Chapter 3
The day of the eclipse had finally arrived. For the first time in months, Daniel awoke feeling something close to happiness. The weight of work, of Leo’s scorn, of the unrelenting grind — all of it felt distant, like a bad dream he was finally waking from.
He stretched, the soft morning light filtering through his curtains. Today was his day. From 6 a.m. to noon, he immersed himself in his favorite video games, the hours slipping by like water. The glow of the monitor, the thrill of gameplay, and the familiar satisfaction of winning matched only by the quiet joy of being free. He took a brief break around 9 a.m. for breakfast — coffee and a bagel — before diving back into another virtual world.
At 2 p.m., the pang of hunger broke his focus. He paused, stretching out his stiff fingers, and decided it was time to grab something to eat. Throwing on a hoodie, he stepped out into the hushed streets. The world felt oddly subdued under the twilight-like gloom caused by the eclipse. Shadows were longer, colors muted, as though reality itself had dimmed.
By now, the sun was completely covered, a black disk surrounded by a ghostly halo of light. Daniel didn’t pay much attention to it; the celestial event wasn’t why he was here. He hurried to the nearest deli, picked up a sandwich and a drink, and started his walk back home.
That’s when he heard it — a low, distant rumble, like far-off thunder. It rolled through the air, vibrating in his chest, making the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He stopped in his tracks, his brow furrowing as he turned his head, trying to locate the source.
The sound was coming from above.
Instinctively, he looked up at the eclipsed sun. What he saw made his breath catch in his throat.
The sky, darkened by the moon’s shadow, shimmered with iridescent rainbow colors swirling around the edges of the sun. The colors pulsed and twisted, like oil on water, shimmering in strange, hypnotic patterns. It was mesmerizing, otherworldly, beautiful — and utterly wrong.
A wave of dizziness hit him like a freight train. The ground beneath his feet seemed to tilt, and his vision blurred at the edges. His stomach churned, and a sudden cold sweat prickled his skin.
With a surge of panic, he tore his gaze away, squeezing his eyes shut. He swayed on his feet, his breath coming in shallow gasps. The distant rumble continued, resonating deep in his bones.
He stumbled forward, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. What was that? He tried to shake off the dizziness, but the feeling clung to him, a nauseating fog that refused to lift.
His sandwich slipped from his hand, forgotten, as he pressed his palm against a nearby wall to steady himself. The world around him seemed both too quiet and too loud, the air thick with an unnameable tension.
Something was happening. Something beyond a simple solar eclipse. And deep in his gut, Daniel knew — this was no ordinary day.
Daniel stumbled into his apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. He took a shaky breath, his head pounding. The swirling rainbow lights were still there, flickering across his vision like ghostly trails. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear them, but they persisted — slithering across his field of view in chaotic, vibrant patterns.
A sharp wave of nausea coiled in his gut. He barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting, his body heaving as if trying to expel the unsettling sensation. The rainbow lights in his vision faded with each heave, until finally, mercifully, they were gone. He leaned against the sink, his forehead damp with sweat, and took a few steadying breaths.
When he felt stable again, he wiped his face, rinsed his mouth, and trudged back to his desk. He needed a distraction, something to anchor himself back to reality. He booted up his laptop and launched CS:GO, the familiar sound effects and loading screen bringing a sense of normalcy. Gaming always made him feel in control, a small slice of certainty in a world that often felt chaotic.
The match started, and Daniel was focused. But his sense of comfort was short-lived. In the game, an opponent with the username “ShadowStrike” dominated the field. Each move was precise, each shot lethal. Daniel couldn’t get a single break — every time he rounded a corner, ShadowStrike was there, landing headshots with unnerving accuracy.
Frustration bubbled in his chest. “This guy has to be hacking,” he muttered, his jaw clenched.
All he wanted was one win, just one victory against this player.
Suddenly, in the middle of a firefight, his character moved on its own. His screen spun, and his crosshair snapped onto ShadowStrike’s head — bang. A perfect headshot. Daniel blinked, his hand frozen on the mouse.
“What the...?”
He hadn’t made that move. His fingers hadn’t even twitched. Yet his character had reacted faster than his reflexes ever could. He shook his head, trying to brush it off as a glitch, and rejoined the fight.
It happened again. And again. Each time, his character reacted with impossible speed, pulling off flawless shots. ShadowStrike, the player who had seemed invincible, was now falling to Daniel over and over. The tide of the match had turned, but it wasn’t his doing.
His heart pounded in his chest. His palms felt clammy against the mouse. Am I being hacked? The thought sent a chill down his spine. But the movements weren’t erratic or malicious; they were precise, calculated — almost like a professional player had taken control.
He checked his processes, his firewalls, his antivirus software. Everything looked normal. No sign of an intruder. But his character kept moving with a precision that wasn’t his own.
It was as if his body had gained a new instinct, a reflex buried somewhere deep within him.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.
A strange thought whispered at the edge of his mind: Was this connected to the rainbow lights? To the eclipse?
He shook his head, trying to dismiss the idea. It was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? But as he returned to the game, watching his character perform feats he knew were beyond his skill, doubt gnawed at him.
Something was happening — something he couldn’t explain. And for the first time in a long while, Daniel felt a chill that had nothing to do with Leo, or work, or exhaustion.
It was a chill of uncertainty. Of fear.
And of something else, too — a thrill he couldn’t quite name.
Time blurred into a haze of victories and adrenaline. Daniel’s fingers danced over the keyboard and mouse, each movement seamless, each match a triumph. The strange phenomenon persisted — his character moving with impossible precision, pulling off shots that left opponents bewildered. At first, it unnerved him, but the thrill of winning, of finally being on top, dulled his worry. He pushed his doubts aside, sinking deeper into the intoxicating rhythm of the game.
For once, he felt powerful. Invincible. The nagging weight of work, Leo’s insults, and the crushing exhaustion all faded as he dominated round after round. Each victory was a small rebellion against the world that had beaten him down for so long.
But all good things end.
The digital clock on his desk blinked 11:58 PM. The glow of the monitor seemed colder now, the room falling into a hollow silence as he logged out. His smile faded, replaced by a grim heaviness that settled over his shoulders. The brief freedom he’d found in the game slipped away like sand through his fingers.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, the reality of tomorrow looming over him like a dark cloud. The office. The suffocating air. The drudgery. And Leo.
The thought of it all made his stomach churn.
He shut his laptop, the click of the lid closing sounding too final, too ominous. The thrill he had felt just moments ago was gone, replaced by the cold, hard truth: his real life was still a prison. A place where his victories didn’t matter and his worth was questioned at every turn.
As he crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling, that familiar dread coiled in his chest, tightening with each breath.
Back to slavery, he thought bitterly. Back to a place where his time wasn’t his own, where his efforts went unnoticed, and where escape felt impossible.
His eyelids grew heavy, and sleep dragged him down. But even in the depths of exhaustion, a flicker of rebellion remained. He didn’t know what was happening to him, or why his game had changed so dramatically, but a part of him whispered that this strange power, whatever it was, might be more than just a glitch.
Maybe it was a sign. Maybe it was a chance.
As the darkness of sleep swallowed him, one thought lingered in his mind:
There has to be more than this.
The next morning arrived like a heavy fog, wrapping Daniel in the familiar dread that made each step towards the office feel like wading through quicksand. He settled into his desk, the hum of computers and distant murmurs of coworkers already grating on his nerves. The thought of another soul-draining day made his stomach twist, but he pushed it down.
To his relief, Leo didn’t make an appearance. The absence of conflict felt like a small mercy, a rare quiet in the storm of his life. He took a deep breath and tried to focus. His task for the day was a specification evaluation — the kind of tedious, detail-oriented work that often took hours. He eyed the stack of documents, feeling his muscles tense.
I just want this done, he thought, the desire burning in his mind. He wanted nothing more than to get through this quickly and avoid sinking deeper into the quagmire of his daily frustration.
Then, the screen flickered.
His eyes widened as the computer seemed to come to life. Windows opened, data flowed across the screen in rapid succession, and comparisons began to auto-populate. Numbers crunched, specifications matched — all of it happening faster than his mind could process. Within seconds, the evaluation sheet was complete, every detail meticulously filled in.
Daniel stared at the screen, his mouth slightly open. His heart pounded in his chest. He hadn’t touched the keyboard or clicked a single button. His mind raced, the same feeling of disbelief he’d had during the CS:GO matches rushing back to him.
Did I… do that?
The sheet looked flawless. Hesitantly, he printed it out and walked over to Ray’s desk. Ray barely looked up, accepting the sheet with a practiced indifference. His eyes scanned the document, flipping through each page. Finally, he nodded and grabbed the approval stamp, pressing it down with a satisfying thud.
“Looks good, Daniel,” Ray said, his tone neutral but his approval clear.
“Thanks,” Daniel murmured, his mind swirling.
As he walked back to his desk, he clutched the evaluation sheet in his hands, his thoughts colliding with each other. The ease with which the task had been completed, the flawless execution — it wasn’t normal. It shouldn’t have been possible. But it was. And it had happened right when he desperately wanted it to.
Just like the headshots in CS:GO.
What if this… phenomenon only works when I want something to happen? he wondered. The pieces clicked together in his mind. The pattern was undeniable.
He glanced around the office, the drab walls and flickering lights suddenly seeming less oppressive. If he could will his way through impossible tasks, what else could he do? How far did this strange power go? The idea filled him with a spark of excitement, the kind he hadn’t felt in a long time.
For the first time, the thought of being trapped in this job didn’t seem so absolute. There was potential here, a sliver of possibility that maybe — just maybe — he could turn his situation around.
A thrill of anticipation coursed through him. He didn’t have all the answers yet, but one thing was clear:
He was no longer powerless.
As the day ended and Daniel left the office, an unusual energy coursed through him. For the first time in months, his footsteps felt light. His mind buzzed with anticipation. A plan was forming, one that could finally tip the scales in his favor. He didn’t have to slog through tasks endlessly. If his newfound ability could help him at work, then maybe — just maybe — he could make his life better.
When he got home, the evening shadows stretching across his apartment, he wasted no time. He tossed his bag onto the chair, changed into comfortable clothes, and pulled out his laptop. The familiar hum of the fan greeted him as the screen flickered to life. It was his old machine, reliable but limited, struggling under its modest specs: 4 GB RAM and an SSD that barely kept up with his needs.
But tonight, things would change.
He placed his hands on the keyboard, his heart pounding. He closed his eyes, focusing intently. I want my RAM to be 64 GB, he thought, the desire sharp and clear in his mind. I want my SSD to be faster. Smoother. Better.
A strange warmth pulsed through his fingertips, like a soft electric current. He opened his eyes and navigated to the system information tab, his breath caught in his throat.
The numbers stared back at him: RAM: 64 GB. The SSD speed test showed results he never thought possible — blazing-fast read and write speeds, the kind usually reserved for high-end rigs.