Eli woke with the memory of putrid rotten meat paramount in his mind.
He flailed on his bed, screaming.
Hands viciously tearing at the sheet that had become entangled with his limbs during sleep, he fell off the edge of the bed.
The dull thump stopped the screaming, leaving harsh nearly panicky panting as the man ripped off the last of the sheet and stumbled instinctively to the glass door that was letting in the pale light of near dawn.
The door led to a tiny balcony.
He slipped on the fake-ceramic tiles as the door opened, a short rain in the pre-dawn having wet the surfaces. Ending up on his hands and knees, he inhaled the chilly morning air with the desperate greediness of a drowning man.
His deep breaths stuttered, as his body adjusted from where his brain had been. He grabbed at a flower pot containing a withered plant and spewed the contents of his stomach into it.
The small pot, already filled with soil and a mass of poorly watered herbs, wasn't enough to contain everything and vomit sloshed over the edges, splattering over sleepwear and the smooth faux-tile of the balcony.
Eli raised his head and stared through the spaces between the balusters, wide-eyed at the sight of a city skyline that had haunted him in dreams for years.
Impossible.
-Screams and the sound of cracking metal and concrete.-
He shook his head.
"Focus on sight," he told himself harshly, recalling coping mechanisms that he hadn't needed for years. "What do you see?"
Nothing, really.
His natural eyesight was weak.
Somehow, the slightly blurry world before him was greatly comforting.
One thing he'd loved about Zushkenar, was that he'd never needed his glasses again.
This was not Zushkenar.
He scrambled to his feet and entered his room, scrabbling for the glasses on the bedside table, before returning to sit as close as he could to the balcony rail.
He pressed his forehead to the balcony's iron balusters, the metal cold as ice and just as grounding. He gawked at the street below.
There were yellow and white striped taxicabs already lining up at the stop for the early commuters. Count them. One, two, three, four, five, six seven, eight.
One two three four five bicycle vendors pedaling through the intersection on the other side of the park.
There was a study, he remembered, when he was in college, on the reasons behind the resurgence of streetfood vendors after they dwindled to near non-existence. Something about crime statistics, a new drug, and the growing trend of outdoor entertainment due to concerns about VR impacting physical health?
His breath hitched.
No.
Start counting.
Twelve trees visible in the park from his sixth floor apartment balcony. Eight flower pots on his balcony – only four had greenery, mostly the mint he used to make tea, and the hardy bonsai that didn't die no matter how many times he forgot to water them.
The rest were neglected to death, had been since his mother died. The pain was a swift ache at the memory, there but flowing past. In his view, it had been eleven years since his mother's death.
He didn't know the exact date, but the fact that the plants were dead meant it had been more than a year. He wondered, mutely and regretfully, how the Eli of the past could let his mother's plants die.
He closed his eyes for a moment, before once more studying this world that was waking in the nascent rays of the morning sun.
An Earth sunrise, he marveled.
The sunrises in Zushkenar were more dramatic and colorful. Those who could see broader spectrums of light said the sunrises and sunsets of that otherworld were incredible, like seeing a song being written in shades of light and darkness and clouds.
But there was something about this simple yellow and salmon sunrise that reached into Eli's chest and seized his heart. This was the sun he had been born under, one that he and the transmigrated one hundred and fifteen million players of Redlands had resigned themselves to never seeing in person again.
Was this a hallucination?
He knew he'd died.
He'd just been eaten alive by a giant burrowing rock-armored dragon-snake monster, could smell the foul breath of rotting meat in its mouth, could feel teeth slicing into various parts of his body.
He shuddered and vomited again.
He didn't bother with a flowerpot this time.
The bitter sour smell of bile mixed with digested food cut through the phantom memories of his death. He wiped his mouth on the back of a hand, grimacing.
If this world was fake, it was shitty VR.
You can't be too realistic, you know?
People only believed they'd been transmigrated to Zushkenar, the world of the game, because everything was too real. Too scarily tangibly real.
So.
He might really be back on Earth.
The fingers of his left hand relaxed from their death grip on the balusters. The iron under his palms had pressed deep into his flesh. He let go and stared at the red lines.
He looked at the city again.
This simple, chilly sunrise; it was beautiful.
It was so beautiful.
*
The harsh ring of the phone lifted Eli from the depths of slumber.
He groaned and squinted at the large digital clock embedded into his wall. The blurry glowing figures said it was September 28, Wednesday, 10:23 a.m., the temperature 19 degrees Celsius, and that there would be light rain later in the afternoon but most of the day would be sunny.
He flopped onto his back.
After cleaning up the balcony and taking a shower, he'd been too overwhelmed that he wept himself to sleep. According to the clock, that was maybe five hours ago.
It also said Wednesday, which was the middle of the work week. Eli covered his eyes with an arm. If he had work or anything else scheduled today, he could not bring himself to care.
He'd been in Zushkenar for nearly eight years, where the highest mechanical tech was magical clockwork. That didn't stop some of the former players from building clockwork motorcycles, but that wasn't the point.
The point was he wouldn't remember what to do for a modern job anyway. He had a lot of part-time jobs before the Quake. It was probably fine if he missed a day without cause. Probably.
The phone rang again.
He flipped to the side, frowning blearily as he reached above to the headboard ledge. His body was heavy and sluggish. He patted the ledge without opening his eyes and finally found the earpiece.
He clipped it to the implanted port in his ear, the smart interface picking the call up the second the pieces connected.
"Eli?" The caller asked with anxious concern as soon as the call connected.
Eli groaned unintelligibly in reply.
The person on the other end exhaled in relief, hard enough to be audible over the line. Then the person almost wailed his next words. "I've been waiting over an hour!"
"Guh!!?"
"Eli, the interview's in thirty minutes! Are you stuck in traffic? You said you'd be early? Are you alright? What street are you on now?"
That voice was…
"Zee?" Eli croaked the name, conflicted feelings rushing through him.
"What's wrong with your voice? Don't tell me you just woke up? Tell me you're in the taxi already. This is Hareon Interplanetary, Eli, you can't show up late!" A groan sounded over the line. "Ah, I knew I should've dropped by your place. But you said you'd be here early enough to have breakfast!"
"No, I…" Hareon Interplanetary?
Eli sat up slowly on his bed, remembering, the memories coming sharp in his mind.
Oh. Well. He didn't need to go to work today, it seemed. He was sacked six months ago. And it was before he needed to take up part-time jobs.
He knew what day this was now. It was unmistakable.
It was that interview.
When you get transmigrated into another world because your planet has been destroyed by the great-grandmother of all earthquakes, you unfortunately retain nostalgia over some very odd things, much connected to emotion. The bad and humiliating memories weren't exempted.
Eli's mind had gone over this day many many times in memory.
The reason?
The interview with HI had been the end of everything, for him.
Everything.
September 28, 2095.
Hah, what a day.
Two years before, Eli's mother had died, and he'd crumpled into a deep depression. She had been one of the constants in his life. She had always been there to support him, and when she wasn't Eli floundered.
Then six months ago, he'd been let go by the company due to restructuring and budget cuts.
Being a child who had always been praised by his teachers and had immediately found a job with a major company after university, this was a second constant in his life that was shaken. He wasn't as intelligent or accomplished as he thought he was, and that stung.
Eli, at 26 years old, had been a depressed loner who hoarded misery like a dragon hoarded treasures. And like a dragon, had an unconscious arrogance about him brought on by being his mother's only child. After losing two pillars of his life, he had been psychologically strained, especially after six months of not finding a job after being laid off.
He'd been desperate for something to be successful, so he emotionally and mentally hinged that success on passing the HI interview.
That had been a bad idea.
He sighed, then deliberately worsened his voice, nearly gargling the words half into a pillow. "I got a cold."
There was an incredulous silence, before Zee exploded. "A…a cold?! What the hell? Don't mess with me, a cold?!"
It was uncharacteristic of Zee to curse at others; he must really be nervous about today's interview.
"Mm." Eli ignored the familiar distressed noises.
The other sounded like he wanted to strangle Eli, that or cry. "You studied weeks to pass the preliminary screenings, and now you 'have a cold'? Eli, they don't give second chances."
"I know," he groaned with all the pitifulness he could muster. "You think I don't want to be there?"
He really didn't.
"Okay. I'm coming over there." The concern in Zee's voice was warming, but really unnecessary at this time.
"No." Eli straightened up suddenly. "If you come here and don't take that interview, we're no longer friends. I won't be friends with someone who throws away their future over me."
"But there's no one in the building now…should I call –"
"Try it, Ventre," Eli sneered into the phone, interrupting the other.
There was a slightly shocked noise at how much menacing disdain there was in Eli's voice.
Eli too, used to be surprised at how much threat could put into a few syllables, until he learned that a few harsh words could prevent a fight. The Zushkenar learning curve was steep – survive a wartorn continent in another world, and intimidating braggadocio came naturally.
"Is there something wrong?" the man at the other end of the line sounded hesitant.
Like a rabbit, Eli frowned. Typical Zee.
But Eli remembered the admiration his mother had for their neighbor. Zee was a year younger than Eli, and at this point in time he'd just graduated from university at the age of twenty-five. It took him longer than usual to get a degree because Zee had to work to support two younger sisters.
Under the slightly manic babbling and the semi-frequent bouts of shyness, Zee had a spine of mythic steel.
Eli sighed. "Just a headache. I'm going to sleep it off. If you come visit, it better be tomorrow. Bring cake, anything with rum and fruit. We'll celebrate."
He hung up and turned the phone off.
The Hareon Interplanetary main interview lasted ten hours, from eleven in the morning to nine at night.
The preliminary interview was just before lunch. Lunch was taken in one of the HI cafeterias. Later, those hired were informed that the lunch break was part of the overall assessment.
Eli hadn't been one of the lucky hires.
Zee had.
He flopped back onto the bed, arms spread wide.
Like Zee said, he'd spent weeks preparing. But in the back of his mind, he already expected to be hired so while his preparation was meticulous it wasn't as in-depth as it probably should've been.
He'd been arrogantly lazy, Eli sneered at himself half-heartedly. Zushkenar had taught him what a massive mistake that was.
The space-faring industry needed painful precision and ruthless competence. Eli had been competent but too inattentive for them.
It was logical that they didn't hire him.
But to his mind at that time, he'd been humiliated and unjustly treated.
He'd inadvertently hinged all his self-esteem and hopes on that interview. When he didn't pass, he'd been emotionally and mentally crushed. After that interview, it was like all his subsequent interviews were tainted. He never held more than a part-time job until the world ended over a year later.
Eli twitched and jack-knifed back to a sitting position. The conversation with Zee had almost let him forget.
This was his old world.
The world that on December 21, 2096 was struck by an earthquake magnitudes greater than any earthquake that had come before, a disaster that split continents and destroyed the planet; a disaster that the human race didn't survive.
Then unexpectedly, one hundred and fifteen million people woke up in the world of a game they had been playing.
A game made real.
The shock and confusion lasted years, and would've likely killed most of them off if a coalition of player clans from all over the map hadn't banded together to stop the wars.
As it was, by the time Eli had died, they'd lost maybe a sixth of their total number.
Eli didn't want to think about it, directed his thoughts elsewhere.
Zushkenar.
Eli had spent seven years and some months in that world, the world of the game called Redlands, as the former player StrawmanScare that most knew as the minor hunter and master leatherworker Scare.
And now he was back, nine years in the past.
On his beloved Earth, once more.
A world that was destined to die.