You never told anyone about the QR code that killed you…
At least not until now…
The moment you scanned it, you marked your death—or your FIRST death, as she calls it…
“The first ‘death’ is always the hardest,” she whispered, her voice materializing beside you with unsettling familiarity. Her vocals glitching, splitting into overlapping versions before re-converging. “And yours was particularly… spectacular.”
As you lay there in complete agony, sharp vivid pains of your disintegrating body still burning from your skin down to the marrow of your bones, you manage to fixate on three words: “your first death”…
Said as if she’s absolutely certain there are MANY more to come…
And knowing now what you know about her—about the web of lives, experiences, history and futures pulsing behind her eyes—deep down you’re afraid she’s right…
In the far unforeseeable future: The Wildlands
When the ground trembles beneath your feet, don’t look up or wonder what’s happening.
Just run!
You should know — you didn’t…
And now you’re out of options…
A thunderous roar hits you like a literal, physical force—a deep, guttural bellow that vibrates through the earth beneath your feet and resonates in your chest cavity. Birds scatter from nearby trees in panicked flocks, and the tall grass around you trembles with each successive wave of sound. It’s primal and terrifying, a sound that triggers instinctive fear deep in your brain stem.
You sprint toward the source, heart pounding against your ribs. Through gaps in the swaying golden grass, you spot him—a strange man sprawled on his back, one leg bent at an unnatural angle. Your comms UI automatically identifies his clothing as “Moorish Garb,” the fabric rich and ornately patterned despite being caked with dust and darkening with blood.
His face is drawn with pain, yet his eyes hold an eerie calm—not terror, but a resigned acceptance of his fate as he weakly attempts to drag himself away from his attacker.
Looming over him stands a hippopotamus, its massive bulk blocking out the sun. Its hide glistens wet and gray in the harsh light, muscle rippling beneath as its cavernous mouth opens to reveal yellowed tusks—several cracked and broken from previous battles. Deep scars crisscross its snout and flanks, testament to a life of aggression. A putrid stench emanates from it—rotting vegetation mixed with something more foul, like stagnant pond water and decay. You can smell it even a hundred or so yards away…
Despite their herbivorous diet, hippos kill more humans in The Wildlands than any other large animal, and this one’s aggressive stance makes its intentions clear. Strangely, you know—though you can’t explain how—that this must be a mother, her calves hidden somewhere nearby in the tall grass or water. You shouldn’t possess this knowledge, and yet somehow you do…
Instinct.
It’s instinct — no, something deeper that makes you reach for your Light Weaver. Your mind instantly maps the hippo’s movements, calculating trajectories and probabilities as blue-gold patterns flicker at the edges of your vision. Where others would see only danger, you see connections—between the hippo’s aggressive stance and the Light Weaver in your hands. The patterns align perfectly in your mind, showing you exactly what to do when others would have turned and fled for their lives…
The Light Weaver sits heavy in your palm — you built it yourself. A smooth, disc-shaped device about the size of a hockey puck but surprisingly dense and heavier than it looks, its metallic surface etched with intricate patterns that spiral toward two recessed buttons at its center. You mentally configure the settings as it hums with energy, warming your palms. Struggling under the pressure, knowing The Stranger’s life is literally in your hands, you spin your body several full rotations and throw the Light Weaver with all your strength, landing it just a few feet from where he lies.
A moment of silence, then—brilliance. The Light Weaver pulses once before projecting a massive holographic lion, its form coalescing from particles of light. Standing nearly ten feet tall, its electric-blue mane crackling with energy, the lion opens its massive jaws and emits a roar that somehow feels more real than the hippo’s.
The Stranger flinches at first, eyes widening momentarily before recognition dawns—he knows it’s just light and sound, but impressive nonetheless.
The hippo takes a startled step backward, then another. The holographic lion advances, becoming more aggressive—haunches lowering, teeth bared in a snarl that would make any predator think twice. The hippo emits a low, uncertain grunt as it retreats further, seemingly confused by this new threat. You estimate it has retreated about eighty or ninety feet from The Stranger—still too close for comfort, hopefully enough space for your next move.
Seizing the moment, you sprint to The Injured Stranger’s side.
His breath comes in ragged gasps as you unfold your hover-stretcher, its surface shimmering with blue energy as you gently maneuver him onto it. The metallic tang of blood fills your nostrils, mixing with the earthy scent of crushed grass and the musky odor of the hippo itself.
“Just hold on,” you mutter, though you’re unsure if he hears you through his pain.
A sudden tremor runs through the ground and your entire body. Looking up, you see the hippo’s posture has changed completely—head lowered, ears pinned back. It paws the earth once, twice, sending up clouds of dust. The holographic lion flickers slightly, and the hippo’s small eyes lock onto the illusion with newfound understanding. It’s seen through your trick.
You’re out of time…
As the beast charges, its speed shocks you for something so massive. Each thundering footfall shakes the ground like a small earthquake as it barrels straight toward the lion—and by extension, toward you and The Injured Stranger.
A hippopotamus can bite with enough force to snap a crocodile in half. The one charging you looks angry enough to try.
You quickly shove the hover-stretcher aside with all your might and dive away just as the hippo smashes through the holographic lion, dissipating it into scattered particles of light that nearly instantly reform back into the lion’s shape as soon as the hippo passes through.
Heart pounding in your ears, you mentally engage the Light Weaver’s “full strobe” mode, shielding your eyes by burying them between your forearm and bicep. The device responds with a sequence of beeps—high-pitched, rapid, each one slightly louder than the last, like an urgent countdown. The sound builds to a crescendo just before the device releases a series of blinding flashes that illuminates the entire area, penetrating even through flesh, bone, and your closed eyelids with scarlet intensity.
The hippo emits a pained bellow, temporarily blinded, thrashing in confusion. You sprint back to the hover-stretcher, leaping aboard beside The Injured Stranger. The stretcher activates beneath your combined weight, humming to life as it begins to move.
The stretcher glides low to the ground, skipping up and down gracefully with the changing terrain. Behind you, the hippo recovers far too quickly. It turns, identifies you, and gives chase with murderous determination. The stretcher isn’t fast enough—each second the gap closes. The beast’s thunderous footfalls grow louder, a drumbeat of approaching death.
You can feel the drag of air hitting against you as you sit upright, trying to monitor everything at once. You think to yourself, “the wind resistance is slowing the stretcher down”—the hippo is gaining ground, getting closer by the second. Close enough that you can feel its hot, humid breath on your back, smell the vegetal stink of its last meal.
In desperation, you lie flat, pressing yourself over The Injured Stranger’s body like a human shield. The change in aerodynamics is immediate—the stretcher accelerates, putting precious inches between you and your pursuer.
But the hippo isn’t giving up. It lunges, massive jaws snapping just inches from the stretcher’s edge, nearly catching The Stranger’s foot between its teeth.
The beast gathers itself for another lunge, this one sure to connect. You brace for impact, every muscle tensing as the hippo’s jaws open wide enough to engulf half the stretcher—
Then…
Everything freezes.
The world stutters, a “BATTERY LOW” notification flashing urgently in your vision. The grasslands begin to pixelate and dissolve around you, the hippo’s roar distorting into digital fragments.
Reality rushes back with jarring abruptness—
That’s right — you’re standing in Level Up Games, feet planted on industrial carpet instead of wild grassland. The scent of sweat and blood is replaced by the smell of plastic packaging and the faint odor of pizza from the food court next door. The hippo’s bellows fade into the chatter of customers and the electronic beeps of nearby demo game units. Yet somehow, your pulse still races, your muscles still ache from the exertion of the rescue, and the bitter taste of adrenaline lingers on your tongue.
Around you, a small crowd has gathered—wide-eyed children and concerned staff members all staring at the strange device on your head. Your heart still pounds, your muscles tense with fight-or-flight response. An ache pulses through your shoulders from lifting the injured man onto the stretcher.
(You’ll soon learn this is called a “PHANTOM PAIN,” but we’re getting ahead of ourselves…)
“Whoa, what kind of VR is that?” a store employee asks, fingers extending toward the device. “What is this, like a GameStation 9 or something?”
You quickly pull your head away, cradling the device protectively. A message flickers across your vision: “The Book of Secrets” 35% complete. Continue exploration?” A simple “☉”—pulses gently beside it, waiting for your response.
The reasonable part of your brain screams caution, but the lingering reality of that other world—its dangers and wonders—calls to you with irresistible force. Your finger hovers over the “YES” prompt, hesitating for just a moment—but before you can select it, the unit powers down completely. The subtle vibration you hadn’t even noticed until now disappears, leaving an unexpected emptiness in its wake…
And THAT’s how it all started—with a dead device and an aching hunger for more…
Twelve minutes before the hippo tried to eat you, before you felt another person’s blood on your hands, you were just killing time at Level Up Games. Your original plan was to meet at Dakota’s house in an hour for a “study session” — which would inevitably devolve into best friends taking turns with the controller, because the new GTA DLC was calling…
Your eyes had drifted lazily over the new release wall—Starcrest Anomaly IV (boring sequel), Netherrealm Champions (overpriced season pass), Cyber Ronin 2077 (beat it in two hours), and MechTech Uprising (just a reskin of last year’s game)…
That’s when you notice it—a QR code on the store’s digital price display that definitely shouldn’t be there. Unlike the clean, professional tags beneath each product, this code appears glitchy and unstable, its pixels swimming and rearranging themselves like they’re alive. You blink, and suddenly the same code appears on the gaming demo screen to your left. Then the promotional tablet near the register. Then the security monitor behind the checkout counter.
Not your typical “scan for 10% off” deal – this thing literally stalks you between screens all around the store like it has a mind of its own. As you turn to track it, the code appears on a screen directly facing you, growing slightly larger, almost like it’s acknowledging that it has your attention now. You hate to admit it, but it looks pretty 🔥 – the way the pixels pulse with vibrant blues and purples against the black background, creating patterns that seem almost hypnotic.
Your synesthesia kicks in automatically. It’s hard to explain to people who don’t have it—that thing your neurologist called “a unique cross-wiring of sensory perception.” For you, mathematical patterns translate into colors and shapes.
You’ve learned to hide the patterns from others, but you’ve also learned their limits. Stress fractures your perception. Pain scatters the threads. Fear turns golden guidance into red chaos. Your synesthesia is a gift, but like any sense, it can be overwhelmed and be very much a curse.
The QR code’s algorithms manifest as a pulsing violet lattice in your mind, with golden threads weaving through the structure in perfect Fibonacci sequences. You can almost taste a metallic sweetness on your tongue as your brain processes the pattern, and there’s a faint humming sensation behind your ears that grows stronger as you focus on the code’s geometry.
Against your better judgment (because when has scanning a mysterious code ever gone wrong in sci-fi?), you pull out your phone and snap. The moment you scan it, your phone goes black.
As it fades to darkness, your synesthesia kicks in again—mental golden threads turning red at an alarming rate — that means something bad may be brewing…
Panic surges through you as you frantically tap the dark screen, fearing you’ve bricked your only connection to the world. Then, like liquid mercury, the darkness flows and reshapes itself into an interface unlike anything you’ve ever seen.
Messages start appearing from someone called The ARCHIVIST.
Cool name for a librarian or something, but gives you total creep vibes. They send you several messages rambling on about needing fresh minds to explore vast digital worlds…
But then things get wild…
I know this must seem unbelievable, but I’m contacting you from what you would call “the future.”
You snort. “Right. And I’m Batman. If you’re from the future, what are next week’s lottery numbers?”
I understand your skepticism. Perhaps these will convince you:
Three messages appear on screen:
- In 17 seconds, a child in a red hat will knock over the Minecraft display.
- In 45 seconds, the manager will announce a 50% discount on retro games.
- In 92 seconds, a man in a blue jacket by the counter will receive an emergency call. about his daughter
You swivel instinctively toward the Minecraft section, where a child in a red baseball cap is reaching for a figure on the top shelf. His sleeve catches the edge of the display, and suddenly blocky figurines cascade to the floor with a clatter that makes everyone turn.
Your heart pounds harder as the intercom crackles to life exactly when predicted, the manager’s voice announcing an unexpected flash sale on retro titles.
Your gaze locks onto a middle-aged man in a navy jacket by the register, and when his phone rings with a shrill tone that makes him wince and step outside, a cold wave washes over you.
“Okay, that was freaky,” you type, fingers trembling slightly. “How did you do that?”
I did nothing but repeat events that have already happened.
Like you… You were calculating probabilities, weren’t you? Using your synesthetic perception to identify the odds of me simply guessing what just happened…
You freeze, your pulse quickening. You haven’t told ANYONE about your “glitch.” Except for Dakota, but that got laughed off years ago. Even your best friend thought you was just making the whole thing up.
“How could you possibly know about that?”
The future needs minds with gifts like yours—minds that can find simple solutions where others see only complexity. Even the greatest minds of my time in the distant future have forgotten this basic phrase, and because of it, have lost the ability to see clearly.
“What phrase? ‘Never eat yellow snow’?” you joke nervously.
Not quite… K.I.S.S.
“Wait a minute, I just met you — what did you say your name was?” you continue…
No. Keep It Simple, Stupid.
As if on cue, the store manager approaches, carrying a pristine white box with “K.I.S.S.” etched in minimalist lettering.
“Excuse me,” he says, looking faintly puzzled. “A courier dropped this off an hour ago with specific instructions to give it to someone matching your description. Said you’d be coming by today.” He glances at the box with obvious curiosity. “Are you…expecting something?”
“What IS this?” you ask, carefully opening the box.
Inside is a device unlike anything you’ve seen before—sleek, gunmetal gray with a strange “☉” symbol embossed on its surface. The manager peers over your shoulder, his eyes widening.
“Whoa, is that some prototype? I’ve been working here five years and never seen hardware like that.” He reaches toward it then hesitates. “Is it… safe?”
Your phone pings with another message: “Enjoy the demo!”
You hesitate before lifting the device, weighing your options. It’s surprisingly lightweight—maybe half a pound—with a smooth surface that feels almost warm to the touch. Doubts race through your mind: What if this is dangerous? What if it’s illegal? What if it’s just some elaborate prank?
Yet curiosity wins. You slip it over your head, and it powers up automatically with a gentle hum. A simple “Welcome” text appears in your field of vision, and then you start to feel it—a subtle but definite gravitational tug-of-war in your mind and body, pulling you in every direction at once. It’s like the sensation of an elevator starting to move, but multiplied and happening everywhere simultaneously.
The world around you fades, replaced by a dark, calm space filled with what looks like old film dust and scratches. Directly in front of you floats a vertical card-like object with an image of a girl with long braids, dark olive skin, crouched within tall grass. At the bottom of the card are the words “The Book of Secrets.”
You reach out and tap the card. The gravitational sensation intensifies tenfold, like you’re being pulled through a tunnel at impossible speed.
That’s when the thunderous roar hits you like a literal, physical force—a deep, guttural bellow that vibrates through the earth beneath your feet and resonates in your chest cavity. The angry angry hippo…
Minutes later: the battery dies.
As you lift the device from your head and begin searching through the box, your phone pings with another message from The Archivist:
“Time is short. The device needs charging. I’ve left the charger here. Location attached. Hopefully I’ll get to meet you in person…”
A location pin appears on your screen for a place across town — The Quantum Arcade. Your mom’s supposed to pick you up from Dakota’s—if she finds out you deviated from the plan, she’ll KILL you…
You use your pattern abilities to do some quick “calculations” while looking at the map on your phone, the distances transforming into interconnected webs of blue and gold in your mind. The Quantum Arcade is a 45-minute skate at top speed. Dakota’s house is another 30 minutes from there. If you hurry, you can make it work.
You text Dakota: “Going to be running late — really late. I’ll explain later — cover for me in case my Mom calls you.”
You carefully pack the device back in its box, tuck it under your arm, and head for the exit. At the last second, you pat your pocket, making sure your tactical flashlight is there—in case “the Archivist” is a creep, at least you can use that to get away.
The skateboard under your feet feels like it’s carrying you toward something momentous—something that will change everything, for better or worse…