The first thing Conner Michaels felt was cold dirt packed between his teeth.
He spat, gagged, and rolled onto his back. A dull ache stretched through his ribs as if the earth itself had punched him. For a few seconds, he just lay there, blinking up at a sky that looked wrong.
Too bright. Too clean. The blue overhead was sharp enough to cut.
He sat up slowly.
The lab was gone.
No concrete floor. No buzzing lights. No humming machines.
He sat in a shallow dip in the ground. The soil was dark and rich. When he pressed his fingers into it, it clung to his skin like wet coffee grounds. The air carried a heavy smell of sap, damp wood, and something wild he could not name.
He turned.
Behind him loomed a forest. Not the trimmed parks he knew, but a real forest. Pines towered high and straight, their trunks thick and dark, their crowns forming a rough wall of needles against the sky. Broad-leafed trees pressed between them, each leaf larger than his hand. Ferns grew in dense carpets around their roots.
To his left, the ground sloped into rolling meadows that stretched out and out, a green ocean that went on until it met the horizon. The grass there grew waist high, rippling in slow waves in the wind.
Nothing human. No power lines. No roads. No buildings.
Just land.
"What the hell," Conner whispered.
His voice sounded small.
He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, trying to remember.
The lab came back in disconnected flashes. The glass-walled room. The humming prototype reactor that the department had sunk three years into. The glowing metallic core suspended in the magnetic field, spinning like a slow coin. Professor Ramirez is telling him not to push the output so high. Connor ignored that and watched the numbers climb anyway because this was the only fun part of the job.
The flicker. The spike. The buzz turned into a scream of electricity.
Then whiteness, like standing inside a camera flash.
And now he was here.
Conner swallowed hard and looked down at himself. His navy hoodie was torn at the left elbow and smeared with something dried. His jeans were ripped at the knee. His black sneakers were muddy, but still on his feet. His hands were scraped along the knuckles.
His backpack lay a couple of feet away, half buried in dirt, one strap hanging by a few threads like it had been dragged through a grinder.
"Okay," he muttered. His own voice anchored him. "Check gear first. Panic later."
He crawled to the pack and grabbed it.
The moment his fingers closed around the strap, a square of light flickered in front of his eyes.
A translucent box hung in the air, faintly glowing.
CRAFTING SYSTEM INITIALIZEDWelcome, Conner Michaels.Status: AlivePoints: 0
He froze.
His breath caught in his throat. He stared at the text. It stayed there, hovering just above his line of sight. No projector. No glasses. No phone in his hands.
Conner reached out with his free hand and waved it through the box. His fingers passed straight through.
"Hallucination," he told himself. "Concussion. Some stupid VR overlay stuck in my brain."
The box did not care.
A small icon pulsed in the lower corner. A tiny gear.
Conner did what he always did with things he did not understand.
He poked it.
More text slid into place.
Crafting SystemGain Points by creating objects, structures, tools, and designs.Higher complexity equals higher gain.Spend Points to improve:– Body– Skills– Community– BlueprintsSurvive to unlock further functions.
A slow shiver crawled up his spine.
"This is not real," he whispered.
Something screamed in the distance.
The sound cut through the air like a rusted saw. It was deep, wet, and ugly. It sounded like a tiger's roar stretched too far and played through broken speakers. Birds erupted from the treetops in a black cloud.
Conner snapped his head toward the sound.
Silence settled again. The wind tugged at the grass.
He swallowed.
Real or not, he was somewhere dangerous. The hairs on his arms were standing straight up. His breathing sped up.
He slung the backpack over his shoulder. The damaged strap creaked but held. Most of the weight still seemed there. The laptop was probably dead, but there were tools, notebooks, some snacks, and a metal water bottle. Junk that might suddenly be gold.
"Alright, Conner," he said under his breath. "Priority one, not die. Priority two: figure out where the hell you are. Priority three, fix the mess that probably tore a hole in reality."
His voice steadied on the last part. Problems had steps. Steps calmed him.
First step: get off open ground.
He started walking toward the tree line. The grass brushed his jeans, sticky with seeds. Each footstep felt too loud.
Halfway to the forest edge, another notice blinked.
New Objective: Survive the First Day.Tip: Crafting increases your chance of survival.
Conner glared at the air like he could intimidate the interface away.
"Yeah? You want crafting? I can craft. Just give me something to work with."
Near the forest edge, he found a fallen branch. It was thick, about as long as his arm, dry but solid. The broken end formed a rough point.
An idea came from habit, clean and automatic. Tool first.
He dropped his pack, picked up a flat rock the size of his palm, and sat cross-legged. He braced the branch between his knees and slowly shaved away bark at the tip with the edge of the stone, rotating the wood, using the weight of the rock instead of brute force.
His hands were steady. He had done dumber, more meticulous work on worse materials for the robot club.
Thin curls of bark and wood fell in a small pile.
After a minute, the tip of the branch narrowed into a crude point.
The translucent box pulsed.
Craft detected.Item: Primitive Wooden Spear (Crude)Points gained: +1Total Points: 1
Conner stared.
Then he laughed once, a shaky, disbelieving puff of air.
"You have got to be kidding me."
His heart still hammered from the earlier scream, but something loosened in his chest. There was a pattern here. Input and output. He understood systems. He lived for them.
He lifted the spear. The balance was bad, too heavy toward the back, but it was better than his bare hands.
"Fine. Crafting system. I play. You keep me alive."
He got to his feet and slung the backpack on again, spear in his right hand. As he stepped under the shade of the first pines, the air shifted. It was cooler, shaded by branches, thick with the smell of resin and damp leaves.
The forest swallowed him. Needles crunched under his shoes. Insects buzzed in tones he did not recognize.
His eyes adjusted. The undergrowth was dense but not impenetrable. Broad ferns brushed his knees. Strange flowers bloomed in clusters, purple with black centers, their petals thick like wax.
Conner moved carefully, watching his footing. His ears strained for more sounds like the earlier roar.
He did not hear a roar.
He heard footsteps.
Heavy ones.
The ground under him trembled in a slow rhythm. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Conner froze and slowly turned toward the sound.
Something massive moved between the trees ahead. Trunks shifted as if pressed aside by a passing truck. A long shadow slid over the ground.
He backed up until his shoulder brushed rough bark.
The creature stepped into view.
Conner had seen dinosaur skeletons in museums. Pictures in textbooks. CGI monsters in movies.
Reality was worse.
The thing stood on two legs, easily twelve feet high at the hip. Its skin was a cross between scales and cracked leather, dull green mottled with darker patches that blended with the forest shadows. Each step dug deep three-toed tracks into the soil. Its tail swept behind it, thick and heavy, leaving a groove wherever it passed.
Its head was massive and narrow, with jaws lined with teeth that looked like a shark and a knife set had a violent child. The eyes flicked back and forth, bright yellow with vertical slits.
Conner's breath stopped.
"R… raptor?" The word felt wrong. This was bigger. Slower, maybe, but the sheer bulk of it made his knees numb.
The system box flashed red.
Hostile detected.Classification: Apex Predator (Juvenile).Threat Level: Overwhelming.Tip: Running is recommended.
He did not need the tip.
Conner pressed himself flat to the tree, barely breathing. He willed himself to be a part of the bark.
The dinosaur's head swung in his direction. Its nostrils flared. It took one slow step toward him, then another. The ground shook.
Conner's grip tightened on the crude spear until his knuckles whitened.
"Please keep walking," he mouthed.
Something rustled to his right. A small, deer-like animal with thick fur darted through the ferns, burst into the open, and froze.
The predator's head snapped toward it.
Conner did not move.
There was a blur of motion. A clap of jaws. A short scream cut off in a wet crunch.
The dinosaur bit down on the animal and shook it once. Blood sprayed the nearby plants, dark and bright at once. Bones snapped with a sound that turned Conner's stomach.
He stared, eyes wide, as the predator tilted its head back and swallowed large chunks in a few gulps. Its throat bulged.
He pressed his forehead to the bark.
"This is real," he whispered. "This is really happening."
The dinosaur stood there for another thirty seconds, head turning, tail flicking, as if checking for thieves. Finally, it lumbered away between the trees, tail swaying.
Conner counted to sixty under his breath before he moved.
His legs shook. His hands were clammy. His heart was still punching his ribs.
He checked the system.
Survival bonus: +1 PointTotal Points: 2
He snorted softly.
"You give points for not doing something incredibly stupid? Fine. Keep them coming."
He needed to get out of this forest, or at least somewhere he could see things coming.
He moved again, this time choosing a direction that led slightly uphill. Higher ground meant better visibility and maybe a vantage point.
The climb was slow and rough. Roots curled across the ground like snakes. Stones slid under his sneakers. Once, he grabbed a low branch to steady himself and pulled his hand back quickly when a centipede the size of his forearm wriggled away.
"Great," he muttered. "Oversized bugs. Perfect."
The incline leveled out after ten minutes. The trees thinned and gave way to a rocky outcrop. Beyond it lay a drop and then more forest below.
He stepped carefully to the edge.
From her, he could see the landscape more clearly. A sea of trees broken by occasional meadows and rivers, all under that too-sharp sky. In the distance, something like a herd of enormous shaggy beasts moved slowly across a valley. One lifted its head. From this, it looked like a buffalo that had been scaled up by a factor of five.
Conner's mind scrambled to keep up. He felt like he was standing inside a nature documentary from a parallel dimension.
The wind was stronger up here. It carried the smell of damp stone and distant water.
His stomach twisted.
He had not eaten since before the lab accident. Adrenaline had hidden the hunger until now. It came rushing in.
He crouched by the rock face and pulled off his pack, flipping it open.
Inside, things were a mess, but not destroyed.
A half-crushed bag of trail mix. Two protein bars. His dented metal water bottle, still cool to the touch. A small multitool. Electrical tape. A spool of thin wire. A notebook. Three pencils. A tiny precision screwdriver set. A ratty hoodie stuffed in for later. His laptop, screen cracked into dead glitter.
He exhaled in relief. Tools were tools. Even stupid modern debris weighs a world like this.
He cracked open the trail mix and poured a handful into his mouth. Nuts, raisins, and a few melted chocolate bits. The sugar cut through the fear.
As he ate, he looked around for more potential resources.
The rock he sat on was rough, layered with seams of harder stone. A few cracked pieces lay around, sharp as broken glass. He tested one with his fingers. Edges are keen enough to cut skin.
"Flint knockoff. Close enough."
An idea formed.
He set the bag aside and picked up one of the fractured stones, then another smaller one. He placed his spear on the ground, point between his shoes, and began to chip at the tip, using quick, controlled strikes.
Each chip shaved more wood away and occasionally cut shallow grooves into it. He rotated the shaft slowly. After a few minutes, the tip was sharper, more even. He stopped and flipped the spear, checking the weight. Better.
The system chimed.
Refinement detected.Item improved: Primitive Wooden Spear (Shaped)Points gained: +1Total Points: 3
He grinned despite himself.
"Okay. Good. You like upgrades, too. We can work with that."
He checked the other options in the corner of the interface. A small tab labeled Spend Points pulsed.
He opened it.
Four categories unfolded like a menu.
Body– Strength Lv. 0– Agility Lv. 0– Endurance Lv. 0– Perception Lv. 0
Skills– Basic Crafting– Improvised Weapons
CommunityLocked. No community detected.
Blueprints– Simple Shelter– Reinforced Spear– Basic Trap (Snare)
Each line had a small number next to it. Cost.
Strength Lv. 1: 2 Points.Agility Lv. 1: 2 Points.Endurance Lv. 1: 2 Points.Perception Lv. 1: 2 Points.
Reinforced Spear blueprint: 1 Point.Simple Shelter blueprint: 1 Point.Basic Trap (Snare): 1 Point.
Conner chewed on his lip.
His instinct was to hoard points until he understood everything. But this was not a game he could reload.
He thought of the dinosaur's teeth, the way the small animal had gone limp in its jaws. His normal human body would not last five seconds if something like that decided it wanted him.
"Body first," he murmured. "Tools are only as good as the idiot holding them."
He put two fingers together and tapped Strength Lv. 1.
Points: 3 → 1.
Heat rolled through his muscles like someone had poured hot water into his veins. His arms tingled. His fingers flexed without his permission. His chest felt lighter, his breath easier. It was not a huge transformation, but it was there.
He clenched his fist. The tendons in his forearm stood out more sharply.
"That is unreal," he whispered. "Okay. One more."
He hesitated. Then he tapped Endurance Lv. 1.
Points: 1 → 0.
This time the change was deeper. His lungs felt bigger. The ache in his ribs from earlier dulled to a faint throb. The lingering fatigue in his legs from the climb faded. He felt like he had slept a full night and stretched afterward.
The system dimmed slightly, as if satisfied.
Below, something screamed again.
Not a dinosaur this time. The pitch was wrong. It had a rough human edge to it. Angry. Challenging.
Conner snapped his head toward the sound.
He saw movement in the forest below. Smaller shapes darted between the trees. They were far away, but the pattern told his brain one thing.
Humans. Or something close enough.
His first instinct was to run toward them. People meant safety. Information. A way out.
His second instinct stepped in fast. This was a world where something like that predator existed as casual background noise. Any humans strong enough to live alongside that were not necessarily friendly.
"Observe first," he told himself. "Then decide if you say hi."
He slid down from the rock, found a narrow slope on the side, and moved along the outcrop, using the trees for cover. His upgraded body made the drops and climbs a little easier. He could feel more power in his legs, more stability.
As he drew closer, the sounds grew clearer. Grunts. Roars that sounded like they were coming from human throats but carried the force of a lion. The clash of something hard against something harder.
He crept to the edge of a smaller clearing and crouched behind a thick bush.
The scene beyond made his brain stall.
Three figures fought a creature he first thought was a bear.
Then he saw the feathers.
The beast stood like a massive bird on two muscular legs, its body covered in dark, layered feathers, its arms tipped with claws more like hands than wings. Its head was a strange blend of avian and reptile, with a hooked beak lined with secondary teeth.
Blood already streaked its side.
The humans around it, if humans were the right word, were huge.
The closest was a man, broad-shouldered, his chest bare and corded with muscle like flexible stone. Scar lines crisscrossed his skin like pale ropes. His hair was dark and long, tied back behind his head with leather strips. His skin was sun-browned, his jaw square, his brow heavy.
He held a stone-headed spear in both hands. Not a rough branch like Conner's, but a weapon shaped with deliberate skill. The stone point was chipped into a razor-edged triangle, lashed to the shaft with what looked like animal sinew coated in resin.
Another figure, shorter but still heavily built, circled to the side. She was a woman, her hair braided tight against her skull. Animal skins formed a rough top and skirt. Muscles rolled along her arms as she swung a long, thick club studded with sharpened bone.
The third fighter clung to the creature's back like a spider, knife buried in its neck, his face a mask of blood and fury. He was younger, maybe Conner's age, though it was hard to be sure under the dirt and lines of strain.
The feathered beast reared, shrieking, trying to shake the clinging man loose. It slammed sideways into a tree, bark exploding.
The man roared but did not let go.
The big warrior in front lunged. His spear flashed, driving deep into the beast's chest. Blood sprayed in a hot arc. The woman swung her club into its exposed knee. Something snapped like a tree branch.
The predator toppled.
The man on its back rode it down, wrenching his knife sideways. The shriek broke into a gurgle. The beast's claws carved long furrows in the dirt.
Then it lay still.
The clearing went quiet, except for harsh breathing.
Conner realized his mouth was hanging open.
The system chimed softly.
First Contact: Protohumans detected.Potential: High.Warning: Unknown cultural parameters. Approach with caution.
"No kidding," he whispered.
He watched the three warriors step back from the kill.
Up close, they looked like people straight out of a caveman stereotype, but updated with a layer of raw power the history books never showed. Their bodies were thick with practical muscle, not gym vanity. Their hands looked like they could crush rocks.
The woman hefted her club and grinned, teeth bright against her dark skin. She said something in a language Conner did not recognize. It was rough and full of throaty consonants, but it had structure, rhythm.
The older man answered, voice deep, pointing at the dead beast and then at the younger warrior, like giving credit or scolding him. The younger one laughed, breathless, then suddenly staggered.
Blood flowed down his side, from a long, ragged tear in his ribs. The adrenaline was fading.
The woman moved fast, catching him under one arm. The older man exhaled sharply, pressing his hand to the wound. Blood slicked his palm.
Conner's brain did a quick, ugly calculation.
He had a little bit of tape. Some cloth. A water bottle. Crude first aid knowledge. He had worked in the campus first aid course once for extra credit. Pressure, wrap, clean.
If he helped, he might gain allies.
If he stepped out and they saw him as a threat, they might put a stone spear through his throat in half a second.
His heart beat faster. Sweat prickled his palms.
Then the system pushed.
Quest generated: First AidA wounded protohuman is at risk of death.Assist or observe.Reward for assist: Community affinity + Crafting Points.Warning: Death risk if misjudged.
Conner squeezed his eyes shut for a heartbeat.
He thought of hiding. Letting them handle their own.
He thought of the dinosaur swallowing its prey whole.
He opened his eyes.
"Fine," he muttered. "We roll the dice."
He slowly stood, spear in one hand, the other raised, open and empty. He stepped out of the bushes into the clearing.
Three heads snapped toward him at once.
The older man moved faster than Conner thought possible for someone that size. One second, nd he was beside the cor;se, the next, he had his spear pointed straight at Conner's chest, feet planted, shoulders tight, eyes sharp and cold.
The woman shifted her grip on the younger warrior but still managed to bring her club up with her free hand, ready to swing.
The younger man tried to straighten, knife in his hand, teeth bared, blood pouring down his side.
Conner held his ground, heart racing so hard it hurt. He forced his voice not to shake.
"I'm not here to fight," he said.
Useless. They did not know English.
The older man snarled something, stepping closer. His spear point prickled Conner's hoodie just over his heart.
Conner quickly shifted tactics.
He slowly lowered himself to one knee, then set his own crude spear on the ground in front of him and raised both hands, palms out. Universal sign for "I am not a threat" and "please don't stab me" rolled into one.
He then pointed, very clearly, at the younger warrior's wound.
Blood had soaked through the man's rough skin tunic and was now dripping onto the dirt in steady drops.
Conner mimed wrapping. He tore the cuff off his own hoodie sleeve in one quick pull and wrapped it loosely around his own forearm to demonstrate, then pointed again at the wounded man.
The older warrior's eyes narrowed. His jaw flexed.
The woman said something to him, sharp and annoyed, nodding at the younger fighter. Her tone said, "He is bleeding out, idiot," even without translation.
The spear at Conner's chest lowered half an inch.
Conner took that as permission and moved very slowly.
He stepped forward, ignoring the way every instinct screamed at him to keep distance from the man who could break him in half.
He unscrewed his metal water bottle with deliberate slowness so they could see it was not a weapon. He poured a little over his own hand to show it was just water.
The younger warrior watched him through half-lidded eyes, breathing in short, sharp gasps. His skin had gone a shade paler under the grime.
Conner carefully knelt beside him. Up close, the man smelled like sweat, blood, and smoke. He could see the wound now. A rip of torn flesh along the ribs, not deep enough to expose organs, but ugly and wide.
Conner's hands steadied as he worked. Fear dropped away under focus.
He poured water gently over the wound to wash away some of the dirt. The younger man hissed and tensed. The older warrior growled but did not interfere, watching every move.
Conner muttered to himself as he worked, falling into the same mental rhythm he used when repairing a circuit board.
"Okay, okay, bleed control. Clean first, then pressure. No antibiotics. Great."
He grabbed his hoodie by the hem, took a breath, and ripped a long strip from it. Pain stabbed his fingers where the fabric cut into scraped skin, but he ignored it. He folded the strip into a pad.
He pressed it firmly against the wound.
The younger warrior jerked, a sharp cry escaping his throat. His hand shot out and grabbed Conner's wrist in a crushing grip. Brown eyes locked onto Conner's, wild and furious.
Conner did not pull back.
"Yeah, I know. Hurts," he said, voice calm. "It is supposed to."
He held the pad steady until the man's grip loosened slightly. Then he wrapped another strip of cloth around the man's torso, binding the pad in place. He tied it off tight at the side. Crude, but better than nothing.
When he finished, he leaned back a little, breathing hard.
The system chimed.
Basic medical aid performed.Crafting Points gained: +2Total Points: 2
New Affinity: Unknown Tribe (Neutral → Cautious)
The younger warrior's breathing softened. Blood still seeped through, but slower.
The older man stared at the makeshift bandage, then at Conner's face. The lines around his eyes changed. Not friendly yet, but less murderous.
He grunted something low.
Conner did not understand, but the tone had shifted from "Die" to "Explain yourself."
He pointed at his own chest.
"Conner," he said clearly. "Con-ner."
The woman tilted her head, then tried the sound in her mouth.
"Kon… ner."
Close enough.
She jabbed her thumb at herself.
"Rava."
She thumped the older man's chest with the back of her hand.
"Dorn."
Then she touched the younger warrior's shoulder lightly.
"Tal."
Names. Conner held onto them like a rope.
"Rava. Dorn. Tal," he repeated.
Rava grinned. Tal gave a weak half-smile. Dorn's expression did not soften much, but he grunted again, lower this time.
Conner felt his shoulders finally drop an inch.
The system added one last note at the edge of his vision.
Community option unlocked.Local tribe detected.Future crafting can now benefit both the self and the community.
Conner exhaled slowly.
He looked at the dead feathered beast, at the three warriors, at the blood on his own hands, and at the alien yet familiar forest around them.
He was in primordial America, surrounded by monsters and people built to kill them.
He had a broken hoodie, some modern junk, and a system that rewarded him for building things.
His old life with late-night coding sessions, instant noodles, and obnoxious professors felt like a dream he had half forgotten.
His new life had just given him his first choice.
Hide alone and hope.
Or stand with these impossible people and build something strong enough to survive.
Conner wiped his bloody hands on his already ruined jeans and met Dorn's eyes.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath. "Let's see what we can make out of this world."
The wind stirred the trees. Somewhere far away, a dinosaur roared.
Above, the sky watched, bright and sharp and ancient, as the first fragile thread between a lost engineer and a tribe of stone-age warriors was tied.
And the Crafting System waited, ready to turn every new creation into power.