"AAAAAGH! Which little gremlin did it this time—who wrecked my ranch?!"
Jasper Cole's shout practically rattled his monitor. He leaned over his desk, eyes wild, veins pulsing at his temple like he might burst.
"You know how hard it is to drag home two cows?" he roared at the screen as if the culprits could hear him through the internet. "I grind for days, build up a proper herd—fifteen head, easy—and you maniacs tear down my whole pen like it's a joke! Absolute—"
He slapped the desk.
Thump.
The milk tea sitting beside his keyboard tipped, sloshing in a caramel wave straight into the keys. Jasper froze for half a heartbeat, then fumbled in his pocket for tissues.
"—No, no, no—"
He dabbed frantically, but the moment his fingers touched the soaked plastic, the screen flared.
Not a normal flash. Not an electrical flicker.
It was a blinding, white-hot glare that swallowed the room.
Jasper's breath caught.
Then everything went black.
Heat pressed against his skin like a hand.
Jasper blinked awake, squinting hard. "God, it's hot… what is that sun doing—"
He paused.
The sun hanging in the sky was a perfect square.
Jasper's mouth fell open. "...Why is the sun a cube?"
He turned in a slow circle, trying to make sense of it. Trees stood nearby—trees the way he'd always known them, trunks and leaves and shadow—but something about them was wrong. Too clean. Too… blocky at the edges, like reality had been filed down.
The ground beneath him looked normal at first glance, until he noticed the texture repeating in a pattern that made his stomach twist.
He let out a shaky laugh. "Don't tell me. Don't tell me I actually—"
His gaze dropped.
He was wearing nothing but underwear.
"What the—why do I only have boxers on?!"
A crisp chime rang out inside his head.
Ding.
A voice—flat and emotionless, like an automated assistant—spoke directly into his skull.
Welcome to My World. Initializing…
You have received: Beginner's Outfit (x1), Beginner's Wooden Sword (x1), Cooked Beef Steak (x10).
Jasper stood there, heartbeat hammering. "No. No way. This is—"
His vision flickered.
A translucent interface appeared in front of him—an inventory window, neat and gridlike, hovering in midair.
He stared.
Green shirt.
Blue pants.
Gray shoes.
A wooden sword that looked like someone had whittled it out of a fence post.
Ten pieces of cooked beef, stacked neatly like a joke.
"This is… this is real?" Jasper lifted his hands in front of his face. They looked like his hands. Felt like his hands. But the world around him—
He jabbed a finger at the inventory window. "Beginner's outfit? That's it? And—wait, no defense? It's literally just clothes. Pure cosmetics. You've got to be kidding me."
He swallowed, a bitter taste rising in his throat that had nothing to do with the air.
In his old life, he hadn't had much. No family to call. No one waiting for him.
Just an orphanage where you learned fast that "care" meant staying out of the way and figuring things out yourself.
He'd grown up with stupid daydreams—winning the lottery, buying a house, marrying some gorgeous woman who laughed at his jokes while he gamed in a private office.
Reality had been a factory job and a paycheck that barely covered rent. Squeezed until he had nothing left, tossed a few bills like hush money, and expected to be grateful for it.
Jasper exhaled slowly.
"If I'm stuck here," he murmured, "then fine."
He pulled the green shirt over his head, tugged on the blue pants, shoved his feet into the gray shoes. The fabric felt oddly new—stiff, but clean. He summoned the wooden sword into his grip. It was light. Too light. Like holding a toy.
Still. Better than bare hands.
He started walking, eyes scanning the landscape.
Minutes passed. Then more.
He found a single egg and two feathers—lying in the grass like the world had spawned them as an afterthought. Nothing else useful. No shelter. No tools. No village in sight.
He stared up at the nearest tree and grimaced. "Okay. First rule of survival… punch wood."
Then he flexed his fingers, imagining himself literally punching a trunk until it broke apart.
"…I am not built for that. I do not have that kind of arm."
As he moved, he noticed more wrongness.
In the corner of his vision—low left—there was a row of ten droplet icons, not the usual hunger bar he expected. And when he opened the inventory, there were no achievements popping up. No familiar prompts.
Worse, his movement wasn't game-smooth. No stiff looping animations. His body moved like real life—weight shifting, breath catching, muscles burning.
The differences were subtle, but they screamed danger.
"So this isn't exactly Minecraft," he muttered. "Which means unknown rules… unknown mobs… and I have no idea if death is a respawn or a permanent exit."
He stopped, listening.
The world was quiet—too quiet.
Jasper looked up.
The square sun had dipped low, turning a bruised orange-red at the edge of the sky.
Night was coming.
His throat tightened. "No. No, no, no."
He knew what came out in the dark. Zombies. Skeletons. Creepers. Witches.
And he had a wooden sword.
A wooden sword.
His feet started moving faster.
"Village," he whispered. "I need a village. I need walls. I need literally anything with a door."
The light drained away with alarming speed, like someone was dimming the world on a slider.
Jasper broke into a run along a gravel road that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
"Why is it getting dark so fast?" he panted, lungs already burning. "Come on—show me a village. Please."
As the sky turned a deeper, dirtier gray, shapes began to form ahead—blocky silhouettes on the horizon.
Buildings.
Jasper almost sobbed with relief.
Then his vision flicked to the corner of his sight again.
His hunger—or whatever the hell the system called it—was down to three and a half.
His thirst—the droplet icons—was down to two.
Suddenly his legs felt like they were filled with sand. His mouth turned to dust. His tongue stuck to his palate.
He staggered, forcing himself onward as the village grew closer.
If he stopped, he'd be caught.
And he'd seen enough gameplay videos to know what being caught meant.
The image flashed uninvited into his mind: hands pinning him, teeth tearing, the slow horror of being eaten alive.
His skin crawled.
Ding.
Warning: Host body severely dehydrated. Hunger below 3. Unable to sprint. Attack power decreased by 80%. Please replenish energy and water immediately.
Ding.
Warning: Host body severely dehydrated. Hunger below 2. Unable to sprint. Attack power decreased by 80%. Life-threatening condition imminent.
Jasper stumbled, panic flaring. "Wait—food!"
He nearly laughed at himself in sheer stupidity.
"My inventory—duh."
He yanked the interface open mid-run, snatched out a cooked beef steak, and almost moaned when the scent hit him.
It smelled real. Smoky, salty, mouthwatering.
"It's warm," he whispered, swallowing hard. "How is it warm?"
He didn't question it further. He just ate.
Juice ran down his fingers. He chewed fast, almost choking, because the hunger in his gut wasn't metaphorical—it was a clawing ache.
"Mm—God—this is good," he mumbled around the bite. "So good…"
His hunger bar climbed—six now.
He stared at the remaining stack. Nine pieces left.
"Okay. One more." He shoved another steak into his mouth.
When he finished, his stomach finally stopped screaming.
"Okay," he breathed. "Better. Still no water, though. And—"
His blood turned cold.
"It's already dark."
He lifted his head.
The village was close—close enough he could make out roofs and fences—but the world behind him felt… wrong.
A pressure in the air. A sense of being watched.
Jasper's shoulders rose. "No. No, no, no. I got distracted—"
A sound tore through the night.
"Graaaugh—"
His spine locked.
He didn't even have to look.
Zombies.
And they were close.
Jasper ran.
He ran until his lungs felt like fire and his vision blurred at the edges. Gravel skidded under his feet. His shoes slipped.
Then his toe caught on a raised stone.
"—Ah!"
He went down hard, hands scraping against the road.
Pain shot up his palms. His wooden sword clattered away.
Jasper rolled onto his back, staring up at the dim sky like it was mocking him.
"Is this how it ends?" he whispered, voice cracking. "My 'Minecraft career' hasn't even started and I'm already going to get chewed up by baby zombies?"
A wet, hungry chorus rose behind him.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Footsteps thundered—heavy, fast.
A voice, warm and steady, cut through the terror like a shield.
"Child, don't be afraid. We're here."
Jasper's eyes snapped open.
A violent boom erupted nearby.
WHUMP.
Flames exploded across the road behind him, lighting the night in orange glare. The air filled with the stench of burning flesh.
Jasper twisted to look.
Zombies—dozens—staggered in the fire, bodies catching like dry grass. Most collapsed into blackened heaps.
A few survived.
One of them stood out immediately.
It wore battered leather armor, charred at the edges. In its hand was a rusted sword so worn it looked ready to snap.
It let out a guttural roar and lunged straight for Jasper.
"Move," a man barked.
A broad-shouldered figure in iron armor charged past Jasper like a steel bull, planting himself between Jasper and the leatherclad monster. In his hand was a snow-bright iron sword that gleamed in the firelight.
The leatherclad Zombie swung.
The armored man caught it, blade to blade, sparks spraying.
Then he countered—fast.
He slashed once.
Twice.
A third time—each strike releasing a pale arc of force that hissed through the air.
The leatherclad Zombie jerked, shuddered, and collapsed into a lifeless heap.
More Zombies surged in from the darkness, drawn by noise and flame.
The armored man didn't flinch.
He roared—a sound that vibrated in Jasper's ribs—and sheathed his sword in one smooth motion.
Then he reached over his shoulder and drew a double-edged iron battle-axe, broad as Jasper's torso.
Qi surged, visible as a half-moon crescent of energy.
"Qi Slash."
The arc ripped forward.
The nearest Zombies were cleaved clean in half, bodies separating and dropping like sacks of meat. They hit the ground and went still.
Jasper stared, stunned, as the last of the group hesitated—then started to shuffle toward them again from the far side.
Before they could reach, a fireball streaked overhead.
It slammed into the center of the pack and detonated.
Zombies ignited instantly, collapsing into black, coal-like corpses.
The armored man turned back toward Jasper, the blaze reflecting off his helm.
"Are you hurt, kid?" he asked.