I didn't have friends.
I had games.
Some people find company in bars or at work or even in those weird hobby groups where they pretend to be knights. Me? I found it in a glowing screen. I had… voices in a headset, names on a friend list and people who laughed with me through a mic but would never ask how my day was, or notice if I disappeared.
Games were my world.
Years of staying in my apartment had trained me to live in other worlds: places where you could steal a car, rob a bank, sleep with strangers, get into a gunfight, charm someone into bed, and walk away without a single consequence.
If you died, you just respawned. If you messed up, you just reloaded.
Most nights, my apartment was silent except for the hum of my computer fan. No music, no TV. Just the glow of the screen and my hands on the keyboard.
It was perfect and controlled, it was... safe.
I was scrolling late at night, half-dead from boredom, when I saw it — an ad so blatant I almost laughed.
NO RULES. NO LIMITS. NO CENSORSHIP. DOWNLOAD NOW!!!
The text pulsed in bold, blood-red letters.
Behind it, the video played like a fever dream: neon-lit streets, bodies pressed together in dark corners, fights in rain-slick alleys, a stack of cash sliding across a table, a hand wrapping around a gun, even kisses and subte sex scenes.
It was exactly the kind of over-the-top trash I'd waste a weekend on.
The download was instant, too instant... like it hadn't even needed to download.
The game opened and the "character creation" screen popped up. I finished creating my character or avatar as the game called it in less than 5 minutes then the screen went black with two words:
ENTER NAME.
My fingers hovered over the keys. I started to type something stupid, a throwaway username I'd used before—
And the screen glitched. Not the kind of cute glitch developers put in for style. This was wrong.
White static, a low, electric hum and my vision… dipped.
I wasn't blinking, but everything darkened like someone was dimming the lights inside my head.
---
When the world came back, I was sitting at a table.
Not my table, not my apartment.
The surface in front of me was smooth and green — felt. Cards were stacked in neat piles. Chips gleamed under bright golden light. The air smelled thick with perfume, cigar smoke, and something sharper underneath… blood?
I turned my head slowly.
Everywhere I looked, there was movement: men in dark suits, women in glittering dresses, laughter that didn't sound friendly, the clink of glasses, the shuffle of cards.
I tried to speak. "Where—" but someone beat me to it.
"Lance Monrel," a woman's voice said behind me.
The name made my skin prickle.
That wasn't my name.
I turned and saw her.
She stood tall, framed by the light, a black dress hugging her shape, diamonds glittering on her neck. Her eyes were the kind that saw too much, the kind that made you feel like you were already losing before the game began.
"Lance Monrel," she repeated, slower this time, like she was testing the sound of it.
"That's you, isn't it?"
I opened my mouth to correct her, to say No, that's not my name but the words never made it out.
Two men in suits had stepped closer, one on either side of me.
The woman's smile was thin and sharp.
"You've been accused of betrayal," she said. "The boss wants proof of your loyalty. Tonight. Here."
The dealer, a man with a scar on his face that looked like it was carved with a knife — slid two cards across the table toward me.
Blackjack.
My hands hesitated over them. My heart was hammering in my chest, but I told myself this was just some elaborate cutscene. That's how games started, right? Dramatic, cinematic… harmless.
I didn't know it yet, but this wasn't harmless.
Not even close.
---
To be continued...