6:00 AM in the Morning
The alarm screamed like a dying seagull.
Isaac Morgan groaned, his hand fumbling blindly across the nightstand. His fingers knocked over an empty cup of instant ramen, a dead phone charger, and what he hoped was a crumpled sock before finally slapping the off button.
Fucking alarm...
He lay there for a moment, his mind slowly clawing its way out of the fog of sleep. The ceiling above him had a water stain that looked vaguely like a sad face. His blanket was thin, worn, and barely warm. His stomach rumbled, a familiar complaint he'd learned to ignore months ago.
Then the memory of why the alarm sounded in the first place hit him like a damn hammer.
OH SHIT!
Isaac exploded out of bed with the grace of a startled cat, nearly tangling himself in his own blanket. He stumbled, caught himself on the wall, and began tearing through the tiny apartment like a hurricane in human form.
"Where are my pants? Who put my shirt there? Why is this sock wet?!"
The apartment was a cramped studio, barely big enough to be called a home. A single window overlooked a dirty alley. The paint was peeling. The floorboards creaked in three different languages. But Isaac didn't care about any of that right now. His world had shrunk to a single, glorious, life-changing objective.
November 19th, 2026.
For most people, that date meant nothing. Another Thursday. Another grind. Another day closer to the grave.
But for gamers? For people like Isaac?
It was GTA 6 release day.
"Shit, shit, shit! fuck me sideways!" Isaac yanked a wrinkled hoodie over his head, nearly putting his arm through the neck hole. His hair straight, black, and desperately in need of a wash stuck up in seventeen different directions. He didn't care. He didn't even look in the mirror. Vanity was for people who already owned Grand Theft Auto VI.
He was 182 centimeters tall, decent height but skinny. Not the cool kind of skinny. The "I haven't eaten properly in three weeks because minimum wage is a joke" kind of skinny. His ribs occasionally introduced themselves to strangers. His arms had all the muscle definition of cooked spaghetti.
None of that mattered today.
Come on, Isaac. Move your ass. You worked those low-paying, soul-crushing, exploitative jobs for this. You flipped burgers. You cleaned toilets. You smiled at customers who called you "boy." All for this moment.
I WILL GET THAT GAME EVEN IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO.
He slammed his apartment door shut, the cheap lock rattling in protest as he bolted down the stairwell. Three flights of stairs. Cracked concrete. The faint smell of someone else's failed cooking experiment. He took them two at a time, nearly tripping on the last step.
The morning air hit him like a wet towel. Cold. Damp. his hometown in November was nothing to write home about. Gray skies. Gray buildings. Gray people going to gray jobs.
Isaac ran.
He weaved through the early morning crowd like a caffeinated squirrel. A businessman in a suit got an elbow to the ribs. "HEY!" An old woman with a shopping cart received a breathless "Sorry!" as he sidestepped her at the last second. A group of high school students jumped out of his way.
"What's your problem?!" one of them yelled.
"SORRY CAN'T STOP! IMPORTANT GAMER BUSINESS!" Isaac shouted back without slowing down.
His lungs burned. His legs screamed. His empty stomach threatened to file a formal complaint. But the gamestore was just ahead. He could see it now a small shop wedged between a rundown laundromat and a convenience store that definitely sold expired milk. The neon sign flickered weakly, as if it too was tired of existence.
Almost there...
He burst through the door, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his forehead. The store was a mess, display stands knocked over, empty shelves where rows of GTA 6 copies should have been, and a small crowd of disappointed-looking gamers shuffling toward the exit.
One of them, a guy in a blue Squirtle hat was screaming at the cashier.
"THIS IS SOME BULLSHIT, MAN! WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE NO MORE COPIES?!"
Isaac's heart dropped into his shoes.
The cashier, a short and chubby guy with a kind face and tired eyes held up his hands defensively. "I'm sorry, sir. We only got a limited shipment, and there was a line outside before I even opened the doors."
"SOME OF US CAMPED OUT SINCE YESTERDAY!" Squirtle Hat continued, veins bulging in his neck.
"Henry, chill..." The guy next to him, wearing a hoodie with a faded Pokemon logo put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Screaming at him won't magically make copies appear. Let's check the other shops. I know a place on 5th Street that might still have stock."
"Tsk. Whatever." Henry shoved his hands in his pockets and stormed out, nearly shoulder-checking Isaac on the way. His friend gave Jerry an apologetic nod before following.
The bell above the door jingled sadly.
Isaac stood frozen for a moment, staring at the empty shelves. The plastic display cases that should have held the game of the decade were hollow. Empty. Like his soul.
No. No, no, no...
He approached the counter with heavy feet, each step feeling like a death march. "Jerry, bro... you can't be serious, right?" His voice cracked. "The copies... they couldn't have all run out?"
Jerry his friend, his ally, the only reason he ever got early release info let out a sigh. "Sorry, Isaac. There was a whole line outside even before I got here. Pretty sure some of those guys camped out since yesterday afternoon. Hardcore collectors, you know?"
Isaac's head dropped. His shoulders sagged. The dream died in his chest like a deflating balloon.
All that work. All those shifts. All that saving. For nothing.
He turned toward the exit, ready to accept his miserable fate, when he heard a snicker behind him.
Snrk.
Isaac slowly looked back.
Jerry was grinning. Actually grinning. The bastard.
"Relax, man." Jerry reached under the counter and pulled out something shiny. Something beautiful. Something that made Isaac's eyes widen so much they almost fell out of his skull.
A sealed copy of Grand Theft Auto VI.
"I knew you were coming," Jerry said, sliding the game across the counter. "Saved this one for you. And forget about paying, I got you covered my guy."
Isaac stared at the game. Then at Jerry. Then back at the game. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No words came out. Only a sound a strange, strangled, emotional wheeze.
"Jerry... bro..."
He grabbed the game like it was the cure for every disease ever invented. His fingers trembled. His eyes glistened. For a moment, he forgot about his empty stomach, his broken apartment, his pathetic excuse for a life.
"HELL YEAH!"
The shout echoed through the store, probably scaring customers two blocks away. Isaac clutched the game to his chest like a newborn baby. "Jerry, my man if I was gay and into fat guys, I would make love to you right now."
Jerry snorted. "If I was gay, I wouldn't touch your sorry ass with a ten-foot pole."
They shared a smile. Then, in perfect synchronization, they dabbed up. The slap of their hands meeting echoed through the store like a heavenly choir of victory.
Isaac slipped the game carefully into his hoodie pocket, the one with the least holes and headed for the door. "I owe you one, Jerry. A big one."
"Just don't forget about us little people when you become a famous streamer or whatever," Jerry called after him.
"Never!"
The bell jingled again. Isaac stepped out into the gray morning, but the world suddenly seemed brighter. The clouds parted. A single ray of sunlight probably imaginary, but he'd take it, shone down on him.
I actually did it. I got the game. And I got it for FREE.
Jerry's a real one. I'll find a way to repay him. Maybe name my firstborn after him. Or my first virtual car.
But for now...
He pulled out the game case, admiring the cover art. The logo gleamed. The promise of hundreds of hours of chaos, mayhem, and questionable life choices awaited him.
Time to go home and play some GTA 6.
Isaac was so focused on the game in his hands that he didn't notice the truck.
He didn't notice the way it swerved. The way it accelerated. The way it aimed directly for him like a missile with a grudge.
Until...
SCREEEECH—THUD!
"GWAAA?!"
Pain exploded through Isaac's left side. His body lifted off the ground. The world became a blur of gray sky, spinning buildings, and the terrifying realization that he was currently flying through the air without a plane ticket.
He hit a brick wall.
CRACK.
His back screamed. His ribs screamed louder. Something definitely broke. But through the agony, through the haze of near-death, his hands remained clamped around the game case like a vice.
Can't drop it. Won't drop it.
Isaac slumped against the wall, gasping. Blood dripped from somewhere—his nose? His lip? Hard to tell. Everything hurt.
"I... I'm still alive?" His voice came out as a pained whisper. "Ow... ow, ow, ow... Shit. I think my rib is broken. Maybe two ribs. Maybe all of them."
He looked down at his hands. The GTA 6 case was still there. Perfectly fine. Not even a scratch.
A weak, broken, delirious laugh escaped his lips. "Heh... fuck you, world. You're not stopping me from playing this damn game."
Slowly and agonizingly, Isaac pushed himself up. His legs wobbled. His vision swam. But he stood.
Then he noticed something strange.
The truck that hit him... was still there. But there was no driver inside. No one got out to check on him. No panicked footsteps. No "Oh my god, are you okay?!"
Just the truck. Idling. Humming.
Waiting.
"What the hell..." Isaac muttered.
The truck's engine revved. But it didn't sound mechanical anymore. It sounded... annoyed. Like a person clicking their tongue in irritation.
Isaac's brain still rattled from impact, slowly connected the dots. A driverless truck that hit him on purpose. The way it accelerated. The way it aimed.
Oh no.
Oh HELL no.
"You thought you could just... just isekai me?!" Isaac pointed a trembling, accusing finger at the truck. "Well, not today, bitch! YOU CAN'T DO SHIT TO STOP M-"
CRACK—BOOM!
A bolt of lightning fell from the clear, cloudless sky and struck Isaac directly in the chest.
He hit the ground again. His body convulsed. Smoke rose from his hoodie. Every nerve ending simultaneously caught fire and then drowned in ice water.
"AAAAAAH F-!" His scream cut off as his throat seized.
The lightning stopped as suddenly as it began. Isaac lay on the cracked pavement, twitching, smelling faintly of ozone and regret.
"Hurts... like... shit..." He coughed. A small puff of smoke escaped his lips. "W-why... it's not even cloudy..."
With monumental effort, he turned his head. The GTA 6 case had fallen a few feet away. It was fine. A little singed around the edges, but intact. Still playable.
It's still fine...
A fire ignited in Isaac's chest that had nothing to do with lightning. His fingers dug into the asphalt. His teeth ground together.
I can't die. Not before playing GTA 6. NOT BEFORE EVERYTHING I SACRIFICED!
"I... CAN'T... DIE... WITHOUT PLAYING... GTA 6! "
The scream tore out of him raw and defiant. And somehow—impossibly—Isaac Morgan rose to his feet.
His body screamed in protest. His ribs clicked in ways ribs should never click. But he stood. Wobbling. Bleeding. Burning. Standing.
He took one step toward the game.
Then he heard the engine.
VROOM.
Isaac looked up.
The truck had transformed.
Metal limbs unfolded from its chassis. Mechanical arms thicker than tree trunks. Legs that could crush a car. The head if you could call it that, and that still had the shape of a truck, swiveled toward him with cold, glowing headlight.
It was like a goddamn Transformer.
"You..."
The voice wasn't an engine sound anymore. It was deep. Dark. Ancient. The kind of voice that had sent countless protagonists to their deaths, and countless more to their second lives.
Isaac's blood ran cold. "W-what the fu-"
"Mortal." The thing Truck-kun, his brain supplied hysterically, took a heavy step forward. The ground trembled. "You have survived my initial assault. My lightning. My wrath. This is... unprecedented."
The mechanical horror bent down and scooped up the GTA 6 case between two massive fingers.
Isaac's heart stopped.
"I do not know how you managed this," Truck-kun continued, holding the game up to its headlight-eyes as if examining a curious insect. "I, the all-powerful Truck-kun. The Isekai Express. The Reincarnation Railroad. I have never failed to send a soul to their next adventure."
"Give... give that back..." Isaac's voice was raw, broken, but filled with something dangerous. "Give me back my GAME, you damn truck!"
Truck-kun ignored him.
"But I grow tired of this game, mortal. You have wasted enough of my time." The metal fingers tightened around the case, Crushing it. "And now..."
The truck disappeared.
No, not disappeared. Moved. Faster than something that size had any right to move.
Isaac saw it. A blur of metal. A fist the size of his entire torso. Aimed directly at his face.
[Image]
"It's isekai time."
The last thing Isaac Morgan saw before everything went black was a giant mechanical fist about to turn his head into chunky salsa.