Darkness. Silence.
A strange, weightless feeling surrounded him, like floating in deep water. Then, suddenly—
Text appeared.
[Simulation No. 01 Begins]
[Loading new scenario…]
[The sun rises over the busy streets of Romania. The air smells of gasoline and coffee. You rub your eyes, still adjusting to the early morning shift. The cracked leather of the steering wheel feels unfamiliar beneath your fingers.]
[You have just become a taxi driver.]
Year 1: The Struggle
[You hesitate before pressing the gas pedal. The car jerks forward. Too fast. Too slow. You brake too hard. Your passengers clutch their seats.]
["God, kid, did you even get a license?" A businessman scoffs as he slams the door behind him.]
[Your hands sweat. Your forehead drips. The city is a maze, and you are lost in it. GPS? Useless. Traffic? Impossible.]
[You miss a turn. You take the long way. Your boss isn't happy. Your passengers aren't happy. You aren't happy.]
But you keep driving.
[Nights are the worst. The city lights blur together, confusing and unforgiving. You make less money. You get less sleep.]
[A drunk customer refuses to pay. He stumbles out, laughing. You curse under your breath but let it go.]
[A woman cries in your back seat. You say nothing. You are just the driver.]
[A man leaves his phone behind. You return it. He is grateful. He tips well. Small victories.]
You adapt. You learn. You endure.
Year 3: The Routine
[You no longer hesitate. You take the sharp turns smoothly. You navigate the backstreets without thinking.]
[The city is in your blood now. Every road, every shortcut, every traffic light—you know them all.]
[At 5 AM, you drive the workers to the factories. At 8 AM, you pick up the businessmen heading to offices. At noon, you take tourists to landmarks. At midnight, you drive the drunks home.]
Pick up. Drop off. Pick up. Drop off. Repeat.
[At 25, you stop making mistakes. At 27, you can drive while barely thinking.]
[You learn who pays and who doesn't. You judge people by how they look. By their clothes. By their shoes.]
[A student hops on and asks to pay later. "I'll find you tomorrow," she promises. You take her anyway. She doesn't lie.]
[An old man forgets his groceries in your back seat. You keep them, expecting the worst. The next day, he finds you. "I trust you," he says simply. "I knew you would be here."]
You trust no one. You just drive.
Year 7: The Grind
[You work 16-hour shifts. Your back aches. Your fingers cramp. Your coffee is cold.]
[You know your customers before they even step inside. The chatty ones. The silent ones. The ones who stare at their phones. The ones who treat you like air.]
[You drive a newlywed couple on their honeymoon. They are in love. They tip well.]
[You drive a man to a funeral. He is silent the entire way. He tips nothing. You don't mind.]
[You drive a nervous teenager. He sneaks a glance over his shoulder, mumbling an address. You drop him off and forget him. The next day, you see his face on the news. A missing person case.]
You ask no questions.
You just drive.
[You grow numb to the stories. To the people. A man tells you he just lost his job. You pretend to care. You used to care.]
[Another asks if you can wait while he talks to his wife. He promises a tip. You wait for twenty minutes. For forty. Kids splash water on your cab. The man doesn't come out.]
[A woman wants you to drive her to a hospital—she is in labor. You get her there fast. She is thankful. She names the baby after you. She forgets you the next day.]
Time passes. You watch it move.
Year 12: The Veteran
[You are 36. Your hair is thinning. Your hands have calluses from gripping the wheel. Your taxi is old, but so are you.]
[You have seen everything. You expect nothing.]
[Until tonight.]
[A man enters your taxi. His face is hidden. His voice is calm. Too calm.]
"Drive."
[You do.]
Something feels wrong.
[The streets are empty. The silence is heavy. The city feels… off.]
Cold metal presses against your neck.
["Pull over."]
You obey.
[A whisper. A blade. A warm trickle of blood.]
[The taxi meter blinks one last time.]
Everything fades.
[Simulation No. 01 Ends]
George woke up—gasping.
He couldn't breathe. Panic ripped through him as he clawed for air, his body drenched in sweat, his muscles tight and convulsing after years behind the wheel. Twelve whole years. His lungs burned. His hands trembled like they were still gripping that cracked, unforgiving leather.
His breath came in shuddering bursts. His pulse hammered wildly, driving the memory of every mistake, every shift, every awkward conversation, every disappointment, every lousy tip, each hopeless night and startled passenger through his mind like a runaway taxi. Then—death. It felt real. It was real. He shook, trying to steady himself, trying to absorb it all, but twelve years had vanished in a moment, and his brain couldn't catch up. The scent of gasoline clung to him like a bad dream that wouldn't shake loose.
The sudden glow of text cut through the fog of his shock. He blinked as words flickered in front of his dazed eyes.
[Simulation Complete. Choose one of the following rewards:]
① Twelve years of driving experience
② A gold ring left behind by a forgotten passenger
③ A mysterious note found under your seat
He squinted at the words flashing before him, unable to comprehend their absurdity — a choice? After everything? The last twelve years reduced to... this?
But then something strange happened: with every passing second staring at those words, details started fading from his mind - roads once familiar became vague lines on an abstract map; faces blurred until they were unrecognizable smudges; conversations turned into meaningless noise; even the feel of the steering wheel started slipping from his grasp.
His heart pounded against his chest wall louder than any confusion or fear he'd ever experienced before. This wasn't just some dream or drunken delusion - The System was real and it held dominion over everything he saw and thought about.
He tried to pull away but found no escape route available - there was no choice, not in the way he'd once understood it. And this was just the beginning.
Was this his new reality? He took a deep breath, trying to anchor himself to something tangible as his world spun out of control. As if mocking his desperation, the text blinked in and out of existence with the same tempo of his own heartbeat.
George reeled, grasping at the unsteady fragments of his consciousness. An all-encompassing fatigue dragged at his limbs, but he was awake- alive. That much he could be sure of. He struggled to piece together the disparate strands of memory — of being 36 years old, balding, and jaded; of being 18, confused, and unsure.
The ethereal blue text pulsed before him, demanding an answer:
[Choose one of the following rewards:]
It felt like a taunt now. He forced himself to focus on the options, even as memories fled his grasp:
① Twelve years of driving experience
② A gold ring left behind by a forgotten passenger
③ A mysterious note found under your seat
The ring and note whispered of mysteries, but George knew better. He had spent a lifetime learning the value of practical choices. He couldn't let it all slip away.
George's finger quivered as he selected the first option. The blue glow swirled with a strange satisfaction, and then:
[Reward selected: Twelve years of driving experience]
His head spun as reality snapped into focus, the clutter of memories still there but ordered now—an old attic finally straightened up. The exhaustion, the confusion, the disbelief—they settled into a quiet certainty.
He sat up and wiped sweat from his forehead, swallowing hard against the bitter taste of adrenaline in his mouth. Morning light crept through thin curtains, casting long patterns on his feet and legs. His body felt different — aged and young, worn and fresh at once — but he was back to being 18-year-old George Corvin.
A different text hovered in his vision now:
[Integration Complete: Advanced Driving Skills Acquired]
He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Twelve simulated years boiled down into a single moment. And this moment was real.
Then a new thought struck him with terrible suddenness: he had been gone for twelve years... but only one moment had passed here? Was this how things would work from now on?
He scrambled to his feet, wobbly but determined. He couldn't afford to crumble under the weight of the surreal — not now. He ran a hand through his hair; it felt thick and full, not at all like the thinning strands of his simulation's end. A rush of relief coursed through him.
He looked around the bare room, finally recognizing it as his own — except, maybe not quite. It was like seeing a photograph taken from an unfamiliar angle.
His phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand, jarring him back to immediate concerns. The screen glowed with the time: 7:00 AM. He blinked in disbelief, shaking his head to clear away any remnants of simulation fog. His driving test was today, in one hour.
He dressed with frantic urgency, hands moving faster than thought and instinctively reaching for clothes they knew were there even before he did. This had to work, or else... Or else what? He didn't want to consider failure.
He splashed water on his face, dragging him into sharper focus. The muffled sounds of morning crept in from behind the apartment walls: the rhythmic clanking of pipes, distant rows over breakfast cereal, cars honking like impatient children on their way to school.
The reflection in the mirror showed him a familiar stranger: 18-year-old George, looking back nervously, hair messily tousled. He didn't have time to dwell; he had his driving test in one hour.
***
George sat in the driver's seat, his fingers resting lightly on the wheel. The interior of the car was familiar—too familiar.
The leather beneath his palms. The faint scent of gasoline. The weight of the key in the ignition.
For a moment, his mind twisted, caught between two realities.
He had done this before.
Twelve years.
He could still feel the endless hours spent behind the wheel, the countless passengers, the shortcuts, the midnight drives, the exhaustion of long shifts. Memories that weren't his, yet were.
"Ready?"
The voice snapped him back to reality.
Beside him, a man in a crisp police uniform held a clipboard. His badge gleamed under the dull sunlight. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes carried the weight of having watched thousands of nervous teenagers fail before him.
George swallowed, nodding. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
The police officer gestured to the ignition. "Start the engine and pull out when ready."
George took a breath. He knew this.
His fingers moved instinctively, turning the key in one smooth motion. The engine purred to life. He shifted into first gear without hesitation, easing his foot onto the gas.
Smooth. Controlled.
The car glided forward.
The officer glanced at his clipboard, expression unchanged.
George, however, was reeling.
It felt… natural. Too natural.
Every motion, every adjustment of the wheel, every tiny correction of speed—it all happened effortlessly, as if he had been driving for years. Because he had.
The thought made his stomach twist.
The course was simple—navigate through the city streets, stop at intersections, perform a three-point turn, park. A routine test.
For most, it was nerve-wracking.
For George, it was already instinct.
He took turns with perfect control. He checked his mirrors without thinking. He adjusted his speed before the officer could even remind him.
Every movement felt like muscle memory. Every reaction was precise. He was driving like a seasoned professional.
And he couldn't stop himself.
At a red light, he flicked his eyes to the rearview mirror—something about the motion felt automatic, habitual. His gaze swept the sidewalk, checking for pedestrians before the light even changed.
The officer noticed.
George's grip tightened. He needed to act normal.
"Parallel park between those two cars," the officer instructed. His voice was neutral, but George could feel the subtle weight behind his words.
A final test.
George had done this a thousand times.
He adjusted the wheel, aligning the car flawlessly with the curb. The tires glided into place with smooth precision, one clean motion.
The officer raised an eyebrow.
George felt his stomach drop.
Too good. It was too good.
The silence stretched.
Finally, the officer made a mark on his clipboard. "You passed."
George let out a slow breath.
"You drive like you've been doing this for years." The officer glanced at him, his expression unreadable. "Ever driven before?"
George's pulse spiked.
Lie. Say something. Act normal.
He forced a nervous chuckle. "No, sir. Just… practiced a lot."
A pause.
Then, the officer smirked. "Well, whatever you did, it worked." He signed the bottom of the form and handed it over. "Congratulations."
George took it, his hands still feeling weightless. His heart was still hammering.
It was real. The System was real.
And this was only the beginning.