To Be a Father Again in a Game

 

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"Hey, stop fighting, you two, or no ice cream when we stop at the next gas station," Marcus groaned, his eyes on the highway as the familiar bickering echoed from the backseat. The heat inside the car was stifling, making his frustration all the more unbearable. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

The chatter died down almost immediately, but the troublemaker wouldn’t quit.

"Dad, I don’t even like ice cream!" the youngest son giggled, his mischievous laughter filling the car. Marcus's wife smiled beside him, chuckling at the remark.

"Honey, don’t bother. Kids are kids," she said, her voice soft and understanding. "Let them be for a while. It’s been ages since we’ve gone on vacation. They’re just excited." Her gentle smile made his heart swell, and he returned it, his gaze flickering back to the road ahead.

The scenery rushed by: endless fields of green under a sky painted with vibrant clouds. The warmth of the sun filtered through the windshield, and the faint scent of fresh grass seeped into the car. It was the trip they’d been planning for months, finally coming to life.

It has been some time, huh, Marcus thought, settling into the moment, the warmth of his family around him.

Suddenly, a loud bang shattered the peace. His eyes darted to the right, his heart leaping into his throat. Adrenaline surged through his veins, his grip tightening on the wheel as he braced for impact. The tires of the massive cargo truck beside them had burst with a vicious snap, sending the hulking vehicle careening wildly across the lanes.

Time slowed as panic surged through his veins. The truck swerved violently, its heavy frame swinging left and right like an untethered beast.

"Hold on!" he yelled, heart pounding, his foot slamming onto the brakes. The tires screeched in protest, a high-pitched shriek cutting through the chaos, but they were too close. Too late.

The truck tipped. A thunderous boom ripped through the air as it flipped. Metal ground against the asphalt, sparks flying in every direction. The acrid smell of burning rubber filled the air. The vibration from the impact rattled through Marcus's bones. His hands gripped the wheel so tightly it hurt. The world outside the windshield twisted into a blur of motion—then, crash!

A sound like the earth itself splitting open. The deafening screech of tires sliced through the air, followed by a gut-wrenching crunch as metal collided with metal. The roof of their car crumpled under the truck’s weight with a sickening crunch, glass shattering into a spray of glittering fragments. The force of the impact sent them spinning, the children's screams blending with the grinding of steel.

An echo of defeat reverberated in his ears, a hollow, numbing sound that seemed to mirror the emptiness within him. His chest tightened, a cold weight settling deep inside, as if his body was trying to match the void in his heart. His vision blurred—dark splotches of red and shadows melded together—as he caught the faint image of a man leaning over him, mumbling urgently. Marcus tried to focus, but the world was slipping away. He couldn't feel his legs. A cold realization settled in the pit of his stomach, like ice spreading through his veins.

My family... The thought seared through his mind, the one thing keeping him tethered to consciousness. His heart pounded, each beat more painful than the last. Amidst the shattered glass, the twisted metal, he saw them—his family—lifeless in a pool of blood. His chest tightened, and he reached out with a trembling hand, fingers brushing against broken shards. He could barely move, yet every inch felt like agony.

 

Please... no...

 

The words never escaped his lips, his voice caught in the void between breath and despair. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring the scene further until all he could see was red.

My family

He woke up with a silent scream, his throat aching from the effort. His eyes darted around, wide and frantic, taking in the stark brightness of the room. The pungent scent of disinfectant filled his nostrils—sharp, sterile, suffocating. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, a frantic beat pounding in his ears. The harsh light stabbed at his eyes, and the blurred figure of a doctor came into focus, writing something down.

The doctor looked up, his eyes widening as Marcus's eyelid fluttered. Panic flashed across his face as he rushed to call for help. The reality hit Marcus like a physical blow, heavier than the weight of the wreckage. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart pounded painfully in his chest. The doctor's words echoed in his head, fragments of cold, clinical truth: a fatal accident, paralysis, survival that felt more like a curse. Marcus's vision blurred as he tried to comprehend it all. It felt unreal, a cruel dream he could not wake from.

"Mr. Marcus Voss, I bring sad news. We tried our best, but we could not save your youngest child. He was too critically hurt. No one survived from your family, sir. As a veteran of this great nation, I’m sorry. I failed you."

The doctor held his head down the entire time as he read the report, feeling guilt and pity. It was a fatal accident that had taken everyone except the father.

"I'm sorry to say, but even your life is now in danger. You only have a few months left. I'm..." The doctor could not complete his words and excused himself.

As he exited the room, the doctor had one thought:

Such a cruel fate. As a family man myself, I can only share the guilt.

Marcus was strapped to all kinds of equipment, tubes and wires snaking around him, their cold touch pressing into his skin. The world felt distant, the muffled beeping of machines blending into the background. The voices of doctors and nurses were muffled, like they were underwater. He didn’t want to live anymore. His family had been his everything, and now they were gone. The emptiness gnawed at him, making each breath feel pointless.

Days blurred together as he slowly recovered physically, but emotionally, he was numb. His friends visited, their voices filled with concern, but it was all meaningless noise. His closest friend took him home after discharge, promising to stay by Marcus until his final day, trying desperately to bring some light back into his life. But Marcus was lost in the shadows of his grief.

One day, as Marcus’s condition worsened, his friend tried something different, something that finally caught his attention.

"Marcus, you're going to love this. It's Chronicles of the Chosen. It's something I found at a GameStop." His friend's voice fell on deaf ears as Marcus stared with an unexpressive attitude toward the garden. It reminded him of his family home.

Marcus hadn't spoken a word since a month after his discharge. His friend, growing increasingly desperate, finally did something drastic, something Marcus hated. He sat beside Marcus, his voice breaking the heavy silence as he talked about their deployment days, the times they had fought together, the times Marcus had been a hero.

"Marcus, I'm not asking for much. We’ve been through hell and back together. You saved my life and many others. Please don't pass away with grief. Would your family be happy if you spent your remaining time like this?" His voice was firm and demanding.

"Please, how about you just try to forget it? Here, play this game. Take your mind off it. This is my wish as a brother. Do this for me," his friend pleaded. The raw concern in his friend's eyes, the tears welling up, made Marcus flinch. In all their years together, through all the battles and hardships, Marcus had never seen his friend cry—not once in 20 years.

Marcus looked at his friend, his eyes filled with a mix of exhaustion and gratitude. He hesitated, his mind torn between the desire to give up and the loyalty he felt for his friend. He took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't know if I can... but for you, I'll try. You've been here when no one else could." A faint, sorrowful smile touched his lips, a flicker of something almost lost to the grief.

As days passed, Marcus reluctantly started playing the game. Slowly, he found himself enjoying it. For brief moments, the game took him away from the crushing weight of his grief. It was a distraction—a small, fleeting comfort. Day by day, his health continued to deteriorate, but the game filled the empty hours, easing his sorrow just a little. Sometimes, he drank to numb the pain, to keep the memories at bay. His friend never complained, never hesitated, always by his side, even hiring a nurse to help when things got too difficult.

Eventually, Marcus completed the game. His eyes were clouded, the world around him a dim haze. He could feel the end approaching—each breath shallow, each moment fleeting—but somehow, it didn't hurt as much anymore.

"Would you be willing to listen to my request?" Marcus asked, his voice barely a murmur, trembling yet calm. His friend’s face was etched with sorrow, tears welling in his eyes.

"Anything..."

"Please... take me to their graves. I want to be there for my final moments," Marcus whispered, coughing, his words punctuated with wheezes. His friend jumped out of his seat, urgency in his every movement, and prepared to leave for the cemetery. Marcus held on, knowing his time was running out. As his friend helped him, Marcus shakily wrote his will, pressing the paper into his friend's hands before they left.

The journey was quiet, the silence filled with the unspoken pain of impending loss. The soft hum of the car engine was the only sound, blending with the rhythmic thump of Marcus's weakening heartbeat. When they reached the graves, his friend carefully helped Marcus into his wheelchair, pushing him to the resting place of his family. They stood there together, side by side, in front of the markers that bore the names of those Marcus loved the most.

Marcus turned to his friend, a faint, sorrowful smile tugging at his lips. His friend’s tears spilled over, his shoulders shaking as he sniffled, struggling to hold back his emotions. Understanding Marcus’s unspoken wish, his friend stepped away, leaving Marcus alone with his family.

Marcus gazed at the graves, each name carved into stone, each one a piece of his shattered heart. The chill of the wind swept through the cemetery, rustling the leaves in the silence, amplifying the emptiness that consumed him. He reached out with trembling fingers, tracing the letters as his vision blurred, tears spilling down his cheeks. He read each name aloud, his voice cracking, each syllable a stab of grief that tore at his soul.

"I'm... so sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking, each word dragged out painfully, as if the weight of his sorrow made even speaking unbearable. He fell to his knees, the weight of his sorrow too much to bear. "I couldn't protect you... I would give anything to be with you again." His voice broke, the raw pain reverberating in the empty space around him.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest heaving as he struggled to speak through the tears. "I didn't want this... I couldn't protect you..." The world around him grew darker, the edges of his vision blurring as he choked on his words. "I would give anything... to be with you... again."

His body trembled, his strength slipping away like sand through his fingers, as the darkness closed in.

"Anything you say?" a voice echoed in his mind—cold, calm, almost detached, yet with an unsettling familiarity. It lingered in the empty darkness, weaving through the confusion clouding Marcus's fading consciousness.

I never thought someone was listening, but maybe I just wasn't lucky. Maybe I caught the attention of something I should have left alone. A force that was indifferent to my suffering, yet somehow drawn to it. It felt like the universe had reached out to answer a question I didn’t even know I had asked, and the answer was far more complex and dark than I could have imagined.

As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw a room—a futuristic room that felt oddly familiar, like déjà vu. It was something he had seen before. The walls shimmered with a silvery sheen, lights embedded seamlessly within them casting a soft, ambient glow that made everything feel ethereal. Before Marcus could even look around, a strange, throbbing sensation spiked through his head, giving him a sharp headache. A familiar sound echoed in his mind—a soft 'ting' that rang out, almost like an alert from a video game.

Instinctively, Marcus moved, his body acting on its own. It was as if his muscles remembered a place he'd never been. He found the washroom effortlessly, the door sliding open at his approach. Inside, the room was sleek and advanced, lined with silvery surfaces and illuminated edges that emitted a soft blue hue. Everything about it seemed unreal, a blend of the magical and sci-fi—a dream made tangible.

He leaned over the sink, splashing his face with cold water, and for a second, he closed his eyes. His breathing steadied, the pounding headache dulling as he took in the chill of the water against his skin.

When he looked up, his own face stared back at him in the mirror, the ambient light casting deep shadows under his eyes. The weight of his exhaustion was evident, his face lined with grief.

"I couldn't even die in peace," he muttered to himself, his sad smile piercing as he looked into his own eyes. The emptiness in his gaze was like a void, one that threatened to consume him whole. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if trying to make the image in the mirror vanish.

As the headache began to subside, something else caught his attention. There, hovering before him like a hologram, was a screen—almost like a pop-up in a game. It flickered slightly, its digital edges shimmering in the dim light.

Looking at the screen after waking from the darkness, he saw one message.

A status screen, like those from games he used to play, hovered in his vision, its digital glow almost mesmerizing. It read:

"Clear the game at its hardest difficulty as Zerek Ironheart, and you will be granted your desire."

The words hung in the air, resonating deeply within him. Marcus blinked, trying to steady himself, his mind racing as the meaning sank in. It was an opportunity—something impossible, yet strangely tempting. He could feel the weight of it, the promise of a chance to change everything.

He knew vividly what was in store—the kind of world this was, filled with danger and trials. But why? That was the question that burned in his thoughts. The memories of another life were already seeping in. It had only been a minute since he became someone else, yet the new memories mingled with his own, overlapping like two voices trying to speak at once. Both sets of memories felt real, and it was impossible to tell which was genuine and which was an illusion. He had become both people—Marcus, who had lost everything, and Zerek Ironheart, whose fate was intertwined with the game. The boundary between who he was and who he had become was blurred, leaving him caught in a strange, inescapable duality.

He clenched his fists, looking at the screen. He wanted only one thing—to be given another chance. As strange and impossible as the current reality was, there was hope in it. A glimmer of hope for a broken man. A chance for redemption, no matter how improbable.

Marcus took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly as he reached forward. The words on the screen flickered, almost as if they were waiting for his decision. He hesitated for only a moment, then tapped the 'Accept' button, feeling a strange warmth flow through his body as he did. There was no doubt in his heart—this was his path.

The screen shimmered before fading away, leaving Marcus alone with his thoughts. He looked out at the window, catching a glimpse of the world beyond—lush greenery, the gentle sway of the fields, and the distant outline of a farm under the warmth of the sun. It was peaceful, almost surreal. He allowed himself a small, determined smile.

"This is my chance," he thought, the fire of determination rekindling in his chest. "My chance to make things right."