Peter came to a familiar yet hazy scene. He was surrounded by tall trees in the dark of night. Hemlocks, cedars and spruces all around. Their scents mixed with that of fresh musky soil and pure air, making him feel grounded, rejuvenated and at peace.

The howling wind buffeted him amidst the downpour, the rustling leaves soothing his mind. He raised his eyes to where he could just about see the moon hiding behind the clouds, before closing them and taking a deep breath.

This was his forest, his home. The nightmare was over, he was back.

Snap!

The sound of a snapping branch pulled him out of his reverie. Amidst the veil of darkness and rain, Peter's eyes locked onto the wolf darting toward him with startling speed. [Is that…?] He knew this wolf! His muscles tensed, prepared for another confrontation. But to his bewilderment, the wolf rushed past him, leaving Peter to pivot and track its trajectory only to find it gone.

Snap! Grrrrr!

More branches snapped behind him, only this time followed by a deep and loud growling, urging him to spin back around. A clawed hand clung high up on a tree trunk, drawing his gaze upward. A shadowy figure, towering on its hind legs, advanced toward him, emanating an ominous aura.

His deer in the headlights moment was just that, a moment. “You gotta be fucking shitting me!” He shouted. Instinct propelled Peter’s frozen body into action, his mind fixated on a single thought—run!

Ducking, swerving and leaping the forest unfurled before him as he sprinted, the familiar path zipping past him as he weaved through the dense foliage. He’d never moved this fast before, and his body was bursting with power. His heart pounded with the urgency of escaping the thing he could hear ripping through the forest blocking its path behind him.

His singular focus, his home. He felt it call out to him and knew he’d be safe as long as he reached it.

There! Old Man Birch, the giant crooked tree. Beyond it was the clearing where he’d built his home. He cleared the distance in record time and shot through the threshold, the front door already wide open. His hand reached for the doorknob as Peter pivoted on his leading foot and shouldered the door shut.

*******************

Peter jolted awake back on the broken platform he’d found himself on the first time around.

Before he could consider anything else, a horrendous stench assaulted his nostrils and made him gag and heave.

“Oh God, I can’t…”

Retch!

Peter desperately tried to breathe to get his stomach under control. Any and all thoughts of his dream gone.

“Oh, I can taste it.” Peter said after he tried to breathe through his mouth. “It’s so much worse.”

Retch!

He laid on his back and focused on his breathing. Concentrating on rapid inhales and exhales, he did not give his stomach a chance to react. He lost track of how long he stayed like that.

Finally, when he managed to get his body under control, he sat up and examined himself. Finding he was covered in some kind of black, translucent mucus. Peter pulled at it, grimacing in disgust seeing it form viscous strings.

Looking around, he picked up a shard from the stone platform and got to work scraping the gunk off his skin. So focused was he that it wasn’t until he got to work on his lower legs that he registered his completely unblemished skin. He instinctively pressed his hand against the side of his torso before standing up straight and confirming it with his eyes. There was no sign of the wound that should’ve doomed him. There was no sign of any injury.

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“That’s not possible.” He whispered, incredulous. His mind raced through his memory trying to make sense of the last… [How long has it been? Was it two days? Was it even one?] His mind blanked for a moment. “Wait, no. That doesn’t even matter you idiot!” He reprimanded himself as he ran his hand over his face and rubbed eyes in frustration. “Those things… they’re not possible.”

He dropped to his haunches, both hands rubbing his face now. [I died again. That’s twice now. And I’m here. Again!] He looked at the platform looking for any kind of clue, but it offered none. There were symbols all over it, but he didn't understand any them. To top it off, it’d been shattered. How could it possibly have any power to do anything? His fingers traced one of the symbols as if that would provide any answers.

Peter sighed heavily, muttering, “What the hell is going on?” as he continued to grapple with the shitstorm he’d been thrown in.

He just stayed there, eyes staring into space as his mind just replayed his memories over and over, making sense of none of them.

“Right!” he finally said, standing up, and started circling the platform. “I ain’t got a clue what any of this means,” he said looking at the symbols, “but… fuck, I really hope I’ve not gone mad, but I think I’ve just respawned.” he concluded as his brain latched on to an old memory.

Ten years ago, when he became of age and finally able to leave home he went to an armed forces fair and enlisted in the army. He was so drunk on his new found sense of autonomy and self-actualization that he’d signed up for one more thing. There was a company there that most seemed to shun as they found their present in really poor taste. Peter, on the other hand, had found it hilarious. What was it called? Hydra? Hydro? Or was it Halo? Something beginning with H followed by Virtual Reality. They had just gotten on the whole VR headset thing, but were already promoting their research into actual virtual reality worlds for those who could no longer interact with the real world in any meaningful way. What a scam! Peter was in a ‘fuck it, why not’ kind of mood that day and never thought anything would come of it, so he signed up. He barely heard what the guy… girl? Oh, yeah it was a hot chic. No wonder he didn’t even read the contract. He’d tried to get her number, but she shut him down right quick once he’d signed on the dotted line. Such a tease though. [Anything to get a signature, I guess. Hope you got a nice premium outta me.] Either way, his body would be theirs upon death, or anything that might as well be death, and in exchange he’d get a wonderful virtual afterlife. If they succeeded.

Now, he couldn't shake the silly images his strained mind conjured of him stuck in some kind of game capsule or stasis chamber all wired up to some super computer the size of a warehouse. [Global warming for the win!] He thought, amused.

Finding nothing of use around the platform, he looked towards the only path he knew was available to him. “Not yet. Still got a few ideas to play with.”

A very, very stupid notion had burrowed its way into his mind and Peter just had to test it. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves before he called out, “Menu!”

He glanced around the cave, half-expecting some kind of HUD or game interface to appear before him, but… Nothing. He felt like an idiot, but wasn’t ready to give up.

“Stat… FAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!” He cried, folding over and grabbing his head. The word was barely out of his mouth before he was stabbed through his skull.

He found his forehead resting on the cold floor by the time the stars were gone and the pain was muted enough for him to reason again.

[What was that? It was just like when I killed those skeletons. But I saw something.]

Not daring to stand back up, Peter decided to try again. After he took a deep breath. Then another. And another.

After finally steeling himself, he went for it. “S… ARGH!” His forehead was on the floor again, but he fought through the hot pokers that rammed through his eye sockets and concentrated on the afterimage of a glimpse. A window with strange symbols on it. Peter couldn’t make out any more than that before he allowed himself to let go. Unfortunately, he didn’t pass out, so he just laid there in a fetus position for hours while his head throbbed.

The last couple of hours before he finally succumbed and fell asleep he spent rocking back and forth whispering to himself, “my fault, my fault, my fault,” over and over. He had plenty of time to think about the events he went through and connected a few loose strings.

He woke up to a muted migraine, and shivering from the bone chilling cold. But it was his stomach that screamed at him right now. He had no idea how long it had been since he last ate, but finding something to eat had just jumped up in his list of priorities.

He took a few moments to center himself and put his thoughts in order as the cavern's walls seemed to close in on him. Yet, he refused to let his mind wonder back to the window with the symbols he’d seen because, in the delirium that followed, he came to a conclusion that nearly broke him. A conclusion based on the memory of a trigger he thought he hadn’t pulled and the skull shattering pain he got every time he killed a skeleton or tried to pull up the status window.

He even pushed back the questions burning in his mind, “When exactly did the game start? How much of what I remember was real?” He needed to survive first. He needed food, clothes and a weapon. And he’d take them in whichever order they came because he only had one path to follow. Besides, he was pretty sure he already knew the answers to those questions. He just wasn’t ready to accept them yet.

He stood there looking down the path toward the library, allowing himself a moment to strengthen his resolve.

“Lets go fuck shit up."