Owen was comfortable inside his VR rig, half reclined, body forgotten while his mind wandered a familiar wasteland of rust, sand, and radiation. The post apocalyptic game he loved was brutal, but fair. Scarcity taught discipline. Mutants punished recklessness. Careful players survived. Owen liked that. He liked thinking before acting, measuring risks, and taking only what he could handle.
"Alright," he muttered, fingers twitching as menus hovered before his eyes. "One last pull."
The gacha animation began to spin, lights blooming softly across his vision.
Then everything went wrong.
There was a violent jolt, a thunderous crash that tore through the VR immersion, and then silence. No pain followed. No fading thoughts. The world simply ended.
Owen woke choking.
Heat crushed down on him, thick and suffocating. He rolled onto his side, coughing as fine sand filled his mouth. When he forced his eyes open, blinding sunlight stabbed into them. Endless dunes stretched in every direction beneath a cloudless sky. The sun was high, unmoving, and cruel.
He lay there breathing hard.
"What the hell... this feels too real," Owen said slowly.
He pushed himself upright, hands sinking into coarse sand that burned his skin. His heart hammered as he checked his arms, his chest, his legs. No blood. No wounds.
"I remember the...," he whispered. "That was not part of the game."
The realization settled heavily.
"I... died."
A translucent panel appeared before his eyes.
Owen froze. The interface hovered calmly in the air, perfectly aligned with his vision, unaffected by wind or heat. The design was unmistakable. Clean text. Familiar icons. The same layout he had stared at for years.
"So I am not hallucinating... or maybe even dreaming," Owen said quietly.
He waved his hand through it. Nothing resisted him.
Text appeared.
GACHA SYSTEM ONLINE.
Owen swallowed. "You look exactly like the game."
The desert offered no response.
More text followed.
USER CONFIRMED.
INTERFACE VISIBILITY: USER ONLY.
"So no one else can see you," Owen said. "Good to know."
The panel shifted again.
Another message appeared.
GACHA SYSTEM OVERVIEW.
DRAWS PROVIDE SURVIVAL RESOURCES AND UNITS.
Icons formed beneath it.
RARITY ONE TO FOUR STAR: FOOD, FURNITURE, ARMOR, WEAPONS, SUPPLIES, SERUMS, VEHICLES AND ETC.
RARITY FIVE STAR: COMBAT UNITS.
Owen frowned. "Units..."
More text scrolled.
ALL FIVE STAR UNITS ARE FEMALE.
LOYALTY STATUS: ABSOLUTE.
Owen rubbed his face. "That sounds convenient."
The system remained silent.
"Right," Owen sighed. "You are not the talking type."
The heat pressed in on him. His throat already felt dry.
"I need water," he said aloud. "Shelter would be best."
The panel updated.
STARTER BENEFIT GRANTED.
FREE TEN DRAW PACKAGE.
GUARANTEED FIVE STAR UNIT INCLUDED.
Owen straightened. "Wow... Aren't you a generous one."
He scrolled further.
KILL POINT SYSTEM ACTIVE.
HOSTILE BEINGS ELIMINATED BY USER OR UNITS GRANT POINTS.
POINTS MAY BE EXCHANGED FOR DRAWS.
"So fighting feeds the system," Owen said. "And the system feeds survival."
The panel did not contradict him.
Owen looked around again. The desert was silent, but not comforting. The wind whispered across the dunes, dragging sand along the ground. There was no shade anywhere.
"If this world behaves like the game or like all fictions I ever read and watch," Owen said quietly, "then nighttime will definitely be dangerous."
The sun had not begun to set, but time was moving whether he liked it or not.
"I do not know where the enemies or the monsters are," Owen continued. "I do not know where water is. Waiting accomplishes nothing."
He stared at the glowing draw icon. Ten pulls. Food, weapons, or allies. Possibly all three.
He took a slow breath, steadying himself.
"Whatever comes out of this," he said, "I will deal with it carefully."
The wind picked up, carrying heat and sand. Sweat rolled down his spine.
"I will not face the night empty handed especially in this middle of nowhere," Owen said.
He raised his hand and hovered his finger over the command.
"Begin ten draw."
The panel flared with light.
Symbols began to rotate, one after another, casting shifting reflections across the sand. The air felt heavier, charged with expectation, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Owen watched closely, knowing his first pull would decide whether he lived to see the next sunrise.