My eyes opened to a blinding white light, the harsh intensity of it stabbing through the remnants of a brutal hangover. The pounding in my head kicked into full gear, as if the universe itself was trying to punish me for last night's celebrations. I groaned and buried my face in my hands, hoping to block out the world, even if just for a moment.

  “Ethan… Rhonda… Jerry, eugh, my head,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

  I felt like a crumpled paper bag—lifeless, discarded, and utterly miserable. My mouth tasted like I had swallowed a bottle of cheap vodka, and my thoughts were a blur of flashes: the game launch, O'Leary's, the laughter, the drinking… I didn't even want to think about it.

  “Ethan? Are you there?” I called out weakly, my voice hoarse and barely audible. "I don’t want to open my eyes, you—”

  “H—huh?”

  Just like that, the throbbing pain stopped. It was as if someone had flipped a switch. The pounding in my head vanished, leaving an eerie calm in its wake. No trace of alcohol, no aching body, just a deep, unsettling silence.

  I cautiously cracked my eyes open, fully expecting to see the familiar mess of O'Leary's or the disarray of my apartment. But no, the blinding light greeted me once again, stronger than before, more pervasive. This wasn’t a hangover-induced haze—it was like something out of a fever dream.

  But there was no O'Leary's. No bar. No walls lined with liquor bottles or dart boards.

  In fact, there were no walls at all. Just an endless expanse of white, stretching out in every direction.

  “What the fuck?” I whispered, my voice trembling with confusion. I stood up, feeling the solid ground beneath my feet, but no sense of direction or purpose around me. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to piece together any rational thought. "Oh… oh okay. I see how it is, you bastard. Come on out, Ethan. You can’t scare me with the whole ‘eternal nothing purgatory’ thing.”

  I took a few tentative steps forward, feeling the air around me shift but nothing else. I kept walking, my hand reaching out in front of me, expecting to touch something—anything. The seconds stretched on like hours. Minutes passed, and still, my hand met nothing but empty space.

  I reached into my pocket, only to feel that it was devoid of my phone. I hope somebody picked it up at the bar.

  Looking up, I scanned more of the room as the feeling of isolation intensified, only to freeze when I noticed something. Someone.

  In the distance, barely visible against the backdrop of white, there was a figure. A person, standing perfectly still.

  I squinted, my head still fuzzy but my curiosity overcame the confusion. As I walked toward them, the figure started to take shape. A woman, her back to me, her posture rigid but graceful. Her long, dirty blonde ponytail swayed with her movements, reaching down towards the middle of her back. Her arms were toned and muscular, clearly someone who was no stranger to physical exertion.

  She wore a white tank top that blended so seamlessly with the environment that from far away, it was almost as though she were part of the void itself. The dark, bulky pants she wore looked like they could belong to someone in the military—sturdy, utilitarian, and practical.

  “Hello? Miss—”

  Before I could finish my sentence, she spun around in a blur, her movements so fast and precise it almost seemed unnatural. Her hands shot out, grabbing my shoulders and throwing me towards the ground with a force I wasn’t prepared for. The air was knocked from my lungs in a single, brutal exhale as my stomach landed on top of her bent knee.

  I gasped, struggling to breathe as I lay there, stunned. My heart raced, my mind reeling. What the hell was happening? She pinned her arm on my neck, and her knee on my leg, locking me in place.

  “Who are you? You better answer me in five seconds, or this entire compound will be swarmed by heavies.” The woman’s voice was firm, commanding, her eyes piercing through me like she was assessing whether I was a threat.

  I blinked, trying to get my bearings, but nothing about this situation made sense. I pushed myself up, wiping dust from my clothes that didn’t even seem to exist. “I… I’m Micah.” I coughed, still trying to recover my breath. “I don't know whats going on---what is all this, who are you?!”

  Her expression didn’t soften. She stood tall, unwavering. “I am General Lyra Granner of the United Galaxies Defense Corp.”

  My mind sputtered, a jumble of half-formed thoughts racing for traction. My brain couldn’t quite process what she was saying, the confusion spiraling only deeper. “Good to—wait, pfft, excuse me? United… Galaxies?”

  I shook my head, trying to clear away the fog, but her words only made things worse. “Cracking Cosmos… you gotta be shitting me. United Galaxies? The only hope left to save Earth?”

  A bitter laugh escaped me, as though the whole idea of a “united galaxy” was some absurd joke I could never wrap my head around. “Im… sorry. Oh, haha. Ethan hired you, right? This is some kind of setup, right?”

  Lyra’s eyes narrowed, her demeanor unchanging. “No… you're showing symptoms.” She sighed, almost regretfully. “I’m sorry I have to do this…”

  She reached for her hip, but her hand grasped nothing but the inside of an empty holster.

  I blinked, feeling the shift in the air. Symptoms? Of what?

  Her expression matched it. “What the…” She looked frantically around the room, at her own body, then her head raised up slowly, her eyes meeting mine. “You. Give me my firearm back.”

  My mind was racing, now processing the possibility that I might be dealing with some kind of professional operative. A mercenary? Maybe a hired bodyguard? It was the only explanation that made sense in my fatigued brain.

  “A firearm?! Y-you were going to shoot me?!” I managed to choke out, my heart beating faster.

  Lyra’s face tightened, but she remained calm, almost mechanical as she approached me. “Don’t resist, civvie.”

  “I—I don’t!” I protested, my hands raised in a defensive gesture, backing up. “I don’t even know what’s happening right now! I have my rights, you don’t have shit on me!”

  Then, as if the world couldn’t get any stranger, a voice rang out, sharp and piercing.

  “FIEND!”

  Lyra froze in place, and for the first time, she looked genuinely startled. She turned her head, eyes scanning the room as if searching for the source of the sudden interruption.

  At the far end of the white void, another figure stood. This one was a complete contrast to Lyra’s tactical seriousness. Clad in a gleaming golden cape that billowed dramatically, though no wind seemed to stir, the figure looked like something out of a bizarre comic book. His face was obscured by a matching golden mask, with only two slits for eyes and a gaping hole for a mouth, as if someone had molded him into a superhero caricature. More absurd than that was the pristine sailor’s cap perched atop his head.

  “What the hell…” I muttered, my brain struggling to keep up with the surreal scene unfolding before me.

  “That's right,” the figure boomed, his voice echoing through the void. “Petty crooks like you, General, should be brought to justice!”

  I blinked, my head spinning in disbelief. “Am I… am I on some prank TV show? What the hell is any of this?”

  The golden-caped figure struck a dramatic pose, hands resting on his hips like he was preparing for some grand soliloquy. “You are in the presence of Captain Coastal, defender of the eternal seas! The last bastion against the forces of corruption and evil!” His voice was far too serious for the absurdity of his appearance.

  I glanced between Lyra and this ridiculous “Captain Coastal,” and the laugh that bubbled up from my throat wasn’t one of joy—it was one of sheer, stunned disbelief. “This… this is a joke, right? I’m dreaming. I’m definitely still hungover. There’s no way this is real.”

  Lyra stepped forward, a cold intensity returning to her face. “If this is some sort of prank, then I’ll make sure you regret it.” Her voice was low, but there was a definite edge to it now. “This is no game.”

  I looked at her, then back at Captain Coastal, who was clearly taking himself far too seriously, and something in me snapped. “I… I just want to go home. This isn’t funny anymore. ETHAN! I’VE HAD ENOUGH!”

  But my plea was answered by more equally insane roleplay.

  “You turned him into this insane babbling mess. Well, if it's a fight you want, I'll just have to beat the submission out of you.” She said, walking toward him.

  As she was within his range, the Captain’s arm shot forward, his fist aimed with deadly precision at General Lyra, as if to deliver the final blow that would end their confrontation.

  “TIDE OF… JUSTICE!”

  However, Lyra didn’t flinch. In a swift, effortless motion, she caught his fist midair, her grip unyielding.

  “W-what?!”

  With a twist of her wrist, she turned his arm inward, applying just enough pressure to send a sharp cry of pain from the masked man. “Gah! I-impossible…” he gasped, extending his other hand out toward the ceiling. "You're stronger than I thought..."

  Lyra’s face remained impassive, though her eyes glinted with something close to disdain. “You should’ve opted for cybernetic implants. Eden, dust him.”

  The room fell into an eerie silence, the tension palpable. Lyra’s command hung in the air, but nothing seemed to go through. She stood perfectly still, her eyes searching the emptiness as if expecting something to happen.

  “Hey Eden? Eden?!” Lyra’s voice rose in frustration, her head snapping from side to side, but no response came. Her voice wavered, becoming more desperate.

  Seizing the opportunity, Captain Coastal yanked his arm back, his face contorted with rage and panic. With a quick, calculated move, he stepped forward and delivered an uppercut to Lyra’s jaw. The force of the blow sent her stumbling back, her feet skidding across the floor. The sharp crack of bone meeting bone echoed in the stillness of the void.

  Captain Coastal clenched his fists. “Justice always prevails! As long as there’s a Captain at the helm!”

  Lyra let out a slow breath, her expression a mixture of exasperation and simmering fury. “You don’t deserve that title.”

  A sickening crack echoed through the room as her jaw snapped back into place. The blood on her face—no, that wasn’t normal—seemed to crawl back into her skin, retreating as if reversing time itself. She flexed her fingers, rolling her neck, completely unfazed.

  Lyra rubbed the site of her previous injury, her eyes widening in surprise. “W-what?! How did that…”

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Regeneration eh? I have run into more than enough of you rebuilding ruffians. Let's see how you deal with someone who can fly.”

  With a cocky smirk, he launched himself forward, arms spread wide, as if about to take off like a hawk diving for its prey. For a brief, fleeting moment, he truly soared—his body weightless, momentum carrying him forward.

  Then gravity reclaimed its hold.

  His face met the floor with a sickening, wet crunch. The sheer force of the impact rattled the walls, sending a sharp echo through the room. A muffled groan followed as his body crumpled like a broken marionette, limbs twitching in stunned disarray. Lyra stood over him, unfazed. She idly rubbed the last remnants of her previous injury, flexing her fingers as if shaking off an old ache. A slow smirk curled her lips.

  “Nice ‘flying’ there, champ.”

  The Captain groaned, his voice thick with pain and muffled against the cold, unforgiving floor. “My powers… can I not use any of them?!”

  He pushed himself up onto his elbows, shaking his head as if trying to clear the fog clouding his senses. Before he could fully process his predicament, Lyra was already moving. With the speed of a coiled viper, she dashed forward and drove the toe of her boot deep into his gut.

  A strangled wheeze burst from his lips as the air was violently expelled from his lungs. A spray of spit and bile flew from his mouth, splattering against the floor in front of him. His body lurched, instinctively curling inward as he cradled his stomach in agony.

  He rolled onto his back, gasping, his fingers weakly clawing at his uniform. Blood trickled from his nose, now bent at an unnatural angle, staining the fabric of his collar. His confusion was palpable, his wild eyes darting between Lyra and the empty air around them, as if searching for some unseen force that had just betrayed him.

  “What in the Seven Seas is happening?” he rasped, voice hoarse. “This—this isn’t possible!”

  Lyra crouched beside him, resting an elbow on her knee as she tilted her head. There was no pity in her gaze, only amusement laced with cold calculation. "Maybe you're not trying hard enough."

  I was getting annoyed, and slightly impatient at the sight of the worst superhero I have ever seen. “Alright, just stop! Both of you!” My voice cracked slightly, frustration bubbling into full-blown hysteria. “I don’t know what kind of cosmic fever dream I just stumbled into, but I’d appreciate it if you two could take a damn breather before someone gets atomized!” I let out a shaky laugh, mostly to convince myself I wasn’t going completely insane. “I mean, this has to be a joke, right? Ha… haha…”

  Captain Coastal, undeterred, straightened to his feet, and pounded his chest with a fist, eyes burning with heroic fervor. “I will not rest until you are safe, citizen!”

  I rubbed my temples, the slim remnants of a hangover were doing somersaults in my skull. “Safe from what, exactly? My existential crisis? The migraine you’re both giving me? Or maybe—just maybe—the fact that none of this makes any goddamn sense?”

  Lyra crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Weird things happen all the time, you just need to learn to get used to it.”

  “What? This…” I gestured wildly between the two of them. “Alright, let’s get this straight. You,” I pointed at Captain Coastal, “are cosplaying as a 1950s cereal box superhero with a nautical theme, and you,” I turned to Lyra, “heal like some kind of space warlord. So forgive me if I’m struggling to keep up!”

  Lyra frowned, rolling her shoulders as if testing them. “I don’t know what to tell you, kid, but that’s not one of my abilities. I’m just as surprised as you are.”

  Captain Coastal puffed out his chest like a patriotic parade float. “C-cosplay?! No, this is no mere costume, it is a symbol! They call me the Savior of Seaside City, the Mate of Mercy, the one, the only—”

  “Yes, yes, we know Captain Coastal,” I interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “You already told us that. Multiple times. Can we just take a step back and figure out what the fuck is going on?”

  “As long as Captain Bozo over here doesn’t try to pull any more sucker punches,” Lyra muttered, cracking her knuckles.

  “That was no ‘sucker punch!’” Coastal protested, straightening his golden mask with an indignant huff. “I merely took advantage of your distracted state to strike a decisive blow against villainy!”

  “That’s literally the definition of a sucker punch, dumbass.”

  “I—oh!” He stomped his foot, crossing his arms like a child denied extra dessert. “Great Neptune, this is ridiculous! You clearly have the strength of a fiend! Only those who embrace darkness possess such unnatural resilience.”

  “Oh, bite me, golden boy,” Lyra scoffed. “I don’t ‘embrace darkness,’ I embrace not being on the underside of someones boot.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Please, shut up! Lets focus. Clearly you both don't know each other as much as I do. Lets just start from the beginning, Lyra, right? What do you remember before getting here?”

  Lyra sighed and glanced around, as if only now remembering the endless white expanse. “I remember being on my Valkyrie cruiser headed Earthbound. Then our communications went haywire, I swear I could hear the sound of water rushing, and then… nothing. Next thing I knew, I was here.”

  “Ah-ha!” Captain Coastal snapped his fingers dramatically. “So you admit to foul play!”

  “What foul play?! I approached her as gently as possible before she tackled me,” I shot back, pointing at Lyra. "Plus, do I look remotely like the type of person to be in cahoots with her?

  She folded her arms. “I thought you were a threat. ”

  “To be fair,” Captain Coastal interjected, “he does have the face of a potential evildoer.”

  I blinked at him. “What does that even mean?!”

  Coastal shrugged. “Your hair, the mere unorthodox nature of its appearance fit the look of many of my rogues gallery. Unkempt, unruly, and unwilling to conform to societies standards!”

  “Do you hear yourself when you speak?”

  Before he could reply, a sudden voice echoed from nowhere, filling the void like a booming announcement from the heavens. It wasn’t just sound—it was a presence, pressing against my very thoughts, vibrating in my bones.

  “I apologize for the wait.”

  My stomach dropped. “Oh, that’s never a good sign.”

  Lyra and Captain Coastal exchanged wary glances before looking at me.

  “Ready yourselves,” Lyra muttered, her stance shifting into a defensive posture.

  “Show yourself, phantom! I require a worthy opponent!” Coastal bellowed, cape billowing again dramatically.

  “If you all would wait just a little more time, the others should be appearing before you now.”

  “‘Others?’” I repeated, glancing around.

  And then, just like that, figures began to materialize from thin air. Their bodies were translucent at first, then slowly filled as if they were avatars spawning into an online MMO. The first one to catch my attention looked like they had been ripped straight from a Japanese anime—the kind that treated the laws of physics and human anatomy as mere suggestions rather than hard rules. Their entire existence felt like a printing error on reality itself, their skin unnaturally flat, as if someone had slapped a 2D sticker onto a 3D world.

  And the hair.

  Bright orange. But not just any orange. This was an assault on the senses, a shade so aggressively vibrant it could burn through your retinas and permanently brand itself onto your soul. It was the kind of color that only made sense in an animation studio, where shading was an afterthought and physics were a joke. The garish mess was barely contained under a blue bandana, which, for some reason, was comically oversized—nearly bigger than his actual forehead.

  And then there were the eyes.

  Massive. Rectangular. Glossy to the point where I swore I could see my own bewildered reflection staring back at me. They were so absurdly large that they took up half his face, practically screaming franchise protagonist energy. If someone had tossed an entire art style into a blender, maxed out the “main character” setting, and dumped the result into the real world, it would have looked exactly like this guy.

  His outfit only solidified the uncanny effect—an oversized short-sleeve shirt and matching shorts, both the same obnoxious blue as his bandana, and cartoonishly large shoes that looked heavy enough to snap his twig-like ankles.

  I stared, utterly flabbergasted. My brain was trying to make sense of it, but... I couldn’t even. I had entered the zone—the mental void where reality ceased to compute, and all that was left was the existential crisis of questioning every life choice that had led to this moment.

  The anime man suddenly struck a dramatic pose, lifting his hand as if holding something that wasn’t there. “Alright, I’ll finish you with this—huh?!” His exaggeratedly large eyes darted around the room, clearly confused.

  No matter which way he turned, the spikes of it stayed perfectly in place, warping like the animated version of Son Goku’s absurd gravity-defying locks. It was as if reality itself was contractually obligated to ensure his silhouette remained exactly the same from every angle. My brain outright refused to accept it.

  Before I could even begin to process that, my breath hitched, and a cold dread settled into my bones as a towering figure entered my vision.

  It moved with a deliberate, predatory grace, upright on two legs—bipedal, but not remotely human.

  The creature’s form was a grotesque amalgamation of beast and nightmare, as if they stepped right out of a Hell’s Summoner game. It's dark crimson skin glistened under an unseen light, stretched taut over sinewy muscle and ridged with jagged, obsidian spikes protruding from every joint. Each movement sent earthquakes through its scaled hide, the shifting plates of its armor-like flesh clicking faintly as if they were living things of their own.

  Twin, wickedly curved horns jutted from its skull, forming a jagged, scaled crown that exuded an air of dominance. Beneath them, a pair of smoldering, gold reptilian eyes burned with an eerie, detached amusement—eyes that gleamed not just with intelligence, but with hunger. Its slitted pupils narrowed as it surveyed the gathering, scrutinizing each of us with a calculating gaze, as if measuring our worth—or lack thereof.

  Its lips curled slightly, revealing two long, obsidian-black fangs that jutted upward toward its eyes, glistening like sharpened obsidian. The same lethal elegance extended to its limbs—each hand and foot ending in elongated, razor-sharp talons, dark as onyx and honed for tearing through flesh with effortless precision. Every inch of its form radiated menace, a predator standing on the precipice of violence, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

  A thick, barbed tail scraped against the void beneath it, seeming to even leave behind ghostly scars in the shifting expanse. The very space around the creature seemed to ripple with its presence, like reality itself recoiled at the mere act of containing it.

  Was it a dragon? A demon? Some primordial nightmare that had crawled out of the abyss beyond existence? Or all of those in one? I couldn’t tell. In fact.

  I had long since lost control of this situation. I’d like to wake up now.

  “You!” the anime man suddenly shouted, pointing a dramatic, trembling finger at a different figure—one I had completely overlooked in my mounting panic.

  The accused stood rigid, clad in a sleek, skin-tight green and white suit that practically screamed Power Rangers reject. Their helmet was featureless aside from a glossy black visor, reflecting the chaos of the room in a warped fish-eye view.

  The anime man, who I'm going to call ‘dueler,’ from now on had a hitched breath as if he had just encountered his lifelong nemesis. He clenched his fist, eyes burning with righteous fury. “You… Clash with me in Shard Duel!”

  A tense silence followed. The ranger did not move. Did not react. Didn’t even acknowledge the challenge.

  The dragon-demon rumbled in what I could only assume was amusement. “So many… humans. All in one place.”

  Many more figures materialized at a rapid rate, each one more bizarre than the last. It was like watching the universe itself throw every conceivable character archetype into a blender and hit pure chaos mode.

  A towering, muscle-bound warrior clad in spiked, armor stomped forward, each step rattling the ground beneath him. His sword was so comically large that I had serious concerns about whether physics even applied to it. Beside him, a floating woman in an elegant Victorian gown hovered mid-air, her eyes glowing with an eerie light as ghostly chains wrapped around her arms.

  A sleek, cybernetic humanoid flickered in and out of visibility, their body composed of shifting neon lines that pulsed like a glitching hologram. Just a few feet away, a tiny green goblin in a trench coat grumbled under his breath while adjusting his oversized, Coke-bottle glasses.

  The newly formed crowd of characters shot worried and suspicious glances at one another, as if silent alliances and rivalries were beginning to build in a symbiotic sort of sense. I didn’t bother to meet anyone's gaze, as to avoid whatever plan they would formulate.

  And then, the disembodied voice returned.

  “Good. Now we can begin.”