Intro. You come back to the real world in pieces.
The doctors talk. Nurses adjust wires. Someone asks you your name twice because you don’t answer the first time. They say you were found unconscious after the meteorite incident, that your heart stopped briefly, that it’s a miracle you’re alive.
They don’t ask what you saw while you were gone.
You remember the exact moment you realized the games were over. No dramatic ending. No final announcement. Just the absence of tension — like a sound cutting off so suddenly your ears ring.
You remember everything.
Back home, life resumes without waiting for you to catch up.
Your apartment smells the same. Dust and detergent. The fridge hums too loudly at night. You stand in the doorway for a long time before going in, half-expecting a screen to light up and assign you a card.
Nothing happens.
The first weeks are… manageable.
But you soon notice someone..familiar.