Neon Dragons - A Cyberpunk Isekai LitRPG Story

"...and that wraps up episode 74 of the Neon Dragons playthrough! Be sure to like and sub—"

'Sure thing, FelineOfTheNorth,' I mentally quip while closing the tab and clicking on another one that bears a strikingly similar design. I've been a subscriber for ages and have made it a habit to like videos even before hitting play.

"Hellooooo, you beautiful people! Welcome back to Neon Dragons, episode 47!" the voice blares from my headphones. Almost involuntarily, I lip-sync the well-worn greeting with GamerZZZ.

It's just another Thursday night for me: Alone at home, living my best life vicariously through my favourite content creators.

"Neon Dragons" is the latest Cyberpunk-style RPG from my favourite video game company, SparkSoft, released just a couple of months ago.

As the cruel joke that was my life would have it, my PC crashed a week before the game's launch. My modest earnings from my deli gig aren't nearly enough to cover new components, let alone ones capable of running this game.

So, I've been vicariously adventuring as a badass netrunner through an arguably excessive amount of Let's Plays and playthrough videos across various streaming platforms.

Is this lifestyle healthy? No.

Do I care? Also, no.

With no friends in proximity, no romantic partner, and no family, what's a girl to do?

Consider selling myself for PC parts to experience my dream game? Actually... not exactly the worst thought I've ever had.

Would anyone pony up the cash, though?

And where would one even begin looking? MostlyFans?

I give myself a once-over.

Unkempt black hair cascading past my shoulders. Breasts so ample they're practically a chiropractor's nightmare—or wet dream, they do make money off of issues like that—yet some folks might find that appealing, right?

Bulging belly, arms, and legs. Got to hit the gym someday, but surely there's a niche market for this body type somewhere, isn't there?

I let out a heavy sigh, the grim reality and distasteful musings of my life weighing down my already burdened back—thanks a lot, stupid breasts!

"I'm just pathetic, aren't I?" I murmur, cranking up the volume on the video.

The buoyant tones of GamerZZZ serve as a temporary antidote to my spiral of self-loathing and destructive thoughts.

Hours later, with the last few fresh episodes from my go-to content creators under my belt, I'm back on the Neon Dragons wiki page.

Am I obsessed? Abso-freakin-lutely. And you have no right to judge, okay? Fuck off.

My wiki forays have this peculiar quirk—something my online, international friends never miss a chance to rib me about on the weekends. I read only those wiki articles that align with the episodes I've just watched.

Spoilers are the enemy, you see.

Sure, I want to absorb every byte of data about Neon Dragons, but finding out what happens before I see it unfold in a Let's Play? That's a hard pass.

SparkSoft's games are renowned for being chock-full of secret items, skills, and other hidden gems that would lose all their magic if spoiled ahead of time. So far, I've stuck to my self-imposed rules, and I fully intend to keep my wiki perusals confined to where my latest Let's Play left off or walked past.

"Ahh, if only it were that easy," I sigh, my cursor hesitating over an imposing wiki article ominously named 'The Wall'.

From my current standpoint, it's the game's biggest enigma.

Neon Dragons boasts an enormous world with multiple mega-cities, each teeming with tens or hundreds of millions of inhabitants, and countless smaller settlements. But dwarfing them all is 'The Wall,' a colossal structure enclosing the playable area—or so I'd naively thought.

A friend had let slip that the Wall was merely the tip of the iceberg.

The spoiler had sent me into a weeks-long fit of rage, but I couldn't hold a grudge forever.

My friends had been grinding through the game for months, clocking in literally thousands upon thousands of hours. Most of them had taken an entire month of work, just to play the game!

The blame was partly mine.

I had joined their voice chat unannounced, right in the middle of a fiery discussion about the Wall. They'd clammed up the second they realised I was there, but the spoiler bomb had already detonated.

The temptation to dive into the wiki article about the Wall was becoming increasingly hard to resist.

Who the hell built this thing? Was it Sobirashu, or maybe Rockefeller Inc.?

What monstrosities were they hiding out there—or even worse, protecting us from?

There was just one reliable way to know: Succumb to the allure of that forbidden wiki page.

Summoning all my willpower, I closed the window and shut off the monitor.

It was 4:23 a.m., and my stint at the deli started at 7:30am. Time to crash.

As I sank into my grimy bed sheets—which someone really needs to remind me to wash—I was suddenly jolted by an intense headache.

“Ah, crap!” I darted to the lone table in my cramped studio apartment and downed three over-the-counter painkillers.

“Not this again,” I groaned as the meds began to dull the throbbing.

Chronic migraines: A legacy from my late mother, right along with these back-breaking breasts.

As the pain ebbed, I nestled back into bed, cuddling with my assortment of plushies—merch from my favourite content creators, naturally. The rattling AC above my bed provided a chilly comfort.

“Tomorrow’s Friday. I can catch up with friends, maybe game some Avorion. That’s been hella fun lately. Just one more da—” Mid-thought, an excruciating wave of pain tore through my head, unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

The instinct was to scream, but the agony was so acute that all I could do was contort in silent torment, gasping for air that refused to come. My lungs ignored my desperate attempts to control them—hell, I couldn't even tell if the thoughts were mine anymore, as it felt like my brain was about to burst.

The sound of blood coursing through my ears filled my world as I started to convulse.

My lungs screamed for oxygen while my mouth stretched open in a mute howl of unendurable pain. No matter what, there was no way to get my lungs to breathe.

‘This is it. This is how I die,’ I realised, a thought crystallising with chilling clarity amid the chaos.

‘Would've been nice to actually play Neon Dragons. Of all times to jinx myself with a death flag…’

As this absurdity registered, one final thought crossed my mind.

‘Who even laments their imminent death with a meta-commentary about their own self-imposed death flag…?!’

And then, everything turned dark.

Forever. (?)

- POV: Dr. Yoriin Matsutake -

Yoriin's boots pounded against the sterile floor of the covert research facility, each stride fueling his desperate sprint. His breaths came in ragged gasps, nearly drowned out by the thunderous echo of military boots pursuing him down the deserted corridor.

'Why won't these bastards quit? Damn it!' His thoughts raced almost as fast as his feet, his grip tightening on the case he clutched like a lifeline.

Plans had unravelled, safeguards had failed, and by some twisted form of luck, he was still alive.

Well, 'alive' was a relative term for a man who was down one arm and riddled with ghastly gunshot wounds. Despite his nanites' frantic efforts, his cerulean blood continued to ooze from his injuries like an overflowing barrel of GraSludge.

For years, he had been a dedicated servant to Sobirashu Corporation’s R&D department, a job that once filled him with exhilaration. Every project was groundbreaking, each discovery a leap beyond the comprehension of an ordinary citizen in Neo Avalis.

That sense of wonder died when he got promoted.

Accepting that godforsaken promotion was, unequivocally, the most catastrophic mistake of his life.

The project, "G.E.M.A.," had initially seemed like the zenith of his career. That illusion shattered a month ago when he uncovered its nightmarish core: The Soul they had trapped.

In some warped achievement of science and sacrilege, Sobirashu’s geniuses had ensnared an actual Soul, condensing its essence into a program; a datashard. The very same datashard that Yoriin now held in the case pressed against his chest, as he navigated the labyrinthine hallways.

'Backups deleted, scientists eliminated, research eradicated... I just have to get out. I need to escape. Now!' His thoughts looped in frantic repetition, a frail mantra he clung to, desperate for the solace of believing he’d be safe—once he got out of this hellish nightmare.

Sirens wailed, filling the air with a sense of urgency that only heightened Yoriin's desperation.

The red strobe lights played tricks on his eyes, casting eerie shadows on the walls as he accelerated. He glanced at the HUD projected in his eye—a shimmering map, guiding his every turn. One final corner and he'd be at the elevator. Freedom was within reach.

But as he rounded that final bend, his heart sank. Four security specialists, garbed in advanced tactical armour, stood sentry before the elevator doors.

Each appeared ready for war, their weapons at the ready. They were among Sobirashu's finest—highly trained, equipped with the newest and best, and notorious for their ruthlessness when it came to data-breaches or corporate internal conflicts.

In a split-second decision, Yoriin thrust the case into the air.

Time seemed to elongate, every moment stretched to an eternity as his hand darted to the custom-made Cydonia pistol holstered at his side.

The first bullet surged from the barrel with deadly precision, targeting the closest guard. It tore through the air, whizzing past layers of advanced armour to penetrate the man's eye socket. Brain matter splattered onto the sterile floor as the guard crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut.

Even before the first body hit the ground, Yoriin pivoted to the second target.

A flick of his wrist, a squeeze of the trigger, and the bullet burst through the guard's visor, lodging itself into his skull. The impact was so strong that it ejected shards of the visor backward, each piece a deadly fragment in its own right.

The third guard barely had time to raise his weapon before Yoriin’s third bullet shattered his kneecap, buckling his legs. As the guard screamed and fell, Yoriin's fourth shot entered through his open mouth, obliterating his vocal cords and exiting through the back of his skull.

The fourth guard, perhaps the most experienced among them, had initiated an evasive roll.

But Yoriin's reflexes were too swift, his aim too unerring. He fired, and the bullet met flesh, tearing through the guard's rolling form to puncture his heart. The guard gasped, clutching his chest as if that could mend a shattered heart, before falling lifeless to the floor.

All of this occurred in a span of less than a second.

Yoriin's outstretched hand flawlessly caught the case as it descended, its contents still invaluable and now guarded once again. He strode over the fallen guards, a grim reminder to his deadly proficiency, and stepped into the elevator.

With a flick of a mental switch, he activated the net hacking capabilities of his deck. A self-made daemon—a program designed to crack even the most impregnable of security systems—activated instantly. Lines of code scrolled past his vision, firewalls fell, and safety measures were overridden.

As the elevator began its ascent, Yoriin allowed himself a sigh. The alarms faded into the distance, but the weight of what he carried—and what he had done—remained as heavy as ever.

'It didn't have to come to this,' Yoriin mused bitterly, the memories playing like a reel in his mind.

Only a month ago, he had approached Professor Matsuiro Kobayashi, the brilliant lead researcher of Project G.E.M.A., with his gnawing concerns. The memory of the encounter was as vivid as a fresh wound.

"Yoriin-san, you of all people should understand that the path to scientific enlightenment is strewn with sacrifices," Kobayashi had said, condescension dripping from his voice like venom. "Your last project, GLADIUS, was it not responsible for thousands of casualties during its experimental phase? Why the sudden qualms about ethics and morality?"

True, his last endeavour, codenamed "GLADIUS," had resulted in a disquieting number of deaths. But those had been different circumstances entirely!

Each participant had been fully briefed on the risks and had willingly signed waivers. The ethical dilemma had been present, but mitigated; a murky area but justifiable, at least to a degree.

The offer of life-altering sums of money to low-income citizens of Neo Avalis may have swayed their judgement, but they had at least been aware of the stakes beforehand.

"Kobayashi-sama, the dynamics around GLADIUS were entirely different, I assure you," Yoriin had retorted, exasperation lacing his words. "This entity within the shard... it's an enigma! We don't even know its origins! How can we presume it would consent to the grotesque manipulations we're subjecting it to?"

Kobayashi had scoffed, a dismissive flicker crossing his eyes. "Nonsense, Yoriin-san! Let's forget this conversation ever occurred. For the sake of our professional history, I'll overlook this momentary lapse in judgement. Now, refocus! We have a deadline to meet for the quarterly earnings report. Trust me, you don't want to be responsible for explaining delays to the suits."

The dismissal had been absolute, leaving no room for further argument. The proverbial door had been slammed shut on any ethical discussion, sealing Yoriin's resolve to take drastic action.

And now, here he was, clutching the cursed shard and fighting his way out of a facility that had become a crucible of unspeakable horrors—all because ethics and morality had been shoved aside in the relentless pursuit of 'progress.'

A ghost of a smile tugged at Yoriin's parched, cracked lips as he recalled the exact instant he'd pulled the trigger, sending a bullet unerringly into Professor Kobayashi's forehead. The look of utter astonishment that had flashed across Kobayashi's eyes was almost worth the chaos that had ensued.

“Almost…” he muttered, as the elevator chimed, indicating that he had reached the selected floor.

As the elevator doors slid open with a whisper, Yoriin found himself facing the sleek, minimalist reception area of Sobirashu Corporation's HQ in the heart of Neo Avalis. To his mingled relief and amusement, it seemed the alarms blaring in the R&D wing hadn't yet permeated the rest of the labyrinthine complex.

'Ah, the joys of corporate compartmentalization,' he thought, a smirk forming despite his circumstances. 'Each department so isolated, so insulated, they don't know their left hand from their right. Perfect for preventing inter-departmental leaks or sabotage, sure. But today, it's going to fuck them over.'

His brief moment of triumph was shattered as a fit of violent coughing wracked his body, expelling a clump of thick, cerulean-coloured blood onto the polished floor. His knees wavered as he staggered out of the elevator, each step an agony.

'Fuck, I'm running on fumes here,' he mused, feeling the life drain from him with each heartbeat. 'I need a ripper, and I need one yesterday.'

Grimacing against the searing pain, Yoriin mustered every last reserve of energy and sprinted across the reception floor, his objective as clear as his time was limited.

Summoning the last dregs of his stamina, Yoriin charged through the reception area, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. He was a spectacle, a blur of desperation and disarray, drawing the startled gazes of everyone in the cavernous space. Office workers, interns, and security personnel all paused, their minds struggling to make sense of the chaotic scene unfolding before them.

Just as he neared the grand exit—a pair of imposing, mirror-finish matte black glass doors—they glided open automatically, revealing a squad of six Sobirashu enforcers on the other side. The surprise on their faces mirrored his own, but only for a split-second.

Reacting with practised speed far beyond anything an unaugmented human would be capable of, Yoriin hurled the case into the air once again and drew his high-tech 'Cydonia' pistol.

His arm moved in a blur, almost independently of his own volition.

The first enforcer took a bullet between the eyes, his expression of surprise replaced by a vacant gaze as he collapsed. The second and third enforcers barely had time to raise their guns before precise shots punctured their windpipes, leaving them clutching their throats as they dropped to their knees, gasping for air as they died.

However, this time, Yoriin wasn't quick enough to evade all incoming fire.

He grunted as a bullet slammed into his left shoulder, another tore through his side. Teeth gritted, he persevered. The next two enforcers fell, one clutching towards a ruined eye socket before Yoriin put another round into his head, the other with a gaping hole in his chest.

Yoriin snatched the still-airborne case out of the air with the breast-pocket of his coat, spinning on his heel to dispatch the final enforcer with a bullet to the heart.

Around him, the reception area had erupted into pandemonium—screams, shouts, and the clatter of overturned furniture filled the air.

Ignoring the blazing pain of his new wounds and the shocked, frightened faces of the civilians around him, Yoriin stumbled through the glass doors into the vibrant, neon-lit streets of Neo Avalis.

Each step was a Herculean effort, his cerulean blood leaving a trail on the asphalt.

With a grim sense of urgency, he melded into the tide of people and vehicles, clutching the case like a talisman against the world he had just torn apart. The cries of distant sirens began to fill the air, but Yoriin had only one thought dominating his mind: 'I have to keep going, keep moving. If I can just get to Faelix… He can fix me up. He definitely can. I know it.'

An unspecified eternity later, some thirty blocks distanced from the monolithic structure of Sobirashu HQ, Yoriin careened into a dim-lit alleyway.

His body sagged against a wall tagged with kaleidoscopic graffiti, each panting breath leaving a smear of his cerulean lifeblood against the rebellious artwork.

'Keep moving, Yoriin. Faelix can patch you up. Just keep moving,' he chanted internally, as if the mantra could magically mend torn flesh and avert impending death.

Despite his mental stubbornness, his body signalled a grim prognosis that his mind was unwilling to accept: He was not going to make it out alive.

Hours had passed like an endless blur, each moment a desperate gamble, as he'd evaded, fought, and fled through the labyrinthine streets of upper Neo Avalis. Sobirashu had clearly unleashed the hounds; their enforcers and advanced max-tech units had been relentlessly pursuing him. It was as if a vacuum had been created, pulling away the usual rabble—gangs, scavs, and all manner of street dwellers—making the city eerily desolate.

Now, as he ventured farther from the corporate epicentre, the pulsing vitality of Neo Avalis sprang back to life around him—but this was not necessarily a blessing.

Bedraggled, bleeding, and notably cyber-enhanced, he became a moving target in this hive of scum and villainy. His garb and visible implants screamed 'jackpot' to any opportunistic scavs or gang member who happened upon him.

Each step was a tormented effort, as Yoriin forced his failing body to stagger down the labyrinthine maze of alleyways towards Faelix's underground clinic. With every inch, the mental barrage intensified—waves of despair, self-loathing, and crushing remorse for the Pandora's box he had opened.

'What have I done? The scientists, the guards, Kobayashi—they all had families. And for what? To free a Soul we shouldn't have captured in the first place? A Soul I don’t even know how to free?!'

He clenched his teeth, mentally berating himself. 'You fool, Yoriin, you bleeding, self-righteous fool. All this death on your hands, and for what? What have you actually fixed?!'

His vision blurred, the jagged edges of his reality fraying as his body screamed for respite. Ahead, he saw the mouth of another alley, another one that led closer and closer to Faelix's sanctuary.

But it might as well have been a million miles away.

'I just need to catch my breath. Just for a moment,' he lied to himself, sinking to the ground beside a collection of dented and rusting trash containers, their stench a jarring juxtaposition to his high-octane desperation.

That moment was all it took. His world went black, a velvet curtain falling over his consciousness.

With a jolt, he snapped back to reality. His eyes focused, and there before him was a young girl, maybe 15 years old, her hands hovering cautiously over his body, searching for valuables. With the last vestiges of his strength, Yoriin's hand shot out, gripping her wrists in an iron hold.

"You picked the wrong day," he rasped, his voice tinged with both regret and a looming sense of finality. “Much like I have, it seems…”

The girl's eyes widened in abject terror, the icy grip of fear freezing her from head to toe. Yoriin loosened his grip slightly and forced his cracked lips into a grim smile.

"I won't hurt you," he croaked, his eyes pleading for understanding. "I just need your help to get to—"

The thought was cut short.

The tell-tale thumping of heavy boots pounding on asphalt reached his ears, amplified by his enhanced hearing implants. Sobirashu's max-tech units had found him. He could almost visualise them—warriors clad in monolithic armour, armed with devastating firepower.

No escaping them, not this time.

A suffocating sense of doom enveloped him. 'So this is how it ends,' he thought bitterly. 'All my sacrifices, my sins, and not a damn thing to show for it.'

Suddenly, the girl spoke up, a defiant blaze lighting her terrified eyes. "Let me go!" She demanded.

Looking at her, Yoriin was struck by a heavy wave of profound sadness.

It was as if the universe had dangled a sliver of hope before him only to yank it cruelly away. In her, he saw the final opportunity, the last chance to ensure the G.E.M.A. project would never see the light of day.

"I'm so, so sorry," he choked out, tears streaming down his cheeks. The girl's eyes filled with dread, her body going rigid as she instinctively understood the tenor in his voice.

"Please, no! I have a family! A brother, parents, they're waiting for me! I don't want to die!"

"I have no other choice," Yoriin whispered, the weight of his words breaking his own heart. His right hand, trembling, curled into a fist, before the girl had a chance to step back.

In a swift, agonising motion, Yoriin struck the side of the girl's temple.

Her body went limp, collapsing to the ground beside him. As her consciousness flickered out, Yoriin's sense of self loathing deepened into a bottomless pit.

This was it.

It truly was the end.

He felt it in his bones, in every ragged breath, as the thumping of boots grew louder and louder, zeroing in on him.

Yet, as he awaited his doom, case still cradled in his arms, he found a sliver of cold comfort.

With trembling hands, Yoriin unlatched the high-tech case.

It was filled with an intricate web of biometric sensors and quantum locks, designed to protect its precious contents. The holographic interface flickered to life, casting multicoloured lights across Yoriin's aged face as he input his final override command.

The case hissed open, revealing its priceless cargo— the G.E.M.A. shard.

The shard, a jigsaw of iridescent hues, pulsed with a life of its own. It shimmered in a myriad of colours, each glinting piece reflecting a different shade. The raw power it held was immense, contained within a shell of crystalline lattice.

Yoriin held it in his hands for one last time, the shard casting a prismatic dance of light across his tear-streaked face. It was a thing of beauty and terror, a physical representation of the heights and depths of human potential.

With a deep, shuddering breath, he lifted the girl's frail body into his arms. Her skin was cold, and her eyes were vacant. "Forgive me," he whispered, his voice choked with regret and sorrow. The G.E.M.A. shard glinted ominously in his hand as he slipped it into the dataslot at the back of her neck.

He would have inserted it himself, if his dataslot had not already been blocked by a Sobirashu-specific blocker, to make sure that none of the scientists on the project got any funny ideas. This truly was his only option.

The girl's body convulsed violently as the shard disintegrated, uploading its data into her neural network. He held her tighter, tears streaming down his face as he whispered apologies into her hair.

Every convulsion felt like a knife through his heart, but he didn't let go.

Eventually, her body stilled, her heartbeat ceased, and her last breath slipped away into the cold, silent air of Neo Avalis’ night. His arms were shaking as he gently laid her lifeless body into the nearby trash container.

This was his final act, his last desperate bid for redemption, yet it was tainted with a heinous irony.

In seeking to rectify the sins of his past, he had committed an act that echoed the very transgressions he had initially rebelled against. He had killed a young girl completely unrelated to the project. The very same kind of disregard for ethics and morals that had initially triggered the cascade of tragic events that had led him to this very moment.

As the sound of boots grew louder, Yoriin closed his eyes, the weight of his actions pressing heavily upon him. His end was near, but perhaps, in his last moments, he had struck a blow against the monster he had helped create.

The bitter irony of it all had Yoriin laughing, a harsh, raspy sound that echoed in the hollow room. His cerulean blood splattered from his mouth with each tumultuous cough, painting a vibrant picture of his impending demise.

Tears streamed down his face, carving rivers through the dirt and grime.

The elite max-tech unit rounded the corner, their menacing silhouettes stark against the sterile white lighting.

"Dr. Yoriin Matsutake," their leader barked out, his voice distorted by the modulator in his helmet. "Surrender and turn over the project immediately!"

Yoriin could barely contain his laughter at their demand.

He held up his hands, showing them the empty case.

"Too late," he managed to croak out, his voice echoing eerily through the room. His laughter grew louder, more manic. "I inserted the shard myself!"

In one swift movement, Yoriin drew his pistol, his fingers trembling as they clutched the firearm. He squeezed the trigger, the deafening sound of gunshots reverberating off the walls. But the max-tech officers were faster, their implants and abilities activated in perfect unison.

They twisted and turned, evading every bullet with preternatural agility, far beyond anything that should humanly be possible.

Then, they retaliated.

Their high-calibre weaponry roared to life, tearing through Yoriin's fragile body with explosive force. His laughter abruptly cut off as his midsection evaporated into a mist of explosion and cerulean-coloured blood, the rest of his body collapsing to the floor.

As the final moments of his life bled away, Yoriin's thoughts turned to the Soul that had been housed within the shard. A strange sense of peace washed over him as he sent out a silent message. "Good luck," he thought, a bitter smile on his lips. "I hope you're free now… I am sorry for everything."

His eyes fluttered closed, the echo of his laughter still ringing in his ears as the world around him faded to black.

His last act, his final rebellion, finished.

My eyes cracked open lethargically, the glaring light from the overhead lamps amplifying the throbbing headache that had already been pounding in my skull.

"Perhaps dying would actually have been preferable… Stupid death-flag can’t even do its job right," I mused to myself, the raging torment in my head bordering unbearable.

I cautiously scanned my surroundings, my befuddled mind echoing a single, perplexed thought: ‘Where the fuck am I?’

My gaze wandered, trying to make sense of the environment around me. It had the earmarks of a hospital room—sterile walls, a bed fitted with crisp sheets, the lingering scent of antiseptic in the air—but something was off.

Flanking the bed were machines that defied immediate categorization; their designs were sleek and oddly futuristic, boasting interfaces adorned with blinking lights and glyphs I didn't recognize.

Yet, despite their advanced appearance, they bore the telltale signs of neglect. Grime coated their surfaces, and I saw spots of rust threatening to spread like an uncontrolled infestation.

This wasn't any hospital I was familiar with. It was as if someone had taken the concept of a medical facility, twisted it through a dystopian lens, and spat it back into reality.

As my senses slowly sharpened, I began to pick up on distant sounds—faint but unmistakable. The muted chatter of a radio broadcast seeped into the room, its timbre blending with the sterile atmosphere. The broadcasters were discussing current events, their voices imbued with a professional cadence that contrasted sharply with the room's unsettling aura.

Oddly, the banal chatter provided a semblance of normality, a thin thread of connection to a world that seemed suddenly alien yet oddly comforting. With each word from the radio, I felt a smidgen more anchored, as if reality, whatever that now meant, was within arm's reach again.

"Damn, I'm really in a hospital... This is going to annihilate my savings," I grumbled, the financial implications of my predicament suddenly crashing over me like a tidal wave.

An ambulance ride alone would be a budgetary nightmare, let alone the costs associated with whatever medical mystery had landed me here.

Well, looks like it's time to welcome some new debt. Just throw it on the pile with the rest, I suppose…

Just as I was tallying up imagined bills in my head, the radio chimes in for the closing remark: "...from Neo Avalis! May you have a chrometastic day!"

My blood turned cold.

What did I just hear? Neo Avalis? Chrometastic day?

My eyes darted around the room in a new state of horror, taking in once again the strange machines and unfamiliar environment.

Reality hit me like a ton of bricks: I've gone off the deep end.

I was actually dreaming that I was inside Neon Dragons, the game I had spent hours immersing myself in… Fantastic.

Here I had thought I had just been on the brink of dying, but no, the reality was far worse: I'd lost my fucking mind.

Just as this unsettling thought settled in, the sound of hurried footsteps resonated through the hallway outside my room. The door burst open dramatically, revealing a tall man with dishevelled hair.

He rushed in, his eyes meeting mine, and a palpable wave of relief washed over his features. "Sera! You're awake!" he exclaimed.

A sense of profound confusion overtook me.

‘Sera? Why is he calling me that? My name is—’ my mind fumbled for the answer, but ultimately came up empty.

A chill swept over me as I realised that I couldn’t even remember my own name. My tongue felt thick, my voice faltering as I tried to articulate my bewilderment.

Carefully, I managed to open my mouth and utter the only thing that made sense in this nonsensical moment.

"Who's Sera?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and underlying panic…