The neon sign of the convenience store buzzed against the damp night air. Ron stepped out onto the wet pavement, a plastic bag swinging from his wrist, streetlights reflecting off his car.
He looked down at his phone with a slow smirk, reading the texts from Debra.
Debra: My boyfriend is going camping with his friends this weekend. Let's enjoy together. Bring me that long chocolate.
Ron: Say Less!
Ron glanced inside the grocery bag at the boxes of Choco Doms condoms. His smirk widened.
"Imma give you the chocos you want."
Ron got into his car, tossed the bag to the passenger seat, and started driving. Rain tapped lightly against the windshield as he crossed the bridge, the city lights shimmering in the dark water below.
The radio crackled, and a cheerful voice came on.
"And for the Scorpios — do not take a bath today, because there could be a gorilla in your shower."
Ron blinked. "What kind of BS is this?"
The radio replied instantly. "BS? Sir, I am simply performing my occupation."
Ron froze. He slowly turned toward the dashboard. "What occupation? Why would there be a gorilla in somebody's shower?"
"How do I know? Ask your mom, she's a Scorpio."
Ron's eyebrow twitched. He slowly reached into his waistband, pulled out his gun, and pointed it dead at the radio.
"You say something one more time, mofo?"
"Man, I'm just trying to do my job," the radio whined.
"Then do it right. I'm a Gemini."
The radio cleared its throat. "Ah. Gemini. Your horoscope states… your life is about to take a wild turn."
Ron squinted. "What you mea—"
BOOOOOOM.
Headlights exploded in his rearview mirror. A horn screamed, and a massive truck slammed directly into his car. The world flipped. Glass shattered. The Choco Doms flew through the air in slow motion as the car smashed through the bridge railing and plunged into the pitch-black river below.
Up on the bridge, the truck driver stumbled out, his helmet crooked. He looked over the edge and sighed. "Not again…"
A civilian leaned out of his car window. "Hey… did you just isekai that dude?"
The driver rubbed his forehead. "It wasn't on purpose, I swear."
"How many now?"
"…Fifth one this month," the driver hesitated.
The civilian blinked. "Fifth? I thought this only happened in Japan."
The driver shrugged helplessly. "Look, man, the timing just lines up sometimes."
The civilian squinted over the bridge. "Hold up. You just isekai'd a Black man."
The driver slowly turned. "…Yeah?"
"I ain't never seen that variant before. He's from Texas!"
The driver muttered under his breath, "HR's gonna absolutely cook me for this."
For Ron, everything went white, cold, and weightless. No water. No sound. Just a bright, glitched emptiness.
"Am I… dead?"
Images started flashing rapidly like a broken projector. His childhood. His first bike—and him falling off it immediately.
Then, a vivid, loud flash of Debra moaning, *"Oh you clap so good!"* while they were hooking up.
Ron grinned in the void. "Oh… okay. That's a good memory."
Flash. Another memory. He was standing in a bathroom with his buddy Marcus, both of them staring down with intense, dead-serious faces.
*"Bro, look at the angle, mine is definitely longer."*
*"Man, you are coping, you're counting the balls!"*
Ron squinted at the memory. "Wait… nah. Why is THIS one here? Why am I remembering a dick-measuring contest right now?"
The white space cracked like glass.
SPLASH.
Ron burst out of the water, coughing violently. Mud. Fog. Ancient, towering trees. No bridge, no city lights.
"Huh? …I'm not dead?"
Suddenly, his phone started ringing in his pocket. He froze, pulling out the soaked device. The screen was perfectly alive, glowing with zero service bars, but the battery icon showed an infinity symbol (\infty).
The Caller ID read: God
Ron squinted. "…Of course." He swiped to answer. "Hello?"
"Ron! Hi! Mushasha here. The Isekai God."
Ron blinked twice, his Texas attitude flaring up. "Hey Mufasa. What the fuck is going on, and where is my car?"
"Ah— no. Not Mufasa. Different intellectual property, let's avoid a lawsuit. Anyway— small apology. You were not the scheduled soul transfer today. It was supposed to be a 19-year-old introverted swordsman from Osaka."
"Hold the fuck on," Ron rubbed his forehead, pacing in the mud. "What are you trying to tell me?"
"Ron… you got isekai'd. You're in the Middle Ages now. But look, since we messed up on a 'Texas Variant,' we gave you some cheat codes. Your phone has infinite battery now, and we glitched your gun. Permanent infinite magazine capacity. Consider it a VIP upgrade! Anyway, HR is calling, good luuuuuck!"
Click.
The phone went dead. Ron stared at it, then reached into his waistband and pulled out his pistol. He checked the mag—the bullets inside shimmered with a weird light. He racked the slide.
"Infinite ammo? What kind of video game BS..."
Crunch. Crunch.
Heavy footsteps broke through the fog. Three men in rusted, dirt-caked chainmail emerged, carrying burning torches and iron pikes. They stopped dead in their tracks, staring at Ron's modern clothes, his dark skin, and the heavy tattoos on his arms with absolute, superstitious horror.
The lead knight dropped to his knees, crossing himself frantically as he screamed in a bizarre mix of Old French and broken English: *"By the Holy Mother... 'Tis a demon of the pit! Look upon the devil's markings! Seize the beast! To the pyre with him!"*
The other two zealots raised their weapons and charged.
Ron didn't even flinch. He raised his pistol, aiming it dead-center at the lead man's chest, a cold, unimpressed smirk cutting across his face.
"I don't know what the hell a pyre is," Ron muttered, his finger tightening on the trigger. "But y'all are about to find out what Texas is."