Chapter 3: The Light Within
1199 Words
When Charlie opened his eyes, the world felt muted. His vision swam in hazy grays, and his body felt like it weighed twice as much as usual. He blinked, staring up at the cracked ceiling of the abandoned building. The light—the impossible, brilliant light—was gone.
He groaned, lifting a hand to his head.
The light, the warmth, the way it had exploded inside him. It was all too vivid, too real to have been a dream.
Charlie sat up slowly, his joints protesting the effort. The room was still dark, the faint glow of the moon slipping through broken windows. His shirt stuck to his chest, damp with sweat.
“Ugh, great,” he muttered, pushing himself to his feet.
He made his way toward the exit, his footsteps heavy and uneven on the creaky floorboards. Outside, the cool night air hit his face, offering a brief reprieve from the heat radiating off his body. But the relief didn’t last long. Walking was enough to have him sweating again, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he trudged down the street.
Charlie heard voices before he saw them—low murmurs, growing louder as he turned the corner. A group of people stood in the distance, shining flashlights into bushes and alleys.
“Charlie!” one of them called, the voice sharp and familiar.
He froze. The beam of a flashlight swung toward him, and suddenly, all the voices seemed to converge.
“There he is!” someone shouted.
Charlie blinked as a man jogged up to him, holding out a picture. He barely had time to process the image of his own face, blurry and unflattering, before the man pulled out a phone and called someone.
“We’ve found him! He’s here, and—” the man hesitated, looking Charlie over. “He’s not hurt.”
Not hurt? Charlie frowned, glancing down at his body again. His hands roamed over his arms and chest, searching for the injuries he was sure he’d felt earlier. Nothing.
But the weight of his body remained, the same thick, awkward mass he always carried. He sighed. “Still fat, though,” he muttered under his breath.
---
The crowd parted as Charlie’s parents arrived, their faces pale with worry. His mother rushed forward, pulling him into a tight embrace.
“Charlie! Oh my God, we were so worried!” she cried, her voice shaking.
His father followed, a step slower but no less relieved. “What were you thinking, running off like that?” His voice carried an edge of frustration, but the way his hand gripped Charlie’s shoulder betrayed his relief.
Charlie shrugged awkwardly, still catching his breath. “I didn’t run,” he mumbled.
“We couldn’t find you anywhere! The neighbors, the police—we thought something had happened,” his mother said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Even if he was lazy, even if he was the disappointment they rarely spoke about, he was still their son.
His father cleared his throat. “Let’s get you home,” he said, nodding to the gathered neighbors and officers. “Thank you, everyone. We appreciate your help.”
The crowd dispersed, murmuring their goodnights as Charlie followed his parents to the car.
The ride home was quiet. His mother glanced at him in the rearview mirror every few seconds, as if to make sure he was still there. His father kept both hands on the wheel, his jaw tight.
Charlie stared out the window, his thoughts drifting back to the light. What was it? And why did it choose him?
He rubbed his chest absentmindedly, half expecting to feel something—warmth, a glow, anything. But there was nothing. Just the same soft, sagging skin he’d had that morning.
As they pulled into the driveway, his mother turned to him. “Get some rest, sweetheart. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Charlie nodded, climbing out of the car. His legs felt heavy, but his mind raced. He shuffled back to the basement, pausing at the top of the stairs.
For the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel comforted by the thought of his couch.
Then he heard something in his head.
System synchronization complete.
“What?!” he exclaimed, looking around, his heart racing. Fear gripped him as his eyes darted around the room.
Am I crazy? he thought, his breath uneven.
Deciding he needed something to calm down, Charlie headed toward the kitchen for a late-night snack. Maybe food would help him clear his mind and get some sleep.
But as he reached the stairs, he froze.
A strange, glowing window hovered in the air, faintly illuminated like something out of a video game.
Charlie stared at the strange window floating in front of him, its glowing text casting faint shadows on the basement walls.
Task: Take a shower.
Reward: ???
He poked at it hesitantly, his finger passing through the translucent surface. “WTF?” he muttered, glancing around the room as if someone might jump out and explain what was happening.
The word “shower” lingered in his mind, tugging at something faintly resembling guilt. It had been… what, a couple of weeks since his last one? Maybe longer. He scratched at the back of his neck, suddenly hyper-aware of the faint itchiness there.
“Fine,” he mumbled, shuffling toward the bathroom. “But just a quick one. I’ve got class tomorrow.”
The water was lukewarm at best, but it didn’t matter. As soon as the spray hit his skin, he sighed. The steam clouded the tiny bathroom, softening the harsh light from the overhead bulb. He scrubbed himself with a bar of soap that was nearly worn down to nothing, trying not to think about how much grime was swirling down the drain.
After a few minutes, he stepped out, toweling himself off clumsily. His reflection in the cracked mirror caught his eye. He usually avoided looking at it, but something made him pause.
His skin. It looked… better. Not perfect, but the redness and patchiness that usually clung to his face had faded slightly. The greasy sheen that seemed to live permanently on his forehead was gone, replaced by a faint, healthy glow.
“What the hell?” he muttered, leaning closer.
The window reappeared in front of him, making him jump.
Task complete.
Reward: Skin condition improved slightly.
He blinked, his damp hair dripping onto the floor. “Skin condition? What the…”
He rubbed at his cheeks experimentally. They felt smoother, less like sandpaper and more like… well, skin. He turned his hands over, noticing the same improvement there.
For a moment, he just stood there, staring at the glowing text. Then, slowly, a grin crept onto his face.
“Okay,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “What else you got for me?”
Change, the voice in his head answered.
Charlie froze, his grin fading as the single word echoed in his mind. It wasn’t like a thought—this was something separate, something… other.
“Who—what are you?” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.
- Writer
