The first thing I felt was warmth.
The kind that sinks in, dragging me deeper as though the world itself was telling me to stay down.
The nap was almost too good.
My eyes peeled open slow, half-blinded by the sunlight stabbing me straight into the face through the gaps in the leaves above.
I squinted against it, eye-lids twitching as the blur faded until branches and jagged green leaves finally swam into focus.
Somewhere nearby, the birds kept chirping like their little world had never known silence.
And that's when it flooded...
The horn… That truck.
And the next moment, my breath locked up. And for a blink I was back there—
The sound of tires screeching.
Headlights blinding like a white wall swallowing my vision…
My brain snapped as my palms dug into the dirt and me jolted upright halfway, eyes whipping left, then right.
And all they found were… Just trees stretching in every direction of the small hill I woke up on.
That's when I felt it — the weight pressing across my chest.
I looked down and… froze.
The rifle.
My SR-25 was there, hanging off my torso like it had always been.
A pistol holstered on my thigh.
Magazines filling the chest rig.
And over it all, draped like the punchline to a joke, was my red cloak, keeping warm in a way that felt just right.
Raising my hand slowly, I brushed over the rifle, fingers tightening around the rail.
It felt real… a little too real.
"Am I…?" I muttered, my own voice strange in the stillness, "Am I in Endlessness?"
With ragged breath, I pushed myself upright.
And the rifle moved with me, slung against my torso, but not like it ever did in Endlessness.
Endlessness almost got everything right but never truly nailed anything.
In-game the weapon dangled, sure. But it was weight sculpted by an artist. It was someone's memory of reality.
While this wasn't…
With every shift of my body, the rifle pulled back, like it didn't give a shit who was carrying it.
Unlike in-game, the rifle wasn't moving with me… it was fighting me.
And with every heave of my chest, the magazines strapped to it moved, matching the movement of my chest.
I staggered a step, my boots crunching dry twigs making a sound that didn't feel like it came out of an algorithm. It cracked and carried through the clearing until the wind chewed it apart.
While the wind carried the musk of dirt, grass, and something sweet—wildflowers maybe.
[…Did the game get an update?]
I lifted my hand, swiping up like I'd done a thousand times before, waiting for the menu to blink with icons popping into view and tell me this was all still code.
But nothing came…. except for a gust of wind blowing my cloak in a way that didn't match Endlessness.
"This is real?" I whispered, chest heaving like I'd sprinted a mile even though I hadn't moved more than a step.
I sucked in more air than my lungs could hold, forcing it down in an vain attempt to calm my heart.
And my gaze dropped back to the rifle.
I knew this dance.
My hands had done it a thousand times in-game, but now… now each movement felt insecure.
I reached for it slow through the sheer muscle memory clicking into place.
Fingers curling around the grip as its texture bit into my palm — rough polymer, worn smooth along the edges where it had been handled too much.
My SR-25 - My girl.
And I knew…
This wasn't just some beautifully rendered asset.
This was steel, heat-treated and scarred and enchanted, with paint rubbed off its edges.
The gun-metal black showed through tan coat at the edges — scars from wars I didn't remember fighting.
[This isn't just detailed code. This is…]
I turned it left, then right, letting sunlight hit it from every angle as I scanned it's every beautiful detail.
My index finger pressed the mag release, guided by instinct alone and -
-Clack!
And the mag dropped into my hand, its weight feeling heavier than I remembered.
More real than I remembered.
Tilting it, my eyes locked on the round at the lips.
A 7.62x51.
Letting the rifle rest at my waist like a sheathed sword with sling carrying its weight, I popped the round free with too much care, like it might explode from my touch.
[God… look at this thing.]
It was cold.
Smooth in a way that pixel bullets never had been.
I rolled it between my fingers, sun light glinting off the brass casing with a shine that couldn't be digitized.
Every little crease felt just right against my fingers.
[Endlessness had crazy detail… but never this crazy. Not down to the way brass feels cold to the touch, or the way weight shifts as you roll it in your palm.]
I couldn't stop staring.
Couldn't stop running my thumb over it like some obsessive freak as my mind spun fast, damn near tumbling, trying to claw sense out of the impossible.
[This is the realest dream I've ever had… or maybe… Guess, only one way to find out.]
I slipped the round back into the mag, hands almost reverent before pulling the rifle up.
The mag slid back in with a click far too satisfying to be digital.
And with practice drilled into instinct, my thumb found the bolt release and -
—Kinch
A round chambered, intensifying the beats of my heart.
My eyes went wide like some coke-addled freak seeing god on a screen.
I raised the rifle, tilting it left as I pressed my cheek to the stock.
Through the canted red dot, I lined up on a rock jutting from the dirt.
And with that flick of the safety, my breath raged all over again with anticipation slithering in.
My grip tightened as the finger rested on the trigger.
Every nerve screaming this was stupid.
My soul begging me to do it anyway, like it wanted front row-seats to see me wake up a beeping white ICU.
And I pulled-
—Tissh!
The shot cracked like lightning, the suppressor chewing off it's sonic crack as the round smashed into the rock, sending stone shards flying all around like they'd been waiting years to be set free.
A flutter of wings resounded all around as the birds scattered, cawing and chirping.
While smoke streamed out of the barrel, twisting before my face.
The smell of burnt powder crawled straight into my lungs.
The recoil punched my shoulder in a way Endlessness never managed.
And on the ground, right there by my boot, was the casing.
And I knew it's not disappearing in a few minutes. Nor would it flicker out if I looked away.
Picking it up, I began examining it with obsession that was now borderline creepy.
This wasn't a maybe anymore.
This truly was real.
"…Have I been isekai'd?"
The words rasped out of me, broken between wide eyes and ragged breath.
And then it started.
A small chuckle slipped out…
Before growing into laughter clawing its way up, spilling out before stretching so wide across my face that it hurt.
I pressed both my palms against the cheeks like that would help… but the laugh kept clawing higher and higher, breaking loose in jagged bursts that tasted like hysteria.
My head tilted back on it's own as I roared into the open sky—
"Hah… hahahaha—HAHAHAHA!"
Reality stacked and stacked like Tetris blocks in my head.
And the only conclusion left—the one too insane to wrapped my head around—
[I've actually been isekai'd!]
[ I'm that dumb bastard in those forums, the memes. And it actually happened.]
That was it. That thought was the spark.
My chest shook harder even with lungs out of breath and before I knew it—
"HAHAHAHAHAHA—ACK!"
My beautiful realization turned into a choke, throwing me into a coughing fit that doubled me over.
And my finger… my dumb finger… was still on the trigger.
—Tissh!
Another round spat from the muzzle, kicking dirt up by my boot.
I looked down, still coughing, my eyes winded in horror, my moment dying down...
The bullet had missed my foot by inches.
"…Holy—cough—shit."