Into the Markandaverse

Getting in was more complicated than just clicking a link.

Karl should have known. Anything this deep off the grid—especially if it was Markandan—was never just point and click.

They went back into VR, this time sitting down.

First, Slovotsky took control of their avatars, guiding them through a maze of backdoors, proxy servers, and cryptic login screens. They bounced between seemingly mundane VR hubs—a virtual shopping mall with no stores, a pixelated beach resort, a grey office with cubicles that stretched into infinity—each one requiring them to input codes, accept terms in languages they didn’t recognize, or complete bizarre tasks.

At one point, they had to stare into a mirror and say their usernames aloud three times. Another checkpoint required them to let the system scan their faces and measure their blinks.

Karl’s skin crawled. He didn't like giving this much access to something he didn’t understand.

Stevie, on the other hand, was unbothered. She giggled every time Slovotsky told them to do something ridiculous.

After what felt like way too much effort, Slovotsky finally muttered, "Alright, we're in."

And the world dropped away.

Karl’s new surroundings were… nothing.

He floated in a featureless white box— four walls, a ceiling and a floor, about as big as his dorm room.

Stevie's avatar appeared beside him. Then Slovotsky. They all just… floated there.

"...Okay, what the fuck is this?" Karl grumbled. "You dragged us through a goddamn cyber-maze for this?"

Stevie waved her arms experimentally. "Yeah, dude, where’s the insane immersion you hyped up? This looks like a pre-alpha loading zone."

Slovotsky chuckled, completely unfazed. "Chill."

Karl crossed his arms. "Chill? We just wasted—"

The wall in front of them exploded into a riot of color.

Not a pattern. Not a screen.

Color itself.

It was shifting, pulsing, expanding and contracting, like watching a million oil slicks and neon fireworks all colliding at once. Shapes formed and dissolved, just on the edge of comprehension.

Karl tried to look away. He couldn't.

His eyes ached from the sheer impossible vibrancy of it, yet he couldn't close them. Couldn't blink.

Neither could Stevie.

Neither could Slovotsky.

They just stared.

And then—

Nothing.

Karl blinked.

The colors were gone.

The box was back.

He exhaled sharply, his chest tight, his thoughts fuzzy—like waking from a dream he couldn't quite remember.

Something felt off.

"What… what just happened?" Stevie muttered, rubbing her temples.

Karl checked his HUD.

49 minutes had passed.

His stomach dropped.

"No fucking way," Karl muttered.

Stevie's head snapped toward Slovotsky. "Dude. What the fuck?! We lost almost an hour!"

Slovotsky shrugged. "Yeah, that happens."

"That happens?!" Karl snapped. "That’s not normal!"

Stevie turned to him, eyes wide with confusion. "Did we… did we move? Talk? Do anything?"

Karl shook his head. "I don’t remember shit."

But before the anxiety could spiral, before the sheer wrongness of the lost time could fully sink in, something else distracted them completely.

Karl became aware of his body.

No—more than that.

He could feel it.

The air brushing against his skin. The solidness of his feet on the floor.

He lifted his hand—his real, tangible hand—and flexed his fingers. The sensation was perfect. His joints moved smoothly, his muscles tensed and relaxed. His heartbeat was real.

"This…" Karl’s voice was sharp with disbelief. "This isn't a normal sim."

Stevie was already touching her own face, arms, hips, testing every sensation. "Holy shit… I feel everything."

Slovotsky just grinned.

"Told you."

Karl barely had time to process the strange, lingering fuzziness in his head before the air in front of them rippled like heat on pavement.

A figure appeared—

Not materializing like a typical VR rendering, but seamlessly stepping into existence as if she had always been there.

She was Markandan perfection.

A dark-skinned beauty, her curves lush yet elegant, her form statuesque and poised. She had the ageless, hyper-refined features of a model, but there was an air of authority in her posture, in the way her sharp brown eyes took them in with a knowing glint.

She was dressed like a high-end corporate consultant, but this was Markanda—so everything fit scandalously tight.

Her cream-colored blouse was buttoned just enough to keep from spilling open, the fabric clinging to her heavy, perfect breasts, her deep cleavage framed like an invitation. A high-waisted skirt hugged her curvy hips, stopping scandalously short on her thighs, and her high heels clicked faintly as she shifted her stance.

She looked completely real.

Not realistic. Real.

Karl’s breath hitched. For a half-second, he had the urge to step back, convinced she was physically standing in front of him.

Then she smiled.

A warm, professional expression—controlled, reassuring, deliberate.

When she spoke, her voice was smooth and confident, with a light Markandan accent curling around her vowels.

"Congratulations. Your neural synchronization was successful."

Her tone was polished, official, and deeply calming, like an onboarding consultant for a high-end service.

"You are currently experiencing Markanda’s proprietary Multi-Sensory Simulation Technology. Unlike standard virtual reality, our advanced systems allow for full sensory immersion, engaging not only the visual and auditory centers of your brain, but also touch, temperature, pressure, and depth perception."

She clasped her perfectly manicured hands in front of her, her fingers adorned with subtle gold rings, and continued smoothly:

"Even primitive VR devices are able to access this experience due to our Quantum Adaptive Waveform Network. A sovereign digital network, entirely independent from traditional infrastructure, yet capable of interfacing with it at will. By processing incoming data directly through your retinal receptors, we are able to create an environment that feels indistinguishable from reality."

Karl exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the slight buzz in his fingertips, the way his skin still tingled from the transition.

Stevie was rubbing her arms, testing the perfectly simulated feel of her own skin.

Slovotsky just grinned, completely unbothered. "See? Above board. Told you guys it wasn’t some sketchy dark-web hack job."

Karl wasn't convinced.

His instincts were screaming at him.

This was too polished. Too well-presented.

If this was Markandan tech, then it was the kind of Markandan tech designed to make you feel safe while it did something else under the surface.

The woman continued, unfazed.

"If at any time you wish to exit or confirm your physical surroundings, simply place your hands on your head and hold them there for five seconds. This will reset your sensory prioritization, allowing your real-world environment to become your first impression again."

She smiled, warm and professional.

"You are safe. This system is safe. And we hope you enjoy your time in Markanda’s immersive space."

Then—

She was gone.

No fade-out. No transition effect.

Just gone.

Like she had never been there.

Stevie let out a slow, shaky breath, looking between Karl and Slovotsky.

"Okay," she muttered. "That was kind of insane."