The forest was quiet. Too quiet.
Not the kind of silence that comes with peace, but the kind that pressed against your ears. No birdsong. No rustle of small animals. Only the whisper of wind sliding between trunks, violet light painting the branches in strange colors.
I moved cautiously, eyes scanning, steps deliberate. Combat mastery guided me effortlessly—every twig avoided, every shift of weight calculated to stay balanced and silent. I could feel eyes on me already, though I saw nothing.
I stopped in a clearing. Oval, about ten paces wide, edged with ferns. Visibility in every direction. It would do.
I pulled out my phone. Its glow was surreal against this alien forest, like I had stolen a piece of Earth into a place it didn't belong. The JUNGLE app pulsed, waiting.
"Alright," I murmured. "Let's test you."
The storefront opened again, endless categories at my fingertips. I scrolled slowly, deliberately, not letting excitement rush me. Intelligence, not impulse. I added only the basics to my cart:
A survival knife.
A multitool.
A machete.
A tarp with cord.
A compact first-aid kit.
Basic, unremarkable. Enough to live through a night if needed.
I tapped checkout.
The phone buzzed.
Set delivery pin.
A map appeared—not satellite imagery, but a sketch as if someone invisible was tracing the land around me. I set the pin in the center of the clearing and confirmed.
Estimated Arrival: 2 minutes.
Two minutes. In the middle of nowhere.
I smirked. "Let's see how you pull this off."
The countdown ticked on my lock screen.
01:58… 01:57…
That was when I smelled it.
Musky. Damp. Iron on the air. Predator musk.
Amber eyes flickered in the shadows between trees.
They stepped into the light one by one.
Not wolves. Taller, broader. Shoulders like men, fur covering their bodies in dark grays and blacks. Long jaws dripping with saliva. Hands curled into claws, halfway between beast and human.
Werewolves.
Six of them.
They moved with discipline, spreading out to circle me. Hunters.
I adjusted my grip on the phone and slid it into my pocket. My body flowed into readiness without conscious thought—weight low, balanced, ready to spring. My hands were empty, but combat mastery told me I was never unarmed.
The beasts snarled low.
00:12… 00:11…
I grinned. "Let's see who gets here first."
00:03… 00:02… 00:01…
My phone buzzed again.
Stand clear.
The forest bent, space twisting. And then—sound. A hum, an engine purring low.
The van appeared.
White, boxy, utterly ordinary except for the green-leaf JUNGLE logo stamped on its side. Its tires crushed fern and moss as though it had always been there.
The werewolves froze. Even predators felt the wrongness of it.
The driver's door creaked open.
A man stepped out. Tall, coveralls gray, cap pulled low. His movements were precise, unhurried, as if none of this was unusual. He opened the back doors, pulled out a heavy crate, and carried it with ease.
He set it neatly in the center of the clearing, closed the doors, and paused. His eyes met mine for the briefest moment. Flat. Emotionless. Then he nodded once.
He climbed back into the van. The engine purred, the tires rolled backward—and the entire vehicle slid out of existence, leaving only faint impressions in the soil.
The clearing was silent again.
The beasts growled louder now, confidence surging back as the van vanished.
I flipped the crate open quickly. Steel and plastic gleamed inside. Knife, multitool, machete, tarp, kit. Exactly what I ordered.
I grabbed the machete. Its grip was perfect in my hand, as though I'd swung it a thousand times. Which, in a sense, my body now had.
"Alright," I muttered. "Let's field test."
The first beast lunged.
I pivoted smoothly, letting its momentum carry it past me. My machete swept low in a precise arc, slicing across its hamstring. It collapsed mid-stride with a howl, thrashing on the dirt.
Another came from the side. I sidestepped, seized its wrist, and twisted. My body moved like water—redirecting its force, flipping it into its packmate. Both crashed to the ground, snarling and snapping.
The leader roared. It lowered itself and sprang for my throat.
I ducked under the bite and drove my elbow up into its jaw. Bone cracked. It staggered, dazed, but not down.
The circle tightened. The pack pressed in, trying to overwhelm me.
Instinct whispered. My thumb brushed the power button—double-tap.
The crate blinked out of existence. Gone. Stored. My phone buzzed once in confirmation.
The beasts faltered, confused by the vanishing box.
I smirked. Reached into empty space, double-tapped again—and the survival knife appeared in my hand, smooth as if I'd plucked it from my pocket.
The shock in their eyes almost made me laugh.
"Magic, huh?" I said. "Call it that if you want."
One lunged. I slashed upward with the knife, cutting deep into its shoulder, twisting to fling it aside. Another swiped from behind. My machete whipped around in a backhand arc, biting into its ribs.
The leader hesitated, blood dripping from its maw. Its eyes locked on mine. It saw me—not prey, but danger.
It growled low, then barked. The others retreated, limping, snarling, melting back into the violet-shadowed forest.
Silence fell.
I lowered the blades. My pulse was calm. My breath steady. Mastery wasn't theory. It was truth.
I tapped my phone.
Order Complete.
Paid: $87.43 USD
Balance Remaining: $100,000.25 USD
I stared. My chest tightened.
"That's my balance," I whispered. "Exactly what I had on Earth—down to the last quarter."
It wasn't fake. It wasn't random. My wealth had crossed with me.
I exhaled, and my grin returned.
"Then let's put it to use."
I opened the store again, searching: E-Bike.
Dozens of models appeared. My thumb scrolled slowly, my eyes sharp on the specs.
The first was a commuter—thin tires, no suspension, max speed fifteen miles per hour. Worthless out here.
The next, a mountain bike—better suspension, twenty miles per hour, but the battery was short-lived. No good for distance.
A cargo e-bike popped up. Strong frame, built to haul loads. Tempting, but too bulky, too slow.
Then I found it.
A fat-tire, all-terrain e-bike. Range over fifty miles. Suspension tough enough for rocks and roots. Built-in screen with GPS, speedometer, battery monitor, and settings. Twist-throttle on the handlebar. Pedal assist for endurance. Top speed: 25 miles per hour.
Price tag: $1,999.99.
I smiled. "That's the one."
I tapped checkout.
The phone buzzed.
Set delivery pin.
I dropped it on the dirt path leading out of the clearing.
Two minutes later, the hum came. The van appeared, steady as before. The man unloaded the e-bike, set it down gently, and placed a silver key with a black fob on the seat.
He moved to leave, but as the light shifted, I caught a small stitched nametag on his chest.
ZON.
So that was his name. Or at least, the name he wore.
He gave a single nod, then drove backward into nothing.
I picked up the key. My phone buzzed.
Key Linked.
All keys for purchased items will auto-bind.
Lost keys can be tracked through your device.
"Perfect," I muttered.
I lifted my right leg over and settled onto the seat. I slotted the key in. The screen lit instantly—GPS glowing, battery full, speedometer clear.
No roar. No growl. Just activation, smooth and silent.
I twisted the throttle. The bike shot forward, tires gripping firm. Twist more, and the forest blurred.
I pedaled lightly, the assist kicking in, speed climbing higher. Twenty-five miles per hour on fat tires—ridiculous, thrilling, perfect.
It handled like a normal bike, but being electric meant I could rest easy for the most part.
A village.
Civilization.
I tightened my grip on the bars, violet light streaking across the sky above me.
"Time to see what this world really looks like."
And I twisted the throttle harder, riding into the horizon.