2 +2 Application Form

My room was the definition of "nap after work, repeat." Books like forgotten leftovers, fridge humming a sad disco beat, bed with more wrinkles than my grandma's wallet. Yeah, the exciting life of a 22-year-old who mastered the arts of breathing, eating, and occasionally blinking. Thrilling, right?

Then, BAM! My phone explodes with a notification brighter than a rave in a power outage. "Infinite: Early Access Application Form." Me? Gaming? I haven't touched a controller since before life decided to punch me in the face. Curiosity, sharper than a stepped-on Lego, poked at my jaded heart. I tap it, feeling like a moth with a serious neon addiction.

"Infinite," it purrs, promising more possibilities than a supermarket candy aisle. Five years in the making, crafted by the VR gods themselves – I.G. Group. You know, Rin's personal tech-prophets who worship their Greed-∞ headsets like chrome holy grails? Yeah, them.

I know VR. Greed, the ultimate beast for gamers who like their graphics like punches to the face. Star, the sleek beauty for fancy folks. Adapt, the workhorse for budget warriors. And at their core, the same team creating Infinite. The message unfolds like a siren song of escape. Beta testers, it begs, eyes to witness the birth of a legend, hands to polish this diamond in the rough. "Help us make it better," it pleads, echoing my own desperate desire to be, well, less "functioning furniture" and more "awesome adventurer."

But then comes the catch – the application form. Each blank line stares back, hungry for a piece of my soul. Name, age, then the big one – Continental ID number. It's like trading a chunk of your life for a ticket to the unknown. My fingers hover over the keyboard, fear and hope doing the tango in my gut. Is this jumping into the digital abyss, or my last shot at becoming more than yesterday's pizza crust?

I type, each keystroke a tiny victory against the bars of my apathy. Name, Axel. Age, 22. Occupation, Unfulfilled Potential (with a minor in Procrastination). Reason, Escape. Escape from this boring reality, from the guy in the mirror with eyes full of "what-ifs." Escape into the boundless possibilities of Infinite, where maybe, just maybe, I can become more than a dusty trophy on life's shelf.

Submit. The button glows like a disco ball on overdrive, and with a single click, I cast my line into the shimmering waters of Infinite. An abyss beckons, swirling with the promise of epic wins or pixelated oblivion. Did I just jump ship into the unknown? My brain screams yes, but a tiny voice, one I'd almost forgotten, whispers, "This, Axel, this might be your epic comeback."

The next day, the mail arrives, a bulky envelope pregnant with fate. With trembling hands, I rip it open, the crisp white paper a blank canvas for my future. Will it be a masterpiece of triumph, or a garish portrait of epic fail? Only time, and the world of Infinite, will tell.

As I hold the envelope, a sliver of sunlight sneaks through the dusty window, painting a golden stripe across the floor. Maybe, just maybe, the rain has stopped. And maybe, just maybe, the sun is finally rising on a new Axel, an Axel reborn in the pixelated cradle of Infinite. The journey has begun, not with a hero's fanfare, but with a desperate prayer for a fresh start, a controller in hand, and a heart full of "what ifs" finally ready to become "what wows." This is my story, written in bits and bytes, a tale of escape, of redemption, and of a life written anew in the boundless code of Infinite.