It was late at night, the dim glow of Mahiro’s monitor casting shadows across his room. He had waited years for this—the fabled Half-Life 3 had finally been released. Eyes wide with excitement, Mahiro clicked through the game’s menu, already forgetting the passing hours as he dove headfirst into the intense action of the game. As the Combine forces swarmed, the world felt more immersive than ever.
Just as the game’s tension mounted, Mihari’s voice broke through the quiet of the room.
"Mahiro, it's really late. You’ve got school tomorrow! Get some sleep," she warned, standing at the door with a concerned expression.
Mahiro groaned, reluctantly pausing the game. “Okay, okay, I’ll sleep… but I’ll finish this level first!” He turned back to the screen, the urge to keep playing almost irresistible.
Mihari sighed. “You better not stay up too late.”
A few more minutes turned into an hour, and eventually, Mahiro’s exhaustion got the best of him. His head hit the pillow, but the imagery of the game was still vivid in his mind as he drifted off to sleep…
Mahiro awoke in a cold sweat, disoriented and confused. His eyes flicked open to a bleak and desolate landscape that stretched far beyond his immediate vision. The sky above was shrouded in thick, oppressive clouds that swirled like the remnants of a dying storm. The remains of shattered skyscrapers rose like the bones of a once-great city, their jagged peaks piercing the low-hanging clouds. Broken streets, lined with debris and charred remains of vehicles, told the story of a world long conquered by an unrelenting force. The Combine had left their mark on this place, leaving it a husk of its former self.
A deep, foreboding silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional flicker of broken streetlights, casting an eerie, pale glow over the wreckage. It wasn’t the rhythmic hum of his bedroom fan, nor the faint noise of traffic outside his window that Mahiro was used to. This world was different—foreign, hostile, and terrifying. His breath quickened, and his heart pounded in his chest.
Panic gripped him as he looked down at his hands. Gone were the familiar clothes he had worn before. Now, his body was wrapped in a rugged, tactical outfit. The fabric was heavy, rough to the touch, and reinforced with combat plating. It felt like something he would have seen in a video game—no, it felt like something straight out of the survival games he used to play. Thick gloves covered his hands, which gripped a strange, metallic device strapped to his wrist. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it hummed faintly, emitting a low, almost mechanical pulse.
He stood on shaky legs, his body reacting as if it had known this terrain far longer than his mind could comprehend. What the hell is happening? he thought, spinning around to take in the apocalyptic sight before him. His breath caught in his throat. He wasn’t at home. This wasn’t his world.
Before he could make sense of the situation, a voice called out behind him.
"Hey, Mahiro!"
He turned swiftly, eyes wide with shock, as a figure emerged from the shadows of a broken building. It was Kaede, a friend from school—or, at least, that’s who she had been in the world he knew. But here, she looked different. Battle-worn. Hardened. Her hair, usually neat and well-kept, was messy and disheveled, sticking out in places from under a tactical helmet. She wore a combat suit similar to his, but hers seemed far more worn, as if she had been living and fighting in it for years.
In her hands, Kaede held a weapon unlike anything Mahiro had ever seen in real life. It was a sleek, futuristic firearm, combining elements of a railgun and a pulse rifle. The gun’s barrel crackled with energy, glowing an electric blue that pulsed with a mechanical hum. The weapon seemed to resonate with the world around them, as if it was built specifically to fight the enemies that lurked in the shadows.
