You could have everything and still fail to find a reason to wake up in the morning.

Fortunately, life offers countless hobbies and habits that keep us going.

Well, those of us without too many friends or who aren't too close with our families.

For me, it was game development.

Like many others, I grew up with a love of games and I eventually deluded myself into thinking that, if I tried hard enough and watched enough tutorials, I’d be able to make one.

I had since learnt that reality was quite harsh and in two years, I had only just begun to understand the machinations of the open source engine I’d decided to use for my game.

I used whatever free cash I had to outsource artists and other skilled individuals who helped me get as far as I did.

My game, “Name Pending”, was to be a four-player co-op, third-person shooter, rogue-like, set in a dungeon and while I had the fundamentals down, I also knew that what I had was as barebones as it got.

My pace was so abysmal that I had given up on the idea that anyone would ever play my game and was developing it mostly for myself.

“How far with that game of yours, mmm?” Asked my colleague, Rick, who sat to my right on the driver's seat of a heavily armoured truck.

He was a middle-aged man with tanned skin and thick grey sideburns that matched his gelled-up spikey hair. He had a single gold tooth and a cigar in his mouth.

His bright blue eyes remained on the road and although he was clad in tactical armor he refused to wear a helmet even though they were mandatory when in the field.

His arms were lined with tattoos that revealed the many mercenary groups he had worked for in the past.

Dotted among the tattoos were bullet scars which had yet to heal fully.

“Slow and steady.” I sighed.

Unlike Rick, I had only gotten this job, which was as a cash-in-transit guard, because I needed the cash and wasn’t good for much else.

“Haha! You say that every time I ask. Gimme the specifics, boy!”

I rolled my eyes.

Rick's high energy didn’t gel well with me.

I knew I was being a little too antisocial but I didn't particularly care.

“Just focus on the road, old man. Save the chitchat for when we’re off the clock.”

“You say that but you always disappear after work!”

Please stop talking. I begged internally as we arrived at our last stop of the day.

Armed with an assault rifle, I hopped out of the truck as it rolled to a stop and watched as the side door of its shirt trailer hissed open.

A short but equally armed and armoured woman then stepped out of it with a large silver crate in hand.

Her name was Beretta and she also wasn’t wearing a helmet revealing her short brown hair and dark brown eyes. Her freckle-lined skin was coated with sweat which was a consequence of being stuck in the rear.

“No dozing off this time, you hear?” She growled and I simply shooed her away with the wave of a hand.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ve got your back.” I droned while standing beneath the blaring afternoon sun.

We were parked by a shopping centre which wasn’t too far from my house.

I leaned against a nearby lamppost, allowing my legs to rest.

I had chosen to ignore it but I had been experiencing pains in my chest and joints.

I consulted a doctor about it and he said that I simply wasn’t sleeping and eating right.

Cooking extravagant and nutritious meals was too much of a Hassel and sleeping too early meant that I wouldn’t be able to work on my game so I carried on.

My aching eyes, however, spotted a thrift shop on the outer perimeter of the shopping centre and since I was in need of some inspiration, I decided that I would visit it after work.

Beretta eventually returned and we promptly returned to our headquarters in the center of town.

“Whew! Say, boy. Why don’t you join the Shrimp and I here for a few beers?” Rick asked as we tossed our gear into our lockers but I let out another sigh.

“No, thanks.” I declined while slipping into my hoodie.

“Come on, K! Who knows? Your gloomy ass might actually get lucky.” Beretta shot me a wink while slightly lifting her sweaty white vest but this just made me scoff.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Yeah, right. Rick would break my arms before I got you back for what happened in Goli.”

“Oh-ho! Good one! See? A night out with just the three of us would be legendary, so… you in?” Rick asked and while I could sense his earnestness and that of his better half, I was behind schedule and there was that one thing I wanted to do.

Rick seemingly saw what I was going to say and nodded in understanding.

“Bah! You know what! Nevermind! I just remembered that little Miss Shrimp here owes me for the eGoli situation too.”

Beretta shuddered before fearfully turning to me but by that time I was already walking out of the room.

I left the two lovebirds and drove to the thrift shop where I found a few interesting pieces of art but nothing stood out.

A few antiques and some carpets had definitely sparked a few nodes in my noggin but-

“Are you gonna buy something or…?”

I dragged my tired gaze to the dimly lit counter to find a woman who looked no older than twenty-five and had eyes that were just as barely open as mine.

I could smell the weed and booze on her breath even from five meters away and the amount of piercings she had made me wince a little.

That said, beneath all that was a face that lured me in.

Smooth, pale skin, dark eyeshadow and maroon lipstick contrasted aptly.

Her outfit was a combination of belts, straps and chains which were bound to her scrawny frame.

I walked up to the counter and looked into her dark eyes.

I was never big on eye contact but I couldn’t look away.

“I… want inspiration.”

Those words were stolen from me in breaths I never planned on taking.

The woman blinked once as if she rarely did so and pulled something out from beneath the cash register.

It was a book.

An old one, bound in dark red leather and covered in markings I couldn’t quite wrap my head around.

“This tome details the history of the Sunless War and its got everything an artsy Andy like you needs. An ancient conflict, some politics, its got some magic in it too. I’ll give it to you for two hundred big ones.”

Every word was slow, a sultry slur.

But two hundred was too much for a dusty book.

“That’s a little steep, don’t you think? How about one hundred-“

“It’s a deal.”

“Err…” I could only make that sound as I pulled out my wallet and paid for the book.

I then silently left the store and made my way home as if in a daze but I was seeing things clearly.

I eventually returned to my little apartment where I made myself a bowl of two-minute noodles while reading through the dusty collection of pages.

I was definitely intrigued by the first few lines.

The author, a man named Brok Stamer, spoke of an ancient war between Vampires and Werewolves in an alternate version of Europe.

He spoke of noble houses, and brutal wars that were fought under the cover of night and away from the eyes of mortal men.

In the world the author spoke of, both Vampires and Werewolves got their powers from a pool of primordial waters that was at the bottom of a labyrinthine dungeon.

Yes!

This was exactly what my game needed.

I had the skeletal frame and this book and its world would be my flesh.

I did a quick search online to see if the book wasn’t part of some preexisting franchise or established IP but found no results.

I also checked for hours on end for the book’s author but couldn’t find anything on him which was strange but at this point, it was past midnight.

I had forgotten to eat my noodles but I was now too tired to bother so I dragged myself to my bed and fell asleep.

Although my heart raced with excitement as all sorts of ideas flooded my mind.

I was now more determined than ever to finish my game and I was more than willing to give the rest of my life to it.

.

..

The following days went about as they usually did for the most part.

I went to work, came back home and did what I could on my game before my body gave in.

Since the entire game took place in a dungeon, I needed to make sure it operated perfectly on a gameplay level.

It would have one hundred levels with a major boss being on every tenth level.

Each level would be about the size of a city and the dungeon would have four biomes.

The first twenty-five levels would have lush forests and typical medieval structures and aesthetics.

The second set would be a desert, the third would be a frozen wasteland of some kind and the last would be an ornate superstructure where the high-level enemies lived.

They would protect the hundredth level which would hold that mystical pool of unknown power.

Since it was a roguelike, if a player died, they would have to start from the beginning but every twenty-fifth level would act as a safe zone.

Since it was a co-op experience, the enemies would have to be tough to balance things out and instead of traps, I wanted the environment to be what provided that sort of challenge.

Days more passed and I found out that the thrift shop with that weird girl eventually closed down.

I imagined it was because she kept overcharging customers for stuff but thought no more of it.

Days turned to weeks and weeks into months as I slaved away for the project I eventually dubbed “The Sunless War”, after its inspiration.

I lost a significant amount of weight during the two years of tireless work and, by hiring so many freelance artists, voice actors, and programmers, my game got a little fanbase online who were patiently waiting for its release and while I appreciated their support, I never planned on fully publishing it and never accepted any donations or anything.

I was barely able to keep the project alive during development and I certainly didn’t want to even think about the stress that came with a full release.

The day eventually came when I ran the last of the QA checks with a programmer I knew only as Ebonycrutch.

I had taken the day off and bought myself a can of soda to celebrate the day.

Ebony sent me a message saying all systems were a go and with bone-thin fingers, I clicked the start icon.

Tears welled up in my eyes as the main menu appeared on the screen and I wept as the music I had commissioned filled my home.

It wasn’t anything grand or fantastic.

The menu showed a team of four masked special agents who were crouched in the trees just beyond the entrance of the dungeon which was at the foot of a mountain.

The music was a sole violin which, like a wistful cry, beckoned any who listened closer.

I knew my fate was of my own making and that, if I had tried a little harder, I could have lived a longer and maybe even happier life but, as I sat in that chair, I had no regrets.

So I closed my exhausted eyes as the violin cried away, culminating in an almost painful lamentation that coincided with the last beat of my heart.

.

..

Consciousness, at least for humans, was like being inside a theatre.

You were inside your own head and peering into the world beyond.

But I could see many things, in many places at the same time.

Places which I somewhat recognized.

Floors and levels which were hidden deep underground.

But I needed to find myself in these spaces.

I thought of a centre, some kind of origin and found my perspective limited to what appeared to be a small cavern deep underground.

At the centre of this cramped space which was sealed behind a large pair of stone doors was a pool.

I could feel the surface of its clear waters, the chill beneath and the strange vitality within.

It was mine.

It was me.

My centre.

My core.