CHAPTER 2: SECOND DEATH

Kyle stood motionless, his mind struggling to process the alien interface that had just branded itself into his consciousness. The white motes had become a part of him now, their cold fire settling into his bones like winter in the projects—familiar yet strange, painful yet necessary.

Marcus broke the stunned silence first, his voice cracking with hysterical revelation. "We are in a god damn game, bro."

The absurdity of it struck Kyle like a fist to the gut. Here they stood, covered in alien blood, one brother already lost to this nightmare, and Marcus was talking about video games. Yet something about those words resonated with the floating character sheet now etched behind Kyle's eyelids.

"Yeah, for sure. Like, have you ever played Zelda? This shit is like Zelda," Kyle heard himself say, the words tasting foreign on his tongue, as if borrowed from some alternate version of himself—the kid who'd sometimes escaped to the game store instead of running corners.

Dex spat on the ground, the glob of saliva disappearing into the too-soft earth. "Fucking nerds."

"Shut your bitch ass up," Marcus snapped, eyes wild with conviction. "I'm serious. This is some kind of game."

Kyle's gaze drifted back to the dead creature, its blood still seeping into the soil, its essence somehow absorbed into his being. Numbers and categories now organized his existence. Level 1. Stats. Abilities. The terminology settled into his understanding with disturbing familiarity.

"We survived a lot of shit growing up," Kyle said, his voice low, contemplative. "I was never good at Zelda, though. But I know what I did to win." His lips curled into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I put in cheat codes."

"Nah, deadass though," Marcus insisted, stepping closer, his body practically vibrating with realization. "But this is more like Elden Ring. I wonder if pain exists here the same way?"

The question hung in the humid air for only seconds before Dex's open palm connected with the back of Marcus's head, the sound sharp and final.

"How's that feel, idiot?" Dex's voice dripped with contempt. "You heard JT. Did he sound like he was having a good time?"

The mention of JT's name fell between them like a corpse, heavy and accusatory. Kyle's stomach clenched as the memory of that scream—abruptly silenced—replayed in his mind. They'd run. Left him behind. The brotherhood that had survived two decades of street warfare had fractured in seconds.

The silence stretched, weighted with guilt none of them were ready to articulate. The jungle continued its alien symphony around them, indifferent to their moral crisis.

"We can't let his second death end in vain," Kyle finally said, the words dragging up from somewhere deep and raw. "Let's grind this shit and go kill that thing."

Dex's eyes narrowed, a shadow passing across his features. "Second death, huh? Was that supposed to be funny?"

Kyle met his gaze without flinching. In the Five-Eight, you never showed weakness, especially when you felt it most. "I mean, a little bit. Shit, maybe he'll have a third. Who the fuck knows?"

The words were callous, a shield against the grief that threatened to swallow him whole. It was easier this way—to treat death as just another obstacle, another corner to navigate. Sentiment got you killed in Spanish Harlem. Maybe here too.

But behind the facade, something twisted in Kyle's gut. JT had been there when he'd lost his first tooth, when he'd caught his first case, when he'd buried his mother. And now he was gone, torn apart in an alien jungle while they ran like scared children.

Kyle's eyes dropped to his hands, still sticky with the creature's dark blood. Eight unbound points floated in his mind, waiting for assignment. Another reminder that whatever rules governed this place, they weren't the ones he'd lived by. Death wasn't final here—it was a transaction, a currency exchanged for power.

The interface in his mind flickered with potential, with choices he'd never been offered before. In the Five-Eight, your path was chosen before you took your first breath. Here, for the first time, he faced options.

"So," he said, his voice steadier now, "we either figure this shit out or we die. Again." His eyes lifted to meet those of his remaining brothers. "And I don't know about y'all, but I'm not too keen on finding out what a third death feels like."

Marcus nodded slowly, his earlier frenzy settling into determined focus. Dex merely gripped his spear tighter, veins standing out along his forearms like worms beneath soil.

Kyle closed his eyes, letting the interface flood his consciousness again. Those eight unbound points hovered in his mind's periphery, a temptation and burden both. The memory came unbidden—sixth grade, his mother still trying, still believing she could salvage something from the wreckage of her life. The fluorescent lights of that doctor's office had cast everyone in a sickly pallor as the man in the white coat spoke about Kyle's wandering mind, his inability to focus, the ADHD diagnosis that would follow him like a shadow.

"Yeah, that fucker wanted to put me on medication," Kyle muttered to himself, the bitterness of that day still fresh after all these years. His mother had nodded along to the doctor's words, her hands clutching her purse so tightly her knuckles went white—the same way Dex now gripped his spear. "Fuck that shit."

But now, staring at those unbound points, a dangerous question formed. What would it feel like to be smart? To have clarity of thought for once in his miserable life? The streets hadn't valued intelligence—not the kind measured in books and tests. But here, in this blood-soaked alien landscape, perhaps different rules applied.

Something reckless and hungry unfurled in Kyle's chest as he allocated six points to intelligence, his decision made before caution could intervene. The confirmation pulsed through his mental interface, and the change rushed through his mind like a cocaine high—familiar yet terrifying in its intensity.

It wasn't like becoming someone else. It was like becoming more of who he already was, but with the volume turned up until every frequency hit like a bass drop. His ADHD still rode him hard – thoughts bouncing off each other like bullets in a metal room – but now each ricochet left marks he could read, patterns he could trace.

The jungle around him revealed new layers: the strange birds adjusting their flight paths according to thermal currents he could now perceive; the decaying blood of the beast changing colors as it oxidized, chemical processes playing out in real-time before his eyes. Old memories surfaced with crystalline clarity—the way JT used to tap his fingers when he was nervous – three quick taps, pause, two slow ones, always that pattern. The exact shade of red his mother's hair turned in summer light, copper and flame intertwined. The serial number on the first piece he ever held, forgotten until this moment: KG549032, scratched into metal that had smelled of gun oil and power.

His mind devoured these details, starving for input after years of surviving on instinct alone.

"My intelligence just literally quadrupled, my G. I definitely feel the effects," Kyle said, the words flowing with newfound clarity, each syllable carved from the thick jungle air. "I wouldn't say my brain works differently. I just feel more... you know what I mean?"

Dex's face twisted with familiar skepticism, the same look he'd worn when Kyle claimed he could flip a half-brick in an afternoon. "Nah, son, I don't."

Marcus leaned forward, curiosity etched across features. "What did you start with?"

"I started with two," Kyle admitted, the truth bitter in his mouth.

A bark of laughter escaped Dex's throat, cruel and comforting in its normalcy. "Ha! Fucking dumbass." The words carried no real malice—just the casual brutality that had bound them together since childhood, sharp edges that somehow fit together without drawing blood.

Marcus chuckled too.

"I started with three," Dex added, with smugness in his tone.

If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Kyle's mind caught the posture, the slight shift in Dex's weight—tells he'd always sensed but now could interpret better. "Oh, my bad, genius."

His eyes slid to Marcus, who stood straighter now. "What about you, Marky Mark?"

"I started at five," Marcus replied, chin tilting upward. "So yeah, you motherfuckers are dumb."

Kyle let that sink in for a moment. Five was more than double what he'd started with. Back home, who was smartest never mattered much—who was quickest to pull, who had the most heart when shit went sideways—that's what counted. But here, these numbers suddenly meant everything.

He studied the character sheet floating in his mind again, trying to make sense of the strange categories and values that now defined him in this world. There had to be a way to get more information.

"I tried asking in my mind what all the numbers mean and got nothing. It seems like this place isn't forthcoming," Kyle said, testing the weight of this new vocabulary on his tongue, words he'd heard in courtrooms but rarely used himself.

"Forthcoming," Dex repeated in a mocking voice, the corner of his mouth hitching up in that familiar half-smile that could mean amusement or danger, sometimes both.

"I put three in intelligence and you're right, I do feel it," Dex continued, running his hand over his close-cropped hair, "but yet I feel the same."

Kyle nodded, fingers tracing invisible patterns in the air as he considered his remaining points. "I'm going to put one in strength and one in agility."

"I'm putting the remaining points in strength and vitality," Dex said, his voice carrying the same casual authority it had when dividing up corners back home. "I think that's health and shit."

Their eyes turned to Marcus, who stood with his head slightly tilted, as if listening to music only he could hear.

"Mark, stop being so fucking mysterious over there," Dex called. "What are you doing with your points?"

Marcus blinked, pulled back from whatever internal calculation had consumed him. "Well, if you idiots have to know, I'm putting three in intelligence and one in everything else but resilience." His finger tapped against his thigh nervously. "But do you see that shit at the bottom, though? Affinity, core type, energy... I wonder what the fuck that is."

"I don't know, but how much energy do you have?" Dex asked, a new curiosity edging his voice. "I have one hundred and twelve."

"One hundred and twelve? That's more than me. I have ninety," Marcus replied, forehead creasing.

Kyle felt a strange warmth bloom in his chest, an unfamiliar sensation that took him a moment to identify as pride. "Well, look who's coming out on top this time. I have four-fourteen." He spread his hands, a street hustler revealing a winning hand. "I'm not trying to brag or anything, but goddamn, that's like four times more than yall."

For a fleeting moment, Kyle wondered what JT would have had if he'd made it to this point—how his numbers would have stacked up, what choices he would have made with those ghostly, hovering points. Then he banished the thought, pushing it down into the crowded graveyard of regrets.

The jungle's alien sounds filled the silence that followed. Kyle closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. Behind his eyelids, those stats and numbers swam—unfamiliar yet somehow making more sense than anything in this twisted place.

When he opened his eyes, a new resolve hardened within him. Survive. Whatever this place was, whatever game they'd been thrust into, he'd beat it. They'd beat it..

Kyle watched Dex pace, shoulders tight with restless energy. "So what do you nerds think we should do now?" Dex stopped his pacing, waiting for an answer.

The question hung in the heavy air. Kyle sifted through possibilities, cataloging priorities with an awareness that still felt strange.

"Well, think about it as if we were in a game," Kyle said, lips quirking. "We need to survive, right? So maybe we should focus on finding water 'cause you know I'm feeling parched."

Dex jaw working. "So smart guy, how are we supposed to do that?"

Kyle's fingers tapped against his thigh, a rhythm he hadn't consciously chosen. "I'm just using my thoughts here, but maybe we follow other animals, see where they go. Or maybe we find some footprints in this soil, see where that leads."

They fanned out, eyes fixed on the ground. Kyle's gaze caught indentations in the soft earth—wide, splayed marks that reminded him of dog paws but larger, deeper.

Marcus crouched nearby, tugging at his sweat-soaked shirt. "We should get more comfortable." He pinched the fabric away from his skin.

Without discussion, they set to work. Kyle tore at his sleeves, fabric ripping along the seam. Dex followed suit, slicing his jeans at the knee with the edge of his spear. Marcus worked methodically, creating strips they could use as makeshift belts.

Kyle tied the fabric around his waist, cinching his newly-made shorts. "This ain't the hood no more, bro. No need for swagger."

Dex snorted, adjusting his own belt. "Speak for yourself."

Kyle's attention returned to the tracks. He studied them, fingers hovering just above the soil. The imprint felt fresh, edges still defined in the spongy soil. He glanced up, following their direction.

"These head that way." Kyle pointed through a gap in the dense vegetation, toward where the sun cast longer shadows. "If it's an animal, it might lead to water."

Marcus finished with his modifications, wiping sweat from his forehead with a torn sleeve. "Worth a shot."

Dex retrieved his spear. "Better than standing around waiting for something else to try eating us."

They moved in formation—habits from the streets transferring seamlessly to this jungle. Kyle took point, eyes tracking the paw prints while scanning for movement ahead. Dex covered their flanks, spear ready. Marcus brought up the rear, glancing back every few steps.

The jungle thickened as they advanced. Strange plants brushed against Kyle's exposed skin, leaving trails of moisture. Some retracted at his touch, curling away like frightened animals.

"You seeing this shit?" Kyle whispered, nudging a purple-veined leaf with his knuckle. It shrank away, trembling.

Marcus leaned in, eyes wide. "Plants don't move like that back home."

"Nothing here works like back home," Dex muttered, keeping his distance from the vegetation.

The tracks led them deeper into the jungle, winding between twisted trunks and hanging vines. Kyle cataloged everything—the way certain plants grew in clusters, how the light filtered differently through various canopy sections, the gradual increase in moisture in the air.

"Listen." Kyle said. They paused.

A distant sound cut through the jungle noise—water moving over rocks. Kyle felt a surge of satisfaction, sharp and clean.

"Told you," he said, unable to keep the pride from his voice.

The sound grew louder as they pushed forward. The vegetation thinned, giving way to a small clearing. A stream cut through the jungle floor, water running clear over smooth stones. On the opposite bank, a creature bent to drink—a four-legged beast resembling a cross between a hyena and a jackal, but with armor-like scales covering its back, each scale glistening with a subtle, metallic sheen.

Kyle froze, hand raised to halt the others. The creature remained unaware, muzzle dipping to the water's surface. Its matted fur hung in patches between the armored plates.

"What the fuck is that?" Dex breathed.

Kyle shook his head once. "No idea. But it's drinking, so the water's probably safe."

They watched as the creature finished, head lifting to scan its surroundings. Its eyes—amber and alert—swept across their position without catching. It turned and trotted into the jungle, disappearing between thick trunks.

A notification flickered in Kyle's mind:

[New skill acquired: Tracker (Novice 3)] The ability to read subtle disturbances in nature, interpreting faint marks in soil, broken twigs, and trails. Your eyes decipher the hidden language of the wilderness, understanding movements and behaviors through the signs left behind.

Kyle stiffened as information flooded his brain. Patterns in the dirt jumped out with new clarity—weight distribution.stride length and gait, track shape and detail, disturbance to vegetation, hair, fur, or feather evidence and much more.

"Did you guys feel that?" Kyle turned to the others, eyes wide. "I know how to track now. Like, really track."

Dex's brow furrowed. "Feel what?"

"No, bro." Marcus shook his head. "Nothing here."

Kyle's hands moved in small gestures, trying to capture what he couldn't explain. "It's like... I just understand it now. The tracks, the signs. Everything."

Marcus exhaled. "Coast clear?"

Kyle nodded, stepping into the clearing. "Let's not waste time."

Kyle crouched at the stream's edge, arms outstretched. His fingers broke the surface, sending ripples across water clear enough to see the smooth stones beneath. The coolness shocked his skin after the jungle's heavy heat.

He cupped his hands and lifted them, water leaking between his fingers. He hesitated, eyes darting to Marcus and Dex as they mirrored his movements.

"You first," Dex said, nodding at Kyle.

Kyle brought his hands to his mouth. The water hit his tongue—no distinct flavor, just wetness against his parched throat. He swallowed, waited, then filled his hands again.

"Tastes alright," he said, voice rough. "Like bottled water, not the chemical-filled shit they we got out of the drain."

Marcus grunted his agreement, face dripping as he drank greedily. Dex maintained smaller sips, eyes never settling on one spot for long.

Kyle wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The creek gurgled beside them, a sound both alien and familiar. He straightened, rolling his shoulders back.

"I got to tell you guys, I think we can go hunting now. Like, I feel like I know so much about tracking animals out of nowhere."

Dex snorted, flicking water from his fingertips. "Alright, boy wonder. Don't you think we're going to need a place to, you know, sleep?"

Marcus stood, water droplets catching in his stubble. "A shelter."

"Yeah, that's important." Kyle scratched his neck, eyes drifting to the darkening jungle around them.

"Yeah. Step two, I guess," Kyle said, his words hanging in the humid air as the alien sun began its descent beyond the trees.