The tap of a pen. A desk phone’s sharp ring, a practiced response. Hushed chatter. A printer’s thrum, the soft tick of a clock; clicks and clacks from countless keyboards. The sounds were vaguely nostalgic to Alex.

  He blinked in confusion.

  Wait, he was alive? How did he—

  Oh.

  Lightheaded, he collapsed back onto the chair he’d risen from. His limbs were weak. His vision was spotty, teetering on darkness. Was he still injured?

  Strange…. I can’t see my HP bar.

  “Hey, Alex.” Someone poked their head in from behind a wall. “You look like you could use a Monster.”

  A monster. Alex startled, trying to find his sword. “Where...”

  The man placed an ominous can in front of him. “I’m on my sixth myself… Too bad we’re not paid by the hour, eh?” He half-chuckled and half-writhed as he swiveled back behind the wall.

  Wait, not a wall, Alex realized in horror. No… It was a cubicle. Not just one but a row of them, a whole room of cubicles, an entire–

  Oh God… This is an office, isn’t it?

  With a sinking feeling in his gut, Alex recognized exactly where he was. But that just couldn’t be… This place…it was beyond authentic; a hyper-realistic rendition of… I don’t even know anymore. He slumped into his chair and closed his eyes, letting the ringing permeate his brain. Three rings. You were supposed to let the phones ring thrice before answering—neither too desperate nor too uncaring. Standard call center procedure.

  Right, Camilla was upset... so is this some kind of torture?

  Or had he survived?

  No. That still wouldn’t explain this. His memory of those final moments were hazy, but he was certain he’d died. Unless Camilla was secretly a Saintess...

  This must be a dream. I’m walking around as her puppet, and this is the endless nightmare I must endure.

  Alex shuddered at the thought.

  He racked his brain for answers but couldn’t find a reasonable explanation. Even if he was optimistic and presumed that integration with the core had succeeded, wouldn’t he have just returned to the beginning of that fight? Not even a Divine Core was capable of something on this scale, right? He’d died. He’d literally felt his soul slipping away—heading gods knew where. And yet here he was, of all places.

  HKR Software Management,

  Seattle, Washington, USA, Earth

  Absent-mindedly, he cracked open the Monster energy drink and let his eyes glaze over. His mind drifted away, mulling over questions he didn’t have answers to, and his attention slipped off every subject. There was nothing deeper he could glean with shallow investigation. His brain would be wasting its energy. He just floated in his memories, seeing it all through a distant, foggy lens.

  “Hello! Thank you for calling HKR Software! How can I…”

  A loud ring came from the cubicle to his left. Then another from behind him.

  Lovely. How nostalgic.

  Alex pinched his eyes. He peered at his monitor, which was overtaken by spreadsheets and graphs, split-screened across countless tabs: Data points for reference, unrealistic company projections, and borderline delusional quotas. With each passing minute, his memories became clearer. The inhuman hours, the scapegoating… But what did it matter?

  The feelings attached to them belonged to a stranger now. In many ways the apocalypse had been the great leveler, carelessly tearing down the social constructs and hierarchies that gave the world he’d known order. If this place truly reflected his past, then these quotas, projections, and profits wouldn’t matter soon.

  He slugged down the rest of his energy drink—then crushed it.

  Wait, how soon?

  “Yo, Alex.” His cubicle neighbor peeked in again. “What’s got you so spacy today? You won’t need me to call an ambulance again, right? They won’t reimburse you, you know. Management’s changed insurance policies since last time. Did you sign the new papers?”

  “What? Who even are y—you know what? Nevermind. Just tell me what day it is.”

  The man seemed like he’d been about to answer. Instead, he suddenly went pale, looking past Alex, over his shoulder. Alex followed his gaze and saw a balding man who thumbed his suspenders with the attitude of someone who spent too much of his mornings in front of the mirror practicing his glare. Even before he spoke, Alex felt an all too familiar chill.

  “Alex, the manager–”

  —would like a word with you.

  Alex frowned, finishing the sentence in his head. This level of precognition from his trait was unnatural for anything short of a dagger in the back.

  “You’re nowhere near hitting your quota for this month,” the man sneered. “And they want to know why.”

  He said ‘why’ as though the answer were obvious—as if to insinuate that Alex’s disheveled, un-showered condition was the very crux of the issue.

  After enduring a barrage of criticisms about his wrinkled shirt, Alex finally remembered the man: Jack, John, or something equally stereotypical. A pompous middle manager who’d always been on his ass. He blabbered on and Alex felt like he was experiencing two re-enactments of his life, one from memory and the other on a delay. The déjà vu was too intense, too detailed for something from fifteen years ago.

  He pulled out his phone, trying to recall how to unlock it. Then startled when he saw his wallpaper.

  Alyssa...

  Her hazel-blue eyes stirred up a myriad of emotions that had laid untouched for years. Her cheeky smile, the way her auburn hair curled messily around the earmuffs he’d bought her, the way she… just everything about her. He hadn’t been able to find a picture after Earth fell, and since he’d lost the one he’d had...

  Except… Earth hadn’t fallen here, had it? Even if this was a dream—no, who even cared if it was? If the Integration hadn’t even begun yet, then maybe he could—

  His stomach lurched as another realization dawned on him.

  “Hey, Alex! Are you even listening? You’d better have an answer prepared when you get to the GM’s office!”

  Alex was, in fact, not listening. He sprang to his feet, shoved past his balding middle manager, and bolted from the cubicle. He checked the date on his phone, checked it again, and then checked the time.

  September 22, 2023. 11:07 pm.

  It was a day he would never forget—that no one could forget. He only had one hour.

  Fuck. Why couldn’t he have just had a normal existence-less afterlife? This timing was damn conspicuous! Was it a nightmare after all?

  “Hey! Is this what they call cold quitting? What am I supposed to tell the higher-ups?!”

  “Tell them this, Jonas!” Alex shouted back. “Tell them they’ll have better things to worry about soon!”

  Adrenaline kicked in and he broke into a run.

  “My name isn’t Jonas…”

  Alex rounded a corner, the middle manager’s shout fading behind him. He glanced at his screensaver again: It was a photo from Alyssa’s middle school graduation in 2020—the last year he and his sister had been on speaking terms. Taking a deep breath, he dialed her number. It went to voicemail on the first ring.

  Of course she wouldn’t pick up.

  He dialed again… and again, but his fifth dial went immediately to voicemail. He ran through the vaguely familiar city streets, his thumb fumbling to find where he had his address saved. Then he went to check his credit balance, hesitantly prying open his eyes.

  Only $62.34.

  He chuckled pitifully, then emptied most of it on an overpriced uber. As soon as his driver pulled over, he jumped into the backseat.

  “Code?” the driver asked.

  “What?”

  “What’s the code?” He repeated.

  “Uh right, it’s uh… 2832. Please be quick, it’s an emergency.”

  “Seat belt?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Alex clicked himself in. He gave his thanks to the driver, both for taking the fastest route onto the viaduct, and for only making a few meager attempts at pleasantries. Meanwhile, Alex worked the dexterity back into his thumbs, typing one of the longest messages he’d ever written. He stared at his phone, bewildered.

  How do I send this without sounding crazy…

  He couldn’t. But with no other choice, he sent it anyway. It didn’t matter if his sister didn’t believe him, but he hoped she would at least read it. If there was even a tiny chance that this was all real, then the world would prove him right soon enough. And this…. was all he could do for her. She lived in Los Angeles—closer to where they’d grown up.

  Ironic, wasn’t it? Here he was, fifteen years in the past and just a few hours too late to change anything.

  Perhaps it was because he’d been sent back here, to a place where such gestures once held any meaning at all, but for the first time in a long while, Alex found his hands clasped together in prayer.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Please, Lys, listen to your older brother just this once.

  Don’t choose Nightmare.

  ***

  Alex had his driver drop him off at the nearest convenience store to his apartment, as he had some items to buy before returning to his unit. The concierge cleared him through the lobby and he’d bolted up the stairs, hunching over to catch his breath once he reached the fourth-floor landing

  The plastic bags digging into his arm were packed with cheap snacks, borax, lighter fluid, and as much canola oil as $20 could buy you in Seattle.

  Which was enough to drag down his withered body, even if it wasn’t much.

  He wouldn’t have stopped if he weren’t genuinely concerned he might faint at this rate. His pre-apocalypse physique was in terrible shape. It was a wonder how he’d even survived the tutorial in his... first life?

  Is that what I’m calling this now?

  He huffed, lamenting that he didn’t have an inventory to shove all this stuff into, but he’d be damned if he went in empty-handed this time. Everything he had on him when Integration began would teleport with him, and he intended to make use of that. Even if it just meant ransacking his apartment for a fistful of granola bars or whatever else he could find.

  I hope we paid the water bill.

  Another set of stairs later and Alex’s breath already came hot and heavy. This wasn’t the body he was used to. He exited the stairwell, and after a minute, the elevator dinged. Only then did he realize he couldn’t even remember which floor he lived on. Would his adrenaline have just taken him all the way to the rooftop? Or would he have collapsed halfway there?

  Thankfully, muscle memory kicked in, and he pressed the correct button.

  Floor 7.

  The elevator ascended. Alex stared at his reflection in the mirror, tracing his face with a vague sense of dysphoria. The last fifteen years had been entirely erased from his body—it was as though he were looking at a complete stranger. He touched his stomach, where his innards had bled out only moments ago. It was smooth, intact. Yet on the whole, his fifteen years younger self looked much closer to death. His frame hung taut and fragile. His pale skin was unmarred by scars, but it clung to his bones like wet rice paper.

  However, what struck him most was the familiar look in his eyes—the one thing that hadn’t changed. The elevator chimed. Alex stepped into the hallway, his legs wobbly. He retched.

  This can’t be real.

  To be back here after so long. That meant it was all gone. Everything he’d done… everything that had happened to him… all the suffering, all the hardships—reset. Reduced to nothing.

  He knew he’d asked for a second chance, just… not like this.

  He pulled out his phone again. The photo was an old one. Alyssa had only been twelve, and Alex... the man he used to be, with that careless smile and the shitty goatee of a man who could just barely grow one… how could that be the same person?

  He checked his messages.

  No reply.

  His lips pursed into a thin line. Something he’d been asked just a few weeks ago came to mind unbidden. “Hey Alex, what would you do if you could go back to the very beginning?”

  The man hadn’t been an acquaintance. Just an over-familiar drunkard, with more booze behind his words than sense.

  “I’d like to clock the next person who asks me that,” Alex remembered answering.

  It wasn’t like he’d never thought about it—everyone had. And everyone had the same answer; they’d do things differently. But what did that really mean? A quick stop at 7-Eleven before the apocalypse? No, that made little difference on its own. It was just his experience taking over, years of restless instinct telling him to prepare for the next battle.

  Then what? What was his real answer? It wasn’t like he wanted to relive that hell. But what could he really change? At this rate, wouldn’t he just experience it all again as he had the first time?

  His hand hesitated on the doorknob and he pulled out his phone again. His face reflected off its dark surface, and he finally understood what was so familiar about his eyes.

  They held no hope.

  But so what?

  With a shaky breath, he braced himself, turning his keys. He didn’t have the answers. Perhaps this really was a dream—or a nightmare even—but that was a stupid hill to die on. If there was even a chance the Integration was coming, he had to be ready. Because that was how he survived.

  He entered his apartment.

  “Alex?”

  A man with a tapered buzz cut turned toward him from the couch, his expression incredulous.

  “Cameron… Long time no see.”

  Alex walked past him into the tiny kitchen and started rooting through the cabinets. Shin ramen and canned soup, a low stock of both. Go figure. Seattle was expensive and making a shitty living meant there was little time leftover to cook. He grabbed a plastic bag and started tossing food in. Then he picked up a lone mandarin orange that sat dusty on the fridge top, his mind distant.

  The TV played some random SpongeBob episode as background noise.

  “Long time no see?” Cameron repeated. “Look, man, if you didn’t look like complete shit right now, I’d think you were dodging me. And why are you acting like a squirrel about to get its nuts stolen?”

  Alex noticed a slip of paper by the sink that read, Do them yourself.

  He walked past it, tucking the unused slow cooker under his arm, mentally shrugging. You never know. It might come in handy somehow.

  “Seriously?” Cameron’s expression became concerned. He turned the TV off. “Hey, man, you know we gotta talk. About all this. And rent.”

  Alex paused, frowning in consternation.

  “You can’t be serious! Man, we’ve known each other for a long time, and I’ve covered for you before—but this? This is a bit much.”

  Alex stared blankly. “Sorry, I’m a little dazed out. What do you mean?”

  “Dude, it’s been four months. You literally owe me over three grand, and I’m not sure you even can pay me back—and hey, don’t say you’re too tired to talk. I-” Cameron exhaled, then calmed himself. “Listen, I hate even saying this because I’d much rather help a brother out, but this has got to stop. If—”

  “Cameron,” Alex said firmly.

  His former roommate paused, taken aback by the severity in his tone. Alex took a moment to think. To remember.

  Shit, rent.

  The thought brought him halfway between manic laughter and a tired sigh. He somehow managed to repress both, facing Cameron. Standing at full height, his friend cast an imposing figure, with hard eyes and round glasses that did nothing to soften the intensity of his frown.

  How much should I tell him?

  Certainly not the whole truth. And “friend” felt... complicated. Well no, they had been friends once, hadn’t they? Not close ones—Alex hadn’t been close to anyone—but close enough to survive living together. For a bit. That had to count for something, right?

  He glanced around the room. The curtains were open, fluttering in the night’s breeze. A pile of clothes and another forgotten note lay in the corner with some scattered items. Thinking clearly, none of it was remotely useful for the apocalypse.

  Cameron was looking at him expectantly. Friend or not, the man might be dead in a few hours.

  Four months of unpaid rent… I guess I was a pretty shit roommate.

  Alex sighed. There were cigarettes on the side table and a longing he thought he’d abandoned rose in his chest. He left the slow cooker with some of the food on the counter and walked to the balcony, sliding open the door.

  “A quick smoke?”

  Apprehension lingered in Cameron’s expression, but some of the tension drained from his shoulders. “Don’t you know it. Finals are a bitch this quarter.”

  Finals, huh…

  Alex leaned over the railing, gazing out into the night sky.

  11:39 pm… roughly twenty-one minutes.

  Lights sparkled from skyscrapers across the water like dazzling emeralds. When Alex had first come to Seattle he’d expected constant rainfall but contrary to rumor, it was more like an on-and-off drizzle—a constant mist that dampened the shoulders and filled your nostrils with the scent of rain. He’d grown to like it.

  He’d wanted to show his sister it someday.

  “Alex…” Cameron said, passing the cigarette, “You’re in a different kind of mood today. You aren’t thinking of doing it, are you?”

  Alex coughed, his lungs burning. “No, Cameron. I’m a lot of things, but not suicidal.”

  Cameron went quiet for a second. “Yeah, I know. I used to wonder for a while. Was why I tried to hook you up with—uh, nah nevermind. It was dumb. I just figured you would’ve done it already if you were gonna. What with… you know.”

  Alex shrugged, masking a wince. It’d been long since anyone poked that sore spot. He still remembered—more clearly than he wanted to.

  He checked his phone again. No reply from his sister, and there wouldn’t be. He let it fall into his pocket and passed the cigarette to Cameron, resting his head against the railing.

  Seattle. A new city; a fresh start. Or so he’d thought at the time. As it turned out, criminal records follow you across state lines, and it doesn’t matter how young you were or how minor the infraction was. All he’d wanted was to take custody of his sister from foster care, to take care of her himself. To do that though he’d needed money, and sure, he’d made some mistakes, told some lies along the way, but he’d worked hard to end up where he did. He was good at his job. If the system was rigged against him why wouldn't he cheat a little?

  Unfortunately, the law didn’t agree with that sort of thinking. Neither had his employers. And by the time he’d lost his only chance at living with his sister, all the money in the world had become worthless to him. Coming to Seattle, Alex knew the truth now, he’d just been running away.

  No wonder she doesn’t want to see me.

  He took another puff, watching the embers fall. Cameron shifted uncomfortably next to him. “So, look. I’ll just tell you it straight. I know you don’t have the money, Alex. If you did, you would’ve just gambled it away already. I don’t know what else to do, man. You don’t talk to me, you don’t ask for help… I tried, is what I’m saying. But you... you’ve got to go. I can give you a week, and after that…”

  Silence hung between them, heavy and final.

  Yeah, that’s understandable.

  Alex turned, meeting Cameron’s eyes properly now. Memories stirred—the house parties they’d gone to, getting wasted after the bars closed, hotboxing in Cameron’s mom’s minivan... They were all in the far stretches of his memory, but they were still there.

  He took a breath, then flicked his cigarette. “You’re a good friend, Cameron. Better than I deserved. I’ll… pay it back if I ever get the chance.”

  Cameron was perplexed, but Alex simply grabbed his things, only pausing for a moment to ransack the cabinets and closets for a few other essentials. He took in the old apartment one last time before giving Cameron a half hug. Cameron squeezed him back, saying more with that one gesture than words ever could.

  Goodbye, my friend.

  ***

  The view was better from the rooftop.

  Alex set his bags down beside him and looked out over North Seattle’s shopping districts and suburbs, a strange feeling washing over him. Across the water the downtown buildings still lit up the night, but he knew it wasn’t all as pretty as it appeared—having huddled himself to sleep on their sidewalks many cold nights in his youth.

  I’ve come pretty far.

  The thought was unexpected. He’d come up here half-thinking this might be the time he jumped for real. But he really had, in a way. He’d been an asshole—stealing his friend’s money, taking advantage of his kindness. Of course, he had his reasons—cause for all the sorrow, self-pity, and spite he’d felt back then—but ultimately, he’d still done it. He’d done much worse in his life. The kind of stuff that didn’t even compare.

  But in the end, he’d died trying to save one, hadn’t he? A friend. Now that they were both dead, Alex could admit it. That’s what Jordan had been to him.

  A friend.

  He coughed, reached into his breast pocket, and after some hesitation, dropped the cigarette box over the roof’s edge. These lungs are going to be a bitch in the apocalypse, aren't they?

  He pulled out his phone, screenshotting most of what he’d texted Alyssa, minus the heartfelt message. This wasn’t really what he’d meant by repayment, but he compiled the key points in a new message and sent it to Cameron too. Then he turned off his notifications. Goodbyes should be final, in his opinion. His friend still wouldn’t live. His sister probably wouldn’t either.

  But Alyssa was wise beyond her years. If she saw it… well, there was always a chance. He just knew better than to get his hopes up.

  Five minutes left.

  He looked out over the city. Seattle at night… This would be the last time he could see it. At least the way it currently was—whole and everything.

  The city wasn’t perfect, but it had been his city. Once, it had been his entire world, but now it just felt small. So fragile. Those towering buildings might scrape the sky, but he knew one scratch from the apocalypse could send them all toppling.

  He checked the time again. Less than a minute now.

  The railings were cold under his grip. The wind gave him a chill, and he realized that he had forgotten to pack warmer clothes in his reluctance to enter his room. He was still wearing his work suit, just like he had been in his first life.

  It wasn’t a laughing matter.

  But he laughed anyway—a derisive snort.

  Money, rent, a bad date, old friends, bad roommates, finals, studying, college, work—none of it mattered. The apocalypse would come and whisk them all away. Like it had for everything in the end.

  He looked down at his hands. If any of this is real, at least. And if it’s not…

  The thought tapered off, too painful to finish. The idea that this could all just be a dream or illusion—that the Integration was just a figment of Alex’s imagination—was a nightmare more terrifying than anything Camilla could’ve conjured.

  His phone rang. He didn’t look at it. It was probably Cameron, trying to get him to a proper asylum after his last text. Apocalypses and such. Maybe he really did think Alex was going to end it now.

  And maybe… just maybe…

  Alex lowered his head, his lip trembling. Then he made his decision. He clutched his bags, grabbed the railing, and hauled himself over the edge.

  He plummeted.

  The wind roared in his face. His stomach churned as he fell. His hair whipped in the icy air. In the distance, Seattle dipped below the horizon. The ground rushed closer, bringing with it the foul lurch of death—and right when he thought he might’ve actually killed himself, the world shook, and Alex found himself frozen in place.

  He smiled with conflicted relief. This world was far too sane a place to live in.

  Integration 192 of World 39F72 has begun.

  Please await further instructions as assessment completes.

  Welcome to the System.