The street had been quiet long enough that the silence no longer felt temporary, but instead had settled into something that seemed to belong there, stretching across the open road and into the spaces between buildings where movement should have existed but did not. A barricade cut across the street in a clean, deliberate line, reinforced with concrete barriers and a military vehicle positioned at an angle that blocked passage while still allowing a clear view down the road. It was not designed with a specific threat in mind so much as it was meant to hold against uncertainty, a visible response to something that had no clear shape or origin.
Two soldiers stood watch near the center of the barricade, positioned with enough distance between them to maintain separate lines of sight while still operating as a coordinated unit. Their rifles rested at a low ready, their posture steady and deliberate, shaped by training that kept them alert even in the absence of immediate danger. They had been there for hours, long enough for the constant tension to settle into a quieter form of awareness, but not long enough for it to disappear.
One of them shifted his weight slightly, adjusting the strap of his gear as his gaze moved methodically along the empty stretch of pavement.
"Anything from command?" he asked, his voice low enough to match the stillness around them.
The other soldier shook his head without turning, his attention still fixed forward as he continued to scan the same empty road.
"Same as before. Hold position. Report anything unusual."
The first soldier exhaled slowly, his eyes drifting briefly toward the surrounding buildings before returning to the street.
"They're still calling it a terrorist attack?"
"That's what it has to be," the other replied. "No pattern. No warning. And devastating to society."
"Half the world just disappeared. Supply chains are already breaking," chimed in the other soldier.
The first soldier nodded faintly, absorbing the answer without pressing further. The lack of information had become its own kind of answer, one that offered no direction beyond caution.
"If it happens again," he said after a moment, "we won't see it coming."
The other soldier did not respond, but his posture shifted just slightly, a subtle acknowledgment that the possibility had already been accounted for.
The silence returned, heavier now, shaped not by calm but by the shared understanding that whatever had caused the disappearances had done so without leaving anything behind to study or anticipate.
Then the air changed.
It was not an obvious shift, and it did not come with sound or movement in any conventional sense. Instead, it slipped into perception at the edges, where attention was already stretched thin by repetition. The light along the street bent slightly, as though something had passed through it without fully interrupting it, and for a fraction of a second, the space ahead seemed to contract, as if the world itself had tightened around a single point.
Then a man was standing there.
He did not arrive with motion, nor did he appear in a way that could be tracked from one moment to the next. He was simply present, occupying a space that had been empty a second before, his body adjusting awkwardly as if it had been placed rather than moved. His footing was unstable, forcing him to take a quick step forward to keep his balance, and his breathing came unevenly as his eyes darted across the street, as though his body had not yet caught up with the reality of where he was.
The soldiers reacted immediately.
"Contact," one of them called into his radio, his voice cutting cleanly through the stillness as both rifles came up in a synchronized motion. They advanced just enough to assert control over the space without closing the distance entirely, their positions shifting automatically to maintain coverage.
"Hands where I can see them! Stay where you are," the nearer soldier said, his tone firm and controlled.
The man turned toward them, confusion flashing across his face before giving way to a more focused awareness of the situation. He raised his hands slowly, palms open, his movements deliberate as he tried to show that he was not holding anything.
"Wait," he said, his voice rough, as though it had not been used in some time. "I'm not—"
"On your knees."
The command came without hesitation, leaving no room for interpretation.
The man paused briefly, not in defiance but in adjustment, the moment required to reconcile whatever he had just experienced with the reality now in front of him. Then he nodded once and lowered himself carefully to the ground, his knees pressing against the pavement as his hands remained raised.
"My name's Daniel," he said quickly, his breathing still uneven but beginning to steady. "Daniel Mercer. I just got back. I don't know what's happening out here, but I'm not a threat."
"Where did you come from?" the second soldier asked, shifting slightly to maintain a clear angle while keeping his attention fixed on Daniel.
Daniel swallowed, his gaze flicking briefly down the street before returning to them.
"It was something called a tutorial," he said. "That's where I was."
The soldiers did not interrupt, but their focus sharpened.
"There was a system there," Daniel continued, choosing his words carefully as he tried to explain something that did not fit easily into language. "It gave me an objective and tracked what I did. I didn't choose to go. I just ended up there, and it started."
"Hold on, I appreciate your cooperation, but we need to move you to a secured facility immediately," said one of the soldiers.
The man shut his mouth and allowed himself to be handcuffed. The soldiers stood him up and walked him back to the temporary military base.
After setting up a camera to record Daniel's statements, the man restarted his story from the beginning until he got back to the tutorials' first floor.
"And the objective for this floor?" the first soldier asked.
"Survive. Complete the trial. I had to kill 15 Swamp frogs. They weren't very dangerous, but they were very difficult to see in the water due to their natural camouflage. They were also very fast. They jumped away through the water as soon as they thought they had been spotted," Daniel said.
"There's a time limit, too. I almost didn't make it back."
"But you did."
Daniel nodded once.
"Yeah."
The second soldier stepped slightly closer, his gaze narrowing as he studied him.
"What changed?"
Daniel frowned faintly. "What do you mean?"
"What was the purpose of the tutorial? Did it give you anything? Did you have your phone? Did you make any recordings?!"
Daniel's breath caught in his throat. He looked down at his hands, turning one over slowly as if trying to decide something that he didn't quite understand himself.
"…something," he said. "I think."
"Show me."
Daniel hesitated, then lowered one hand carefully toward the hard metal interrogation table while keeping the other in his lap. His fingers touched the cool metal, and for a moment, nothing happened.
Then a faint crackling sound emerged.
The change was subtle at first, more a sensation than a visible shift, as the temperature around his hand dropped enough to pull moisture from the surface of the table. The thin layer of condensation spread outward before freezing in place, the frost forming uneven patterns that caught the light in sharp, fractured reflections. The transformation was not dramatic, but it was undeniable.
Daniel lifted his hand, and the ice remained.
Neither soldier spoke immediately, though their posture had shifted in a way that suggested increased caution rather than surprise.
"What is that?" one of them asked.
"It's a skill I bought with points. The system called it Cold Touch," Daniel said. "That's all I know. It just happens when I focus on the skill."
The silence that followed carried more weight than before, shaped by the presence of something that did not fit within their current understanding of the situation.
"You're coming with us," the first soldier said at last.
Daniel looked up immediately, tension returning to his expression.
"No, I need to go home. I need to check on my family. I don't even know if they're—"
"That's not your decision."
Daniel's jaw tightened, frustration pushing through the earlier uncertainty.
"You don't understand. When other people come back like this—"
"We'll handle that," the soldier said, his tone steady and final. "Right now, you're coming with us."
Daniel held his gaze for a moment, then looked down at the frozen patch of pavement beside him, his expression tightening as he weighed the situation against what he wanted.
"…fine," he said quietly.
The soldiers moved in, securing him with controlled, deliberate movements, and began escorting him away from the barricade. Behind them, the frost remained in place, unchanged, its presence marking the point where something had shifted in a way none of them could yet explain.
Eli's awareness returned slowly, not in a single moment but in fragments that struggled to align with one another. The first sensation that reached him was movement, not his own but something external, a steady dragging motion that pulled his body across rough stone. Each shift of contact translated into a dull scrape along his side, the friction distant at first before sharpening as his senses caught up.
The weight came next.
His limbs felt heavy, not with exhaustion but with resistance, as though something stood between his thoughts and his ability to act on them. When he tried to move, the response was delayed and incomplete, his muscles failing to follow through in any meaningful way.
The poison was still affecting him.
Not as strongly as before, but enough to keep him immobile.
Eli opened his eyes, forcing his vision to settle despite the lingering blur at its edges.
The corridor had changed.
The darkness was no longer complete, replaced by a faint, uneven glow that stretched toward him from somewhere ahead. The walls remained brick, but they were more uniform now, less worn, the structure more deliberate, as though this section had been shaped rather than eroded.
He did not struggle.
There was no advantage in it.
The goblin dragging him moved with quiet efficiency, its grip firm but controlled, its posture steady as it navigated the corridor without hesitation. It did not pause, did not adjust uncertainly, and did not react to the environment as though it needed to interpret it.
It knew where it was going.
Eli focused on what he could observe, forcing his attention outward despite the haze that still dulled his perception.
The structure around him shifted gradually as they moved deeper, the floor becoming more level, the walls more consistent, the space itself feeling less like a natural extension of the tunnels and more like something shaped with intent.
The goblin suddenly slowed.
Then stopped.
At first, it appeared to face nothing more than another section of wall, identical to the rest of the corridor. But as Eli watched, the creature raised its hand and pressed it against the surface.
There was a pause.
Then the wall shifted.
Not breaking, not cracking, but folding inward in a way that did not match anything Eli understood about stone. The surface receded silently, revealing an opening where none had been visible before.
A concealed entrance.
The goblin stepped through, dragging Eli with it.
The space beyond opened suddenly, the narrow corridor giving way to a large chamber where the ceiling rose high above, creating a sense of scale that the tunnels had deliberately denied. Firelight burned along the walls in crude fixtures, casting uneven illumination across stone and packed earth.
And the room was full.
Goblins filled the chamber in loose formations, their presence spread across the space in a way that suggested structure rather than chaos. Their forms varied slightly in size and posture, but the same underlying design remained, thin frames, sharp features, movements that carried intent rather than randomness. Some held weapons. Others did not.
All of them turned as Eli was brought into view.
A low murmur spread through the room, not loud enough to be called noise, but present enough to be felt as attention shifted toward him.
Eli remained still, partly because he had no choice and partly because reacting would not change anything.
The goblin carrying him moved deeper into the chamber, toward a slightly raised section where the firelight burned brighter and the shadows receded.
As they approached, the atmosphere changed, not quieter, but more focused, as if the space itself had narrowed around a single point of attention.
Eli forced himself to remain aware, pushing against the pull of unconsciousness long enough to take in what he could.
He did not understand what this place was.
But he understood one thing clearly.
This was bad. Very bad.
The goblin stopped.
The room watched.
And as Eli felt a little bit more of his mobility returning, he saw through his squinted eyes as the goblin that had been carrying him slowly raised his arms above his head, like a motion of worship.
"KREEEQU, ARRRMT KRRRUUD!" the goblin shouted.
All at once, the dull, menacing atmosphere transformed into mass cheers of celebration.
"This.. can't be good," thought Eli.