The knock on the door came sharp and impatient, the kind that carried irritation through thin apartment walls.
Ethan Cole lifted his head from the mattress and stared at the ceiling for a second before dragging himself up. The apartment smelled faintly of instant noodles and dust, and the air conditioner rattled without actually cooling the room. He crossed the small space, unlocked the door, and opened it.
His landlady stood there with her arms crossed, lips pressed tight, and a ledger tucked under one arm.
"Ethan, we need to talk about the rent," she said, not bothering with a greeting. "It has been three months, and I have been patient long enough."
Ethan swallowed and forced a polite expression onto his face. "I know, Mrs. Granger, and I am really sorry about that. Things have been rough lately, but I just need one more week, and I promise I will pay everything I owe."
Her eyes narrowed as she looked past him into the cramped apartment, as if confirming that nothing inside suggested hidden money. "One more week," she repeated slowly, tasting the words. "You said that last month."
"I know I did," Ethan replied, keeping his voice steady even as his chest tightened. "But I have something lined up, and I just need a little time to make it work."
She let out a sharp breath through her nose, clearly unconvinced, but after a moment she nodded once. "Fine. One week," she said, pointing a finger at his chest. "If you cannot pay by then, I will throw you out myself, and I will not listen to any more excuses."
"I understand," Ethan said. "Thank you for giving me the chance."
She turned on her heel and walked away down the hallway, muttering under her breath about irresponsible tenants and wasted time. The sound of her footsteps faded, and Ethan slowly closed the door.
He leaned his forehead against the wood for a moment, then turned and walked back to his bed. The mattress creaked as he sat down, and the weight of everything he had been holding back finally pressed down on him.
At twenty-six years old, Ethan felt older than he ever had. His girlfriend had left him three months ago, tired of waiting for things to get better. His parents had died in a car accident a year earlier, and the quiet of their absence still followed him everywhere. His savings were gone, his degree felt useless, and the only thing in his wallet was a single fifty-dollar bill that might as well have been an insult.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a long sigh. "Get it together," he muttered to himself.
He picked up his phone and opened the job search app, scrolling through listings with tired eyes. Office assistant, five years of experience required. Warehouse supervisor, must lift heavy loads and work overtime. Customer service representative, minimum three years of prior experience and flexible availability.
He applied anyway, sending out resumes he knew would be ignored. Time slipped by without him noticing, the sky outside the window slowly darkening as evening settled over New York City. The glow of his phone screen reflected in his eyes as rejection emails and automated responses filled his inbox.
After nearly two hours, his thumb slowed, and frustration crept in like a dull ache. Nothing fit his resume, and nothing paid enough to fix his situation fast enough. He was trapped between deadlines and reality, and neither cared how hard he tried.
Then a listing caught his attention.
No requirements. High pay. Immediate start.
Ethan frowned and tapped on it.
The description was brief to the point of being unsettling.
Night shift truck driver. Route provided. Payment guaranteed. No experience necessary.
"This has to be a scam," Ethan said quietly, but his finger hovered over the screen anyway. Desperation had a way of making risks seem reasonable.
Before he could think better of it, he tapped the notification.
The world went white.
Not bright, not blinding, but empty. Sound vanished, weight disappeared, and Ethan felt as if he were falling without moving. Panic flared, but there was nothing to grab onto, nothing to push against. His thoughts scattered, and then even those faded.
When sensation returned, it came with a sharp electronic tone.
Ding!
Ethan gasped and sat upright, his heart pounding. He was still in his apartment, still on his bed, but something was different. A translucent blue interface hovered in the air in front of him, perfectly clear and undeniably real.
"What the hell," he whispered.
Text began to scroll across the interface.
[Weekly Occupational Job System initialized.]
Ethan stared, convinced he had finally cracked under the pressure. He reached out and waved his hand through the projection, but his fingers passed through it without resistance, while the text remained solid in his vision.
Another tone sounded.
Ding!
[Congratulations. You have been hired as a night shift truck driver hauling dried meat to a small town in Ravens Hollow, deep in the Nevada desert.]
His mouth went dry as the words sank in.
[Your pay is good, but to survive the road, you must follow the rules.]
"Survive the road," Ethan repeated quietly, and a chill ran up his spine.
Before he could ask any of the dozens of questions racing through his mind, more text appeared.
[Your job will start at exactly 12:00 midnight.]
Ethan grabbed his phone with shaking hands and checked the time.
11:58 PM.
"No," he said, his voice barely audible. "That is not possible."
The interface pulsed once, as if acknowledging his denial.
[Preparation time: two minutes.]
"What preparation," Ethan demanded, standing up. "I am in New York, and you are talking about Nevada."