Chapter 1

The Florida jungle was alive with chaos. Dew dripped from the dense canopy, leaving the undergrowth slick, and the air was thick with the hum of insects. Sunlight barely pierced through the tangled mess of leaves and vines. The quiet morning was shattered by the thunder of heavy boots pounding through the brush, snapping twigs and trampling ferns.

Mike’s heart was racing. His morph jumping life had thrown him into some wild situations before, but this? This felt like the intro sequence to Call of Duty, cranked to eleven.

Three men in fatigues with Special Forces eagle insignias were sprinting just ahead of him, moving like ghosts through the dense green maze. Their boots churned up the wet ground as they hurdled over tropical plants and ducked under low-hanging branches. Mike stayed low, following their lead, his own boots crunching through the brush. The sounds of pursuit—shouts in a language he couldn’t place and the unmistakable snap of gunfire—grew louder behind him.

"Pick it up, rookie!" barked the leader, a massive guy nicknamed Snake. He didn’t look back as he vaulted over a rotting log like it was a speed bump. "They’re not gonna send you a get well soon card if they catch you!"

"Yeah, no sh—" Mike started, but was cut off by a sharp slap from a branch as he scrambled after them. "This jungle’s got it out for me, man!"

"Less whining, more running!" snapped the second guy, smaller but wiry as hell. Mike dubbed him Needles. He was carrying what looked like a custom AR-15, and he didn’t break stride even as he reached back to steady Mike. "You wanna survive this, keep your head down and follow our lead."

Mike wiped sweat from his brow, cursing his situation. "I’m not built for this! My cardio is calibrated for gaming marathons, not actual marathons!"

"Then die tired, cupcake," muttered the third guy, a quiet beast of a man with tattoos snaking up his arms. Mike named him Turley. He hadn’t said much, but his eyes had a look that screamed don’t screw up.

Behind them, the jungle exploded with more gunfire. Branches shattered, birds scattered in a flurry of wings, and Mike flinched at the sound. His instincts told him to dive for cover, but the trio ahead just kept moving.

"Yo, we got Rush B tactics behind us!" Mike yelled, trying to inject some gaming humor into the tension.

Needles snorted. "You’re not wrong, noob. Except these guys aren’t spamming grenades—they’re just trying to kill you."

Snake raised a hand, signaling a turn. They veered left, cutting through a thick patch of vines. "Don’t stop moving, Karsinos! You slow down, you’re bait!"

"Bait for what?!" Mike wheezed, trying not to trip over a root.

"How ‘bout we don’t find out?" Turley growled, finally breaking his silence. He yanked Mike forward as the kid stumbled. "Keep your feet under you, city boy. Jungle doesn’t forgive mistakes."

Mike felt a surge of adrenaline as he pushed himself harder. This wasn’t some VR sim. This was raw, unfiltered survival. Every snap of a twig felt like a warning shot, every breath burned in his chest, and every damn vine seemed hellbent on tripping him up.

Suddenly, Snake skidded to a stop at the edge of a ravine. He threw up a fist, the universal signal to hold. Mike nearly barreled into him, grabbing a nearby tree for balance.

"Great. What now?" Mike panted, leaning over to catch his breath. His legs felt like jelly.

"Zipline," Snake said, pointing to a rusted setup spanning the gorge. The cable wobbled in the wind, looking about as sturdy as a dollar store charger.

"You’re kidding me," Mike said, staring at the line. "That thing screams final destination."

Needles grinned, pulling a carabiner from his belt. "You want an alternative? You could stay here and make friends with the guys chasing us. I hear they throw great after-parties. Full of bullets."

Turley clipped onto the zipline and shot Mike a deadly look. "Get your ass on the line. Now."

Mike hesitated, glancing back at the jungle. The shouts were getting closer, and he swore he could hear footsteps crunching through the undergrowth. "Fine, fine! But if I die, I’m haunting all of you."

"Yeah, yeah," Needles said, already halfway across the line. "You can ghost us after you survive this."

With a shaky breath, Mike grabbed the harness Snake handed him. As he clipped on and launched himself over the ravine, the jungle below blurred into a mess of greens and browns. The wind howled in his ears, and for a brief second, he felt the rush that came with every leap of faith.

"YEEE-HAAW!" he yelled, half in fear, half in exhilaration.

But as he neared the other side, something caught his eye—a black shape darting below the treetops. His heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t human. It moved too fast, too fluid. A chill ran down his spine as he hit the landing platform.

"What the hell was that?" Mike asked, unhooking himself.

Turley’s eyes narrowed. "Welcome to the real game, rookie. You thought this was about running? Think again."

Snake clapped a heavy hand on Mike’s shoulder. "Get ready, kid. Things are about to get a whole lot worse."

Mike’s feet pounded against the ground, his breath ragged as he tore through the dense jungle. His pulse hammered in his ears, and the unmistakable sound of gunfire cracked through the air. He wasn’t alone, though. Ahead of him, a boy, barely twelve, sprinted like his life depended on it—because it did. Beside the kid was with his dad, an older guy who somehow managed to keep pace while lugging a backpack and a camcorder.

Mike didn’t know why he was chasing them. His brain told him it was just a game, another immersive level in his morphos life. But the gnawing doubt in his gut said otherwise. This felt too real. Too raw. And people could die.

"Why the hell am I even doing this?" he muttered under his breath, his legs burning from the relentless sprint.

Behind him, the two other hunters in his squad barked orders, their voices blending into the chaos of the jungle. Snake—was yelling something about cutting off the escape and Needles, was too busy firing off rounds to say much of anything.

Mike focused on the boy ahead. Nick, that’s what they’d called him. The kid glanced back, his face a mix of fear and defiance. He was fast—too fast for someone his size. Mike felt a pang of guilt. The kid didn’t belong here. Neither did his dad. This wasn’t some shoot-’em-up game lobby where respawns were guaranteed. This was life and death, and Mike wasn’t sure whose side he was supposed to be on.

"Keep going, Nickie!" Jack Donnelly shouted, his voice hoarse from running.

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Dad, don't call me that out here, Nick whispered as loud as possible,

Jack reached back with his camcorder, the lens aimed at the chaos behind them. "Don’t look back! Just run!"

"I’m not leaving you!" Nick yelled, his voice cracking. His sneakers slipped on the damp ground, and he stumbled, but Jack grabbed his arm and pulled him upright without breaking stride.

"Not an option, kiddo," Jack snapped. He swung the camera around again, catching a brief shot of the hunters gaining on them. Bullets whizzed past, splintering tree trunks and kicking up dirt.

BANG. BANG.

"Keep that footage rolling," one of the hunters sneered. "Might make a nice in memoriam reel!"

Mike cringed at the comment. "Seriously? Can you not?" he muttered under his breath, but Snake and Turley didn’t hear him—or didn’t care.

Mike’s mind raced as fast as his legs. This wasn’t what he signed up for. He was supposed to be playing a game, testing his morphos abilities, not hunting down a terrified kid and his dad like they were prey.

"Snake, Turley," Mike called out, his voice sharp. "Do we even know why we’re chasing them?"

Snake barked a laugh. "Does it matter? Orders are orders, newbie."

Mike grit his teeth. "Yeah, but—"

"Keep your mouth shut and keep running," Turley cut him off. "Unless you wanna end up on the wrong side of this chase game."

Mike clenched his fists, his frustration mounting. "This isn’t a game," he muttered, the words barely audible over the chaos.

Up ahead, Jack veered left, yanking Nick with him. They disappeared into a cluster of thick undergrowth, and for a moment, Mike lost sight of them. He slowed, his instincts screaming at him to stop, but Snake shoved him forward.

"Don’t lose them, rookie!" Snake growled.

Mike stumbled into the clearing, his eyes darting around for any sign of the boy and his dad. Then he saw it—Jack’s camcorder lying in the dirt, the lens cracked.

"Gotcha," Turley said, raising his weapon.

"No!" Mike shouted, slamming into Turley just as he fired. The bullet missed its mark, ricocheting off a rock.

Turley spun on Mike, his face twisted in fury. "What the hell, Karsinos?!"

"They’re unarmed!" Mike shot back. "This isn’t right!"

Snake stormed over, his massive frame looming over Mike. "You wanna play hero, kid? Fine. But you better hope your noble act doesn’t get you killed."

Before they could argue further, a sharp whistle cut through the air. All three hunters froze, their heads snapping toward the sound. It was Nick, perched on a fallen tree just a few yards away. He had a slingshot in his hand and a defiant grin on his face.

"Come and get me, losers!" the boy taunted.

"Son of a—" Turley started, but before he could finish, Nick let the slingshot fly. The projectile—a rock, by the look of it—smacked Turley square in the forehead.

"Ow! You little—" Turley clutched his head, cursing.

Jack appeared behind Nick, grabbing the boy’s arm. "Time to go, kid!" he said, dragging him away.

Mike watched them disappear into the jungle, a strange mix of relief and dread washing over him. He knew he’d have to explain himself to Snake and Turley later, but for now, all he could think about was the look in Nick’s eyes—fearless, determined, and way too real.

As the jungle swallowed the father and son, Snake turned to Mike, his expression dark. "You just cost us the game, rookie."

Mike shook his head, his jaw set. "If this is a game, I don’t wanna play anymore."

Jack skidded to a halt, yanking Nick by the arm. Both of them were breathing hard, their lungs burning from the relentless sprint through the humid jungle. Their clothes were shredded, clinging to their sweat-soaked skin, and their faces bore a mix of exhaustion and raw determination.

"Come on, kid," Jack said, his voice low but urgent. "We’re almost there."

Nick nodded, swallowing hard to suppress his fear. He tried to match his dad’s resolve, but his twelve-year-old body was screaming for rest. "Almost where?" he gasped.

Jack didn’t answer. Instead, he bent down and grabbed a thick tree branch, dragging it behind him to erase their tracks. The branch tore through the damp ground, scattering leaves and dirt, creating a chaotic, wide trail.

Behind them, the sound of snapping twigs and heavy boots echoed closer. The hunters weren’t far off.

"Keep going," Jack ordered, shoving Nick ahead. "Stay low, keep quiet."

Nick darted forward, his legs trembling with fatigue. He could hear the men closing in, their voices barking orders, their footsteps relentless.

Mike was in the middle of the pack, his boots pounding against the uneven ground. Sweat dripped down his face, and his heart raced—not just from the running but from the gnawing confusion in his mind.

Why the hell am I chasing them? he thought. This was supposed to be a game. Just another level in his morphos training. But nothing about this felt like a game anymore. The dirt, the heat, the screams—it was all too real.

Snake, the massive hunter leading the charge, suddenly came to a stop where the trail had been scrambled. "What the hell is this?" he growled, his voice like gravel.

Turley, the other hunter, spat on the ground and pointed to the mess of tracks. "Smart bastard’s trying to throw us off."

Mike stood back, catching his breath. "Maybe we should fall for it," he muttered under his breath.

Snake shot him a glare. "What was that, rookie?"

"Nothing," Mike said quickly. He wasn’t about to get into it with Snake again. The guy was already pissed that Mike hadn’t taken a shot earlier when they had a clear view of Jack and Nick.

"Split up!" Snake barked, gesturing for Turley to take one direction while he took another. "You, rookie," he said, jabbing a finger at Mike, "stay here and figure out which way they went."

Mike groaned. "Oh yeah, sure. Leave it to me to clean up the mess."

"Just do your job," Snake snapped before stomping off into the jungle.