Ethan Miller adjusted his tie, even though the camera probably wouldn't even pick it up. He was sitting in his meticulously tidied spare bedroom, now serving as a temporary home office. At 33, he was technically a millennial, which meant he was supposed to be comfortable with remote work. But this was his first time actually interviewing for a fully remote cybersecurity position. He’d never been a fan of the office atmosphere.

  He took a deep breath, smoothed down his hair again, and clicked the "Join Meeting" button. The screen flickered, and suddenly he was face-to-face with two individuals: a woman with short, fiery red hair and a collection of what looked like server racks blurring in the background, and a man with a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettlingly calm demeanor.

  "Ethan Miller?" the red-haired woman chirped, her voice surprisingly warm and inviting. "Hi Ethan, I'm Sarah Davies, with an "H", Head of Security Operations. And this is David Chen, our Lead Incident Response Specialist."

  "Good morning, Sarah, David," Ethan replied, forcing a smile. "Thanks for having me."

  David nodded curtly. "Let's get started, shall we?"

  The interview began with the usual pleasantries: a brief overview of the company, a cloud security firm specializing in protecting financial institutions, followed by Ethan rattling off his experience. He highlighted his expertise in penetration testing, vulnerability assessments, and his deep understanding of various security frameworks. He could almost feel himself slipping into autopilot, reciting the well-rehearsed answers he'd used in countless interviews.

  Sarah, however, seemed to be genuinely listening, occasionally interjecting with insightful questions about specific projects he’d mentioned. David remained impassive, his eyes fixed on the screen, seemingly analyzing Ethan's every move. The man was unnerving.

  After the initial introductions, Sarah leaned forward. "So, Ethan, you've got a pretty impressive resume. But we're looking for someone who can think on their feet, adapt to constantly evolving threats, and thrive in a remote environment. Tell us about a time you faced a major security incident and how you handled it."

  Ethan mentally scrambled. He had plenty of stories, but he needed to choose one that showcased not only his technical skills but also his ability to collaborate and communicate effectively, even from afar. He settled on a particularly challenging incident involving a phishing campaign that had managed to bypass several layers of security and compromise a handful of user accounts.

  He recounted the incident, emphasizing the speed with which he and his team had identified the breach, contained the damage, and implemented immediate countermeasures. He meticulously detailed the technical aspects, the tools they used, and the communication protocols they established to keep everyone informed.

  Sarah listened intently, nodding occasionally. David, however, remained silent, his expression unchanged. Once Ethan finished, David finally spoke, his voice low and deliberate.

  "Interesting," he said. "But what if, instead of phishing, the initial compromise had been through a zero-day exploit targeting a vulnerability in our core firewall infrastructure? How would you approach the situation differently?"

  Ethan felt a slight prickle of anxiety. A zero-day exploit. That was a whole different ballgame. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, knowing that his next answer could make or break his chances.

  "In that scenario," he began, "the immediate priority would be to isolate the affected firewall and prevent lateral movement within the network. We'd need to determine the scope of the vulnerability, identify potentially compromised systems, and implement temporary mitigations while we worked on patching the firewall itself."

  He elaborated on his proposed strategy, outlining the specific tools and techniques he would utilize, emphasizing the importance of real-time threat intelligence and proactive communication with the affected stakeholders. He described how he would prioritize analyzing network traffic, identifying suspicious activities, and engaging with other security experts to develop a long-term solution.

  David remained silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering. Ethan held his breath, waiting for the verdict.

  Finally, David spoke. "And what if," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "the zero-day was discovered on a Friday evening, right before a long weekend?"

  __

  Ethan slumped onto the sofa, the sweat on his brow a testament to the intensity of the last hour. He loosened his tie, the knot suddenly feeling like a noose.

  "How'd it go?" Sara asked, emerging from the kitchen, a dish towel slung over her shoulder. The aroma of roasting chicken filled the living room, a welcome comfort after the sterile environment of the Zoom call.

  Ethan groaned, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "I don't know, Sara. I honestly have no idea."

  She sat beside him, taking his hand. "Come on, tell me. You prepped so much. You were practically living and breathing cloud security for the past week."

  "Yeah, well, breathing it doesn't mean I can regurgitate it perfectly on demand," he muttered. "They grilled me, Sara. Grilled me! About everything from zero-trust architecture to the latest threat intelligence reports. It felt like an interrogation, not an interview."

  Sarah squeezed his hand. "But you know all that stuff. You're brilliant at it."

  "I know it, but presenting it... concisely... and convincingly... while maintaining eye contact with a floating head on a screen? That's a whole different ballgame. And then there was the 'behavioral' questions."

  "Oh, those are usually the easy ones," she said, smiling.

  Ethan snorted. "Easy? They asked me about a time I failed miserably on a project and had to recover. Miserably! I had to dig up some ancient disaster from five years ago and re-live the humiliation. It took everything I had not to burst into flames from embarrassment."

  "Okay, maybe not so easy," Sara conceded. "But you handled it, right? You spun it into a positive learning experience?"

  "I think so," Ethan said doubtfully. "I talked about how I learned the importance of proactive communication and rigorous documentation. But I still feel like I came across as a complete screw-up."

  He sighed heavily. "And the worst part? They kept asking me if I was comfortable working remotely, collaborating with a distributed team, and managing my own time. It was like they didn't believe I could actually do it, even though I've been basically working from home for almost two years now."

  Sara frowned. "That's ridiculous! You're incredibly organized, and you're more productive at home than you ever were in that soul-crushing office."

  "That's what I tried to tell them! But I think they were looking for a specific kind of 'remote worker' vibe, and I'm not sure I exuded it. Maybe I should have worn my sweatpants and talked about my ergonomic standing desk."

  Sara laughed, nudging him playfully. "Maybe not sweatpants. But you could have mentioned setting up a dedicated home office and your strategies for avoiding distractions."

  "Too late now," Ethan said, the disappointment palpable in his voice. "It's done. Now I just have to wait and see. But honestly, Sara, I don't feel good about this one. I really wanted this job. The pay is amazing, the work is exactly what I want to be doing, and the company seems genuinely cool. Plus, it's all remote. We could finally afford to..." He trailed off, not wanting to voice the dreams they'd been quietly nurturing.

  Sarah wrapped her arms around him. "Hey, don't get discouraged yet. You never know. They might have been impressed with your technical skills and overlooked the slightly awkward remote-worker vibe. Besides, even if this one doesn't pan out, there will be others. You're a valuable asset, Ethan. Don't forget that."

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. "Now," she said, brightening, "let's forget about cybersecurity for a while and focus on something more important... like eating this delicious-smelling chicken. My treat, regardless of how the interview went."

  Ethan managed a weak smile. "Thanks, honey. You're the best." He knew she was right. He had to let it go, at least for now. Maybe a good meal and a relaxing evening would clear his head. And maybe, just maybe, he'd get a call back. But if not, he'd keep searching. He owed it to himself, and to Sara, to find a job that would allow them to build the future they both dreamed of. The future that started with a remote job, a delicious chicken dinner, and each other.

  _

  Ethan stared at the screen, the pixelated image of his manager, Karen, blurring through a film of disbelief. "Effective immediately," she'd said, her voice devoid of any warmth. "Restructuring." The corporate euphemism for "we're cutting costs and you're the first to go."

  His carefully curated remote work setup felt suddenly alien, tainted by the sterile pronouncements of his severance package. Years of building his expertise in cybersecurity, years of late nights patching vulnerabilities and warding off digital threats, all boiled down to this: a tersely worded email and a request to wipe his company laptop clean.

  "Delete all company information, including any locally stored files," Karen had droned on. "And ship the laptop back to the office. We'll send you a prepaid label."

  The laptop. His trusty companion, his digital shield, now a liability. He understood the security protocol, of course. It was practically ingrained in his DNA. But the bitter taste of betrayal coated the mandated task. He’d poured his heart and soul into protecting their data, and now he was being asked to erase his contributions with a few clicks.

  He closed the video call, the silence of his home office amplifying the hollowness in his chest. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in his bones. Remote work had been his lifeline, allowing him to be present for his kids, to coach their soccer team, to actually live while still pursuing his career. Now that lifeline was severed, leaving him adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

  He reluctantly opened the designated folder containing the data wiping instructions. Step-by-step, methodical, designed for the technologically illiterate. Ironically, he was far from illiterate. He could probably write these instructions himself, backwards and in Klingon.

  As he began the process, he couldn't help but feel a pang of resentment. He'd caught a critical flaw in their firewall architecture just last month, a vulnerability that could have cost them millions. He'd even written a comprehensive report, meticulously documenting the issue and proposing a solution. Now, that report, and everything else he'd worked on, was destined for the digital abyss.

  He went through the motions, deleting files, uninstalling software, feeling a strange detachment as he obliterated his digital footprint within the company. A nagging thought, a persistent itch, began to form at the back of his mind. Something wasn’t right.

  He paused, his cursor hovering over the final confirmation button. He followed Karen’s instructions to the letter, wiped the laptop clean, and shipped it back.

  He took a deep breath, a spark of the old fire igniting within him. He might be unemployed, but he wasn't done fighting. This wasn't just about a job anymore. He had a family to live for.

  _

  Ethan stared at the flickering monitor, another failed job application mocking him from the screen. "Cybersecurity Analyst," the title read, a cruel reminder of his past life - the one he'd meticulously built, brick by brick, only to watch crumble under the weight of layoffs and an increasingly competitive market. Divorced, two kids, and a crappy apartment. 39 years he'd spent as Ethan, a man drowning in debt, ramen noodles his primary sustenance, and the crushing weight of existential dread his constant companion. 39 years of forgetting.

  He ran a hand through his thinning hair, the fluorescent lights of his cramped apartment buzzing like angry wasps. He felt… empty. A hollow echo where purpose should be. He sighed, pushing back from his desk. Maybe another bowl of noodles would help.

  As he stood, a strange pressure began to build in his chest, a tingling sensation that spread outwards, prickling his skin. It started subtly, a faint vibration like a hummingbird's wings beating against his sternum. But it grew, intensified, until it felt like his very bones were humming.

  Panic seized him. Was this a heart attack? He wasn't exactly the picture of health, living mostly on caffeine and desperation. He stumbled back, grabbing the edge of his desk for support. The apartment swam before his eyes, the buzzing of the lights escalating into a deafening roar.

  Then, it hit him.

  Not like a heart attack. Like… recognition. Like a key fitting perfectly into a long-lost lock. Like a forgotten language bubbling to the surface of his consciousness.

  Power. Raw, untamed, celestial power surged through him, ripping through the mundane veil of Ethan, the unemployed cybersecurity analyst. It felt ancient, infinite, a swirling vortex of golden energy that resonated with the very fabric of existence.

  He gasped, his knees buckling. The room began to shimmer, the walls blurring as the oppressive weight of the apartment seemed to lessen, lighten. The air crackled with unseen energy.

  Memories flooded his mind, not the dull, fragmented memories of Ethan, but the kaleidoscopic, vibrant memories of… himself. Not himself as he was now, but as he was, before.

  He saw towering celestial palaces bathed in the eternal dawn, felt the weight of a gem-encrusted crown upon his brow, heard the harmonious chorus of a thousand celestial choirs. He saw himself wielding lightning with a flick of his wrist, dictating the fates of mortals with a single word, commanding legions of immortal warriors against the encroaching forces of darkness.

  He remembered. He was the Heavenly Emperor. Ruler of the celestial realms. Protector of mortals. And he was… here.

  The surge of memories threatened to overwhelm him, the sheer magnitude of his past life threatening to shatter his mortal shell. He stumbled against the wall, gasping for air, the golden light radiating from him intensifying, bathing the apartment in an ethereal glow.

  With a desperate effort, he fought to control the burgeoning power, to anchor himself to the present, to the reality of Ethan. He focused on the chipped paint on the wall, the smell of stale noodles lingering in the air, the dull ache in his lower back.

  Slowly, agonizingly, the torrent of celestial energy began to subside. The golden light dimmed, the pressure in his chest eased. The memories didn’t disappear, but they receded, settling into a manageable hum beneath the surface of his consciousness.

  He stood there, trembling, leaning against the wall, his lungs heaving. The apartment was still a mess, the job applications still mocking him from the screen. But something had irrevocably changed. Ethan, the unemployed cybersecurity analyst, was still there, but he was no longer alone. He was now a vessel, a conduit, for the power of the Heavenly Emperor.

  He looked at his hands, ordinary, the hands of a man who spent his days hunched over a keyboard. But now, he knew what they were capable of. He knew the power that resided within him, waiting to be unleashed.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was going to be… interesting.

  Then a translucent Blue screen pop into existence and Ethan stared, dumbfounded. The celestial energy felt like a long-dormant limb waking up after decades of slumber, a familiar warmth spreading through his veins. He’d spent the last 39 years on Earth, a regular Joe named Ethan Miller. Now, this…this surge of power, this impossible screen, it was all happening way too fast.

  "Congratulations and welcome! The System has deemed your universe to be its next target for user integration. In (32 seconds) all inhabitants will be transported to a tutorial sub-verse. Please stand by."

  The words hung in the air, shimmering with an unsettling clarity. 'User integration'? 'Tutorial sub-verse'? What in the nine hells of whatever dimension this was supposed to be about to become? He ran a hand through his hair, the newly awakened celestial energy thrumming beneath his skin, a frantic counterpoint to the chillingly calm countdown ticking away on the screen.

  32...31...

  "This… this can't be happening," he muttered, his mind racing. He tried to access his memories, to dredge up any hint of a 'System' from his past life as the Heavenly Emperor, but all he found were fragmented images of endless battles, celestial palaces, and faces he could no longer quite grasp. The memories were like sand slipping through his fingers, tantalizingly close but ultimately unreachable.

  30...29...28...

  He looked around his small, cluttered apartment. Dishes piled in the sink, laundry overflowing from the hamper, a half-finished Lego AT-AT gathering dust on his desk. This was his life. A mundane, ordinary life, and in less than thirty seconds, it was all about to be ripped away. He thought of his neighbors, Mr. Henderson who always complained about the noise, Debby, the single mom down the hall who always had a kind smile, everyone. They were all going to be… transported? To where? By what? And for what purpose?

  25...24...23...

  A wave of anger, sharp and potent, flared within him, fueled by the celestial energy now coursing through him at an alarming rate. He was the Heavenly Emperor! Or, he had been. Even with his fragmented memories, the ingrained authority, the instinct to protect, was resurfacing. This 'System', whatever it was, had no right to disrupt their lives, to treat them like pawns in some cosmic game.

  20...19...18...

  He instinctively reached out, trying to grasp the energy, to control it, to somehow stop this impending catastrophe. Years of suppression, of living as an ordinary human, had dulled his skills, but the power was still there, latent, waiting to be unleashed. He focused on the screen, on the countdown, trying to find a weakness, a vulnerability, anything to exploit.

  15...14...13...

  He squeezed his eyes shut, a surge of raw power erupting from him, the small apartment vibrating with unseen energy. The air crackled with static, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he felt a resistance, a pushback against his will. But it was too late. He was too weak, too out of practice.

  10...9...8...

  He opened his eyes, a grim determination hardening his features. He couldn't stop it. But maybe, just maybe, he could protect them. He could guide them. He could use whatever power he had to ensure that Earth, and its inhabitants, wouldn't be crushed under the weight of this 'System'.

  5...4...3...

  He braced himself, the celestial energy coalescing around him like a protective shield. He whispered a silent prayer to forgotten gods, a plea for strength, for guidance.

  2...1...

  The world shimmered, the colors intensified, and Ethan felt a dizzying sensation of being pulled, stretched, and compressed all at once.

  0...

  Then, darkness. And then, light. he was in a large white room

  A new message popped onto his screen, shimmering even brighter than before:

  Welcome to the Tutorial Sub-Verse!

  Objective 1: Survive.

  Good luck!