Kevin's teeth chattered as he crawled out of the swamp mud, every muscle screaming in protest. His body ached like someone had beaten him with a baseball bat for days straight. He spat black water from his mouth and wiped the stench from his nose.
"Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck!" he hissed. "What the hell is this place?! Shit!"
The Box had thrown him out here for failing a simple-ass task. Collect water, it said. Collect water. And now he was knee-deep in swamp sludge with monsters sniffing his ass like he was dinner.
He looked around. Trees twisted in grotesque shapes. Fog hung like a wet, suffocating blanket. Somewhere, something was growling, clicking, and moving. Kevin swallowed bile.
"Okay… okay… I'm not dying tonight. Not tonight, goddammit," he muttered.
There was no time to think. Every second outside the Box was a fucking gamble. He spotted something scuttling in the mud — a vermin, bigger than anything he'd ever seen in a video game. Sharp teeth, glinting eyes. "Easy fucking prey," he whispered. Grabbed a jagged branch.
The thing lunged. Kevin screamed and swung. The branch barely scratched its hide. The monster snarled, snapping its jaws. Kevin ran, stumbled, rolled into the mud, and scrambled up again.
"Shit, shit, shit!"
Every instinct screamed to run, hide, or die trying. He threw the branch at it — a pathetic missile — and it distracted the creature long enough for him to bolt into the fog.
He didn't know how long he ran. Minutes? Hours? Maybe seconds. It didn't matter. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, his throat burned from shouting, and his legs felt like lead.
By the time he found a shallow, partially dried-out pool, he collapsed. Breathing like a wheezing dog, he spat mud and blood.
"Fuck… I'm gonna die out here. I'm seriously gonna fucking die…"
Kevin tried to eat the vermin he had trapped earlier. Raw meat. Fucking disgusting. But hunger didn't give a shit about morality or taste. One bite, two bites, gagged, swallowed, choked, tears running down his mud-streaked face.
Night fell. Dark came fast, suffocating, crawling over him like a living thing. Kevin knew the real punishment was about to start. That's when he heard it: footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate. Not human.
A hulking monster appeared. Bigger than the swamp predator from earlier. Teeth like daggers, claws the size of his arms, eyes glowing. Kevin froze. His stomach twisted. His hands shook.
"Fuuuuuuck!"
No weapons, no skills, no allies. Just a scared-ass sixteen-year-old human who had barely survived a world with homework and shitty video games. Now he was in actual hell.
The creature lunged. Kevin rolled, yelped, scrambled over roots, kicked mud in its eyes. His only weapon, the jagged branch, splintered. He grabbed a rock. Threw it at the monster's head. It barely phased it.
The next hours were a blur of screaming, running, and improvisation. Kevin smashed a piece of metal off a broken pipe. He stabbed, punched, kicked. The creature swiped him — pain exploded in his ribs. Blood, mud, sweat. Kevin tasted his own fear.
When the first faint light hit the swamp, he was still alive. Shivering, battered, bruised, bleeding. Every inch of him hurt.
The Box panel flickered green:
"Daily tasks partially complete. Survival: minimal. Progress: negligible. Reward: one consumable water filter."
Kevin screamed into the sky. "Fuck this world! Fuck everything! I swear to god, if I make it out alive, I'm never taking another shit for granted!"
But deep down, he knew this was only the beginning. The Box didn't care if he swore. It didn't care if he begged. It didn't care if he cried like a little shit.
It just waited for him to live or die.
And Kevin Ashford? He was still alive.