Nathan woke up with a start, his heart racing as if he'd been yanked from a nightmare. His body still strapped into the tilted contraption he called a chair. His head throbbed as he blinked, trying to focus on his surroundings. Something was wrong—terribly wrong. He wasn’t in his apartment.

Gone were the flickering lightbulb, the peeling wallpaper, and the faint hum of his rig. Instead, there was nothing. Just darkness. His breath hitched as he peered into the void, his eyes straining against the oppressive black. The only thing he could see was the faint white glow surrounding him, emanating from somewhere he couldn’t pinpoint. It bathed the area immediately around his chair in dim light, just enough to make out the shallow layer of water rippling beneath him.

“Where the hell am I?” he muttered, his voice shaky.

The words felt flat, absorbed by the space around him. No echo returned, just silence—a silence so complete it gnawed at him. Nathan tried again, louder this time. “HELLO?” His voice carried out into the void but vanished as quickly as he spoke, like it had been swallowed by the darkness.

He frowned, gripping the arms of his chair, his knuckles turning white. Was this some kind of dream? A glitch? The faint glow around him didn’t flicker or fade, but it revealed nothing beyond its small radius. The water below rippled gently as he shifted in his seat, the faint sound of it unnerving in the emptiness.

“Okay,” he said, his voice breaking the stillness. “This is... different.” He let out a nervous chuckle.

Nathan leaned forward, unbuckling himself from the chair. The air felt damp and heavy as he stood, the water chilling his bare feet. “Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Think. What’s the last thing you remember?”

His mind flashed to the fragment. That cursed fragment. He’d clicked accept. Then—nothing.

“This isn’t the game,” he said aloud, running a hand through his hair. “This isn’t... real.”

His words felt hollow, even to himself. Taking a shaky step away from the chair, he called out once more. “IS ANYONE THERE?”

Nothing. Not even a whisper of a response. The silence wrapped around him like a suffocating shroud, making him painfully aware of his own breathing and the soft splashes as he shifted his weight in the water.

“Great,” he muttered, forcing a weak laugh to mask his growing panic. “Just great.”

Nathan hesitated, his hands trembling as he stepped away from the chair. Each step created soft ripples in the thin layer of water beneath his feet, the sound faint and unnervingly alone in the vast emptiness. His eyes strained against the darkness, searching for anything—walls, shapes, even a faint glimmer of light—but the nothingness pressed back, swallowing every attempt.

His chest tightened as panic began to creep in. "Calm down, Nathan," his voice a fragile anchor in the overwhelming void. "Get it together, think." He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe slowly, in and out.

A way out. He needed to figure out how to get out of here. The thought came sharply: The cable. Just yank the damn thing out of your neck. That’ll boot me back.

His hand instinctively shot to the back of his neck. But when his fingers brushed over the skin, he froze. There was nothing there. The port—the ever-present plug that connected him to the game—was gone. His breathing quickened as he frantically patted the spot where it should have been, expecting to feel the familiar ridge of the implant.

Nothing.

Nathan’s mind raced. Okay, no big deal. Maybe it already disconnected when I stood up. He spun around, half-expecting to see the cable dangling from the chair.

But there was no cable. No port. His hand reflexively reached behind his neck again, his fingers pressing harder against smooth, unbroken skin. It wasn’t just gone—it was as if it had never been there in the first place.

"What the—?" Nathan whispered, his voice cracking slightly. He staggered backward, his thoughts spiraling. His connection to the game was gone, yet he was still here. Still… stuck.

For a moment, the panic threatened to take over, clawing at his chest and making his vision blur. But he clenched his jaw and forced himself to focus. No cable. No port. Then how the hell am I still in this place?

Nathan’s footsteps echoed faintly in the endless void as he moved cautiously, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. The oppressive silence gave way to an unsettling hum, faint at first but growing louder with each step. His instincts screamed at him to stop, to turn back to the chair, but what good would that do? The chair wasn’t going to save him.

Suddenly, the hum shifted, and with a sound like static snapping through the air, a bright light appeared ahead. Nathan shielded his eyes, squinting against the sudden glow. A figure emerged from the radiance, humanoid in shape but somehow… off. Its movements were too smooth, too calculated, as if each step was preordained.

Nathan backed up instinctively. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice shaking.

The figure stepped forward into the dim white aura surrounding Nathan. It was tall and humanoid, its skin a shimmering, metallic hue that seemed to ripple like liquid. Its face was smooth, with faintly glowing lines that traced its contours, and its eyes were pools of shifting light.

"You can call me your creator," the figure said, its voice resonating unnaturally, as if it was layered with harmonics.

The figure tilted its head, a slight smirk breaking the smoothness of its face. For a moment, the silence hung heavy, but then it burst into laughter—a loud, genuine laugh that sounded oddly in the empty space.

"Oh, that’s good," the figure said, doubling over slightly as its laughter slowed. "Your creator. No, no, I couldn’t keep that up. That’s hilarious."

Nathan raised an eyebrow, his nerves still raw. "Okay?"

The figure straightened, wiping a nonexistent tear from its glowing eye. "I’m… let’s call me an Overseer. A representative of a species vastly more advanced than your own. We’re the ones who created your simulation."

Nathan’s stomach sank. "Simulation? You mean Eternal Nexus?"

The Overseer shook its head. "No, Nathan. Your entire existence. Your ‘real life.’ Everything you think you know—it’s all part of a simulation we designed. Eternal Nexus? That’s just… a simulation within a simulation. A fun little distraction we let you people have."

Nathan blinked. "Are you serious? Did I just get dumped into some knockoff Inception script? What’s next, a spinning top to check if I’m still dreaming?" He tried to sound nonchalant, like he wasn’t terrified out of his mind, but if he were being honest, he was about two seconds away from shitting his pants. He stared, his mind racing to process the revelation. "Are you telling me I’m living in some kind of alien science experiment?"

The Overseer’s glowing eyes flickered, its expression unreadable. "More like an engineered ecosystem, for reasons I… can’t disclose. I’ve already said far too much. What I’m doing right now is a criminal breach of our protocols. If I’m caught, the consequences will be severe."

"Oh, that’s comforting," Nathan said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. "So, why am I here? Did you drag me out of my—" he air-quoted sarcastically, "‘simulation’—just to mess with me?"

In the back of his mind, a small, panicked voice whispered that this couldn’t possibly be happening. Maybe he was tripping on some moldy leftovers from his fridge. Expired eggs were probably to blame. Yeah, that made more sense. Any moment now, he’d wake up in his grimy apartment, maybe with Mia laughing at him for being so dramatic. But as the alien’s piercing gaze met his, the icy reality of the situation sank in. This wasn’t some weird fever dream. This was real. Or... as real as it could be.

Nathan's chest tightened as a thought crashed into him like a freight train. His eyes widened, and before he could stop himself, he yelled, "Mia! Is she... is she a simulation too?"

The alien flinched at Nathan’s outburst, his expression unreadable.

Nathan’s mind raced, his voice trembling as he continued, "Tell me she’s real. She has to be real. She’s—she’s my sister!" His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms as a cold wave of panic coursed through him. "If this is all some kind of... of fake world, then what about her? What happens to her?"

The alien paused, his face softening ever so slightly. "Mia is real," he said calmly. "Everyone you’ve interacted with—everyone you care about—has a real consciousness. They exist, Nathan. Just like you. The simulation surrounds them, but it does not define their existence."

Nathan exhaled sharply, his breath shaking as the words sank in. Relief flooded him, but it was tangled with a lingering sense of unease. "Good," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because if she wasn’t… I don’t know what I’d—" He cut himself off, shaking his head.

"You care for her deeply," the alien noted, his voice tinged with a strange kind of respect.

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"She’s all I’ve got," Nathan replied, his tone hardening. "If any of this mess touches her, I swear I’ll—"

The alien raised a hand, cutting him off gently. "Nathan, she’s safe. For now."

For now. The words echoed ominously in his head, and Nathan grit his teeth, his resolve hardening. Whatever this alien wanted, Nathan was going to figure out how to use it to keep Mia safe. Whatever it took.

Nathan opened his mouth to respond, then paused, his brow furrowing. "Wait… was it you? Did you put that glitched fragment in the game?"

The Overseer’s posture stiffened, a faint ripple passing over its metallic form. "Yes. That was me."

Nathan’s jaw tightened. "Why? What’s the point of all this?"

The Overseer hesitated, glancing around as if searching for something. The hum in the air grew louder, more insistent, and its glowing eyes flickered nervously. "There’s no time for that now, Nathan. The less you know, the better."

"Oh, screw that!" Nathan snapped. "You can’t drop something like this and just leave me hanging. What’s going on?"

The Overseer stepped closer, its tone sharper, more urgent. "Listen to me carefully. The fragment was a key—something that shouldn’t exist in your simulation but does. I needed someone like you to find it. Someone… persistent.”

The Overseer’s glowing form seemed to pulse faintly, as if gathering its thoughts. Then, its voice came, deliberate and steady, like someone carefully treading a thin line.

"Your existence," it began, "is not as arbitrary as you might think, Nathan. I chose you because you embody a certain… equilibrium. A blend of resilience, cunning, and moral ambiguity." The alien's glow dimmed, and it tilted its head as though studying him. "Qualities that this simulation needs now more than ever."

Nathan frowned, folding his arms. "Great. So, what? I’m some kind of hero in your interdimensional morality play?"

The Overseer let out a sound resembling a laugh, though it felt mechanical, hollow. "Not a hero, Nathan. A catalyst."

The Overseer’s glow brightened again. "This simulation—the world you’ve called home—is nearing collapse. Its systems are straining under the weight of unchecked greed, imbalance, and corruption. The division of wealth, power, and resources has reached a critical threshold. Soon, the framework that holds everything together will destabilize, and the world you know will cease to exist."

Nathan opened his mouth to retort, but no words came. He swallowed hard. "So… you want me to fix it? Just like that?"

The Overseer’s tone softened, almost apologetic. "I don’t expect you to fix it alone, nor would you even be capable of doing so. But I can’t intervene directly without violating certain... protocols. Injecting code to rectify the problem would be detected by my superiors, and I’d be terminated for my actions. The simulation would be left to collapse entirely."

Nathan’s brows knit together. "So, what? I’m your loophole? Your workaround?"

"Precisely," the Overseer replied, its voice carrying a faint edge of urgency. "I used algorithms beyond your comprehension to identify a candidate—someone with the right blend of attributes to enact change subtly and organically. You, Nathan, were the result. Your abilities, personality, and background make you uniquely suited to this task. You are the tipping point."

Nathan let out a hollow laugh, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Tipping point? I’m a broke, overworked guy stuck mining pixels in a game for people who barely remember my name. How does that translate into saving the world?"

The Overseer’s glow flared briefly, as if impatient. "Because you see it for what it is. You’ve lived both sides—struggling under the system’s weight and understanding its mechanics better than most. You can navigate it, adapt to it, and undermine it from within. These qualities are not random, Nathan. They were calculated."

Nathan rubbed the back of his neck, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Calculated, huh? You make me sound like a chess piece."

"A pivotal one," the Overseer said firmly. "And this is our only chance. If I fail to act now, this simulation—this entire world—will collapse. I cannot give up on it, Nathan. There’s too much at stake. Too many lives, real lives, connected to this place. I need you to bring balance, and I need you to succeed."

Nathan narrowed his eyes. "What’s in it for you? Why risk breaking your own rules for this?"

The Overseer paused, its light flickering softly as if caught in thought. "Nothing," it said finally, its voice quieter but resolute. "There’s nothing in it for me. But the love, work, and dedication I’ve poured into this world… It must not go to waste. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I stood by and watched it crumble."

Nathan stood silent for a moment, his mind reeling. The simulation, the collapse, the responsibility being dumped on his lap—it was all too much. But a small part of him, buried beneath layers of cynicism and exhaustion, stirred at the thought. For once, he wasn’t just surviving. He had a chance to do something, to matter.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "And what happens if I say no?"

The Overseer’s light dimmed, and the air around Nathan grew icy, sharp enough to sting his skin. The faint glow that had illuminated the space vanished entirely, plunging him into suffocating darkness. Then, out of the void, the Overseer’s form began to grow.

It loomed over Nathan, its glowing eyes piercing the shadows like twin suns. Its previously calm, humanoid shape distorted, stretching unnaturally until it was a towering figure that seemed to scrape against the invisible ceiling. The faint shimmer of its body pulsed erratically, flickering like a dying star.

The temperature plummeted further, and Nathan’s breath fogged in front of him. The faint ripple of water beneath his feet stilled, as if frozen in fear. A low, resonant voice filled the space—not the steady tone of before, but a deep, bone-chilling growl that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

"Then this world collapses," the Overseer intoned, its voice dropping to an impossibly deep, guttural pitch, reverberating through Nathan’s chest like a thunderclap. The words carried a bass so heavy it felt as though the very air around him was vibrating, pressing down on him like a physical weight. "And everyone connected to it will be lost."

The Overseer leaned closer, its massive form engulfing what little space Nathan had, leaving him nowhere to run. When it spoke again, the sound was a sinister growl, each syllable rumbling like an earthquake. "Including your sister."

Nathan staggered back, his heart pounding in his chest. The words hit him like a sledgehammer, the icy finality of them squeezing the air from his lungs. His hands clenched into trembling fists as he tried to steady himself, but the towering presence of the Overseer made him feel impossibly small.

"Shit," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the oppressive silence. He glared up at the massive figure, trying to muster every ounce of defiance, his eyes flashing with a challenge that didn't quite match the tremor in his chest. I’m not scared, he told himself. But his legs were unsteady, his hands clenched. His throat went dry as he forced out the words. "You had to play that card, didn’t you?"

But inside, the fear was a storm, churning and clawing at him after what the overseer had just shown him it could become when angered.

The Overseer returned to its calm, glowing form, the oppressive weight of its massive presence easing as the chill in the room lifted. "This is not a game, Nathan," it said, its voice steady and measured. "You must understand the gravity of what I’ve told you."

Nathan nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I get it," he said, his voice quiet but firm. For the first time, he realized the stakes weren’t just his life—they were everyone’s.

The Overseer’s glow pulsed faintly as it continued. "Good. Because our time is running short." It straightened, the light around it intensifying. "Here is what will happen. I will create a hidden branch in your timeline, a month before the launch of Eternal Nexus. Your consciousness, as it exists now, will overwrite that of the Nathan from that time. You will retain all your memories, skills, and knowledge. Use them wisely."

Nathan furrowed his brow. "Wait, you’re saying I’ll relive my life? From a month before the game launched?"

"Correct," the Overseer confirmed. "Your mission will be to prepare yourself. You will be supplied with enough resources to quit the menial jobs you were doing at that time, allowing you to prepare entirely on becoming the most powerful and influential figure in Eternal Nexus. You must rise to a level of strength and notoriety that is unmatched, even by the most formidable players in your current timeline."

Before Nathan could speak, the Overseer’s form pulsed with light, silencing him. "And no, I cannot supply more resources than what you will be given. Doing so would trigger the simulation's safeguards and expose us. This is already a delicate operation, Nathan. Pushing further would only ensure failure."

Nathan opened his mouth to speak, but the Overseer raised what might have been its hand—a spindly, alien construct that shimmered with energy—to silence him. "But you must not, under any circumstances, disclose any of this to anyone. Not your sister. Not your closest allies. No one. The simulation will detect any breach, and the result will be termination. For you. For your sister. For everything you know."

Nathan’s jaw tightened. "That’s a hell of a leash you’re putting me on."

"It’s the only way to maintain balance," the Overseer said. "The wealthy corporations you know today—those that have amassed unimaginable power through the game—are the root of the simulation’s instability. They have created a system so lopsided that it threatens to collapse under its own weight. Your role will be to acquire that wealth, wield that influence, and build an empire of corporations that restore humanity's dignity. You must bring balance where greed has sown chaos."

Nathan ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. "And if I fail?"

The Overseer’s glow dimmed, its response chillingly simple. "You should know by now."

Before Nathan could fully process the enormity of the task, a faint, high-pitched tone emanated from the Overseer’s form. It glanced at a device materializing from its side, an intricate construct of geometric shapes and pulsating lights. The symbols on its surface shifted rapidly, seemingly in response to an unseen signal.

"We’re out of time," the Overseer said, its tone sharp. It turned to Nathan, stepping closer. "Brace yourself."

"What the hell does that mean?" Nathan started, but his words faltered as the Overseer placed what resembled the palm of its hand—a web of glowing lines and pulsating nodes—onto Nathan’s forehead. The contact sent a wave of electric heat coursing through his skull, making him gasp.

The Overseer began to chant in a language that sounded like an orchestra of tones layered over deep, rhythmic pulses. Each syllable vibrated in Nathan’s very bones, the alien sounds unlike anything he had ever heard. As the chant grew louder, the light from the Overseer’s form began to envelop him entirely.

Nathan tried to move, to speak, but his body felt paralyzed. The room itself seemed to dissolve, fading into a swirling vortex of blinding light and abstract shapes. The Overseer’s words became a crescendo, and just as it reached its peak, the light around Nathan exploded into pure white.

For a moment, there was nothing. No sound. No sensation. Just void.

Then, with a jolt, Nathan woke up in his chair, gasping for air. The dim, familiar glow of his apartment surrounded him, the peeling wallpaper and water-stained ceiling exactly as he remembered. The faint hum of the city outside drifted through the cracked window.

He sat there, disoriented, gripping the armrests of his chair. His breathing slowed as he tried to process what had just happened. His hands trembled slightly as he glanced down at them, half-expecting them to glow or disintegrate.

But everything looked normal. Or at least, what he now understood as "normal."

Nathan exhaled, leaning back. "What the hell just happened?" he muttered to himself.

And then his eyes fell on the calendar pinned to the wall. The date glared back at him, impossible to ignore.

It was exactly one month before Eternal Nexus was set to launch.