Page 4 of Played By Design

Kain’s voice cuts through the music. “Bunny.”

I ignore him. One more sequence. Final stretch. My feet blur over the pad, bare toes catching the edges of the panels as the streak builds⁠—

Cold plastic nudges my palm.

Feet still moving, I register the bottle of Respawn in my hand, condensation beading on the plastic.

Kain’s fingers wrap around mine, keeping the bottle nestled in my palm. “Drink.”

“Not right now.” I try to pull my hand free.

His grip tightens. “Drink, Bunny, or I’m shutting it down.”

The combo counter is still climbing.

Nine hundred.

So close.

I twist the cap off with my teeth and drink. The cold sports drink floods my mouth with the familiar sweet-salty flavor of Glacial Blue. I drain half the bottle before Kain releases my hand.

The combo breaks, and my score lands three points short of my record.

I glare at him.

“Your heart rate was one-sixty,” he says without a hint of apology, directing me off the dance pad.

Back on the treadmill, the belt moves slower, letting my breathing settle. Kain hands me a different tablet, already loaded with my farming sim.

I forget the dancing game as the screen fills with my chickens, cows, and the town I’ve been building for two years.

The screen shows soft morning colors, the pixelated sun just rising over the hills beyond my farm.

I settle into it, the treadmill’s rhythm under my feet, the gentle tap-tap of my fingers collecting eggs, milking cows, and harvesting crops I planted three in-game days ago.

My breathing evens out as the residual adrenaline bleeds away into the repetitive, soothing mechanics of virtual farming.

I tap the screen, ready to cycle through the tedious chore of fetching lost items and enduring small talk with my neighbors to maintain my reputation. It’s a necessary grind, and I brace myself for it.

But the quest markers on my map are gone, replaced by the soft glow of completed objectives. Every single one is finished.

Across the room, Kain sits at the cable machine, pulling the handle down in a slow arc.

“Did you do the neighbor chores?” I ask.

His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you hate them, and I was bored.”

I stare at the back of his head. “Thank you.”

One shoulder lifts. “Don’t mention it.”

I go back to clearing land for my new garden, losing myself in chopping down trees and pulling weeds.

Time slips away. When Kain returns to the treadmill, my pulse is steady, and my breathing is even.