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Three days had passed since the boy had been taken in by Karl.
His body had mostly recovered, though the aches in his limbs still lingered, a dull reminder of his harsh life. The old man had finally given him a task— his "job," as he called it.
Trash diving.
Outside the wooden house, K8-7A's balloon-shaped head turned to the window, its face flipping to a questioning expression as it watched the boy furiously hurl pieces of junk away from the pile.
"Karl, I think the boy is... angry?"
The old man scoffed from his seat by the table, not even bothering to look up from the small device he was fiddling with.
"Careful, boy!" he yelled out. "I told you to find something useful while you dig around! I didn't say ruin everything!"
The boy paused mid-throw, his fingers tightening around a piece of broken plastic. He gritted his teeth and muttered under his breath, "Damn it."
After staying for three days, he's learnt where he was.
Road 5.
It was the cursed 'Collectors' house.
Karl was definitely the collector seeing as how he was taking in all the mildly useful junk that he's saved over the years.
Among people of City E, the old man was someone who had never let those indebted to him escape. Apparently from the rumors he's heard before, no one left the house since he'd taken in other people.
Does that mean I'll die? Just like this?
The boy felt helpless now. No one else was in the house besides them three so it was natural to assume the others from the rumors were dead.
With a sigh, he climbed higher up the trash pile, the uneven ground crunching beneath his feet.
The trash hill wasn't smelly, surprisingly.
Most of it was old electronics— computers, monitors, cables, and other scraps of technology long past their prime. Still, the boy hated the idea of grime clinging to his hands and clothes.
The thought alone made his skin crawl.
It had only been a few hours since Karl had assigned him this job.
Find something useful, the old man had said. If it's not, toss it farther from the house.
The boy glanced at the clearing around the house.
It was obvious that everything had been swept aside over countless dives like this. The trash hills were pushed far enough away to keep the area relatively clean, but he couldn't understand how Karl expected him to find anything "useful" in this mess.
It's just a pile of junk, he thought bitterly.
He climbed higher, brushing aside a tangle of wires and broken circuit boards. His fingers ached from digging, and his patience was wearing thin.
And then— he stopped.
A faint noise broke the silence.
Static.
The boy's ears perked up, and he instinctively turned toward the sound. Carefully, he shifted aside the junk in front of him, the static growing louder as he dug.
Finally, he uncovered it.
Headphones.
At least, they looked like headphones, but there was something strange about them. Instead of the usual cushioned earmuffs, there were sleek earpieces designed to fit directly into the ear. The headband was dotted with small, irregular patches, almost like a map.
From the earpieces, the faint sound of static crackled.
"This works... it should be useful, right?" the boy murmured to himself.
He pulled the headphones free from the pile, but as he lifted them, he noticed the cord was still attached to something.
Frowning, he dug further, uncovering the source— a heavy black box.
The box was plain, with no markings or buttons, only a single narrow slit at its center. The boy tilted his head, wondering what it was for.
Deciding it was better to bring it back than leave it, he carefully gathered the items and scrambled down the trash heap. His heart raced—not from exertion, but from curiosity.
Inside the house, he placed the headphones and the box on the empty table near Karl, stepping back as if he expected the old man to scold him.
"What's this?" Karl asked, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at the items.
"I-I found it," the boy stammered, rubbing his bandaged hands nervously. "It still makes noise... so I thought it might be useful."
Karl leaned forward, his blue eyes narrowing as he examined the strange devices.
The boy watched anxiously, waiting for Karl's verdict.
K8-7A moved closer to the table, its metallic fingers flexing like cables as it gently brushed aside the grime and dust from the objects.
"It's... a VR headset," the robot stated flatly.
The boy blinked, still confused. "VR?" His voice held a note of skepticism. "Why would there be a VR headset in a place like the Lettered Cities?"
Karl raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes piercing through the boy as he gave a short chuckle. "Since you know what a VR headset is, looks like you don't have such a simple background, boy."
The boy bit his lip, fighting the urge to snap back. He wasn't sure why the old man's remark irked him so much. But before he could respond, Karl wasn't paying attention.
"You know it too," the boy muttered under his breath, feeling a small surge of defiance.
Karl scoffed, dismissing the comment, and turned his focus back to the VR set. "It's for Champion of the Hill," he said, his voice low and almost… reverent.
The boy's heart skipped a beat at the mention of the name. His thoughts raced, but no one commented on it.
Instead, K8-7A opened a large metallic cabinet with a soft hiss.
Inside, there were emergency supplies— first aid kits, food rations, tools —but the most interesting object caught the boy's eye: a transparent box with a silver card inside.
"My master's memento..." K8-7A said, its voice strangely soft. "Should we try it, Karl?"
The boy, still unsure of what was happening, nervously stepped back, but the duo was more focused on each other than him.
"I'm not fond of games," Karl replied, clearly uninterested.
The two turned toward the boy.
"Want to try it?" Karl asked, his eyes narrowing. "They say it'll change someone's life for good."
The boy's stomach twisted.
Change someone's life for good? If that was the case, why was the old man offering it to him?
Champion of the Hill is... His thoughts trailed off.
He glanced at the VR headset again, feeling a twinge of dread. He had nothing left to lose, did he?
As if weighing the pros and cons, he sighed.
He stepped forward, his fingers trembling as K8-7A cleaned the headset with a cloth and handed it to him.
"Ready, boy?" Karl's voice was low, almost inviting. He reached out and handed the boy the silver card.
The boy hesitated for a moment, staring at the card. It felt oddly heavy in his hand, like it carried something more than just technology.
Maybe it was the weight of determination hovering through him.
With a deep breath, he inserted the card into the holder.
The moment it clicked into place, everything around him seemed to blur. His vision distorted, like the world was dissolving into darkness.
A deep, magnetic pull tugged at his consciousness, and before he could even brace himself, his mind was swept away.
The black box swallowed him whole.
~
Beep. Bzzt. Beep.
Beeping and buzzing noises jolted him awake.
The boy opened his eyes, blinking in confusion.
He found himself lying flat on the floor, disoriented. The world around him was... strange.
An unnaturally sterile white room stretched endlessly in all directions, as if it had no walls, no corners. Everything was simply white.
His heart pounded in his chest as he pushed himself up, his hands shaking. He scanned the room quickly, but there was nothing— only endless whiteness.
Except for one thing.
A single full-body mirror stood at the center of the room.
His instincts screamed at him to approach, and he scrambled to his feet, rushing toward the mirror. As he drew closer, he was hit with a strange sense of both familiarity and alienation.
He looked into it.
The reflection staring back at him was... his, but not.
He looked the same, his rough, dirty clothes replaced with something fresh and clean. His skin was unmarked, no longer bearing the cuts and bruises from his life outside.
No scuffs, no blood. Nothing. It was as if he had been remade, restored to something better.
He let out a shaky breath, his heartbeat slowing.
At least I look the same.
A strange sense of relief washed over him, but it was quickly replaced with nerves.
He raised his voice, his words tentative. "...Hello?"
The emptiness around him seemed to absorb his voice, but then, something moved.
It was on the wall, slowly gliding toward him.
The boy's eyes widened as it rolled closer— a small, round ball. It looked harmless enough, but the unsettling silence made his skin crawl.
It stopped just in front of him, and with a faint squelch, it bumped gently into his leg.
The boy flinched, taking a step back. It felt... wet.
The ball— just a harmless, wet little thing —had passed right through him like it was nothing. His heart skipped a beat, confusion making him hesitate.
But before he could process what had just happened, the room shifted.
The lights above him blinked once... then turned bright red.
A deafening siren blared, its shrill wail reverberating across the entire space, shaking his bones, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
His breath caught in his throat as panic surged through him.
At the center of the room, something clicked. A small screen materialized from the floor, glowing in crimson light. The numbers on it were stark and cold.
5:00.
The boy's stomach churned.
What was that? Was it a countdown? A normal clock?
Before he could even think, the sound of shifting metal sliced through the air. A series of lasers— bright red and deadly —shot out from the walls, slicing through the air with terrifying precision.
The boy's eyes widened in horror. The lasers were fast— too fast —and they shifted like piercing rapiers, cutting through the room with deadly intent.
Shit!
He scrambled, his legs unsteady beneath him, trying to retreat to the farthest corner of the room. His breath came in ragged gasps as his mind scrambled to make sense of the situation.
What the hell is this place?
The lasers moved with the same cruel determination, never stopping, always shifting. He could barely keep up, his heart hammering in his chest.
A cold sweat broke out across his forehead as he backed into the corner, but just as he thought he might be safe, a piercing light flashed beneath him.
He looked down— eyes widening in terror.
A laser shot up from the floor, its beam sharp enough to cut through him in an instant.
"Laser!" he screamed, his voice raw with panic.
He leaped back, barely avoiding the deadly beam that grazed his leg. The heat from it seared through his clothes, leaving a burning trail of fear.
Every instinct in his body screamed at him to run, to do anything to escape, but there was no way out.
The lasers continued, relentless, slicing through the air in chaotic patterns.
Then he checked the clock again.
4:56
It was a countdown!
His chest tightened, the air growing thin in the suffocating space.
Would he make it out? Would he even survive?