Sanemi was eighteen years old, and already living like a man twice his age — tired, numb, and chained to his vices.

His college life was a blur of skipped lectures, half-hearted assignments, and nights wasted

under the pale glow of his computer. Where other students chased careers, girlfriends, or

hobbies, Sanemi chased nothing.

Instead, he drowned himself in endless scrolling, shallow videos, and the darker sides of the

internet. Porn had become his nightly ritual, so routine that even masturbation had lost its thrill.

It wasn't desire anymore, it was habit, like brushing his teeth or switching on a light.

And yet, he couldn't stop.

"Welcome home," his mother called as he shuffled through the front door one evening.

"Mm," he grunted, heading straight to his room. She sighed, as always. He never asked how

she was, never sat at the table with her anymore. Sanemi didn't notice, or maybe he chose not to.

Inside his room, the world shrank to four walls and a glowing screen. His desk was cluttered

with junk food wrappers and crumpled tissues, but he didn't care. He slumped into his chair,

opened his browser, and let his hands move without thought.

One site led to another, one click to another. The hours blurred. The routine was mechanical:

watch, scroll, release, repeat. He told himself it was harmless. He told himself it was normal.

But tonight, something broke the cycle.

A strange ad flickered on his screen, black background, blood-red text pulsing like a

heartbeat.

"Enter the VAbyss Net."

Sanemi frowned. "Huh? Another scam?"

He leaned over to grab a tissue from the side of the desk, his hand brushing the keyboard. A key pressed down. The screen shifted.

The ad didn't close. It expanded.

Lines of glowing code rippled across the monitor, until words appeared in bold:

"Welcome, Guest. You must be 18 years or older. Please answer truthfully to proceed."

Sanemi snorted. "What is this, some edgy creepypasta quiz?"

Still, curiosity tugged at him. The questions blinked one by one.

What do you fear most?

He smirked and typed: "Nothing."

What would you sacrifice for strength?

He shrugged: "Don't care."

What do you desire most?

Sanemi tilted his webcam down and snapped a stupid, half-serious selfie. "Me, looking like a clown. There. Done."

But the site didn't laugh, didn't crash but Instead, it accepted his answers. The glow of the screen sharpened into something too real, too

alive.

A final prompt appeared:

"Biometric Verification Required. Place your finger to complete registration."

"Ha. Sure. Why not." Sanemi pressed his laptop's fingerprint sensor, expecting nothing.

But everything changed.

The computer hissed. Black veins of light crawled from the sensor into his hand. His body jolted

as glowing symbols burned beneath his skin. His breath caught — every nerve lit with fire.

On the screen, a message appeared:

"Account Registered. Username: Sanemi.

Power Level: 0.1%."

His eyes widened. "What the…?"

He stumbled back, clutching his glowing hand.

Elsewhere, in shadowy rooms across the world, figures noticed. Some grinned. Others marked

his name on secret lists. Government monitors lit up with warnings:

"New signature detected.Mark him."

Sanemi, still gasping, looked at his hand. The faint glow pulsed with the same virus-like patterns.

And for the first time in years, his voice trembled with something that wasn't boredom.

"…What the hell did I just sign into?"

Flashback

Life for Sanemi had been a vibrant tapestry woven with joy and security. As a young boy, he was a curious and bright child who loved to study, and his father, a man of quiet strength and unwavering support, fostered every one of his passions. Standing at an imposing six feet tall, his father was a striking figure with jet-black hair and the powerful, sculpted frame of an athlete. Most days, he wore a tailored suit, a testament to his high-level, yet secret, office job. He worked tirelessly to provide, ensuring his family lacked for nothing.

To Sanemi, his father was an anchor, a source of endless support and affection.

Sanemi's childhood was a symphony of happiness. He celebrated every birthday with a cake and a mountain of gifts, and his deep love for music was nurtured with a grand piano, an acoustic guitar, and a full drum kit, all purchased by his doting father. In his free time, his father was a devoted kickboxer.

By the time Sanemi turned thirteen, he began joining his father in their home gym. His father, a skilled and intermediate fighter, patiently taught him the intricate footwork and powerful strikes of the sport. Sanemi quickly took to it, and their training sessions became a cherished ritual, a time for shared sweat and laughter. Everything in their world felt stable and perfect, until one day, without warning, that world was shattered.

---

The afternoon air felt heavy and humid as Sanemi walked home from school. He was kicking a loose pebble down the sidewalk, humming a tune from a song he'd just learned, when he saw them: two sleek black cars parked in front of his house. He'd never seen them before. An unsettling prickle of unease ran down his spine, but he dismissed it and headed straight for the front door.

Inside, the silence was unnatural. He found two men in dark suits and sunglasses sitting in the living room, their presence a stark contrast to the familiar warmth of their home. They were talking in hushed tones with his mother, who looked pale and fragile. Deciding not to interrupt, Sanemi slipped past them and retreated to his room.

After a long, restless hour, he watched from his window as the two cars pulled away, the men disappearing as quickly as they had arrived. A knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach. He went back to the living room to check on his mom, but he was not prepared for what he found. She was sitting on the sofa, her face buried in her hands, her body shaking with silent sobs.

"Mom, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" Sanemi asked, his voice cracking with fear. His mother seemed to be in a world of her own, lost in a sea of grief.

"Mom... Mom, please, tell me!" he pleaded again, his heart pounding in his chest.

She finally lifted her head, her eyes red-rimmed and full of unshed tears.

"It's your father," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Dad? What happened to him?" Sanemi's voice was a desperate whisper.

"They said he's dead, son. Your father is dead." The words were a physical blow, and the air left Sanemi's lungs.

"No, Mom, I don't believe this," he insisted, shaking his head. The person who had given him everything, who had made his world feel so safe, couldn't be gone. It was a lie. It had to be.

"They said he was sent on a secret mission," his mother continued, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her cheeks. "Him and five others. They were all killed. Their bodies were never recovered."

"No… no, it can't be."

The denial was all he could cling to. He stumbled back to his room, a hollow ache spreading through his chest.

He grabbed his phone and tried to call his dad's number, but the line went straight to a dead tone. Collapsing to the floor, he sat with his back against the bed, wrapping his arms around his knees. The weight of the world seemed to settle on his young shoulders. His mind replayed every beautiful memory, every kickboxing session, every shared laugh, each one now a source of unbearable pain.

A short while later, his mother came in. Despite her own profound grief, she put her son first. She sat beside him and wrapped him in a warm hug, a silent comfort in a world gone cold.

"We will have justice for him, Mom," Sanemi said, his voice now firm, a newfound resolve burning in his eyes. "We'll make them all pay for this." His mother said nothing, she just held him tighter, the only comfort they could offer each other.

The next two weeks were a blur of lawyers and investigations. The police report confirmed his father's death, but his workplace provided little cooperation, offering no details about the mission or why their bodies were never found. Refusing to accept this, Sanemi's mother opened a formal case, but they quickly learned that the organization her husband worked for was powerful and had connections deep within the government. With no information about his father's true line of work, the case was a brutal uphill battle.

They hired expensive, experienced lawyers, but nothing could save them. The organization won, and they were ordered to pay a massive compensation fee. They lost everything. The house was sold, and they moved into a small, cramped apartment.

Sanemi watched his life unravel in the blink of an eye. The joy and security he had once known were replaced by a cold, harsh reality. His mother, beaten and exhausted by the legal fight, decided it was time to give up.

"It's better to just save ourselves," she'd said, and the words echoed in Sanemi's mind, a betrayal of the promise he had made.

The stress consumed him. His personality began to shift. He became withdrawn, his mind a constant swirl of anger and grief. One day, sitting in class, he stared out the window at the distant, indifferent sky and whispered,

"Dad, why did you leave? What's the point of this life now that you're gone? Look at what I'm going through."

The once-promising student became a ghost of himself. His grades plummeted, and he started living a reckless, careless life. He was lucky to get into college, but his life never returned to normal. His mother tried her best, but it wasn't enough to fill the void. He continued to drift through life, until one day, he found himself at an unfamiliar location, signing something that would change his life forever.

---

Present

"What did I just sign into?"

For a fleeting moment, Sanemi thought it was all a cruel joke. A poorly designed ad for some dark web game, nothing more. But the second his finger touched the glowing scanner, the screen exploded.

It wasn't ordinary light. It was a torrent of luminescence, a liquid fire that poured from the monitor and flooded his small, cluttered room. Beams of raw code and strange symbols, like glowing hieroglyphs, wrapped around his arms, his chest, his skull. He screamed, staggering back, but the light followed him, burrowing into his skin. His veins pulsed, a network of electric blue light beneath his flesh. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

The computer screen went dark, the low hum of the machine the only sound in the now-silent room. The air was thick with the strange, metallic scent of ozone. Sanemi collapsed into his chair, clutching his chest. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, his palms slick with sweat.

"What the hell was that...?" he whispered, his voice trembling. He pressed his hand against his face, but he could still feel the phantom burn of the light crawling just beneath his skin.

He forced himself to stand, his body still shaking. He slammed his fist on the keyboard, then jabbed at the power button. Nothing. The screen flickered to life, and the same bizarre symbols from before danced mockingly across the glass.

Panic twisted into a furious rage. Sanemi grabbed the monitor, pulling it toward him and slamming it against the desk. The glass cracked with a sharp, sickening sound, spitting sparks from the edges. Then, with a concussive shockwave that sent him flying across the room, the world went white.

He hit the wall hard, the breath knocked from his lungs. His ears rang, and a searing heat radiated from his chest, as if something living and hungry was stirring beneath his ribs. He slid to the floor, shaking, staring at the half-broken computer. Impossibly, the screen was still on, a faint glow pulsing on it, synchronized with the frantic beat of his heart.

"No... no, this isn't real." The words were a prayer, a desperate plea for normalcy.

But the more he denied it, the heavier the truth pressed in. The thing, the system, the VAbyss—was inside him now. The machine had become part of his body. His veins tingled, his fingers trembled with a strange, unnatural heat. He thought about smashing the monitor again, of finishing the job and destroying the cursed device. But the thought coiled like a snake in his mind: Even if I destroy the computer, it won't matter. It's already in me.

The hopelessness was crushing. Sanemi stumbled to his closet, pulled on a hoodie, and bolted outside, desperate for air. His heart was a mess of fear and disbelief, pounding against ribs that felt too small to hold it all. He walked aimlessly, hoping the quiet night would clear his head and somehow wash the glow from his body.

He didn't notice the man following him.

The figure was tall and unkempt, a predatory grin stretched too wide across his gaunt face. His eyes darted like those of a starving dog. A faint glow pulsed from his hands, an echo of the same unsettling luminescence that had seared itself into Sanemi.

"Oi," the stranger called out, his voice a rough, gravelly growl. "You new?"

Sanemi froze, his blood running cold. He turned slowly. The man's grin widened, revealing a row of crooked teeth.

"I can smell it," the madman hissed. "Fresh. Weak. A little rabbit that just entered the hunt."

"Hunt?" Sanemi muttered, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The man's laugh was wild and broken.

"Don't play dumb. You touched it, didn't you? The Net. The gift. Heh, lucky me. Kill a rookie, get rich. I'll climb to Grade C tonight!"

"Grade C...?"

The man's eyes blazed with a manic hunger. He reached into his tattered coat and pulled out a jagged, rusted knife. The blade caught the streetlight, glinting with a malevolent gleam. "It's nothing personal, kid. Just the rules of the game. Kill or be killed."

Sanemi's heart hammered in his chest. This guy is insane, his mind screamed. He took a cautious step back, but the man lunged, the knife flashing toward his face.

Instinct, forged by his late father's training, took over. He sidestepped, his hand snapping up to block the man's wrist. The memory of those long afternoons in the yard, his father's patient coaching, the sting of a missed block, the rhythmic thud of their gloves, surged back like a jolt of lightning.

The madman snarled. "Ohhh… you can fight? Good. Makes the kill worth more."

Sanemi's teeth clenched. "Stay away from me."

He shoved the man back, but the stranger came again, slashing wildly. The air sang with the blade's swing. Sanemi ducked, his fists striking—sharp, fast, and brutal. The training his father had drilled into him wasn't for sport; it was for survival.

The madman staggered, a line of blood dripping from his mouth, but he only laughed. "Nice hit. But you're still prey."

He charged again. Sanemi grabbed his arm, twisted hard, and drove his knee into the man's stomach. The knife clattered to the ground. In desperation, Sanemi scooped it up, his hand shaking.

"Don't—" he began, but the man lunged one last time, a blaze of pure madness in his eyes.

Sanemi didn't think. Instinct ruled. The blade plunged.

A terrible, suffocating silence followed.

Sanemi's breath came in ragged sobs. He looked down at the man collapsing in front of him, a dark stain spreading across the pavement. His hands trembled, the knife a heavy, alien weight. He dropped it and stumbled back.

"No… no, no…" His voice was a broken whisper. "What did I do…"

Then the glow came again.

From the corpse, a pulse of cold, blue light streamed into Sanemi's hand, searing through his veins like fire. He fell to his knees, gasping, as words appeared before his eyes, cold, digital, and utterly merciless.

Kill Confirmed.

Reward: $200 credited.

Rank: D- grade

Sanemi's heart froze. "No… that's not… I didn't…" The words burned themselves into his vision, a curse only he could see. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the glowing text was already carved into his mind.

The body lay still. The street was silent again. The night, once a canvas for escape, was now a tomb. Sanemi scrambled to his feet, his stomach twisting with nausea, and ran. He ran until his lungs burned and his legs ached, not stopping until he was safe inside his front door. He locked it, leaning against it, his body shaking uncontrollably.

He stumbled to his desk. The screen of his computer, once a source of terror, now displayed a new message.

$200 credited to your account.

His first kill. His first blood.

And the system—the VAbyss—had smiled.