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image [https://cdn.midjourney.com/2e86e815-7c96-429e-8c9a-c3f0e5bc251c/0_1.png]
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The alarm buzzed. Its shrill, repetitive tone cutting through the haze of Seamus’s half-wakeful state. He blinked at the ceiling, eyes tracing the faint lines of shadow cast by the blinds, but he didn’t move. The world outside his window, like every other day, was grey—an indistinct canvas of muted colors that corresponded perfectly with his interior state on waking each morning. It was always this way: the same routine, the same view, the same…
Seamus lay there for a moment, fingers still curled around the edge of the blanket, his mind already moving ahead of him, running through the motions of the day like a well-rehearsed theatre production on its fifth stint. Eventually, he turned his head toward the nightstand where the phone’s relentless buzz hummed in place of his thoughts. 6:30 AM. Another day.
He exhaled slowly, throwing the blankets off as the chill of the apartment seeped into his bones. He sat up, stretching just enough to shake the stiffness from his limbs before standing. His feet hit the cold floor with a quiet thud.
Everything here had become background noise—familiar, unchanging.
The kitchen light flickered as it always did when he flipped the switch, casting a faint, yellow glow over the countertops. Seamus moved without thinking, filling the kettle, opening the cupboard to pull down his mug, a spoon from the drawer, and the tin of instant coffee. His hand hovered over the knob of the cupboard where he kept the nicer grounds—the ones that took longer to brew, but filled the apartment with their rich, earthy scent.
He closed the drawer. No time for that. Never was.
The kettle hissed and rattled as it began to boil, the only sound filling the quiet space. Seamus leaned against the white counter, arms crossed, eyes distant as they wandered to the window. From his tenth-floor apartment, the city stretched out in neat grids and lines, the architecture he’d once found so thrilling now reduced to a series of dull, functional shapes. Buildings that all looked the same, repeating endlessly until they vanished into the distance.
He could name the projects—some of them had been his, after all. Apartment complexes, office buildings, commercial spaces—all designed to be efficient, practical, cost-effective. The sort of structures that didn’t excite anyone, not even an architect like him.
Seamus rubbed a hand over his face, pushing down the thought. It was too early for that kind of thinking. The kettle climaxed and clicked off, steam rising from the spout, and he poured the water into his mug, watching as the brown liquid swirled lazily into being. It wasn’t good coffee. It wasn’t even particularly strong. But it was enough to pull him out of his own head for a while, enough to direct his focus temporarily on the day ahead.
He took his first sip as he wandered to the living room, passing by his large wooden desk that sat cluttered with sketchbooks, pencils, and a half-finished architectural model gathering dust. A project he’d started years ago, when he still believed in the possibility of building something different. He hadn’t touched it in months.
The model was complex, intricate. The kind of design he used to dream about—tall, sweeping arches, structures that seemed to defy gravity, cities that grew out of nature rather than replacing it. A fantasy, of course. But for a time, he’d truly believed he could make it real.
Seamus sat down at the desk, booting up his work laptop with a sigh. The light from the screen flickered, casting a faint blue glow across his face as he waited for it to load. He scrolled through the emails that had come in overnight, mostly updates on projects he’d stopped caring about weeks ago.
There was a meeting scheduled for mid-morning. Another review of blueprints for a commercial building in the city center—nothing he hadn’t seen a thousand times before. They all blurred together now. The same straight lines, the same basic forms, the same uninspired let downs.
He glanced at the clock. Two hours until the meeting. There was plenty of time, but the weight of the day already pressed down on him, heavy and unmoving. He could already feel the hours slipping away in the same dull repetition as the day before.
Seamus closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath. The coffee sat cold in his hands, forgotten.
***
In the office, everything was exactly as it always had been. The hum of the air conditioner, the low murmur of voices in the background, the sterile fluorescent lights that washed out any warmth or life from the space. Seamus barely noticed it anymore. He moved through the motions, nodding at familiar faces as he made his way to his desk, dropping his bag on the chair with a quiet thud.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
A stack of blueprints sat waiting for him, as they did every morning. He pulled them out, rolling the sheets across the desk with mechanical precision. The lines and measurements were neat, orderly, and utterly, comprehensively unremarkable. Another office park. Another project that would look exactly like the last one.
Seamus reached for his pencil, making the small adjustments needed to bring the design into alignment with the client’s specifications. It didn’t take long. He could do it in his sleep now. He’d stopped asking questions months ago, stopped wondering whether any of it mattered.
But as his hand moved over the page, tracing the outlines of the structure, his mind wandered. Without thinking, he flipped to the edge of the blueprint and began sketching. Rough lines at first, just enough to take shape, but soon the lines became arches, curves, designs that had no place in the practical world of his work. A bridge suspended between two towers, a garden that hung in midair, buildings that twisted and spiraled upward like something from a dream.
He stopped himself. Closed the blueprint. Set the pencil down.
There was no use in dreaming.
***
The door to his apartment clicked shut, sealing out the noise of the city. Seamus stood for a moment in the dimly lit entryway, his fingers still on the cold metal of the handle. The silence that greeted him was familiar, comforting even, but it carried with it the weight of isolation. He exhaled, feeling the day’s tension seep form his shoulders as he tossed his keys onto the side table near the door.
Another day survived.
The apartment wasn’t much, but it was his. A little shabby, thrown together. It reflected his design ingenuity, his creativity. But also, his increasing sense of purposeless. Why bother, he often thought when considering picking up one of the many half-finished DIY projects littered about the place: a modular shelving system over the kitchen counter, a spacious cathouse he was constructing for his sister’s two, a concealed doorway leading from the bedroom to the ensuite.
He loosened his tie, letting it hang around his neck as he walked over to the desk in the corner of the room. His work laptop sat closed, waiting for him to finish the last few emails of the day, but he ignored it. Instead, his gaze shifted to the sleek black monitor next to it, the gaming rig he’d built himself. It wasn’t a computer—it had become a nightly escape hatch.
Seamus’s fingers brushed the mouse, waking the screen with a soft glow. He sat down, the chair creaking beneath him as he sank into it, finally allowing himself to relax. The hum of the computer was almost soothing, a low, constant sound that grounded him.
Endless Odyssey loaded, the login screen familiar and comforting in its nostalgic simplicity. The game was a relic of his university days, but it had grown with him over the years, evolving into something more than just entertainment. It was a world where creativity had no limits, where he could build without constraint, without the monotony of clients and deadlines.
As the game loaded, his character—an armored figure, imposing but silent—appeared on the screen, standing at the edge of a cliff. Below him, the village Seamus had spent months building stretched out into the surrounding landscape. It was a town of his own making, every brick and beam meticulously placed. There was a blacksmith’s forge at the heart of it, a tavern near the market square, a mage’s tower in the distance with its spire reaching toward the digital sky.
Seamus moved the camera, admiring the details. He had designed everything here—from the pattern of the cobblestone streets to the way the light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows over the town square. It was everything he wished he could build in the real world. But here, in this game, there were no constraints. No rules to follow, no restrictions to box him in.
He was free.
His fingers danced over the keyboard as he panned the camera to the bridge he was constructing—a stone archway that would connect the village to the mountains beyond. It was simple enough, but even the small projects gave him a sense of control that his real work lacked.
A notification popped up on the screen, pulling his attention away from the bridge.
Dungeon Run at 8 PM flashed in the corner, a message from a group of friends he’d been playing with for years. They were gearing up for another raid tonight, taking on one of the tougher bosses in the game. He was looking forward to it—the challenge, the camaraderie, the brief escape from reality.
But for now, he closed the message and focused on his village. There was always time for the game. Time to lose himself in a world where his skills meant something.
He zoomed in on the blacksmith’s forge, adjusting the roofline to better compliment the style of the surrounding buildings. The satisfaction of seeing it all come together—the way the pieces fit—was a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years outside of the game. In Endless Odyssey, he wasn’t just an architect; he was a creator, a crafter of worlds.
***
The hours slipped by unnoticed. Outside, the city’s lights flickered on, the sky growing darker, but Seamus barely registered. He was too absorbed in the work, in the quiet sense of fulfillment that came with each completed project.
Another notification flashed on the screen, this one reminding him of the raid. His friends were already in the dungeon, waiting for him to join. Seamus smiled to himself, fingers poised over the keys.
But just as he was about to log in, something strange happened.
The screen flickered. Once. Twice.
He frowned, tapping the mouse to see if it was a glitch. But then the flicker stopped, and a message appeared in bold, unblinking text.
“Do you seek something more?”
Seamus stared at it, confusion settling in. He hadn’t seen anything like this before. His first thought was that it was some kind of in-game event, a hidden quest or an Easter egg that he’d stumbled upon. But the message stayed on the screen, unresponsive to his clicks.
“Are you ready to leave it all behind?”
His hand hovered over the mouse, hesitating. The words felt personal, somehow. A chill ran down his spine, and for a moment, the familiar comfort of the game felt distant. Alien.
Before he could react, the screen flashed white. The light was blinding, filling the room, swallowing everything in its path. Seamus tried to push away from the desk, but his body felt heavy, anchored in place. His heart raced, the sound of blood rushing in his ears as the world around him blurred, warped.
The screen. The desk. His apartment. Everything vanishing into the light.
And then—nothing.