Is this what respawning was like? My gamer brain, which had cataloged countless digital deaths, screeched to a halt. Arcade games? You croaked, you were back at the start. Newer ones? Checkpoints, baby! But I hadn't died or even technically lost, so why was I stuck in what felt like a cosmic loading screen, replaying the same day?
I was back in my old world, which was confusing enough, but it felt less like a homecoming and more like I was still trapped inside a really glitchy game. A game where my old life was the current level. Is this really my old world? Carlos, bless his perfectly groomed head, was playing his part like a seasoned NPC, a brother from another mother still oblivious to my multi-dimensional drama. Clearly, I was missing some critical patch notes here.
With newfound grace (born from previous head-banging experience), I dangled my feet over the side of the bunk bed and executed a flawless dismount, expertly dodging the low bed board. Victory! Then, my foot brushed something that skittered across the floor. Aha! The paper bag. The one with the dusty rose and chocolates. It hit me like a revelation, specifically like a red Ferrari sports car, yung red, from some ancient cracker advertisement of my childhood. Mimi! The name popped into my head, wrapped in a confusing ribbon of mixed emotions. I had completely, utterly forgotten about her in all the boapede-and-golem-dodging chaos. I scooped up the bag and placed it on the bed, a new, slightly unsettling thought blooming. Is she the mission here? Only one way to find out, and frankly, anything was better than analyzing AC unit performance.
I washed my face again, the soulless zombie in the mirror staring back, probably wondering why I was still here. I tried to conjure a confident smile, even raised my brows twice for maximum charisma, aiming for "charming Romeo." Instead, I achieved "guy who definitely has a basement full of taxidermy squirrels." Close enough for a loop day, I figured. I took a leak... again, one that felt like it had its own geologic timeline, grabbed the bag, and set off on my, frankly, bizarre new mission. I marched into the building, straight for the elevator. Seventh floor, I chanted mentally.
"She wouldn't like that," a voice rumbled, so close it felt like someone had installed a subwoofer directly into my ear canal, before I could even touch the up button. I jumped, doing a little startled hop. I looked to my right, and there he was: Dennes. Not Dennis, Dennes, materializing beside me as if he'd just phased through the wall, his eyes already dissecting the contents of my paper bag. My heart, which had just survived a multi-dimensional trauma, did a little panic flutter. "Don't startle me like that, you human jump-scare!" I yelped.
"She's way, way above your league," he declared, his voice flat as a discarded pizza box, completely unfazed by my near-death-by-heart-attack. He just stood there, arms crossed, like a sentient mannequin judging my life choices.
"Dude, give me some space, would you?" I pleaded, trying to maintain some semblance of personal bubble, which Dennes apparently viewed as a negotiable concept. "And why are you even here? Our floor is in the other building!" I pushed him gently on the shoulder, expecting him to, you know, step back. Instead, he slid. Seriously, he just skidded across the smooth floor like a piece of poorly-assembled IKEA furniture, his soles squeaking a protesting chorus. I swear, this guy was a glitch in the Matrix, even in my pre-Isekai life. Dennes, the guy who always chose to sit beside me on the production floor, who had a knack for popping out of thin air just to belittle everything I did, like it was his divine calling. One time, when he saw me proudly sporting a Lamb of God band t-shirt, he blurted out, "I wouldn't wear that." Another time, when I was late, I dared to sit at a vacant station between two people, and lo and behold, the person to my right transformed into Dennes, Matrix-style, declaring, "You're late again. I told Karen you were here." Seriously, the universe seemed to have a personal vendetta. I jammed the Up button on the elevator.
The elevator door opened with a ding, revealing a car packed tighter than a sardine can after an earthquake. No room for me, not even a molecule. I glanced at my phone. 7:20 AM. "Oh quack," I hissed under my breath, my grand plan to casually "bump into" Mimi on her production floor going up in smoke. I bolted for the stairs, racing up like a caffeine-fueled hamster on a wheel. I reached the 7th floor, panting heavily, my lungs staging a hostile takeover, feeling like they were about to explode in a gooey, pulmonary mess.
As I burst through the stairwell door, I nearly collided with Garry, Mimi's team lead. He was our "Kuya" (older brother) from college, along with Carlos, and his brother owned the computer shop where we'd spent more time than in actual classes. Now, he was a little chubbier and sported suspiciously blonde hair. "Kaizer, why are you here?" He looked genuinely puzzled, probably wondering why I was hyperventilating in the hallway. "She went out 7 flat."
"WHAT?!" I wheezed, my lungs still doing the macarena. Oh, come on! I just ran a full marathon up seven flights of stairs just to find out she'd ghosted the floor already? "Thanks, buddy, I owe you one!" I yelled, already pivoting. I dashed for the elevator, its display mocking me with a brightly lit "14th floor." "Oh, man," I groaned, "Stairs I go, again!" I spun around and charged back to the stairwell. As I dashed down, my foot betrayed me. It snagged on a step, sending me flying, headfirst, into a dizzying tumble down the stairs.
And there it was again. The alarm clock, ringing and buzzing with its usual demonic glee. The unmistakable scent of dried human secretions, a perfume I was quickly growing to despise. The Siberian cold of the sleeping quarters. I slapped my phone, turning off the alarm with a practiced swipe.
Oh man, I'm stuck in a loop, I told myself, the realization settling in like a particularly uninvited houseguest. I need to know what's going on. Let's backtrack. My mind played a mental rewind, like a grainy VHS tape of my recent past. After leaving the Giant's Science Lab, it was already night, so I decided to head home. Thanks to my cloak's handy "shadow" ability, I was able to sneak past the night creatures with the stealth of a ninja librarian. Eventually, I reached my humble shack built into the wall. I unfastened my sword and laid it on the ground beside my makeshift bed. I removed my satchel from my shoulders and emptied its eclectic contents onto the slab of rock that served as my table: coin purse, my trusty zagboo canteen, my utterly dead phone, wallet, keys, the tiny golden apple, and my never-absent spoon.
My gaze drifted to the golden apple, and with a familiar little ping, a general awareness prompt flared in my vision:
An Apple a Day: Action: Consume for a 1-Day Free Pass to the Waking World. Once consumed, game mechanics will be revealed.
Oh, shoot! A cold dread settled in my stomach, like a brick of very confused ice. I had consumed the apple because, well, I was hungry and frankly, too lazy to go out foraging for food. Now I'm here! I thought, staring at the ceiling. And I need to know these "game mechanics" if I'm ever going to break this cosmic Groundhog Day.
Wait, what's that? I noticed a tiny red dot glowing on my messages app. With a hesitant finger, I tapped on it. The screen displayed three new text messages from—you guessed it—The GameMaster.