At first, there’s nothing. No light. No sound. No sense of up or down, of body or breath or anything that feels remotely like me.

Just… blank.

Which, for the record, is not my favourite experience.

I’d like to say I handle it well. Stay calm. Assess the situation. Be rational.

I don’t. Because the second I realise there’s nothing, my brain immediately goes, Oh cool, we’re dead. That’s it. Game over.

Which feels unfair.

I don’t even remember finishing the level. I try to move but nothing happens. Not even a twitch.

Okay. Not ideal.

I try again, harder this time, like effort alone might kick-start whatever system has clearly failed me.

Still nothing.

Right. So either I’m dead—which, again, rude—or I’m… somewhere.

Trapped.

That thought lands differently. A little less final and a whole heap more uncomfortable. Because being dead is one thing. Being aware and stuck? That’s a whole different category of nightmare. I focus or at least, I try to.

There’s something there. It’s faint and distant, like a pressure just outside of reach. Not a sound exactly, but not nothing.

“...son…”

The word brushes against me, soft and warped, like it’s travelling through water. I latch onto it immediately, because that’s something. Something means not dead, right? Which, again, big win.

I reach for it—or try to. It’s hard to tell what reaching even is right now—but the effort seems to shift something. The darkness isn’t as solid anymore. It’s still there. Still thick and heavy, but not absolute.

“...stay with me…”