Shoba's POV 

A delightful breeze danced through my senses, gently nudging me awake. As I emerged from beneath my quilts, I felt the warmth of golden sunlight bathing me in its morning glow. I savored the peaceful rhythm of my breaths, rising and falling in a gentle cadence, slowly one of my eyelids unfolded, exposing me to the soft morning light.

The fog in my mind slowly dissipated, along with the momentary confusion.

"Eh? I'm awake again? I suppose... I lost connection to the servers," I muttered, my thoughts meandering in silence for a few moments.

Suddenly, a surge of nausea and frustration welled up within my chest as I remembered all the wasted hours I had invested in that session, only for it to amount to nothing. I placed two fingers against my temple, feeling the familiar, intricate piece of diamond-shaped metal affixed to the side of my head. After carefully detaching the valuable device, I sensed the mental weight gradually lifting. I was now properly disconnected from that virtual realm.

Whack! I tossed the precious gaming accessory across my room.

"Stupid Beta servers! How on earth are they supposed to support millions of players simultaneously if they can't even connect a few thousand? Arghhhh-Damn it all!"

Unsurprisingly, this wasn't the first time I had experienced sudden disconnections from their servers. However, I was accustomed to having a few opportunities to save my progress at least.

"Who even designed such a ridiculous questline in the first place? Dragons and crypts? What year do they think this is?"

As my frustration understandably grew, a chilling, ethereal snigger reached my ears, jolting me upright as I searched my entire ceiling in panic.

"Shoba... Shoba… Sho-o-b-b-a!" A ghostly voice echoed around me.

There it was again, that familiar voice resonating in my mind, an angelic melody tinged with a hint of melancholy and deep anguish. I had first encountered her voice a while ago, during those moments when I ran the VR for extended periods before bedtime. Lately, I had been having almost recurring dreams of her watery voice haunting me each time I awoke from my "faux sleep."

This felt like a problem since I was fairly certain I wasn't supposed to be hearing in-game voices drifting into my ears in the real world.

"Sigh That can't be good; I guess I better book an appointment with the doctor. Talk about an in-game bug eh," I chuckled, scratching my head and wondering if I had somehow developed a mental disorder. My spirits lifted slightly as I contemplated the possibility of claiming some kind of lifetime reward if this issue turned out to be a genuine health concern.

"I should probably see a neurologist. Wasn't I due for an exam soon anyway?"

I almost forgot about the pre-contractual agreement I had signed before being selected as one of the lucky guinea pigs for the beta release. Those annual checkups were meant to ensure I wasn't going crazy or turning into a vegetable.

"Bah! Who has the energy to think about such boring stuff right now anyway?" I exhaled a deep yawn in response, and with a graceful stretch, I propped myself up into a seated position, followed by another deep yawn. My joints protested mildly, while the restful sleep from last night left me wondering if I had ever experienced such a satisfying slumber before. The strange dreams were perhaps the hallmark of the entire ordeal in a strange way.

As I wiped away the remnants of sleep from the corners of my eyes, my slightly half-closed eyelids wandered around my room.

'Suspiciously tidy and mundane,' I thought proudly to myself.

This was the result of my mother's penchant for unnecessary cleaning. She always had this peculiar way of fussing over the little things. I often wondered if it was her attempt to convince herself she wasn't a workaholic or her way of bridging the gap between us: her children, whom she hardly spent time with since she worked practically every single day. The most likely explanation, however, was that she simply wanted to ensure I wasn't reusing my underwear, a habit I wasn't too proud of during my younger years. (Don't judge me)

Another boisterous yawn escaped my illusory wide maw. Since I started playing the V series waking up from the comforts of my slumber always left me feeling disoriented like this, I was like a traveler lost in a foreign land who had been picked up by aliens and dropped in a dessert.

Normally, I clocked in around 7 to 9 hours of sleep per day, but a glance at the clock's hands sent shockwaves through me.

"18 hours!" I exclaimed whilst panic swelled within me as I knew that 15 hours should have been the limit before the game sent me a warning.

"What the hell? Is this thing trying to kill me' I harrowingly thought, staring at the tirangular alloy beeping in the corner of my room whre it had landed.

Sigh... Damn Beta test." I bemoaned again, almost certain I needed to go see a doctor at this point

In my search for answers, a sudden alert seized my attention, tingling my senses as if a preprogrammed warning flagged the presence of something hostile nearby. Nervously, I lowered my gaze and traced the shadow lurking towards the door, upon catching the figure angrily poised, a small gasp broke free from my lips. The realization dawned upon me at those precious moments, that my peace was about to be abruptly shattered, courtesy of a formidable opponent standing with her arms folded by my door.

The terror of this unannounced aggressor, often bearing mischievous news or problems, lay in her impeccable timing. Each encounter felt like she chose her battles with surgical precision. I could almost visualize her inhaling as much air as her lungs could store, before unleashing a resounding scream into the air, forcing me to shield my ears for cover as a chilling shiver raced through my barely awake body. 

"SHOOOOOOOOBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

The calm morning had officially taken a chaotic turn.

"Ah, the idea of blissful peace—a fleeting dream, it seems." I sang depressingly hearing an inncessive ringing sound blaring around my ears now. 

'And there goes my hearing.'

For a moment, I pondered the prospect of actually losing my hearing. On one hand, the bliss of never enduring her whiny voice again seemed like a bonus, but on the other hand, being deafened by my sister's scream wasn't a story I wanted to witness people reacting to. Fortunately, I hadn't lost my hearing; my body, had acclimated to her high-pitched voice it seems, over the years, but it still rattled every bone within my body whenever she raised her voice like that.

"Why is she always so loud?" I asked myself trying to unclog my ears that felt blocked from the inside.

I was convinced her banshee-like scream could shatter glass and possibly petrify demons at this point.
In case it wasn't evident, I was talking about my oh-so-wonderful twin sister, the sole architect of the burgeoning headache I was nursing now. 

Her name was Ringo

We shared the same name, but the timing of our arrivals into the world remains a tale I must take my mother's word for.

 According to my mother, I arrived first, and Ringo followed shortly afterward. We were Twins.

As I reflect on what little I do know, there are suspiciously few baby pictures of us together.

"Suspicious... very suspicious," I thought deeply.

Most important of all, we neither look nor act alike, and any claims of strange twin intuition between us were false. Our tastes couldn't be more different. We do argue a lot though, a trait fitting the brother-sister billing, I guess. But ever since Ringo downloaded her own personality, we've been fighting non-stop. Ringo continued to glare at me with her almond-shaped chestnut eyes, her face perfectly round. Dark wavy hair tied into two afro pigtails framed her face, and she wore washed blue dungarees with a single clasp over her bony shoulder. Pink running trainers with white soles adorned her feet, matching the two pink ribbons in her hair, a shade brighter than her shoes.

"You overslept again, you... you big idiot!" she exclaimed into the air,

Her first greeting of the morning being an insult... how very Ringo.

"Mum has been calling you for ages now… get dressed and hurry up! We're going to be late, and I'll never forgive you if we're late again," she complained, her scowl deepening as she inspected my room for anything else to complain about.

I sensed a brief lapse in her stare, a memory surfacing. In response to her nagging, I let out another deep yawn (why am I so sleepy) before lazily scanning my room once again. It was just as cozy as I left it before falling asleep.

In the confines of my modest room, beige and peanut butter brown coated the walls like a canvas of cool tones. Every piece of furniture and decor bore the mark of my meticulous choices, it took me four months to get things just as I had wanted them. And I had never been prouder for it. I was the type who spent a great deal of time into the things I enjoyed.

Ringo enjoyed teasing me about my obsessive tendencies. However, there were a lot more deeper truths to that in fairness.

At the age of 13, a battery of tests and peculiar questionable behaviors on my part led to me being diagnosed with something they called low latent inhibition. It didn't sound as cool as it might seem, despite granting me an acute awareness of nearly everything. The downside? Severe migraines often left me bedridden for at least five days, feeling as though my brain was being  squeezed in a vice grip. 

Although these days with the help of learned behaviors, and constantly filling up my schedules with things such as sports, bike riding, parkour, mixed martial arts, football and swimming.  Oh and of course strong medication. Since I begun accepting my ilness, I hardly suffered from the serious episodes, as I liked to call them like beforehand. 

'"Oh right, Ringo," I suddenly remembered her, redirecting my attention to my less-than-impressed twin sister, who hadn't stopped talking since her abrupt entrance.

"Oi! You... you're doing it again, aren't you?"

"What? Doing what again?" I replied, pretending not to know.

"You know what! T-tell me—tell me what I just said then?"

'Ah, she's sharp as a blade at times. For once, she's right, and I have no idea what she's been babbling on about for the last few minutes. Wonder if it's the new medication making me zone out, or if my mind just refuses to engage in such mundane things these days.'

"Err... something about how... you don't like... me?" I stammered.

"You lousy... you tuned out on me again, didn't you? Grrr, I'm... I'm telling MOM!" Her voice boomed.

Before I could utter a sound in protest, Ringo spun on her heels and stormed out the door, and of course not forgetting to slam the door behind her.

My eyes drifted toward the shelves right above my door.

Horror swept through my gaze as I realised what precious item I had placed on the creaky shelf.

In moments my room became a chaotic battlefield, my last taekwondo trophy rebelling against gravity. One golden warrior remained, my prized possession and a reminder that younger Shoba kicked a lot of ass during those tournaments. But that wasn't important right now, as my last Golden joy engaged in a high-stakes dance on the edge of my aged shelf. As the aftershock of my sister's dramatic exit reverberated through the room, I found myself in the midst of a trophy crisis. The last golden warrior teetered on the brink of destruction.

My heart swung between the hope of a graceful recovery and the dread of an impending disaster. I had lost four trophies over the years. Each one leaving a scar against my heart as the last. And so with bated breath, I watched the last trophy, pondering whether it would regain its balance or fall to complete my heartache. It rocked back and forth, dancing with death, and time seemed to slow to a crawl. A small gasp escaped from between my lips each time it rocked closer towards the edge but then I saw it find its footing, as it defied gravity, swaying back onto sturdy legs.

'Oh thank you...phew. Ha! Almost had me there.'

Relief washed over me like a victorious wave in a turbulent sea. I could almost hear the resounding applause from the ghosts of the golden Doboks. The ones that had been smashed, thrown, or dropped.

But alas!

In the blink of an eye, the golden dobok betrayed its momentary stability, succumbing to the laws of gravity with a dramatic fall off the shelf just above my door. I swore I imagined it self leaping to its doom

Smash!

The grand finale echoed throughout the room, marking the tragic end of my taekwondo trophies' rebellion. I sighed at the irony of my martial arts prowess failing to prevent the downfall of inanimate objects in my room.

'What a great way to start the new day,' I thought gloomily.

'That damned Ringo!

Sometimes I daydream about how peaceful my life would've been if I had been born into a different family or perhaps born as an only child. Then, I remembered that my mom was waiting for me to get ready before what I imagined would be a long day for her. And if there was one other woman I feared more than Ringo, it was my Mom.

Sometime later,

I emerged from my man cave, freshly washed, with a slight spring in my step. Today was the weekend, and I dressed modestly smart for the shirt and tie event my family was attending. I completed my look with white sneakers, hardly worn but a perfect fit for a summer day.

Downstairs, Ringo was already enjoying breakfast, ear-pods in, bopping her head to a rhythm. Her almond-shaped eyes lit up with eagerness once she caught the sight of me gracefully walking down the stairwell. A mischievous grin bloomed as she timed my arrival to the last stairwell before resoundingly shouting.

"M-mooooom!…Shoba's not wearing smart shoes again!"

'By the heavens! Give me a break.' My scowl deepened, and my brows stiffly narrowed as annoyance settled in.

That little chatterbox always seemed determined to make my life twice as hard as it already was.
Back when we were much younger, a simple deadpan glare from me was all it took for her to retreat. Those were the good days, forever lost to the cruel passage of time now. How depressingly expected. 

Ringo, unfazed by my angered gaze, stuck out her little pink tongue before returning to her cereal, her mobile phone chiming away with whimsical sounds. A sigh of defeat escaped me; there was no winning against my sister. Even when I was in the right, I felt in the wrong in the end.

Nevertheless it was the morning, and I was hungry and feeling fresh. 

Finally taking my seat at the breakfast table, I scanned the colorful fruits neatly piled in the wicker basket at the center. My pick for the morning was a polished deep red apple. Its smooth skin felt lovely beneath my touch, I took a quick bite and the satisfying crunch followed by the burst of sweet juices into my mouth was heavenly.

'Yep… this was complete bliss,' I mused