The Second Life of Adam Cosmos

A Week Before the Disastrous Family Dinner

Adam jolted awake, gasping for breath, his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling. If anyone had seen him in that moment, they might have thought he was waking from a nightmare—sweat beading at his forehead, his breathing uneven, and his fingers gripping the bed sheets tightly.

But they would have only been half right.

This wasn’t just another nightmare. Adam lived in one, or at least, he had—until now.

As he lay there, motionless, he slowly opened his eyes again, scanning the room around him. His surroundings were alien in their stillness and unfamiliar in their comfort. He could feel the soft mattress beneath him, a far cry from the cold, hard ground he had grown used to in the future wastelands.

"I'm not dead?" His voice was a hoarse whisper, thick with disbelief. "How could this be?"

His hand rose instinctively to his abdomen. It should have been torn apart—slashed open by the monster that had mauled him. He should be feeling the searing pain of a mortal wound. But instead, his hand touched smooth, unbroken skin. There was no blood, no open gash. His body was whole and unharmed.

"What happened to my wound? I thought that beast had killed me. What... what is going on?"

Adam blinked hard, his mind slowly piecing together fragments of memory. Just moments ago—or what felt like moments ago—he had been lying in the mud, surrounded by chaos and death. The air had been thick with the metallic stench of blood, the putrid odor of rotting bodies, and the acrid tang of magic residue left from desperate, last-ditch spells. The sounds of the apocalypse were deafening—monsters howling, human screams echoing as they were hunted and slaughtered.

But now... now it was quiet. Unnaturally quiet. The absence of chaos bombarded his senses. There were no shrieks, no howls, no stench of decay. Instead, everything was pristine. Clean.

The silence gnawed at him. "Am I in the afterlife?" he murmured, blinking up at the ceiling. "Is this what peace feels like?"

He closed his eyes again, trying to accept this strange serenity. If this was death, it was far more peaceful than he had ever imagined. He hadn’t known peace for so long—so many years spent fighting to survive, so many sleepless nights, always waiting for the next attack, the next catastrophe. Maybe death wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe if he had known it could be this quiet, he wouldn’t have fought so hard to stay alive in that hell.

But the silence wouldn’t last.

Suddenly, the shrill, mechanical beeping of an alarm filled the room.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

It was an alarm—coming from an all-too-familiar device. A phone. An electronic device long thought to be useless in his world. Adam’s eyes snapped open again, his mind struggling to reconcile the sound with his reality.

"Huh?" he muttered. "A phone?"

In the post-apocalyptic world, where technology had crumbled, and humanity had regressed into survival mode, the idea of an alarm blaring from a phone seemed absurd. Phones had stopped working long ago. Any noise from such a device would have spelled death for anyone within earshot, drawing monsters with their keen senses to hunt down whatever human was foolish enough to let it sound.

But here, in this strange afterlife—or wherever he was—the phone’s beeping was a mild curiosity rather than a death sentence. Adam reached out, still lying in bed, and his hand fumbled for the device. When his fingers closed around it, he turned the screen to silence the alarm. But something on the display caught his attention.

The date.

July 27, 2020.

"What?" Adam blinked. "2020? That can’t be right. This phone is ancient. It should still show the correct date even if it’s broken." His brow furrowed as his mind tried to understand what he was seeing. "It should be 2033."

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. But then, as he stared at the date on the phone, a realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

July 2020.

That was three years before the apocalypse. Three years before, the world fell into chaos. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet the memories were still vivid. He remembered 2020, back when he was just a regular 23-year-old, living with his parents, carefree and oblivious to the horrors that awaited the world.

And as his mind pieced together the details, his heart raced with a new understanding.

"Wait. Wait a minute." His voice cracked as he sat up in bed, his eyes darting around the room. The soft bed, the phone, the date, the time... his childhood bedroom.

His mind screamed the truth at him, though his heart and soul quickly caught up.

He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t in the afterlife.

He had somehow returned to the past.

"I'm back," he whispered. "I'm back in 2020. Back to the past. Did I... did I regress? How is this possible?"

The Adam of 2020 would have been overwhelmed by this revelation. But Adam of 2033, the survivor, had learned the hard way to adapt quickly, to accept the impossible, and to make the most logical decision in order to survive. It was this skill—this calm, detached logic—that had kept him alive for so long. And now, he needed to tap into that same mindset.

This is real. I’m back in 2020. He didn’t know how or why it was possible, but none of that mattered. What mattered was that he had been given something precious, something he never thought he would have again—a second chance.

"I can change everything," he thought aloud, his voice steadying. The full weight of his situation began to sink in. He had gone back in time, three years before the Apocalypse. This time, he could prepare. This time, he wouldn’t be caught off guard. He could survive. Humanity could survive.

He stood up slowly, his body still adjusting to the familiarity of his old bedroom, and he headed for the door.

And with that, Adam Cosmos began his second life.

***

When Adam stepped out into the hallway, he was greeted by an empty house. The silence was unsettling but not unfamiliar. The Adam of 2033 was used to the quiet. And the Adam of 2020 had long since accepted that the Cosmos family rarely spent time at home.

The Cosmos family was a family of doctors, after all—each one of them practically living at the hospital.

His father, Dr. Isaac Cosmos, was a renowned neurosurgeon. His mother, Dr. Cassandra Cosmos, was a well-known pediatrician in her field. His older brother, Nathan, followed in their father’s footsteps and became a neurosurgeon. The family business, Cosmos Medical Center, was their legacy—a state-of-the-art hospital that had been established when Adam’s grandfather first became a neurosurgeon.

His twin sisters, Keira and Selene, were in their final year of medical school and expected to start their careers in the family hospital just as Nathan had. It was a foregone conclusion that Adam would follow the same path, starting medical school in just a few short weeks.

Adam’s father had made it clear—he was to be a neurosurgeon like the rest of the family. His father had drawn the map of his life long before Adam had the chance to voice his own desires. And while Adam had always known deep down that medicine wasn’t his passion, he never had the courage to tell his father otherwise.

But now, everything was different.

Adam, the man who had survived the end of the world, no longer felt bound by the expectations of his past. The world he knew had already ended once, and now that he had the chance to live it again, he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers. He wouldn’t waste this second chance.

The house was still. No one was home, and Adam expected nothing less. His family practically lived at the hospital, after all. There was a time, long ago when Adam would have felt abandoned by the constant absence of his parents and siblings. But now, he saw it as an opportunity.

He moved quietly through the house, taking in the familiar sights. The expensive furniture, the pristine cleanliness, the polished floors—it was a life of wealth but not one of indulgence. Despite coming from a rich family, Adam had never received an excess of allowance or luxuries from his strict father. Instead, he had learned to work hard for the things he wanted.

As soon as he was old enough, Adam had applied for all sorts of part-time jobs. He had washed dishes in local diners, mopped floors as a janitor, worked as a store helper at game shops—anything to earn money to buy the things his father wouldn’t provide. His father had always been adamant about not supporting hobbies that didn’t align with Adam’s future in medicine. If it didn’t contribute to his development as a doctor, it wasn’t worth the expense.

But that didn’t stop Adam. He had worked, saved, and spent his hard-earned money on video games—his one escape from the expectations that weighed him down. It was ironic, really. His passion for gaming, the thing his father dismissed as a childish distraction, was the very thing that had kept him alive during the Apocalypse.

When the world fell apart, and the elements from the game World of Pangea became a reality, Adam’s year of experience in the game had given him the skills he needed to survive. The strategies he had learned, the battles he had fought, the knowledge he had gained in the virtual world—all of it had translated into the real world, where monsters roamed, and chaos reigned.

But that was then. This time, Adam had the advantage. He knew what was coming, and he wouldn’t waste any time preparing.

“This time, I will focus on what really matters,” Adam said to the empty house, his voice filled with quiet determination.

***

For the past few years, the virtual reality gaming industry has been making steady progress. Many viewed it as the inevitable future of gaming, but it hadn’t yet fully overtaken the traditional console and computer systems that most gamers still preferred. While VR promised an immersive experience, the technology wasn’t widely accessible—most people still found comfort in their reliable, familiar devices. That was until World of Pangea was announced.

The game wasn’t just another VR title; it was a groundbreaking experience, the first of its kind. World of Pangea was advertised as the next generation of virtual reality, an unparalleled leap into the future of gaming. Some even called it the game of the millennium.

The creators of the game, a company called Dreamwave, had spared no expense in promoting the project. The hype was overwhelming, with ads showcasing the stunning realism of the game and its blend of magic and fantasy elements. They promised that this virtual world would be so immersive that it couldn’t be replicated in reality.

But as it turned out, that final promise was a lie.

Ultimately, the game’s magical, dangerous elements were replicated in the real world as an apocalyptic nightmare.

In the early days of the Apocalypse, when monsters from the World of Pangea began manifesting in the real world, Dreamwave became a lightning rod of controversy. Panicked survivors demanded answers, and many speculated that the game was somehow responsible for the chaos. Government officials interrogated Dreamwave’s leadership, desperate for a scapegoat, but the company denied any responsibility.

Dreamwave’s defense was simple: World of Pangea was entirely run by a supercomputer, without human interference, during its three-year operational span. The company claimed their only direct involvement was in maintaining the hardware of the game pods. There were no admins monitoring the game, no patches, no fixes. The game world was designed to operate autonomously, as though it were another world entirely, accessed only through the Dreamwave pod.

Despite the accusations, no one could provide definitive proof that Dreamwave was to blame for the apocalypse. And with the world falling apart, people quickly lost interest in assigning blame. Survival became the only priority.

But the truth was far more complex.

Many believed that World of Pangea had actually been the best preparation humanity could have had for the apocalypse. Those who had played the game developed abilities that seemed almost supernatural—abilities that helped them survive. It was like the game had become a real-life RPG, with magic and monsters becoming an inescapable part of reality. Veterans of Pangea became humanity’s front line, their game-honed skills vital to the battle for survival.

Whatever the truth was, one fact remained undeniable: those who had experience with the game were the ones best equipped to fight the monsters.

***

Adam knew this better than anyone. He had survived the Apocalypse once before, using the knowledge and skills he had gained in the World of Pangea. And now, with the clock ticking down until the end of the world, he intended to be ready this time. Fully ready.

He wasted no time ordering a Dreamwave Pod despite its steep price tag of $4,000. He couldn’t afford to hesitate—this was a necessary investment in his survival. With what remained of his funds, Adam rented the cheapest single-room apartment he could find in the city. It wasn’t much, but it would suffice. His priority wasn’t comfort; it was preparation.

Gaming stations offered rental pods, but Adam knew that those would be fully booked for weeks, if not months. He needed his own personal capsule to ensure he had uninterrupted access. Time was of the essence.

When the pod arrived at his new apartment later that day, Adam felt satisfied. He had made the right choice. The apartment was paid for upfront, and the pod had been delivered and installed in record time. But with the purchase, Adam’s bank account was left with barely $1,000.

“It’ll be tight,” Adam muttered, running quick calculations in his head. He needed to ensure his remaining money would last him long enough to survive. “But if I can earn some money from playing the game, I should be fine.”

He glanced at the capsule, sleek and metallic, sitting in the corner of the room. It gleamed under the dim apartment lighting, a testament to the advanced technology it housed. He knew it was a gamble, but gambling with his survival was nothing new to him. The Apocalypse had taught him that risks were necessary if one hoped to stay alive.

Adam sighed. "If I can save money on food, that'll help greatly. Especially during the first week."

On the day of the family dinner, Adam played his role well. He helped his mother and sisters prepare the meal, going through the motions of a dutiful son. But as the meal progressed and everyone sat around the table, Adam discreetly pocketed food for himself. By the time he left the house, his stomach was full, and he had packed enough food to last him for at least three days—if he rationed carefully, perhaps even five.

Adam had everything planned. Before leaving the house, he had already arranged for an xBer cab, timing it perfectly so that he could leave without drawing suspicion. He left his phone behind on purpose, ensuring there would be no way for his family to contact him once he was gone.

After nearly an hour of travel, Adam arrived at his small apartment. The space was quiet, with bare walls and minimal furniture giving it an empty, almost sterile feel. But it didn’t matter. This apartment was merely a means to an end. His true focus was the Dreamwave Pod that sat waiting in the corner of the room.

There was only one thing left to do: wait for the launch of World of Pangea.

Adam checked his watch. “Just an hour before launch,” he murmured, standing up. “Let me get rid of some things first.”

He pulled a couple of notebooks from his bag, each one filled with handwritten notes. Over the past few days, in between selling his belongings, Adam had been writing down everything he could remember from his first life—key events in both the game and the real world. He had been thorough, detailing every plan, every strategy, every secret he could recall.

But now, those notes were unnecessary. He had memorized them all.

Carrying the notebooks outside, Adam tossed them into a nearby garbage can. There was no point in keeping them any longer. As he lit a cigarette, he flicked the lighter into the bin, setting the pages aflame. He watched silently as the paper curled and blackened, turning to ash in the growing fire.

When the last remnants of his notes had burned away, Adam glanced at his watch again.

"Five minutes before launch." He flicked the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his shoe. "Let’s do this."

***

The Dreamwave Capsule was more than just gaming equipment; it was a state-of-the-art system designed to allow full immersion in the virtual world. Gamers who used the capsule experienced no physical strain, fatigue, or interruptions. In fact, the capsule was so advanced that it could sustain a player’s physical needs for up to three days straight without requiring them to log out.

The pod was equipped with essential nutrients and fluids, regularly replenished to ensure the user remained healthy. Muscular stimulation systems prevented atrophy, allowing gamers to remain in the pod for extended periods without experiencing discomfort. The capsule even handled the user’s restroom needs, triggering the necessary muscles to relieve themselves without breaking immersion.

Originally envisioned as life-support technology, the capsule’s development had turned toward the gaming industry. And it was no wonder why—it was the perfect system for gamers seeking to escape reality.

Of course, with such cutting-edge technology came a steep price. Aside from the initial cost of $4,000, the capsule required regular maintenance and restocking of nutrients and fluids. But Dreamwave offered constant monitoring of all capsule users, ensuring their safety and well-being at all times. In the event of an emergency, Dreamwave employees were authorized to break into users’ homes to provide assistance.

With these features in mind, the $4,000 price tag seemed like a bargain to Adam. The pod even had a three-day supply of nutrients to get him started. After that, he would need to figure out how to resupply.

But for now, he had everything he needed.

Adam slipped into the gaming suit designed for use inside the capsule. The suit regulated body temperature and monitored vitals, while its lower half featured nanomachines designed to open automatically when it was time for the user to relieve themselves.

With the suit secured, Adam took a deep breath. “It’s time.”

He climbed into the capsule, closing the hatch behind him. Players worldwide were logging into World of Pangea for the first time, and Adam was determined to be among the first. Anyone who missed the initial launch would have to wait eight hours before they could join, and Adam couldn’t afford to lose that precious time.

As the capsule powered on, Adam closed his eyes.

[Dreamwave Capsule initiating systems.]

[Initiating life-support system… 1%]

[Initiating language translation systems…1%]

[Initiating trauma regulator…1%]

[Synchronization: Ready.]

The countdown to the Apocalypse had begun.