[To My Alyssa.]
Pain. Deep, sharp, and all-consuming.
The last thing Alyssa remembered was that tear in her chest as she stared at those glowing words on the computer screen—his last words to her—before everything went dark.
And now… stillness.
That was not the end.
Darkness vanished, and sensation returned. But these weren't the sensations she knew.
Cold, ashen dirt pressed against her cheek. She took a breath—the air was thick with smoke and dust.
A sharp ache still clung to her chest—a cruel reminder she was alive.
But where was she?
Her eyes fluttered open. She wasn't in her room—she was outside.
Lying on the ground under a heavy, ashen sky.
The air was cold, biting into her skin, and the ground beneath her felt… real. Too real.
What had happened to her?
She pushed herself up slowly, bracing for the familiar ache in her shoulders.
The stiffness in her neck from days spent hunched over, curled up in her chair with the glow of the computer screen burning her tired eyes, crying and playing that game, his game.
But that ache, that daily struggle with her weak body never came. Instead, her body felt… light. Strong. Powerful.
She looked down at her arms.
These weren't her arms—too strong, too steady. Not the frail, malnourished limbs she knew. And she definitely wasn't wearing her onesie.
Instead, she was dressed in a fitted white tank top and leather pants, patched together with scraps of metal and fabric.
Her breath hitched, heart pounding as she looked around.
"Where…?"
Shock. She recognized all of it—the ramshackle huts cobbled together from salvaged wood and corrugated metal, the flickering torches casting long, dancing shadows under a smoke-filled sky, the makeshift market stalls overflowing with junk.
Scrap metal, scavenged food, bits of wire, rusty tools—exactly as she remembered.
But it wasn't supposed to be real.
This was The New Oasis—the starting village of Ethan's game, Love Apocalypse.
A survivor's camp. It was just as he'd designed it. Down to the smallest detail.
"This is…" She wanted to say it, but the words caught in her throat.
People shuffled around her, their faces worn and weary. Some tinkered with broken-down machines, others haggled quietly over scraps, and a few just sat slumped against walls, their eyes hollow. Survivors. Just like in the game.
But their eyes… There was something there. A flicker, a depth that wasn't scripted. Too sharp. Too aware.
They weren't vacant.
They were… alive.
Real.
Then—
A memory.
His voice, soft and teasing, echoed in her mind.
"I wish one day this could all be real, and we could just live happily ever after."
"You wanna live in a place like this? A literal wasteland?"
"I don't care where I am. As long as you're with me."
"Yeah, well… I don't want to. No way I'm living in a depressing world like this."
"Oh, too bad. I'll drag you with me. Watch out."
"Hey—Ethan! Let go! No—ahh! Stop tickling! Ahaaha! I give up! Khikhi! Ahaha!"
Her throat tightened, grief clawing up her ribs, squeezing the breath from her lungs.
"Ethan…?" she whispered, her voice breaking.
The pain. God, it hurts.
A raw, gaping hole where Ethan used to be.
The memory of his cold, still body. His bright eyes—forever dimmed.
His stolen dream. The lost fight. The injustice of it all.
Her broken heart—the one that had failed her, the one that still ached with that lingering sharp pain—throbbed in her chest.
Tears spilled down her cheeks at his name, at the memories of him.
This couldn't be real. Games weren't real.
They weren't supposed to be.
Some kind of… hallucination. A fever dream from grief.
Her eyes darted, searching for something—anything—wrong. Anything to prove this wasn't real.
But there was nothing.
Only pain. Only him.
And the letter.
The one she never read.
[To My Alyssa.]
Those words burned into her memory.
The notification had popped up after she'd finally—finally—beaten the last boss.
Weeks of pushing herself to the brink, fueled by grief, by the desperate need to keep him alive.
In his game.
And she never got to read it.
Her heart ached again. The tears came, unstoppable.
She covered her mouth, trying to stifle the sobs. They tore through anyway, one after another.
She curled in on herself, hugging her knees. Clutching her chest as the tears streamed down her face.
No… no… no, no…
"Why?!" she screamed, her voice cracking, raw.
"Why?! Why did you leave me?"
"We could've stayed together… forever."
"You didn't even think about me, not even for a second, before leaving?"
Her outburst snapped heads around.
Whispers. Murmurs. Shuffling feet.
Eyes on her—judging, wary.
"Another one losing it…"
"Just let her be…"
"Ain't our problem."
"Better she breaks now than later."
In the game, she would've ignored them—NPCs, background noise.
But these voices… they felt different.
They had weight. Inflection. Life.
The way they flinched when she shouted, the way they moved, the subtle shifts in posture… none of it looked programmed.
It was real.
Her hands clenched. Her pulse raced.
This wasn't just like the game.
It was the game. His game.
But now it was also… more.
Real.
Too real.
Dizziness. Nausea. The world tilted beneath her.
"We could've left together… if only you'd waited for me."
[To My Alyssa.]
The letter.
That image, burned into her mind, surfaced again.
And then… something shifted.
A spark. Tiny, but real.
Hope.
The letter.
It had to be here.
If this was Love Apocalypse—his game—then his final message had to be here too.
That spark, that hope flared. Tiny, but deep within her. Desperate.
A strength she never knew surged through her, burning away the exhaustion, even the sharp pain in her chest.
A chance to read those words again?
She'd gamble everything.
Again.
She pushed herself up. Her legs shook—but held firm at her new strength.
Tears blurred her vision.
But her eyes? They were clear now.
Determined.
"I'm coming, Ethan."
Hoarse. Unshaken.
"I'm coming."