"Yawn… finally… I really need my icy choco drink right now. I'm damn thirsty."
I slumped into my chair, drenched in sweat and tears, after finally beating the tutorial of a recently released game called Truth Tells No Lie. The game is set in an alternate Victorian Era, where the world is overrun by dark cults. The premise? The player takes on the role of a occult detective who kidnaps cultists and uses any means necessary to uncover the truth and punish them using mind games, psychological torture, and, let's just say, a plethora of morally questionable interrogation tactics. The AI-controlled characters don't make it easy, either. They're designed to resist, mislead, and fight back. It's brutally difficult and ridiculously complex, which I couldn't help but admire—even though I kept failing. Honestly, it feels like I'm praising the game for repeatedly kicking my butt. It's unpleasant, sure… but I'm kinda into that, if I'm being honest.
To give you an idea of how much I struggled, I glanced at the stopwatch on the left side of my cluttered gaming table. Its screen blinked with the numbers 17:00:00—a whopping 17 hours of continuous playtime. That's right. Seventeen hours. Non-stop. The truth is, I'm an unemployed guy with way too much free time on my hands. And let's be real: no one's gonna hire me knowing I put all my energy into gaming instead of fixing my life.
I picked up my phone, which was sitting on top of an empty cardboard box, and called the person responsible for my current misery: Dean.
Beep beep… beep beep… beep beep. The ringing dragged on until he finally picked up.
If I had to describe Dean? He's the kind of guy who'd be a popular kid in high school.
"Hello? Who is this?" he said in a formal tone, as if I were some stranger—which I'm not. We've been friends for ten years.
A voice, sounding like a smug 17-year-old, answered. It was none other than Dean, the high schooler who's annoyingly good at studying, sports, making friends, and, of course, having a girlfriend. Basically, everything I wished I'd had as a student.
"Dude, did you seriously not save my number? We literally talked about this yesterday."
Dean's the type of guy who has everything except common sense. He forgets birthdays, numbers, and basically anything that requires attention to detail. Case in point? He forgot my birthday yesterday.
His tone shifted from formal to cheeky once he realized it was me.
"Ahh~ Allen, how's it going, my bro? Did you finish what I so gracefully tasked you with~?"
The smugness in his voice was so unbearable I had to double-check if he was really younger than me. Then I reminded myself of the sad reality: he always pays me to play games before him so he doesn't have to waste time deciding if they're worth it.
I replied weakly, swallowing my pride. "Yes, yes, I did. Frankly, you're the worst for always making me play puzzle games. Please, PLEASE give me more FPS games instead. You know that's my thing."
"Oh, no no no. Honestly, I made you play this game not because I don't have the time or don't know how to play. I could just watch a 30-minute YouTube video and be good to go. I just wanted you to suffer, dude. This is payback for dog-walking me in our last 1v1 in COD. Also, what took you so long? I know you're slow, but not this slow."
The sudden question made my heart race, and a chill crept down my spine. If I told him it took me 17 hours just to finish the tutorial… God knows how much he'd mock me.
Inhale… exhale… I braced myself before answering.
"It took me 17 hours to finish the tutorial. That's why I'm only calling now."
I tried to sound calm, hoping to appear composed and unaffected by his inevitable teasing.
"…"
"…"
"…"
The silence was deafening. My anxiety skyrocketed as sweat dripped from my forehead to my chin.
"Ah, sorry. What did you say again? My dog sat on my plate. He's so cute, I couldn't help but stare for a while."
"…You don't even have a dog—"
"HAHAHAHA! NAH, SAY THAT SH— AGAIN, DUDE! HOW THE HELL DID YOU MANAGE TO BE SLOWER THAN A YOUTUBER AS OLD AS QUEEN ELIZABETH???"
"…"
"AHAHAHAHAHA!"
"…"
I slammed my head on the table multiple times. I knew it. I knew exactly how he would react, which gave me a pounding headache. Now I'm regretting that I even called him in the first place.
"HAHAHA… Ha… sorry, sorry. Must've been tough for you, huh? You're only into FPS games, after all. You've got that reaction speed and fast thinking, but outside of that, you really lack the ability to think outside the box, huh?"
Dean's mocking tone was unbearable, but as usual, I held it in. Not because I'm an adult, but because he had me chained with a collar named 'money.' If he wanted me to bark, I'd bark. No questions asked—pride be damned.
"…By the way, Allen, you haven't slept all night, right? Get some sleep. I don't want my best friend getting sick over a few bucks. Alright? for the reward~ I will pay you ofter I finish off my midterms okay? Just don't drain my whole bank accou—"
I canceled the call and closed my eyes. After hearing the sweet sound of money in my ear once again, all my exhaustion and sleeplessness melted away in an instant. I began humming a few of the songs I'd listened to while grinding through the tutorial. Grabbing my choco drink, I took a long sip, letting the icy liquid soothe my parched throat.
I let out a deep sigh of relief, finally allowing myself a moment to bask in my "victory." But just as I leaned back into my chair, trying to let the exhaustion melt away, a notification popped up on the game's main screen.
Congratulations on completing the tutorial!
Your time to finish the tutorial was… 17 hours!
Frankly, that's a pretty disappointing speed :D I feel like you could do better! However… you did achieve the best possible outcome among others who usually think the tutorial doesn't have alternate endings. And that is to prolong the suffering of those dirty cultists! So… Congrats!
Title unlocked: The Cult Tormenter!
Here's a gift from me!
POP!
A loud, startling burst shattered the moment of peace, nearly giving me a heart attack. The sound was so sudden and jarring that it felt like someone had fired a gun right next to my ear. My heart thudded painfully in my chest, pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to break out of my ribcage.
"Cough! Cough! Cough! Ugh… what the hell was that?!" I choked on the water I'd been drinking, sputtering uncontrollably. In my panic, a spray of choco splattered onto my precious PC screen, and I desperately wiped it away with my sleeve.
Once I caught my breath, I glanced over at the source of the commotion. The sudden explosion came from a red balloon that had materialized on the right side of the game's main screen. Its remnants were now scattered across the floor.
"…Huh? What the hell is this?" I muttered, wiping the corner of my mouth. As I leaned in closer to inspect the balloon's remains, I noticed something peculiar. Sitting there, as though hidden inside the balloon, was an item: a revolver.
Not just any revolver, though—a Smith & Wesson Model 29. The classic. It had that unmistakable sleek, heavy look that I couldn't help but admire. Aside from being a gamer, I'm also a gun enthusiast. Though the gun originally began to be created in 1955 and the Victorian Era is around 1837-1901… Well, the developer must have an excuse of why this gun are in that era such as its an 'alternate world that has been pushing the industrial era to its best'. Or maybe it has some secret on why there is a gun that is far too futuristic at that time, maybe some new plot if the developer ain't lazy. I don't know, I'm not the developer, don't question me just because I played the game. It's 100% on the developer.
If only I could channel this much enthusiasm into something useful, like finding a job or fixing my life. Maybe then I wouldn't get humiliated by a high school student. Sigh. Let the past be the past, I guess.
Curious, I clicked on the revolver, wondering what it might do. It had six barrels. I slid them back into the gun's cylinder.
BANG!
An explosive gunshot blasted through my headset. The sound was so loud and sudden that I instinctively jumped—no, launched myself out of my chair like some kind of acrobat. Before I even realized it, my hands were gripping the ceiling. My room had always had a low ceiling, but I never thought I'd be able to reach it, let alone grab onto it.
My legs tangled in the mess of wires beneath my desk, and I hung there like a ridiculous human chandelier.
My heart, which had been racing uncontrollably, finally began to slow, settling into a steady, calm rhythm once again.
"Tch. I swear, I'm deleting this stupid game," I grumbled under my breath, struggling to untangle myself from the chaos I'd created. "If it weren't for the fact that my friends paid me to finish the tutorial, I'd be done with this nonsense."
Once I managed to climb down (and free my legs), I surveyed the damage. My room was a complete disaster. Gaming cables sprawled across the floor like a snake pit, my chair lay tipped over, and the ceiling above me creaked ominously, a faint sprinkling of plaster dust drifting down.
I slumped back into my chair, utterly drained and irritated. "Alright. No more clicking on revolvers—or anything else that makes loud noises," I muttered, stifling a yawn. My body begged for sleep, but the stubborn part of me refused to quit. After all, I'd already sacrificed an entire night. What was a little more time?
"Just a bit longer," I said to myself, rubbing my temples. "Who's going to stop me, anyway?" My energy was somehow both depleted and chaotic, almost matching that of Gollum from The Lord of the Rings.
I turned my attention back to the screen, where a faint message was scrawled across the tattered skin of the red balloon:
The Revolver of Time is with you.
Have fun, and don't waste any bullets. You'll only earn bullets through deception. Feel free to cry now… this might be the last time you're given that luxury.
I stared at the screen for what felt like an eternity, the weight of the message sinking in.
"Is this going to be an item that sticks with me for the entire game?" I muttered. "Yeah, Dean's definitely paying me extra after this. No way am I letting him off easy."
Then, without hesitation, I clicked the "quit" button. The game shut down in an instant, its ominous theme music fading into silence. I reached for my eye mask—the edgy werewolf one—and pulled it on before leaning back into my gaming chair.
"Forget it. I already finished the tutorial. I'm done," I said, exhaling sharply. "And I'm making my friends pay extra for how damn long it took to beat that thing." I take the eyemask with an image of a werewolf and wear it. What? I always love the werewolf, they were a cool creature.
I adjusted my position, scowling as my thoughts wandered. My bed was still covered with piles of unfolded laundry, which meant I wasn't going anywhere near it. Instead, I let myself sink deeper into the familiar comfort of my gaming chair, deciding it was good enough for now.
But even as I tried to relax, a lingering dissatisfaction gnawed at me. Was this really the best reward they could offer? A part of me felt cheated—like all that effort and frustration should've amounted to more.
"Tch. So much for achieving the 'best outcome.' What a joke," I muttered. "I'm definitely leaving a scathing review for those developers."
I closed my eyes, letting the chair's plush fabric envelop me like a warm hug. Sleep was just starting to take me when something strange jolted me back to full awareness: the game's theme music.
I frowned, confused.
"Wasn't the game already closed before?" I said as I still closed my eye.
I reached up to lift my eye mask—except it was already gone. My confusion deepened as I glanced around, only to find my surroundings completely changed.
"…Ugh, when did the lighting change in here? It's so bright… Is the sun playing tricks on me?"
I lifted my right hand, shielding my eyes from the blinding light streaming in from seemingly nowhere. As my eyes adjusted, another realization hit me—a far less pleasant one. A disgusting smell assaulted my nose, making me recoil.
"Wait… Did I—?" My face twisted in embarrassment. No, there's no way I pooped myself. That's only happened when I was a baby.
To be sure, I awkwardly patted my backside, relieved to find it dry and odor-free. Still, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of shame for even suspecting myself.
Do I have trust issues with myself? I mused, shaking my head. I mean, I've never trusted myself with decision-making, so maybe that's just who I am.
I glanced down, realizing the chair I'd been sitting on was no longer my trusty gaming chair. Instead, it was an old, rickety wooden chair, one of its legs so warped it barely held me upright. Standing up cautiously, I felt the chair wobble dangerously beneath me, its fragile frame creaking as if ready to collapse.
As I steadied myself, my head felt uncomfortably light, and for a moment, I swayed unsteadily on my feet. But before I could sink to my knees, I managed to regain balance, my thoughts finally clearing.
"What the hell…?" I muttered, glancing around the unfamiliar space. It was far from the cozy mess of my gaming cave. Instead, the air was damp and heavy, the floor feels wet and move ominously, and the walls of the space were cracked, as if this place had been abandoned for years.
The nauseating smell persisted, twisting my stomach into knots.
"This… This can't be real," I whispered, dread creeping into my voice.
…Eh?" A grunt escaped my throat as I noticed something odd. My hand was now encased in a sleek black glove. But that wasn't all. My voice—when I spoke—wasn't the familiar tone of a 20-year-old college guy. Instead, it was smoother, deeper, more mature… and oddly pleasant.
"I—uh… I sound like some suave protagonist now," I muttered, blushing a little at the sudden change.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I finally took in my surroundings. Blinking, I struggled to process what I was seeing.
"H-huh? Am I… in a sewer? No way…" My voice quivered. "A… a shit hole??"
I glanced around anxiously. The damp walls were slick with grime, and the air reeked of decay and something far worse. Panic surged through me. Had I been kidnapped and dumped in a sewer?
My breathing quickened, and I stumbled back a step. "Haha… yes… a dream. This must be a dream! That's it! I'm dreaming right now!"
But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie—a feeble attempt to convince myself. And the problem with lying to yourself is that deep down, you always know the truth.
With trembling hands, I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to calm down. I had to focus. I stepped further into the sewer, my boots splashing softly in the shallow, murky water. That's when I saw it—a shattered mirror, precariously leaning against the damp wall.
The mirror was cracked and fogged with mold, its reflection warped in some places and dull in others. Still, I could make out fragmented images of myself in the shards. I approached cautiously, my breath catching in my throat as I leaned closer.
"Holy…" I whispered. "Am I… this hot before?" I said to myself while still looking at my reflection.
Unable to resist, I traced a slender, gloved finger across my reflection, from my upper cheek down to my jaw and then to my chin. The face staring back at me was unfamiliar and yet strikingly handsome. My once plain features were replaced by sharp cheekbones, a refined jawline, and a confident gaze.
Even my hair was different. The jet-black strands I used to know now carried a rich brownish tint, complementing a pair of warm, deep brown eyes. And the outfit—oh, the outfit. I was dressed in a camel-colored trench coat straight out of a 1940s detective noir film, complete with a perfectly tilted fedora. If I can gauge my height. I would be around 178, my previous height is like 175, so I grow over 3 cm with my current body.
"What… am I a secret witch descendant or something? Did I suddenly unlock powers in my 20s?" I muttered sarcastically. "Wait, no… that's stupid. Not that I don't believe in witchcraft… I just don't believe it's me."
I took a step back, scanning my new body more closely. The realization hit like a freight train, crashing through my thoughts with undeniable clarity.
"…Wait a second. Isn't this… William Barrett?" My eyes widened as I pieced it together. "This is his body. What the hell…"
And then, as if a switch flipped in my brain, the final puzzle piece slid into place.
"I got transmigrated?" I whispered, my voice trembling. My heart thudded in my chest, and for a moment, I swayed on unsteady legs, feeling faint like the times my low iron levels acted up.
Before I could process what had happened—or why—a piercing scream shattered the eerie stillness of the sewer.
It was high-pitched and unmistakably female, sending shivers down my spine. But before I could even think about responding, towards the scream, something even stranger happened on the dame moment of the screamed.
I screamed too.
And somehow, my scream was louder—and much higher-pitched—than hers.
"…Ehem." I quickly cleared my throat, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "That was… definitely not a manly scream. I'm pretty sure no one heard that."
I took a moment to collect myself, but the urgency of the situation hit me again. A woman screamed—she was in danger. I couldn't just sit here.
"What am I thinking? I need to help her!"
Despite the confusion and disorientation I was feeling, there was no way I could stand idly by while someone else was in peril. This was like one of those heroic moments you see in movies, the ones where the protagonist rushes to the rescue.
I readied myself to run toward the source of the scream, but as fate would have it, my body had other plans. My foot caught on something, and before I knew it, I was falling headfirst into the murky, dark water of the sewer.
"Bwegh… Ugh…Waghhh!" I sputtered, gagging as I struggled to spit out the foul-tasting water. The taste was beyond awful, like an expired orange mixed with a hydrogen bomb—explosive, to say the least.
Groaning in frustration, I was furious at my own misfortune. First, I'd been mocked, then jump-scare after jump-scare, choking on the water not once, but twice. And now, here I was, tripping into a filthy sewer, probably smelling like this for the rest of the day. What an amazing streak of luck I was having.
I fumbled around, desperate to grab onto something—anything—to steady myself. My hand closed around something solid. It was a revolver. The same revolver that had popped out of the balloon in the game.
"…Huh?" The sound escaped my mouth before I could stop it. It felt strange to hold a revolver in the middle of a sewer. Well, considering where I was… maybe I shouldn't question it too much.
I inspected the weapon, opening the revilver cylinder… there is five bullet with one empty chamber. I stare at it, still in a daze. It's probably because I know when the revolver was fired… I accidentally pull the trigger at that time. I survey the revolver once more.On the handle, stuck by a wet paper note, was hurried, uneven handwriting.
"Beginners Luck."
I read aloud, the words sinking in slowly.
I stared at the note, unable to fully comprehend what was happening. What kind of world was this?
The tension in the air felt almost suffocating, as if the very reality around me was pushing back, making it harder to focus. The sewer was dark, the faint echoes of dripping water making the space feel oppressive. My feet squelched in the muck, and the stench… it was unbearable. But my attention stayed fixated on the revolver and the note. Was this real? Was I really here?
The water lapped coldly around my ankles, unrelenting, as if trying to remind me that I wasn't in control. That I had no choice but to survive. The revolver felt heavy in my hand, its weight a reminder of the responsibility it might carry. But before I could think too deeply about that, one question kept echoing in my mind.
"…Beginners Luck? This sure is one cruel joke." My tone was thick with disgust and frustration. Then, I steeled myself.
"And the revolver's ruined too. The water's gotten into the cylinders. It's not going to work properly now."
I complained, still grunting in irritation, but I shoved the revolver into my coat pocket, hoping it might still serve some purpose. I threw away the wet paper note—pointless now.
"Agh, whatever. I'll answer these questions later. I may not be the best at handling this, but I'll give it my all to resolve whatever mess that woman's gotten herself into and gave her the best outcome if possible.
I ran toward the source of the scream. Surprisingly, my stamina felt a bit better than I expected, considering my usual shut-in habits.
I kept running, the weight of the unknown pressing on me, and not knowing just how deep this darkness I was heading into truly was.
"…Yuck. I don't think having a nose is going to be a blessing right now." I pinched my nose, trying to block out the overwhelming stench of the sewer.