CHAPTER 1: SYSTEM ERROR

Part 1: Stomach-ache Showdown

I never trusted Taco Tuesday, but there I was, sixty lousy seconds into second-period P.E., regretting every bite of the mystery-meat wrap my mom packed. My gut bubbled like a pot left on high heat, and Coach Ramirez’s whistle ratcheted the tension up to “boss fight.” He barked, “Lyric! Jog it out!” as if running laps in a sugar-coated death trap was going to settle the internal riot brewing in my intestines.

The bleachers creaked under the weight of bored classmates, all of us pretending the dribble-dribble of basketballs and the clang of dumbbells was the pinnacle of human achievement. Somewhere between the dribbling and the clang, a tiny voice in my head, probably an offline glitch, whispered…

“Abort mission. I repeat, abort mission! Bowel malfunction imminent.”

Of course, I ignored it, because survival in high school means two things: never admit weakness, and never slow down.

I forced my feet into motion, each step sending me closer and closer to the peak of misery. I felt cold sweats run down my face. My stomach clenched like an overzealous security system locking me in place. I glanced at the scoreboard—just a digital mockery of my current state:

Lyric Garcia

HP: ???/???

STOMACH: CRITICAL

And yes, I was fully aware that I was hallucinating a Heads-Up Display (HUD) readout in P.E. class. If you ever wondered what denial looks like, it’s me sprinting in circles while my own body threatened mutiny.

“Come on, Lyric!”

Coach Ramirez roared, sweat dripping from his pinkish forehead.

“Show some grit!”

Grit, I thought, is for people who can leave their lunch down the hatch without inviting a gastric apocalypse. I gulped air, hoping the fresh-cut grass scent would mask the burning sensation in my midsection, but nature doesn’t negotiate.

A seismic gurgle rattled my core. That was the point of no return. My vision tunneled. I was about to explode. I sprinted towards Coach Ramirez. I guess he thought I had a sudden burst of energy. Well, I was about to burst.

I ran past him, straight to the nearest restroom, ignoring Coach’s shouts.

“What the hell Garcia! Where are you going?! Your team needs you!”

Spoiler alert: teamwork is overrated when your intestines are running a coup.

I skidded across the gym’s polished floor, shoes squeaking out what felt like a desperate Morse code: SOS, SOS. I ran for dear life. Someone probably called my name along the way, but I couldn’t hear them. Everything was a blur. My mortality, my high school life and identity, hinged on a battered restroom stall thirty yards away. I hit the door so hard the hinges screamed in protest.

Inside, fluorescent lights flickered with the enthusiasm of a dying bulb. I slammed the stall door, dropped my pants, and waited the unholy cacas.

Settled atop the dingy porcelain throne, I braced for the reckoning. The awful mutter in my gut crescendoed into a full-blown symphony of doom. Sweat beaded on my temple. I thought to myself…

“Well, Lyric, this is it. If you survive, tell your mom she did a bang-up job on the sandwich. If not, at least you’ll have a hell of an obituary.”

I bombed that bathroom stall. You probably could hear my farts from two blocks down the school. That’s when the floor beneath me trembled. At first I thought it was the building settling, or maybe the janitor pushing a mop cart too hard. Then a low hum filled the air, like a sub-bass note warbling through a cheap speaker. The porcelain rattled. The stall walls groaned. And I swear the fluorescent light overhead flickered once more for dramatic effect, like a camera flash announcing a plot twist.

Fragments of tile shattered around my feet. A thin crack snaked across the floor, widening like an invisible claw tearing through reality. My heart slammed into my throat.

“That’s a bad… bad… taco,” I thought to myself.

This wasn’t looking good. I lifted both my feet and squatted on the toilet seat. I grabbed the entire roll of tissue paper and quickly rubbed my behind. Not fast enough.

Instinct screamed “RUN,” but curiosity—an even more stubborn impulse—made me lean closer. The tear, which I later learned was a portal, suddenly opened wide, so wide it swallowed the entire toilet seat with me on it.

“Ahh shit!” I think I saw a somewhat similar predicament in an old Jurassic Park movie once.

WELCOME, NULLBORN ENTITY

INITIALIZING ENTRY SEQUENCE…

This was beyond Taco Tuesday, beyond bad P.E. performance. I saw my short, boring, uneventful life flash before my eyes.

When my vision cleared, I realized that I was no longer in the school restroom. I was somehow transported to this foreign land, in the middle of what appears to be a market square. It was bustling with people who wore all sorts of clothing. One woman wore a shirt with ragged holographic prints that ripple like corrupted video, with patterns I do not recognize. Her shirt read “MEMORY = POWER,” “ERROR // REBOOT”.

Those who looked like merchants wore fitted utility vests with pockets everywhere—inside out, upside down, even on the collar.

I saw a humanoid, that closely resembled a goblin wearing an oversized, mismatched goggle-visors—one lens tinted neon orange, the other shifting through what looked like shiny neon ads that read “Tomorrow’s Bazaar.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

There were people in robes and cloaks. Their flowing robes inscribed with scrolling patterns, each symbol glowing faintly when a transaction is logged. The hems were weighted down to keep them from snagging in crowded markets. They wore monocle-style eyewear that float in front of one eye.

It wasn’t long until chaos ensued. While I was marveling at the scenery in front of me, I was still holding a roll of toilet paper, stuck to my behind, my bare unadulterated self, in all its glory.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!”“Mommy look at him! He doesn’t have clothes!”

“Cover your eyes kid!”

“Pervert!!!”

“Help! Guards! There’s a pervert here!”

“Wait, you don’t understand,” I tried to explain.

“I was transported here while I was sitting there…”

I tried to point towards the toilet, but it apparently crumbled and turned to dust. All that was left of it was a bad memory. Fuck.

While my accidental spectacle drew the attention of merchants and townsfolk in the plaza, rogues slipped out from various corners, swiftly looting and robbing the distracted vendors. Moving as one, they disappeared just as quickly. All eyes were already on me, but now the crowd stared with suspicion, as if I were part of the crime.

That’s when I spotted them, radiating a distinct, intimidating presence that told me I was in serious trouble. They looked like elite warriors, clad in dark charcoal tunics with crimson spiral sigils on their shoulders. Bone-handled daggers hung at their sides, and their heavy cloaks, woven with shimmering, infused threads, glinted in the sunlight.

“Do not move. State your business. Put your hands above your head and don’t try anything funny,” one of the guards commanded.

“Can I at least put my pants on?” I croaked.

“Do not move!”

“But sir…” I pleaded, my dignity hanging on the line, as the people in the market square continued to stare at the scene unfolding in front of their eyes.

“State your business!” he growled.

“My name is Lyric Garcia. I go to St. Thomas Aquinas High School. You see, I ate a bad taco, had terrible diarrhea and poof, I got swallowed in a portal…”

“Your crew has left you alone. You can drop the act Nullborn rogue.”

“A rogue null…what?”

I suddenly remembered the voice prompt I heard before I got swallowed into all this mess. I’m pretty sure it sounded along the lines of…

“WELCOME, NULLBORN ENTITY.

INITIALIZING ENTRY SEQUENCE…”

I can feel my muscles tense. The only evidence that can prove my innocence has turned to dust. I even forgot the fact that I currently do not have any pants on, and a roll of tissue paper is stuck on my butt.

Distract the people with exhibitionism and loot them during the chaos? I’d say that was a genius plan myself.

The one who appeared as the leader then said,

“Nasty Nullborn pig. You are under arrest for public indecency and thievery. You will come with us to the district precinct for further investigation. Resistance is futile.”

“We need backup here. Bring the cleanup crew. We have an anomaly. We suspect a Nullborn rogue. His accomplices might still be nearby. He’s naked, has shit all over the plaza,” said another guard.

“Are you kidding me right now? We don’t have time for your jokes,” snapped back by whoever was on the other end of the intercom.

“It’s a riot in here. Bring everybody. I repeat, bring everybody!”

Seems to be overdramatic, don’t you think? Also what the actual fuck. Am I really going to be arrested, in who knows where, just for taking a dump?

I swear if I survive all this, I’m going to launch an anti-taco movement, even if it kills me.

I learned that this world is called Velmira. I landed in a city called Hollow Lobby. It couldn’t be too obvious. There was huge floating neon signage that said,

“WELCOME TO VELMIRA!”

My vision shot sideways, then righted itself into a kaleidoscope of neon lines and shifting panels. Above me, a series of translucent icons hovered: hearts flickering, energy bars pulsing, a blinking field labeled

NEW QUEST: Name Trial

“HUD?” I groaned, still half naked. My head felt like it had survived a three-round spar with a brick wall. Stepping gingerly to my feet, I reached out and my fingers intersected the nearest icon.

It responded. A soft click-ping in my mind, and suddenly texts scrolled beside me:

HUD TIP➔TOUCH ICON TO QUERY HELP.

YOU CAN ALSO USE YOUR THOUGHTS

TO TOUCH THE BUTTONS.

“Keep your hands up the air, or you will get it!” shouted the guard angrily. His hand fixed to the dagger hanging at his hip.

Like any other teen who gets preoccupied with the shiny new thing, I was unbothered. I glanced at the HUD overlay, it was so detailed I could almost swipe it away:

NAME: —

CLASS: —

LEVEL: —

SYSTEM: VELEMIRA V1.0 BETA

Well that’s convenient. I tapped the “♥” icon next just by thinking it. A tooltip popped up:

MAX HP: Unkown

CURRENT HP: Unkown

INJURY TRACKING ACTIVE

“Wonderful,” I grumbled.

“My body is now a stats page.”

I got dragged across the plaza, my face all red, my dignity shattered into a million pieces. We rode to the Hollow Lobby precinct where I pleaded with my innocence, my defense focused on somewhere along the lines of cosmic glitches and misdelivered potty breaks. It wasn’t long before the precinct’s helmets and visors detected the real anomaly: my Core Signature was… unregistered.

No Name, no Class, no record—but unmistakably alive.

Why were we yanked from our mundane realities into Velmira? The official line would later claim a “System Initiation Event” in Velmira’s Beta Layer, an untested protocol meant to recruit fresh data‐points (i.e., unsuspecting newbies) into the Spiral’s Experiential Trials.

In truth, the Spiral needed anomalies, glitchborn catalysts, to kick‐start a convergence, and my digestive malfunction simply happened to coincide with the most chaotic log‐spill in Velmira’s history. They put me in a cell after I got hosed by the cleaners. I was exhausted and collapsed at the sight of a bed.

The next morning, the head guard came to my cell and instructed me to get ready for the arena. He did not say anything further. Next thing I knew, I heard that chime again.

HUD TIP➔GREET THE SYSTEM VOICE WITH ‘HELLO HUD’ OR ‘HELP HUD’

I pursed my lips. “Hello HUD,” I said, sounding more sarcastic than polite.

A calm, mechanical voice replied inside my skull:

Greetings, Entity. You have entered Velmira.

Please proceed to the Name Trial, where you will claim your Name, Class, and initial Attributes.

“Proceed?” I echoed as I tried to put my pants back on.

“Like I have a choice? My cafeteria wrap nearly killed me and now I get drafted into some interdimensional reality show?”

“Participation is mandatory. Failure to comply will result in system deletion,” the HUD warned.

I blinked. My stomach lurched, this time out of fear, not indigestion. I straightened my shoulders as best I could, wincing at a protest from my midsection.

“Fine,” I said, more to myself than to the HUD.

“Lead the way.”

And just like that, P.E. class felt like a distant memory. If surviving Taco Tuesday was my first quest, then I’d have to hope my dodge-roll skills were up to snuff in this new world.

Shortly after getting past my embarrassment (which I doubt I’ll ever fully shake off), I’ve adjusted to this strange, virtual reality world.

Though, I’m still unsure whether I am dreaming, or just passed out from all that exertion, or perhaps maybe I blew an aneurysm and died as I pushed that last piece of bad taco. Maybe this is the afterlife. I will never know. Either way, I’m here and this is my reality now.