The cool breeze from the AC wrapped the room like a perfectly chilled soda can on a summer day.

Outside, the temperature was already creeping toward the low 80s. It was the kind of weather that whispered, Come outside, it's nice—but Zoe was having none of it.

She was exactly where she needed to be: deep in the heart of her snack-filled fortress of gaming excellence.

Her oversized hoodie slouched off one shoulder. The cartoon sushi pajama pants she wore had seen better days, but comfort was king.

Zoe wasn't small—not by a long shot. At 270 pounds, she was all plush edges and unapologetic softness. And she owned it.

Why fight the inevitable? Snacks were life, and the gym was someone else's problem.

She sat cross-legged in her plush gaming chair, which squished beneath her weight just right, like it had finally surrendered to her lifestyle. It knew its place, and so did she.

A rogue sock dangled from the corner of her monitor, like some weird trophy of her laziness. She could probably move it, but… 'Eh.' It wasn't hurting anyone.

The Magma Drake companion on her screen flapped its wings slowly, hovering above the bodies of fallen enemies. The raid queue timer still had five minutes left. That meant just enough time for another soda.

On her desk, the Crusher Twins sat in all their glowing, RGB glory. Code Crusher, the hulking desktop rig, pulsed like a sleeping dragon beneath her desk. Byte Crusher, the faithful laptop, sat close by, its screen dim but ready for action.

Their little sister, Bytepad, sulked beneath a pile of unread patch notes. Zoe knew she should probably check those updates… but, well, 'Maybe later.'

Her phone buzzed, rattling angrily against a soda can. The vibration caused a small chain reaction—clattering cans like a snack-time wind chime.

Zoe glanced at her phone. Spam call.

She flicked it away with a sigh. The phone bounced off a pillow and disappeared into the messy blanket nest on her couch. Perfect. Out of sight, out of mind.

She popped open a new can of soda. The fizzing sound was a small, sacred moment of victory.

The first sip was heaven, crisp and cold, cutting through the lazy heat of the morning. She wiggled deeper into her chair, her hoodie bunching up as the soft cushions hugged her back perfectly.

'God, I love this chair,' she thought. Built for someone exactly like her. Worth every penny.

The apartment hummed with a steady rhythm. The AC clicked on again, sending a refreshing breeze across the room.

The gentle whir of computer fans mixed with the low static hum of the radio on her desk.

She liked having the radio on. Mix 98.9 was her go-to station, playing softly in the background. It made everything feel less empty, as if the outside world was still there… even if she wasn't planning on joining it anytime soon.

Gary Rivers's voice drifted through the room, warm and familiar.

"And it's shaping up to be another beautiful day here in the Mahoning Valley," he said. "Should hit 82 by mid-afternoon, so if you're heading out, grab a cold drink."

Zoe smirked. Gary always got it.

"Me? I'll be parked in front of a fan somewhere. Or maybe hiding in the AC—no judgment."

She chuckled under her breath. This guy was a legend. Ever since Gary made Mix his home in 2017, his voice had become part of Warren and Mahoning Valley's soundtrack. Whether you were stuck in traffic or grabbing drive-thru from Grease 'n' Go, you could always count on hearing Gary in the background.

"And hey," Gary continued, "if you're swinging by Packard Park, keep an eye on the geese. They've been, uh… enthusiastic this week."

Zoe shook her head. Feathered jerks. She could already picture some poor kid being swarmed, a hot dog bun in hand, with geese charging at him like a feathered death squad.

The radio eased into an old 70s tune—Saturday in the Park.

Zoe wasn't usually into classic rock, but this one fit the mood. Lazy. Comfortable. Predictable.

Her Magma Drake blinked idly on the screen. She reached for a bag of sour cream and onion chips, crinkling the plastic as she popped one into her mouth.

The second monitor buzzed with activity. Guild chat was in full swing—people complaining about loot drops, posting memes, and planning the next raid.

Zoe smiled, fingers hovering over her keyboard. She was about to fire off a snarky comment when a pop-up notification appeared on the main screen: 30 seconds until raid queue.

She wiggled her fingers, limbering them up. "Alright, let's do this."

Just as she moved the mouse, Bytepad chirped with a Discord ping.

She glanced down at the screen. A new message popped up from one of her guildmates, "Dark_Lord_42":

"You joining this raid or nah?"

Zoe grinned, typing back quickly: "Always."

The radio hummed quietly, still stuck on that old tune. Everything was exactly as it should be—snacks within reach, raid countdown ticking away, and the AC blasting perfectly cool air across the room.

In Creature Craze Online, she wasn't Zoe. She was Zoeshon.

Players whispered her name. Top-tier raid leader, goddess of flawless victories, and the queen of perfectly-timed critical hits. No one in her guild knew who she was offline, and that was intentional. The two worlds never crossed.

Zoeshon was untouchable, commanding with precision and confidence. If you couldn't keep up, she left you behind. Simple as that.

The raid boss roared, its stone fists cracking the ground as lava veins snaked outward, threatening to trap anyone standing still too long.

Her Magma Drake companion soared low, fire trailing from its wings, ready to unleash a blast at her command. The guild chat buzzed with strategy and banter.

"Do we stack or kite for enrage?" Dark_Lord_42 asked for the thousandth time.

"Stop asking that every time, Dark," RogueMistress snapped. "Read the raid notes."

Zoeshon chuckled, fingers gliding across the keyboard with the ease of a goddess. Every key press was an order, every click an extension of her will.

"That was rhetorical, Dark. But if you wipe us, you're losing your team deposit."

"Noooo! Not my gold!" came the instant reply, followed by laughing emojis.

Zoeshon grinned. Let them joke for now. She had everything under control.

Her Magma Drake lashed out, its claws glowing with molten heat as it shredded a pack of adds. Critical hit markers flooded the screen. The boss staggered, its health bar dipping—20%… 18%…

"Fifteen seconds to enrage," Zoeshon warned, her voice cool and razor-sharp.

The chatter in guild chat stopped instantly. They knew better than to mess around now.

Her posture shifted, hoodie slipping off one shoulder as she leaned forward, fingers flying across the keys. The easy banter faded. Now, it was about the win.

"Cooldowns now," she ordered. "Burn it down before it burns us."

The Magma Drake unleashed a tidal wave of fire, damage numbers popping across the screen in neat columns. The boss's health dropped—10%… 8%…

"Dark," she said without missing a beat, "pull aggro, and I swear you're dragon chow."

The boss staggered, on the brink of collapse. Victory was so close she could taste it.

Just as the boss's health hit 3% and control was taken away for the power gathering animation, the radio on her desk snatched her attention.

The music just stopped.

Dead in mid Hotel California.

A beat later an almost unrecognizable croak squeaked out of the speakers.

"And—uh, folks—hold on a second."

Zoe's fingers paused mid-keystroke. Gary Rivers never interrupted a song unless something epic was happening.

The animation ended. Her Magma Drake faltered, taking a heavy hit. Red flashed across her screen.

"Burn it, burn it!" Zoeshon snapped, shoving the distraction aside.

The boss bellowed in rage, but it was too late. Zoeshon's Drake unleashed one final blast of molten fury, drowning the battlefield in fire.

Victory banners exploded across her screen.

"EZ!" Dark_Lord_42 cheered.

"All hail Zoeshon!" RogueMistress added.

Zoeshon leaned back, satisfaction curling across her lips. Another flawless raid. She reached for her soda, already fizzing at the rim.

Gary's voice returned, sharp and stuttering, as if even he couldn't quite believe what he was reading.

"We're getting reports of… strange creatures. Appearing across several cities in the Mahoning Valley."

The words landed awkwardly in Zoeshon's mind, like they were trying to force their way in. She sat frozen, her fingers still hovering over the keyboard. The AC buzzed softly, but somehow the room felt too cold, too quiet.

Zoeshon—no, Zoe now—froze.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. The room felt different, the hum of the AC thin and useless against the strange chill creeping down her spine.

Gary's voice lowered, tension so tight that it could crack at any nanosecond slipped in like a noob in her team. "And it seems… some people are being chosen."

"Wait, what?!"

Zoe shot out of the chair, diving into the couch cushions, her hand fumbling until it found her phone. Her thumb flicked to the corner of the screen without thinking, bringing it to her face in one quick motion.

The date glowed softly: July 23rd.

Not April 1st.

Her stomach twisted. This wasn't a joke.

A pillow tumbled to the floor with an ear-splitting thump as she shot to her feet.

"The government is calling them Threadweavers," Gary went on, each word heavier than the last. "People with strange abilities… capable of fighting these creatures."

Her pulse surged in her ears. She stared at the glowing soda can on her desk—condensation sliding down in a way that felt alien, too real.

RogueMistress: "Uh… wait—what? I just got a weird message—"

Zoe's gaze darted to the monitor, heart hammering.

A notification blinked across it.

[You have been chosen.]

Her pulse kicked into overdrive. This wasn't a game.

This was real freaking life.

Two realities. One, she controlled. The other? Crashing in, like a Mack truck.

For the first time that morning, Zoeshon didn't know what to do.