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LOCATION: ISLE OF LIGHT
CITY: SEYCHELLES
DATE: AUGUST 21, 2026 | TIME: 11:55 PM
Gideon Blackwell lay down in his bed. His wife was already asleep next to him. She was on her back, arms strewn over her head, and she was snoring softly. He got annoyed and rolled her onto her side. The snoring faded to near silence.
"Finally some fucking silence," he muttered into the dark room.
Overall, Gideon was pleased with himself. When the North Koreans struck the USS Ford four months ago, his defense company logged the largest single order contract in their history.
But something about the situation tugged at his mind at the time, and he decided to retire and sell his shares to the board.
They'd just assumed he was getting out while he was on top, and obliged his request. Gideon cashed out with just over $40 billion dollars to his name.
Not even a month went by before North Korea fell, and Russia pulled out of Ukraine. When war was your business, world peace was not ideal.
Still, he got out just in time. And now, with this gambit to limit the world's supply of everlasting life, he and the few chosen ones could reshape the planet as they wished.
Gideon sighed and smiled.
His wife had turned to face him.
He fluffed his pillow and turned to his left side. Facing away from his wife. Her breath always stank at night and he didn't want anything ruining his excellent mood.
He closed his eyes and it didn't take long for Gideon Blackwell to finally drift off to sleep.
He dreamt of a new world where only the worthy survived. There would be a horrible culling to start, but after that, the survivors would all be in perfect health and live forever. It was a true utopia.
Maybe he'd even trade up for a younger wife.
Yeah. That's the idea.
Suddenly, an ear-piercing shriek and the sound of glass breaking all around yanked him from his dream.
He looked around. The floor-to-ceiling glass surrounding his bedroom on three sides had shattered, and high winds buffeted the palm trees just outside.
Gideon looked down, and the spot on the bed where his wife had been sleeping was marked with blood and gore, but she was nowhere to be seen.
He panicked. Reached into the drawer of his nightstand where he kept a loaded gold-plated Desert Eagle pistol ready for self-defense.
Lightning flashed outside, and the room lit up for a split second. His hand rummaged around, but the drawer was empty.
"Who took my gun?" he shouted. But nobody answered.
Then he heard the shriek again. What were those spirits from Irish legend?
Banshee.
That's it. The shriek sounded like a banshee.
He leapt out of bed and paused, remembering the stories his grandfather used to tell him as a child.
The Banshee's role in Gaelic folklore was to warn a person or family of their impending death.
A chill ran down his spine, and he continued looking around to find something. Just as a bone-rattling thunderclap sounded out, he spotted an iron poker on its stand next to the fireplace.
Gideon ran for it and held it out in front of him as he turned in a circle, trying to get his bearings.
"What the fuck is going on?" he muttered.
His gaze kept returning to the red spot on the left side of his oversized bed. He felt bile rising in his throat, and bent over to spew the remaining contents of his stomach onto the plush carpet floor.
Then he raised his arm to wipe his mouth, and realized he was fully dressed in… what is this called? A rough cloth tunic and breeches? He looked like a fucking peasant from medieval Europe.
"Ridiculous…"
He stepped into the wide, marbled hallway.
"Rourke! What the fuck is going on?" he shouted.
He took a few steps forward, iron poker at the ready. All the windows in the house were broken, and glass shards covered the floor everywhere.
He was glad that whatever this stupid outfit was made of included boots of thick leather that protected his feet.
The wind howled through the mansion, and rain started to fall outside, coming in through the windows at a 45° angle.
Gideon almost slipped on the wet floor several times as he worked his way through the house. It was completely empty, but he found six separate spots that contained enough blood and gore to make him vomit again. If there was anything left.
He kept calling out for his wife and kids, but nobody answered. And every few minutes, he would hear the banshee's shriek. It always came from a different direction.
Once it had come from directly behind him. He spun around to find nothing, but he'd emptied his bladder into his new cotton breeches.
Good thing it was raining enough outside to cover it up. That would be embarrassing.
He stepped out of the mansion onto the long, concrete walkway heading down toward the guest houses.
As he walked, he tried yelling for Rourke, but the wind and the storm overpowered his voice.
He kept moving south toward the beach when he finally spotted movement. It was a group of his friends. Gideon ran forward, and they all shouted out to him.
They were standing under the gazebo that did nothing to shelter them from the storm, but he noticed that all the windows of the guest houses were shattered in the same way as his mansion.
He looked around. Counted the group.
Twenty-two men including himself.
Some were armed with iron pokers or kitchen knives, but Gideon noticed nobody had any firearms.
"What in the hell is going on, and where is everyone else?" he asked.
As if in response to his question, everyone's vision was overlaid with a screen at the same moment.
Gideon tried to blink, to rub his eyes, but it wouldn't go away.
Text began appearing as if someone were typing in real time.
---
System Message
Gideon Blackwell
Welcome to the System.
The System exists to guide, support, and elevate your growth.
Through effort and choice, you will unlock potential far beyond traditional human limitations.
Please prepare for Combat Class Selection.
…
Error…
…
Analyzing…
…
Your actions have forced an intervention.
No Combat Class will be assigned at this time.
Due to your choices, you have now entered:
[Scenario: Nightmare of the Deep]
You must defend yourselves against waves of enemies. Death will not release you from this prison of your own making.
There will be opportunities for redemption, but you must discover them for yourself.
Defeat at the hand of your foes will return you to the beginning, and you must begin again.
Countdown to First Wave: 00:09:59
You may bring up a progress screen anytime by thinking "Progress."
---
"Gideon, what the fuck is going on?" one of the men asked.
"I have no idea—"
Suddenly everyone's vision was filled with another screen.
---
Character Status
Name: Gideon Blackwell
Race: Human – Augmented
Class: [Limited]
Level: 0
Profession: [Limited]
Level: 0
Health: 75 / 75
Stamina: 50 / 50
Mana: 0 / 0
Core Attributes (Stats):
Strength: 5
Dexterity: 5
Endurance: 5
Vitality: 5
Intelligence: 5
Wisdom: 5
Charisma: 5
Perception: 5
---
"What is this, a fucking video game?" another one of the men asked.
"No idea," Gideon said, "but I suggest those who don't have a weapon go find one. We only have nine more minutes before whatever this is kicks off."
Gideon looked down at his hands and gripped his iron poker tighter.
His mind was racing, but above all else, he saw himself as a survivor. How bad could this scenario be if death only meant starting over?
He stepped out into the raging storm and raised his arms up as he lifted his head toward the sky.
"Bring it on, motherfuckers! I'll show you what Gideon Blackwell is made of!"
The raindrops stung his eyes, but he refused to close them. He began laughing like an evil villain in a movie.
Several of the men glanced at each other, silently questioning their life choices in that moment.
---
Countdown to First Wave: 00:06:42
---