The year was 2025. A new era of gaming was on the horizon, poised to shatter the boundaries between the virtual and the real. At the forefront of this revolution stood a man whose name alone sent ripples of anticipation through the world—Dr. Shingen Akumu.
A visionary, a genius, and to some, a madman, he was the architect of what would become the most ambitious technological endeavor in history. Five years before the world would bear witness to his creation, he made a promise—a promise that electrified the gaming industry and sent millions into a frenzy of speculation and excitement.
"A world beyond imagination. A universe of infinite possibilities. Infinite Nexus will surpass all games before it and become something more than just entertainment. It will be reality."
With those words, he unveiled the future. A VRMMO unlike anything the world had ever seen, where players could be anything, do anything, and live in a parallel universe that not only mirrored reality but surpassed it. It was a world meticulously designed down to the smallest details—the smell of rain on stone, the texture of ancient parchment, the sound of leaves rustling in the wind—all indistinguishable from real life.
Each world within the game was a masterpiece, intricately connected through something known as the Nexus' Bridge, a mystical gateway that bound realms together, leading to the heart of it all—the very core of existence—The Nexus.
Within it lay power, mystery, and the key to true immersion, a digital domain that blurred the line between simulation and reality.
The wait was agonizing, but finally, December 6, 2030, arrived. The world held its breath.
At exactly 10:00 AM, the frenzy began. Outside gaming stores, malls, and tech outlets across the globe, millions of gamers formed endless lines, eager to claim their copy of Infinite Nexus. The air buzzed with tension and anticipation, an electric current of excitement coursing through the crowds. News stations broadcasted the hysteria; reporters struggled to capture the maddening excitement as people pushed, shoved, and elbowed their way forward, their desperation escalating into chaos.
Scalpers lurked in the shadows, already selling pre-purchased editions at outrageous prices, preying on the desperation of those who had arrived too late. Security personnel struggled to maintain order, but their presence did little to deter the growing aggression among eager buyers. Some players, overwhelmed by the moment, erupted into full-blown fights—grappling, cursing, even throwing punches, unwilling to leave empty-handed. Screams of frustration and victory filled the air as store doors swung open, releasing the floodgates of eager gamers into a battle of wills and wallets.
As stocks dwindled, tension turned to despair for the unlucky ones. Some fell to their knees, devastated by their failure to secure a copy. Others vowed to do whatever it took—whether through online auctions, shady backroom deals, or sheer force of will—to get their hands on Infinite Nexus. Today wasn't just a game launch. It was a war zone.
By 12:00 noon, the verdict was clear: Infinite Nexus had completely sold out worldwide. Over 100,000 copies had been claimed, and eager players rushed home, anticipation surging through their veins. They had been promised something beyond gaming—a second life—and now, they would finally step into it.
Inside their rooms, apartments, and gaming dens, the new owners of Infinite Nexus wasted no time. They carefully installed the game into their NeuroLink, a revolutionary VR headset that did more than just simulate reality—it merged the mind with the virtual world. Unlike traditional VR, where one merely played the game, NeuroLink sent their consciousness directly into the digital realm, rendering their real bodies unconscious while their minds experienced an unfiltered new existence. All five senses were fully activated—the wind, the sunlight, the sounds of the environment—it was as if the game world was truly real.
"Link Initiate."
With that single command, everything faded to black.
And then—
Light.
A mesmerizing intro sequence unveiled itself before their eyes, pulling them in like the grasp of a deity. One by one, they customized their avatars, shaping their digital identities to their liking. And finally, when they were ready, they pressed the final button that would change their lives forever:
[Game Start]
***
Suddenly, they were there. Inside the game.
A sprawling landscape of infinite worlds unfolded before them, stretching as far as the eye could see. Each realm was a breathtaking masterpiece, vibrant and rich with life. Some players found themselves in NewHaven, a town of beginnings in different worlds—a place where every new adventurer first set foot upon entering the game. Unlike grand kingdoms filled with political intrigue and towering castles, NewHaven was a humble yet bustling town, its cobbled streets teeming with fresh-faced players, eager merchants, and seasoned warriors offering guidance. Its lively marketplace overflowed with the scent of fresh bread, exotic spices, and the chatter of travelers eager to embark on their journeys. It was a sanctuary for the inexperienced, a training ground before the real world unfolded before them.
Others arrived in snow-covered tundras, where frigid winds bit at their skin, and the crunch of ice beneath their boots was eerily real. In these desolate expanses, towering mountains loomed over frozen wastelands, their peaks obscured by an unyielding blizzard. Some wandered into dense, ancient forests, their canopies so thick that only slivers of sunlight pierced through. These woodlands pulsed with unseen life—mystical creatures lurked in the shadows, and the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and blooming flora. Meanwhile, others awoke in sun-scorched deserts, the air shimmering with heat as dunes rolled endlessly toward the horizon, their golden peaks constantly shifting under the will of the wind. Oasis settlements, few and far between, provided brief respite to those daring enough to venture into the arid expanse.
Each environment was meticulously crafted to mirror reality with stunning accuracy, making it nearly impossible to distinguish from the real world. The world of Infinite Nexus was not just an escape—it was a breathtaking, immersive frontier, filled with endless possibilities.
The grass bent and swayed beneath their weight, the sunlight bathed their skin in warmth, and the wind whispered through their hair with a soft, almost sentient caress. The scent of blooming flowers, the distant calls of exotic birds, and the rhythmic crash of ocean waves against cliffs—all of it blended seamlessly into an overwhelming sensory experience.
Then there were the NPCs—but calling them non-playable characters hardly did them justice. They were not mere scripted automatons, but living, breathing entities. They spoke with emotion, reacted with intelligence, and carried stories as intricate as the players themselves. Some greeted newcomers with warm smiles, while others eyed them warily, assessing their intentions. Every interaction felt authentic, as though these were not programs but actual inhabitants of a boundless universe.
It was perfect.
It was everything they had ever dreamed of—a world of adventure, of mystery, of limitless potential.
For six in-game days—only six hours in the real world—players embraced their new reality. They battled fearsome monsters, their blades clashing against the claws and fangs of creatures both mythical and terrifying. They undertook quests, weaving their names into the legends of kingdoms both ancient and new. Some chose simpler lives, taking on roles as blacksmiths, farmers, or merchants, building thriving businesses from the ground up. Friendships were formed, rivalries sparked, and bonds forged in the heat of battle and the warmth of camaraderie.
It was more than a game—it was a new world to call home.
And then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed.
A ripple of unease spread like wildfire through the players. At first, it was just whispers. A single question, muttered by a handful of players.
"Where's the log-out button?"
Most ignored it at first, too caught up in their excitement. The game was everything they had dreamed of—boundless, breathtaking, more real than reality itself. But then, the murmurs grew louder.
"Wait… where is it?"
The concern turned to dread.
Players swiped through their menus frantically, scrolling, searching, clicking through every setting available. The button should have been there. It was always there in every VRMMO.
But in Infinite Nexus—it was missing.
Panic began to set in. Some players attempted to force themselves awake, trying to will their minds back into consciousness. Others tried the "Help" option, desperately sending messages to customer support.
But the interface remained cold and silent. And then—
A sudden shift.
The sky, once painted in hues of an endless blue, began to darken. Thick clouds churned and twisted, spiraling like an abyss opening above them. The air grew heavy. The winds howled, lashing against the trees and sending the flames of lanterns flickering wildly.
Then came the BOOM!
A deafening thunderclap shook the ground. Across every world, every city, every corner of Infinite Nexus, the very fabric of reality trembled. And then—
A screen.
A colossal, floating screen materialized in the sky, stretching across the heavens. It wasn't just in the game—it hijacked every single television, every smartphone, every digital billboard in the real world. Every news broadcast was abruptly cut. Every streaming video was forcefully replaced.
The world—both inside and outside the game—froze.
Then, a figure appeared on the screen. A man.
He was disheveled—unkempt, broken, his lab coat torn and bloodstained. His black hair, usually neatly combed in interviews, was now a tangled, matted mess. His face, smeared with dirt and bruises, carried an expression that was neither regretful nor remorseful—just empty, exhausted. And behind him—
The wreckage of a lab.
Shattered monitors flickered weakly, some sparking with loose wires. Machinery lay in ruins. The once-sterile white walls were smeared with soot and blood. The room looked like it had been ravaged, invaded.
It was unmistakable.
The man was none other than Dr. Shingen Akumu, the very creator of Infinite Nexus.
Silence. Then—chaos.
A flood of screams, questions, and desperate demands.
"Where's the log-out button?!"
"What the hell is going on?!"
"Let us out, you bastard!"
The players were in uproar, their voices rising into a cacophony of panic and anger.
But Dr. Shingen simply stared at them through the screen, unmoving, his expression unreadable.
Then, he spoke.
His voice was calm. Too calm. There was no triumph, no malice—only an eerie emptiness, as if the weight of his words had long since crushed him.
"Greetings, players. I'm glad to see you all enjoying my game."
The words rang hollow.
A heavy pause. Then he inhaled deeply, as if gathering himself. And his next words shattered the world.
"If you're seeing this message… it means that I am already dead."
A cold wave of terror surged through the players. The outside world froze.
Dr. Shingen continued, his voice steady but lifeless.
"This is no longer just a game. This is the beginning of the Death Game."
Some players gasped. Some laughed nervously, refusing to believe. Others stood paralyzed, their blood running cold.
"The log-out button is not missing," he continued, "because it was never there to begin with. It is not a glitch. It is a feature."
Panic erupted.
"You're lying!"
"Bullshit! Let me out!"
But his voice cut through the chaos.
"Let me make this absolutely clear."
His tired eyes bore into the players through the screen.
"If you die in this game, you will die in real life."
Everything went still. Breath hitched. Heartbeats pounded in terror.
"Your NeuroLink is wired directly to your nervous system. The moment your health bar drops to zero, the system will send a fatal electrical surge to your brain, killing you instantly. There is no safeguard. No reset. No second chance."
His voice was void of cruelty, but his words were merciless. And then he twisted the knife deeper.
"Furthermore—If anyone in the real world attempts to remove your NeuroLink forcefully… it will fry your brain on the spot. Instant, irreversible brain death."
Some players collapsed to their knees. Others gripped their heads in horror. Outside the game, parents, siblings, and friends watching the broadcast screamed.
"No…"
"This can't be happening…"
Tears streamed down the faces of loved ones as they stared at the screens, at the trapped players who had unknowingly walked into a digital death trap.
But then—one glimmer of hope. Dr. Shingen spoke again.
"There is only one way out."
Silence.
"Find me. I am waiting at the very core of this universe—the Nexus itself. Defeat me, and you may leave."
A flicker of hope ignited in some players.
"But…"
His next words crushed it.
"There are countless worlds. Countless Nexus Bridges. Only one will lead to the Nexus itself. And only one will grant you freedom. If you cannot find it…"
His empty eyes darkened.
"Then you will be mine. You will be my puppets, my test subjects, my instruments to study the human will to survive."
His voice turned eerily soft.
"I want to see what you are capable of when faced with death itself. I want to see what lies beyond your limits. This world… my world… will be your crucible. Your trial of fire."
His lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"Let's see if you can make it out alive."
A pit formed in the players' stomachs. Then, his voice took on an unsettling finality.
"To those outside the game… you may enter if you dare. Join them. Fight alongside them. Find me. Kill me. If you can."
His figure flickered. The screen distorted.
"This is my final message to you."
A pause. Then—
"Good luck."
The screen went dark. In the real world, every television and smartphone shut off. In Infinite Nexus, an earth-shattering silence fell upon the players. Then—
Screams.
Some collapsed, shaking uncontrollably. Some clawed at their heads, sobbing. Some wailed, their voices filled with sheer, unfiltered terror.
In that moment, 100,000 players realized the truth.
They were not players anymore. They were prisoners. And the game had only just begun.