It was Christmas Eve, and this year it was my parents’ turn to host. They’d invited my aunt, her kids, my grandparents, and my mother’s friend over. All in all, ten people were crammed into our small three-bedroom house’s living room, leaving very little space to breathe—let alone hide.
Mum’s friend was a big-shot surgeon at the hospital who’d been forced to skip her families vacation due to a packed surgery schedule. She was nice enough, but she and Mum had only become friends in the last few years, so we didn’t have a reason to be particularly close.
I’d retreated to my bedroom soon after my aunt turned her attention to me, her wine-fuelled voice cutting through the cheerful hum of holiday chatter.
“So, still not doing anything after high school?” she asked, her tone dripping with condescension. I knew what she was really asking: “Still wasting your life?”
I’d tried to explain. I told her I was moderating Discord groups and subreddits for a few moderately successful YouTubers. I even mentioned being offered the chance to apply for a paid position as a community manager in the new year. And, for a brief moment, I planned to mention my idea of starting a gaming Twitch channel once I had enough for a better computer.
But I didn’t even get halfway through.
“Subreddits and Discords?” she interrupted with a drunken guffaw. “No fucking wonder you’ve never had a girlfriend—you’re such a fucking nerd.”
I had broken up with my long-term girlfriend three months ago—we’d had a fight in a shopping centre—but I wasn’t about to start arguing that point.
I didn’t bother looking at my parents. What would’ve been the point? I already knew where they stood.
A few weeks ago, I’d overheard them talking late at night, their words carrying through the thin walls after too many glasses of wine.
“He’s never going to learn to look after himself if you keep babying him!” my father had snapped, his voice low but fierce. “He’s 24 next year, and he’s never even had a real job.”
My mother had sighed, her tone despondent. “I just don’t know where I went wrong.”
The memory stung as I closed my bedroom door and flopped into my worn recliner, the one piece of furniture that felt like home. I pushed the thought of my looming eviction out of my mind.
I knew what my father had planned for the next time he was home. He’d call it “apartment hunting” to soften the blow, but the destination would be the recruitment centre downtown.
“The Army made me the man I am today,” he’d say whenever the topic of employment came up. “It really shows you your place in the world, teaches you to be a proper member of society. Makes you get your hands dirty!”
The thought made my chest tighten. I hated the idea of following the same path he did—getting swallowed up and turned into something I didn’t recognize. But I shook it off and surveyed my room.
To my parents, it was a shrine to my ineptitude, the cluttered embodiment of my wasted potential. Posters, figurines, merch, and gaming paraphernalia filled every available surface.
But to me, it was so much more.
Each poster, each plastic replica, each questionably dressed figurine was a gateway to a memory. My eyes drifted to the authentic, production-quality Deadpool suit hanging from my closet door. Just looking at it transported me back to Comicon, standing in line with my friends, debating who would be the coolest cameo in the upcoming Spider-Man movie.
“Ahhh, home,” I thought to myself, sinking deeper into my chair.
In this room, at least, I was safe.
BA-DING.
A notification lit up my phone.
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T-Dizzle:
RRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
RYAN! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU NEEEEERRRRRDDDDDDDD
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T-Dizzle—real name Tyler—was an old guildmate from my MMORPG days who’d somehow landed on my real-life friends list. When I first met them, they’d been shy, reserved, and awkwardly polite. Over the years, they’d… evolved. Now Tyler had the energy of a caffeinated raccoon, unpredictable and, at times, outright exhausting.
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Out-Of-Body:
Calm down. Did you sneak your sister’s Adderall again? You know that shit makes you tweak out.
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I’d planned to spend the evening grinding ranks in some new loot-grinder gacha game that Tyler was currently obsessed with. It wasn’t exactly my thing, but we had an understanding—no one played alone. If one of us was playing something, all of us did, even if it was only for a week before we collectively moved on to something else.
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Sharlalala:
Dude, we’ve been waiting for like an hour, and Tyler’s running out of lore to tell me.
T-Dizzle:
Not even close. Did you know that Princess Fullgore’s armour, even though it looks like a bikini, is actually made out of translucent—
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I turned off my phone screen with a sigh and slid it back into my pocket.
Reaching under my desk, my fingers found the cable minder with practised ease. I popped open one of its latches, letting a small brass pipe and a Kinder Egg capsule roll into my palm.
Sharlalala—real name Sharla—was the oldest of our group, well into her thirties and actually successful. She worked as a doctor for some semi-shady prescription-for-cash site operating under a shell company that “connected patients with physicians open to alternative therapies.” She had been our guild leader back when Tyler and I first met her, and she’d tracked us down years later in a Discord group for a beta test of some Monster Hunter clone.
It was Sharla who had insisted I book a session with one of her associates, landing me a medical marijuana prescription six months ago.
“It’s better than the shit you get off the streets,” she’d said, her tone smooth and convincing, like she’d said it a thousand times before. “And this way, you don’t have to deal with those assholes from your old high school. You know they rip you off.”
She wasn’t wrong.
My parents and I had reached an uneasy truce about it. Their solution was simple: as long as they didn’t find it and I stayed in my room while I was high, they wouldn’t say anything. That was their answer to a lot of things—shove it out of sight, keep it hidden, and pretend it wasn’t there.
I packed the pipe, lit it, and took a slow drag. The acrid smoke filled my mouth, coating my tongue with its bitter, earthy taste. I stifled a cough, exhaling the plume into the corner of the room where it dissipated like a ghost.
The world softened.
I slid on my headset and booted up my PC, the glow of the screen cutting through the dim room. As the cushioned pads settled over my ears, I caught the sound of laughter erupting from down the hall, where the night’s festivities continued in full swing.
I leaned back in my chair, my hands resting on the keyboard. This, I thought, was home.
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We’d been playing for a few hours, and I was thoroughly toasted. My movements had become slow and clumsy, and my focus was shot. I was mostly zoning out, doing my best to keep up with Tyler and Sharla as they carried me through the game. From the living room, the murmur of conversation drifted down the hall, punctuated by bursts of overenthusiastic laughter.
It was past 1 a.m., and I knew I wouldn’t last much longer. Sharla had recently switched my prescription to a “proprietary blend” she claimed would guarantee a peaceful Christmas. I wasn’t sure if “peaceful” meant mellow or comatose, but at this point, I wasn’t about to argue.
I packed another pipe, taking a long, hard pull, the smoke burning as it coated my lungs. A coughing fit seized me, racking my body for what felt like two minutes straight. As I fought to catch my breath, I noticed the voices from the living room had gone completely silent.
Anticipating the inevitable confrontation I hammered out a quick message.
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Out-Of-Body:
Hey guys, brb, gotta drop for a quick sec.
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We were in a voice chat in game, so I left the game entirely to avoid becoming a spectacle. Panic prickled at the edges of my mind. Was my dad about to storm down the hall for the third drunken lecture this week? But before I could worry too much, the sensation in my head shifted.
At first, it was just a tingle.
Then a buzz.
Then a rattle.
Then pain.
It built rapidly, morphing into a stabbing sensation that left me clutching my head. A soundless void filled my ears, a noise like the sudden absence of everything. Then, from somewhere deep in my skull, a low electronic hum began to build, settling into the background of my thoughts.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“What the fuck was that?” I muttered, my voice trembling as I clutched a tuft of my hair.
Down the hall, the silence was shattered by gasps and shouts, but I didn’t have time to process what might be happening. A voice—smooth, detached, and utterly alien—spoke inside my mind.
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System Notification:
Hello and welcome. You will soon be grouped into selection teams. Please wait while your interface is populated.
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“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” I shouted, louder this time.
As if responding to my outburst, my vision warped. Boxes, graphs, and widgets flooded into view, their edges glowing faintly. The sheer volume of information overwhelmed me, framing the room with dense layers of data I couldn’t comprehend.
Just as quickly as they appeared, most of the visuals slid away, leaving behind a row of ten boxes on the left-hand side of my vision.
Each box contained a small portrait, and my stomach twisted as I recognised the faces.
There was me, surrounded by a glowing white border. Below me were my mum, dad, grandmother, grandfather, aunt, uncle, their two children, and my mum’s friend. Each portrait had a smaller box in the corner with dots pulsing ominously.
I barely had time to process the images when another notification blinked into existence, dominating the centre of my vision with a jarring BA-DING that sent me scrambling back in my chair.
I overbalanced, tipping over completely and crashing to the floor on its side. The thin carpet barely cushioned the impact as pain flared in my chin from the rough landing.
Even with my eyes squeezed shut, the message remained burned into my vision, unyielding.
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System Notification:
You have been sorted into groups of roughly 12 people. Some of you were alone, so you might not recognise those in your group. No matter! Your job is simple: pick whoever you want to submit to The Tithe. If you fail to choose in 300 of your Earth seconds, the choice will be made at random.
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At the bottom of the message, a bold number—268—ticked down ominously. The word Tithe was underlined, pulsing with a rhythm that demanded attention.
A small tool-tip appeared over my father’s picture. As I focused on it, the image greyed out, and two icons appeared: an orange tick and a purple cross. In the smaller box in the right-hand corner, a 0 flashed in sterile, blinking digits.
I swiped at the message, desperate to dismiss it like an annoying fly. It didn’t budge, clinging to my vision like a parasite.
I glanced up at my computer, but my room was completely dark. No glow of suburbia filtered through the blinds above my bed. The world beyond them had vanished into pitch black. Panic rising, I fumbled for something to pull myself off the floor. My hand found the edge of my bed, and I hauled myself upright.
My phone. I needed the flashlight. I dug into my pocket, yanking it out and pressing the power button. Nothing. I pressed it harder, then held it down for several seconds. Still, nothing.
The timer on the message had reached 230 My head swam, nausea clawing at the edges of my stomach. I realised I still held the pipe in my left hand, its bowl half-packed and charred.
A faint buzz tickled the back of my skull.
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BA-DING
System Notification:
All interface options disabled prior to selection.
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I froze. My father had shown me a drug diversion video plucked from the 1940's, the memory came to me unbidden.
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REEFER MADNESS! A Gateway to Insanity.
One puff, one toke, is all it takes to shatter the mind's delicate balance. Under the influence of this nefarious substance, users are said to see visions that defy logic—a swirl of shapes, colours, and horrors that do not exist! Friends and family transform into grotesque caricatures, their once-familiar faces warped by the drug's ghastly spell.
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My breathing quickened.
“Oh god,” I thought. “This is it. I’ve gone off the deep end. I’m hallucinating. How long have I been on the floor? Am I even in my house anymore? Oh fuck, oh fuck!”
The timer reached 200, and the message minimized into the corner of my vision, leaving behind a glowing 199 that pulsed faintly.
I stumbled into the hallway, the darkness pressing in like a living thing. My eyes adjusted enough to make out silhouettes: my mother hugging my aunt, their parents sitting on either side, arms draped over their shoulders.
My heart thundered as I scanned the room. My mother’s friend stood in the corner, desperately trying to get her phone to respond. My father paced the room, shouting orders, his voice sharp and frantic as he rifled through the kitchen drawers.
“Where are the damn candles?” he asked no one in particular, his tone teetering on the edge of panic.
“Everyone, get a light source going!” my dad barked, his voice sharp and commanding. “It must have been an EMP or something. If anyone has a lighter, I’ll be taking it. Henry, I’m going to need you and Dale to come with me and get my emergency box from the garage.”
Whether he didn’t notice that no one was listening or just chose to press on, he kept barking orders into the void.
I glanced through the glass door into the backyard. The night sky was startlingly clear, the stars bright and vivid, painted across the darkness like a masterpiece.
“Whoa,” I muttered, momentarily stunned. It had been years since I’d seen the sky without the oppressive haze of light pollution—not since the camping trips my dad used to take me on when I was a kid. I was still thoroughly under the effects, and as expected, my attention span could be measured in seconds. I lost myself for a moment, gazing into the night sky; some of the lights formed vast geometric shapes that spun and twirled. It didn’t exactly strike me as out of the ordinary and I just chalked it up to my altered state.
The soft murmurs of my cousins pulled me back to the present. They were huddled with their dad, who seemed to be trying—and failing—to explain something to them.
120.
The red timer in the corner of my vision blinked insistently, pulling me back to the cold reality of the interface still lingering in my sight.
A warm yellow light filled the room as the sound of a match striking broke the tense silence. My dad’s silhouette moved through the glow, the single flame quickly multiplying into individual globs of light as he passed out candles to everyone in the room.
It was then I noticed the looks on their faces—abject terror and confusion.
My uncle Henry was whispering to his children, his finger pointed directly at me. Then he moved to my aunt, leaning in close and muttering something I couldn’t hear.
My mother recoiled, her eyes wide as they filled with tears. She dropped the candle my dad had just handed her, burying her face in her hands.
My grandmother pulled her into a tight hug, while my grandfather reached over, patting her knee. His eyes flicked up to meet mine, but he quickly looked down again, his face pale and grim.
“What’s going on?” I finally managed to say, my voice cracking under the weight of the tension. “Mum, is everything alright?”
She sobbed harder, her shoulders shaking violently.
B-ZZZZ.
A buzz behind my left eye snapped my attention to the interface. My father’s portrait was still selected, with the same two options hovering beside it. But my own portrait caught my eye. The small square in the corner now had a number in it: 4. No, wait—5. Then 7.
Confusion clouded my mind, the drugs making everything hazy and disjointed. My eyes itched and burned as if they were on fire.
Henry stood from behind the couch, moving toward my dad, his voice raised but the words indistinct in my swirling thoughts.
83.
The timer was ticking down.
Suddenly, my dad shoved my uncle hard, sending him sprawling onto the floor.
“FUCK YOU, YOU SNIVELING LITTLE GOBSHITE!”
He grabbed Henry by the shirt collar with both hands, slamming him back down to the floor before storming over to my mother.
“You didn’t,” he hissed, his voice trembling. “Please tell me you didn’t!”
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System Notification:
60 seconds remain.
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The box flashed in my vision, the countdown number glaring bright.
My portrait now displayed 8.
“It doesn’t matter, Mark,” Henry said weakly from the floor, his voice resigned. “The thing said a majority would be accepted.”
I stared at my dad. His face was streaked with tears. My dad never cried.
Then, suddenly, he was on his feet again, storming toward me.
My breath caught, and I braced myself for the shouting I knew was coming.
But instead, his voice was quiet—almost a whisper.
“Son,” he said, his voice trembling. “You’re going to be going away now. I don’t know what’s happening, but I need you to be strong, okay?”
“Dad?” I stammered, confusion overwhelming me. “I think I might have smoked too muc—”
“SHUT UP AND LISTEN!” he roared, his voice exploding in volume. The sudden shift made my ears ring as his words hung in the air like a heavy weight.
40.
“I’m going to get you some supplies. It won’t be much.” My dad’s voice cut through the fog in my head. “Did you read what the message said about the tithe? You have to focus on the word for a moment. If you haven’t, do it quickly.”
He turned and bolted toward the garage, his footsteps fading almost as quickly as he’d spoken.
The notification box flashed back to the centre of my vision. The word Tithe was still underlined, the pulsing dots drawing my attention. At the bottom, the timer was in the single digits, each number blinking bright red as it ticked down.
With no better option, I focused on the word. After half a second, a new tooltip appeared:
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BA-DING.
The Tithe:
Very few beings have the honour of being selected by their fellows for The Tithe. Those selected will go on to face perilous challenges, dangerous quests, and, if history is anything to go by, die in glorious spectacle. If you do prove yourself, then fame, riches, and the chance to kick the asses of those who chose you awaits.
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“What is this thing talking about?” I mumbled groggily, my voice slurred. My head felt like it was spinning, the room tilting around me.
5.
The message vanished before I could process it. Frantically, I searched for my dad, but he was nowhere in sight.
Instead, my eyes found my mother again. She was trembling now, her sobs louder, harsher.
“Mum?” I called, my voice cracking.
She looked up, her tear-streaked face barely visible in the dim light. Her makeup ran in dark, jagged streaks, like rivers cutting through a storm-washed landscape.
All she said was, “I’m sor—”
The timer hit zero.
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BA-DING.
System Notification:
You have been chosen. Prepare for displacement.
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The world blinked out of existence with a sharp, audible pop.
For a moment, there was nothing. No light, no sound, no sensation. Then, abruptly, the void snapped away, and I was somewhere else.
A new message filled my vision:
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BA-DING.
System Notification:
Interface now unlocked. Welcome, player. Please proceed to the nearest settlement for induction.
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Before I could even react, another notification appeared. This time, it spoke aloud—a voice smooth and alluring, radiating comfort yet edged with an authority that sent a shiver down my spine. It was unlike anything I had heard before.
Now, as I struggled to make sense of my unfamiliar surroundings, I couldn’t help but feel a stupid grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. The voice was just that good. It poured into my mind like warm honey, saturating every crevice of my brain and leaving me momentarily spellbound.
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BA-DING.
New Quest:
Get Home Before the Street Lights Turn On.
Description:
Mother always told you it wasn’t safe to be out after dark. Is now really the best time to test that advice? Get to a neutral settlement before the lights turn on and the night things come out to play.
Reward:
1 coupon for a premium room at any neutral or allied settlement.
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The notification minimized into the corner of my vision, replacing the timer with a gold-highlighted box that read, Quest(1).
My head swam. I stumbled as I tried to make sense of what was happening.
The trees around me were impossibly tall, their thick trunks knotted with age. They filled the air with an intoxicating mix of cinnamon and pine. Their branches were adorned with spindly twigs, each bursting with dense clumps of leaves and vibrant flowers in shades of purple and red.
Above, patches of sky peeked through the canopy—a soft blue mottled with streaks of grey clouds drifting lazily across it.
“What’s happening?” I whispered, my voice shaking. “Where’s my family? My house? Is my mum okay? What was my dad saying?”
My stomach churned violently. I took a step back, my heel landing on something unstable. A loose rock.
I slipped.
My balance gave out, and I stumbled, arms flailing as I thudded backward into the nearest tree. My head struck the rough bark with a dull crack, and I slid to the ground, my knees pulling up instinctively.
The nausea overwhelmed me. The instant shift from pitch black to what seemed to be the middle of the day made my eyes sting as they adjusted to the brightness. I could feel myself losing my grip on consciousness.
I doubled over and retched, my vision blurring as everything tilted sideways and begun to tunnel down to a single point. The last thing I saw was the vibrant purple flowers swaying gently above me before my eyes fluttered shut and the world faded to black.