I don't know what is happening this feels real, but I decide to continue. My mind is telling I'm still in a dream but my heart is beating to fast. I land on the rooftop of a house luckily, even parachuting is an entirely new experience for me. I quickly search for weapons, but this time I'm not so fortunate. I find a level 2 armor, a level 1 helmet, and a machete on the rooftop and at 2nd floor which I have descended.

I descend to the first floor, I encounter another person armed with a pistol. Before I can react, he fires instantly. The searing pain in my shoulder jolts me into reality. The excruciating pain is undeniable."ahhhhhhhhhk!!!!" I scream out loud because of the crazy pain. This far too real to be dream.

"I'm sorry," the man utters, attempting to express remorse for the agony he's caused. But suddenly, a gunshot rings out from outside, and it finds its mark on the man's head, causing a gush of blood. He struggles to remain conscious, pleading for help, but it's futile – the man's life slips away, and he succumbs to his injuries.

With the pain, hot blood, and the grim reality sinking in, I sprinted upstairs in a desperate bid to hide. There was no denying it now; this was not a dream – it was a brutal, painful reality, and my life was hanging by a thread.

Panting heavily and feeling as though I had run for miles, I found refuge in one of the rooms on the second floor. Gunshots still echoed all around, making every moment tense and dangerous. I was too terrified to even peek outside. Then, I heard it – the distinct sound of footsteps. Someone had entered the house. Panic set in as I wondered, did they know I was here? I had to stay alive, no matter the cost.

With my machete in hand, I positioned myself at the back of the door, ready to strike if needed. The sounds from downstairs grew louder with each passing moment, making my heart race, and causing me to break out in a cold sweat. The pain in my shoulder still throbbed, but at least the bleeding had stopped. I knew I wasn't at my best, but that didn't matter. Survival was my only goal, and I was determined to achieve it at any cost.

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Suddenly the door opens. A man slowly walk inside the room in a desperate bid to survive, I swung my machete with all my might, striking the man. The impact was brutal, blood gushing from the wound on his head, and his wild shots went astray. In the process, I took a hit to my own body. But I couldn't stop. It was a fight for survival.

I struck him repeatedly, turning into a frenzied maniac, each blow drenched in blood. My body was in agony. Pain seared through my stomach and shoulder. My mind began to cloud and turn black as tears streamed down my face. As I looked at my bloodstained hands, I couldn't help but wonder: How did my life come to this horrifying point?

With trembling hands and a heavy heart, I took a moment to catch my breath after ending the stranger's life. I had become a murderer, taking the life of someone I didn't even know. The realization weighed on me like a heavy burden, but there was no time to dwell on it. Gunshots outside reminded me that I had to make a choice to survive.

I scoured the lifeless man for anything that could help me. Thankfully, he had an M16A4, along with some bullets. I also found bandages and painkillers. I knew I had to act fast, and without hesitation, I used the painkillers and bandages. The pain in my body began to subside, and it felt as though I was healing, just like in the game.

This surreal transformation of a game into reality was driving me to the brink of madness. I had to adapt quickly if I wanted to live.

As I cautiously peered through the window on the second floor, I spotted a man outside. He was shooting in a different direction, and his movements were erratic. Suddenly, a shot struck him in the head, and he crumpled to the ground, lifeless. His helmet flew off as he fell, a testament to his sudden and unexpected demise.

I saw a man approaches the fallen body, he was looting the deceased. He was focused on looting, seemingly unaware of any potential danger. I had a clear shot at him; he was not far from the house. The decision weighed heavily on me: I can take this opportunity to kill him but should I??

My hands trembled as I aimed at his head from the second-floor window. It would take just one shot, and he'd be done for. But I couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger. I retreated to my hiding spot, my heart pounding. I had already taken one life, and the weight of that action was too heavy to bear. But I was determined to survive, no matter what happen I will survive.