Crazy!

David was riding the high of the night, dominating the match with Dustin. "Oh, did you see that?" he yelled into the mic, his voice dripping with cockiness. "Kid, uninstall the game! You're trash!" He laughed as the random player cursed back at them, his voice breaking with frustration.

Dustin joined in, "Bro, this kid doesn't even know what a headshot is."

David was in peak form, about to drop another kill when *WHAM*. Something hit the back of his head.

"What the hell—" David slurred, stumbling out of his chair. His hand instinctively touched the back of his head, and his fingers came away slick with blood. The warmth spread down his neck, soaking into his shirt.

"Yo, David?" Dustin's voice crackled through the headset, confused. "David, you good, man? What was that noise?"

David's vision blurred, but he managed to turn around—and there she was. Rebecca. His ex-girlfriend. Her chest heaved as she stood there, gripping the base of a lamp, her eyes wild and unhinged. There was a twisted grin on her face, one he'd never seen before.

"Rebecca? What the f—" Before he could finish, rage took over. Without hesitation, he swung at her, his fist connecting hard with her face. Her head snapped back, and she let out a shriek as blood sprayed from her mouth, a few teeth flying.

"You bitch!" David spat, clutching his head with one hand. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"

But Rebecca, barely fazed by the punch, let out a maniacal laugh, wiping the blood from her chin with the back of her hand. "You think you can just walk away from me, David?" Her voice was dripping with venom. "You don't get to leave me like that. You. Don't. Get. To!"

David's heart pounded in his chest, panic starting to set in. "You're insane! Get out of my house!" He took a step back, but it was too late. Rebecca's hand shot to her side, and when she pulled it back, a long, sharp knife gleamed under the dim light.

"No one gets to leave me," she whispered, her eyes filled with a terrifying intensity.

"Rebecca, put the knife down," David said, his voice shaking now, fear creeping into his veins. "This doesn't have to go like this."

But she ignored him, and before he could react, she lunged. The knife plunged deep into his stomach. He gasped, his body convulsing with the sudden pain. "F—ck!" he screamed, grabbing her wrist, but she yanked the blade out and stabbed him again, this time harder, more viciously.

"DAVID?! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?" Dustin's voice blared through the headset, filled with alarm. "Bro, say something! What was that scream?!"

David's voice faltered, blood bubbling up in his throat. "Reb... Reb, stop..." he begged weakly, clutching his bleeding stomach, trying to hold himself together. "Why... why are you doing this?"

She leaned in close, her face inches from his as she whispered, "Because if I can't have you, no one can."

David's knees buckled, and he fell to the floor, gasping for breath, the knife sinking in again and again.

The world around him blurred into chaos, his headset still connected as Dustin and the others in the match screamed in the background, their voices filled with horror.

"DAVID! CALL THE POLICE! DAVID! ANSWER ME!"

But David couldn't. All he could hear was Rebecca's crazed laughter as the life drained from him.

His last thoughts were.

'Should've never stuck it in crazy'

---

David's mind floated in a sea of darkness, his body numb.

Every now and then, flashes of light or sound would jolt him, like fragmented pieces of a broken puzzle coming together, only to be scattered again.

He felt disoriented, unable to move, unable to comprehend if he was even alive.

Thud thud thud.

The dull pounding in his head matched the steady beep of some distant machine.

He was fading in and out of consciousness, occasionally catching glimpses of strange, sterile surroundings—white walls, soft, artificial lighting.

His senses were all muddled, and it was hard to tell what was real and what was a product of his foggy mind.

Then he heard it—a voice. A calm, cold, monotonic voice that pierced through the haze.

"Initializing... awarding Guidance See... processing User's Vital Status..."

The words sounded mechanical, clinical.

What the hell did they mean? David's thoughts were too sluggish to form, his body too weak to respond.

He slipped out of consciousness again.

When he came to, the voice was still there, droning on about something incomprehensible. "Awarding Initial Credits... Installing System Framework... Assigning Primary .. Protocols..."

It was distant, and yet, it felt as though the voice was speaking directly into his brain.

David tried to open his eyes, but everything was blurry, like he was underwater.

His limbs wouldn't respond; he felt disconnected from his body, floating in limbo.

Panic tried to surface, but even that emotion felt muted, distant.

"Streamer System Online" the voice suddenly announced, this time clear and sharp, cutting through the fog in his head.

David's mind jolted. What the hell was that? "Streamer... system?"

Before he could even try to make sense of it, everything went black again.

The mechanical voice hummed in the background, as if waiting for something, as David's consciousness flickered between life and oblivion.

David woke up with a sudden, sharp gasp, his lungs burning as if he had just been pulled from deep underwater.

His eyes snapped open, only to be blinded by the relentless assault of the sun glaring down at him. Instinctively, he threw a hand over his face, groaning in frustration.

The heat was unbearable, clinging to his skin like a suffocating blanket. He felt exposed, vulnerable.

He blinked, trying to focus.

The ceiling above him was cracked and dirty, the light pouring in through a tiny window with no curtains.

His body ached, his muscles stiff as he shifted on what felt like the smallest, most uncomfortable bed in existence.

He glanced down, realizing with a start that he was completely naked, the rough sheets offering no comfort against the heat.

"What the hell...?" he muttered, squinting as the sunlight continued to bake him.

His head pounded, remnants of the strange voice and the nightmare of Rebecca stabbing him still fresh in his mind.

But that wasn't possible...was it?

He sat up, wincing at the stiffness in his back, trying to piece together how he had ended up here.

The room was small, barely more than a closet, with cracked walls and peeling paint.

It felt cheap, dingy, like some kind of low-rent apartment.

The bed creaked beneath him as he shifted, and he noticed a pile of old, unfamiliar clothes tossed onto a rickety chair in the corner.

His mind raced as he tried to remember.

The last thing he recalled was the fight with Rebecca—the blood, the pain, the coldness as she stabbed him again and again.

His hand instinctively went to his stomach, expecting to feel the jagged wounds... but there was nothing. His skin was smooth, unmarred.

"What... is this place?" David mumbled, swinging his legs off the bed, his bare feet hitting the cool, uneven floor.

His head was spinning, still trying to make sense of what was real.

He wasn't going cuckoo right ? Developing some sort of second personality...

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Stones and Reviews please