The park bench wasn't much of a home, but it was all August had. The peeling green paint scratched his back, and the thin blanket he'd scavenged from a nearby trash bin did little to fight off the night's chill. His stomach growled for what felt like the hundredth time that day, but he ignored it. Hunger was a familiar ache now, one he'd learned to push aside like an old friend overstaying their welcome.
He leaned back and stared at the moon, its pale light washing over the empty park. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, its sound sharp and lonely, just like him. August pulled the blanket tighter and closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come. Instead, the memories did.
"I can't do this anymore," Sabrina had said, her voice trembling but firm. She didn't look at him as she spoke. Her hands clutched the edge of their kitchen table, knuckles white.
August had begged her. "What are you talking about? We can fix this."
She shook her head, still avoiding his gaze. "It's not something we can fix, Aug. I just... I need to leave."
And then she was gone.
He'd replayed that moment a thousand times, looking for some hidden clue, some sign he'd missed. Was it his job? The long hours working construction? The fact that he couldn't buy her the things her wealthy clients flaunted? Sabrina had been a scientist, brilliant and beautiful. She worked with people who wore tailored suits and drove cars that cost more than he made in a year. He'd tried to be enough for her, but in the end, he wasn't.
When she left, everything else unraveled.
The apartment was the first to go. He couldn't keep up with the rent on his wages alone. He tried crashing with a few friends, but that didn't last long. The invitations dried up, and the calls stopped coming. Then, the job followed. It wasn't hard to see why. Who wanted a guy who showed up late, distracted, and reeking of cheap liquor?
Now, he was here. The man he'd once been—husband, provider, partner—was gone.
A gust of wind snapped him back to the present. August rubbed his arms and shivered. "What a mess," he muttered to himself. The sound of his voice was strange, foreign. When was the last time he'd spoken to anyone? Days? Weeks?
As he stood to stretch his legs, something caught his eye. A figure moved near the edge of the park, where the streetlights flickered and died. It was a man—or at least, it looked like one.
August squinted. The man was hunched over, his movements jerky and unnatural. At first, August thought he was rooting through the trash like he often did himself. But then he saw the red.
Blood.
It gleamed wetly under the faint glow of the distant streetlight.
August's breath caught in his throat. He took a step closer, his curiosity warring with the instinct to run. The man shifted, revealing what he was crouched over—a woman, her body limp and lifeless.
The man's head jerked up, his face pale and smeared with blood. His eyes locked onto August, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
August stumbled back, his mind racing. "What the hell?" he whispered. His body screamed at him to run, but his legs felt like lead.
The man rose slowly, his movements unnatural and stiff, as if he were a puppet on tangled strings. Blood dripped from his mouth, staining his shirt and the ground beneath him.
August's heart pounded in his chest. He took another step back, then another. The man tilted his head, almost curious, before letting out a low, guttural growl.
It wasn't human.
The sound jolted August into action. He turned and ran, his feet pounding against the pavement. Behind him, the growling turned into a snarl, and then the sound of footsteps—heavy, uneven, but fast—echoed in the night.
"No, no, no," August panted, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He darted through the park, weaving between trees and benches, but the footsteps stayed close, too close.
He tripped on a root and hit the ground hard, the impact jarring his already aching body. He rolled onto his back, scrambling to get up, but the man was there, looming over him.
The thing snarled again, its bloodstained teeth bared as it lunged.
And then, everything stopped.
A voice—calm, cold, and mechanical—spoke in August's mind. "System initializing. User identified. Beginning combat protocol."
Before August could process what was happening, a bright light appeared in his peripheral vision. He turned his head and saw something impossible—a shimmering, translucent interface floating in midair, filled with symbols and text he couldn't read.
"Weapon deployed," the voice said.
A knife materialized beside him, glowing faintly. August hesitated for only a second before grabbing it. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, something inside him shifted.
He moved without thinking, his body acting on instinct that wasn't his own. The knife plunged into the man's chest once, twice, three times. The thing let out a guttural shriek before collapsing, its weight pinning August to the ground.
For a moment, there was silence, broken only by August's ragged breathing. He shoved the body off him and scrambled to his feet, the knife still clutched in his trembling hand.
The voice returned. "Hostile neutralized. Experience gained. New user tutorial available."
"What the hell is this?" August whispered, staring at the interface. The symbols shifted, rearranging themselves into something he could finally read:
WELCOME, USER AUGUST.
SYSTEM ACTIVATED. INITIALIZING SURVIVAL MODE.
He stumbled back, the knife slipping from his hand. This had to be a dream, some nightmare brought on by too many sleepless nights and empty stomachs. But the blood on his hands, the weight of the dead man—no, the dead thing—it all felt too real.
Before he could gather his thoughts, the interface shifted again, displaying a map of the surrounding area. Blinking red dots appeared, scattered across the grid.
"Hostiles detected. User advised to seek shelter."
August's chest tightened. He looked around, his eyes darting between the trees and shadows. The park, once eerily quiet, now seemed alive with movement.
He grabbed the knife and ran.
It wasn't until he reached the edge of the park and saw the faint glow of streetlights that he stopped. His chest heaved, his legs trembled, but he didn't dare look back.
The interface reappeared, floating in front of him. This time, it displayed a single word:
MISSION: SURVIVE.
As August catches his breath, the distant growl of another creature echoes through the night, growing louder with each passing second.