Chapter 1: The Wi-Fi Anomaly

Working three remote freelance gigs from a tiny living room was a genuine pain in the ass. Eli sat slouched on a beaten-up sofa, squinting at two monitors while his cheap AC unit rattled against the window frame. He was working a brutal twelve-hour shift, surviving purely on iced coffee and pure spite. To make things worse, his landlord had already texted twice about late rent.

"Dude, you need to chill out," Jax said, casually raiding the fridge for cold pizza. Jax was Eli’s self-appointed manager and full-time roommate who lived in an eternal state of zero stress. "You can’t just put off sleeping forever. You look like a zombie that got rejected by an audition."

"I can’t call off this deadline, Jax," Eli groaned, rubbing his burning eyes. "My client wants the code by midnight, and my internet provider is a total disaster. If I screw up this gig, we’re going to run out of cash before the week is even over. And on top of that, I can barely afford my half of the bills."

"Look, let's just hash it out over coffee later," Jax offered with a grin, not taking the panic seriously at all. "Why don't we hang out on the roof for ten minutes? Clear your head. You’ve been staring at that terminal like it’s your mortal enemy."

"Because every single second counts, Jax! My whole career seems to depend on this patch!" Eli snapped. The pressure was mounting, his pulse hammered in his temples, and a cold spike of pure anxiety hit his chest. "I’m in a super precarious situation here, and you're treating it like a joke. Seriously, cut me some slack!"

"Hey, don't freak out on me!" Jax raised both hands in mock surrender. "I was just trying to help you figure out a sane routine."

Eli closed his eyes, desperate to breathe. I just need five seconds of peace. Just get me out of this chair.

A high-pitched electric whine hummed behind his ears. The air pressure dropped so violently that the papers on the coffee table scattered across the rug.

BZZT-POP.

Eli didn't fall. He didn't stand up. The space around him simply skipped a beat, like a bad frame drop in an online video game.

When he opened his eyes, he was not on the couch. He wasn't even in the living room.

Eli was standing flat on the slick tiles of an unfamiliar, dimly lit server room smelling of ozone and frozen coolant. Behind him, two armed men in tactical gear with carbon helmets stopped whisper-arguing over an open vault terminal.

Both guards turned their weapons toward him, their laser sights painting two red dots directly onto Eli's chest.

"Well," Eli whispered, looking down at his fuzzy slippers. "This is awkward."