As I looked at my reflection, I was trapped, hypnotized. Like a moth paralyzed before a dazzling light.
My breathing grew heavy, erratic, as if my lungs were burning from the inside. The air came and went in short, harsh bursts. Beads of sweat soaked my forehead and began to descend slowly, tracing tortuous paths down my temples and neck.
"Brother, brother!"
The girl's voice rose loudly, but it was useless. I couldn't feel her, and I was slowly beginning to fade.
"Is that me?" I muttered hoarsely.
"What is this? What's happening?"
Calm down, calm down, calm down… panic began to take hold of me, and a torrent of absurd suppositions surged in my mind.
C-could I have transmigrated? Is that even possible?
I wanted to deny it. No! I tried to deny it, but it was useless. The reflection was still there, staring back at me.
My first reaction was surprise, then fury, anxiety, despair, fear…
I felt all those emotions crashing down on me at once, but no matter what I did, reality kept striking back.
I felt suffocated…
Ruined.
Everything was completely ruined.
Had I really fallen into the game? Was this… Epidemic World?
A fleeting memory crossed my mind: infested floors, impossible creatures to hunt, and of course the nightmare of leveling up, only to die at the hands of a stronger monster.
I wanted to curse my luck.
Of all the places possible, it had to be this damned world.
Decades ago, humanity awakened a strange power and used it to wage meaningless wars. That was when a massive tower rose from nothing, and although no one paid much attention at first… they would soon regret that decision.
Upon reaching adulthood, thousands of young people collapsed unconscious, without vital signs. The governments, blindly believing it to be a plague, incinerated the bodies.
That was their gravest mistake.
From those ashes, the bridges were created: black fissures in reality, portals that connected to the tower and brought forth impossible creatures beyond comprehension.
The armed forces believed they could fight them with that unknown power, but they fell one after another. The world soon sank into despair.
Then they appeared: the players.
Survivors of the infection, who after overcoming the Trial of the Abyss awakened the System. They were the ones who pushed the beasts back and built a new order. Although, of course, it was only the beginning.
With a heavy heart, I tried to remember, to think of a way out, but nothing came to mind… then a dry impact split the air behind me.
"Bam!" The blow shook me from head to toe, tearing me from my thoughts.
"Calm down, brother…" said the girl with reddened eyes, sending a warm energy that seeped into my body.
At once, I felt the trembling inside me slowly subside.
"Thanks… I'm better now," I whispered, wiping her face with the sleeve of my jacket.
She looked at me for a few seconds, her tears had slightly swollen her eyes.
"Really?" she asked innocently, though in her gaze lingered a hint of doubt.
I nodded and gestured for her not to worry.
She didn't seem entirely convinced but didn't insist further.
Soon, the metallic screech of the train spread through the place, and seconds later, the doors opened with a heavy hiss.
At once she took my hand softly and dragged me outside.
We advanced in silence.
After a few minutes walking through the streets, we arrived at a building whose facade looked like a concentration camp.
Gray walls stretched from horizon to horizon, along with watchtowers raised at every corner. However, the detail that caught my attention the most was the checkpoint attached to the side. From there, several eyes followed our every move, and the automatic turrets turned with a dull hum, aiming in all directions.
"A… police station?" I asked in bewilderment, frowning.
She glanced at me sideways, a glimmer of suspicion in her eyes.
"Did you forget, brother? Today you turn eighteen."
The moment her words fell, they shook my mind like a drum. My legs buckled, and I nearly stumbled. I felt my soul escape in a single breath, but somehow I kept moving, guided only by the strength of her hand.
Letting myself be dragged to the checkpoint.
A burly man approached us immediately. He wore a black leather uniform, heavy boots, and a sword at his waist. On his face, arrogance mixed with hostility.
"What are you doing here?" he asked harshly, looking us up and down with condescension.
I didn't answer. My eyes were lost on the surroundings: metallic plates reinforced the walls, sensors blinked at the entrances, and beyond, mounted automatic rifles stood on turrets, aiming mercilessly.
Seeing my lack of response, the officer was about to lash out, but at that moment the girl squeezed my hand and, swallowing hard, dared to speak:
"M-my brother turns eighteen today."
The moment those words left her lips, the officer's expression collapsed. His face turned pale instantly, and with clumsy movements, he grabbed the communicator on his shoulder.
"Emergency! Code red! I repeat, CODE RED!"
The echo of his cry unleashed chaos around me. Guards rushed in every direction, turrets spun with a fierce hum, and the very air grew suffocating.
"Exaggerated… ha." How I wished that were the case.
But no. In this world, this was only protocol.
The sound of the door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I raised my eyes, and among the guards, an officer stepped forward. His appearance was ordinary—gray hair, impeccable uniform, a revolver strapped to his waist. But there was something about the way he moved, firm and calculated, that made me straighten instinctively.
He studied me with a trace of unease for a moment, then glanced at his watch and, with a sharp gesture, ordered me to follow.
The girl tried to come with me, but he raised his hand, and the guards shoved her away roughly.
Soon we reached a confinement room. The walls were covered with valves and pipes marked with warning symbols. In the corners, reinforced vents buzzed with an unsettling hum, and from the ceiling hung industrial lamps casting a sickly yellow light.
Along the walls, rows of old-fashioned automatic machine guns stood with leather straps and metal magazines, all aimed at the center of the room as if waiting for an order to open fire. The air smelled of rust, oil, and disinfectant—dense, oppressive, impossible to ignore.
The officer forced me to sit in a chair bolted to the floor; his eyes drilled into mine in long silence, as if searching for something hidden beneath my skin. Finally, he spoke.
"What's your name, boy?"
I stayed quiet for a moment, wondering if I should invent a name. But in the end, I spoke the truth.
"Keir," I replied softly.
The officer repeated the name, tasting it on his tongue.
"Keir… Good name," he muttered with a tone I couldn't decipher.
After a few seconds, he tilted his head, studying me.
"Tell me, Keir… how much do you really know about the Abyss?"
I looked at him for a moment. In this world, probably no one knew more than I did about it. But I couldn't reveal that.
"The same as everyone, I suppose," I said, averting my eyes slightly.
The officer clicked his tongue and shook his head.
"Lie." His voice was dry and sharp.
He leaned toward me until I could feel his metallic breath, reeking of tobacco and disinfectant. His cold, piercing eyes seemed to slice through me.
"I've seen hundreds cross that door… and most of them I saw die afterward. Do you know what their mistake was?" He let the silence weigh for a few seconds. "They couldn't hide their fear. They always look away."
He leaned closer still, with a faint smirk.
A shiver ran down my spine, but I kept my mouth shut.
After a few seconds, he let out a brief chuckle.
"Well, I won't dig any further. Everyone has the right to a secret or two."
Inside, I breathed a sigh of relief, but the officer quickly changed his expression.
"Now… listen carefully, because I won't repeat this twice."
He settled into the chair across from me and spoke in a grave tone:
"Every five years, the tower chooses its candidates. We call them Players: people marked with an interface that allows them to grow stronger through missions and levels. Today marks five years since the last selection… do you understand? In just ten minutes, when the clock strikes midnight, your soul will be ripped from this place and dragged to it. There you will face the Trial of the Abyss. No matter how much you pray or how much you cry… the only way out will be either by dying or advancing to the next floor."
"So it's a death game," I said coldly.
"No, boy." His voice hardened. "That's only your circumstance."
Citizens perfected their abilities and learned combat techniques in school; even the wealthiest hired private tutors to train their children.
"Do everything you can… don't give up."
His words filled the silence around us.
"Oh, right… If you survive"—he repeated, with a smirk that was neither a smile nor contempt—"you'll be recognized as a citizen. You'll leave the slums. You'll have a roof, food, even education…"
At those last words, my body collapsed.
[Challenger! Welcome to the Abyss.]