In 2046, the fully immersive game Origin opened its public beta. Players thought they were gaming: taming giant beasts in prehistoric oceans, building underwater cities, and teaming up to take down bosses. All that mattered was having fun.
But they didn’t know they had logged into the real Ordovician Period. Beneath that world’s deep ocean stood a door covered in forbidden runes. Something was sleeping behind it.
My name is Lin Zhou, and I’m the sole “administrator” of this underwater base. The players think I’m a GM, but I’m actually a prisoner. Every time a player respawns, I lose a day of my life. A countdown is tattooed on my chest: [256/1000]. The day it hits zero is the day I die.
My only hope is those thousand goofball players
“Free and Unfettered King” is trying to strangle a giant nautilus with seaweed;
“Bunnies Are So Cute” has found a stone carved with eerie patterns;
“Professional Digger for 300 Years” is trying to trap a sea scorpion using a terrain bug.
They’re shouting in the public chat: “You lousy devs! Open a new dungeon!”
Meanwhile, I’m staring at the system alert: [Remaining seal strength behind the door: 99.94%]
Even worse, the first players to log in have started hearing whispers in the waves while they’re back in the real world. A message pops up from the System:
[Coordinates in the real-world dimension are fluctuating. Countdown: 180 days. The Ordovician Period will overlap with Earth.]
The players think they’re playing a game.
The thing behind the door thinks we’re helping it open the way.
And I’m the only one who knows the truth.
After all
When the abyss stares back, remember to send the players in first.
