I woke up to a dim, grayish light creeping across the plains — that awkward hour before sunrise when everything looks half-asleep.
The air was still cool, damp with morning dew, and for a second, I wasn't sure if I'd actually slept or just blacked out from exhaustion.
I sat up, blinking hard, my back aching from the rough bark I'd slept against. Somehow, despite the buzzing and my paranoia, I'd actually managed to pass out. That, in itself, was kind of impressive.
"Still breathing," I muttered, running a hand through my hair.
I looked around — no strange tracks, no noises, no movement beyond the gentle sway of grass in the breeze.
Peaceful.
Too peaceful. The kind of quiet that didn't feel comforting, just eerie.
Then I noticed the real damage
My arms were dotted with angry red welts.
Mosquito bites.
Dozens of them.
I groaned and scratched at one, immediately regretting it.
"God—damn it," I muttered, scratching another bite that wouldn't stop itching knowing full well it would make it worse.
It wouldn't surprise me if I had contracted a disease by now.
I stretched my arms, trying to shake off the stiffness, when something caught my eye.
The tree I'd been leaning on — the same one I'd cursed for being uncomfortable all night — seemed to be giving off a faint color.
I squinted at it for a moment, then sighed and let it go.
At that point, I was too tired to care if the tree glowed, hummed, or started reciting poetry — as long as it didn't try to kill me, it could do whatever it wanted.
My arm burned, my shirt stuck uncomfortably to my back, and I could feel the exhaustion sitting behind my eyes.
Not the best way to start the morning.
I lifted my wrist and squinted at my watch.
4:37 a.m.
The faint glow of the screen looked almost out of place here, a reminder of the world I wasn't in anymore.
I stared at it longer than I should have, watching the seconds tick by like they meant something.
For a while, I didn't move. I just sat there, slumped against the tree, staring blankly ahead while my thoughts tangled and untangled themselves in slow motion.
My mind felt like it was buffering — jumping between fragments of logic and useless worries.
What do I do now? Which direction do I even go? What if there's no one? What if this is it?
Each question echoed and dissolved before the next one formed, looping endlessly until even thinking felt exhausting.
The silence didn't help.
It wasn't peaceful — it was the kind of quiet that pressed against your ears, made you aware of every breath, every twitch.
Even the faint hum of my watch seemed loud, like a ticking reminder that time was still moving even if I wasn't.
Eventually, I swallowed hard, forcing myself to think.
Really think.
Sitting here wouldn't help. I needed to find something.
Anything.
A person, a road, a sign, even smoke in the distance. Anything to prove I wasn't alone.
"Town"
I said softly, just to break the silence. The word felt strange on my tongue, too ordinary for a situation like this. "There's got to be one somewhere."
My voice cracked near the end, thin and dry.
I took a slow breath, steadying myself, and pushed off the ground. My legs ached from sleeping in a bad position, and when I stood, I swayed slightly, catching my balance on the tree trunk.
I brushed the dirt from my pants out of habit — as if it mattered — and picked up my blazer then adjusted my watch again, even though I knew it wouldn't help.
"Okay," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Just… keep moving. Figure it out on the way."
As I started walking, the thought slipped in quietly — if this really was one of those worlds from the stories I used to read, now would be the perfect time for a system to show up.
Something to explain what was happening, to make sense of all this.
A menu, a quest list, even a sarcastic AI companion — anything that could turn this mess into something structured.
Something I could manage.
Because if there really was a system, maybe this wouldn't feel so terrifying. Maybe I could convince myself this was just a game, something I could figure out, level through, survive.
My thoughts broke off when my stomach growled — loud, sharp, and almost comical in the stillness.
I pressed a hand against it, grimacing.
Hunger.
Of course. Another reminder that I wasn't built for this.
If I didn't find food soon, I'd probably end up collapsing before anything else managed to kill me. The idea wasn't exactly comforting.
Still, I couldn't help but mutter, "Guess it's a good thing I stuffed myself before the interview."
Too bad I'd left my phone and bag before the interview — required, they said. Would've been nice to at least play a few games while starving to death, even if finding a charger out here was a joke.
Food was one thing, but water — that was the real problem. I could probably last a day or two without eating, but without something to drink, I was screwed.
I tried to think of a way to get drinkable water.
The land around me looked deceptively peaceful — tall grass rippling gently in the cold dawn breeze, patches of wildflowers catching faint traces of moonlight.
The sun hadn't fully risen yet; the sky was still painted in pale gray and soft blue, and the moon hung stubbornly above the horizon like it hadn't decided to leave.
Despite the tall grass swaying lazily in the breeze, I couldn't spot any sign of a water source.
No stream, no pond, not even the faint trickle of runoff between dips in the land. It didn't make sense — grass this tall should've meant there was water somewhere close.
If this journey was going to take a while — days, maybe more — or if it'd take that long just to find a settlement, then I'd have to figure out how to survive on my own.
...
By the time the sun finally dragged itself over the horizon, I'd been walking for about two hours — maybe a bit more, judging by the position of the light.
I'd fallen into a routine without realizing it — walk until my legs started to burn, rest just long enough for the ache to fade, then start again. Each break felt shorter than the last, each step heavier. The air, once crisp and cool, had grown warmer, dry enough that I could feel it scraping against my throat.
By then, exhaustion had settled deep in my body — not just the kind that made my legs ache, but the kind that crept into my chest and dulled my thoughts.
Despite how long I'd been walking, there was still nothing within sight — no mountains looming in the distance, no towns or villages, not even a faint curl of smoke that might hint at people. Just the same endless stretch of plains, dipping and rising with lazy hills that all looked the same.
A few trees dotted the landscape here and there, thin and lonely, their shadows stretching long under the morning sun.
What struck me most, though, was the silence.
I hadn't seen a single animal since I woke up. No rabbits darting through the grass, no insects buzzing past my ear — just the occasional bird gliding silently above, distant enough that I couldn't even make out its call.
It was eerie, like walking through a painting that someone forgot to finish.
I kept going, my pace slower now, my mind drifting between fatigue and frustration.
Then something shifted in the corner of my vision — a shape, a texture that didn't quite match the rest of the plains. I stopped, squinting toward it.
At first, it looked like another dip in the land, maybe just a patch of dirt catching the light differently. But the longer I stared, the more it stood out. The ground there looked smoother, flatter — deliberate.
I narrowed my eyes, taking a few cautious steps forward. It wasn't natural. Whatever it was, it didn't belong in this otherwise untouched landscape.
Instinct kicked in before reason did — my body just moved. I started walking faster, then faster still, until my slow stride turned into an uneven jog.
My heart thudded in my chest, a mix of exhaustion and sudden hope pushing me forward.
The closer I got, the clearer it became. What I'd thought was just a flat patch of earth wasn't random at all — it stretched in a line, narrow and faint, cutting through the plains.
The dirt there was compacted, worn smooth in a way that nature couldn't quite replicate.
By the time I reached it, breathing hard, I realized what I was looking at.
A road. Or at least, the ghost of one — a narrow dirt path, faint but unmistakably shaped by human hands.
I stood there for a moment, catching my breath, then looked around to take it all in.
The path stretched out in both directions — one way disappearing into the hazy distance, the other curving gently behind a cluster of low hills.
There weren't any signs, no tracks or footprints, nothing to tell me which way might actually lead somewhere.
Still, the sight of it — this single trace of civilization — was enough to stir something like relief in my chest. Roads meant people. Or at least, they used to.
I let out a slow breath, feeling the weight in my chest ease just a little. It wasn't much, but it was something — a direction, a thread to follow in this endless stretch of nowhere.
If there was even the slightest chance this road led to people, then that was where I needed to go.
So I adjusted my tie out of habit, wiped the sweat from my forehead, and turned toward the horizon.
This was it — the next part of the journey. Follow the road, wherever it went, and hope it led somewhere that wasn't empty.