"Is it getting darker already?" Markle squints at the square sun hanging lower in the sky. The white bark of birch trees surrounds him, their algorithmic patterns creating a maze he's wandered into without realizing how far he's gone.
"Should've paid more attention," he mutters, turning in a circle to get his bearings. Each direction looks identical – white trunks against darkening sky, pixel-perfect leaves blocking the view.
He'd left his makeshift shelter that morning, determined to explore. The birch forest had seemed inviting, peaceful even, with its light colors and gentle rustling.
Now, with sunset approaching, the forest feels different. The spaces between trees grow darker by the minute. Shadows stretch across the block-ground like grasping hands.
"I need to build another shelter." Markle reaches for his wooden tools. "Or find my way back to the old one."
A twig snaps somewhere behind him. Markle spins around, pickaxe raised defensively. Nothing there but more trees, more identical white bark.
"Just a sheep or something," he tells himself. But the hairs on his blocky neck stand up anyway. A feeling of being watched crawls over his skin.
The sun dips lower, casting the forest in a sickly orange glow. Markle moves faster now, gathering wood as he goes. No time to be picky about materials.
"Come on, come on," he whispers as his fingers work the crafting table. "Basic shelter. Four walls and a door. Nothing fancy."
Another sound, closer this time. A rustle that doesn't match the wind. Markle freezes, listening intently. The sound doesn't repeat.
His eyes dart around the darkening forest. Were the trees always this menacing? Their patterns seem to form faces in the growing shadows.
"It's just the game spawning mobs," he reminds himself. "Standard nighttime mechanics. Nothing I haven't seen before."
But he's never been inside the game before. Never had to worry about actually being torn apart by pixelated monsters.
The last rays of sunlight filter through the leaves. Markle abandons his half-built shelter and starts running. He needs to find open ground, somewhere defensible.
"Stupid, stupid," he pants as he weaves between trees. "Should've started building hours ago. Office worker to zombie food in one day."
A groan echoes through the forest – the unmistakable sound of a Minecraft zombie. Markle's blood turns cold. The sound came from ahead.
He skids to a halt, feet sliding on grass blocks. Changes direction, veering right. His robes catch on a low branch, pulling him back momentarily.
"Not like this," he gasps, tearing free. "Not on my first day in digital purgatory."
The forest darkens to deep blue around him. Night has fallen. Somewhere an enderman teleports with its distinctive sound. A skeleton's bones clatter nearby.
Markle runs faster, his blocky legs pumping mechanically. Each footfall makes the familiar stepping sound from the game, a rhythm of panic.
The zombie groan comes again, closer now. Followed by another from a different direction. They're spawning all around him, filling the nighttime world.
"Should've made a sword," Markle berates himself. "Should've mined stone. Should've done literally anything else besides wander into a forest at sunset."
A gap appears in the trees ahead – a small clearing bathed in moonlight. Markle sprints toward it, hoping for enough space to see what's coming.
He bursts into the clearing and stops short. His breath catches in his throat. A zombie stands on the far side, its pixelated green flesh glowing in the darkness.
"No, no, no." Markle backpedals, only to hear another groan behind him. He turns to see a second zombie shuffling from the trees.
The first zombie lurches forward, arms outstretched. Its vacant eyes fix on Markle with hungry intent. Its jaw hangs open at an unnatural angle.
Markle bolts to the left, the only direction that seems momentarily clear. His feet pound against the grass blocks as he races back into the forest.
Branches whip past his face. Tree trunks loom out of the darkness at the last second. He weaves between them, guided only by panic and moonlight.
"This isn't happening," he gasps between breaths. "Not real. Not real." But the groans behind him sound very real, too close for comfort.
A spider hisses somewhere to his right. Markle veers left again, diving deeper into unfamiliar territory. The forest seems endless now, a procedurally generated nightmare.
His foot catches on an exposed root. Markle stumbles, arms pinwheeling. For a moment, he's airborne, suspended in the strange physics of this world.
Then he crashes into something solid. Something that groans on impact. Something cold and rigid that smells of rotting flesh.
"No!" Markle scrambles backward on the ground, looking up at the zombie he's collided with. Its dead eyes stare down at him, its mouth agape.
"This is it," he thinks, raising his arms in a futile defensive gesture. "Death by cubic zombie. Keller will be so disappointed about that Bramson proposal."
The zombie tilts its head, regarding him with what almost looks like curiosity. Then it does something no standard Minecraft zombie should do.
"Chosen One not afraid," it says in a gravelly voice. "Zombies no hurt Chosen One."
Markle blinks, his fear momentarily displaced by shock. "You... you can talk? Like the ones in the stronghold?"
The zombie nods its blocky head. "All zombies talk. All zombies know Chosen One." It gestures at Markle with a stiff, pixelated arm.
"How do you know who I am?" Markle asks, cautiously getting to his feet. The zombie doesn't move to attack, just watches him with those vacant eyes.
"All zombies know. Magic man from lightning. Brotherhood tell us. Tell all zombies." The creature taps its decaying temple. "We connected."
More zombies emerge from the trees, forming a loose circle around the clearing. None approach. They stand at the edge of the darkness, watching.
"Connected? What do you mean connected?" Markle eyes the growing zombie audience with renewed unease.
The first zombie makes a gargling sound that might be a laugh. "Zombies talk in heads. No need words. All zombies hear. All zombies know."
"Telepathy?" Markle's eyes widen. "You're telling me all zombies in this world share some kind of hive mind?"
The zombie nods enthusiastically, its head bobbing at an angle that would break a human neck. "Yes! Yes! Zombie mind-speak! Very useful!"
Another zombie shuffles forward, this one wearing the tattered remains of what might have been leather armor. "Brotherhood send message. All zombies protect Chosen One."
"And all zombies watch Chosen One," adds a third from the edge of the clearing. Its voice sounds female, though its blocky features are indistinguishable from the others.
Markle turns slowly, taking in the circle of undead observers. "You've been watching me? All day?"
"Not all day," the first zombie clarifies. "Only when near zombie. But word spread. Chosen One in forest. Chosen One alone."
"Great," Markle says, running a hand through his pixelated hair. "I've got zombie stalkers. That's... comforting."
The leather-armored zombie takes another shambling step forward. "Chosen One help Brotherhood. Chosen One bring back Dragon. Make zombies more."
"What does that even mean?" Markle asks. "Make zombies more? More what? More zombies?"
"More than zombie," it replies, gesturing at itself with disgust. "More than walking dead. Dragon give purpose. Dragon give power."
The female-voiced zombie joins in. "Before Dragon die, zombies have magic too. After Dragon boom, zombies just... zombies."
Markle looks from one undead face to another. Their expressions don't change—can't change—but their body language conveys a desperate hope.
"And if I decide not to help resurrect your dragon?" he asks carefully. "What then?"
The clearing goes silent. The zombies exchange glances, a wordless communication passing between them. Finally, the first zombie speaks.
"Then all zombies know. All zombies everywhere." It steps closer, its dead eyes never leaving Markle's face. "Chosen One betray Brotherhood."
"And that would be... bad?" Markle takes a small step backward, suddenly aware of how many zombies surround him.
"Zombies everywhere," the creature repeats, gesturing to the forest around them. "Zombies in caves. Zombies in mountains. Zombies under oceans."
The female zombie makes a sound like a sigh. "Nowhere safe from zombies if Chosen One betray. Nowhere to hide from zombie mind-speak."
Markle swallows hard. His new digital body doesn't sweat, but he feels a phantom sensation of cold perspiration on his neck.
"So it's help resurrect the dragon or be hunted by every zombie in the game?" he clarifies, trying to keep his voice steady.
The first zombie's mouth stretches into what might be a smile. "Chosen One understand now. Very smart. Very magic."
"I haven't agreed to anything," Markle says quickly. "I'm still... processing all this."
"Process fast," the leather-armored zombie suggests. "Dragon wait long time already. Brotherhood getting impatient."
Markle looks up at the blocky moon overhead. In the real world—his world—he'd been invisible. Just another office drone pushing papers.
"What exactly would I need to do?" he asks, not quite believing he's considering this. "To resurrect the dragon, I mean."
The zombies stir excitedly, shuffling their cubic feet. The first one speaks again, its voice carrying an almost reverent tone.
"Find dragon egg. Find End portal. Perform ritual with Brotherhood. Very difficult. Very dangerous. Very magic."
"And you think I can do this because...?" Markle spreads his hands questioningly.
"Lightning bring you. Storm magic. Only magic strong enough to cross worlds can bring back Dragon." The zombie points at Markle's chest. "Magic inside Chosen One."
Markle looks down at himself, at the strange runic symbols on his robes that occasionally shimmer in the moonlight.
"I don't feel very magical," he admits. "I feel like an accountant who took a wrong turn into the twilight zone."
The zombies stare at him blankly. Humor doesn't translate well to the undead, apparently.
"Chosen One help," the female zombie says. It's not a question. "Or zombies hunt. Simple choice."
Markle nods slowly, weighing his limited options. "When you put it that way, it does seem pretty simple."
The first zombie makes that gargling laugh again. "Good choice, magic man. Zombies protect now. Zombies guide to Brotherhood."
"Not tonight," Markle says quickly. "I need... time. To prepare. Learn about this world." To figure a way out of this mess, he doesn't add.
The zombies confer silently again, their vacant eyes never leaving him. Finally, they seem to reach a consensus.
"Thirty suns," the leather-armored one declares. "Chosen One has thirty suns to prepare. Then join Brotherhood for dragon ritual."
"Thirty days," Markle translates aloud. "That's not much time."
"Dragon wait ages," the first zombie reminds him. "Thirty suns very generous."
The zombies begin to shuffle backward, retreating to the edge of the clearing. Their message delivered, their threat made clear.
"We watch," the female zombie calls as she disappears among the trees. "Always watch. Remember mind-speak."
Soon only the first zombie remains, its dead eyes fixed on Markle with unnerving intensity.
"Chosen One smart to help," it says quietly. "Dragon powerful. Make zombies more. Make Chosen One more too, maybe."
"What does that mean?" Markle asks, but the zombie is already turning away, shambling back into the darkness of the forest.
Left alone in the moonlit clearing, Markle Voig stares at the space where the zombie vanished. His digital heart beats a steady rhythm in his cubic chest.
"Thirty days to resurrect a dragon," he says to the empty forest. "Or become the most wanted man in a world full of monsters."
The birch trees offer no reply, their white bark gleaming like bones in the moonlight. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howls.
Markle sits heavily on a grass block, his mind racing with impossible choices in an impossible world. The night stretches long ahead of him.