Wednesday, August 27th, 2042, Sumner, Portland, Oregon.


    Ryan Porter paced the length of his dimly lit basement apartment, the glow of his smartphone casting shifting shadows on the cluttered walls. At twenty-two, wearing a faded graphic tee and boxer shorts, he felt the weight of inertia pressing down on him. The hum of the refrigerator and the occasional drip from a leaky faucet were the only sounds accompanying his restless movements. Thinking about the future gave him a headache, so he redirected his focus back to his phone.


    He flicked through apps and notifications, his eyes darting to the game download progress bar every few seconds—82%. The first half had zipped by, but now each additional per cent felt like an eternity. The anticipation gnawed at him.


    “Come on already,” he said aloud, complaining to no one in particular, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “That game’s an antique. Why is it taking so long? Figures. Even when I want to escape, everything drags.”


    His gaze swept over the room. Empty energy drink cans formed precarious towers on the coffee table, dirty plastic containers strewn across the kitchen counter—a silent testament to his solitary existence. The basement apartment belonged to his father, Eduardo, a car mechanic whose silent judgment hung heavy in the air even when he was not around. His father occasionally dropped by to fix things, his eyes lingering on the mess but his mouth seldom forming words. Ryan left out a long sigh. He had had nothing resembling a conversation with his father in what felt like ages. When puberty started showing some signs, and the teenage rebellious phase followed, their relationship became strained. And then they grew more and more distant over the years.


    His mother, Sarah, tried to bridge the gap with home-cooked meals delivered whenever his father visited. “You can’t live off that goo alone, mijo.” He was sure she would repeat those words again if she were here. The thought of his parents’ concerned faces made Ryan’s stomach twist—not with guilt, but with a vague irritation he could not quite place. Ryan knew he should feel something when his father left the boxes in the fridge—a thankfulness, perhaps? But all he felt was a hollow neutrality. The “goo”, as his mother called it, is what the FullDive system fed your body when you were hooked in. It was unpalatable, to put it kindly, if you tried to eat it by yourself in real life. That was an undeniable fact—he had tried it once, on a dare. But FullDive VR restaurants tasted great. And they were much cheaper than takeout, especially when factoring in the ridiculous delivery fees they tacked on these days.


    He shook his head, refocusing on his phone. A Realm Reforged Again was launching today. Ryan had not played the original; by the time he had heard of it, everyone already considered the game a relic of the past. But thanks to his endless free time and a nearly constant virtual net presence, he had recently stumbled upon trailers and articles about the reboot. It was not as if he lacked games—his library overflowed with titles he doubted he would ever have time to play. But this reboot offered something different: the rare opportunity to create a character wildly unlike oneself. The idea was intoxicating—a chance to be someone else, even if only in a virtual world.


    Ryan glanced around his cluttered apartment. He was unemployed, disconnected, and drifting. His only semblance of a relationship was with Megan, a gorgeous bartender he saw occasionally. She was stunning, adept at navigating people’s desires. He truly did not know what she saw in him. She could do so much better. But he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Just last week, after one of her shifts, they had sat together on the rooftop of her apartment building. The city lights had stretched out below them as Megan had leaned back, gazing at the stars.


    “Sometimes, I wish people would see me for more than a pretty face behind a bar,” she had confessed, her voice tinged with vulnerability.


    When Megan had leaned in closer, a warmth had spread through him, but he could not name the emotion. Had it been comfort or anxiety? He had not been sure.


    Ryan had looked at her, surprised. “You? But you’re amazing at what you do. Everyone loves you.”


    She had given him a small, wistful smile. “They love the version of me that pours their drinks and laughs at their jokes. It’s different.” Their eyes had met. “With you, I don’t have to pretend.”


    His heart tightened in his chest at her words. He wanted to avoid ruining the mood, but he had been pretty sure she kept giving him more credit than he deserved. He often wondered what it would be like to be seen the way everyone saw her, to hold the power allowing you to play with people’s feelings however you liked. She could bed pretty much any of the patrons hitting on her, he was sure. She could lead them on and make them spend fortunes on drinks, but she was always the one in control. Yet, with him, there were times she let her guard down, revealing glimpses of the person beneath the confident exterior. Moments like this made him wonder if there were more between them than casual encounters.


    His thoughts turned back to the game. “I wonder if Megan played this game… Would she create a character just like herself?” he said aloud, musing. “I’m sure she could topple kingdoms.” He wistfully imagined how effortless it would be for her to do so.


    Back in college, Ryan and his friends had joked about what they would do if they ever suddenly woke up in a woman’s body. Most of them made lewd comments involving mirrors, beds, and self-exploration. But Ryan’s thoughts went deeper. He pondered about the social dynamics—the ability to influence others, to be desired, to navigate the world with a fresh set of expectations and challenges. The idea of experiencing life from that perspective fascinated him.


    His phone buzzed, jolting him from his thoughts. A string of messages from his sixteen-year-old sister, Lucia, filled the screen—a barrage of memes, random videos, and sarcastic comments.


    “Still hiding in your cave, big bro?” one message read. “Maybe if you stepped outside once in a while, you’d see there’s more to life than pixels and progress bars.”


    “I’m just here. It’s quiet,” he texted back. He frowned. This was so typical of Lucia. She was always poking at him, trying to draw him out. She was sixteen, effortlessly social, the centre of attention in her school circles. Sometimes he wondered if she realized how lucky she was—or how much he wished he could navigate the world as smoothly.


    Another message popped up: “By the way, stop stalking my Insta pics like a creep. If you want fashion tips, just ask.”


    He rolled his eyes, a mix of annoyance and defensiveness flaring up. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he typed back. “Just making sure you’re not getting into trouble.”


    “Sure, ‘trouble.’ Keep telling yourself that. Maybe one day you’ll figure things out.”


    He stared at her reply, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut. What did she mean by that? Shaking off the thought, he set his phone down. Lucia always had a way of getting under his skin.


    He tried to recall a time when he felt genuinely happy, but the memories were like faded photographs—visible but devoid of feeling.


    Dismissing the thought, he sighed, pushing aside a stack of empty energy drink cans. “Maybe in the game, things can be different.”