It started with a shock. A sudden, overwhelming burst of static that surged through the protagonist's mind, the familiar, hollow feeling of being yanked from his body. He gasped for breath, but there was no air. No physical body to inhale it. He couldn't feel the cold metal of the chair anymore, the wires embedded in his skin. Nothing.
Nothing but a vast, infinite emptiness that stretched on in all directions.
His thoughts raced. Was this death? Was this what he had been warned about? A sense of vertigo overtook him, like his entire being was falling—no, was disintegrating—into the black void. He wanted to scream, but no sound came.
Then, a sudden pull. The world around him flickered, and he felt something shift—like the entire landscape was warping into a new form, like he was stepping through some kind of door. The sensation was dizzying, unreal, as if his consciousness was being injected into an entirely new plane of existence.
And then, just as suddenly as it had started, everything… stopped.
The protagonist blinked, disoriented. He was no longer in the cold, sterile room. No longer restrained, no longer subjected to pain. The emptiness was gone, replaced by... colors.
He took a slow, cautious breath—then realized he didn't need to breathe at all.
The world around him was vast. Monumental. His eyes scanned the endless horizon of what appeared to be an open field, but there was something off about it. The grass beneath him shimmered, its blades bending in unnatural directions as if it were made of light instead of earth. The sky above was a deep, electric blue, rippling like the surface of a pool. And the sun—was there even a sun?—cast an eerie, unchanging glow, illuminating everything with a muted radiance that felt both warm and cold at the same time.
"What… is this?" the protagonist whispered to himself, though he knew it wouldn't matter if he spoke. It was more for his own sanity than anything else.
He reached out to touch the ground, but his hand passed through the grass as though it were a mirage. Panic surged in his chest, and for a moment, he felt like he was falling again, falling through the world itself.
But then he stopped. He stopped.
He felt an odd pull within him, a sense of control, as though the very reality around him obeyed his thoughts. He didn't know how, but somehow, in this strange new world, he could control it. He concentrated, focused on the grass, and the next thing he knew, it stopped flickering and solidified into something tangible beneath his feet.
His heart raced, but not from fear. There was an exhilarating rush in realizing this. Something powerful—something beyond himself—was now at his fingertips. He could feel it, but he didn't understand it yet. Not completely.
Suddenly, the voice from before echoed in his mind. Banner. The scientist's words flashed like an echo in his head, cold and unyielding: "You won't understand that just yet. The virtual world will be your new prison, but it will be one that you can shape. You won't know your power at first. Not until it's too late."
Was this his power? This ability to alter reality?
It was intoxicating.
He raised his hand again, and with a simple thought, the ground before him split open, creating a deep chasm that stretched for miles. His mouth went dry as he watched the cracks grow wider, and the chasm expanded at his command. The world obeyed him. He was the one creating this, shaping it, twisting it into something that felt... real.
"Holy shit…" the protagonist breathed, his voice cracking as the realization settled in.
But even as the excitement surged through him, a small voice inside of him whispered something darker. What was this place? Was it really just a game? Was it really just a test?
He could feel the tension build, the sense of unease creeping over him. Banner's words echoed again. "You're not meant to live in that world. You're just proof that it's possible. Once I have the data I need from you, once I can replicate it, you won't matter anymore."
The protagonist's mind raced. If this was real, if he really was in a world like this, then what did it mean for him? Could he even escape? Could he find a way back?
He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away. But something told him it wasn't going to be that easy. Not anymore.
And then it happened.
The ground beneath him shifted again, but this time it wasn't a crack or a chasm—it was a complete transformation. The earth around him began to ripple like liquid, the terrain warping with a mind of its own. The grass receded, replaced by stretches of fine, golden sand. He felt the dry heat rise from the desert beneath him, and the air thickened with a dust storm that appeared from nowhere. It rushed at him, pushing against his body, as though trying to push him away.
He focused, willing it to stop, and just like that, the sand melted away, leaving behind a vast, frozen tundra. The cold air stung against his invisible skin as ice cracked underfoot. Snow began to swirl around him, and towering glaciers rose in the distance, their jagged peaks scraping against the sky.
The protagonist's heart pounded with each change. He was doing this. He was making the world move, shaping it into something new, something wild. He couldn't believe the extent of his power, even though he still didn't fully understand it.
But just as quickly as the ice had appeared, the snow melted into a rich, fertile jungle. Lush trees towered overhead, and vines twisted around the trunks. The air became thick with moisture, and the smell of damp earth filled the space around him. He could hear the distant sounds of creatures moving through the foliage, though he saw nothing yet. Everything was alive. The trees, the dirt, the air—it all had a pulse, a rhythm, like it was waiting for him to breathe life into it.
The terrain shifted once more, as if the world itself was testing his abilities. The trees and jungle were replaced by rocky cliffs, with dry dirt cracking under the weight of enormous boulders that seemed to defy gravity, suspended in mid-air. The winds howled through the cliffs, pushing dust and debris through the sky, whipping it into sharp, cutting storms.
It was too much. It was too real. Every shift, every change felt as if it were coming from him, the protagonist, but also beyond him. He was pulling at the fabric of this place, bending it, twisting it. And yet, it felt like he was only scratching the surface.
"This... This isn't a game," he muttered, realizing the truth. "This is something else. Something much bigger."
And just as his mind began to process the magnitude of what was happening, a strange shadow loomed over him. Far in the distance, just beyond the desert's horizon, something massive rose into the sky. It wasn't a figure or a person, but a shape, an anomaly, something out of place, something wrong.
The protagonist's heart skipped a beat. Was it a glitch? A bug? Or something else entirely?
He wanted to approach, to investigate, but something in his gut told him that whatever it was, he wasn't ready to face it. Not yet.
The world trembled, just for a moment, and then the shadow was gone. Vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
The protagonist stood alone in the midst of the constantly shifting world, the only constant being his growing realization: This was no longer just a test. This place, this world, was alive—and it was changing, adapting, just like him.