The blueprint flashed an angry red. A new sound, a loud, obnoxious buzz like a faulty smoke detector, filled the air.
[BUILDING CODE VIOLATION! Error 404: Foundation Not Found. The selected area is geologically unstable. Sub-zero temperatures exceed material specifications for wood, concrete, and vinyl siding. Local zoning regulations prohibit construction in this sector. Please select a more suitable location.]
Of course.
Of course, there were zoning regulations. Even in death, I couldn't escape the bureaucracy. "A more suitable location? Look around! There IS no other location! It's just snow! An infinite, godforsaken snow globe of misery!"
[We encourage a more optimistic outlook! Every challenge is an opportunity for innovative solutions. Your journey to find the perfect plot of land begins now! Consider it the ultimate property hunt!]
The cheerful, corporate-speak was starting to grate on my last nerve. I turned my back on the floating blueprint and started walking. "Nope. Not doing it. This is a dream. I'm going to walk until I wake up."
The blueprint zipped past my head and reappeared in front of me, blocking my path. [Please be advised that this is not a dream state. Your vital signs are stable, and your previous life contract has been irrevocably terminated. We have a no-refund policy on reincarnations.]
"I don't care! I'm done!" I shouted, my voice lost in the vast emptiness. I tried to push the blueprint aside, but my hand went right through it, a tingling sensation like static electricity the only proof it was there.
I was starting to shiver violently now. The initial shock was wearing off, and my body was screaming at me.
I was a 20-year-old in frozen, wet clothes in the middle of what looked like Antarctica. I wasn't going to die of a goose attack, but hypothermia was looking like a pretty solid contender for round two.
"I'm going to die," I said, the words coming out in a cloud of white vapor. "I'm going to freeze to death right here."
The blueprint flickered. [User morale is trending negative. Initiating… Encouragement Protocol.]
The trumpet fanfare played again, louder this time. [Don't give up, Leo Mercer! Your dream home is waiting for you! Just think of the sense of accomplishment you'll feel when you find that perfect spot with good drainage and southern exposure! You can do it! We believe in you!]
It was the most insincere, infuriatingly cheerful thing I had ever heard. And yet… it was all I had. I was alone, in a world I didn't understand, with a body that wasn't quite mine, and my only companion was a ghostly blueprint that talked like a real estate agent on speed.
The sun, if that's what it was, was beginning to dip towards the horizon, painting the endless white landscape in shades of pale orange and purple. It was beautiful, in a terrifying, alien way.
And with the fading light, the temperature was dropping even further. The cold was no longer just a pain; it was a presence, a weight, a promise of a slow, quiet end.
I looked at the blueprint, its blue light a stark contrast to the dying day. My house.
The Last Foundation. It was out there, somewhere in the digital ether, waiting for me. The only thing I had ever built, the only thing I had ever truly loved. And this… this cosmic joke of a System was telling me that the only way to get it back was to play its stupid game.
My teeth were chattering so hard I could barely speak. "Fine," I bit out, the word a puff of smoke. "Fine. You win. What do I do?"
The blueprint pulsed with a happy blue light. The trumpet fanfare blared one last time, making me wince.
I looked down at myself again, at my young hands, my unfrozen clothes that had somehow dried in the materialization process. This body felt wrong, like wearing someone else's skin.
I flexed my fingers, rolled my shoulders. Everything worked, but it all felt too light, too responsive. I'd spent the last two years hunched over workbenches and crawling through attics. This body hadn't earned its scars yet. It was a blank slate, and I hated it.
But it was mine now. Or I was its. The semantics of reincarnation were giving me a headache.
"So let me get this straight," I said to the blueprint, my teeth still chattering. "I died. You brought me back. And now my only job is to find a place to put my house. That's it? That's the whole deal?"
[Affirmative! Your singular objective is to establish a permanent foundation for your residential property. Upon successful completion, you will have achieved your purpose in this realm.]
"My purpose," I repeated, the words tasting bitter. "And what if I don't want this purpose? What if I just want to lie down in the snow and call it a day?"
[That option is available, but not recommended. Current projected time to hypothermic death: 4 hours, 37 minutes. We have a strict no-refund policy on reincarnations, and your death would result in a total loss of investment.]
"Investment," I muttered. "I'm an investment now. That's just great."
But even as I complained, even as I railed against the cosmic injustice of it all, a part of me a stubborn, irrational part was already planning. I was a builder.
It's what I did. It's who I was.
And if this insane System wanted me to find a place to build my house, then by God, I was going to find the perfect spot.
Not because I wanted to play along with this cosmic game show, but because that house was mine. It was the only thing in two lifetimes that had ever truly belonged to me.
And I was going to see it again, even if I had to freeze, fight, and claw my way across this entire godforsaken world to do it.
[Excellent choice! Welcome to the first day of the rest of your afterlife! New Quest Issued: Survive the next 24 hours. Your journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step… preferably towards shelter.]
I stood there, shivering, a lone, pathetic figure in a world of ice. My quest wasn't to build a house. It was to survive long enough to find a place to build it.
And as the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky, looking colder and sharper than any stars I had ever seen, I had a sinking feeling that this was going to be a hell of a lot harder than dealing with a pissed-off goose.