"Any word from Terry?"

  Castellan asked, sipping from his coffee mug while his eyes remained locked on the Excel sheets blaring on his monitor, squinting from the endless columns of numbers.

  In the background, the voices of his colleagues filled the air as they ground through their own portions of the workload.

  It was a typical Tuesday morning, the kind buried under mountains of paperwork that seemed to multiply with each passing hour.

  "He owes you money too?" Ford's head appeared first over the partition, popping up like a curious gopher before he leaned his weight against Stellan's cubicle wall, exhaustion carved into the lines of his face. Behind him, the rest of their coworkers continued their work at their stations, oblivious to the conversation, heads down and focused.

  "Nah… worse," Stellan muttered. Setting his half-empty coffee mug down on his cluttered desk with a soft clink before resuming his task. Fingers roaming across the keyboard as he typed digits into the blank cells on his monitor while the numbers filed the spreadsheet row by row.

  Ford contemplated this, the word hanging in the stale office air. He glanced at his watch, checking the time, and saw he only had fifteen more minutes until his break was over. "Messaged your sister?" his attention had already begun to drift. He resisted the urge to stare at the legs of two office ladies that passed by behind him, subtly craning his neck and angling it just right, as if he wanted to peek underneath their pencil skirts.

  "Worse…" Stellan cut in sharply, catching Ford's wandering gaze.

  Upon seeing his coworker's blatant voyeurism, he snapped his fingers to get Ford's attention, snapping at least three times until Ford's neck finally swiveled back to face Stellan's cubicle.

  "Just tell me if there's word alright? The boss is breathing down my neck and I can't just keep covering for him," Castellan vented, darting his eyes toward the nearby cubicle next to him that was vacant for far too long. Papers piled carelessly and folders stacked haphazardly on top of the dust-covered desk.

  "Maybe the dick won the lottery? I saw one of his posts from two weeks ago… the fucker's flaunting a brand new Lamdo and the broads in his comments were thirstier than a zoo camel," Ford replied, letting Stellan's concerns pass from one ear straight out the other.

  He reached over and grabbed the half-empty coffee mug from his own table, sipping obnoxiously loud while his eyes tracked another one of the female workers across the room, who was unknowingly bending down at just the right angle, much to Ford's viewing pleasure ,while struggling with the temperamental printer.

  "Did anybody ever tell you that you have such a way with words?" drawled Stellan, halting his work for the moment and raising his eyebrows at Ford, who had just finished draining his coffee with one final gulp, smacking his lips with satisfaction.

  "Why'd you think I got three kids?"

  "Man… just tell me if he pings you alright? I can't keep covering his shit up," Stellan pressed, leaning back in his chair with a sigh.

  Ford smiled knowingly and nodded, adjusting his wrinkled tie with one hand before proceeding in the direction where his eyes had been glued. Those black elegant stockings made the forty-year-old man seriously reconsider his life's decisions, weighing opportunity against consequence. But midstep, he stopped abruptly and peeked back inside Stellan's cubicle, whose face was practically painted onto the monitor screen.

  "Oh yeah… Speaking of Terry," Ford's tone shifted, becoming more serious and suspenseful, which garnered a timely reaction from Stellan, who looked surprised by the sudden return, fingers pausing on the keyboard.

  "I think he sent me an email before… think it’s a virus? When I opened the mail all it said was that I 'Don't meet the requirements' You ever heard of that?" Ford asked while scratching the back of his head.

  "Was it a work mail?" answered Stellan, his fingers resuming their march across the keyboard, typing logs that he'd memorized from a folder he'd finished earlier, eyes fixed while his ears tuned in to Ford's explanation.

  "Nope, it was on my personal account."

  "Must be a phishing scheme… Did you run the anti-virus after?" Stellan's fingers paused mid-keystroke.

  "Well my laptop booted up, is that bad news?"

  "Are you friends with the I.T guys?"

  "The brown one or the light-skinned one?" asked the mid-life lived employee, genuinely confused, tilting his head.

  "Both…"

  "No… Should I be?" His voice carried a note of concern now.

  "Just let them check it out. Might be a false positive but better safe than sorry," Stellan advised, already returning his focus to the monitor, the glow reflecting in his eyes.

  Ford gave a convincing nod to Stellan's suggestion, tapping the wooden cubicle partition in a three-beat rhythm like he was still hesitating with the decision, weighing the embarrassment of asking for help, but soon he surrendered to the logic.

  "Will do… will do…" He then proceeded to walk back toward his own desk, but yet another repeat, before he'd finished his stride he craned his neck back inside Stellan's cubicle one more time, unable to help himself.

  "Hey… maybe he sent one to you too. Who knows… It might be a deposit record," Ford mused, almost humorously confident in his speculation, a slight grin playing at his lips.

  "I'll check it out," Stellan confirmed with a dismissive wave.

  The exchange ended there before Ford proceeded toward his previous target, only to be disappointed that the female coworker had already finished with her printing mission and had returned to her desk, regretting an opportunity wasted.

  Hours then passed, it was monotonous, nothing new or exciting to break the tedium. The constant clacking from the typing of keyboards created a rhythmic backdrop, mixing with the idle gossip of office workers during their brief water cooler breaks, the echoing footsteps on the cheap tiles that added to the office ambiance, phones ringing intermittently with shrill urgency, and then more typing.

  Tuesday was a peak day for the undergarments company that Castellan worked for, mostly known for lingeries and other female enhancers that had given it a notable reputation in the industry. He'd been working here for four years now, and everything seemed to be in order.

  There was nothing drastic in his day-to-day routine, nothing that shook up the status quo. Stagnant but stable, decent pay for decent work, as he used to believe before the disillusionment set in.

  With his mind fully engaged with too much work, buried under spreadsheets and data entry, he forgot that it was already past lunchtime. Only separating from the working trance when his eyes became irritated from too much squinting at the bright screen, the burn forcing him to blink rapidly. He had poor vision; poor enough for him to consider getting a prescription but not too bad that it would be considered a disability. He'd never liked wearing glasses; he'd always worn them ever since the third grade, thick frames that kids made fun of, but he believed that he'd outgrown the need, making him switch to contacts instead during high school.

  He yearned for rest, a break from the endless numbers. Fortunately, he'd finished most of his work now, at least the first part of it. There were still other portions of his tasks that needed finishing: numbers needed to be inputted into different systems, records to be filed in the company database. It was almost overwhelming, the sheer volume of it all, so he decided to take a break before he burned out completely.

  A simple click on an application to record his time off the monitor and his one-hour break started, along with using two of his fifteen-minute breaks he'd saved up, and now he had plenty of time to recover, to decompress.

  His office chair slid backward smoothly from the pushing of his soles against the carpet, his arms outstretching wide where his clenching fingers reached outward from the one-man cubicle that had served as his workplace for almost half a decade. He stretched his usually slouching back, spine popping in several places, which offered little relief, but it did something at least.

  He was fine with it. Content with where he was and what he was doing, or so so he told himself.

  After finishing logging his break time on the timer app, a thought came to his mind, nagging at him. Ford's words were a reminder, beckoning him to check his email to see if his 'non-existent' workmate Terry had sent a letter regarding his mysterious circumstances.

  ‘ It wouldn't take long ‘ Stellan thought, hurrying to open a browser with a few quick clicks, the familiar homepage loading.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  ‘ Better do this now than pile this with the others later, ‘ he convinced himself by justifying the detour.

  It wasn't advisable that he would use his own personal account on a work device. IT had sent out memos about it multiple times but his personal email didn't really hold anything of value anyway. Only subscriptions to sites that he'd long forgotten about or ads that were wastefully delivered to his inbox, digital junk mail.

  His bank account was built on paper statements sent to his home address, and other personal details were kept away by his mother somewhere in her filing cabinet, who firmly believed that it was better placed in her hands rather than stored in a machine.

  It was quick work, a click here and a click there, muscle memory guiding his fingers, and Stellan was already logged into his personal account. Showing a mischievous side, he smirked thinking that his personal laptop wouldn't have to take the brunt of the risk if the email was indeed a virus, better to fry the company computer than his own.

  He scrolled up through his inbox and didn't see anything except unrelated greetings; emails from past friends or distant relatives that most probably wanted to borrow money. A few more moments of scrolling later and he was yet to find an email from his absent workmate..

  He was almost convinced that there was no email to begin with, that Ford had been mistaken or making it up. So he planned on exiting the browser and taking his much-needed break, maybe grabbing some fresh air. But in the corner of his eye, he saw a notification from one of the symbols on the left side of the browser, a small number in red.

  Spam +1

  He would have just ignored it and skimmed over it, planning to recheck it once he got home from work when he had more time. But due to the workload that he'd had, and that he was already in the browser anyway, curiosity got the better of him. He had to click on the spam folder to see what manner of scam would find its way onto his personal account this time.

  Jon Terry

  Delve into the Luminous World

  Insert name here:____

  ‘ A game ad? Really Terry? ‘ Stellan thought, disappointment washing over him for even having any high hopes that this would be something legitimate, something that explained his workmate’s absence.

  The email was odd-looking, too polished and pleasant in a way that felt uncanny. Once it was opened, it occupied the entirety of his screen, expanding beyond the normal email window with flashy animations and a decorative border on its edges that appeared to be vines like the ones you'd see in an orchard, twisting and pulsing with an almost organic quality.

  Castellan thought it was too well-made for it to be just a game ad. Usually an ad like this would either lead to a link to a sketchy porn site or a poorly made game created by wannabe developers trying to make a quick buck. But for some reason, this one gave an inviting look, almost mesmerizing, prompting him to examine it more closely despite his better judgment.

  A gold dragon on the left side of the screen moved flawlessly, its scales shimmering as it swayed on the corner of the monitor, while a silver snake coiled elegantly around the mouse cursor, making it feel like there was actual weight and presence following his movements.

  He admired how the intricate design meshed smoothly with the email interface, the artistry of it. He would buy it based on the ad effort alone, the sheer craftsmanship. But then again, it had been a long while since he'd dedicated himself to a video game, not since post-college when he was still unemployed and had all the time in the world.

  But now a surge of desire uncharacteristically occupied Castellan's psyche, a childlike excitement bubbling up that he hadn't felt in years. He almost regretted that he had no one to share this moment with, no friends who still gamed, no one who would understand this nostalgic pull.

  Suddenly his fingers moved almost of their own accord, positioning his mouse cursor over the blank field that was asking for his identity, the blinking cursor waiting patiently.

  Insert name here:____

  He pondered, hesitating as his finger hovered over the keyboard, thinking if he should use his real name. But maybe due to his past experiences with sketchy websites and lingering caution that this might still be a scam, he decided to use an old gamer tag instead, the very one that he'd used religiously almost a decade before, back when he had time for such things.

  Insert name here:Dandy628

  ‘Yeah, looks about right,‘ Castellan thought, almost proud like he'd completed something monumental, a small smile tugging at his lips.

  ‘It felt good to type that old username again.‘ He mused.

  But shortly he found it odd. There was no 'Enter' button that confirmed that his name was accepted, nor was there a link that redirected him to a different site or download page. The waiting made him impatient, his fingers drumming on the desk, but he still observed the screen, charmed and captivated by the golden pixelated dragon and the silver snake. Then he noticed they were slowly enlarging on the monitor, growing at an alarming rate, expanding beyond their original boundaries.

  Castellan then became alarmed, his stomach dropping. ‘ Holy shit, it IS a virus! ‘he yelled inside his thoughts, panic rising in his chest. But since he didn't want to attract attention from his coworkers or alert his supervisor, he hurriedly reached for the work PC's power button on the corner of the desk, jabbing at it frantically.

  Shut down?

  He pressed once, twice, then thrice. Mashing the button desperately. But the two fighting animations became large enough to cover the words on the monitor completely, filling the entire screen. Desperate now, sweat beading on his forehead, he then pulled on the power cord of the computer, yanking it hard, hoping that cutting the power would force it to shut down. But as soon as he unplugged it, the monitor still remained on, glowing bright, and now the two beings that were warring with each other did not look like they belonged in a computer anymore.

  It seemed real, too terrifyingly real.

  Like they were trapped inside the monitor and were fighting desperately to escape captivity, their movements fluid and organic. The silver snake coiled tightly around the body of the golden dragon, constricting with crushing force, while the dragon struggled violently to break free, thrashing and twisting. It bit at whatever flesh it could reach, fangs sinking deep, but the snake was relentless. It managed to cover the entirety of the dragon's body, wrapping around its throat and restricting its breath, squeezing tighter and tighter until the dragon's movements slowed, weakened, and finally it didn't move at all.

  Castellan saw all of this happen in vivid, horrifying detail. His eyes couldn't believe what they were witnessing, his mind struggling to process the impossible. Usually he would think of the financial repercussions that would result from the damage done by the virus to his work computer, the paperwork and explanations he'd have to give. But this was too incomprehensible for his usual logic to handle, too far beyond the realm of normal.

  But despite the battle of the two beings being confined within the monitor's frame, the fight was grandiose and epic, transcending through the virtual barrier somehow. With every clash he could feel the impact reverberating through his desk, sense the rush of wind that shouldn't exist, taste the desperation in the air. And finally, he felt the dark fulfillment of the victor. His eyes, which were glued to the monitor in horrified fascination, watched as the triumphant silver serpent turned its attention toward him. It gazed back at him with intelligent, knowing eyes, almost as if it was following his gaze, tracking his every movement with predatory focus.

  The sense of wonder and awe broke after that realization, replaced by cold dread. He stared at the almost too-realistic silver serpent that perfectly matched wherever his eyes moved, mirroring his movements with unsettling precision.

  Soon it was too much for him to understand.

  How could code be so advanced that it could track even his eyes' subtle movements, the split shifts in his pupils? Creeped out and deeply unsettled since he thought it might have been a spying virus from a hacker, possibly watching him through his webcam, he had no choice but to shout for aid, to get someone's attention.

  "Can somebody call the I.T department??? My computer is acting weird!" he called out, his voice cracking slightly with panic.

  "Hello?" He called again, louder this time, standing up from his chair and looking around frantically.

  Oddly, there was no sound nor noise that he was used to hearing, no response whatsoever. The familiar clamor of his workforce was gone, vanished completely, and oddly so, even the people had disappeared. He scanned desperately for any living soul in the office building, spinning around to scan the cubicles. Not even a beep from the crappy printer broke the silence.

  His neck craned toward Ford's cubicle; it was empty, the chair pushed back. The new recruit that served as eye candy for the office, who was constantly surrounded by rumors of having an affair with the manager, was also not in the office coffee area where she usually lingered, flirting and gossiping.

  Stellan had to squint, straining his vision just to confirm if his eyes were playing tricks on him, if he was seeing things that weren't there. And pretty soon, he discovered with mounting shock that his surroundings were draining of color. Black and white spreading like ink in water, leeching the vibrance from everything. Inexplicably, as if it had been like that in the first place, as if color had never existed. He grew worried, his heart hammering in his chest, then shouted again, and again, and again, his voice echoing in the empty office.

  ‘I'm hallucinating, at the office? FUCK! Maybe I fainted from too much work? Or this might be from those shrooms I ordered online,‘ he panicked, grasping for rational explanations that didn't involve the impossible.

  But with every shout he made, no one answered. The silence was absolute, suffocating.

  Until there was something.

  A ping; a familiar one that cut through the silence. Though he could not pinpoint where he'd heard it before, another ping sounded and it revealed its source. The monitor, which unlike the earlier grand confrontation that it had showcased, was now plain white.

  Nothing too dramatic or elaborate, just plain white with a simple text that occupied the center of the monitor, text that Castellan had no choice but to read, drawn to it like a moth to flame.

  Integrating 97.1%

  "Integrating?" Castellan muttered aloud, sitting back heavily on his office chair and leaning his face closer to the monitor, trying to make sense of it.

  Integrating 98.7%

  "Hello!? Is this all you're doing?!" he shouted, frustration boiling over as he went into a full tantrum, slamming his fists on the desk. He was at his wit's end due to the unexplainable phenomenon that was happening, his rational mind crumbling.

  Integrating 99.5%

  "ANSWER ME!??" he screamed, his voice hoarse and desperate.

  Integrating 99.7%

  Integrating 99.9%

  Castellan, filled with rage and terror, was also desperate for an answer, for anything that made sense.

  He could only conclude that this might either be a deep hallucination brought on by stress and exhaustion, or a sophisticated corporate cyberattack from an opposing hacker trying to sabotage the company. Nonetheless, acting on pure instinct and panic, he then grabbed his office chair with both hands and raised it up high above his cubicle partition, muscles straining, intending to smash the monitor.

  But unfortunately, he was too late. Before he could bring it down, before he could destroy what he deduced as the source of his torment, the countdown finished.

  {Integrating 100%}

  Welcome Candidate_Dandy628

  TO THE LUMINOUS WORLD