The first thing they laughed at wasn’t her face.
It was the way she walked.
Too stiff. Too deliberate. As if she was trying to take up less space than she physically occupied. As if shrinking her shoulders might sohow make her existence negotiable.
"Why does she move like that?" one of the junior clerks whispered.
"She thinks she’s in a martial arts movie."
The others snickered.
She heard them. She always did. The walls of the packaging warehouse were thin, and cruelty carried farther than sound ever should.
She kept walking.
The fluorescent lights overhead flickered faintly, bathing the long conveyor belts in a pale, unforgiving glare. Brown cartons rolled past her station in an endless procession, each labeled, each scanned, each shoved into place with chanical precision. She did her work without mistakes. She always did. Efficiency was the only thing about her that no one mocked.
Efficiency didn’t make you desirable.
Across the aisle, two boys from dispatch were leaning against stacked boxes, talking to Amara from accounting. Amara had long braids and a waist that curved in ways people noticed. When she laughed, the boys leaned closer, eager, delighted by the permission of it.
One of them glanced at her.
Their eyes t.
His gaze slid past her like she was an obstruction between him and sothing worth looking at.
She looked away first.
By lunchti, the conversation had shifted to weekend plans.
"Club Sapphire," Amara said, smiling. "You’re coming, right?"
"Obviously," one of the boys replied. "You’re going."
Soone joked about after-parties. Soone else made a comnt about bringing a date.
No one asked her.
They never did.
She ate alone in the break room, seated at the far end of the plastic table, her back to the vending machine that humd faintly like a tired animal. Her lunch was rice and leftover stew packed in a tal container. She chewed slowly, eyes fixed on nothing.
Her phone lay face-down beside her tray.
It never vibrated.
She sotis wondered what it would feel like to be wanted casually. To receive a ssage that didn’t concern payroll adjustnts or electricity bills. To have soone type her na with anticipation instead of obligation.
Once, years ago, soone had texted her at midnight.
She had been seventeen.
Prom night.
He had only spoken to her because his friends dared him to. She rembered the way they laughed behind his back when he walked toward her. She rembered how desperately she had pretended not to see it.
She lost her virginity in the backseat of a borrowed car that slled faintly of air freshener and cheap cologne.
He did not call her the next day.
She did not expect him to.
By the ti she finished her shift, her feet ached and her uniform clung to her skin in places she didn’t like to think about. The sky outside had already begun to dim into that murky blue that swallowed detail and made everything look softer than it was.
Her apartnt building stood three streets away from the warehouse. It was narrow, tired, and permanently dusted in the color of neglect. The staircase railing wobbled if you leaned on it too heavily. The second-floor lightbulb had been out for months.
Inside her apartnt, the silence greeted her first.
Then the soft flutter.
Her pigeon hopped from the windowsill to the back of a chair when she entered, tilting its head as if assessing her mood.
"I’m ho," she murmured.
The bird cooed faintly.
She closed the door and leaned against it for a mont longer than necessary. The apartnt was small enough that three long strides could take her from the entrance to the kitchen sink. The paint peeled near the ceiling in one corner. The sofa had a slight dip where she usually sat.
She washed her hands, changed into an old oversized shirt, and poured a small handful of grain into a shallow dish for the pigeon.
"You’re the only one who waits," she told it quietly.
The pigeon pecked at the food without judgnt.
After feeding it, she sat on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. The quiet pressed against her ears. She reached for her phone out of habit and unlocked it.
No notifications.
She tossed it aside and let her head fall back.
The knock ca twenty minutes later.
It wasn’t loud. Just firm enough to be intentional.
She frowned.
No one visited her.
Another knock.
She stood slowly, irritation mixing with curiosity, and walked to the door. When she opened it, the hallway was empty.
But sothing sat on the floor.
A large rectangular package.
She looked left. Right. The stairwell was silent. The broken light flickered faintly above.
Her na was written on the top in black ink.
No return address.
Her pulse quickened—not from fear, but from sothing unfamiliar.
Expectation.
She dragged the package inside and shut the door quickly, locking it before kneeling beside the box. The cardboard was new. Untouched by dust.
A small white envelope lay taped to the top.
She peeled it off and unfolded the paper inside.
Two lines.
"Sorry for everything you went through."
"Play safe."
Her fingers tightened around the note.
Sorry?
Who knew what she had gone through?
Who would care?
Her gaze dropped back to the box.
For a brief, absurd mont, she assud it might be so elaborate prank. Or worse—one of those humiliating adult gifts people sent anonymously to mock soone.
She cut the tape carefully.
Inside was not what she expected.
A gaming console.
A sleek monitor.
High-grade earphones.
And a pair of large, dark-lensed goggles that looked far too advanced to belong in her apartnt.
She stared at them.
She did not own a gaming system. She had never expressed interest in one. No one in her life would spend money like this on her.
At the bottom of the box, she found another note.
No manual.
Just handwriting.
You must only play for three hours a day.
That was it.
No brand na. No setup guide. No company logo.
Her brows drew together.
Only three hours?
Why phrase it like a rule?
The pigeon fluttered its wings softly, unsettled by the unfamiliar objects in the room.
She hesitated.
Then she did sothing she rarely allowed herself to do.
She imagined.
Three hours.
In another world.
A different body.
A different version of herself.
Her heart beat faster than it had all day.
She set up the monitor on the small table near the sofa. The cables connected seamlessly, almost as if they were designed to find their own ports. The console powered on the mont she touched it.
No loading screen.
No startup logo.
The monitor flickered, Black. First
Then white text appeared.
WELCO, PLAYER.
Below it:
Default Avatar
Create Avatar
Her breath caught.
She reached for the goggles and slid them over her eyes... the world disappeared.
The screen filled her vision entirely, crisp and imrsive in a way that felt almost intrusive. It did not look like a typical ga interface. The colors were too vivid. The depth too convincing.
Her fingers hovered over the selection.
Default Avatar or create.
She thought about the warehouse.
The boys leaning toward Amara, the way her phone never vibrated.
She selected:
CREATE AVATAR
A holographic female model appeared before her, rotating slowly.
Plain. Neutral. Unremarkable.
She swallowed.
Then she began to adjust.
Waist, Hips, Chest, Facial structure, Skin texture, Hair length.
Every slide of her finger reshaped the model into sothing she had never been allowed to be. The figure beca curved, striking, commanding. The kind of body that would never be overlooked in a room.
Her chest tightened.
Was this what it felt like to choose how the world saw you?
She adjusted the eyes last, sharp and confident.
The avatar stood before her like a living contradiction to everything she was. Valeris. That was the na she whispered in her mind, a body and presence she had never been allowed to possess.".
For a mont, she forgot to breathe.
On the side of the screen, a notification flickered briefly.
[Emotional Spike Detected.]
It vanished before she could fully process it.
She leaned closer.
"Would they look at you?" she whispered.
The avatar did not answer.
Below it, another prompt appeared.
Start as Foot Soldier?
Yes.
Her finger pressed down.
The world shattered into light.
Wind rushed against her skin.
Not simulated wind.
She felt it.
When the brightness faded, she was standing on open ground beneath a wide sky streaked with orange and gold. In the distance, stone walls rose around a sprawling dieval city. Soldiers trained in formation nearby, their swords clashing in rhythmic patterns.
"She looked down. The body was not hers. But she could feel it. Her hands flexed. Responsive, alive. "Valeris" - she was no longer Sarya here at least, not yet."
A faint vibration echoed in her ears as text appeared in the corner of her vision.
[Level 1 – Foot Soldier Initiated.]
Sowhere in the distance, a horn sounded.
And for the first ti in years—
She did not feel invisible... Valeris existed.
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