There were plenty of similar chats and private messages, but Alex ignored them all. For him, gaming was simple: whale his way to the top, make other players envy him, and then quit. That was how he built his legendary nickname—WhaleGod. Game companies both loved and hated him.
Every time Alex pulled this stunt, they got bombarded with complaints. Yet, none of them ever banned him. Instead, they kept sending him invitations to beta-test new games. The revenue he brought in was worth more than a hundred regular whales combined. And the free publicity? Priceless. Some YouTubers even had entire channels dedicated to tracking his latest spending sprees.
"Haha, what final boss? I didn't even see the credit card statement." Alex chuckled, recalling the chat messages. But the amusement faded quickly. Right—he needed to find a job. Sighing, he opened his browser and typed: "how to earn money online."
The results? A flood of garbage ads.
"Get Rich or Die Scrolling: Learn to Earn $500 Daily with Our Fun Online Strategy!"
"Earn $1000 a day from home!"
Alex frowned. He wasn't dumb enough to fall for these scams, but still—in his mind… why the hell were they advertising such small amounts?
"$1000 a day? Who even gets baited by that? At least make it a million!" If he had said that out loud, people would've probably beaten him up. Most folks barely made $1000 a month, and here he was, thinking it was pocket change. He kept scrolling, but then a thought struck him.
Why was he even searching for 'money' in the first place? His mom didn't actually care how much he made—she just wanted him to do something that got him out of the house. Something that required actual social interaction. That ruled out most of the game-testing offers in his inbox. Skimming through them, he realized none of them paid in cash—just in-game credits. And worse, none required him to step outside.
Frustrated, he checked his spam folder. And then he saw it
.
***
"Looking for new VR implant beta testers!
Tired of needing a device to access the VR world? With our new implant, all you need to do is close your eyes, and you'll be inside."
***
Alex raised an eyebrow. 'A VR implant?'
Curious, he clicked on it and started digging into the company's background. He'd heard of this tech before, but last he checked, it was still in the experimental stage. Barely any info had been released to the public. But after checking the company's address, board members, and previous projects, he realized—it was real.
The parent company specialized in researching Awakeners—people with superpowers. And that meant this wasn't just some shady cash-grab scam. The payment was small, but he didn't care. If it got him out of the house and doing something new, it was worth it.
Without hesitation, he started registering his information. In Alex's world, Awakeners weren't just fiction. They'd appeared fifty years ago—right after the world was shaken by a massive earthquake. No one knew the real cause, but some whispered that it all started with a secret government experiment. And now, it seemed like Alex was about to get a front-row seat to the next big breakthrough.
A week after the global earthquake, strange phenomena began appearing. People felt uneasy in certain areas, as if something was off. At first, it was subtle—but as the days passed, things got worse. Gravity started acting weird, becoming heavier or lighter at random. Fire flickered into existence in midair. Cold water felt scalding hot. Puddles froze solid in an instant. It spooked people. Many packed up and left before things got any worse.
Then, after exactly one week, space itself distorted. A portal formed—a dungeon. Authorities quickly sealed off the area and sent in expeditions. Only a handful of people made it back alive. That was when they noticed it. A faint red aura, barely visible at first, lingering around the portal.
At first, it was just a wisp. But as time passed, the aura grew—slowly, steadily, until it encircled the portal completely. And when it did? The dungeon broke. A flood of monsters poured out. They called it a Dungeon Break.
Modern weapons could hurt the creatures, but not efficiently. The government even considered leveling the areas with bombs. Until the first Awakener appeared. With their help, humanity finally managed to control the situation. From then on, dungeons weren't just threats. They became strategic resources.
Awakeners ventured into them, hunting monsters and harvesting exotic materials. Some dungeons even held other civilizations—though details on that were classified. All the public knew was that these discoveries led to massive technological leaps. One of them? Hyperrealistic virtual reality. And that was how Alex ended up spending most of his time—gaming in a world that had once been science fiction.
***
Meanwhile, at the Pandora Research Facility, the very place that had sent Alex a job offer, three scientists were deep in their work. Or rather, deep in their frustration. They looked exhausted, dark circles under their eyes, clothes wrinkled from too many sleepless nights.
A silver-haired woman held up a vial of murky, red liquid, swirling it slightly in the dim lab light. "I don't get it," she muttered, brows furrowing. "No matter what we do, there's no reaction."
The blood—if it could even be called that—had been retrieved from a dungeon. At first, it caused a stir. Everyone wanted to study it. But after months of failed experiments, most had given up.
The liquid acted alive. Mixing chemicals into it? No reaction.
Trying to separate it into components? It resisted, shifting like a living thing.
They even had someone drink it once. The result? The blood rejected the host. It slithered out of the person's body on its own.
One of the assistants sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Professor Faerith, you should really give up already."
She barely acknowledged him, eyes still locked onto the vial. She couldn't explain it, but something about this blood called to her. It wasn't just stubborn curiosity anymore—it was an obsession. "I just got another response for a new test subject," she muttered, finally slumping into her chair. "If this one fails too, I'll take a break."
Her assistant scoffed. "Prof, you've been saying that for seven months." He gestured at the stacks of reports piled up around them. "In total, we've been at this for a year."