Waking up in the middle of a grassy field wasn’t the weirdest part. All kinds of dreams started with waking up somewhere strange. On the last bus ride, he woke up at his grandma’s house, and before that, a McDonald’s on the other side of the country. Waking up with all his clothes still on wasn’t the weirdest part, either, nor was it the fact that it was midnight.

The weirdest part was how real the dream felt.

As Daniel brought himself to his feet, the long-since dead leaves in the grass crunched underneath his boots. The nighttime air was slick with the scent of rain. His yellow jacket felt as puffy as it did before he fell asleep on the school bus, and the ketchup stain on his pocket even made it into the dream.

Daniel knit his eyebrows, staring around at the dark forest. Why was it all so real? Did he take the wrong allergy medicine this morning? He must’ve taken the drowsy pills instead of the non-drowsy ones. He chuckled to himself. That would explain a fever dream like this.

The horizon burst into an ear-shattering explosion. Wind lashed through the trees, the shockwave spraying him with a wave of twigs and sticks. Before he could even recover, another thunderous explosion followed, rumbling through his bones.

Daniel ran.

He ran for his life, feet pounding against the pitch-black dirt, shielding his face against a branch to keep running. His next stride struck a dead tree. Daniel fell face first into a puddle of mud. As he rolled over, a bright purple plume of light rose from where the last explosion rumbled. He squinted against the blinding light.

A powerful red cloud of light sent him scrambling away. What the hell was going on? Why was he so afraid? This was a dream, for crying out loud? His ankle throbbed where it slammed into the wood. Why did it hurt so badly? This wasn’t real — it was just a dream!

…right?

The forest began to thin out. Across the street, a bar sat nuzzled between two taller buildings, with lights and shadows moving behind the stained glass windows. He caught his breath on the sidewalk, but the next explosion sent him rushing inside. Daniel threw the door open. Two men sat at a table off to the side. A middle-aged woman wiped the counters.

They all stared like he was insane.

“Uh…you need something?” One of the men sitting at the table called out to him.

“I-I don’t—” Daniel stammered, struggling to find the right words. “Where is this? I don’t know where I am. I woke up in—” he licked his lips, mouth parched and dry.

The other man at the table laughed, grinning underneath his gruff, thick beard. “Listen, boy. You see the sign? A bar ain’t a place for kids your age! Go somewhere.”

The woman cleaning the counter stopped. “Oh, leave him alone, Bill. Come on in, child. Have a seat.”

Daniel let the door shut behind him. As he crossed the room, he looked down at himself. Tracking mud, sure, but at least he had pants on. At least it wasn’t one of those dreams.

“What’s your name?” she said, pouring him a glass of tap water.

Daniel sat down. “Daniel Chase, ma’am. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Call me Mrs. Garcia. What do you mean?”

Daniel chugged down the water, savoring every gulp. “Last thing I remember, I was on the bus to school, and put my headphones on to take a nap.” He sipped more water. Anything after that was hazy. He felt like he faintly remembered a crash, but it was distant in his mind, as familiar as a dream from a week ago. “And then I was in that field, and stuff started exploding around me. Then I ran here.”

“And you don’t remember anything else?”

“No.”

Mrs. Garcia nodded. “Well, I can’t explain the bus ride, but I can explain the explosions. You were in the middle of a Fighter park. Those explosions were just two Fighters doing their thing.”

“Fighter park? What?”

“How hard did you hit your head?” A large, lumbering man came from the door to the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel.

“I didn’t hit my — no, I mean, I might’ve, but I don’t know.”

“Well, are you hungry?” Mrs. Garcia asked.

Daniel’s stomach grumbled at the mention of food. “Yes ma’am. I skipped breakfast this morning.”

The man chuckled. “Breakfast? It’s eleven o’clock at night. You’re tired and delirious. I’ll whip you up a burger.”

“Wait,” Mrs. Garcia said. “How old are you? Seventeen?”

“I’m sixteen, actually.”

“Make him a salad, hon. He needs something healthy.”

“Oh, come on.” The man — Mr. Garcia — made his way to the kitchen. “I just want to make more hamburgers!” his voice echoed from the kitchen, a slight hint of humor in his loud tone.

Mrs. Garcia softly laughed. “He just learned a new technique for cooking burgers. He’s too excited to make them. Sit tight and I’ll help him with your food, Daniel.” Mrs. Garcia followed him into the kitchen, leaving Daniel alone to wait.

Daniel gulped down the last of his water and pulled his phone out. No signal. He tried to text his friend, but the message couldn’t find the recipient. He was just sitting across from him on the bus. He went for his Mom and his Dad, next, but the results were no different.

Carmen Garcia’s number stared him down at the bottom of his contacts list. If he couldn’t reach anyone else, he definitely couldn’t reach her, but…he just got her number from her friend. It couldn’t hurt to try. His hand hovered over the call button.

Daniel sighed, and closed the contacts app. He wasn’t that bold yet. Especially not for her.

Luckily, the bar had Wi-Fi. Something else to distract himself with. He connected his phone and opened social media, but his account page came up with an error. Daniel raised an eyebrow. No account found? He opened another app, and his account was gone there, too.

That was when he noticed the floating white bar on his wrist. Daniel let go of his cup and pulled his sleeve back. Like a faint hologram, a white line floated along his wrist with a small arrow pointing into it. He swiped along the arrow, and the white line expanded into a floating menu in front of him, full of icons. Settings, Friends, Messages, a Map…Quests? Self?

He tapped cautiously on the map icon, and a map of the surrounding area appeared on the floating screen. There his triangle was, sitting at the Maroon Sports Bar in downtown Chicago. Daniel gasped. He lived in St. Louis. How did he end up in Chicago of all places? What was this menu?

What the hell was going on?

At the table behind him, Bill whooped loudly, shooting out of his chair. “I told you! I told you he would win!” he cackled, accepting a fat payment from his frowning friend.

Daniel glanced at the TV they were watching. Of all the things for people to be betting over in a sports bar, a fighting game tournament was the last thing he thought he’d see. He chuckled. “You guys play a lot of fighting games?”

He stopped his celebration. “What?”

“Fighting games. Do you play them?”

“No. I don’t care about those games.”

“Uh...” Daniel raised an eyebrow and pointed at the TV. “Aren’t you watching a fighting game tournament?”

“Huh? Kid, that’s not a video game. That’s down the street.”