Luke shuffled forward, the sterile white corridor a blur through his tears. Jason. The name was a physical ache in his chest, a hollow space carved out by grief and guilt. Jason’s sacrifice, his impossible gift, echoed louder than the low hum of hidden machinery. Rescued from a desolation that had swallowed even the memory of his parents, given kindness in a world bled dry of it – and Jason had paid the price, giving up his own scarce evacuation ticket out of sheer humanity. Maybe the last speck of it left on their dying planet.

  His fists clenched, nails digging crescents into his blistered palms. Anger, cold and sharp like broken glass, cut through the suffocating grief. Love, friendship, loyalty – just credits now, another transaction in the corporate machine strangling Earth’s last breaths. The gleaming, almost too perfect walls felt wrong, the air too clean, too controlled. An artificial womb birthing them into some new reality while Jason was still back there, breathing toxic air, waiting for an end Luke had unfairly escaped.

  A nobody… no skills… no talent… The old self loathing whispered, sharp and familiar. But a fiercer, hotter thought pushed back, fueled by the burning injustice in his gut. By any corporate metric, Jason was worth a thousand Lukes. Yet he was the one left behind, tossed aside with the rest while Luke lived on, forever haunted by a survival he hadn’t earned, paid for by the best man he knew.

  Maybe… maybe this Rahu, this game world, offered more than just escape, more than a second chance he didn’t deserve. If credits earned inside could buy passage out… A spark ignited in the wreckage of his despair. A desperate, crazy hope. He wouldn’t just accept this gift; he’d earn it. He would tear Rahu apart, master its systems, squeeze every drop of power and wealth from it until he could drag Jason – and Irara, Jason’s sister, she deserved life too – through that transition gate, kicking and screaming if he had to.

  A cold fire settled deep inside him, burning away the self pity, turning the raw edges of grief into hard resolve. Let the others drift, numbly accepting their fate or forgetting those left behind. He had a purpose now, sharp and absolute. He’d break rules, ignore conventions, carve his own path through this new reality. Woe betide anyone – corporate suit, ancient god, or fellow player – who dared stand between him and Jason. His ignorance of this place meant nothing. Grit and cunning, sharpened by desperation, would have to be enough. Failure wasn’t an option.

  His resolution hardened with each step down the echoing stairwell. The fire in his chest burned away the tears before they could fall. He thought of his coworkers back on Earth, ghosts haunting the abandoned buildings they called home, their haunted eyes already accepting oblivion. They worked for scraps, waiting for the end. Jason wouldn’t have accepted that, not for himself, not for them. Jason would have tried. Luke would honor that sacrifice. He would save Jason. He would save Irara. And if, somehow, he could, he would save as many others as this brutal new reality allowed, no matter the cost.

  “The briefing room is this way,” a blonde female Rep said, her voice pulling him from his thoughts. Her tone was professional, empty. Just another cog.

  They had been going down stairs for what felt like forever, at least five solid minutes. The place had been almost unnervingly uniform, each level a sterile copy of the last – same vivid metallic silver white walls that seemed to swallow light, same sealed doors leading to rooms full of humming equipment and white clad technicians doing things Luke couldn’t even guess at. The deeper they went, the more Luke felt like they were moving away not just from Earth’s poisoned surface, but from everything familiar, plunging into the guts of something vast and alien.

  The room the Rep pointed to looked plain from the outside, another identical door in a long hall. But opening it, Luke was instantly reminded of a classroom, or maybe a military flight briefing room. Rows of simple chairs faced a slightly raised platform at the front. Maybe it was the anticipation humming in the air, thick with unspoken questions and anxieties, that made the space feel charged.

  “Good, you are here,” a man at the front said, his voice gruff, cutting through the low chatter. “That makes all one hundred of you.”

  Luke glanced around. Ninety nine other people, a mix of ages, races, and sexes, all wearing the same identical white jumpsuits, sat in the chairs, talking softly. Their voices had a nervous edge, like they all sensed they were about to cross some invisible, final line.

  “Please take a seat,” the man commanded, his tone short. Numbly, Luke obeyed, finding an empty seat near the back. The material felt weird against his skin, not warm or cold, just… neutral, like it couldn’t make up its mind.

  “We don’t have a lot of time, so I will get right to it,” the man continued, tapping impatiently on a sleek black datapad that flickered under the harsh overhead lights. “My name is Peter. I am the Reality Design Lead for Shadowed Dawn, and I’ll be briefing you.” No other pleasantries, no welcome.

  “Reality Designers? What’s that?” someone asked from the back.

  Peter sighed, a sound like static crackling in the tense room. “Think Game Designer, but… bigger. More… consequential.” He waved a hand dismissively. “No time for semantics. Understand this: you one hundred, minus a few key executives already through, are the vanguard. The first wave.” His sharp gaze swept the room, assessing, pausing on each face.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Everyone fell quiet, a thousand questions hanging in their eyes.

  “I’ll be frank,” Peter went on, his voice clipped and efficient again. “Shadowed Dawn is… complex. Revolutionary. Think RPG, yes, but on a cosmic scale. An entire reality running as a grand, dynamic RPG. Infinite, adaptive. No pre scripted nonsense, no DLC, nothing like that. The System,” he stressed the word, making it sound important, “generates content – quests, classes, attributes, everything – organically, on the fly. We built the engine, laid the foundation we wanted, and the universe… well, it filled in the gaps.” He finished quickly, a faint tension tightening his jaw.

  “Forces beyond our initial parameters,” he added, his voice dropping slightly before regaining control. Luke saw a flicker of something – uncertainty? unease? – in Peter’s eyes before the professional mask snapped back on. There was definitely more going on here than Peter was letting on, something big hidden beneath the corporate talk.

  “There are no NPCs,” Peter clarified firmly. “Just inhabitants. Real lives, real stakes, real consequences inside Rahu. We made the framework, yes, but what grew inside it… that’s Rahu. Truly a work of art… or maybe something else.”

  Stunned silence filled the room. Luke’s mind raced, trying to grasp the implications. A game, but real. Infinite possibilities, infinite dangers. Finally, someone spoke up, their voice hesitant.

  “When you say RPG… you mean with like, magic and everything?”

  “We believe so,” Peter confirmed, though his voice still held a hint of weariness, of knowing things he couldn’t fully see. “Like I said, we can’t see everything clearly from this side. Limited bandwidth, temporal distortion… it’s messy. But from what we gather, yes. Magic exists.”

  “Like fireballs? Shooting lightning?” another voice called out, excited and disbelieving.

  “If the System allows your chosen Class such abilities, then presumably, yes,” Peter replied, cutting off more questions. “But don’t expect a tutorial, or neat rules handed to you. This isn’t one of your old Earth sims.” Murmurs went through the crowd – a strange mix of dawning apprehension and undeniable excitement. Awesome, someone breathed nearby.

  Peter pressed on, wanting to finish. “Time passes differently inside Rahu. The few executives already ahead sent limited messages, and they’re slow to respond due to significant time dilation. Our best estimate puts time passing about two times faster out here compared to inside Rahu. Makes real time communication… tricky.”

  Luke’s head snapped up. The math hit him hard. “Two times faster out here?” he said aloud, louder than he meant. “That means… if Jason has three years left… we only have roughly a year and a half inside Rahu to earn the credits? To get resources back?”

  “That is correct,” Peter confirmed, his eyes meeting Luke’s briefly. The confirmation landed like a punch to the gut, tightening the cold knot of urgency. Only eighteen months. Terrifyingly close.

  “Matter, however, seems to pass relatively easily back and forth between realities,” Peter continued, changing the subject. “Which brings us to the Credit Exchange. We know some of you have loved ones you wish to transition, but lack the means. We’ve sent through and set up a couple of basic hubs scattered in Rahu. These function as Credit Exchanges.” He gestured at his datapad, though no list showed. “Item values on the exchange list will change constantly, depending on needs back here. The more vital materials you provide, the more Linking Bracers and Transition Platforms we can make, meaning more people can cross over. If you earn the required credits for a fare, you can request to pull someone, or multiple people, through.”

  Luke absorbed this, his mind already calculating. The time limit was brutal, but the path existed. Hope, fragile but fierce, flared again. He waited for more details, maybe a list of needed resources, but Peter seemed eager to wrap up.

  “We’re not sure about the specifics of the transition itself, or what you’ll see immediately on arrival. We do know that upon entering Rahu, the System will offer you a choice of Class, likely based on prominent races or species active at that time. We’ve seen available options change drastically depending on the rise and fall of civilizations in Rahu. The world is constantly evolving, growing, shifting. Choose wisely.” He paused, letting it sink in.

  “Upon entering, you’ll all be placed randomly, likely influenced by your choices. You’ll need to orient yourselves, learn the ways of this new world, make a life. We’re currently unsure where the Exchange hubs ended up – deployment was… imprecise. Finding them will be a major early challenge. Do your best. We are all counting on you.” His gaze swept the room one last time, a hint of something almost desperate under the professional surface.

  “We will now distribute your Linking Bracers and lead you to your Transition Platforms. I wish you luck.” A beat. “See you on the other side.”

  With that, Peter turned and walked out abruptly, leaving behind swirling uncertainty and a thousand unanswered questions. Immediately, three other Reps entered, silent and efficient, wheeling metal carts loaded with the odd, tear shaped emerald green bracelets. The crowd shifted forward, voices erupting, demanding answers, anything – but the Reps ignored them completely, their movements precise, deliberate, unnervingly calm, like machines following orders.

  They weren’t exactly herded into a line, but guided individually toward small side rooms branching off the main corridor. Luke found himself ushered into one. It held five chairs that looked vaguely like old dentist chairs, but made from a material that seemed to subtly shift between metallic silver and something disturbingly organic, almost fleshy, under the sterile lights. The air hummed here, thicker, heavier than the briefing room, pressing in.

  A Rep, the same blonde woman, approached Luke without a word. She took his wrist, her grip surprisingly strong, almost bruising. The emerald Bracer wasn’t clipped on gently; it was pressed hard against his skin. Luke gasped, expecting a prick, but it was a sharp, violating bite as unseen microneedles sank deep, drawing blood. A low, invasive hum started immediately, vibrating not through the air, but directly into his bones, feeling sickeningly parasitic. The emerald surface pulsed faintly, seeming to absorb the light, growing darker.

  “Bio signature synchronization initiated,” the Rep stated flatly, her voice empty of inflection. She released his wrist and moved to the next person. Luke instinctively rubbed his wrist, feeling the Bracer thrumming against his pulse, a cold, foreign weight now part of him.

  “Branded like cattle,” he muttered, glancing around. The other four people looked similarly stunned or pained, rubbing their own wrists, staring at the alien tech fused to their skin.