by Kristin Lennox

Doug’s head snapped forward as he woke with a snort; the greasy pizza box in his lap fell to the floor. He squinted at the sun streaming through the tiny basement windows: mid-afternoon? But what day?

Doug cracked his neck and set his controller on the desk…or tried.

The gamepad was stuck to his palm, fingers welded to the buttons. Confusion yielded to agony as the headset bore into his skull; the chair rippled beneath him, tendrils of fabric weaving into flesh.

As forearms and chair arms melded, a progress bar appeared in Doug’s peripheral vision:

“Integration: 78% complete”

Kristin Lennox