The first thing Vince Carter felt was weight.
Coal dust pressed against his tongue. His lungs burned as if he'd inhaled smoke from a lifetime of fires.
He rolled onto his side. A low ceiling of black stone hovered above him, sweating water and soot. Voices drifted through the dark—slow, resigned, human. Pickaxes rang like tired bells.
System Booting…
Stabilizing cognitive field…
A faint glow traced the edge of his vision—numbers, bars, words he didn't understand until the memory hit.
Panem.
District 12.
The Hunger Games.
Vince choked on a laugh that came out more like a cough. "You've got to be kidding me."
The glow pulsed again.
Welcome, Participant #0001.
Tutorial Objective: Survive.
He stumbled to his feet. His body was leaner, younger—hands cracked from work, muscles shaped by labor instead of gyms. Around him, miners moved like ghosts, each swing of the pick a slow rhythm of survival. No one noticed the boy standing still with panic in his eyes.
He staggered toward the tunnel mouth. Morning light slashed across his face, blinding and golden. Aboveground, the town spread in grey rows—rickety houses, the smell of bread and dust, the distant whistle of the fence that penned them in.
Vince's pulse hammered. This is real. Every sense was too sharp, too cold, too alive.
He remembered the story: Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark, the Reaping.He knew what came next.
"System," he whispered, half-mocking. "Tell me this is a dream."
Dream classification: Unconfirmed.
Current Goal: Endure until selection event.
"Selection event…"
His stomach dropped. The Reaping.
He sank onto the step of a house that looked like it might fall apart if he breathed too hard.
The air smelled of ash and old sorrow. A little boy ran past, laughing with a stick that pretended to be a sword. For a second, Vince almost believed he could stay invisible—just another shadow in District 12.
Then the next message slid across his sight like a whisper in static:
Optional Quest: Aid a hungry neighbor. Reward +1 Empathy, +5 Local Trust.
He blinked. "You're kidding."
No response. Only a soft chime, waiting.
A door creaked open nearby. An old woman peered out, eyes hollow, a loaf of bread clutched to her chest like treasure.
The boy's laughter faded down the road. Vince felt the decision before he made it—before he even stood up.He broke his own ration in half and placed it on her step.
Quest Complete.
Empathy +1.
Local Trust +5.
The words dissolved into dust. Nothing changed, except the quiet warmth that spread through his chest—a spark of something that didn't feel coded.
Maybe the System wanted him to survive.
Maybe it wanted something else.
The siren sounded then, slicing through the district air. Every conversation died. Every head turned toward the square.
Reaping Day.
Vince looked down at his hands, shaking and black with coal, and felt the future pull tight around him like a noose.
Main Objective Updated: Alteration Possible.
He exhaled once, steadying himself.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's play."