On his way home, the boy suddenly finds the street…different. He stops, clutching his shopping bag as dread settles over him.

“What…?”

He looks around, barely able to believe what he sees. The buildings are crumbling, the asphalt cracked and strewn with debris. An eerie silence hangs over everything, pressing in on him.

“I’ve walked this road every day for three years. I can’t be mistaken,” he mutters, denial creeping into his voice.

But the scene in front of him doesn’t change. The destroyed street, the sickening silence, and he lifts his gaze to the sky, feeling his stomach churn.

“And the famous blood moon.”

The crimson moon casts a sinister light across the ruins, like a silent witness to horrors he can only imagine. He knows this place. Knows it too well. He shakes his head, taking a step back.

“No… no.”

Turning on his heel, he heads back the way he came, hoping that the next corner will take him back to his normal, bustling street. But as he reaches the main road, the desolation only deepens. The street that should be filled with people is deserted, empty in a way that feels deliberate, haunted.

“Then…”

He curses under his breath. “F*ck this…”

There’s no denying it now. This is the world of Doomsday Online, the text-based horror game he’s been obsessed with for years. The game is infamous for its brutal difficulty and bleak atmosphere. One wrong choice could doom not just the player but everyone logged in. Yet somehow, he’s no longer just a player. He’s trapped in its world.

A sharp, burning pain flares up across his body. His nose starts to bleed, the blood running in warm drips down his face.

“This… This is from radiation,” he realizes with a jolt of horror. In Doomsday Online, exposure to this destroyed zones affects players like poison. He knows he doesn’t have long.

“I have to get the hidden piece, or I’ll die here…”

He takes off at a sprint, ignoring the pain. The blood moon watches as he runs, a reminder that death is never far in this world.

The boy’s eyes scan the devastation around him, and a sick realization dawns on him. This isn’t the doing of an anomaly—this desolate wasteland is the aftermath of humanity’s own hand. The unmistakable signs of nuclear bombardment are everywhere.

“Judgment Day…” he mutters, feeling a cold shiver crawl down his spine.

He remembers the story of the game: the day those secret organizations, desperate to erase the existence of the Anomalies, unleashed nuclear hell upon the world.

It was supposed to be a final solution, a desperate attempt to wipe out the unknowable creatures they could neither understand nor control. But the boy knows the truth.

The real horror is that those bombs didn’t destroy the Anomalies. They only twisted reality, making the world itself a grotesque mirror of humanity’s failure.

It was greed, hubris—the ultimate irony. By trying to contain the unknown, humanity had unleashed something far worse.

His goal lies ahead: the last lit-up building in the broken city, the department store marked (Anomaly 34698- A34698). Inside lies some items essential for his survival, just like in the game.

When he finally arrives, he leans against the doors, catching his breath. “I can do this… I have to do this…”

He repeats the rules of this Anomaly in his mind like a mantra. Every anomaly has its own set of rules; following them is the only way to survive.

With a deep breath, he opens the door, and a tinny, automatic voice greets him. “Welcome,” it chirps.

He glances around, his eyes landing on the drink aisle where his first target waits: a can of coffee. As he grabs it, he senses someone behind him. Slowly, he turns to find a figure—a human-like shape, standing too close, its face obscured.

“Is this coffee any good, young man?” it asks, voice devoid of emotion.

His heart skips. He knows the first rule for Anomaly 34698.

Number 1: You are the only customer.

Ignoring the figure, he forces himself to focus, even as his grip tightens, his hand trembling. His nails dig into his palm, and he doesn’t even notice that he’s drawn blood. He takes another step, searching for the second item he needs.

But finding it isn’t as easy as in the game, where a click of a button would reveal it. Here, there are no shortcuts. He has to keep moving, and the figure, now at his side again, keeps pace with him.

“My… my… this stuff looks interesting,” it murmurs, glancing at a large knife on the electronics counter.

A cold sweat breaks out on his forehead. He hadn’t seen the knife there before. As the figure reaches for it, he catches sight of its pale, impossibly long fingers, curling around the blade like a spider’s legs.

Keeping his eyes forward, he closes his eyes, waiting until the figure’s presence fades. Finally, he feels his body relax. He’s alone again.

“I survived…”

He moves on, his eyes darting around warily, even though he senses something else waiting, watching. He reaches the household aisle and spots the second item he needs: a hearing aid. The relief is almost overwhelming.

“I have to hurry…” he gasps, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heartbeat.

A sudden, violent cough racks his body, and he stumbles, clutching his chest as thick, black blood spills from his lips, splattering the ground. The metallic taste lingers, sharp and nauseating, as another wave of pain surges through him.

“At this rate… I won’t last much longer…”

But just as he turns to head to the counter, the aisle stretches, warping impossibly as the shelves twist and stretch out of reach. The walls close in, and he realizes, with dawning horror, that he’s surrounded. Figures—nearly identical to the first—begin forming a circle around him, blocking every possible escape.

“Where are you going?”

“Stay here.”

“Help me find…”

The overlapping questions come faster, blending into an unsettling cacophony that makes his head spin. He stumbles, his grip slipping; his items fall to the floor with a dull thud.

“Ugh…” A groan slips from his lips as the pain bites through him, and suddenly, the voices stop. Silence, thick and menacing, takes their place.

Then—soft, almost mocking—comes a chorus of eerie giggles.

“Ignore them… ignore them,” he mutters to himself, the words barely a whisper.

He bends down to retrieve his things, desperate to avoid eye contact. But just as his fingers brush against his fallen items, a figure looms at his side.

He freezes, feeling its presence, feeling its icy breath.

Slowly, its face extends, stretching unnaturally long until it’s right in front of his own. “Do you see me?” it whispers.

He’s met with a face that defies human features—a twisted mouth packed with razor-like teeth, too many of them, all set in a smile that doesn’t reach its hollow eyes. Every instinct screams at him to run, but he knows better. If he acknowledges it, if he answers, he’ll become THEM.

“They aren’t real,” he chants to himself, willing his heartbeat to slow as he closes his eyes. The thing’s breath still brushes against his skin, its giggles creeping closer. He fights to keep his mind steady, blocking out the overwhelming need to look. After a moment, he forces himself to continue reaching down, his movements slow and deliberate.

Somehow, miraculously, his hand passes right through where the figure should be, as though it doesn’t exist. He grabs his things, and the giggling fades. The silence returns.

His heart still pounding, he wipes the cold sweat from his brow and stands, eyes focused on the counter ahead.

Finally, he makes it to the counter, the last hurdle in this hellish game.

Number 2: Never answer the cashier.

But, of course, there’s a hidden trap.

As the boy reaches the counter, his stomach tightens at the sight before him. The figure behind it is human-like but disturbingly wrong. With no eyes or nose, only a stretched grin across its pale, blood-smeared face, it wears the uniform of a cashier as if it’s mimicking what it thinks “normal” should look like. The counter, too, is transformed—puddles of dark, sticky blood pooling beneath it.

He places his items on the counter, trying to keep his face expressionless, and waits. The figure doesn’t seem to mind, as it begins its hollow questioning.

“There’s a service here. Would you like to use it?” the voice asks in a voice devoid of warmth.

The boy keeps his gaze fixed downward, his heart pounding as he wills himself not to respond. It asks again, this time a little louder, then again, its voice dripping with false patience, each time punctuating his silence with a twitch of its smile.

Then it shifts, leaning forward as though it’s savoring the tension, its tone morphing into something that nearly sounds joyful. “How do you want to pay?”

He knows he has to choose his response carefully. The thing’s smile widens in anticipation as it whispers, “It’s…four of right, left, or middle?”

Taking a deep, trembling breath, the boy raises his left hand and lays it flat on the counter.

“…Fine,” the creature hisses, its voice betraying a tinge of disappointment. From beneath the counter, it retrieves an oversized knife. Without warning, it hacks down, severing four of his fingers in one swift, brutal motion.

“ARGH!” The boy screams as pain sears through his hand. He stumbles back, clutching the bleeding stump with his remaining fingers. Tears prick his eyes as he bites down on his lip, forcing himself to stay conscious. With a wavering hand, he picks up his items and stumbles out of the store.

“Quick… faster…” he whispers, his voice cracking. He forces himself to open the can of coffee and takes a gulp, ignoring the bitter taste as he feels a strange surge of energy spread through his veins. The pain dulls slightly, his senses sharpening just enough to help him move.

Despite everything, a twisted smile creeps onto his face. “At least… I’m not dead… not yet…”

But as he limps down the deserted street, he notices two dark shadows moving toward him, shifting like mist, merging with the blood-red light of the moon.