Transmigration

A sudden, searing pain tore through my chest.

Like something sharp had hooked itself deep inside me and was twisting, wrenching, pulling.

'What the fuck?'

I gasped, my vision blurring as a wave of nausea crashed into me. My phone slipped from my fingers, landing somewhere on the bed as my body convulsed, muscles tensing uncontrollably.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The shrill alarm of the heart monitor screamed through the room. The rapid beeping hammered against my skull, syncing with the erratic, pounding throb in my chest.

Breathing—fuck, why was it so hard to breathe?

I clawed at my throat, but my arms felt weak, heavy. The world around me spun in a chaotic swirl of fluorescent lights and suffocating air.

Shit.

My body was going haywire. My nerves fired off signals that made no sense—burning hot and freezing cold at the same time. Every muscle spasmed. My chest heaved, but no air came in.

My lungs weren't working.

I couldn't—

Dark spots bloomed in my vision. My head tilted back against the pillow, the ceiling above me distorting, stretching, warping into something unreal. The sound of the heart monitor was fading, the edges of reality dissolving into a hazy, muffled void.

Then—

A voice.

Low. Familiar.

[RighteousOne: "You'll see."]

My stomach lurched.

No. That didn't make sense. That was just a chat. Just a fucking message.

But then—

The room around me cracked.

Not literally, but something deeper. Something intangible.

It was like the walls themselves had fractured, like the very air had split apart, revealing something underneath.

The beeping of the machines stretched, distorted, turning into an eerie, droning hum. My bed was shaking—no, not just the bed. Everything. The entire room trembled as if reality itself was breaking apart.

I tried to move, to scream, but my body was frozen. Trapped.

The door slammed open.

Naria.

Her wide, panicked eyes locked onto me the second she entered, and for the first time since I met her, she looked… scared.

'Shit. That's not a good sign.'

She rushed to my side, her hands already moving in a blur—grabbing my wrist, checking the monitors, yanking out her pager.

"Doctor! Room 307, now!" she barked into the intercom, her voice sharper than I'd ever heard it.

The machines kept screaming.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

My chest felt like it was caving in, like something inside me was clawing its way out.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck—what the hell is happening to me?!'

I tried to speak, to move, to do anything, but my body wouldn't listen. My limbs were lead, my throat locked shut. My pulse was slamming against my skull, faster, harder—like my heart was trying to punch its way out of my ribs.

Naria's hands pressed against my shoulders, holding me steady. "Damien! Can you hear me?"

'I'm right here, you idiot! Of course, I can hear you!'

But no words came out.

Her grip tightened as she leaned in, eyes scanning my face. I could see it—real fear. Not the usual exasperation, not her barely concealed irritation with me, but actual, gut-deep panic.

'Why… why does she look like that?'

Something was wrong.

Not just with me. With everything.

The lights overhead flickered, and for half a second, the room looked… different.

Distorted.

Like I was seeing two versions of reality at once—one where I was in this shitty hospital bed, trapped in my failing body, and another… something else.

Something darker.

A void creeping in at the edges of my vision, stretching, expanding, swallowing the corners of the room.

Naria's voice snapped me back. "Stay with me, Damien!"

'I would if I fucking could!'

My chest clenched, another jolt of agony ripping through me. My back arched off the bed, a strangled noise escaping my lips as my vision flickered again.

Then—

The doctor rushed in, followed by two more nurses. They swarmed around me, shouting orders, pushing equipment closer.

"His vitals are unstable!"

"He's seizing—get the sedative!"

"Heart rate's skyrocketing—BP dropping fast!"

Hands grabbed at me—cold, firm, moving with precision. A needle jabbed into my arm. I barely felt it over the searing pain tearing through my body.

I gasped, my vision blurring worse, the edges of the room dissolving again.

And in that instant—

I saw something behind them.

A shadow.

Standing there, just beyond the doctor, just outside the reach of the light.

Watching.

Waiting.

My heart lurched.

'What… the fuck is that?'

Naria must have seen my expression change, because she turned, following my gaze. But when she looked—

Nothing.

Just the wall.

Just the same sterile, lifeless hospital room.

She turned back to me, her brows furrowed. "Damien, what is it? What do you see?"

'I don't know.'

I didn't.

But I was sure of one thing.

Something was coming.

And I had no idea if I'd survive it.

My breath came in ragged, shallow gasps.

I could feel it now.

The connection.

Fading.

My fingers twitched uselessly at my sides. My legs felt distant, like they didn't belong to me anymore. Even my heartbeat—once a frantic, pounding force—was dulling, like someone had pressed mute on my body.

Beep… beep… beep…

The heart monitor's frantic rhythm was slowing.

Too slow.

Too fucking slow.

'Shit. This is bad.'

I tried to move. Nothing. Tried to lift my head. Useless. Even my eyelids felt heavy, like they were being forced shut by something stronger than me.

I was slipping.

Dying.

And then—

Out of the corner of my vision—

A shadow.

At first, it was shapeless. A dark smear against the already warping edges of reality. But as the seconds dragged on, it began to take form.

A chair.

A wide, sagging gaming chair, the fake leather peeling at the edges.

And sitting in it—

A man.

Fat. Bloated. His belly spilling out over the armrests, flesh pale and glistening with a thin sheen of grease. His stomach was open, not like a wound, but like something had split him apart and hollowed him out, leaving a gaping, hairy chasm where his guts should have been.

And in that hairy pit—

Doritos crumbs.

I stared, my brain barely keeping up.

The man—no, the thing—was stuffing its face with another handful of chips, the bright orange dust clinging to his thick, stubby fingers. His mouth smacked wetly as he chewed, crumbs tumbling down into the black abyss of his belly.

And then—

I knew.

AHHHAHAHAHAHAHA!

I laughed.

Not out loud—my body was too fucking broken for that.

But in my head, I laughed like a maniac.

'I was fucking right… as usual.'

Because of course.

Of fucking course.

Who else could it be?

Who else but him?

The dev.

The pathetic, sniveling worm behind that godawful game.

The one I had torn apart, ripped to fucking shreds with my words.

He was sitting there like some grotesque god of failure, watching me with his dull, beady eyes, as if this whole thing was just another bad joke.

'Or… I'm fucking going crazy.'

I wasn't even sure anymore.

But whatever this was, it was real enough to make me laugh.

The doctors were still working, their voices frantic, sharp.

"He's slipping—BP's tanking!"

"Push another round—now!"

"Dammit, we're losing him!"

Their words barely reached me.

Their hands, the needles, the burning sensation of drugs being pumped into my veins—it all felt distant.

Fading.

Like a bad connection cutting out, second by second.

Beep… beep…

The monitor's sound stretched, distorted.

The lights above me flickered again, dimming, shifting between sterile white and something darker. Something wrong.

Naria's voice cracked through the chaos. "Stay with me, Damien!"

But it was too late.

My vision darkened.

And then—

A sound.

Not from the hospital. Not from the machines.

Something else.

A deep, mechanical hum that vibrated in my bones.

A voice, cold and emotionless, echoed from everywhere and nowhere.

[System Initialization: Start.]

A pulse of something—something massive—rippled through the air.

And the world shattered.

--------A/N--------

Now we are fucking starting.

Hope you liked the initial chapters.

This character is heavily inspired by Johnny Silverhand from Cyberpunk 2077, as I have already stated in the description, so get ready for more swearing and more narcissism.

As for if the past interactions came a bit strong, well, I simply thought about how Johnny Silverhand would behave in today's time, and this thing came out. 

Happy reading!