When 2042 rolled in, the entire gaming world had its eyes on one name: Earth Online. It wasn't just the next big release, it was a revolution. Tornado Games had promised something no one had done before: a fully immersive VR experience so real, so responsive, it would make you question where the game ended and your life began.
Damon had been hooked from the start.
He'd spent weeks reading every leak, every dev interview, every conspiracy theory on shady forums. Against his parents' wishes, and with more confidence than sense, he dropped most of his savings on the immersion gear the moment pre-orders went live. He just knew this wasn't going to be an ordinary game. And it wasn't.
Now, standing in his old apartment, the same one he had moved into right out of his parent's house, he found himself staring at the past as it had never left. His eyes drifted to the shelf, where the VR helmet rested exactly where he used to keep it. He walked over, slowly, and picked it up.
Questions flooded his mind. Was he hallucinating? Dreaming? How the hell could he be back here? His brain scrambled for logic, but none of it made sense. The date, the room, even the woman from earlier, it all screamed impossible.
But deep down, he felt it. This was real.
Somehow, some way, he was back in time.
And honestly? He didn't care why. Not right now. If this was real, if this was truly happening, then he wasn't going to waste a second. Not this time. He had been cheated once. He wasn't going to let it happen again.
He looked down at the helmet in his hands and took a slow, steady breath.
"Let's do it right this time," he muttered.
He placed the helmet back down on the shelf and took a step back. First, he needed a moment. A reset.
Damon made his way to the bathroom, letting the familiar hiss of the shower fill the space. The water was hot but he didn't care. He stood under the stream, letting it hit his skin, trying to wash off the confusion, the fear, the grief that still lingered somewhere deep inside.
Today was the first day he didn't feel like a failure. The first time in years he hadn't woken up already exhausted. There was still fear, sure. And doubt. But underneath all of that was something stronger.
Purpose.
He stared at his reflection in the fogged-up mirror. His face looked younger. Less tired. Like the world hadn't beaten him down yet.
Depression was no joke. It crept up on you, wore you down slowly, like rust on metal and Damon had spent months corroding. There were days when simply getting out of bed felt unbearable. He couldn't face his parents. He couldn't face his friends or even walk outside without getting ridiculed. He did not want to let it all get to him but eventually, it did.
But this time, everything was going to be different. This time he knew exactly what was coming.
Damon got dressed in fresh clothes, cleaner than he remembered. No more stains. No more weeks-old pizza boxes stacked in the corner. Everything about this apartment looked like it had been reset right alongside him. Had he really been this clean once?
He let out a sigh and ordered some food. Good food from his favorite Indian restaurant. He added extra naan and a mango lassi, just because he could.
When it arrived, the smell hit him like a wave of nostalgia and comfort. He devoured the meal like a hungry raccoon. After he finished eating, he cleared the table, actually cleared it, and wiped it down. Then he took another look around the apartment and pinched himself in the hand. He half-expected everything to go back to the way it was but nope. He was still here and still breathing.
Damon shook off the nervousness and the unsettling feeling. He needed to make plans now. He could not afford to waste time and think about what was real and what was not. This was happening and he was going to go along with it. That was that.
He calmed himself and took a notepad and pen. He sat down at the table and then began writing. So many things had happened and it was so difficult to remember everything. But he jogged his mind back to the very first day and slowly one by one everything came back to him.
He tried to note down as much as he could. He had four hours left before the game launch officially began.
Only four hours. It felt like both too much time and not nearly enough.
Damon tapped the pen nervously against the notepad, flipping through scraps of memory. Dates. Events. Hidden triggers. Patch exploits that hadn't been discovered yet. Where the secret vendors spawned. What time the first major world event would crash the servers. He wrote everything he could remember with his messy and chaotic handwriting.
So many players would waste their first few hours experimenting, gawking at the graphics, or wandering around aimlessly. But not him. Not this time. He had a plan.
He kept writing. Exploit stacking methods. Dialogue trees with NPCs that unlocked secret affinity levels. Early-game bosses with loot tables no one would expect. It felt surreal, remembering things that technically hadn't even happened yet.
He paused for a moment, tapping the pen lightly against the page.
Aiden.
The name alone felt like a knife. His former best friend. The one person he trusted most.
And the one who'd gutted him in front of millions.
Damon clenched his jaw, the pen nearly snapping in his fingers. He took a deep breath and forced himself to keep writing. He didn't have time for revenge fantasies. Not yet.
First, power.
Then, everything else.
By the time he finished, two pages were filled with scribbled notes and a crude roadmap of the next 48 hours. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than anything he'd ever had before. He folded the paper neatly and tucked it under the keyboard. Just in case.
He glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes left.
Damon stood, stretched, and walked back to the shelf.
He picked up the helmet again and held it in both hands. The surface shimmered faintly under the light. He was ready. He sat down on his bed and lowered the helmet onto his head before lying down in a relaxed pose.
The screen lit up.
[EARTH ONLINE SYSTEM BOOTING…]
Damon closed his eyes as the world around him faded into nothingness.