[He...lloooo...?]
A voice, high-pitched and strangely melodic, yet utterly devoid of human inflection, drifted into Sierra's slowly returning consciousness. She kept her eyes squeezed shut, clinging to the last vestiges of sleep, convinced it was just another bizarre dream.
[Is the host still in sleep mode? This is highly inefficient. At this rate, she'll be late among the others later!]
The voice persisted, now muttering to itself, and a prickle of unease shot through Sierra.
Host? Others?
Her gut twisted; a chilling suspicion formed that this disembodied, non-human chatter was, in fact, about her.
[That's right! While she's here, I can actually make physical contact! If my extensive database on human awakening protocols serves me correctly, the most effective method involves a sharp, percussive impact to the facial region. A slap, yes! Excellent! Proceeding with optimal wake-up protocol!]
Sierra's internal alarm bells blared.
...A slap?!
This voice, whatever it was, sounded entirely too pleased with its questionable methodology. Her survival instincts, honed by years of avoiding awkward social encounters and aggressive pigeons, screamed at her to wake up now.
Her eyes didn't flutter open gracefully. Instead, they snapped wide, pupils dilating in an instant, like a zombie rising from the grave in a low-budget horror flick.
[Whoaaa!!! You scared me, host!!! But thank goodness you're finally awake!]
Sierra blinked. Then she blinked again. Her brain, still fuzzy from its impromptu nap and the recent existential crisis, struggled to process the sight before her. Hovering mere inches from her nose was a miniature, cartoonish penguin. It had disproportionately large, innocent eyes, complete with an absurdly small bow tie, flapping a tiny flipper in a gesture that was currently poised in a comically aggressive "slap" position.
A chibi penguin with bow tie. Floating. And it was going to slap me awake.
She imagined trying to explain this to anyone. "So, I was on this bus, right? And it started phasing through traffic like a ghost. Then, a giant, glowy hole in the sky ate us. And when I finally came to, I'm being harangued by a pint-sized, floating penguin with an aggressive wake-up strategy."
A hysterical laugh bubbled up, quickly stifled. Who would believe her? Not her friends, not her family, certainly not a psychiatrist. She'd be institutionalized faster than she could say "anthropomorphic avian alarm clock."
The penguin tilted its head, its expression unreadable, but Sierra could swear it looked slightly miffed that its dramatic wake-up call had been preempted.
Sierra did her best to avoid the penguin's enormous, unblinking eyes, which seemed to be silently pleading for her to offer her cheek for a ceremonial slap, despite her very obvious state of consciousness.
Then, a jolt of memory. The bus. The runaway bus. The glowing vortex.
"Oh my god! The bus! What happened to the bus?! And that... that light hole thingy! Am I dead? Is this the afterlife? And is my designated angel of death a fluffy, violent penguin with a penchant for face-slapping?" Her voice rose several octaves, bordering on a shriek.
She frantically scanned her surroundings. Her jaw dropped. She wasn't on a bus, or even a street. She was floating in an infinite expanse of inky blackness, illuminated by countless glowing blue screens that floated in mid-air, casting an ethereal glow on her. Arcane symbols and lines of what looked suspiciously like computer code scrolled across their surfaces.
So, purgatory is... digital? Like a really, really bad operating system?
The penguin, apparently miffed by her accusations and her sudden, dramatic flailing, huffed. Sierra, in her bewilder ment, had unconsciously drawn one knee up to her chest. The penguin, seizing the opportunity, promptly perched itself on her kneecap, planting its tiny flippers on its tiny hips, looking for all the world like a very cross, very fluffy drill sergeant.
[I am not the god of death, host! I am a System! And my primary directive is to prevent your untimely expiration!]
"Huh? Wait, what do you mean? A system? Prevent my death? Aren't I already... you know... deceased?"
Sierra, who had been mentally composing her epitaph – something along the lines of "Here lies Sierra Ming, who died single, broke, and having never experienced true love, but at least she didn't have to do Brenda's coffee run ever again" – suddenly felt a surge of renewed, albeit confused, hope. The thought of her final moments being overshadowed by memories of her boss's insufferable niece and endless errands was truly a fate worse than death.
The penguin shook its head, a surprisingly human gesture for a creature made of pixels and algorithms.
[You are very much alive, host. We successfully teleported everyone to this... interstitial space... moments before the actual, rather messy, accident occurred.]
"...An... accident?" Sierra's voice was a barely audible squeak. A cold dread, far worse than the fear of a ghostly bus, began to seep into her bones. This sounded less like a rescue and more like a cosmic delay tactic.
[Indeed!]
The penguin chirped, its previous cheer momentarily replaced by a chillingly matter-of-fact tone.
[You, and every other carbon-based lifeform aboard that particular mode of public transport, were slated for imminent demise. A sleep-deprived long-haul trucker was scheduled to perform an unscheduled, high-impact maneuver directly into your vehicle. Hence, our timely intervention approximately sixty seconds prior to said vehicular obliteration.]
The system paused, its tiny flippers clasped in front of its chest, a dramatic beat of silence hanging in the digital void.
[However... this is merely a temporary reprieve. You are all still teetering on the precipice of oblivion. To return you to your original timeline now would be... counterproductive. You would simply re-engage with your pre-programmed demise. A rather messy affair, all things considered.]
Sierra's face blanched, her lips trembling, a thousand questions forming and dissolving on her tongue. But before she could even stutter out a single syllable, the penguin's demeanor underwent a startling transformation. Its depressive, tension-filled aura vanished, replaced by an almost blinding, saccharine cheerfulness. Its voice, now oozing with the slick enthusiasm of a seasoned insurance salesman, practically sparkled.
[But fear not, dear Host! For that is precisely why I, your humble System, am here! I am your personal guide, your digital guardian angel, here to help you deftly sidestep the cruel hand of fate! Should you choose to accept the Main System's assigned tasks, you shall not only survive but thrive! And upon the successful completion of your mission, you will be seamlessly returned to a point precisely ten minutes before the aforementioned unfortunate incident, thus averting the entire catastrophe!]
The penguin puffed out its chest, looking immensely pleased with its sales pitch.
[So... will you embrace this extraordinary opportunity, Host? Will you allow me to be your steadfast companion on this grand adventure? Everyone else has already signed on the dotted line, so to speak!]
Everyone else?!
Sierra's mind, still reeling from the concept of a sleepy truck driver and digital purgatory, latched onto that phrase like a lifeline.
"Everyone... you mean..."
[The other passengers from your bus, Host. They're all in various stages of orientation, though none as... resistant to the concept of a helpful system as yourself.]
"I'm not resistant!" Sierra protested, rubbing her temples with phantom fingers. "I'm just... still processing the existential whiplash! One minute I'm contemplating Brenda's abysmal coffee-making skills, the next I'm in a digital void with a talking, slap-happy penguin with bow tie!" Even in this ethereal, non-corporeal state, the stress-induced headache felt remarkably real.
[I comprehend your... cognitive recalibration, Host. However, I must impress upon you the urgency of a swift decision. My internal diagnostics indicate that one of your fellow passengers has already commenced their transmigration process, eager to delve into the intricacies of their assigned mission. Should the primary objective initiate before your acceptance, you will be thrust into the fray with zero preparatory briefing. A suboptimal outcome, I assure you.]
Sierra narrowed her eyes at the penguin. She didn't understand half of what it was saying, but she had a sneaking suspicion its sudden insistence wasn't born of genuine concern for her well-being. No, it sounded more like a petulant child complaining about losing a race. The implication that another system, assigned to another bus passenger, was already ahead in the "getting their host to accept" game, seemed to genuinely annoy the little fella.
So childish...
She mused, casting a side-eye at the now visibly sulking penguin. She sighed, a sound that felt oddly substantial in the digital ether.
"Alright, alright, I accept," she conceded, throwing her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I'm not quite ready to become a permanent resident of the great beyond just yet. But please," she added, pointing an accusatory finger at the penguin, "explain things properly this time. And in a language that doesn't sound like it was translated by a malfunctioning sci-fi novel bot."
The penguin's mood did a complete 180. Its sulky demeanor vanished, replaced by an almost manic glee. It zipped into the air, doing a delighted little loop-de-loop. Suddenly, a flurry of blue screens, previously scattered around the infinite darkness, converged around the jubilant penguin, forming a shimmering, ethereal cocoon of data.
Then, a new voice, deeper and more resonant than the penguin's, yet entirely devoid of personality, echoed directly in Sierra's mind, bypassing her ears entirely.
[Host, Sierra Ming, welcome to the Group System. Your journey begins now.]