I sat hunched over the couch in my cramped dorm room, surrounded by the clutter I’d long stopped noticing. Outside, the late fall air was cool, almost biting, the kind of chill that seeped through the old window cracks. New York City always felt different in the fall—quieter, somehow, despite the constant hum of traffic and life just beyond the campus gates. The leaves had turned shades of amber and burnt orange, carpeting the ground in brittle piles that rustled with every gust of wind. From where I sat, I could see the shadows of bare branches swaying against the dim streetlights, the sky turning that deep, endless blue that only came with October.

Everyone on campus was in a kind of transition, trying to finish their midterms and preparing for the Thanksgiving break that loomed in the distance. Some were packing, getting ready to visit family, others planning trips or cramming for exams. My dorm was usually buzzing with noise—friends knocking on doors, music blasting through the thin walls, someone laughing or arguing in the hallway—but tonight, it was quieter. A few footsteps here and there, the faint hum of someone’s TV, but mostly, just that cool, quiet fall air pressing in from outside. It was like the city was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

The room itself was a testament to the chaos of college life: my desk covered in papers, notebooks, and half-emptied coffee cups, the small kitchenette cluttered with dishes no one had bothered to wash for days. The radiator, ancient and creaky, clanked uselessly in the corner, doing its best to keep the cold at bay but failing miserably. The dim lamp on my desk flickered now and then, casting long, jittery shadows over the mess. Despite it all, I loved this place. It was mine—messy, lived-in, a space where I could lose myself in whatever project had caught my attention. And right now, that project was the mysterious game console sitting in my lap.

I remembered the day vividly. Curiosity had led me into the shop, my friends groaning in reluctant accompaniment. The antique tech store was a hidden gem, tucked away between two towering buildings. The moment I stepped inside, I was transported to another era. The air was filled with the musty scent of old paper and aged wood, mingling with the metallic tang of antique machinery. Shelves upon shelves of relics lined the walls—vintage radios, rusted typewriters, and early computers with bulky monitors that looked like they belonged in a museum.

I wandered through the aisles, marveling at the intricate craftsmanship of the bygone era. It's incredible how far technology has come, I thought, running my fingers over the polished wood of an old phonograph. My eyes scanned the room, taking in the sheer volume of items, each with its own history, its own story to tell.

That’s when I saw it. Tucked away in a corner, partially hidden behind a stack of old videotapes, was a strange-looking, unmarked retro game console. Its sleek, black surface was smooth, and the design was unlike any I had ever seen. Beside it lay a single game cartridge, equally mysterious, with no label or markings. What is this? My heart skipped a beat, the inexplicable pull toward the object growing stronger with each passing moment.

I reached out to pick it up, the console cool and heavy in my hands. The surface was glossy and polished, but as I looked closer, I saw faint symbols etched into the plastic, almost imperceptible unless you knew where to look. The game cartridge was equally enigmatic, with no label or indication of what game it might contain. This isn't just any old console...

The old man appeared out of nowhere, leaning against the counter as if he had been expecting me all along. His eyes glinted with a secret amusement, as though he were privy to a private joke. He watched me for a moment before speaking.

"You've found something interesting, haven't you?" he said, his raspy voice breaking the silence.

"It's... unlike anything I've seen before," I replied, turning the console over in my hands. "What is this?"

The old man shrugged nonchalantly. "It's been here for ages. Can't say I know much about it, other than it's been collecting dust. No place for it in the store anymore, so you can have it for free."

My curiosity piqued, I pressed further. "Do you know what kind of console it is? Or what game does this cartridge go with?"

He shook his head, the amusement never leaving his eyes. "I'm afraid I don't. It's a mystery, even to me. Someone brought it in years ago, and it's just been sitting here ever since. Figured someone like you might find a use for it."

I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the story, but the old man seemed genuine in his ignorance. "Consider it a gift," he said with a sly smile, as if aware of some hidden truth.

Two days later, when my friends and I returned to the store for more information, it had vanished. In its place stood a trendy new coffee shop, all sleek chrome and exposed brick, bustling with customers. There was no indication that the antique store had ever existed. The mystery gnawed at me, and I became obsessed with unraveling the console's secrets, trying every technique I knew to get it working.

Now, after weeks of tinkering, I still hadn’t figured out what it was—or what it did. But I was close. I could feel it. The air felt charged, like the moment before a storm. My fingers moved deftly over its strange, weathered surface, tracing the ancient symbols etched into the buttons. The console was humming faintly now, that low, steady vibration that had eluded me for so long. It was almost alive in my hands, the symbols glowing softly in the dim light of my desk lamp.

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“Mel, seriously, you’ve been at this for hours,” Sam’s voice broke the silence. He was standing by the kitchenette, hands full of groceries, but his tone wasn’t impatient—just concerned. He always had that calm, steady presence, like he was there to remind me when I’d gone too deep into something and forgotten the world outside. The sharp scent of onions filled the air as he started chopping, prepping a quick dinner. “Don’t you think it’s time to eat or, I don’t know, maybe stop for the night?”

I glanced up briefly, seeing him move with that same methodical care he always did. His brow was furrowed, but not because of me. He kept glancing at his phone, tension tightening the lines around his mouth. I knew something was bothering him—probably something back home—but Sam never liked to talk about it unless pressed. He was heading home in a few days, taking the early morning train to visit his family, and though he hadn’t said much, I could tell he wasn’t looking forward to it.

“Five more minutes,” I muttered, my eyes already back on the console. I adjusted a wire, feeling a spark of anticipation build in my chest. I’m close. I can feel it. Just a little more.

On the floor, Leo was sprawled out, scrolling through his phone, his legs stretched out lazily. He wasn’t really watching me—just keeping an eye on things like he always did. Leo was always the restless one, never content to sit still for too long. His fingers tapped absently at the screen, but I could feel the impatience radiating off him.

“Why do you care so much about this thing?” he finally said, breaking the silence with his usual nonchalant tone. “I mean, it’s cool and all, but it’s not like it’s gonna actually work, right? It’s just some old junk.”

I didn’t even bother to answer, too absorbed in the task at hand. The console was humming now, that faint, low vibration that I’d been chasing for days. My heart sped up as the symbols on the buttons glowed brighter, the air around us thickening. The cold seemed to intensify, the temperature dropping sharply as the console’s light pulsed in time with my racing heartbeat.

Suddenly, the walls of the dorm seemed to ripple. It was subtle at first, like a trick of the light, but then the air itself shifted, growing heavier, charged with something I couldn’t explain. The console’s glow expanded, flooding the room with light, bright enough to make me blink. I heard Leo sit up sharply, his earlier boredom replaced with surprise.

“Whoa... what the hell is that?” His voice had an edge now, his usual confidence faltering.

Before I could answer, the entire room seemed to shudder. The walls bent inward, twisting and warping as if reality itself was coming undone. My breath caught in my throat. I could hear Sam calling my name, but his voice sounded distant, muffled by the strange, thrumming energy that now filled the room.

I gripped the console tighter, feeling the pull of something—something vast and powerful—yanking me from the inside out. The light was blinding now, consuming everything in its path. Then, without warning, the room collapsed into itself, and we were falling—plunging into a void of white light and swirling colors. The last thing I heard was Leo’s shout, half-excited, half-terrified, as everything disappeared into the unknown.

The room erupted in a surge of blinding light, and for a moment, I could see nothing. Every corner of my dorm vanished—the walls of my dorm, the bed, even the cluttered desk with Sam and Leo right beside me. All of it disappeared, swallowed in a flood of white so intense that I couldn’t see, couldn’t think. It was like standing inside a star, the light consuming every sense, leaving me suspended in this endless void. The hum of the console grew louder, deafening now, pulsing like the beat of some alien heart. My body felt weightless, as though I had been torn from the physical world entirely, the sensation unlike anything I had ever experienced. It wasn’t like falling, or even flying—there was no sense of movement at all, just this overwhelming feeling of being stretched, as if reality itself was pulling me apart piece by piece.

Is this how it ends? Panic flooded my mind, scrambling my thoughts. I tried to scream, to call out for Sam and Leo, but my voice never left my throat. The light swallowed everything, including my words. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to block out the overwhelming brightness, but it was everywhere, inside me, around me, drowning out every sense of reality. My thoughts spiraled, fear mixing with confusion as I clutched the console tighter, my fingers digging into the smooth surface as if holding on could somehow tether me to something real.

Suddenly, the light flickered, dimming just enough for me to make out shapes—vague, swirling outlines that seemed to twist and bend around me. I was floating in this vast, ethereal space, the walls of the dorm nowhere to be seen, the familiar world I had known slipping further from my grasp. The air here was thick, almost syrupy, pressing in on me from all sides, yet I could still breathe—barely. Every breath was shallow, and yet, I didn’t feel suffocated. It was more like the weight of existence itself was pressing in on me, pulling me through unseen layers of something ancient and unknowable.

The hum grew louder still, morphing into a low, resonant drone that thrummed through my very bones. The symbols on the console were now burning with a soft, eerie glow, casting strange, shifting patterns onto the white expanse around me. I wanted to close my eyes, to hide from whatever was happening, but I couldn’t. My senses were trapped in the liminal space between fear and awe, caught between what I knew and what I didn’t understand.

Then, without warning, the world around me shifted again. The white void began to melt away, dissolving into a swirl of colors—brilliant, impossible hues that didn’t exist in the spectrum of human vision. Blues and greens bled into shades of purple and crimson, swirling like a cosmic vortex. The air changed too; I could feel it in my lungs—heavier, cooler, and carrying with it a scent I couldn’t place. It was almost earthy, yet tinged with something metallic and sharp, like the air after a lightning storm.

And then, in a flash, it all stopped.

I was no longer floating. Gravity returned in a sickening jolt, and I hit solid ground hard, the impact knocking the breath out of me. For a few disorienting seconds, I just lay there, the world spinning around me as I struggled to process what had just happened. My heart raced, my skin tingling with the aftershock of whatever I had just experienced.