Then he looked at the wreckage of his Land Cruiser—mangled metal and shattered glass tangled with those bizarre, glowing roots—and something in him cracked. This isn't happening. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to wake up in his tent back in California, the familiar hum of traffic in the distance. But when he opened them, the alien forest stared back:
- Trees with leaves that pulsed faintly
- Air that smelled sweet and wrong
Panic surged up his throat. No. No way. He stumbled toward the wreckage, heart pounding, hands shaking as he clawed through the debris. This can't be real. But the pain in his body, the twisted steel under his fingers, the dead creature sprawled nearby—it was all too solid to deny. He wasn't dreaming. He was… somewhere else.
Another world. The thought slammed into him, and for a moment, he couldn't breathe. His chest tightened, his vision blurred, and he dropped to his knees, gripping the dirt. I'm not on Earth. The alien forest mocked him, and a wave of nausea hit him. He was a programmer, not some sci-fi hero. He fixed bugs, not fought monsters. How was he supposed to handle this?
He forced himself to stand, sucking in shaky breaths. Focus. One step at a time. That's how he tackled code—break it down, solve the pieces. He could do this. He had to.
First, supplies. He limped back to the wreckage, digging through the mess. The solar panels and battery bank were banged up but workable—he set them up with trembling hands, angling them toward the strange sunlight. Later, as he set up his solar panels, he noticed the laptop screen flickering. Strange symbols scrolled across the display, nothing like the code he knew. "What the—?" He tapped the keys, but the symbols only multiplied. Then, a swarm of glowing insects descended, drawn to the panels' energy. He swatted at them, cursing under his breath.
Then he found the cooler, still intact. He popped it open, relief washing over him as he saw:
- Energy bars
- Instant noodles
- His mom's adobo in Tupperware—all undamaged
His water bottle was there too, half-full. He'd spotted a stream earlier; he could refill it. He wasn't starving yet.
But that was a temporary fix. He needed to figure out where he was—and how to survive.
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Ray sat on a fallen log, his shotgun across his knees, trying to steady his nerves. He wasn't some wilderness expert. Sure, he'd camped a few times, hunted once or twice with his uncle, but this wasn't Yosemite. This was… alien. The glowing plants, the creature he'd killed it was all wrong. His stomach churned as reality sank in deeper. I'm alone. Completely alone.
He gripped the shotgun tighter, knuckles whitening. What if there were more of those things out there? He wasn't a soldier—he barely knew how to aim this thing beyond point-and-shoot. The thought of facing another fight made his palms sweat, but sitting there freaking out wouldn't help. He had to move.
He rigged a shelter with the tent fabric and some branches, tying it to the side of the wrecked Cruiser. It was sloppy, but it'd keep the weather off—assuming this place even had weather like home. Then he organized his gear:
- Food
- Water
- The shotgun
- His laptop
The routine helped, a little. Like troubleshooting a system crash—focus on what you can control.
With the basics covered, he decided to explore. He needed to know what he was dealing with. Grabbing the shotgun and water bottle—he refilled it at the stream, noting its odd, tingling taste—he ventured into the forest. He notched trees as he went, a coder's instinct to track his path.
The place was unreal:
- Trees glowed faintly, their bark rippling like they were alive
- Flowers shifted colors as he passed
- Tiny orbs of light floated through the air
Part of him—the part that loved fantasy games—wanted to geek out. But the rest of him, the part that knew he was out of his depth, stayed on edge.
A rustling sound stopped him cold. He fumbled with the shotgun, raising it awkwardly, heart in his throat. But it was just a small creature—rabbit-sized, with shimmering fur and big ears—hopping away, leaving a trail of glittery dust. He lowered the gun, exhaling hard. Okay. Not everything's a threat.
After a while, he heard something—murmurs, like voices on the wind. His pulse spiked. People? He crept closer, staying low, ears straining. The sounds were faint, rising and falling, but he couldn't make out words. It didn't sound like English—or anything human. More like… animal calls? The wind through the trees? He couldn't tell.
He edged toward the noise, peering through the undergrowth, but saw nothing—no figures, no movement. Just more glowing plants and drifting orbs. The sounds faded, leaving only the hum of the forest. He sank back, a chill running through him. No one's here. The realization hit hard—he was truly alone in this place.
Backtracking to camp, he felt the weight of it settle in. No people, no help, just him and this endless, alien wilderness. As night fell, the forest lit up—plants glowing brighter, distant calls echoing—and he sat by his shelter, the laptop's faint light a tether to normalcy. He sketched what he'd seen, trying to analyze it like a problem to solve. But his hands shook, and his mind kept circling back to one thought: I'm stuck here.
The sun set, and the two moons rose, eerie and unfamiliar. Loneliness crashed over him. He hugged his knees, the shotgun beside him, and muttered, "I'll figure it out. I have to." But his voice sounded small against the vast, strange night.