I pulled up the SYSTEM’s Integrated Development Environment, eager to dive into the SYSTEM’s OS. As the lead architect and developer for most of its core before my promotion to management, I knew its ins and outs better than anyone. Or so I thought.

The moment the interface finished loading, my blood started to boil.

"What the hell is this?" I growled, scrolling through the chaos on the screen. Each line of code was like a slap in the face. This wasn’t my design. This wasn’t a design at all! What I saw was a Frankenstein’s monster of programming—messy, inefficient, and painfully amateurish. Functions duplicated without reason, poorly named variables, and comments so irrelevant they might as well have been lorem ipsum.

My hands clenched into fists as I muttered, "Who let a toddler with a keyboard loose in here?"

Then I remembered what my code looked like when I first started out in the industry. A, B, and C were great variable names, and X, Y, and Z were fantastic loop iterators. This code has a lot of similarities to my code when I was in school. Could this system really have been maintained and expanded by amateurs, I wondered?

The sleek, modular architecture I’d painstakingly built had been drowned in a sea of junk code. The number of source code files had to be in the hundreds of thousands! Gone were the clean, efficient algorithms. Instead, layers of unnecessary complexity bogged down the SYSTEM, making even the simplest changes a slog.

My initial plan was simple: remove that ridiculous leveling system and restore the full functionality of the nanite controller, sorry… QI controller. But as I delved deeper, I realized that wouldn’t cut it. This mess needed a complete overhaul. Weeks, months, maybe even years of work loomed ahead of me.

"This is going to be a brownfield maintenance hell," I groaned, leaning back in frustration. "If I ever meet the cultivator fanboy responsible for this, I’m sending them every bug report ever written."

I took a deep breath, willing myself to focus. "Alright, Luke, you’ve done worse. It’s just code. You’ve untangled spaghetti before."

The interface beeped, interrupting my pep talk. A new message appeared in my view:

NEW TASK UNLOCKED: Redesign the QI-Cultivation SYSTEM to eliminate redundant code and improve overall efficiency.

I stared at it for a moment, then let out a bitter laugh. "Thanks, SYSTEM. Real insightful."

Reluctantly, I shut down the developer environment. Much as I wanted to start cleaning up the codebase, survival came first. I had the SYSTEM display a map showing the safe corridor through the wild nanites… ARRGGG… QI. It was time to prioritize—shelter, water, food—the fundamentals.

NEW TASK UNLOCKED: Escape the wild QI zone.

A detailed map blinked to life floating before my eyes, highlighting a path through the hospital and into an area marked as relatively clear of the rogue nanites. "Relatively" being the operative word. It still was overflowing with them, just not enough, according to the SYSTEM, that they wouldn’t immediately melt my face off. I just couldn’t stay here any longer. I needed supplies. My stomach growled loudly, as if echoing my thoughts. "Alright, food first. Shelter can wait—but only a little."

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I turned to my surroundings. The hospital loomed like a ghost of its former self, every corner shrouded in decay and shadows. The walls were streaked with long-dried water stains, and patches of mold spread like dark bruises. I tread carefully, avoiding debris that littered the floors. Shattered glass, twisted metal, and fragments of plaster crunched softly underfoot as I moved. Occasionally, I’d catch a glimpse of the world outside through oddly unbroken windows—a gray, oppressive landscape scarred by the wild QI zone.

The air was thick, carrying a stale, metallic tang that made my nose wrinkle. Each step seemed to echo unnaturally in the silence, as if the building itself was listening. My breathing felt loud, almost intrusive, as I made my way through the corridors, the glowing map in my vision guiding me.

"Focus, Luke," I muttered to myself. "Shelter, water, food. The code can wait."

Passing through a set of double doors, I entered what might have once been a supply room. The shelves were mostly empty, save for a few scattered medical supplies that had long since expired. Still, I searched carefully, hoping for anything useful. A battered first-aid kit caught my eye, and I grabbed it. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

As I stepped back into the corridor, I heard a faint sound—a soft scraping, almost imperceptible. My heart raced as I froze, straining to pinpoint the source. The glow of the map provided little comfort against the encroaching darkness. The sound grew louder, closer, and I tightened my grip on the first-aid kit, ready to swing it if necessary.

A shadow darted across the far end of the hallway, and I exhaled sharply. "Just a rat," I whispered, trying to calm my nerves. "Probably."

Steeling myself, I continued toward the marked exit. The route took me through a maintenance area, where rusted pipes and defunct machinery lined the walls. The air here was damp and carried a faint sulfuric odor, making me gag. The SYSTEM chimed, warning me of elevated levels of airborne wild nanites. I quickened my pace, my eyes darting to the map for reassurance.

Finally, I reached a short stairwell leading to a loading dock. The metal steps groaned under my weight, their surface slick with grime. At the bottom, the map directed me across the dark floor of the loading dock toward an exit door on the far wall. I slowly picked my way across the floor, trying as best as possible to avoid all the bits of rusted metal I could only half see on the floor.

Just what I need is lockjaw on top of everything else, I thought.

Eventually I worked my way to the exit. I paused near the entrance, taking a moment to steady my breathing. The SYSTEM displayed a final notification:

WARNING: You are nearing the edge of the safe corridor. Proceed with caution.

I adjusted the ragged remains of my hospital gown and stepped through the half rusted out security door, emerging into the open. The bright sunlight was blinding after the dim interior, and I raised a hand to shield my eyes. The landscape before me was surreal, an apocalyptic blend of twisted nature and technology gone awry. Metallic overgrown foliage competed with biologically twisted plants for dominance; their forms blurred by the shimmering haze of wild nanites in the air.

For the first time, I truly understood the scale of the world I’d awakened to. It was alien and hostile, yet oddly beautiful. A spark of determination flared within me. This was a world in desperate need of repair, and I was a developer with a SYSTEM to fix.

I passed through the entry door and stepped out into the alien landscape. The bright sun made me squint and I reflexively tipped my head forward so my non-existent hat brim could shield my eyes from the sun.

Damn, I am also so going to miss my DEKALB hat!