Mike huddled against the boulder, trying to control his breathing while scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. His mind kept replaying the deaths of the elf and dwarf—the impossible speed of the creature, the sickening sounds, the casual violence of it all.
"Get it together, Reeves," he whispered to himself. "First things first."
Mike had been caught in an emergency before—a roof collapse three years ago that had trapped him and two others for six hours before rescue. The site manager's voice echoed in his head from their safety training: *Assess. Plan. Execute.*
He unzipped his backpack with trembling fingers, taking inventory: thermos still half-full of lukewarm coffee, insulated lunch bag containing an uneaten half of his turkey sandwich and an apple, a dog-eared paperback western, a lightweight rain jacket, and a small first aid kit he always carried. His tool belt held his hammer, utility knife, pencil, chalk line, speed square, and a handful of nails and screws in the pouches.
Not exactly wilderness survival gear, but better than nothing.
A faint blue glow caught his attention. Another floating message box hovered before him, symbols shifting and rearranging. Mike squinted at it, trying to find any pattern that might make sense.
"I still can't read you," he told the box. It lingered for a few more seconds before disappearing with a soft *ping*.
Mike pulled out his phone again. 8:13 PM, 62% battery, no signal. The screen's light felt dangerously bright in the growing darkness, but he needed to document what was happening—if only to convince himself he wasn't having some kind of breakdown.
He opened the voice recorder app and brought the phone close to his mouth.
"This is Mike Reeves. It's Friday, September 17th. About two hours ago, I was... was pulled through some kind of portal while working at the St. Mary's construction site."
His voice sounded steadier than he expected as he described what had happened—the vortex, the three figures, the monster, his escape.
"I appear to be in a forest, location unknown. There are... game-like elements. Floating text boxes I can't read. I've seen an elf and a dwarf, both now dead. This matches nothing in reality as I understand it."
He paused, listening to the unfamiliar sounds of the forest at night. Something howled in the distance—not quite wolf, not quite anything he recognized.
"Current objectives: Survive the night. Find water and food. Establish shelter. Avoid hostile entities. Try to understand this... system."
Mike stopped the recording and tucked the phone away, preserving battery. The night had grown considerably cooler, and he pulled on his rain jacket for warmth.
Sleep wasn't an option—not with that thing potentially hunting him. He needed shelter, someplace defensible where he could rest and plan his next move.
Mike studied his surroundings in the faint moonlight. The boulder he leaned against was part of a small outcropping of rocks. About thirty yards ahead, the ground sloped upward into denser forest. To his left, the land descended gradually toward what sounded like moving water—a river or large stream.
Water meant survival, but also meant other creatures would be drawn there. The higher ground offered better visibility, but less protection from the elements.
"High ground it is," he decided. "Scout first, then build."
---
The hill wasn't particularly steep, but in the darkness, with exhaustion setting in, it might as well have been a mountain. Mike picked his way carefully among the trees, using his phone's flashlight only when absolutely necessary.
After twenty minutes of climbing, he found what he was looking for—a small natural clearing with a fallen tree creating a partial windbreak on one side. The ground was relatively dry, and the canopy overhead would provide some shelter from rain.
"This'll work," Mike muttered, shining his light briefly around the perimeter.
Another floating box appeared, larger than the previous ones. Mike ignored it, focusing instead on gathering fallen branches and arranging them against the log to create a rudimentary lean-to. Construction was his language, his art form—even with limited materials, his hands moved with practiced efficiency.
As he worked, a plan formed. He'd use the night to rest as much as possible, then at first light search for water and food. He'd need to build a more substantial shelter, maybe traps for small game. He'd have to learn what was edible in this place, what was dangerous.
One step at a time. Just like raising a building—foundation first, then walls, then roof.
The lean-to took shape under his hands, a simple but effective structure of branches and the raincoat as a partial cover. Mike reinforced it with smaller branches woven between the larger ones, creating a sturdy lattice that would help block wind and provide some camouflage.
By the time he finished, his eyes had adjusted well enough to the darkness that he rarely needed the flashlight. His work boots were caked with mud, his jeans torn at one knee, and his hands scraped raw in places—but the shelter was sound.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Mike crawled inside, positioning himself so he could see out the opening. He placed his hammer within easy reach, then pulled out his phone again to record another note.
"Constructed temporary shelter on elevated ground. No sign of pursuit, but numerous unfamiliar animal sounds in the vicinity. Temperature dropping, approximately low 50s Fahrenheit. Will attempt to rest in shifts through the night. Tomorrow: water, food, better shelter."
He hesitated, then added, "Sarah, Jeremy, if you somehow ever hear this—I'm sorry I'm not there. I'm trying to find my way back to you both, I promise."
The words caught in his throat. Jeremy was fourteen now, caught in that awkward phase between boy and young man. Sarah, his wife of sixteen years, would be frantic by now, perhaps already having called the police. The thought of them waiting, wondering what had happened to him, was almost unbearable.
Mike closed his eyes, forcing the thought away. No use going down that road now.
A *ping* sound brought his attention back to the present. Another text box, this one accompanied by what looked like a crude map or diagram. Mike stared at it, willing it to make sense, but the symbols remained alien.
"What are you trying to tell me?" he asked aloud.
As if in response, more boxes appeared, cascading around him like a bizarre computer interface. One contained what might have been numbers, another showed what looked like simplified human silhouette with markers at various points.
"Is this... am I supposed to be in a game?" Mike wondered. "Is that what this is?"
The boxes lingered longer this time before fading. In their place, a single word appeared, this one in recognizable English: [SKILL].
"Skill? What skill?" Mike reached out to touch the floating word, but his hand passed through it. "I don't understand what you want from me."
The word faded, leaving him alone in the darkness.
---
Sleep came in fitful bursts, never lasting more than twenty minutes before some sound or sensation jerked Mike back to alertness. The night was alive with noises—chittering insects, the hoots of owl-like creatures, the occasional distant roar that made his skin prickle with fear.
During one wakeful period, he carefully ate half of his remaining sandwich, washing it down with lukewarm coffee. Resources needed to be rationed—no telling how long it would be before he found proper food.
Sometime in the early morning hours, a new sound brought him fully awake—the shuffle of footsteps, not far from his shelter. Mike grabbed his hammer, heart pounding as he peered through the gaps in his lean-to.
A figure moved at the edge of the clearing, too small to be the monster from earlier. In the dim pre-dawn light, Mike could make out a hunched, humanoid shape. It appeared to be sniffing the air, head turning slowly from side to side.
Mike held perfectly still, barely daring to breathe. The creature took another step forward, and a shaft of moonlight illuminated its features—leathery gray-green skin, a face that resembled a bat's with a short snout full of needle-like teeth, and small, glowing yellow eyes.
It was carrying something—a crude spear or sharpened stick.
*Great*, Mike thought. *Now there are goblins too.*
The creature took another step toward the lean-to, clearly following Mike's scent. There was no way to avoid a confrontation—the shelter was too flimsy to provide real protection, and there was only one way out.
Mike weighed his options. The hammer in his hand was solid, a 22-ounce framing hammer with a steel shaft and rubber grip—a tool he'd swung thousands of times with precision. But he'd never used it as a weapon against a living thing.
The goblin-thing was now less than ten feet from the shelter, its nostrils flaring as it honed in on his location.
*Assess. Plan. Execute.*
Mike shifted his weight carefully, positioning himself to spring forward. The movement caused a small branch to crack beneath him.
The creature's head snapped toward the sound, yellow eyes widening.
Mike exploded from the shelter with a speed born of desperation, hammer raised high. The goblin let out a high-pitched squeal and thrust its spear forward, but the attack was hasty and poorly aimed. Mike sidestepped it and brought the hammer down in a powerful arc.
Years of driving nails had given Mike exceptional aim. The hammer's head connected solidly with the creature's temple with a sickening crunch. The goblin dropped immediately, twitching once before lying still.
Mike stood over it, breathing hard, hammer still gripped tightly. His hands were shaking, stomach churning with a mixture of adrenaline and disgust.
"Jesus Christ," he whispered. "I just killed something."
A soft *ding* sound came from nowhere and everywhere. A warm sensation washed over Mike, subtle but unmistakable—like sinking into a hot bath after a day of hard labor. The feeling lasted only a moment, then faded, leaving him slightly less exhausted than before.
A new text box appeared, larger and brighter than the previous ones. Still unreadable, but now accompanied by a number: 1, which quickly changed to 2.
"Is that... did I just... level up?" Mike asked incredulously. "Level two?"
The box lingered for a moment longer, then vanished. In its place appeared that word again: [SKILL], followed by an arrow pointing to his hammer.
Mike looked down at the tool in his hand, then at the dead creature at his feet. "Great. I've got a skill. Whatever that means."
The faint glow of dawn was beginning to lighten the eastern sky. Birds—or things that sounded like birds—began to call to one another in the canopy overhead.
Mike crouched beside the goblin, forcing himself to examine it more closely. The creature wore crude leather armor and a belt pouch. Steeling himself, Mike searched the pouch, finding several rough gemstones and what appeared to be dried meat strips of questionable origin.
"Sorry, buddy," he told the dead goblin. "But I need these more than you do now."
He took the spear as well—a crude but serviceable weapon with a stone head lashed to a wooden shaft with some kind of sinew.
Standing again, Mike surveyed the clearing as daylight slowly revealed his surroundings. The forest stretched in all directions, thick with unfamiliar vegetation. No signs of civilization, no paths, no smoke from distant fires.
He was truly alone in an alien world, armed with a hammer and a stolen spear, guided by interface prompts he couldn't understand.
Mike pulled out his phone, now at 54% battery, and recorded a new message.
"It's dawn. Had to kill a... I guess you'd call it a goblin. Something happened afterward—a chime, a good feeling, and a number appeared. I think I gained experience or levels or something. This really is like one of Jeremy's games."
He paused, rubbing his stubbled chin.
"Today's goals: Find water. Build a more secure shelter. Set traps for food. Try to understand more of this 'system.' And stay alive, obviously."
Mike tucked the phone away and gathered his few possessions. The lean-to had served its purpose, but he needed something more substantial, somewhere he could actually rest without fear of being discovered.
He took a deep breath, hefted his hammer in one hand and the spear in the other, and set off toward the sound of running water.
Behind him, unnoticed, the goblin's body slowly dissolved into motes of light that rose into the morning air before vanishing. Only a small leather pouch remained as evidence it had ever existed.
A new day had begun in this strange gaming world, and Mike Reeves, construction worker turned reluctant player, had taken his first steps toward power he couldn't yet comprehend.
