By January 30th, 2030, Earth, as humanity had known it—a blue marble suspended in the familiar tapestry of space—no longer existed in its conventional form. It had been irrevocably drawn into the swirling, digital maelstrom of an open-world reality game, known only as the Torn Indigo.
This colossal system, the Indigo, was born not from leisure or entertainment, but from the chilling necessity of survival. Conceived and meticulously developed by the United Nations Advanced Cybernetics Labs, it was commissioned by the United Nations Defence Committee after the world learnt that they were not alone in the universe and that its celestial neighbours were anything but amicable.
The Torn Indigo's genesis lay in a singular, audacious purpose: to serve as a reality-based defence mechanism against alien invasion. Its intended modus operandi was elegantly brutal: in the event of an extraterrestrial assault, the system would instantaneously ensnare both Earth and its invaders within its digital confines.
Once inside, the game's very fabric would be meticulously rigged, its algorithms skewed a hundred per cent against the foreign aggressors. The ultimate objective was the systematic annihilation of the invaders, their forces, and their technology.
All while meticulously safeguarding Earth and its inhabitants from any lasting harm. The genius of the design lay in its non-transferability of damage: any injury or suffering endured by an Earth dweller within the game would remain confined to the virtual realm, vanishing upon the eventual return to normalcy.
Conversely, the aliens and their formidable gear would suffer the full, unmitigated brunt of every virtual blow; their digital demise would translate directly into tangible destruction in their true reality. The concept, in its pristine theoretical form, was flawless – a perfect shield, a digital leviathan poised to devour any threat.
Yet, destiny, as it often does, harboured a cruel twist. On April 9th, 2025, the very day the alien species calling themselves the Unds descended upon Earth, the Torn Indigo's programming remained tragically incomplete.
These Unds were a truly formidable race: beings of imposing stature, typically averaging eight feet in height when upright on their primary pair of lower limbs. Their physique was a testament to raw power, bulkier and more robust than even the most athletic human male.
They possessed a unique anatomy, featuring four upper limbs and four lower limbs, granting them an uncanny, almost arachnid-like agility. While capable of bipedal locomotion, they predominantly moved as octopeds, their eight limbs propelling them with a fluid, unsettling grace.
Their faces, a grotesque fusion of humanoid features and goblin-like malice, were unsettling to behold. In terms of flexibility, agility, and dexterity, an average Und was on par with a peak Olympic athlete, rendering humanity utterly outmatched in direct combat. Even in the realms of weaponry and computational prowess, humanity found itself woefully outclassed.
Faced with an overwhelming invasion and no other viable recourse, the desperate decision was made. The Torn Indigo, in its nascent, unfinished state, had to be launched.
The immediate, albeit partial, success was undeniable. The game, despite its incompleteness, began its programmed process of annihilating the enemy warships in real-time, a digital purge tearing through the alien armada.
However, the Unds' central intelligence, housed within their colossal mothership, was not to be underestimated. Its sophisticated computer systems swiftly identified the unprecedented threat and initiated a frantic counter-hack, attempting to disrupt and neutralise the nascent Indigo system.
While their efforts to halt the system proved ultimately futile, the mothership's desperate intrusion managed to inflict a critical, insidious wound. It tampered with the game's core architecture, carving out a clandestine pathway for its own escape into the very reality it sought to dismantle.
The full extent of this digital sabotage remained an ominous unknown, a silent, ticking bomb. Neither humanity nor the Unds were, at that moment, aware of the profound corruption woven into the Torn Indigo's fabric.
Presently, the Unds maintained a suffocating stranglehold over the game. Their oppressive dominion weighed heavily upon humanity. The Torn Indigo had become a brutal battleground, a relentless struggle for survival where both factions ceaselessly strove to augment their might and assert absolute dominance.
Though designed as an open-world virtual reality, the participants, both human and alien, seemed oblivious to its true nature. They found themselves inexplicably confined within a specific, delimited territory, a region they collectively termed the Known World. This invisible, yet impenetrable, barrier was commonly referred to as the 'grey area,' a nebulous force that sealed them within their digital prison.
The Known World itself was geographically segmented into three distinct territories: Section 1, Section 2, and Section 3. Section 1 sprawled across the entirety of the southern and western expanses, a vast, diverse landscape. Section 2 lay to the east, a vibrant counterpoint to its western counterpart.
Section 3, however, occupied the desolate northern reaches, a territory entirely subjugated by the Unds. Its human inhabitants were forced into a subterranean existence, eking out lives in secret, fortified bunkers, their days marked by the constant threat of discovery.
Only the most audacious and desperate adventurers dared to tread the surface of Section 3. It was a land scarred and twisted, bearing the unmistakable hallmarks of an apocalyptic fallout. In stark contrast, the majority of the Known World retained the familiar, comforting visage of modern cities and serene countrysides, a cruel echo of the Earth that was.
Deep within Section 3, the central base of the Unds was a maelstrom of chaos and destruction. A figure known only as Merlin_13 had executed a brilliant, devastating assault, systematically obliterating facilities, incinerating equipment, and even dispatching several formidable Calamity-tier alien characters within the very heart of their stronghold.
But his most profound act of defiance was the liberation of vast blocks of game coding. This precious data the Unds had meticulously harvested and, through some arcane manipulation, had manifested into a tangible, flowing river. Now, this liberated river, shimmering with the raw essence of the game's code, surged southward, carving a new path towards the east, its current destined for Section 2.
Merlin_13, now a spectral phantom, his existence in this reality fleeting and precarious, had expended the last vestiges of his power – a power derived from the very glitch that had brought him into being – to restrain the river, preventing its reversion to inert code. He had, with his final breath, gifted humanity a chance.
The river, a torrent of digital possibility, burst into Section 2.5 with a sudden, unheralded fury. Life in this sector had, until that moment, unfolded with a semblance of normalcy, an eerie echo of Earth's past. Streets buzzed with the ceaseless rhythm of daily life: pedestrians flowed in a myriad of directions, each bound for their own destination; vehicles hummed along thoroughfares; shops beckoned with open doors, their proprietors engaged in the timeless dance of commerce.
Then, without warning, the deluge. A roaring cascade of water, shimmering with an otherworldly luminescence, surged into the area, rapidly engulfing the streets to knee-level. Panic, swift and absolute, erupted. The ordinary rhythm shattered as people abandoned their cars, their faces etched with fear, scrambling for the precarious safety of elevated platforms – rooftops, balconies, anything that offered respite from the encroaching, luminous tide.
Amidst the burgeoning chaos, Merlin_13's presence manifested, a captivating, irresistible force that drew every eye. His aura, potent and compelling, radiated outwards, ensnaring the attention of all who witnessed his spectral form. His voice, deep and resonant, a magnetic melody that seemed to vibrate through the very air, cut through the din of panic.
"People of Earth!" he proclaimed, his words imbued with a profound, almost hypnotic authority. "We have been trapped in this game far longer than was ever intended. We are being oppressed within what was meant to be our sanctuary, our ultimate refuge. Worry no more, for I have brought an opportunity – a chance to level the battlefield for everyone. It is now left to each of you to seize this moment and make the absolute best of it. Dip your hands into this river. Test your fortune. The game, remember, has always been inherently in our favour. If fate smiles upon you, if you are lucky enough, you could ascend to the pinnacle of power in virtually no time at all."
Among the throngs entranced by Merlin_13's compelling aura were Ivan, still a humble taxi driver, and his passenger, a woman in her late twenties, her features taut with a mixture of fear and awe. So utterly consumed were they by the spectral figure's pronouncements that they had momentarily forgotten the most precious passenger aboard: the woman's two-year-old child, securely strapped into a car seat in the back of Ivan's cab.
The poor, forgotten toddler, in a desperate, instinctive struggle against the rising water, had inadvertently shifted, submerging himself completely in the current. His tiny limbs flailed, a desperate, futile battle against the suffocating embrace of the water, his efforts yielding nothing but increasing weakness.
The child's mother, perched precariously on the roof of Ivan's taxi, her eyes still fixed on Merlin_13, yielded to the collective fervour. Without a second thought for her submerged child, she leaped into the swirling, glowing river, eager to test her fortune, seeking to grasp at the chance for power like the multitude of others surging around her.
The opportunity, a dazzling promise of ascension, lay before Ivan, presented on a silver platter. He was on the verge of emulating the mother, of plunging his own hands into the river, when a sudden, jarring memory pierced through the haze of enchantment. The child. The forgotten child in the back seat. The realisation struck him with the force of a physical blow.
He halted, his impulse to seek power instantly overridden by a more profound, primal instinct. With a surge of adrenaline, he hastily clambered down from the taxi's roof, splashing into the knee-deep water. He pressed his face against the car window, peering anxiously into the murky depths within. He could only discern the small, still form of the child's back, the little one having finally succumbed to exhaustion and unconsciousness from the desperate, unequal struggle. The river of fortune flowed, but for Ivan, a different, more urgent current now pulled him.