Chapter Text
For some time now, Rayne sat at his laptop with a stony face, periodically tapping the pen cap against the rough surface of a notebook page covered in blue scribbles.
On the screen, a warning about a semantic error in the code blinked like a beacon. Rayne expected this, so he merely swallowed his curses about his carelessness and confidently clicked the red 'x' in the corner of the pop-up window, closing the source of his two-day irritation.
He slowly ran a hand through his hair, tousling the already messy strands. On one of the advertising forums, he had once read that a head massage could stimulate brain activity by increasing blood flow, so, without much hesitation, he decided to test this theory in practice.
"I should relax, or else the letters will start swimming in front of my eyes."
But unfortunately, it wasn’t just the letters that swam. His consciousness also began to fade into incoherent thoughts, making it seem insurmountably difficult to focus on completing the task. If he could, he would have fallen asleep right on the table, using his arms as a pillow.
Next to the monitor stood two empty energy drink cans and an untouched pack of his favorite strawberry-filled cookies. Rayne was so engrossed in his work that he simply forgot about his hunger for a while. Honestly, writing the code had taken much longer than initially anticipated. And there was still a report to prepare for the bosses and groundwork to be laid for the specialists who would follow him.
Quickly glancing at the time displayed on the monitor, Rayne mentally noted a couple of points that required immediate attention.
He took a pen and turned the notebook page, beginning to write in messy handwriting from the middle of the page:
1. Understand the algorithm, check the execution, test the program.
2. Browse the guide recommended on the forum (maybe skip, but better not risk it).
3. Complete the damn report by tomorrow.
4. Don’t die from exhaustion (if possible).
Tearing out the page, he attached it to the bottom of the monitor with a piece of tape torn off with his teeth. This little plan was supposed to motivate the programmer to meet the deadline, which was about eight hours away.
"This is the last resort," Rayne decided, rubbing his tired eyes. "If I can’t manage, I’ll have to delay the submission of the materials a bit."
No matter how much Rayne tried to console himself, a persistent thought kept spinning in his head that he had made a mistake somewhere. If he thought rationally and didn’t blame himself for laziness and incompetence, it turned out that he simply needed to sleep less... probably just that. He already spent all his free time thinking about work issues and trying to develop in a field he had not previously tackled. However, the problem wasn’t just him.
The amount of work dumped on him after he joined the office from self-study at home was a bit overwhelming. And yes, Rayne was ready to dedicate himself entirely to programming, even to the point of sleeping with a Manning textbook at night and listening to higher math lectures for inspiration every time he sat down to rest. But when on the first day, an enormous cloud of work materials descended on him, confident in his willpower, his belief in himself slightly diminished, sowing seeds of doubt. But not in himself, in the company that kindly hired him as an intern.
Curiously, what kind of workload did the current specialists, who once, like him, decided to dedicate their lives to game development, have? Judging by the enthusiastic eyes of one such person Rayne happened to notice while passing by the office on his way to the boss's office, that person didn't seem too tired from the workload. Or perhaps, didn't get tired at all. It’s often said that a beloved job is the best rest for both the body and the mind of the worker.
Rayne himself had not yet reached this stage, stopping at the level of "acceptance" of the situation. But despite the minuses, there were still far more advantages to such activity. Even considering the basic interest and willingness to learn – in no other field could Rayne ever feel more inspired than now, sitting at his home desk and being paid with cookies for his work. It’s no wonder they asked him during the interview to prioritize work conditions like "salary size," "company idea," "opportunities for development and career growth"...
"…"
Well, working "for the idea" might not be so bad after all. And if he had written his true desired salary in the expected earnings column, they would have shown him the door faster than he could scribble on the paper with his pen. And losing the position was undesirable. His preparation, while combining studies with his main occupation, was too serious and long. Two years ago, he could only dream of feeling like a developer and designer even for a moment.
But the terminal window popping up at the bottom of the screen, proudly announcing several errors, caused a small fraction of frustration. It's logical to expect that when one component of the system is fixed, other related parts will also fall apart before his eyes, creating a chain reaction. Changing a piece of code isn’t difficult; the problem lay in the time needed to find a solution and the actual rewriting process.
"Fuh."
It took a few seconds of distraction from contemplating the veiled mockery in the form of endlessly streaming numbers in the console for his stomach to let out a loud growl, forcing Rayne to get up and look for something to eat in the kitchen.
Only vegetables and two cups of berry yogurt were left in the fridge. Honestly, he didn't feel like cooking, nor did he have extra time, so after some thought, Rayne tore the labels off the yogurts and mixed them with the cookies lying on the desk. And to finally please his stomach, starving for proper food, he brewed a large mug of tea.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Rayne suspiciously pressed the power button. A notification of a new message from the project manager appeared on the screen.
Beep!
A bad feeling arose in his chest when he saw the number of unread messages next to the last read message after opening the chat.
[ Observer. 18:34.
"Before you finish your part, I'm sending you new functionality requirements from the client. Initially, the edits weren’t necessary, but now they are critically important. Hope you don’t explode when you read this. Good luck!" ]
The next message contained two text files, even the names of which sounded threatening, hinting at additional hours of work.
Rayne calmly drank his tea, focusing his attention on the mug handle. Then he glanced at the laptop and the terminal, where there were slightly fewer errors, but they were still present. He slowly typed his reply:
[ 18:40.
"Why now, when there are only a few days left until the deadline?" ]
[ Observer. 18:42.
"Well, better late than never." ]
"…"
Not in this case.
His fingers confidently glided over the screen, typing a response worthy of such sudden news.
[ Observer. 18:44.
"I sense your passive aggression through the 'Typing' indicator. Relax, the client set a price corresponding to the requests." ]
The phone vibrated again, and the display showed the amount. Rayne took a sip of his cooling tea, thought for a moment, and erased most of what he had written.
[ 18:45.
"Alright, got it. I’ll fix it." ]
In response – a supportive sticker. Rayne turned off the phone, pushing it away to avoid distractions. He opened his email on the laptop and downloaded the files, making the wait more pleasant with the remnants of yogurt.
After quickly scrolling through the document, Rayne felt a strange movement on his face. As it turned out, his right eye started twitching. A nervous tic crept in unnoticed.
Now it didn’t matter whether he could fully complete his part of the work within the set deadlines. The tasks had been updated, as had the deadline, which meant he could finally relax and just lie down with his eyes closed without filling his head with heavy thoughts. That’s what Rayne did.
But he couldn’t fall asleep.
When the need to think at a speed close to machine calculations disappeared, a thirst for new knowledge began to awaken. Apparently, his adrenaline levels spiked, and after several useless attempts to calm his mind, Rayne gave up, sat back at the desk, and turned on the laptop. The processor hummed in greeting, and Rayne yawned, covering his mouth with one hand and clicking the mouse on the documentation with the other.
He definitely had a long night ahead.
The next day, he somewhat regretted giving in to the sudden burst of activity and not letting his brain rest properly, because the event unfolding before him right now was confusing. As he passed a clothing store window, he felt a strange sensation, as if the mannequin behind the glass wasn’t just a lifeless plastic figure but had a real human face, albeit pale and with indistinct features. At one point, Rayne even thought that some soulless creature was watching him through the smooth surface of its head, directing its invisible gaze in the same direction he was walking.
Trying not to pay attention to such obviously silly things, Rayne managed to take only a few steps when he realized he was completely alone on the street. There wasn't a single living creature around, whether human or animal. The sounds also faded, leaving him in suffocating silence. Following this, strange thoughts arose in his head about how some tall buildings looked completely unreal against the overly blue sky. And what did "blue" even mean? Did the color blue originally look like this? And why did the air suddenly become so tangible, as if he could reach out and squeeze some of it in his fist? Who even thinks about whether they can keep some invisible particles of who knows what?
"Once again, the textures haven’t loaded," Rayne often thought to himself when the game character got stuck in the wall of a creepy house.
But now he himself played the role of an NPC, stumbling and not understanding the mechanics of movement and interaction of his own body parts, which was not much different from the notorious "hero" who couldn’t pass through the bricks.
Buying some water, he sat down on a bench under the shade of the trees, pressing the bottle to his forehead. From the heat, droplets of water condensed on the bottle, gradually cooling his sunburned skin.
With surprise, Rayne noticed that his perception of the surrounding world had shifted again, taking away his ability to feel. As if in a dream, he stretched out his hand but couldn’t even feel the contraction of his muscles. His nose seemed stuffed, yet he could still breathe freely. Any smells typical of a city street disappeared, leaving him in deep thought.
Since when did he suffer from derealization?
Something lightly touched his shoulder, and Rayne slowly turned around. His gaze was still slightly unfocused.
"Do you need help?"
A young woman was looking at him appraisingly over her sunglasses. She held a coffee cup in one hand, a folder with carelessly sticking out documents under her arm, and a spacious bag in which she was hastily searching for something with the other hand from the moment Rain turned to her. Bluish circles under her eyes and a slightly disheveled bun completed the image of a sleep-deprived student.
"Sorry to bother you, but you look like you might pass out any second," she said politely, offering him a tissue. It felt a bit awkward to accept help.
"It’s just that you look like you might pass out any second. I thought I’d better check if something’s wrong."
She put the tissue back in her bag, adjusted the folder with her elbow, and once again carefully scanned his bewildered face.
"Pale skin, excessive sweating, you’re probably also feeling weak and dizzy? It’s most likely a heat stroke. Resting in the shade should improve your condition."
Rayne smiled understandingly.
"You’re probably right. I do feel better now."