Chapter 2: The Mission

’Beast Forge? What the hell is that?’

The voice in his head went quiet, but the power thrumming under his skin felt real, too real to be some kind of head trauma hallucination. He stumbled out of the alley, expecting the world to look different somehow, like maybe the sky would be purple now or buildings would be floating.

Nope, same grimy city with the same broken streetlights and that familiar smell of piss and shit.

The streets were mostly empty now, everyone either hiding indoors or already evacuated while a few scavengers picked through the rubble where the panda monster had torn apart that delivery truck.

They moved like rats, quick and nervous, grabbing anything that looked valuable before the cleanup crews arrived.

Old habits kicked in and Vell automatically started walking toward them, his brain still running on survival mode – find food, find money, find shelter, always in that order.

He bent down to grab a piece of metal that might be worth a few credits at the scrap yard when a black screen popped into existence right in front of his face.

“Jesus!” He flinched back, nearly tripping over his own feet.

The screen just floated there, following his vision when he tried to look around it while glowing white text appeared line by line.

[Beast Forge System Activated]

[User Successfully Registered]

[Scanning User… Done]

More text appeared, and this time it made his stomach drop.

[User Has Not Awakened. Cannot Use Beast Forge.]

[Analyzing for Possible Solutions… Done]

[Mission: Run 80km before 00:00]

[Reward: Forced Awakening]

[Failure: Loss of the Beast Forge System]

[Will you accept this mission: YES / NO]

He stared at the screen for a solid ten seconds, his brain refusing to process what he was seeing before he walked over to a crate and sat down hard, his legs suddenly feeling weak.

“Eighty kilometers,” he said out loud, just to hear how insane it sounded. “That’s like fifty miles in nine hours.”

He looked down at his body where his ribs were visible through his torn shirt and his arms were thin, muscles eaten away by months of barely eating. When was the last time he’d run anywhere, really run, not just shuffle away from store owners or dodge other homeless guys trying to steal his spot?

The other scavengers were giving him weird looks now, probably thought he was having some kind of breakdown, talking to himself and swatting at invisible flies.

’But what if this is real?’

He examined his hands and the dirt was gone, not just surface dirt but the deep, ground-in grime that never came off no matter how much he scrubbed in public bathroom sinks. His skin looked healthy and the cuts from digging through trash, the infected scrape on his palm from last week, were all gone.

The golden tube, whatever that thing was, had done something to him and changed him.

’Forced Awakening.’

Those two words stared back at him from the floating screen because awakening meant becoming a player, having powers, getting into dungeons, making real money. It meant not dying in an alley like a sick dog and maybe finding out the truth why Kana lied.

The thought of his dead friend made something twist in his chest since Kana had lied about that night, turned an accident into murder, but why? What did she gain from destroying his life?

’Only one way to find out, need to get strong enough to make people listen.’

His finger hovered over the YES option while this was insane and his body couldn’t handle this, he’d probably die trying.

But what was the alternative, go back to sleeping under bridges, eating from dumpsters, waiting for the next group of bored kids to beat him up for fun?

’Fuck it.’

He pressed YES.

The screen shimmered and disappeared, replaced by a small timer in the corner of his vision showing 8:57:43 and counting down.

He stood up, his knees protesting, and a few experimental stretches made his joints pop like bubble wrap while his muscles were tight, everything stiff from sleeping on concrete for weeks.

“Which way?” he muttered, looking around.

The smart move would be finding the shortest route possible, maybe run laps around a park or something, but something about that felt wrong because this wasn’t just about completing a mission, this was about proving something to himself.

He picked a direction – north, toward the river where everything had gone wrong – and started moving.

The first few steps were awkward, but after a block or two, muscle memory kicked in and his breathing found a rhythm while his arms started swinging naturally.

For the first time in months, he was moving with purpose.

The sun felt different on his skin, not the harsh, burning thing he usually hid from, but something almost pleasant while the wind didn’t cut through his clothes anymore. It was like his body had reset itself, gone back to factory settings.

People stared as he passed, a homeless guy in torn clothes running like he had somewhere important to be. Some of them pointed while others quickly moved out of his way, probably thinking he’d stolen something.

’Let them think whatever they want.’

After about twenty minutes, his legs started complaining as the initial rush wore off and reality set in. He checked the timer.

[Distance: 3.2 km. Time Remaining: 8 hours, 31 minutes.]

’Only three kilometers? This is going to be a long day.’

By the time he hit 10 kilometers, his shirt was soaked with sweat and his breathing was getting ragged while a stitch in his side made every step painful.

He slowed to a walk, just for a minute to catch his breath.

A group of kids on bikes rolled past, laughing about something on their phones when one of them looked up, saw him, and made a face.

“Ew, Mom, look at that guy.”

The woman pulled her son closer, shooting Vell a disgusted look before hurrying away.

’Right, still look like a crazy homeless dude.’

He started running again, using the shame as fuel while his body protested, but he pushed through because this wasn’t about them, this wasn’t about anyone but him.

The timer kept counting down as the kilometers slowly added up.

15 km and his legs were screaming.

20 km and his lungs felt like they were full of broken glass.

25 km and he had to stop and throw up in a trash can, though nothing came up but bile.

He leaned against a wall, watching the timer tick down to 6 hours and 42 minutes left, making decent time but his body was falling apart.

’Need food and water.’

He dug through his pockets and found his emergency stash – one crushed chocolate bar he’d been saving that was supposed to last him three more days.

He ate it in two bites.

The sugar hit his system like a weak shot of adrenaline, not much but enough to get him moving again.

As the sun started setting, he reached the bridge over the canal, the same bridge where he used to hang out with Rynn and Kana back in high school when they were just kids with stupid dreams about becoming famous players.

He stopped for a second, looking down at the dark water below.

’Wonder what you’d think of this, Rynn, your loser friend trying to become a player, bet you’d laugh your ass off.’

[Distance: 30 km. Time Remaining: 5 hours, 18 minutes.]

Halfway there, but his body was already at its limit.

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