Hogun and his friends were knee-deep in absurdity, blasting through abandoned streets in stolen tanks. Somewhere between the glitch in reality and the zombie hordes, they'd stopped caring about logic. Hogun had even equipped his tank with a suppressor, somehow.
A tank suppressor.
It made no sense.
Which made it perfect.
Now, with his near-silent rolling nightmare, Hogun became a ghost on treads—stealth incarnate, if stealth could explode buildings.
The game quickly shifted. Tanks versus tanks became tanks versus zombies. Of course. Because why not?
[Red]: So, Hogun, how does it feel being the middle child?
He stabbed a zombie clean through the chest with his bayonet. The creature screamed—then bled bananas. Actual bananas.
[Hogun]: Well, my older siblings were twins. And my younger siblings? Also twins. I was the only one born alone.
He fired a silent tank shell that obliterated a zombie horde in a puff of confetti and fire.
[Light]: So you're saying you're the patch update nobody asked for but secretly fixed everything?
[Hast]: No, he's the bug the devs gave up on and made canon.
She didn't even look up as she said it, calmly turning skewers of sizzling Pasta Hydra meat over a crackling campfire. The oily noodles hissed and popped as they cooked, letting off a smell that was either delicious... or deeply cursed.
A few feet away, Light had entered full War God Mode.
His eyes burned red, his halberd turned scythe a blur of divine steel as it cleaved through undead like butter. Then something else happened.
Black, wired tentacles erupted from Light's back—metallic, twitching, pulsing like they had their own heartbeat. They lashed out with brutal precision, skewering zombies mid-charge, draining their fluids—blood, banana goo, or whatever else they ran on—into a glowing core embedded in Light's chest.
Amidst the chaos, Hogun casually strolled past the wreckage, wiping banana pulp off his visor with a sigh.
[Hogun]: You think I had it rough? I had it bad. Like—"my mom had my name on the fridge but still forgot I existed" bad. They pepper-sprayed me once. Said I looked suspicious. I got kicked out at eighteen and ended up working for the mafia at a pizza joint. Not the worst gig, the boss liked my pizza... and my pudding. One day, he says, "Try a bite." I landed in the hospital for a week. Turns out I've got this rare genetic thing—sugar's basically poison. The boss nearly fired me when I joked about murdering him with a tiramisu.
He punctuated the story by splitting a zombie titan in half with one swing of a makeshift banana-smeared shovel.
She asked casually, right as she punched a zombie's head clean off its shoulders. The body slumped to the ground with a wet thud, leaking banana juice like it was bleeding fruit smoothie.
Nearby, Hast stirred the campfire pot with a long, curved dagger.
[Hast]: Dinner's almost ready. Hydra al dente, zombie-juice reduction, and yes... the noodles still try to strangle you a little. Adds texture.
The group gathered around the makeshift stone table. On it sat plates filled with gently writhing pasta—pale tendrils still twitching, glossy with a disturbing yellow glaze.
Hogun stared at his plate like it had insulted his ancestors.
[Hogun]: Yeah, no. Sorry. Not gonna risk it. This may be a game, but we can still taste things—and that looks like it was cooked by a glitch demon with unresolved trauma. After this, we move. First stop: Whiteveil's former citadel. Then we settle it like warriors, with the martial arts add-on.
The others nodded, serious now beneath the flickering campfire light.
Except Red and Hast, who were already eating.
Red slurped a noodle that tried to crawl back up his face.
[Red]: Honestly? Not bad. Kind of spicy. Also mildly cursed.
[Hast]: Flavor's good, just don't let the noodles make eye contact.
The rest of the group exchanged a look, then shrugged and spawned their own food. Plates materialized in front of them—data-generated but absurdly flavorful. Even their NPCs joined the impromptu feast, sitting among them like old comrades.
Hogun leaned back with a nostalgic sigh, a bucket of KFC in one hand and a bowl of pudding in the other.
[Hogun]: I'm going with my old build. Poison and fire damage—classic, reliable, mildly illegal.
Beside him, James was quietly eating pudding as well. Meanwhile, Ivan glared at him like he was seconds from snapping a fork in half just for existing.
Light carved into a perfectly rare steak, seated beside his NPC, Dark, who was methodically draining a wine glass filled with… motor oil and coagulated blood?
[Light]: Might as well go with Celestial and Chaos, Hogun. We all remember how you abused us with that build. I'm sticking with Holy and Light damage this time. Balance, baby.
Queen didn't even glance up as she sipped her tea, legs crossed, elegance weaponized.
[Queen]: Oh look, who's talking—the guy who runs on blood oil and divine guilt. Your build's half vampire, half war crime. I'm going Sea and Blood this round. Just so I can kick your ass.
Dark shot her a slow, withering glare.
She didn't even flinch. Just took another sip like she was born in a teacup.
[Red]: I'm obviously going Lava and Beast. Also, my eldest son has finally earned a name. From now on, he shall be called... Czech. My heir. My Left Rider.
At that moment, Red was fighting a rogue noodle with one hand while Czech, a massive NPC in bone armor, happily gnawed on what appeared to be a horse leg. Tears of joy streamed down Czech's face.
[Hast]: I'll just use Data.
She said it softly—too softly. Like she was whispering a nuclear launch code into a microphone made of broken trust.
Instant silence fell over the group.
The fire crackled. A noodle hissed in the pot. Somewhere in the distance, a zombie slipped on banana guts.
And then, like thunder following lightning:
[Red / Hogun / Queen / Light / Ivan]: NO.
It wasn't just a reaction. It was a warning. A prophecy.
Because everyone knew.
Data builds don't fight fair.
They rewrite the rules.
[Hogun]: Hast—last time you used Data, we all had to team up just to have a chance at a minor win. And that was on a full server with divine buffs. Look… if you go physical and metal instead, I'll change my build.
Hast smiled sweetly, a tiny red glint blinking at the edge of her eye. The kind of smile that meant a trap was already in motion.
[Hast]: Okay. If that gets you to switch, then that's already a win for me. So, what's your new build?
[Hogun]: Venom. Green mist. And flames.
The fire popped. A zombie exploded somewhere in the background.
And then everyone, including the NPCs, turned to stare at him in unified dread.
[Red / Hast / Queen / Light / Ivan]: That's WORSE.
Czech dropped his horse's leg in shock.
Dark whispered a quiet prayer.
Even the pasta stopped moving for a moment.
[Hogun]: Since it's getting late… let's move.
[Hast]: Hogun, you damned cockroach.
[Hogun]: Also... I'll be using my new skin.
With a single command, his avatar shimmered—pixels warping, shifting.
A new skin appeared.
[Picture]
And silence hit like a hammer.
It was an older version of Ivan. Same eyes. Same build. But aged. Hardened. Refined. With two wolf ears, a scar across one cheek, and a long coat bearing the insignia of a fallen faction only they remembered.
Even the NPCs looked stunned.
James dropped the gun he'd been holding.
Ivan's eyes welled with tears, and he tried to hide behind his mask.
[Hogun]: Since this is my last day in this world… I figured I'd show you this. Just once.
He stood there for a moment, then switched back to his normal general skin with a quiet flicker of code. Still silent, he walked over, picked up James' gun, handed it back gently, and gave Ivan a small pat on the shoulder.
[Red]: Don't they seem… more emotional than before?
[Hast]: Maybe Hogun updated them. Or maybe… It's just the end creeping in. Let's go. I've got a job and a hollow life waiting outside this place.
No one replied.
They just moved.
After a long walk through glitched terrain and collapsing geometry, they arrived at the edge of a massive crater—a giant hole surrounded by ten monolithic towers, each humming with unstable energy. A crackling forcefield shimmered across the inner rim, pulsating like a dying heartbeat.
They were supposed to be here for one last fun event—final duels, some chaos, a few jokes before the end.
But then...
[Light]: Guys… what is that?
Floating just above the center of the hole was a black sphere, small at first. But even as they stared, it grew—pulsing, expanding, warping space like a tear in the server fabric.
A void.
Hogun immediately raised his Toogun, switched it to Admin Tools, and fired a Delete command.
The bolt of red command code hit the void—
—and vanished into it.
No effect.
The black hole just grew larger.
[Red]: So… who's entering that?
[Hogun]: Red. I've combed every file, asset, dev log, and shadow patch on this server. That thing doesn't exist. What in the code soup makes you think entering it is a good idea?
[Red]: Curious.
[Hogun]: Well now I'M curious—dammit. Okay… who's actually going in?
[Light]: I will. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?
Oh, sweet child... if only you knew.
Light stepped into the black hole—and was gone, his form unraveling into motes of brilliance before vanishing entirely.
[ Light Angel Mechanical has disconnected]
[Hogun]: I was expecting something else, but—
He never finished the sentence.
The black hole surged, an impossible gravity screaming in silence. One by one, the others were torn from reality, consumed in a blink.
Only the NPCs remained.
Alive. And utterly alone.
[Hogun POV]
I was falling from the sky—actually falling. No wings, no glitch, no control. Just me, plummeting like a sack of bad code.
[Hogun]: F###—USE ADMIN CODE /FLY!
Nothing.
I slammed into the ground face-first. Hard. It hurt.
[Hogun]: Why... why do I feel pain? That's not supposed to happen...
Before I could process the glitch—or whatever nightmare this was, a spear whistled past my head, missing me by inches.
I looked up.
Soldiers, two armies, locked in brutal combat, steel clashing, blood spraying, the ground trembling beneath their fury.
And I was right in the middle of it.
One man charged at me, sword raised. I dodged, fast—faster than I should've been, and drove my fist into his face. Green and purple mist coiled around my knuckles. When I hit him, his face melted. Skin sloughed off, bone cracked, and blood hissed on the ground.
No time to think.
Another blow came from behind—I twisted, barely avoiding being cut in half. My other fist flared to life, this one wreathed in flame. I slammed it into the next attacker. His mask cracked, and his body launched into the air like a ragdoll.
More came. Swords, spears, fury.
They didn't last long.
One by one, I dropped them. And then...
They stopped coming.
Now I had time to think.
First question: Where the hell am I?
Second: How did I get here?
I looked down at my hands—gloved, armored, unfamiliar—and flexed them. They responded, but not like before. Too real. Too solid.
I reached up and touched my face.
Cold metal. Smooth glass. Breathing mask.
I spotted a nearby pool of water, its surface rippling from the chaos I'd just survived. I leaned over and caught my reflection.
That was me.
Or rather—my character, Hogun, Same long coat, same cloak, same expressionless mask staring back at me with mechanical indifference.
So I'm still in-game. Somehow. But this… this isn't right, A forgotten add-on? A hidden cutscene? Some unfinished campaign?
I didn't have long to think.
A beep—
Click.
My instincts screamed, I leapt backward just as a bundle of C4 went off, the blast sending dirt and broken weapons flying. I skidded across the ground.
Smoke curled from the explosion—and out of it, she stepped.
A woman with white hair, crimson eyes, and a grin that should've come with a warning label. The way she moved, the way she carried herself—it was like chaos had grown a spine and decided to wear a uniform.
But there was something… off. I couldn't place it. No matter how I looked at her, all I could think of was…
A cockroach.
[Cockroach Woman]: Well, well… would you look at that. Theresis finally sent some of his personal scum to the battlefield.
Her voice was playful. Poisoned honey with a side of explosions.
[Hogun]: The cockroach can talk.
[Cockroach Woman]: Oh, you're gonna be fun.
Behind her, shapes began to appear in the smoke. Heavily armed, ragged soldiers—mercenaries by the look of them, all eyeing me like I was either lunch or a walking bomb.
And judging by the way she tilted her head, still grinning…
She wasn't sure which one she wanted me to be: Lunch or a bomb.
Didn't matter, because I sure as hell wasn't about to lose to some Cockroach Woman and her band of half-baked insurgents.
I cracked my knuckles. Flames burst from my gauntlets, licking the air with wild, green-purple tongues.
[Hogun]: Alright, roach. Let's dance.
I surged forward, boots digging trenches into the dirt, flames roaring around me like I'd declared war on the oxygen itself. Her soldiers scrambled back, too slow.
My fist connected with the first merc's chest, and the explosion turned him into a fine red mist sprinkled with chunks of armor and regret.
She didn't flinch.
She sidestepped, flipped a live grenade into my path, and fired three shots mid-spin. The bullets sparked off my shoulder guard as I slid under the blast, using the shockwave to launch myself right at her.
She sidestepped, flipped a live grenade into my path, and fired three shots mid-spin. The bullets sparked off my shoulder guard as I slid under the blast, using the shockwave to launch myself right at her.
She laughed. Actually laughed.
[Cockroach Woman]: Oh, good! You're the kind of stupid I like!
Her blade flashed out—jagged, dirty, humming with barely-contained madness. I blocked it with a flaming forearm, the metal screaming as it melted slightly on impact.
Then I punched her.
Hard.
She flew back through a tree, splinters and smoke trailing her arc. Her mask clattered to the ground, cracked. Her face was bleeding. Still grinning.
[Cockroach Woman]: Okay. That one hurt. I like you.
I didn't wait.
Before her squad could regroup, reload, or start praying to whatever corrupted server god they believed in, I closed the distance, grabbed her by the throat, and lifted.
[Cockroach Woman]: Hrrrk—!
I spun her around, planting her squarely between me and her twitchy crew, who now looked deeply uncomfortable, aiming at their manic ringleader.
[Hogun]: Stay where you are. Unless you really want to test friendly fire with a woman this crazy in the blast radius.
She kicked and twisted, but I held her up like a malfunctioning action figure. She still managed to talk.
[Cockroach Woman]: Using a defenseless woman as a shield? How very… Theresis of you.
Defenseless? Please. She had a knife in her sock, and I was pretty sure she had at least two bombs hidden in her lungs.
Still, she was annoying.
So I did something stupid.
I kicked her between the legs to shut her up.
It had the opposite effect.
[Cockroach Woman]: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!
Her voice hit a frequency that could shatter developer morale and crash beta servers.
[Cockroach Woman]: You—You absolute donkey punch of a man! When I get my hands on you, I'll make you wish for death! I'll rip that leg of yours off and shove it up your—!
[Hogun]: Yeah? Joke's on you. I've been dead on the inside since the pizza incident.
I paused for dramatic effect.
[Hogun]: Also… who the hell is Theresis?
The battlefield froze.
The soldiers blinked like NPCs waiting for a script to resume.
Even the Cockroach Woman—bloodied, furious, and still crackling with chaos—stopped mid-scream.
There was a long pause.
A beat of silence where even the fire forgot how to burn.
[Cockroach Woman]: …Wait. What?
[Hogun]: Yeah, that name keeps popping up. Is that like a lore boss? A DLC antagonist? Hidden questline? Weird raid lore nobody reads?
[Cockroach Woman]: You don't even know who Theresis is?!
[Hogun]: Do you know what it's like waking up in a flaming warzone surrounded by banana-bleeding zombies and pasta that tries to strangle you?
She opened her mouth to yell again—then stopped.
Her grin returned.
Slower this time. Calculated. Dangerous. Like a shark deciding whether to eat you or hire you.
[Cockroach Woman]: …You're not from here, are you?
[Hogun]: Define "here."
She twisted in my grip, slammed her knee into my chest, and flipped backward like a deranged ballerina. Dust swirled. Her soldiers stayed frozen, waiting.
She stood tall, brushing herself off with that maddening calm. Her red eyes flickered like static behind cracked glass.
[Cockroach Woman]: You're not Kazdel. Not a merc. Not even part of the war.
She stepped forward slowly.
[Cockroach Woman]: So… mystery man… who are you?
I hesitated.
For a moment, the weight of two identities hovered in my brain.
My Steam name? No.
No one feared the name ToiletSniper.
Not even zombies.
I straightened my back and let the fire in my fists flare gently.
[Hogun]: The name's General Hogun.
[Extra: The Science Girl in Another World]
[??? POV]
I opened my eyes with a throbbing headache.
Ugh. Note to self: Never let your reckless friends touch some wired anomaly that looks like a black hole.
Then I realized something was very, very wrong.
One—I was in a glass box.
Two—I was wearing my favorite lab coat, but it was far too big.
Three—my hands were tiny.
Four—my VR helmet was still on…? No, this isn't VR. The smell of sterilized air and recycled coolant is way too real.
Five—I see no friends who I was with.
And six—oh no.
I squinted at the crowd of scientists surrounding my little glass enclosure, all murmuring and taking notes on ancient clipboards. One of them, an old man with wild hair and goggles bigger than his actual eyes, leaned forward.
[Scientist 1]: Look! The subject is awake. Its ocular receptors are tracking us with precision. Fascinating.
[Scientist 2]: Incredible… we thought it would remain in stasis for another month!
…Are they seriously treating me like a test subject?
Is this some weird prank from Hogun? Or worse—Light's revenge for that one time I "borrowed" his prototype Machine Heart and reprogrammed it into a coffee maker-slash-laser cannon?
I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. Well, two can play this game.
[???]: Is this really your idea of scientific methodology? Observation through a glorified aquarium? Just how backwards is your data acquisition model—do you still use floppy disks too?
The room fell into dead silence. One of the interns dropped a pen.
[Scientist 3]: It speaks… in sarcasm. A higher-functioning specimen than anticipated.
[Scientist 1]: S-Subject! Please remain calm. You are in a secure containment zone. We believe you are a product of an interdimensional anomaly.
I raised a brow and muttered under my breath, "More like a revenge-powered multiverse slip."
With a sigh, I kicked off the wall and floated gently.
Okay. Glass walls. Clean room. Ancient tech. Roleplay-tier dialogue. I was either in the world's worst sci-fi LARP, or this really was another world.
And by the sound of it… they think I'm an experiment.
[???]: Fine. If you're going to treat me like a test subject, let's make one thing clear: I'm the lead researcher now. You? Are all unpaid interns.
The silence that followed was almost comical. Scientists blinked. Pens froze mid-scribble. One guy in the back dropped his coffee.
I gave them a confident smirk and rolled my shoulders.
[Hast]: Call me Hast from now on. And someone bring me all the data you've collected on me—preferably organized and not written in crayon. I want to see every flawed assumption you've made so far.
One of the junior scientists hesitated, glancing nervously toward an older man with trembling hands and a suspiciously fraying lab coat.
[Scientist 1]: T-The SCP Foundation will not be pleased with this… An anomaly attempting to take command of its containment team is a breach of protocol.
[Hast]: Let them be pleased or not—frankly, I don't care what alphabet-soup organization you answer to. What I do care about is who's running this lab. Because clearly, you need leadership that isn't using 1990s science fair logic.
A tense moment passed before someone whispered:
[Scientist 2]: Sh-should we inform the Director…?
[Hast]: Yes. Actually, I insist. Bring me your head scientist. Or your Director. Or your Grand Wizard of Beakers—whoever's in charge.
A button was pressed. A silent alarm blinked red in the background. Moments later, a door hissed open with pneumatic flair. The scientists parted like the Red Sea, revealing a tall woman in a sleek black lab coat with metal-rimmed glasses and a clipboard that looked like it could shatter bones.
[???]: I heard the anomaly is chatty. And bossy. I like it.
She stepped into view, heels clicking on the metal floor.
Director Mira, SCP Site-56 Head of Anomalous Research
[Director Mira]: I'm Mira. Director of this facility. And you're the new anomaly we heard about. Why should we let you command the science team
Hast I met her gaze steadily, letting a small, confident smile play at the corner of my lips.
[Hast]: Because, Director Mira, I'm not here to be another experiment. I'm here to be the solution. You want progress? You want results? Then you need someone who understands anomalies from the inside, not someone just poking at them from a distance.
I tapped my chest lightly.
[Hast]: I'm the variable your models can't predict. The wildcard your formulas can't contain. And that means I see the patterns no one else does.
I took a step closer, my voice lowering.
[Hast]: Trust me—I'm not just a problem. I'm the answer. Now, are you going to let me prove it, or should I start proving it by less... diplomatic means?
Director Mira's eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line as she considered me, the silence stretching between us like a taut wire.
Director Mira finally nodded, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips.
[Director Mira]: Very well, Hast. Welcome to the team. Let's see if you can back up that bold talk.
Exactly one month later, I found myself seated among the enigmatic members of the O5 Council. The highest echelon of authority in the Foundation
[Chapter end]