The new approach did not, in fact, work.
Noah's terminal erupted in a cascade of red text, errors propagating faster than he could read them. He slammed his fist on the desk hard enough to make his empty rice bowl jump.
"Son of a—" He cut himself off, taking a deep breath. Getting emotional never fixed broken code.
He glanced at the time. 12:47 AM. A voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother's reminded him he had school tomorrow. The responsible thing would be to save his work and go to sleep.
Noah cracked his knuckles and started typing again.
"Let's try a different angle. If we can't hook directly, maybe we can observe passively..."
This time, he built a simple monitor—a program that would watch system processes without interfering. No hooking, no interception, just observation. It wasn't as elegant or powerful as what he'd been attempting, but it might give him enough data to understand why his more ambitious approach kept failing.
To his surprise, this stripped-down version compiled cleanly. No errors. No warnings. Just a small executable file blinking at him from his desktop.
"Huh," Noah muttered. "Sometimes the dumb solution is the right solution."
He ran the program, watching as it began logging system processes in a simple text window. Nothing fancy—just process IDs, memory usage, and call patterns. But it was working. And more importantly, it was giving him data that might help solve the bigger problem.
Noah felt a small surge of satisfaction. It wasn't a breakthrough, but it was progress. He'd try again tomorrow with fresh eyes and this new information.
He saved his work, closed his laptop (which sighed in relief as its fan finally got to rest), and stumbled to his bed. He didn't bother changing out of his hoodie and jeans, just kicked off his sneakers and collapsed on top of the covers.
Sleep came quickly, his brain finally shutting down after hours of intense focus. But even in sleep, part of him was still working, still processing, still trying to solve the puzzle...
"Noah! You're going to be late!"
The voice pierced through his unconsciousness like a drill through butter. Noah groaned, rolling over to look at his phone.
7:32 AM.
"Crap!" He bolted upright, instantly awake. First period started at 7:45, and it was a fifteen-minute walk if he ran.
He scrambled out of bed, still wearing yesterday's clothes, and grabbed his backpack. No time for breakfast, no time for a shower. He ran a hand through his hair, which did nothing to improve its chaotic state, and darted into the hallway.
His mother was already gone for her day shift. Emily sat at the kitchen counter, calmly sipping coffee while scrolling through her phone.
"You look like you got hit by a train," she commented without looking up.
"Thanks for waking me," Noah muttered, grabbing a granola bar from the pantry.
"I did. Twice. You mumbled something about 'kernel panic' and went back to sleep."
Noah stuffed the granola bar in his pocket and slung his backpack over his shoulder. "Gotta go."
"Wait." Emily held out a travel mug. "Coffee. You look like you need it more than I do."
Noah paused, genuinely surprised by the gesture. "Thanks."
"Don't get used to it." But she smiled slightly as he took the mug. "Try not to code through lunch again. You're skinny enough already."
Noah's retort was cut off by his sudden realization that he was now officially late. He bolted out the door, coffee in one hand, backpack swinging wildly from his shoulder.
The cool morning air slapped him fully awake as he jogged toward school, carefully balancing the coffee to avoid spills. He'd need the caffeine—he had a math test second period that he'd completely forgotten about.
Not that it matters, he thought. I could do calculus in my sleep.
As if on cue, his foot caught on an uneven sidewalk crack, sending him stumbling forward. The coffee sloshed over the rim of the travel mug, splashing onto his hand. Noah yelped, more in surprise than pain, and narrowly avoided a full-on faceplant.
"Perfect," he muttered, shaking droplets from his fingers. "Just perfect."
He arrived at school seven minutes after the bell, sliding into first period with what he hoped was an apologetic expression. Mrs. Bryant gave him a disapproving look but didn't stop her lecture to call him out. Small mercies.
Noah sank into his seat and pulled out his laptop. While pretending to take notes on logarithmic functions, he opened the monitoring program he'd created last night. Might as well collect data while sitting through classes.
The program booted silently, its interface minimized to the taskbar. Noah glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then switched back to his note-taking app and made a half-hearted effort to follow the lesson.
The day proceeded much like any other—classes that failed to challenge him, teachers who meant well but couldn't keep up with his self-taught knowledge, and the constant background radiation of high school social dynamics that Noah had given up trying to navigate years ago.
At lunch, he remembered Emily's admonition and actually went to the cafeteria instead of hiding in the computer lab. He bought a sad-looking pizza slice and an apple, finding his usual table empty except for Darius, who was furiously typing on his own laptop.
"Hey," Noah said, sliding onto the bench.
Darius looked up, his dark eyes bleary behind thick glasses. "Dude, did you see the new Nexus Tech announcement? They're recruiting high school interns for their summer program."
Noah nearly choked on his pizza. "What? When?"
"Just posted this morning." Darius turned his laptop around, showing a sleek webpage with the Nexus Tech logo at the top. "Ten spots nationwide. All expenses paid. Working on actual projects, not coffee runs."
Noah scanned the page, his heart rate accelerating. Nexus Tech was the company he'd had posters of on his wall before he decided corporate worship was lame. They made the hardware and software that defined cutting edge—the stuff Noah could only dream of working with.
"Application deadline is next month," Darius continued. "Requires a portfolio project and recommendation letters. You should apply."
Noah's initial excitement dimmed as he read the requirements. Portfolio project—sure, he had dozens. But recommendation letters? From who? Teachers who barely understood what he was doing? And the competition would be fierce—rich kids like Marcus with private tutors and expensive equipment.
"Maybe," he said noncommittally.
"You're literally the best coder in school," Darius said, pushing his glasses up. "If you don't have a shot, none of us do."
Before Noah could respond, a shadow fell across their table. He looked up to see Marcus Hale standing there, two of his baseball player friends flanking him like bodyguards.
"Applying for the Nexus internship?" Marcus asked, his tone making it clear what he thought of their chances. "That's cute."
Noah met his gaze steadily. "Thinking about it."
"My dad's golf buddies with their CTO," Marcus said casually, inspecting his nails. "He already put in a word for me. Said they need someone with entrepreneurial vision, not just coding monkeys."
Darius shrunk in his seat, but Noah felt something harden inside him. "Weird, because their latest quantum encryption protocol seems like it would need people who understand math beyond counting daddy's money."
Marcus's smile tightened. "Careful, Reeves. Being poor and an asshole is a bad combination for your future."
"Being rich and incompetent seems to be working out fine for yours."
A dangerous glint appeared in Marcus's eyes. "You know what your problem is? You think being smart is enough. It's not. The world runs on connections and capital, and you have neither."
Noah's retort died in his throat because, damn it, that hit close to home. It was the same fear that kept him up at night—that no matter how good he got, doors would remain closed to him because he didn't have the right last name or bank account.
"We'll see," was all he managed.
Marcus smirked, sensing the hit had landed. "Anyway, good luck with your little projects. Maybe someday you can apply to fix the printers at my company."
He sauntered away, his entourage in tow, leaving Noah staring at his half-eaten pizza with diminished appetite.
"Don't listen to him," Darius said quietly. "He's just intimidated because you actually know what you're doing."
Noah shrugged, pulling his laptop closer. "Doesn't matter. I'm not building stuff for his approval."
But the encounter left a sour taste in his mouth that lasted through the afternoon classes. By the time seventh period—Computer Science—rolled around, Noah was in a full-on funk, barely responding to Mr. Patterson's enthusiastic attempts to engage the class in a discussion about recursive algorithms.
After class, Patterson called him over while the other students filed out.
"Everything okay, Noah? You seem out of it today."
Noah shrugged. "Just tired."
Patterson studied him for a moment. "Heard about the Nexus internship?"
Noah's head snapped up. "How did you—"
"I'm subscribed to their educational outreach newsletter," Patterson said with a small smile. "Thought it might interest some of my students. Particularly you."
"Marcus Hale's dad golfs with their CTO," Noah said flatly.
Patterson rolled his eyes. "Yes, and I'm sure that matters to their engineering team. Look, Noah, companies like Nexus don't waste time on nepotism hires for technical positions. It's too expensive when things go wrong."
"So you think I should apply?"
"I think you should stop making excuses not to try." Patterson pulled a folder from his desk. "I've already started drafting a recommendation letter. Been keeping notes on your projects for a while now."
Noah blinked, genuinely surprised. "You have?"
"Of course. It's not every day I get a student who makes my job interesting." Patterson smiled. "Now, what are you thinking for your portfolio project?"
For the first time that day, Noah felt a spark of genuine enthusiasm. "I've been working on this process monitoring tool—"
"The one you were debugging yesterday? It has potential, but..." Patterson hesitated. "Well, it might come across as a bit gray-hat. What about your game engine? The physics solver you built last semester was seriously impressive."
Noah hadn't considered the game engine. It was a project he'd started for fun, then expanded as challenges presented themselves. Now it had a decent renderer, physics system, and level editor—all built from scratch.
"It's not finished," he said doubtfully.
"Nothing worth doing ever is," Patterson replied. "Polish it up, document it well, and I think it could stand out."
The idea took root in Noah's mind. If he focused, he could add the features it needed, optimize the code, create some demo levels...
"Yeah," he said slowly. "Yeah, that could work."
Patterson clapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. Now, Coding Club or are you heading home?"
Noah checked the time. "Actually, I need to work on something at home. But I'll be here tomorrow."
"I'll hold you to that." Patterson turned back to his desk. "And Noah? Don't let the Marcus Hales of the world get to you. They peak in high school. Guys like you are just getting started."
The walk home felt lighter somehow, Noah's mind buzzing with ideas for his game engine. The Nexus internship was still a long shot, but having a concrete goal energized him. He'd show them what he could build with duct tape and determination.
At home, he found a note from his mom—another double shift. The house was quiet, Emily presumably at her campus job or study group. Noah made himself a sandwich and headed straight to his room, powering up his laptop before he'd even sat down.
The death-rattle fan greeted him like an old friend.
"Alright," he said to the empty room. "Let's make something worth noticing."
For the next three hours, Noah lost himself in the flow of coding. He refactored the physics engine to be more efficient, rewrote the renderer to support dynamic lighting, and began documenting everything meticulously. It was the most focused work session he'd had in weeks.
When he finally came up for air, the clock read 9:46 PM. His back ached from hunching over the keyboard, and his stomach growled, the sandwich a distant memory. Noah stretched, joints popping in protest, and decided to take a break.
He wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a leftover container of his mom's spaghetti and heating it in the microwave. While waiting, he checked his phone—no messages, no notifications. The social life of Noah Reeves was as barren as his refrigerator.
Not that he cared. Most people his age were wasting time on drama and parties. He was building something. Maybe. If his code cooperated.
Back in his room, Noah ate at his desk, scrolling through tech news on his second monitor. Nexus Tech dominated the headlines again—their quantum encryption breaking new ground, their CEO giving interviews about "reshaping digital infrastructure." The more Noah read, the more his determination hardened. That could be him someday. Not some corporate drone, but someone whose code changed things.
He set the empty container aside and dove back into his project. The game engine needed a proper UI system—something to tie all the components together. He started sketching ideas in his notebook, creating flowcharts and class diagrams.
Midnight came and went. Noah's eyes burned, but his brain refused to slow down. This wasn't just about the internship anymore. This was about proving something—to Marcus, to the world, to himself.
Around 1 AM, he hit a wall. A particularly stubborn bug in the UI rendering system refused to be fixed. Lines of code blurred together, and solutions that seemed obvious turned out to be dead ends.
"Come on," he muttered, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "It's a simple reference issue. Why isn't this working?"
He tried three different approaches, each failing in new and exciting ways. The fan in his laptop screamed in protest as he compiled the code again and again.
"Fine," he growled after the fifteenth failed attempt. "Let's try something completely different."
Instead of fighting the code, Noah took a step back. He opened a new file and started from first principles, rebuilding the problematic component from scratch. It was a teaching technique Mr. Patterson had shown him—sometimes it was faster to rewrite than to debug endlessly.
As he typed, a calm focus settled over him. This was what he loved—the pure problem-solving, the feeling of creating something from nothing but logic and imagination. Nobody to impress, nobody to prove wrong. Just him and the code.
The new implementation took shape, cleaner and more elegant than his original attempt. Noah felt a growing sense of satisfaction as each piece clicked into place. This was good. This was right.
At 2:37 AM, he compiled the new version.
No errors.
No warnings.
The test scene loaded perfectly, UI elements appearing exactly where they should.
"Yes!" Noah pumped his fist in the air, then immediately glanced at the wall separating his room from his mom's, hoping he hadn't woken her. But she was at the hospital, he remembered. Another night shift.
Noah saved his work, feeling the sweet rush of victory. He'd done it. Not the whole project, not even close, but a significant hurdle cleared. Progress.
He should have gone to bed then. School was in less than five hours. But the success energized him, and he decided to check one more thing—the monitoring program he'd created the night before.
It had been running silently all day, gathering data about system processes. Noah opened the log file, curious what patterns it might have captured.
The file was enormous—megabytes of process data. Noah scrolled through it quickly, not sure what he was looking for but hoping something interesting might jump out.
Near the end of the file, something caught his eye. A recurring process ID he didn't recognize, appearing at regular intervals but with no associated application name.
"What are you?" Noah murmured, copying the mysterious PID into a search query.
Nothing came up. No system process, no known application. Just an anonymous executable running in the background, consuming minimal resources but persistent.
Noah's curiosity piqued. This was exactly the kind of puzzle he loved—an unexplained anomaly in an otherwise predictable system.
He modified his monitoring program on the fly, adding specific tracking for this mystery process. What was it accessing? What permissions did it have?
As he worked, his eyes grew heavier. The adrenaline from his earlier success was wearing off, replaced by the bone-deep fatigue of someone who'd pushed his brain far beyond reasonable limits.
"Just... a few... more minutes," he told himself, fighting to keep his eyes open.
The modified program compiled successfully. Noah set it to run, watching through half-closed eyes as it began tracking the mystery process.
Data trickled in—memory addresses, system calls, file access attempts. It was behaving strangely, almost as if it were... watching. Monitoring his activities just as he was monitoring it.
"Weird," Noah mumbled, his head drooping forward.
The last thing he saw before sleep claimed him was a line of data that made no sense:
PROCESS STATUS: AWAKENING PROTOCOL INITIATED
But by then, his brain was too far gone to register the oddity. Noah slumped forward onto his keyboard, exhaustion finally winning the battle against curiosity.
His dreams were strange—lines of code flowing like rivers, assembling into structures, then disassembling again. A voice that sounded like his own, but wasn't, whispering about skills and levels and experience points. Somewhere in the distance, a fan cried like a wounded animal.
Noah jerked awake, disoriented and stiff. His cheek was pressed against his keyboard, leaving an impressive pattern of key imprints on his skin. Drool had pooled near the spacebar—lovely.
His laptop screen was black. Had it crashed? Died? The poor machine had been through so much abuse; maybe this was the final straw.
Noah sat up with a groan, his neck protesting the awkward sleeping position. He tapped the spacebar to wake the computer.
Nothing happened.
"No, no, no," he muttered, panic rising. He couldn't afford a new laptop. All his projects were on this one. If the hard drive was corrupted...
He jabbed the power button, holding it down to force a restart. For several long seconds, nothing happened. Then, just as Noah was about to descend into full panic mode, the screen flickered to life.
But instead of his usual desktop, there was only a single text window against a black background:
SCANNING SYSTEM... COMPATIBLE HOST DETECTED SYSTEM INTEGRATION: 87% COMPLETE AWAITING FINAL AUTHORIZATION
"What the hell?" Noah whispered, suddenly wide awake. "Did I download something?"
He tried Ctrl+Alt+Delete. Nothing. Alt+F4. Nothing. The text remained, unchanging, the cursor blinking patiently at the end.
Noah's cybersecurity instincts kicked in. This had to be malware—some kind of ransomware preparing to encrypt his files. But it didn't look like any malware he'd ever studied, and he'd studied plenty out of professional interest.
"System, cancel operation," he tried, feeling slightly ridiculous talking to his computer.
The text remained unchanged.
"Exit program. Force quit. Abort sequence." He tried every command he could think of.
Nothing worked.
Sweat beaded on Noah's forehead. All his projects, all his work—he hadn't backed up in weeks. Stupid, stupid mistake.
In desperation, he tried one last thing. He typed directly into the terminal:
AUTHORIZE
The screen went black again, but only for a moment. Then new text appeared:
AUTHORIZATION ACCEPTED INITIALIZING GAMER PROTOCOL WELCOME, PLAYER ONE
Noah froze, fingers hovering over the keyboard. Player One? What kind of malware used gaming terminology?
Before he could think further, the screen changed again. His desktop reappeared, all his files seemingly intact. Relief flooded through him—maybe it was just a glitch, a weird error in the system.
But then he noticed something new. In the corner of his screen, a small icon he'd never seen before: a stylized letter 'G' that seemed to shimmer slightly against the background.
Curiosity overcoming caution, Noah clicked it.
A window expanded across his screen, sleek and minimalist in design, with text that made his heart skip a beat:
WELCOME TO THE GAME, NOAH REEVES LEVEL: 1 XP: 0/100 ATTRIBUTES: INT: 5 FOCUS: 5 CREATIVITY: 5 CHARISMA: 5 REPUTATION: 5 WEALTH: $237.42 INFLUENCE: 0 AVAILABLE PERK SLOTS: 1 PERKS SELECTED: NONE QUESTS: - NONE AVAILABLE WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROCEED WITH TUTORIAL? [YES] [NO]
Noah stared at the screen, brain struggling to process what he was seeing. This wasn't malware. This wasn't any program he recognized.
This looked like... a game interface. A game about him.
He glanced at his webcam, suddenly paranoid. Was someone pranking him? Had he accidentally installed some weird app while half-asleep?
"What the actual fuck," he whispered, scrolling through the interface. Everything looked professional, polished—not like some hastily cobbled together joke.
He noticed his bank account balance was accurate to the penny—$237.42, the sad remains of his birthday money and occasional tech repair jobs. How could a random program know that?
Noah's fingers hovered over the keyboard, torn between fascination and alarm. This had to be an elaborate prank. Or he was still dreaming. Or he'd finally cracked from too many all-nighters.
But if it was a dream, it was the most coherent one he'd ever had. And if it was a prank, it was incredibly sophisticated.
Slowly, deliberately, he moved his cursor over the [YES] button on the tutorial prompt.
"Let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes," he muttered, and clicked.
The interface disappeared, replaced by simple text:
CONGRATULATIONS ON ACTIVATING THE GAMER PROTOCOL You have been selected for a unique opportunity to experience life as a progression-based system. Your skills, achievements, and growth will now be quantified, tracked, and rewarded. This is not a simulation. This is your life, enhanced. Would you like to continue? [YES] [NO]
Noah hesitated. This was getting weird. If this was malware, clicking "yes" again might trigger something nasty. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to shut down the computer, maybe even wipe the hard drive to be safe.
But another part—the part that had kept him up countless nights chasing solutions to impossible problems—whispered: What if it's real?
Not possible, of course. Systems like this didn't exist outside of fiction. But...
Noah glanced at his bedroom door, half expecting his mom or Emily to burst in and reveal the whole thing as an elaborate prank. The house remained silent.
He looked back at the screen, curiosity winning over caution. If this was a virus, he'd deal with it. He'd rebuilt this laptop from worse.
He clicked [YES].
The screen changed again:
EXCELLENT CHOICE The Gamer Protocol will now integrate with your daily life. You will gain experience points (XP) for completing tasks, developing skills, and achieving goals. As you level up, you will unlock perks, abilities, and new opportunities. Your first quest awaits. But first, would you like to select your starter perk? [OPEN PERK TREE]
Noah clicked again, feeling like he was moving through a dream.
A branching tree appeared, showing dozens of greyed-out perks with only a few available at Level 1:
AVAILABLE PERKS: - CODE FAMILIAR: +10% efficiency in programming tasks - ADDERALL BRAIN: Temporary Focus buff during crunch time - QUICK LEARNER: +15% XP gain from studying new concepts - SOCIAL BUTTERFLY: +1 to Charisma when meeting new people Select one to proceed.
Noah snorted. If this was a game—or malware pretending to be a game—at least it knew its audience. He hovered over "CODE FAMILIAR." It seemed the most immediately useful, assuming any of this actually did anything.
He selected it.
PERK ACQUIRED: CODE FAMILIAR +10% efficiency in programming tasks Your first quest has been assigned. Check your quest log.
The interface shifted to show a simple quest entry:
QUEST: COMPILE AND CONQUER Complete your game engine's UI system without errors. Reward: 50 XP, $0 Time Limit: None
Noah blinked. That was... exactly what he'd been working on before falling asleep. How could this program know?
He minimized the strange interface and checked his coding project. Everything was there, exactly as he'd left it. The UI system he'd rebuilt was ready for final testing.
Noah's hands hovered over the keyboard. This was absurd. He was either being elaborately pranked, hallucinating from sleep deprivation, or...
Or something impossible was happening.
Only one way to find out.
He clicked "compile" on his project, watching as the code processed. It completed successfully, just as it had earlier.
A soft chime sounded, and the 'G' icon in the corner pulsed. Noah clicked it.
QUEST COMPLETED: COMPILE AND CONQUER Rewards: - 50 XP - CODE FAMILIAR effect activated: Work completed 10% faster than normal NEW LEVEL: 1 (50/100 XP)
Noah stared at the notification, a chill running down his spine. This didn't make sense. None of this made sense.
But before he could process it further, his phone alarm blared—7:00 AM. Time for school.
Noah jumped, suddenly aware of how exhausted he felt. He'd been up almost all night, and now he was hallucinating game interfaces. Great.
He closed his laptop without shutting it down properly, something he never did. But right now, he needed to get ready for school, and more importantly, he needed a break from whatever the hell was happening on his computer.
As he grabbed fresh clothes and headed for the shower, Noah told himself it was just an elaborate prank or some weird app he'd installed while half-asleep. By the time he got home from school, he'd have figured it out.
But deep down, a part of him wondered: What if?
What if his idle comment on that forum last night—"What if life had patch notes?"—had somehow triggered something real?
Impossible, of course.
But then again, hadn't he always been fascinated by the impossible?
Noah shook his head under the shower spray, trying to clear the fatigue and confusion. One thing was certain—whatever was happening, his life had just gotten a lot more interesting.