The fateful day, 2022
[Erika uses her dagger and throws it at the opponent, aiming precisely for their neck.]
[David, with higher agility stats than Erika, can see the dagger and, not suffering from any disadvantage, quickly lunges to the side to dodge, then charges forward to deliver a punch to her jaw.]
"Hey hey, you can't do that. Only one action per turn. Dodging is one, charging and punching could be in one, but that still makes two. Delete the above message and retry. Get good." Someone sent a message in the group chat to tell the two players to redo that turn.
Under the moonlight, when I am free from the burdens of the classroom, I can sit back, relax, and read through the messages of my group. It's a text Roleplaying group where the limit is our imagination and respect.
I've been a part of this community for years. There are many groups, plots, and combat scenarios people set up. Not much happened that day. Two newbies were practicing combat with their original characters named Erika and David.
But, if I'm being honest, all of us just choose an anime picture off the internet, slap a name, power kit, and personality for the character, claiming it to be our "original character" to quickly start playing. It might get us canceled if spoken out loud enough. Be nice here. Not everyone's an artist.
"Huh... I need to clean my computer."
Seeing that the hardware is getting full, I gently pat my PC on its top and silently thank it for all the trouble it went through—essays, lesson plans, pornographies, pictures I downloaded—all have to go for the better.
I put down my glasses and fix my gaze on the only active light source in the room. As I scroll through the computer disks, I exhale a puff of smoke, reminiscing about all the memories from the group's handmade memes, scribbles, and stupid moments.
"Project... Alpha, huh."
Something at the bottom of the folder catches my attention. It's a docx file containing the simple plot of a story yet to unfold. I must have written this in five minutes at most.
The plot revolves around the threat of an alien invasion taking place in 2050. A team of specialized superhumans, enhanced by suspicious alien technologies, is gathered to stay at a government facility in Nemo Point and train, preparing themselves to be Earth's defense.
"The hell... What is Nemo Point?"
"The location in the ocean furthest away from land. Often used by space stations to dump their junk."
I shouldn't think that through—about how to build and study in a facility where heavy metallic objects, maybe even feces, are falling directly above you.
A team of specialized superhumans is not mentioned any further since those spots are filled in by the players. They will create characters for themselves to immerse in that role, and someone, most likely the person who wrote the plot, will get to manage, run, and oversee the story.
After deleting that story, alongside many other unused crap, I stand up to get out of my bedroom for once, just because sitting too long reminds me of work. I feel like getting a snack at night, so I will.
"The gas bill this month is absurd."
The first thing I see is my living room table, a stack of ungraded work and stupid bills, with six weird-colored cosmic-looking stones as weights. I turn toward the kitchen and notice some leftover ramen from the weird Mongolian recipe that I did not enjoy. Ah, crab sticks. I'm noticing random stuff again.
"What's that smell, by the way?"
A terrible smell hits my nostrils.A smell of something terrible. Is it old fish? Rotten eggs? As I wonder, I start to investigate, starting from the fridge. However, the lights inside are broken for some reason. Without my glasses on, I reach out for the ceiling's light switch and flip it on.
"No! Get off me! It burns! It hurts, ARH!"
In the next moment of my awareness, a loud fiery bang occurs in the kitchen. I hadn't even blinked when my body is set ablaze by hellfire. The walls crackle as everything falls apart, and the screams of the neighboring residents trying to protect their kids ache my burning heart. I feel my skin melting, tears and drool stream down my forehead and back, as another small combustion devours what's left of my body.
The explosion causes the loss of a twenty-six-year-old high school teacher and injuries to many others.
...
05:59:50
I wake up in tears, bathed in sweat, as my flight instinct pulls me back into the safety of my blanket in the corner of the bed. But this isn't my blanket, my bed, or my room.
Unable to grasp reality, I shiver into a ball, covering up my hiccups as something tries to escape my body—emotions. Dread and anger, fear and sadness flow out of my nose and eyes in the form of bodily fluids. My heart beats to the rhythm of the continuous flow of air. I cry my heart out as I hold myself, feeling like an insignificant being, confused and afraid. The proud and loud me from minutes ago is gone, as if my skin is still breaking apart and my lungs keep breathing in fire. It takes too long to calm myself.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
I blearily look at the room from under the safety of my blanket. It reminds me of a dormitory room—rectangular, just big enough to take a few steps towards a large door in front. In the corner, I can see the shadow of a wardrobe somewhere under my feet, and on my right, in the other corner, there's a table. The only visible thing is a fashionable table clock with red lights displaying the time.
January 1st, 2050 | 06:07:23
Religious texts and scientific research didn't tell me that burning would transport me 28 years into the future with the memories of my death intact.
I return to lying in my own puddle of tears and sweat, maybe until I'm hungry or dehydrated. I just wish the sun wouldn't ignite my soul again.
The clock reads 06:59:50. It was half an hour ago when I came to terms with the fact that it's too hard for me to get comfortable again. Facing the wall, I hug myself tightly, feeling my mind duct-taping itself together.
"Reenggggg."
"Huh?" I jump to sit up at the loud sound, widening my eyes at the table clock again. Right when it hits seven in the morning, a ring echoes through built-in speakers as a male voice is heard.
"Morning roll call! All students, assemble down at the yard in five minutes."
The message can only be heard once, but the ring keeps abusing its loud power. I manually tap the clock to stop it.
"Am I a student? I don't feel... any younger."
Nothing makes sense as I try the bathroom mirror again. It's still me, as far as I remember: the twenty-six-year-old civics teacher from Canada.
It takes more effort than expected to complete the simplest task of basic morning hygiene. Then I go to cover my body with anything I can find in the wardrobe. It seems like the thing was waiting for me. On the left, there arecasual shirts with soft trousers, and on the right are my work fits—short-sleeved button-ups, dark blazers, and slightly heavier trousers. There are also long skirts, but I don't know how to deal with them and never think I look good in them.
With a pair of glasses I find in the drawer, I cover my eyes and gather the courage to open the door.
"Gosh, ah! Who in the world is senseless enough to-"
To build a door facing east, I try to say, but the sun is right there, in front of the door, immediately blinding me.
The next thing that hits me is the fresh air. Is this the smell of the sea? It's refreshing. I give myself a pat on the shoulder and walk forward to rest on some railings. It is indeed a school setting. I look to my left and right, seeing a couple of other locked rooms and a flight of stairs leading downwards.
"...Second floor."
I lean my head over the railing to look up and down, estimating that this is the second floor of a two-story dormitory building. In front of the dorm is a large yard that reminds me of my school. There are three other buildings surrounding it, and they are not really that tall either, only one or two stories.
But under the school yard, there are people, all wearing stylish dark green uniforms. I don't know if I need or have one. In a daze, I make my way down there, still in my casual clothing, to have a look.
"School without coffee... This is torturous."
I approach the crowd to get a better look. There are roughly ten young men and women in the mentioned uniform, forming two straight lines. A taller man, in his late twenties, couldn't be five years older than me, stands before them with his arms crossed behind his back, talking.
"And that's all you need to know. Remember, here is your life now."
He turns around and notices my presence. A pause occurs, leaving time for the group of seemingly "students" to look me up and down.
I consider myself to be average and above average in terms of height, barely 5'7". That's the only reason my style of clothing works. But now it adds to the awkwardness of this situation. I'm not exactly "cute" enough to be dressed in such casual, informal clothes...
"Miss Thuong, you made it. My name is Kai." The man in the black suit didn't seem to mind and reached his hand out. Instinctively, I reached back for a friendly shake before he turned to the group again. "This is your civics education and team bonding teacher, her name is Thuong. That's T-H-U-O-N-G."
"Eh, what happened to you, miss? Did you have a nightmare or something?"
"Ah!"
Shivers ran down my spine as I turned around and fell backward onto the ground. A blonde man appeared behind me, wiping sweat off my nape. He was wearing a uniform like the group that had been lining up. Taking a closer look now, I noticed that there was actually one less person in the line. Did he just teleport?
"Bang!"
A gunshot resounded right above where I fell as Kai, the man in charge, delivered a shot straight to the blonde man's forehead, killing him instantly.
I froze in place, inching ever so slightly away, my eyes widened yet blurry. Gasping for air, I shook off his blood from my clothes as Kai casually pulled out a piece of paper, looked at it, and asked, "Anyone by the name of 'Freund' present?"
"I'm here, teach!"
A girl with short white hair and wireless headphones in both ears walked up and put her hand on top of the blonde man. Suddenly, the bullet wound on his forehead healed up, and he opened his eyes again.
"You must be Adam. This is no place for joking around. One more misbehavior, and you're out."
Adam, fully recovered from the shot, acted as if it were a Friday thing. He pouted and walked back in line with the girl called Freund, but not before she helped me get up with a smile.
"As I mentioned before, your superpowers, given and enhanced by the government, will not be used in such manners as Adam there, and will be monitored by a small debut fight today."
On purpose or not, Kai stood close to me as if to prevent anyone from trying anything again. I dared not look at anyone, completely flabbergasted, confused, and scared. But looking at the ground was not helping, especially with my clothes stained red and the overwhelming smell.
One thing, however, caught my attention.
"2050... Superhumans... School facility." I looked over at Kai, the one in charge, whom Freund also called "teach."
"Where are we, sir?" I asked.
"Call me Kai," he answered. "Pacific Ocean, Nemo Point."
"..." I was speechless.
Project Alpha?
I stood there for a while, hands on my face, squatting down in disbelief, on the verge of breaking down in insanity again. I could hear Kai's orders for the debut fight, which had begun. No one bothered to check on me, which was probably for the best.
I stood next to Kai as the fight began. It was between Adam, the blonde man from before, and another man with black hair in a sword fight.
I didn't have the mental capacity to focus on the battle as Adam teleported around, slashing and dodging with incredible speed, while the other man put up a good fight, not displaying any significant unnatural powers.
They lunged backward from each other, taking a breather before charging forward simultaneously, their swords clashing.
A piece of metal flew from their swords and hit my forehead, killing me instantly.
...
05:59:50 | January 1st, 2050
I woke up in tears, drenched in sweat. My flight instinct crawled me back into the safety of the blanket in the corner of the bed. But this was not my blanket, my bed, or my room.