My bravado, the one that made me mutter "Let's go" just moments ago, quickly evaporated into a thick, clammy dread. The sunlight, which seemed so hopeful from the shack, now just felt… exposed. What in the actual hell was I going to do? No plan, no supplies, just a rusty kitchen knife and a glow rock that felt more like a pet than a tool. I ran a hand through my greasy hair, already feeling the full weight of the "survival game" I was unwillingly playing.
Then, a sudden, blinding flash: the map! The hand-drawn, highly inaccurate, possibly dinosaur-era map from the shack. That's it! I needed high ground, somewhere I could actually see without getting ambushed by something with too many eyes or pincers. A place where I could check that map without becoming monster-food. I found a section of crumbling ruins, almost completely swallowed by vines and trees, but still clearly showing a second story with some vegetation covering it from view —just like my cubicle on the production floor, secluded but with a good view of who's coming, where I used to browse the internet while doing my job at the same time.
I moved with as much stealth as my aching muscles and new "Basic Sneak" skill allowed – which, let's be honest, probably looked more like a confused crab trying to interpret mime. I scaled the crumbling wall of the ruins, finding handholds where the roots had cracked the ancient stone. As I pulled myself onto the precarious hanging second floor, dislodging a cascade of pebbles and dust, a blur of black and dots darted from under a collapsed archway. My General Awareness immediately pinged:
Kazoo - Threat Level: Unknown - Description: Poisonous salamander resembling a weasel.
The Kazoo, a slick, black salamander with tiny varied dots on its body, looked at me with what I swear was pure disdain, then immediately scrambled away, disappearing into the undergrowth below. At least it was reclusive. And apparently, not interested in a bruised, disheveled Isekai protagonist.
General Awareness: Kazoo - Threat Level: Low - Behavior: Reclusive
I found a relatively flat, crumbled pillar nearby. It was probably part of some gigantic altar or something equally imposing. I wiped the surface clean of dirt and loose rocks with my hands, then carefully pulled out my most prized possession: the map. Laying it flat, I began to scan it, my focus laser-sharp. Food sources. That was priority number one. And then I saw it. A faint, almost imperceptible pulsating red dot. East-north-east. Upper right corner of the parchment. "Hey, wait," I whispered, my voice thick with disbelief. I blinked hard, rubbing my eyes. Was I hallucinating? Sleep deprivation? PTSD from the Boapede? But it stayed there. Pulsating.
Cautiously, I reached out a finger, trying to smudge it away, erase it. I nudged it left, then right. And then, my jaw dropped for what felt like the tenth time that hour. The map moved with my finger. Left. Right. It followed. Holy. Moly. I tentatively pinched the parchment with two fingers, and the map zoomed in. I widened them, and it zoomed out. My breath hitched. I zoomed in. And out. In. Out. Faster. Faster. A smirk, a slow, wild, utterly unhinged grin spread across my face. I couldn't help it. Laughter bubbled up, starting as a low chuckle, then rising to a maniacal cackle that bounced off the ancient ruins and echoed through the silent forest. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" I shouted, tears streaming down my face, a mix of relief and pure, unadulterated madness.
Around me, small animals—probably those rabboars I kept trying to stealth past—bolted, startled by the sudden outburst. Their frantic scrambling faded into the distance. "Whoops," I said softly, still with that utterly unhinged grin plastered to my face. My eyes, still wide and manic, rolled upwards. "Google Maps," I whispered, then burst into historical laughter again, swaying slightly like a lunatic. I looked at it again and saw that around my location and the path from the abandoned shack had visible detailed drawing, and the surroundings were like shadowed and didn't show any landmark like the clear details of the path I'd just taken.—"But unexplored," I mumbled, my grin faltering only slightly, "but that's alright, at least I wouldn't be walking aimlessly anymore." I hugged the map, the knife, and the rock covered with cloth smiling and with teary eyes. I thought I might survive after all. The Coocoos looking at me from up the trees are now shaking their heads thinking I had lost it.
Grroooowwwwlll. My stomach protested, a loud, vulgar rumble that ripped through my euphoria, dragging me back to brutal reality. My hand flew to my belly. "Can you see I'm having a moment here?" I demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at my protesting digestive system.
GRRROOOOWWWLLLL! This one was louder, fiercer, and now, pain twisted my gut. "Owwww!" I doubled over. "Food. We need food. Gotcha."
Think, Kiko, think! I paced the crumbling floor. It's hard to think when my tummy is staging a full-blown rebellion, demanding better wages and tax cuts. My internal organs were clearly on strike.
Then, a familiar voice, almost a jingle, popped into my head. My brain's TV memory kicked in: a man in the wilderness with survival gear, looking grim and determined, advised, "Insects are a good source of proteins, but avoid brightly colored ones, blah blah blah." My empty stomach couldn't register the boring bits. "Edible tree bark, find the soft inner layer, blah blah blah," he continued, "hunting, blah blah blah," and finally, "berries in the wild, blah blah blah."
"Berries!?" I declared, cutting off the survival expert's memory of eating uncooked frog like it was just another day in the wild.
I looked at the map again. And there it was. Food. Berries? Located east from my position. I zoomed in to see if, as I walked, the blinking light would move too and it did. My crazy smirk appeared in my face again, I danced at the moment and tried to do a moon walk but failed. "Now I know what direction to go," I thought, my heart soaring. "Berries it is then."
I packed my things with newfound purpose. My rusty kitchen knife felt less like a crude tool and more like a proper sword now that the map was, well, magic. I found a way to hang it at my back, tying it awkwardly with a piece of linen cloth I'd scavenged from the shack.
The old linen top itself, which I'd found in the shack earlier, now felt less like an oversized rag and more like proper adventuring gear, despite looking ridiculous on my body.
With my gear secured, I carefully navigated my way down from the ruins, back to the chaotic jungle floor. Every step was deliberate, every rustle of leaves was noted. But this time, it wasn't just blind panic. This time, I had a direction.