Chapter 3 — First Mission
Sunlight slanted across the hospital room again, soft and golden this time, catching the edges of the blinds and painting stripes on the floor. My ribs still ached with every breath, a steady reminder that my body had decided to betray me for the past forty-eight hours. I groaned and rolled slightly on the bed, careful not to set off any more screaming protests from my chest.
Ava was still there, perched on the edge of the chair, hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked exhausted, but somehow she still managed that impossible smile that made my chest tighten in a way I couldn't fully explain. She had spent the better part of the morning checking my IV, fussing over my blankets, and asking questions that didn't have much importance other than making sure I didn't die again while she wasn't looking.
"Hey," I rasped, voice rough. "How long have you been sitting there?"
Her eyes widened. "Since you woke up. I… I couldn't just leave."
I stared at her, trying to process what that meant. Someone cared enough to actually stay. Not out of obligation. Not because someone told them to. But because they wanted to. Because I mattered, at least to her, at this moment.
The system pulsed faintly at the edge of my vision, a reminder that my interactions had meaning beyond words. Connection. Engagement. Social reward. Emotional investment. Points. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
"I'm… impressed," I managed, wincing slightly as I shifted. "You really stuck around, huh?"
She laughed softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead. "I… guess I'm stubborn. Or maybe I just care too much."
I wanted to say something witty, clever, flirty. Something that would make her laugh again. But all I could manage was a weak grin. "Well… my heart only skipped a beat for you. That counts for something, right?"
She laughed—a real, warm sound—and the system pulsed in response.
[Objective completed — Make her smile][Target: Ava Monroe][Reward confirmed][Calculating reward …]+$500 credited to linked account
I blinked at the faint glow at the edge of my vision. Real money. Real points. Real system feedback. Not imaginary. Not a hallucination. This was real. This game—whatever it was—was happening in real life.
She leaned closer, voice soft but earnest. "You're ridiculous, you know that? But… I'm glad you're okay."
"Yeah… glad to be alive. Mostly." The ribs screamed again as I tried to adjust, but I didn't care. The pain was background noise compared to the strange warmth settling in my chest.
We fell into an easy rhythm after that. Ava talked. I listened. She didn't need to. She could have left hours ago, gone back to her perfect campus life, but she didn't. She stayed and talked about mundane things—the campus aftermath, security updates, the absurdity of social media reacting to someone nearly dying in a crosswalk. Her voice had a soothing rhythm, like rain on a tin roof, steady and calming.
Somewhere in the back of my head, the system pulsed again. [Emotional engagement detected] [Logging interaction — positive response]
I tried to ignore it at first. I didn't need the system reminding me that I was doing the right thing. But I couldn't. It was there, quietly humming at the edge of my perception.
"You really… scared everyone," she said quietly. "When the driver fainted… and you… I didn't think you'd make it. I…" She stopped, fidgeting with her hands. "I didn't want to believe it."
I swallowed past the dry lump in my throat. "Yeah… well, I guess I'm stubborn. Can't give up that easily."
She laughed again, soft, melodic, and I could feel the system's pulse thrum through my chest like an echo. Rewards, points, completion notifications—they were all real. But somehow, they didn't feel artificial. They felt… inevitable. Like this moment, sitting here with her, mattered in a way the world outside this room didn't.
We spent hours like that—or maybe it was minutes; time was warped in the hospital. She told me small, trivial things. Which classes she had that day. Who she had lunch with. How the school had reacted to the accident. I told her some things too, careful not to overexert myself. Jokes, small observations, sarcastic quips. Nothing grandiose, just… conversation. Human connection. And each laugh, each smile, each tiny shared glance, was catalogued quietly by the system.
I didn't notice it at first, but I was paying attention to her in a way I hadn't paid attention to anyone in years. Not like this. Not someone who laughed at my dumb jokes, someone who genuinely seemed happy to see me awake. Someone who mattered.
"You really are… something else," she said at one point, shaking her head with a smile. "I don't know how you do it—get through something like that and still make jokes."
"I guess," I muttered, wincing as I shifted slightly, "humor is all I have left when my ribs hate me."
She chuckled, and the system rewarded again. I let it happen this time, letting the blue glow linger for a moment instead of trying to ignore it.
[Stage 1 complete — Target engagement confirmed][Next prompt unlock in 24 hours]
It was strange. That little interface, those pulsing letters, felt alive. Observing. Patient. Indifferent, yet guiding. It didn't care if I was a hero, or if I saved someone's life. It only cared about connection. About us. About her smile.
Visiting hours ended faster than I realized. Ava glanced at the clock and sighed softly. "I should go… before someone starts wondering where I am."
I felt a pang of disappointment. "Already?"
She gave me a small smile. "I'll come back tomorrow if you want. If that's okay."
I nodded, trying to hide the way my chest tightened. "Yeah… I'd like that."
She leaned over, brushing a loose strand of hair from my face. "You're really something, you know."
"Thanks," I muttered, trying for casual, but failing spectacularly. My ribs ached, my chest burned, and yet the warmth in my chest didn't fade.
She stood, gathered her bag, and headed to the door. "See you tomorrow, okay?"
I watched her go, the room suddenly quiet. The pain in my ribs sharpened now that she wasn't there, but there was also this… emptiness. Not loneliness exactly, but absence. Her presence had filled the space with something tangible, and now that it was gone, the stillness felt heavy.
I leaned back against the pillows, letting out a slow, shuddering breath. The glow of the system hovered faintly at the edge of my vision. Connection. Points. Rewards. Engagement. All of it mattered. All of it was real.
I let myself close my eyes for a moment, letting the memory of her laugh and her smile linger. For the first time since the accident, I felt… something more than pain. Something more than fear.
Curiosity. Wonder. Something like… hope.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I realized that survival hadn't been the reward here. Connection had been. Attention. Presence. Engagement. Something more human than the flat, sterile logic of the hospital room.
And the system didn't just record it. It reinforced it. Rewarded it. Made me aware of it. Made me want more.
I allowed myself a small, guilty smile. Tomorrow she would return, and I would see her again. And I—whatever the system had in store—would be ready.
Because dying hadn't been the worst thing to happen to me. Being alive, and aware, and rewarded for… connection, might be worse. In the best possible way.