Jordan stood in the middle of his apartment and really looked at it for the first time in weeks.
The pizza box on the coffee table had fossilized. He could see the grease stains through the cardboard, dark brown circles that had soaked through and dried into the IKEA finish underneath. Three Red Bull cans sat next to it in a little aluminum triangle. Seven more cans lined the edge of his desk upstairs. Two had tipped over at some point and left sticky residue trailing down the concrete floor.
His couch had a hoodie draped over one arm. That hoodie had been there since New Year's. He remembered because he'd taken it off to watch Calypso's premium content and never put it back on. There was a damp spot on the cushion where he'd spilled something. Probably an energy drink. Maybe soup. He genuinely couldn't remember.
The kitchen gleamed with the shine of expensive appliances that had never been used. Stainless steel perfection mocking him from ten feet away. His dad had paid extra for those. Upgraded the whole unit before Jordan moved in. Top of the line everything so his son could live like an adult.
Jordan had used the microwave exactly once. The stove, never. The dishwasher was empty because he ate everything out of takeout containers and threw the containers away. Or didn't throw them away. Several were visible in the overflowing trash can, stacked like a jenga tower of shame.
The smell hit him next. He'd been living in it so long he'd stopped noticing. Stale air, old food, the sour tang of unwashed fabric. His nose had adapted. His apartment smelled like a frat house after a bad weekend and he'd been breathing it for two weeks straight without registering it.
Upstairs the bed waited. Sheets he couldn't remember changing. Pillowcase that probably had an outline of his face pressed into it from oil and dead skin. The biological anomaly under the bed that the system had specifically called out.
Twenty-four hours to fix all of it.
Jordan walked to the stairs. His legs felt heavy. The timer on his phone kept counting down. Twenty-three hours, fifty-eight minutes.
He could start in the morning. Get some sleep first. Hit it fresh after a good night's rest. That made sense, you didn't start a boss fight when you were already tired.
Jordan climbed the stairs. The bed looked exactly the same as when he'd gotten out of it twenty minutes ago. Rumpled sheets, flat pillow, the faint Jordan-shaped depression in the middle where he'd spent the last fourteen days decomposing.
He sat on the edge. The mattress sagged under his weight. The springs made a tired sound.
Just a few hours of sleep. He'd wake up at dawn, six AM, get a head start. The apartment would still be here. The trash wasn't going anywhere. His hair could wait until morning.
Jordan lay back. The pillow accepted his head with the familiarity of a bad habit. The sheets smelled like him, which meant they smelled like sweat and inactivity and Red Bull seeping through pores.
He closed his eyes.
The system timer glowed through his eyelids. He could see it even with his eyes shut, that soft gold interface counting down inside his skull.
Twenty-three fifty-one.
His dad's voice played in his head. You think throwing money at your problems is helping? It's making you smaller.
Cameron's laugh in the parking lot. Oh, the simp?
Eliza's face, completely blank. Just some guy from class.
Jordan's eyes snapped open.
"AHHHH!"
He launched himself out of bed so fast he nearly fell. His feet hit the floor at a bad angle and he had to catch himself on the bedframe. The metal rattled. His phone screen lit up with the system interface, attraction meters he didn't have and quest timers he was already failing.
"No. No no no. This is exactly what got me here."
Jordan stood in the middle of his loft bedroom, breathing hard. His reflection caught in the window. Six foot two of wasted potential wearing boxer shorts and a t-shirt with mysterious stains. Hair that looked like a crime scene. Face that apologized for existing.
Tomorrow didn't exist. Tomorrow was what the old Jordan believed in. Tomorrow was how you ended up with three-month-old sheets and a biological anomaly under your bed. Tomorrow was a lie you told yourself so you could stay comfortable for one more night.
He grabbed his phone. Opened Spotify. His workout playlist was still there from sophomore year of high school, back when he'd gone to the gym exactly four times before giving up.
Songs he'd chosen because they sounded hard. Rap with bass drops. Rock with angry guitars. Anime openings that made you want to punch through walls.
Jordan hit play.
The first song dropped. Bass shook the phone speaker. Drums kicked in like a heartbeat on cocaine.
"Alright." He said it to his reflection. "Let's lock in."