Nathan leaned back in the old, tilted contraption he called a chair, angled at 30 degrees to support the full-body immersion required for the game. He reached up and disconnected the wire running to the worn port at the back of his neck. The faint click echoed in the small, shabby room, and the sensation of the game faded, leaving his senses raw and overwhelmed by the harshness of reality. After he put down his headset he swung his legs over the side of the chair and stood, his muscles stiff from hours of inactivity.
“Damn,” Nathan muttered, rubbing his temples. “That was a rough session.”
The dim light of his single overhead bulb flickered, casting jagged shadows across the room’s peeling wallpaper and water-stained ceiling. The scent of mildew hung in the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of old electronics. A cracked window, patched haphazardly with duct tape, rattled slightly as the sound of distant sirens drifted in. A single bookshelf leaned precariously against one wall, its contents a chaotic mix of tattered books and empty food wrappers.
"Done gaming, big shot?" came a sarcastic voice from the other side of the room.
Nathan looked up to see his sister, Mia, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and she wore an oversized hoodie that dwarfed her small frame. At 14, Mia had perfected the art of teenage mockery.
"Yeah, yeah," Nathan muttered, standing up and stretching. "Sorry, your highness. Should I roll out the red carpet before I step into the kitchen?"
"Maybe," Mia quipped, smirking. "Or you could clean it first. You know, so I don't accidentally step on a roach and get traumatized."
Nathan chuckled and flicked an imaginary speck of dirt at her. "You’re lucky you’re cute, kid."
Despite the teasing, Nathan’s heart ached every time he looked at Mia. She deserved better than this cramped, rundown shithole in a crime-riddled neighborhood. The thin walls did little to muffle the sounds of shouting from next door or the occasional blare of sirens outside. This was far from the life their parents had promised them.
Mia watched him silently from the doorway, her arms crossed. She recognized that look on his face—the distant, heavy stare he got when his thoughts drifted to the past. She had seen it countless times before, a subtle shift in his expression that spoke of memories he rarely shared.
“Do you remember them much?” Mia asked suddenly, breaking the silence as Nathan rummaged through the nearly empty fridge.
“Sorry,” she said softly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I mean, I was four, so... I don't remember much. Just little things. Like Mom’s perfume. And how Dad used to throw me up in the air and say, ‘You’re flying, Mia!’” She gave a wistful laugh. “You never talk about them.”
Nathan thought about it, closing the fridge and leaning against the counter. “Talking doesn’t change anything. They’re gone.”
"But don’t you miss them?" Mia pressed.
"Every damn day," Nathan said, his voice softening. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair and gave her a sad smile. "But missing them doesn’t pay rent, does it?"
Nathan hadn’t always lived like this. There was a time when they had it all—a sprawling house, private tutors, family vacations. Their parents, wealthy and cultured, had been pillars of society. His father was a renowned surgeon, and his mother had been a celebrated ballet dancer.
Until that night. The night everything shattered.
Nathan had only been 15 when it happened. His parents had taken Mia to a babysitter after which they went to one of the prestigious ballet galas their mother often attended. Nathan stayed home, too busy playing the latest console game to sit through hours of “fancy twirls,” as he called them. When the news broke, it didn’t seem real. A terrorist attack had targeted the performance hall, leaving dozens dead—including both his parents.
“They left us a fortune,” Nathan said bitterly, staring out the cracked kitchen window at the graffiti-covered building across the alley. “Or they would have, if the life insurance company wasn’t run by literal scumbags.”
“What happened?” Mia asked, sitting at the small dining table.
Nathan scoffed. “It was a loophole. Said the ‘act of terrorism’ clause in the policy voided the payout. Something about not being liable for events outside of ‘reasonable predictability.’ Funeral costs were ‘a courtesy.’” His fists clenched. “The entire system was rigged from the start.”
Mia frowned. “That’s... awful.”
“Yeah, well,” Nathan said with a shrug, trying to downplay it. “Guess they figured kids can’t sue a billion-dollar corporation, right?”
Without their parents’ wealth, Nathan had been forced to grow up overnight. Their estate was tied up in red tape, the life insurance payout denied. The sprawling house they’d grown up in was gone, sold off to cover debts Nathan barely understood at the time. With no other options, he used the small stash of money he’d managed to hide away to rent the cramped apartment they now called home. Back then the landlord, fully aware that Nathan was underage and desperate, exploited the situation, charging an inflated rent that devoured most of what little income Nathan could scrape together. He had to. No one else wanted anything to do with them due to their age.
He dropped out of school to work multiple part-time jobs—delivering groceries, cleaning offices, anything that kept the lights on before Eternal Nexus launched and
When social services came knocking, Nathan had been ready. He’d spent sleepless nights pouring over laws, finding loopholes to avoid Mia and him being put into the foster system. He became her legal guardian through sheer determination, bluffing his way through paperwork and proving he could provide for her.
“I’m like a lawyer now,” Nathan joked one night, months after the ordeal. “Bet I could even sue those insurance bastards.”
Mia had laughed back then. It was one of the few times they’d laughed together after losing everything.
“You’re too hard on yourself,” Mia said, pulling Nathan from his thoughts. “You’ve done more for me than anyone else ever could.”
“Yeah, well,” Nathan said, tossing the expired eggs in the trash. “Doesn’t feel like enough. You deserve more than this dump.”
“Maybe,” Mia said, grinning. “But it has its perks.”
“Like what?” Nathan raised an eyebrow.
“Free horror soundtracks from the neighbors at 2 a.m.”
Nathan laughed despite himself. “I’ll give you that one.”
As the evening wore on, he found himself back at his desk, staring at the glowing screen of his rig. Eternal Nexus was both his sanctuary and his prison, a place where he could at least pretend to have some control. But tonight, the fragment he’d found weighed on his mind.
“Big day tomorrow?” Mia asked from the couch, flipping through a book.
Nathan nodded. “Yeah. Big day.”
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“Don’t work too hard,” she said, yawning.
Nathan smirked. “Never do.”
But as Mia drifted off to sleep, Nathan’s mind stayed restless. The world outside was unforgiving, but maybe—just maybe—there was something more waiting for him inside the game.
Something worth chasing.
Nathan grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, the fabric worn thin at the elbows. He glanced at Mia. “We’re out of milk,” he said. “I’ll head to the corner store.”
“Get some bread too,” Mia called from the couch, her voice muffled as she burrowed deeper under the threadbare blanket draped over her. The couch, though worn and sagging in the middle, was her bed—a beaten-up relic that had seen better days. Despite its rough appearance, it was cozy in its own way, the kind of comfort born more out of familiarity than quality.
“And eggs,” she added, her eyes drooping as sleep tugged at her. “Maybe ones that haven’t expired this time?”
“I’ll do my best,” Nathan quipped, rolling his eyes. “You want a unicorn while I’m at it?”
“Only if it’s on sale,” she shot back with a grin.
Nathan stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the peeling wallpaper and faint smell of stale cooking oil greeting him like an old frenemy. The building always had a lived-in, crumbling charm. The kind that made you nostalgic for better days while simultaneously reminding you of all the reasons you wanted to leave.
The streets outside weren’t much better. The dull orange glow of the streetlights barely pierced through the mist of smog that clung to the neighborhood. Litter lined the gutters, and graffiti covered every available surface, marking territories that changed ownership as often as the weather.
Nathan pulled up his hood, shoving his hands into his pockets. As he made his way toward the corner store, a group of guys leaning against a rusted car called out to him.
“Hey, pretty boy!” one of them yelled, grinning with too many teeth. “You gonna come back here and hang out with us after you’re done shopping?”
Nathan didn’t slow down. “Sorry, boys. My schedule’s full. Maybe next time.”
“Don’t walk away while we’re talkin’, man,” another snapped. He stepped forward, slapping Nathan lightly on the back of the head as he passed. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt—just enough to irritate.
Nathan stopped, turned halfway, and raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? That all you’ve got?”
The guy hesitated, the smirk on his face wavering for a moment before Nathan added, “If I’m walking away, maybe let me. You’ll live longer.”
The group burst into laughter as Nathan kept walking. He’d learned a long time ago that you didn’t fight unless you had no choice. A quick wit and a steady nerve got you farther in these streets than fists ever could. He felt the sting of the slap linger but brushed it off. This was just another day.
The corner store was no better than the streets. The neon sign outside flickered uncertainly, and the inside smelled like a mix of bleach and old produce. Nathan grabbed the essentials: milk, bread, and eggs. He placed the items on the counter, avoiding eye contact with the cashier, who seemed more interested in his phone than the transaction.
“Thanks,” Nathan muttered, grabbing the paper bag and heading back out.
On his way back, Nathan slowed as he approached his apartment building. Sitting on the stoop was Mrs. Morales, a woman well into her seventies but with the sharp eyes of someone half her age. She wore a bright floral scarf and clutched a cup of tea in her weathered hands.
“Hey, Nathan!” she called out, her voice warm but firm. “You look like you’ve been through a war zone.”
He gave her a small grin. “It’s just the neighborhood charm.”
Mrs. Morales patted the space beside her. “Sit. You’re walking too fast for a young man. Gonna wear yourself out.”
Nathan hesitated but finally relented, sitting down beside her. The cold of the concrete seeped through his jeans. “You’re up late, Mrs. M.”
“I’m old. What else do I have to do but meddle in your life?” she said, a twinkle in her eye. “So, how’s Mia?”
“She’s good,” Nathan replied. “Teenage attitude’s coming in strong, but that’s normal, right?”
Mrs. Morales chuckled. “If she didn’t sass you, I’d think something was wrong. And you? When’s the last time you did something for yourself?”
Nathan shrugged. “Define ‘for myself.’ If buying groceries counts, then five minutes ago.”
She frowned, her sharp gaze softening. “You know what I mean. You carry too much on those young shoulders of yours. You’re not a machine, Nathan.”
“Feels like I have to be,” he admitted, looking down at the bag of groceries in his lap. “If I slow down, everything falls apart.”
Mrs. Morales reached over and placed a hand on his arm. “You’re doing more than most would, but don’t forget you’re still human. It’s okay to let someone help now and then.”
“Yeah? Who’s gonna help me, Mrs. M? The guys down the block? Social services?” He shook his head. “I’ve got Mia, and that’s all I need to worry about.”
“You’ve got more people who care about you than you think,” she said firmly. “Don’t shut us out.”
Nathan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stared at the cracked pavement, the weight of her words settling on him. Finally, he stood, giving her a small smile. “Thanks, Mrs. M. I’ll think about it.”
“You’d better,” she said, waving him off. “And don’t let that milk spoil before you get it in the fridge.”
Back in the apartment, Nathan set the groceries on the counter, moving quietly to avoid waking Mia. She was fast asleep on the couch, her face peaceful and untroubled, a stark contrast to the chaos of their surroundings. Her blanket had slipped slightly, and Nathan carefully pulled it back over her shoulders, pausing for a moment to watch her breathe evenly. For all her sass and sharp wit, she was still a kid—his responsibility, his reason for keeping it together.
He retreated to his small corner of the apartment: his room-slash-workspace. The faint noise of his rig greeted him as he sat down, the tilted contraption still warm from earlier. His desk was cluttered with energy drink cans, old notebooks, and tools he’d used to jury-rig his gaming setup over the years. Nathan leaned back in the chair, his thoughts drifting to the fragment.
His eyes wandered to the corner of the room where his gaming helmet sat, the cable still dangling from its port. It looked like any other piece of equipment, but the hours he spent immersed in that digital world made it feel more like a portal than a machine. The faint sound of the cooling fans was a constant background to his life, a white noise that accompanied his every waking moment.
Nathan stared at the gaming helmet, his fingers tapping against the edge of the desk. He had told himself to leave it alone, to wait until tomorrow, but the fragment wouldn’t leave his mind. Curiosity clawed at him, relentless. Just check it out, he thought, his hand already reaching for the device. What’s the harm?
He powered up the rig, the sounds of the machine filling the small room. As the familiar faint glow of the helmet’s interface activated, Nathan grabbed the connector cable. His fingers brushed the metal port at the back of his neck, a sensation he barely noticed anymore—it was as natural to him as breathing. The click of the plug engaging was followed by a slight pressure, like a gentle tug on his senses. He leaned back into the tilted chair, settling in as he slid the helmet over his head.
No loading screens. No progress bars. Just the rush of a soundtrack bursting to life—a familiar melody he’d heard countless times but still couldn’t get enough of. It was addictive, a triumphant anthem that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. It always pulled him in, making the transition feel less like logging into a game and more like entering another world.
As the music swelled, the room around him dissolved. His consciousness shifted, his body left behind as his mind uploaded into the vast expanse of Eternal Nexus. The process was seamless, instantaneous. One moment, he was in his dimly lit room, and the next, he was standing in the guild inn.
The inn was quiet, the warm glow of lanterns casting soft shadows on the walls. Wooden beams creaked faintly, and the scent of virtual firewood mingled with the faint aroma of simulated ale. NPCs and lower-ranked guild members lounged in the common area. Nathan took a deep breath, the weightless sensation of being in the game washing over him while he found a secluded spot where no one would notice him.
He opened his inventory, the familiar interface materializing before him. His eyes locked onto the fragment at the bottom of the list. It pulsed faintly, its glitched edges rippling as if it were alive.
Nathan stared at it, his heart pounding. This was the moment. He knew he should tread carefully, but the questions wouldn’t stop swirling in his mind. What was it? Why had it been hidden? Why did it feel so... deliberate?
He selected the fragment, and the same garbled text filled his screen. Scrambled characters and flashing symbols danced across the interface, nonsensical and eerie. Beneath it all, two buttons: a green [Accept] and a red [Decline].
Nathan hesitated, his finger hovering over the green button once again. His pulse quickened as the familiar feeling of risk—both thrilling and terrifying—gripped him. “Alright,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s see what you’re hiding.”
He pressed [Accept].
The moment he did, a sharp, piercing sound erupted in his ears. It wasn’t just noise—it was a physical sensation, a high-pitched screech that vibrated through his skull. His body froze, locked in place as if the game had seized control. The inn around him blurred, the textures of the walls and floors dissolving into a brilliant white void.
The light expanded rapidly, engulfing his entire vision. Nathan’s limbs refused to respond, his mind trapped in a body that no longer felt like his own. The piercing sound grew louder, a relentless tinnitus-like screech that drowned out everything else.
The white light grew brighter, searing his senses until there was nothing else.
Then, silence.
And darkness.