"Oogah boogah dragon wakah!" The gravelly voice penetrates Markle's consciousness. "Blork need sacrifice! Blork need magic man!" Another voice joins in, equally rough but higher pitched. "Dragon go boom boom, now dragon need zoom zoom!"
"Five more minutes," Markle mumbles, his head pounding. The cold stone beneath him doesn't register at first.
"He speaks! The chosen one speaks!" A chorus of excited groans follows this announcement.
Markle's eyes snap open. Darkness surrounds him, broken only by the flickering glow of torches mounted on square stone walls.
"What the—" His words catch in his throat as a face leans over him. A green face. With square features. And dead eyes.
"Hello magic man! You help us, yes? You bring big dragon back?"
Markle tries to sit up, only to find his limbs heavy and uncooperative. The stone table beneath him is hard and unnaturally smooth.
"Where am I? What happened?" His voice sounds wrong to his ears, almost digitized. "Am I dead?"
Laughter erupts around him. Not human laughter. A series of guttural "hurr hurr hurrs" echo off the stone walls.
"Not dead! Very alive! Very special!" The zombie speaking wears scraps of what might have once been a shirt. Its blocky arms extend toward him.
Markle finally manages to lift his head. The room comes into focus, and his breath catches. Everything is made of cubes.
The walls. The floor. The torches. Even his own hands as he raises them before his face. Blocky. Pixelated.
"This is a dream," he tells himself. "A weird, cube-shaped dream."
"No dream! Real! Very real!" The zombie's mouth doesn't move quite right when it speaks. Like a poorly animated puppet.
More zombies shuffle into view. At least a dozen surround the stone table where he lies. All identical except for their tattered clothing.
"What do you want from me?" Markle asks, his voice steadier than he feels. "Where is this place?"
A zombie in what appears to be a cracked leather helmet steps forward. "We are the Brotherhood of Broken Bones. We serve the Dragon!"
"The dragon," Markle repeats. Something clicks in his brain. The blocky world. The zombies. "Wait, am I in..."
"You in sacred chamber! Under stronghold! Very old! Very magic!" The lead zombie raises its arms. The others copy the gesture.
Markle looks around again, recognition dawning. The stone bricks. The peculiar green glow from some of the blocks. The perfect right angles everywhere.
"I'm in Minecraft," he whispers. Not a question. A horrified realization.
"Mine...craft?" The lead zombie tilts its head at an impossible angle. "You speak strange words, magic man."
Markle tries to sit up again, succeeding this time. His body feels strange, lighter yet more rigid. He glances down at himself.
His clothes have changed. He wears loose-fitting robes of a deep blue color, with pixelated runes embroidered along the edges.
"Why am I here? How did I get here?" His mind flashes to the bath, the storm, the electricity.
The zombies begin to shuffle in a circle around the table. A slow, awkward dance. "Lightning bring you! Sky magic! Very powerful!"
"The lightning," Markle says, the pieces falling into place. "I was electrocuted."
"E-lec-tro-cute-ed," one zombie sounds out. "Funny word! Funny magic man!"
Markle swings his legs over the edge of the stone table. The zombies stop their shuffling, watching him with vacant yet somehow expectant eyes.
"What do you want from me?" he asks again, more forcefully this time.
The lead zombie approaches, its movement a jerky walk-shuffle characteristic of the game. "We need you bring back dragon! Big dragon go boom many moons ago."
"The Ender Dragon? You want me to resurrect the Ender Dragon?" Markle can't believe the words coming out of his mouth.
Excited groans ripple through the group. "Yes! Yes! Ender Dragon! Great and powerful! King of End! You bring back!"
"And why would I do that?" Markle asks, trying to buy time while he processes his situation.
The lead zombie looks confused, as much as a blockheaded undead can. "Because you magic man! You have power! You chosen!"
Another zombie pipes up from the back. "Dragon give us life! Make us more than zombie! Make us matter!"
Markle feels an unexpected pang at those words. Make us matter. Didn't he understand that desire all too well?
"I don't have magic," he says, softer now. "I'm just a guy. An office worker."
"Office...worker?" The zombies exchange confused looks. "What this?"
"Someone who fills out spreadsheets and writes reports nobody reads and stays late for a boss who doesn't care."
The zombies stare blankly. One scratches its blocky head with a cubic finger.
"You have magic," the lead zombie insists. "We see it! We feel it! Storm bring you here for reason!"
Markle stands up, wobbling slightly on his new legs. The zombies back away, giving him space but blocking any exit.
He notices an archway behind them, leading to a dark corridor. His only way out of this chamber.
"Look, I think there's been a mistake," Markle says, taking a tentative step forward. "I can't resurrect dragons."
"You not try yet!" A smaller zombie pushes forward. "Try first, then say cannot!"
Markle raises his hands, looking at them again. They don't look like they possess any magical abilities. Just blocky approximations of human hands.
"How would I even do that? Where would I start?"
The zombies seem pleased by this question. They interpret it as willingness. The lead zombie claps its hands.
"Start with ritual! Need dragon egg! Need special items! Need portal to End!"
Another zombie joins in. "We help! We guide! We serve chosen one!"
Markle takes another step. The zombies part, creating a path to the archway. Not stopping him, but watching.
"So I'm free to go?" he asks cautiously. "To think about this dragon resurrection business?"
The lead zombie nods its square head. "You go. You learn. You come back. Dragon waiting."
Markle doesn't need to be told twice. He walks toward the archway, half-expecting the zombies to lunge at him.
They don't. They watch with their empty eyes, occasionally muttering "chosen one" or "magic man" as he passes.
The corridor beyond is dimly lit with more torches. Markle can see it extends into darkness, with branching paths.
"How do I get out of here?" he asks over his shoulder, not really expecting a helpful answer.
"Follow light. Find stairs. Go up, up, up!" one zombie calls out. "World above very big! Very scary! Very fun!"
Markle steps into the corridor, the reality of his situation sinking in deeper with each block he walks.
He's in Minecraft. Actually in the game. Somehow, impossibly, the lightning strike transported him here.
"This can't be happening," he says to the empty corridor. His voice echoes back, sounding foreign and electronic.
Behind him, the zombies begin a new chant. "Dragon wake! World shake! Chosen one will path make!"
Markle quickens his pace, moving away from the chanting. His mind races with questions, with fear, with disbelief.
Is he dead? In a coma? Has he actually been transported into a video game?
The corridor slopes upward. Markle follows it, one blocky step at a time. Toward whatever version of daylight exists in this world.
He thinks of his apartment, of his job, of the life he left behind. Was it even real? Or was that the dream?
As he climbs, a strange feeling grows inside him. Beneath the fear and confusion, something else stirs.
Possibility. In this world, he isn't just another office drone. Here, zombies call him the chosen one.
Here, he might actually matter.
Markle Voig continues upward, toward whatever new reality awaits him, leaving the chanting zombies behind.
His old life ended in a flash of lightning. His new one—in this blocky, impossible world—has just begun.