Gridlock: i can link with my game characters and become op in real.

Chapter 2: The Fall

The sharp scent of antiseptics filled Aryan's nose as he awake, his senses groggy and disoriented. His eyelids felt heavy, but he forced them open, revealing a dimly lit hospital room. White ceiling tiles stretched above him, bathed in the sterile glow of fluorescent lights. The rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor hummed in the background, filling the silence.

For a fleeting moment, he thought he was still on the battlefield. The chaos, the gunfire, the blood—his mind struggled to separate memory from reality. But as he blinked and his vision cleared, the truth settled in like a lead weight in his chest.

He was alive.

A soft shuffle of movement caught his attention. Someone was sitting by his bedside, head bowed, hands clasped together tightly. It took a second for Aryan to recognise him.

Callum.

The young soldier lifted his head, his face pale and drawn with exhaustion. His eyes—usually sharp and filled with determination—were now clouded with guilt.

"Aryan…" Callum's voice was quiet, almost hesitant, as if speaking too loudly would shatter something fragile. "You're awake."

Aryan tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through his lower back, forcing a grimace onto his face. Every muscle in his body protested the movement, yet it wasn't just the pain that made his breath hitch—it was the strange, numbing absence of sensation below his waist.

His pulse quickened.

Something was wrong.

Instinctively, he tried to move his legs. His mind screamed at them to shift, to respond—but they remained still, unfeeling, as if they no longer belonged to him.

Dread curled around his throat.

"What…" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "What happened?"

Callum averted his gaze, his jaw tightening. He swallowed hard before speaking.

"You were hit," he admitted, voice thick with regret. "During the extraction… a bullet struck you in the lower spine. By the time we got you to medical care, the damage was too severe." He hesitated, as if dreading the next words. "They couldn't save your legs, Aryan."

The world seemed to tilt.

Aryan's breath caught in his throat, his fingers tightening around the bedsheets. His heart pounded, an overwhelming sense of disbelief crashing over him like a tidal wave.

No.

No, this had to be a mistake.

He clenched his fists, willing himself to feel something—anything—but his legs remained motionless. Lifeless.

It felt unreal.

He was a soldier. He had trained for years, pushing his body beyond its limits, enduring gruelling exercises, surviving missions that tested every fibre of his being. His legs had carried him through countless battles, through storms of bullets and fire.

And now…

Gone.

His hands trembled as he dragged them over his lap, his fingers ghosting over the hospital blanket. He couldn't even tell where his thighs ended and the mattress began.

A cold, hollow feeling settled deep within his chest.

"I'm sorry." Callum's voice was barely audible now, thick with guilt. "If I had just reacted faster, if I had covered you properly, maybe—"

"It wasn't your fault," Aryan cut him off, though his own voice felt distant, hollow. He wasn't even sure if he believed those words himself.

But what else was there to say?

A heavy silence stretched between them before Callum finally spoke again, clearing his throat.

"There's… an event this afternoon," he said hesitantly. "The higher-ups are giving out medals of honour for the mission. You and a few others are being awarded." He paused, his expression unreadable. "There's also financial compensation. And they've arranged long-term medical care for your injuries."

Aryan barely registered the words. The military's way of thanking a broken soldier—medals, money, and a promise of treatment that wouldn't change the reality of his situation.

Callum hesitated before gesturing toward a small bedside table. "I left your things there. Your uniform, dog tags… and, uh, that necklace ."

Aryan's gaze flickered toward the table, his eyes landing on a familiar object—a necklace. A small, smooth stone, now bound in a simple leather cord.

It was the last thing his fallen comrade had left behind.

A part of him wanted to scoff at how ridiculous it was. A single stone. Nothing special. Nothing that could change the fact that his life—the future he had fought for—was over.

But he still reached for it, his fingers curling around the cool surface.

A reminder.

Of what he had lost.

Of what he could never regain.

---

Few months later ...

Days blurred into weeks. Time became meaningless.

Aryan was discharged with full honours, the ceremony nothing more than a haze of speeches, handshakes, and solemn nods. The medals, the certificates—they were meaningless. Empty tokens of a life he could no longer live.

His sense of purpose had been stripped away.

At twenty-two, he was supposed to have his whole life ahead of him. He was supposed to rise through the ranks, become someone his comrades could rely on. Instead, he found himself trapped in a world that had no place for crippled soldiers.

The days passed in an endless loop—physical therapy sessions that yielded no progress, awkward visits from former comrades who didn't know what to say, and long hours staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.

The necklace never left his neck.

At first, he considered tossing it away. But each time he tried, something stopped him. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was habit. Maybe it was just because it was the only thing left from that mission.

He found solace in the only place that didn't remind him of his limitations—video games.

With nothing else to do, he threw himself into the Games that was his only hobby before joining the army . Hours turned into days, days into weeks. He lost himself in sprawling landscapes, fierce battles, and the illusion of control.

His favourite game was , an RPG where players created warriors, mages, and assassins, fighting against ancient evils.

It was there, in that world, that he felt like himself again. Even though he play games on computer not on VR set but still this was his was to live for now .

For weeks, his life became a cycle of eating, sleeping, and playing. The game was the only thing that gave him a sense of movement, of power. But even then, it was just an illusion.

One night, Aryan faced a boss monster—a towering beast of shadows and flame. He fought with everything he had, but no matter how hard he struggled, he lost.

His avatar collapsed. The screen flashed: **Game Over.**

But the game simply reset. His character stood once more, weapons ready, as if nothing had happened.

Aryan stared at the screen.

"If only life were that simple," he muttered bitterly. "If only I could heal myself… like them."

A dry chuckle escaped him. He shook his head. "What am I even saying? This is stupid."

His fingers idly traced the necklace around his neck. As he casually said "i wish i can gain power which link me with my in game characters"

And he press restart on keyboard then—

A warmth spread through his fingertips.

The stone, dull and lifeless for months, pulsed with light.

Aryan's breath hitched.

"What the—?"

A golden glow engulfed him. His heart pounded as the warmth spread, sinking into his skin, his bones—

And suddenly, he felt something he hadn't felt in months.

His legs.

Trembling, unsteady, but real.

He wasn't sure what had just happened.

But one thing was certain.

Life had just given him a second chance. And this time, he wasn't going to waste it.

---

**End of Chapter 2**