Hong Yi jolted upright, a gasp escaping his lips. He blinked away disorientation. He found himself cocooned in soft white sheets. The scent of jasmine tickled his nose. Where was the acrid smoke? Where were the desolate plains stretching under a merciless sun? Panic surged through him as memories, fragmented and brutal, flooded his mind. He saw images of skies choked with dust.
He saw comrades falling, with faces etched with despair. The suffocating weight of leadership – these were the last remnants of his world. He remembered the final desperate stand. The enemy was relentless and the heat searing. Then… nothing. A faint hum echoed in his head, sending chills down his spine.
"System Activated. Welcome, Host." The voice, disembodied and emotionless, reverberated in his skull. Hong Yi strained his eyes, searching for the source.
"Who are you? Where am I?" he barked, his voice hoarse. "You are currently inhabiting the body of Hong Yi, heir apparent to Zenith Media in the parallel world of Omegaverse." Hong Yi stared at his hands. They were smooth and unblemished. They stood in stark contrast to his calloused, scarred tools of survival.
This CEO life, this world of Omegaverse, felt alien compared to the harsh realities of his past. "The previous Hong Yi, burdened by guilt and despair, left this world incomplete. Your purpose, Host, is to fulfill his final wishes." Hong Yi scoffed. "Wishes? You think I care about another man's desires?" All he craved was a way back to his people, a way to mend the shattered world he left behind.
The system's voice remained firm. It said that your survival is tied to Host's wishes." He wanted to protect his family. He also wanted to restore his father's media empire to glory. Most importantly, he wanted to ensure their happiness." A flicker of curiosity ignited within Hong Yi.
This Hong Yi, despite his privileged life, carried burdens of his own. Hong Yi was a wasteland warrior. He had always put the greater good first. He led his people through hardship. Perhaps fulfilling this other Hong Yi's wishes could be a way to find solace in his own exile.
"Tell me more about his family," Hong Yi conceded, a hint of determination creeping into his voice. "And this Omegaverse… how different is it?" The system launched into a detailed explanation.
Hong Yi learned about the social hierarchy. It divided people into alphas, betas, and omegas. Alphas, with their heightened strength and assertive personalities, were natural leaders. Betas were the most populous group. They formed the backbone of society, providing stability and logic. And then there were the omegas, the rarest and most precious caste. Their alluring pheromones and nurturing instincts made them highly desirable, but also vulnerable.
The world of media, the system explained, was a complex dance of power and influence. Zenith Media, once a titan of the industry founded by Hong Yi's father, had fallen on hard times. Competitors, fueled by hidden agendas, were eroding their market share. The company's reputation was stained by many scandals. Employee morale was at a record low. Hong Yi also learned about the specific threats faced by the Hong Yi family. Hong Yi's previous uncles and aunts were estranged.
A failed relationship, a broken family, and a neglected company all made him feel like a failure. Hong Yi, hardened by his own struggles, felt a grudging respect for this other Hong Yi. They were both leaders. They carried the weight of responsibility, but in very different worlds. "The choice is yours, Host." The system concluded.
"Fulfill this purpose, and a path back might be revealed. Refuse, and your existence here will stop." Hong Yi looked out the window, the bustling city bathed in golden light. A world of hope and opulence, yet one fraught with its own challenges. He may have been a warrior from a dying world, but he wouldn't abandon a mission.
"I'll do it," Hong Yi declared, his voice firm. "Tell me what I need to do. I'll rebuild this Zenith Media, protect his family… and maybe, just maybe, find a way back home." The system hummed in approval. "Excellent choice, Host. Your training program begins now." After getting basic information from the system Hong Yi tried arrange his thoughts.
Hong Yi emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. He studied himself in the mirror. He saw the same sculpted jawline and fierce gaze, but the rest was new. He had short, styled hair instead of a battle-worn braid. His lean frame was adorned in silk pajamas, soft against his weathered skin. Hong Yi emerged from the shower, a steam cloud dissipating around him. He still felt like a puzzle with missing pieces, the system's information swirling in his head.
Yet, amidst the confusion, a familiar instinct took over - self-preservation. He needed to assess this new body, this new life. A towel, far softer than anything he'd ever known, hung loosely around his waist. Replacing his battle-worn braid were short, meticulously styled locks. His reflection in the mirror had the same strong jawline and piercing gaze of the Hong Yi he remembered. But, everything else felt like a borrowed suit.
Suddenly, a shrill ring shattered the contemplative silence. The sleek bedside table displayed a glowing notification – an incoming call. He stared at the caller ID, the unfamiliar characters swimming before his eyes. "Demon… Hong…?" The words were nonsensical, but a primal instinct to answer the call pulsed through him.
"Hong Yi! Where on Earth are you?!" A voice cut through the receiver, sharp and laced with a hint of desperation. It was a woman's voice, strong and commanding. Before he could plan a response, a torrent of words assaulted him. "The memorial! Didn't you remember today's service? Or were you too busy drowning your sorrows in some bar again?" The voice continued, laced with icy frustration.
"Get yourself here in fifteen minutes, or I swear I'll come and drag you there myself!" Hong Yi flinched, his warrior instincts kicking in at the threat. He didn't know this woman, this "demon Hong" as the caller ID identified her. But the urgency in her voice, the mention of a memorial, sent a jolt of unease through him.
"Wait! Memorial?" he blurted out, his voice raspy. "Whose memorial?" The silence on the other end of the line was deafening. Then, a sigh, tinged with disbelief, filled the air.
"Our father's, Hong Yi. Don't tell me you've forgotten already?" A wave of dizziness washed over him. Father? Memorial? These were foreign concepts in the desolate wasteland he called home. Yet, a flicker of something deep within him. Maybe a forgotten memory. It resonated with the woman's words. Hong Yi gripped the phone tighter.
A new urgency replaced his initial confusion. "I… I'll be there," he promised, his voice firm. There was a memorial service. His father, it seemed, was gone. Hong Yi might have been a displaced warrior in a strange world, but honoring the dead was a universal custom.
He glanced at the clock – fifteen minutes. Hong Yi is a wasteland warrior. He lives the life of a CEO. He had just received his first mission briefing. But, a crucial piece of information was missing.
"Where… where is the service being held?" he asked, his voice betraying his growing frustration. He hated to appear clueless. This was especially true with this woman. She seemed both concerned and impatient. There was a beat of silence on the other end.
Hong Yi winced, picturing a raised eyebrow and a withering stare aimed at him through the phone. "Seriously, Hong Yi?" The voice finally came back, exasperation laced with disbelief. He gritted his teeth. "Look," he started, forcing his voice to remain level, "things are… different here. I need a little help getting acclimated."
Another pause, this one longer and laced with a hint of suspicion. Finally, a sigh filled the air. "Alright," the voice conceded, "the service is at the Zenith Memorial Hall on Diamond Avenue. Don't be late." The line went dead before he could offer any further explanation.
Hong Yi stared at the phone, his jaw clenched. This was going to be a lot harder than he initially thought. He didn't know Diamond Avenue from a dust storm. Navigating this city, let alone a memorial service, was going to be hard. But Hong Yi was a warrior.
He had faced worse. He tossed the phone on the bed and scanned the room. His eyes landed on a sleek tablet resting on the bedside table. Perhaps, he thought, a quick internet search could offer some guidance. With new determination, Hong Yi reached for the device. He was ready to navigate this strange world, one step at a time. Hong Yi's eyes locked onto a sleek tablet on the bedside table. Its smooth, cool surface was a stark contrast to the rough leather of his old pack.
He thought: perhaps this device held the key. It could help navigate this fancy prison. With newfound determination, he reached for it, a spark of hope igniting within him. The apartment itself was a monument to excess. Plush carpets cushioned his every step, a far cry from the unforgiving desert sand.
Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a cityscape in the golden afternoon sun. It was a stark contrast to the barren wasteland that haunted his memories. He felt a pang of longing for the familiar grit under his boots, the sting of the desert wind in his face. But here, in this world of silk and chrome, he had a mission. His gaze darted around the room, searching for the tools of this new world. Keys.
He needed keys. Keys to a car, a means of reaching this mysterious memorial hall. He scoured smooth drawers and polished surfaces. His frustration grew. It contrasted sharply with the calm elegance of the surroundings. Finally, among some expensive watches, he found it – a set of keys attached to a sleek red fob. It pulsed with a faint glow. The car key, he realized, but unlike any he'd ever seen.
No rugged metal, no worn leather grip – this was a smooth, alien object that felt foreign in his calloused hand. Intrigued, he pocketed the key and made his way to what he assumed was a garage. Stepping into the automated bay, his jaw dropped. It nestled within. It gleamed under the soft lighting. It was a machine unlike anything he'd ever seen. Sleek curves flowed into a low body. The color was a bold, vibrant red. It seemed almost disrespectful. Where were the dented frames and reliable engines of the vehicles he remembered? This was a chariot for a prince, not a warrior.
Yet, necessity dictated his actions. With a deep breath, he climbed in, the plush leather seats a stark contrast to the worn vinyl of his old world. He fumbled with the controls, an alien array of buttons and holographic displays. Steering wheel? He found what looked like a yoke, smooth and cold. Engine? No familiar roar, just a low hum as the car seemingly sprang to life with a gentle whir.
Hesitantly, he pressed a glowing button labeled "Navigate." He spoke the address into the strange device embedded in the dashboard. The car purred to life, gliding out of the garage with an unnatural smoothness. Buildings whizzed by, a blur of glass and steel. The traffic flowed in a mesmerizing dance, guided by unseen signals.
Hong Yi was a warrior used to navigating treacherous landscapes. But, at the helm of a fantastical machine, he felt like a child. He finally reached the Zenith Memorial Hall. The glowing holographic sign above the entrance identified it. Yet, the triumphant arrival he envisioned never materialized. The moment he stepped out of the car, the crowd outside gasped together. A hush fell, followed by a murmur of disapproval. All eyes were on him, and not for a reason he expected.
His red sports car was vibrant. It stood out among the sea of somber black limousines. It seemed like a jarring note in the otherwise dignified setting. Worse, a woman was there. She was elegant and tall. A mix of anger and disappointment etched her face. Before he could even react, a stinging slap landed on his cheek, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. Hong Yi reeled back, a hand flying to his burning cheek. This wasn't the welcome he anticipated.
He looked up to face the woman, her sharp features softened with grief, her eyes blazing with a fire as fierce as his own. She was tall, almost his height, her stance every bit as imposing. But unlike the warriors he knew, her strength emanated not from brute force, but from a well of raw emotion. "Hong Yi, what have you done?" she hissed, her voice barely a whisper but laced with fury. "You dare arrive in such a… vulgar display on the day we mourn Dad?"