CHAPTER 3: I Have a Plan

My eyes flutter open slowly. I blink several times, adjusting to the unfamiliar environment that surrounds me. Soft morning light trickles through the half-drawn curtains, casting a gentle glow on the hospital room. The ambient sounds of beeping machines and distant voices meld into a constant hum in the background. The room, meticulously clean, exudes the scent of antiseptic with subtle undertones of artificial fragrances and cleaners. The sterile aroma, typical of hospitals, has always made me uneasy. I wince as a dull ache shoots up from my leg, only to discover it encased in plaster when I look down. As I stare at it, the room eerily quiets, and I can hear my heartbeat. Memories of the traumatic events from last night resurface gradually, like moonlight unveiling the grotesque visage of a gargoyle, and my pulse spins out of control. Snippets of visuals bombard my mind—the brutal punch to my face, the relentless kicks and stomps, the crowbar's merciless descent, and the excruciating pain that ensued. Cold beads of sweat glisten on my forehead as I remember the ominous final warning from the loan sharks, and my chest heaves with each anxious breath. Ignoring the Holter monitor that has begun beeping noisily, mirroring my erratic heart rate, I gingerly attempt to move, steeling my resolve despite the twinge of pain. I declare to myself. The doctor bursts into the room just in time to catch me reaching for the pair of crutches beside the bed. Clearly shocked, he swiftly moves forward to lend support, anticipating a potential fall. “M-Mr. Williams!” he stutters. “What do you think you’re doing? You… how did you even manage to get out of bed?” He frowns disapprovingly upon spying the bloodstained T-shirt that I've put on. Then, his gaze lingers on the blue hospital gown still draped over me. I smile awkwardly, tousling the back of my head. “I’ll wash and return it soon,” I assure him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to put my pants on with my leg in this state.” The man sighs deeply, taking a step back once he's sure I’m secure on the crutches. “Your pants were cut off your body,” he informs drearily. “So, it can no longer serve its purpose. But, that’s beyond the point. Your leg is broken; you shouldn’t be out of bed or moving around.” My lips press into a thin line as I maintain eye contact with the doctor. All he did was state the obvious, but he didn’t make any demands of me. I sense that he might be aware of the circumstances behind my injuries but chooses not to hold me hostage or complicate matters further. It's common knowledge that gangs often target family members when they can't reach their primary target—though I have no relatives I'm in contact with. Also, it's not rocket science to figure out that I'm dirt poor and broke. If being penniless had a scent, I'd undoubtedly reek of it. Lingering here longer than necessary and accumulating more debt wouldn't be in my best interest. The mere contemplation of ambulance and medical fees would typically turn a few more strands of my hair white instantly, but I have a plan. It's tied to the investment I mentioned to the loan sharks and stands as my last-ditch effort to regain control over my life. “Wearing that bloody shirt in public will just draw unnecessary attention,” the man explains ruefully. “If you’re fine with it, go ahead and use the hospital’s gown; you don’t need to return it.” “Thank you.” I leave the hospital behind without looking back. The summer heat is brutal, especially when your speed is reduced to that of a snail. Focused on my destination, I tune out the hustle and bustle of the city streets, making an effort to navigate the chaotic dance of pedestrians, cyclists, and motorists. The cacophony of sounds—car horns, chatter, construction, and distant sirens—creates a unique rhythm exclusive to the metropolis. Undeterred by the whirlwind of activity, I seamlessly integrate into the organized chaos that defines the heartbeat of this vibrant urban landscape. As I trudge homeward, I become aware that a specific story is saturating various news outlets across different platforms—billboards, radios, televisions, and even skyscrapers. My curiosity piqued, I come to a standstill at a storefront, captivated by the live feed being projected in holographic splendor on the window. The camera pans to the rolling landscapes of Sehreneti Online, a realm alive with wonder and grandeur. Characters engage in epic battles, build alliances, and embark on quests in this unprecedented virtual world. My expression hardens as I envision the immersive experience that awaits within the Nexusphere. But beyond mere curiosity and the longing to explore this uncharted digital frontier, my eagerness is fueled by the prospect of seizing this new opportunity to rake in some much-needed cash. Disregarding the woman who was quite likely a low-key game fanatic, I shift my gaze down to the fractured screen of my watch. The clock reads 12:14 p.m., and the beta is set to commence at two, which gives me a little over an hour to kick things off. As I shuffle home, I can't help but think that whatever transgressions I committed in my past life to incur the wrath of Karma and Lady Luck must have been staggering, considering how wretched my current existence has become. I don’t have any friends, save for the few online that I only ever talk to about video game-related matters. And any family members aware of my existence have deemed me a burden. In the aftermath of losing my parents, grief became an overwhelming force that reshaped me. Gaming and anime emerged as my sole refuge from sorrow, providing an escape but no solution to the cascade of challenges that began to unfold at my feet, much like a relentless domino effect. Without parents or any familial support, I had to navigate the waters of independence. Using the college fund my parents had set aside, I secured a small apartment and began plotting my next steps. S~eaʀᴄh the nôvel_Fire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. I decided to teach myself computer programming with the goal of becoming a freelance web developer. But it was boring. Somewhere along the line, I found myself delving into the creation of game hacks, a niche that quickly gained popularity with demands pouring in. What started as a side gig tailored for gamers with questionable sportsmanship became a thriving enterprise. However, as the gaming industry stood on the brink of a transformative change, I pondered whether my current hacking skills could weather this shift. The honest answer was no—but I had a plan.