Total disconnect

Hi, i like writing short stories in my free time, especially dystopian stories and thought i would share my favourite creation, so here it is:

Jacob Brayzbee crouched behind a broken slab of concrete, dust clinging to his jacket as bullets snapped above his head. The VerseGov building loomed ahead, its black glass sides reflecting the chaos of the battlefield outside—fires burning in the streets, players screaming in combat, explosions echoing across the virtual city. He took a deep breath and ran, weaving between rusted car shells and sandbag walls. His boots thudded against the asphalt, each step bringing him closer to the front doors. 

He crashed through the entrance, glass shattering around him as alarms shrieked to life. Armed guards turned at once, red visors glowing through the haze. Jacob dove behind a reception desk, heart pounding, sweat slipping down his temple. He clutched his rifle tighter, his knuckles white, and rose just long enough to return fire. One guard dropped. Then another. 

But he was hit. Chest lit with plasma, his screen flashed red, and the world blinked to black. 

He respawned back on the pad. 

This time, he moved slower. Through alleyways. Behind dumpsters. Up fire escapes. No more frontal assault. He then entered the building through the back and manged to reach the 27th floor via the stairwells before someone spotted him. The shot was clean through the ribs. 

Respawn. Again. 

He decided to take the elevator. It stank of electricity and digital sweat. At the 77th floor, a woman entered and saw him. She didn’t hesitate. Shot him between the eyes. 

Respawn. 

Hours passed. Or minutes. Time was hard to measure here. Each death only made his determination harder, sharper. He stopped counting the floors. Stopped breathing heavy. Stopped blinking when he pulled the trigger. On his fifteenth run, he made it. 

Floor 125. 

The VR core hummed in the centre of the room, a pulsating machine of wires and light. Tubes ran up into the ceiling, snaking across like metal vines. The floor glowed beneath his boots. His reflection shimmered in the polished steel. 

He walked in, gun drawn. No mercy this time. 

The room erupted as guards poured in from all sides. Seventeen of them. Men. Women. One even wore a tuxedo. Jacob dropped into a roll and fired. The echo of gunfire rattled the glass walls. The air smelled like ozone and scorched data. Bodies dropped. Screams turned digital. 

A figure remained. On the glass bridge above, President Gregor Stinsky stared down at him. His eyes were heavy. His voice rang out. 

“Jacob. Don’t do this.” 

Jacob didn’t lower his weapon. He stepped forward and placed the mega bomb beneath the VR core. Its shell clicked open, and a countdown began to blink in red: 

10… 9… 8… 

“You have no idea what you're doing,” Stinsky yelled, stepping onto the staircase. “We’ve found a cure. A formula. A way to keep people alive without food, without water. They don’t need to unplug. Not anymore.” 

Jacob’s face twisted. He didn’t shout. He just looked up at the president with tired eyes. 

“Then give them the cure,” he said quietly. “Give them a reason to survive, not an excuse to die.” 

“They don’t deserve it!” Stinsky barked. “They’ve chosen this world. You think they’ll go back to reality willingly?” 

7… 6… 5… 

“Then they don’t deserve this server anymore.” Jacob said. 

Stinsky drew his laser rifle, desperate now. “Stop it! If that bomb goes off, everything I’ve built—everything we’ve built—will be gone. You’ll destroy an entire future!” 

Jacob turned away from him. 

3… 2… 

“You should’ve thought of everyone else first.” 

1. 

The screen turned white. 

Then silence. 

Outside, the lights inside the houses flickered. One by one, they turned on. People stumbled out, shielding their eyes from the sun they hadn’t seen in years. They walked barefoot across their front yards, blinking at the trees, the wind, the real sky. 

A boy picked up a clump of dirt and stared at it as though it were alien. He sniffed it, bit into it, and immediately spat it out. His sister laughed, unsure why. Across the street, a man sat on the curb and sobbed. 

Jacob Brayzbee stood in the middle of the road and looked around. People were coming out of their houses, confused and pale, clutching at their heads, trying to remember how to walk without the help of a joystick. 

He’d done it. 

But now the real work would begin.