don’t screw this up again. I’m not going to be there to save you if you do.

I sit there for a moment, staring at her last message. She’s been carrying the weight of this while I’ve been slacking. I need to get it together, fast.

I open the marketplace in the app. A menu pops up, listing all sorts of upgrades, and my eyes immediately land on the section dedicated to my horror-themed pizzeria. The options are... unsettling, but somehow fitting.

Me: So, about those upgrades. Where do we even find them? Is there some kind of giant auction or something?

Jessica: I had the same question. Did some digging through the public messages. Apparently, the weaker upgrades can be made by the System itself. The stronger ones are in dungeons, created by beings even higher than Tier 5. They’re called Ascended. These aren’t just beings anymore—they’ve become part of the fundamental laws of reality itself.

I stare at her message, trying to process what she just said. Ascended? Beings more powerful than Tier 5? More powerful than whatever this "Justice" thing is? The idea makes my stomach twist in knots. It was bad enough dealing with Ethan, but now there are god-like beings shaping laws of nature itself?

Me: Ascended? What does that even mean?

Jessica: They’re so powerful that they’re basically not even ‘alive’ the way we are anymore. They’re more like... forces of nature. They don’t just control reality—they are reality in some ways. They’ve built these structures called dungeons, and the System can’t even fully control them.

Me: Wait, so these dungeons… What are they, exactly?

Jessica: Think of them as massive structures designed to gather processing power for the Ascended. Inside, there are shards—crystals—that hold insane power. They come in different densities, starting at level 1 all the way to level 15, and the rarer ones can be used to power everything from cities to advanced technologies. Even imbue objects with abilities.

My mind spins as I try to wrap my head around it. Shards that are so powerful they can literally be used to create and enhance anything? That’s the kind of resource people would kill over.

Me: And I’m guessing people fight over these dungeons?

Jessica: Exactly. The factions fight over every single shard that comes out of them. The System imposes a 10% tax on anything you take from a dungeon, but even with that, the rewards are massive. The stronger the shard, the bigger the stakes. Every Tier 5 and faction wants control over these things.

I sit back, rubbing my temples. It feels like the weight of everything just keeps getting heavier, and I’m drowning in information I don’t fully understand. I thought this whole thing was just some weird game—something that would be dangerous but maybe manageable. Now I realize it’s so much bigger than that.

Me: Got it. I’ll definitely look into it before tomorrow.

Jessica: You better. I’m hitting up the public messages tonight, trying to socialize and get more info. Most of the people I’ve talked to seem human, so they might be a good backup plan if Ethan really is as shady as he seems.

Another surge of guilt hits me. Jessica is out there, doing everything she can to prepare, while I’ve been playing catch-up, barely managing to stay afloat. I feel like I should be doing more, like I’ve been failing her—and myself.

Me: Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll check out the marketplace now, try to figure out what upgrades I need.

Jessica: Good. And Greg? Don’t screw this up. We need to be ready.

Me: I won’t. Thanks, Jessica.

There’s no reply after that, but I can imagine her already diving into her next plan of attack—focused, driven. I need to step up and match that. I can’t keep slacking off.

I wonder if I should tell Jessica about the warning. Before deciding against it, it's clear that the System and other Tier 5 AIs have access to this world, ignoring the Acsended all together. And informing someone about the System’s possible secret plan using the System is a bit on the dum side… even for me.

So, I open the marketplace again and start scrolling through the options, paying more attention this time. The section on the horror-themed upgrades still makes my skin crawl, but I dig into the details, realizing just how deep it goes. There are options to upgrade the intelligence of the robots, making them more lifelike—and more sinister. I can enhance their unpredictability, program them to react to guests’ movements, or even set them up to create custom scares based on the fear levels of the people inside.

There’s an option for a “fear meter,” too, which tracks how scared the guests are and adjusts the experience accordingly. The more scared they get, the more intense the experience becomes.

But as fascinating—and horrifying—as it all sounds, I know these upgrades won’t come cheap. Credits. Everything costs credits. And we barely have any.

I keep scrolling, looking for anything useful that doesn’t break the bank. That’s when I stumble across something new: a tab labeled Abilities & Enhancements. I click on it, and a long list of personal upgrades opens up. These aren’t tied to the pizzeria—they’re tied to me.

I scan the options, heart pounding. The first thing that catches my eye is a simple stat boost—strength, speed, agility, all for a hundred credits each. Basic stuff, but potentially life-saving. Then, there are the more advanced abilities, ones that modify my existing powers. There’s an upgrade for Ghost in the Machine—it would increase the range of my telekinesis and allow me to control more objects at once. Another upgrade would let me enhance the precision of my control, making it almost surgical.

But the higher-level abilities… those are locked behind hefty credit walls. Some require shards, just like Jessica said, and those shards can only be found in dungeons or bought at auction for insane prices. The System’s auction tab is grayed out for now, but the fact that it’s even there tells me just how serious this is.

I need those shards if I’m going to survive, and the only way to get them is to dive into a dungeon. But if the dungeons are controlled by the most powerful beings in the Net, it won’t be as simple as just walking in and grabbing them.

There’s a sinking feeling in my chest as realization sets in. I’m out of my depth here, swimming in waters way too deep. I don’t even know where to start. But I do know one thing: if I keep coasting like I have been, I’m dead. Jessica’s right—I need to step up.

My eyes drift back to the control panel Jessica mentioned, and I spot it—an icon I’d missed earlier, nestled in the corner of the taskbar. How had I not seen it? I click it open, and a whole new menu appears. Menu options. Defense systems. Automation controls. A world of customization, just waiting for credits.

The scope of it all is dizzying. It feels like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, staring down into a bottomless abyss. But I have to jump. There’s no choice now.