Silo Barlow had always lived more in digital worlds than in the real one. Whether he was deep in a campaign or losing himself in a late-night grind session, reality often took a backseat to whatever adventure was glowing in front of him. For the last several days, he had barely moved from his desk. His headset sat crooked on his head, his shoulders sore, his eyes dry from the constant flicker of artificial light.
But today, something shifted.
He pulled off his headset and blinked at the soft afternoon light bleeding in through the blinds. His apartment was a mess. Empty cans lined the desk, laundry draped over his chair, half a sandwich from yesterday still untouched beside his mouse. He hadn't meant to stay up all night again, but the game pulled him in like it always did. That final stretch was so close he could taste it. Still, something tugged at him now a need to step away, breathe real air, feel the world again.
He stood slowly, back cracking as he stretched. His body felt like it belonged to someone else. Disconnected. Hollow. He wandered into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, then stared at himself in the mirror. Tired eyes. Faint stubble. Nothing dramatic just the look of someone who had been away from reality for too long.
Without really thinking, he grabbed his hoodie from the coat rack, slipped on some shoes, and pocketed his phone. He needed coffee. Maybe something sugary. Anything to shake off the fog.
Outside, the city was alive. Late afternoon sun lit up the buildings in gold. A breeze carried with it the scent of baked asphalt and fried food from the vendor down the street. Silo squinted up at the sky, as if seeing it for the first time in weeks. He took a long breath, letting the noise of traffic and people replace the looping soundtrack that had been stuck in his head for days.
He started walking toward the café on 3rd and Mason. A place he used to go to all the time, back when he was still balancing life and the game. He let his mind drift, his legs moving on autopilot. He thought about the fight he almost won last night, the sequence he should've executed better, the moment he panicked and backed off instead of pressing the advantage. It gnawed at him. He was so close.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out, barely looking away from the sidewalk. A message from Mason lit up the screen.
"You beat it yet or still choking the final boss?"
Silo smirked. He started typing back without slowing down, thumbs tapping rapidly.
"Almost. Took a break to—"
The wind shifted.
A low roar pierced through the ambient city noise. Screeching brakes. Screaming rubber. A horn blaring. Something massive closing in fast.
Silo looked up, and everything stopped.
A truck was barreling toward him, close enough that he could see the terrified eyes of the driver behind the windshield. The crosswalk light was still flashing red. He hadn't even noticed.
The phone slipped from his hand. His legs twitched like they wanted to run, but his body was frozen. All he could do was stare. The moment stretched out unnaturally long, as if time was mocking him. This wasn't happening. Not like this. Not after all that.
The front of the truck slammed into him with a sickening thud. His body lifted off the pavement like a rag doll, twisting in the air before crashing to the ground yards away. People screamed. A woman dropped her groceries. Someone shouted for help.
Silo couldn't hear them.
Everything was muffled, like sound underwater. His vision flickered. The sky, once golden, now looked distant and cold. He tasted blood. He felt his limbs fading, the sharp pain quickly swallowed by a numbness that crept in fast and final.
His thoughts scattered. The game. His apartment. The message he hadn't finished. The plan to try again tomorrow. But there would be no tomorrow. No retry. No respawn. Just fading light and a weightless sense of falling.
And then, nothing.