The sun peeked through my window, waking me up with a start. Realizing I had overslept yet again. Panic surged through me like a tidal wave as I glanced at the clock, I realized I was running out of time. "Shit, shit, shit!" I cursed under my breath, my heart pounding in my chest.
With a shaky hands, I quickly put on whatever clothes I could grab, not bothering to match them properly. My mind raced with images of my angry boss, his face contorted in fury as he reprimanded me for my tardiness. I couldn't afford to lose this job, not with bills piling up and rent due at the end of the week.
Ignoring my sore muscles' protests, I sprinted out of my apartment, leaping down the stairs two at a time. Each step echoed my urgency, pushing me to move faster, to beat the clock.
But fate had other plans for me.
As I got to the bottom of the stairs, my foot caught on some clothes, and I lost my balance. I fell forward, fast and uncontrollably. It felt like time slowed down as I crashed down the stairs, each hit making me hurt all over and making it hard to breathe.
"Shit!" That was the only clear thought as fear and pain clouded my mind. I prepared myself for the crash landing, knowing darkness awaited as I fell towards the ground.
The world spun around me in a chaotic blur, and I felt like I was falling into a never-ending abyss. Despite the fear and confusion, I couldn't help but find it bitterly ironic that this was how I would meet my end. "What a messed-up day to die," I thought to myself as darkness closed in around me.
...
"Where am I?" I muttered to myself as I opened my eyes and found myself in a strange room. "What the heck is this?"
I saw many people around me, and the weird part was that all of us were in this one room.
Then suddenly, someone spoke to me. "Hey man, where are we?"
I looked at the guy with dark, messy hair and asked, "Who are you?"
"Hey, I'm Jonathan your friend, remember?" he said.
As I was about to say my name, a sudden headache hit me. "Aurg!!!"
"Hey Adam, Adam, are you okay? Are you okay?" Jonathan asked, sounding concerned.
Holding my head in agony, I suddenly experienced a rush of memories that weren't mine. I muttered, "What is this?"
I realized I was Adam Wilson, a 16-year-old teenager, and the year was 2000. The flood of memories hit me with startling clarity. I remembered everything.
We had planned the hiking trip for weeks, eager to escape the mundane routines of our lives. My friends and I—Jonathan, Rebecca, Jacob, David, and Diane—had been looking forward to this adventure. Uncle Joe, my overprotective guardian and a priest, insisted on joining us. He believed it was his duty to watch over me, which, admittedly, made me feel a bit embarrassed in front of my friends. But I knew he meant well.
The hike started off great. The weather was perfect, the sun shining brightly as we trekked through the dense forest. We laughed, joked, and shared stories, enjoying the freedom of the wild. Uncle Joe kept a watchful eye on us, his presence a constant reminder of safety and caution.
We reached a clearing and decided to take a break. As we settled down, everything seemed peaceful. Suddenly, without any warning, arrows rained down on us. Panic erupted as we realized what was happening. Each arrow that hit us brought an overwhelming drowsiness. I tried to fight it, but the sedative effects were too strong.
My friends fell one by one, their bodies collapsing into unconsciousness. I felt the sting of an arrow on my arm and the world began to blur. The last thing I saw was the worried face of Uncle Joe before everything went black.
These weren't ordinary arrows; they were designed to put us to sleep. And as I pieced together these memories, the reality of my situation sank in. I wasn't Eric Newman anymore. I was Adam Wilson, and somehow, I had been thrust into a nightmare far worse than anything I could have imagined.
Around us, everyone was waking up, shouting, and murmuring, their voices echoing off the walls of the strange room.
"What is this?" exclaimed a woman with vibrant yellow hair. Her voice was filled with panic. I knew her name—Rebecca Prit. She looked around frantically, her eyes wide with fear.
"Shit, what's happening here? All of us were just hiking and now we are here," said a black teenager with short hair. His voice was laced with confusion and anger. I recognized him immediately—Jacob Morales, always the level-headed one, now visibly shaken.
"What's going on?" asked a bulky teenage boy, his deep voice rumbling through the room. This guy I knew too well; this motherfucker always picked on me. He was David Smith, the self-appointed bully of our group.
"This is locked," said a girl with short, boyish black hair, as she jiggled the door handle, trying to force it open. I knew this girl—despite her boyish appearance, she wasn't gay. Her name was Diane Gayle, and she was one of the bravest in our group, always ready to face any challenge head-on.
On the other side of the room, a priest—my uncle Joe—was kneeling on the ground, praying fervently. "Father, where are we?" he murmured, his voice trembling with desperation. His faith was his anchor, and even now, he clung to it, seeking guidance and strength.
I knew that all of us were confused, especially me, since I had been transmigrated here and had Adam Wilson's memories. I was pretty confused and also not that confused, having watched too many anime and read novels with transmigration tropes, so yeah. My mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions and half-formed thoughts, struggling to make sense of the impossible.
Uncle Joe suddenly spoke up, breaking the rising tide of panic. "Hey everyone, um, I know all of you are confused, like me too. Who wouldn't be confused in this situation, right?" His voice was calm and reassuring, a steady presence in the chaos. He stood up, looking at each of us with concern and determination. "Let's try to stay calm and figure this out together."
Suddenly, the door swung open, and all of us froze, our eyes fixed on the entrance. It was eerily silent, no footsteps approaching, no explanation for why the door had opened on its own. The air was thick with suspicion.
Then Uncle Joe spoke up, his voice steady despite the tension in the room. "Let me, the adult, handle this, okay?"
We all nodded, grateful for his reassurance. Uncle Joe approached the door cautiously, glancing left and right before turning back to us. "Come on, it's safe," he said.
With hesitant steps, we followed Uncle Joe out of the room. As we walked, it became evident that we were not in an ordinary house. The corridors stretched on endlessly, the walls covered in layers of dust and decay. It felt more like an abandoned building than anything else.
Then, from somewhere ahead, we heard laughter—an unsettling sound that sent shivers down our spines.
"Who's there?" Uncle Joe called out, his voice echoing through the empty corridors.
Jonathan's voice trembled as he spoke to me, "What if some cannibal is trying to eat us?"
I tried to sound brave, despite the fear gripping my heart. "Hey, don't be a scaredy-cat," I replied,
though I couldn't deny the growing sense of dread within me. Being in this 16-year-old body only amplified my fear, reminding me of my vulnerability in this unfamiliar world. I was just an ordinary guy, thrust into an extraordinary and terrifying situation. Why did I have to transmigrate here, and why now, of all times? It was enough to make anyone question the timing of fate.
As the disfigured figures emerged before us, wielding an array of terrifying weapons—machetes, axes, chainsaws, knives—the air grew thick with palpable fear. Four of them stood before us, their twisted forms casting long, menacing shadows.
Despite the evident danger, Uncle Joe walked towards them, his faith unwavering as he believed this encounter to be a divine revelation. "Um, hello, kind sirs. Where are we?" he inquired, his voice trembling slightly.
I couldn't hold back my panic and shouted, "Uncle, get the fuck out of there!"
My outburst stunned everyone around me. I was not known for such outbursts; my original self, or the owner of this body, was a silent, introverted type—a geek. But in this moment of crisis, instinct took over, overriding any semblance of composure.
Ignoring the shock on their faces, I continued to shout, "Uncle, get the fuck out of there! They are not kind people, can't you see what they have?!"
But Uncle Joe remained steadfast in his belief. "No, God has led us to them. I know they are kind, and I bet they just have these weapons for specific reasons," he insisted, his voice tinged with conviction.
Suddenly, without warning, the disfigured figure wielding the machete lunged towards Uncle Joe with deadly intent. Time seemed to slow as terror gripped us all.
The machete struck Uncle Joe's head, and despite the horrific wound, he remained conscious. It wasn't just consciousness; it was the involuntary twitching and convulsions caused by the sudden things he felt.
"Uncle!" I screamed, the word torn from my throat in a desperate plea.
Jonathan echoed my cry, "No!"
David Smith, the bulky 16-year-old boy, swore loudly. "Fuck!" he shouted as he saw the gruesome scene unfold before us.
Rebecca Prit, with her vibrant yellow hair, let out a piercing scream, "Kyah!" as shock and horror washed over her.
Jacob Morales, the black teenager with short hair, muttered, "Shit, shit, shit!" in a mantra of fear.
Diane Gayle, the girl with short, boyish black hair, could only manage a frantic plea, "Nonononon, Sir!"
"Fuck,Fuck,Fuck!" I muttered under my breath, my mind racing as panic threatened to consume me. I turned to face my friends, their faces contorted with fear and disbelief.
"Run!" I shouted, my voice raw with urgency. There was no time to hesitate. We needed to get out of there before it was too late.
Without waiting for a response, I bolted towards the nearest exit, my heart pounding in my chest. Behind me, I could hear the sounds of chaos—the screams of my friends, the menacing laughter of our assailants, the sickening thud of metal against flesh.
Everyone scattered and ran in all directions, panic overtaking reason. "What's going on?!" I screamed in my mind.
Suddenly, a voice echoed in my head. "Hello, host. I'm your system, the Revival System."
"What? What's happening?" I thought, trying to make sense of this bizarre situation. "Is this my golden finger?" Having watched countless anime, manga, and novels, I knew about these so-called golden finger systems.
"Yes, host, I am your golden finger," the system replied.
"What can you do?" I asked in my mind, hoping for some miraculous solution.
The system responded, "First, host, you need to die."
"What? Die?" I was baffled by the statement.
The Revival System explained, "If you die, you can be revived at a specific location you designate as a base."
"I don't understand," I said, feeling like things were getting even more out of hand.
"That's why you need to die to understand what I'm saying. You know what they say; 'Experience first to understand things,'" the system insisted.
Before I could fully process this, Jonathan's frantic shout cut through my thoughts. "Help!!!"
I looked toward the voice and saw Jonathan stumbling, a disfigured man rapidly approaching him. My first instinct was to question why I should save him. But then, a sense of urgency washed over me, perhaps from the original owner of this body. It was clear that our souls had fused, and his desire to protect his friend was now my own.
"Damn it," I muttered under my breath. The system had said I needed to die to understand its powers. "Alright, let's do this!"
"Hey, fucktard! I'm here!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the abandoned building. The disfigured man wielding the machete and another with an axe turned their grotesque faces toward me.
"Run!" I yelled at Jonathan.
"But—" Jonathan stammered, frozen in fear.
"Get the hell out of here, run!" I insisted, trying to sound braver than I felt.
"Adam, are you really Adam?" he asked, his voice filled with disbelief and uncertain about my changes.
"Yes, I am Adam, and I'm telling you to run because if you stay here, we're both going to die. Don't worry, I have a plan. Just go!" I shouted, hoping to convince him.
Jonathan nodded, swallowing hard. "Don't die on me, man!" he said, then turned and sprinted away, trusting my words.
With Jonathan safe, I faced the disfigured men, my heart pounding but my resolve firm. The system's words echoed in my mind: in order to understand, I needed to die first. This was it, the moment to test my new reality.
But I wouldn't die without a fight. "Fuck you!" I lunged toward them, ready to defend myself and kill these fucktard. My adrenaline surged as I swung my fists at the disfigured men, but the machete-wielding one was faster. His blade came down with a sickening thud, chopping off my hand.
"Arg!!!" I screamed in pain. Shit, shit, shit, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. I could barely think through the agony. My vision blurred with tears, and I fell to my knees.
The pain was overwhelming, but rage and defiance burned hotter. I raised my remaining hand, flipping them off with my middle finger. "Go fuck yourselves, you fuckers!" I shouted, my voice hoarse with pain and fury.
The last thing I saw was the axe swinging towards my head. The impact was sudden and brutal, but mercifully, I felt no pain as everything went black.
As my consciousness faded, I clung to the hope that this would work. The system better be right, because this fucking hurt. The pain receded, leaving behind a strange sense of relief.
Suddenly In the darkness, the system's voice returned, calm and reassuring. "Congratulations, host. You have successfully activated the Revival System. You will now be revived at your designated base location."
When I woke up, I found myself back in the room where this nightmare had begun. The familiar surroundings confirmed it. I sat up, my heart still racing from the memory of the fight.
"Fuck, it is real—the Revival System," I muttered to myself, disbelief mingling with a strange sense of exhilaration. My body felt whole again, as if the horrific injuries I had sustained were nothing more than a bad dream.
Now, with this newfound power, I had to figure out how to save my friends and survive in this twisted world. The disfigured men and their deadly weapons were still out there, and I couldn't afford to waste this opportunity.
"Alright," I said, determination hardening in my voice. "Time to figure out how to use this system to my advantage."
To be continued