NeRVANA

The late afternoon sun shone through the half-sphere window, casting a golden glow over Red’s face. The warmth curled around his skin, gentle and unbothered, unlike the insistent buzzing of his phone. Sprawled upside down on his bed, tangled in a cocoon of sweaty sheets, he barely registered the vibration against his palm until it finally pried him from his restless sleep. He grogged and lifted the screen to his half-lidded eyes, the pale glow washed over his tired features, catching the mess of his dark, unruly hair.

A group text from PAK blinked on the screen. Meet @ NeRVANA tnite, same time dnt be late.

I just want to watch Pomi’s stream and lay here, darn it. Dang it. Gosh, dang it.

He groaned, rolling over into his pillow, the phone’s glow still pressed against his cheek. Somehow, half-conscious and still buried in the warmth of his bed, he ended up on QuickGram, thumb lazily scrolling through an endless stream of reels. Another vibration. A notification. His food would be arriving soon. He barely remembered ordering takeout, but there it was, a receipt in his inbox. Between mindless flicks of his finger, time blurred, slipping away in the space between curated videos and algorithm-fed distractions. He did not stir himself up until he could hear the faint buzz of a drone disappear after delivering his meal to his front door.

Now, draped in a ragged blanket like some nocturnal king, Red loomed over his kitchen counter, eyes heavy with sleep, stomach gnawing at itself. His bed sat only a few feet away, the divide between rest and sustenance laughably small. The takeout bag sat before him, knotted tight, its bottom darkened with grease, the weight of it promising satisfaction. With a few tugs, the knot loosened, and heat unfurled into the tiny space, the scent of pan-fried beef dumplings curling into his nostrils.

His mouth watered.

Still blinking the last remnants of sleep from his eyes, he stared at the plump dumplings, glossy with oil, their scent rich and intoxicating. He must've looked like a zombie, jaw slack, stomach growling, fingers already reaching for his first bite. It wasn’t long before he stuffed the plump dumplings into his mouth, bulging his cheeks and chewing. His hand moved on instinct, already reaching for the next dumpling while his other, slick with grease, scrolled mindlessly through the endless feed on his phone. One after another, the dumplings disappeared, devoured in an unbroken rhythm—until there was nothing left but crumbs in the styrofoam box.

It wasn’t until his fingers grasped at emptiness that his eyes finally flicked down, registering the void where food had once been. And then—his throat tightened. A chunk of half-chewed dumpling lodged itself in place, stubborn, unyielding. A sudden cough wracked his chest, sharp and panicked. His vision blurred as his eyes welled up, then his body lurched forward in a desperate rush to the sink.

He gagged, coughed harder, and the food forced its way out in wet, chewed-up pieces. His stomach clenched as he spat again, the last of it leaving his throat, replaced only by thick saliva and gasping breaths. He remained for a moment, palms pressed against the counter, chest heaving as air finally, blessedly, filled his lungs again.

As he steadied himself, his mind drifted into an old memory of him and his sister.

"Slow down, you’ll choke, damn!" Her energetic voice, nearly caught in a chuckle.

"Mno, thanks," a younger Red muttered through a mouthful of sandwich, crumbs spilling from his lips. He barely paused, determined to devour the last of it, chewing with reckless abandon.

Beside him, his older sister, Yui sat cross-legged at the edge of the pier. The sun casted a golden glow on her long hair as it swayed in the breeze. She laughed, the sound light and easy, watching as he pounded his chest with a fist, forcing the stubborn bite down.

Below them, the sea stretched wide and endless, its surface shimmering beneath the afternoon sun. Small waves tumbled lazily against the rocks beneath their dangling feet, a rhythmic, familiar sound. The scent of salt filled their lungs, thick and fresh, carried on the warm breeze that curled through their hair. It was a perfect kind of moment—the kind that lingered long after the years had taken everything else.

Feels like ages ago. I guess it was, we were just kids.

He felt a hollowness in his chest recalling the memory.

Red’s phone buzzed, a sharp vibration against the quiet, pulling him back to the present. The memory faded, slipping away like the tide receding from the shore.

It was another text from an unknown number with a hyperlink to a list of rules.

THANKS FOR JOINING THE 100K BATTLE ROYALE! DON’T FORGET TO OPEN THE APP AND READ THE RULES! THE GAME BEGINS AT MIDNIGHT! WA-CHA!

An app had installed itself onto his phone. The icon was the same angry looking monkey from the ad on QuickGram.

Oh, I guess I was pretty out of it on the train. What game is this again? A midnight launch? Mobile? Bah. Agh. I don’t have time for this.

He blinked, exhaling as he reached for the sink, turning the faucet with a practiced motion. Water rushed down, sweeping away the remnants of whatever had been left behind—scraps of food, stray bits of mess—swirling together in a murky spiral before vanishing into the dark drain. He watched until there was nothing left, just the hum of running water. Red slipped on his dark jumper, work boots, and stained gray hoodie before heading out—his usual attire.

———————

Heavy thrums of bass seeped through the walls, rattling the cramped restroom. Inside, about a dozen men, including Red, stood shoulder to shoulder in the dim, sour air. The place was falling apart—dingy stalls, some missing doors, grimy urinals, and white tiles stained with years of neglect. Overhead, a flickering fluorescent light buzzed like an angry insect.

This was the meeting place. A forgotten public restroom on the same street as the NeRVANA Night Club. The exact location Red had been told to show up at earlier that day in a group text. A broad-shouldered man leaned against the door, arms crossed, his presence making it clear—no one was getting in or out until they were done. In the far corner, several large duffle bags, one for each man in the room, lay in an orderly pile. Red kept to himself, his hood pulled low, the glow of his phone screen casting faint shadows over his face. He scrolled idly, eyes fixed on nothing in particular, distracted while the others murmured in low voices, socializing amongst themselves. The night was about to unfold, and they were all waiting for the signal.

Pak, a tall and wiry man with a buzzcut, thick-framed black glasses, a silver chain around his neck, and a punk-leather jacket stood at the forefront of the group, facing them. He was accompanied by more muscle on each side.

“Ya’ll know what to do by now. Grab the bags and make some sales tonight. DON’T use the supply. If I catch any one of you trying to take what’s mine, me and my boys will come for you. ”

It was a second income. The arcade paycheck was just enough to make ends meet on rent and utilities, but this was for his sister. Yui’s hospital coverage was expensive. Every dollar made from this gig went to her and her recovery. Red grabbed the duffel bag from the pile, he saw packets of black pills peaking back at him from a slightly open zipper of the bag. Space Out, a new drug for the fun loving party animals of the night.

“Yo, this guys fucking nose is bleeding again.” Pak singled him out of the group. Red’s nose dripped from his nose to the floor. Red’s real name was Daeng Somsri, but his nose bled often due to the heat, the pressure, a sinus infection—whatever it was that caused it, it earned him the name, Red.

———————

NeRVANA Night Club was dark, flashing ice white lights, silhouettes of dancers freeze framed with every strobe that went by. Red remained still—within a sea of strangers moving their bodies to electronic club music, the bass was blasting in his ear. Every now and then clubbers would go up to him and without trading words, he’d take their money, and in exchange handed them a packet with pills from the bag.

It was all noise and sweat and drugs and drinking and dancing and flashing lights and smoke and shadows. Red pictured his sister in a hospital bed, a tube in her mouth, the dim in her eyes, and her very still hands.

Yui came to places like this—before it all happened. Yui—my big sister. You used to be so filled with curiosity about the world.

Red heard her cheerful voice in the midst of the controlled chaos in the club, “You and me, we’re going to make sure all sea life is protected!”

But we fell into a dark hole we just couldn’t get out of, no matter what we did. I guess we’re still in that hole, no matter how much we try and claw our way out.

Red eyed the black pills in the palm of his hands, they sat inside tiny reusable bags. A packet of two for fifty and for the rest of the night, until sunrise, you’d be high and hallucinating—full of sexual vigor or frothing at the mouth, hopefully in bed—if not in some alley way next to some dumpster.

What hurts the most is that I don’t want to care anymore.

Should I use? Should I let go, Yui?

I’m so exhausted.

He stared at the black pills until a voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“Hey!”

Blue hair.

Pomi in the flesh, no freagin’way, with a couple of other streamers—he recognized only because they were much bigger streamers than her, though he never watched any of their content. The music continued to blare, the girls stared at him, one of them moving their shoulders to the beat of the music. Red’s eyes were locked onto Pomi.

“Hello? Are you just going to stand there?” The taller streamer girl asked, waving her hand in his face.

“Huh?” Huh!? Pomi?

“Ew! He’s bleeding!” The other one that was dancing said.

Pomi, herself, was standing in between the other girls—wearing an awkward smile and sporting a strapless blue top, tight miniskirt, black boots, and a choker.

“Are you okay?” She asked him.

“Me?” Red pointed to himself, nose bleeding and all.

Pomi nodded, slowly, while the others were disgusted.

Red wiped at his nose with his sleeve, never breaking eye contact with Pomi.

“Can we get the stuff or not?” The dancing girl asked.

“Is this stuff safe? Can’t we just get drinks?” Pomi asked her streamer friend, to which she replied, “No way! Let’s have some fun! You’re never out with us, and tonight YOU are staying past midnight.” Pomi laughed, her delicate hand covered her mouth—but the smile was there.

“Pomi shouldn’t be taking this stuff.” Red said, flatly.

“What?” The girls all looked at him.

Red wound his arm up and tossed the plastic baggie of pills into the darkness of the crowded dance floor.

“Oh my god, what’s your problem!?” The taller streamer blurted out.

“I’m Mango! You—Do you remember me, Pomi? In your chat? I-I said that your hair suits you and you shouted me out and said thank you! And you waved at me-erm-uh-at the stream.”

Red pushed a smile, but his teeth was covered in a tint of pink from his nose bleeding.

“Dude…” The dancing girl, remarked, “He’s one of your weird fans.”

“Ugh! This is such a vibe kill. Let’s get out of here!”

“What a weirdo.”

“Creep.”

Pomi said nothing. She had a nervous laugh, and then was dragged away by the other streamers.

Red’s head drooped. He remained on the dance floor for another hour, selling packets of Space Out until the duffel bag was half empty.

———————

Red was in the night club’s restroom, the duffel bag at his feet, men came in and out. His hands were planted on both ends of the sink. He slouched forward and looked at himself in a cracked and smudged mirror. He felt the ugliness of his face and his words creeping into his heart and his mind. Red felt the weight of the bags under his eyes and wanted to shout and scream—but didn’t.

I’m so ugly now. I didn’t mean to scare Pomi and her friends off. Idiot, idiot, idiot!

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

As a kid and running around in my parents backyard, I was fearless from the dangers of the world—but now I’m here, alone with strangers pissing on the floor and missing the urinals.

A guy, walking up to the sink to wash his hands, slammed his unwashed hand onto Red’s shoulder. Red flinched, his shoulders perked up to his own ears, as the man said, “Hey bud! Looks like you could use a drink!”

“Get your hand off me.”

“Okay, tough guy.”

Red reacted to the stranger, aggressively swinging his arm, scowling, “I said get your hand off me! Shut up, and get your hand off me!”

“Bro. Don’t make me beat your ass.” The stranger raised his unwashed hand, ready to slap Red across the back of his head. Red recoiled into himself, flinching again, his eyes averted to the dirty washroom floor.

“Ha! What an insect!”

“Is he—like having a crash out?”

“My guy is not looksmaxxing, that’s for sure.”

A group of guys piled on random remarks before leaving Red alone in the restroom.

Ugly. Short. Weak. Twerp. What’s wrong with his knees? What’s wrong with his face? Pathetic.

———————

It was nearly midnight.

I’ll go home and be alone. I think I’m done with all this. I’ll find another way—Yui, you wouldn’t want me dealing for some punk ass like Pak and his crew of dumb-dumbs, or anyone! You’d be disappointed in me, if you could see me now.     

Red travelled between buildings and into an alleyway. His own footsteps grew louder in the echoes of the silent alley, as he kept his hood on and his head low. The music from the night club began to fade, the further away he was. Mounds of trash bags piled to the side with their insides begging to be poured out. Forgotten aluminum trash cans overflowed. The pipes continued to hiss and the air dampened with congealed liquids of trash vaporizing off the ground. He covered his mouth with his inner elbow. Rats scurried and ran from mound to mound chipping and chirping. Hundreds of dead fans and radiators barnacled along the building wall. He slowed his brisk walk into a thud and paced himself against the fumes of waste as he reached an end with two paths veering left or right.

There was sound of shuffling bags and breaking glass down the right path. He chose from the branching paths. Then—noise began to grow in volume and quantity as he picked up voices coming from down the alley. Red turned the corner and saw silhouettes of men under a buzzing light. But it was Pomi’s blue hair that made him gasp and anchor himself back behind the corner. His heart elevated, he peeked from behind the wall. His eyes fixated towards the group of people.

Pomi and Pak? What the hell? What are they doing way out here?

Pak lifted a knee and stared at his shiny loafers. “Shit. I got some gunk on my shoe.” His fingers lay in his pockets with his thumbs resting against the outside of his pants. He proceeded to wipe the sole of his foot against the concrete wall while the other two stood around Pomi.

“We saw you at the club.” He said as he turned back and glared at the rest of his black suited crew. “You really stood out.”

“I just want to go home.” Pomi said stiffly.

Pak gazed at her in silence for a minute. “The night’s young. I’m wearing my best digs. Let’s go on a date, huh? Somebody call Big Jubo, let em’ know we’re not hitting the red district. I want to be a gentleman for once.” The other guys cheered Pak on, snickering and laughing. Red zipped his head back behind the wall and exhaled. I’ll pretend like I didn’t see anything, ain’t no way I’m messing with Pak and his boys, even if it is Pomi! He rubbed his fingers into his sweaty palms and stepped back with every intention to leave. Clink. The heel of his boot tapped an empty glass bottle.

He froze. Sweat dripped from his chin. He was ready to bolt with his heel lifted and ready.

Their words hadn’t changed, still excited about the prospects of their night. Red turned and scuttled against the wall.

He eyed his steps and surroundings, before trying to creep away into the opposite path. But just as he made his move, he heard Pomi’s cry, “Please! I just want to go home!”

“What the fuck are you shouting for?!”

“Yo’grab her!”

Ahhhh! I’ll just cut in and—

Red frumped the fabric of his hoodie, grabbing it, and turning right back around to where Pak and Pomi were. CLINK. CLINK. Without realizing it, Red had kicked the same bottle a second time, but this time it rolled toward the crew.

—Why are there so many empty beer bottles here?!

He stood motionless before them and saw Pomi on the verge of tears. Pak’s goon, Nico, had held her by her collar, lifting her up and forcing her on her tiptoes.

“Aye! It’s that little twerp, Red!” The henchman in the back, Boon, pointed his finger toward Red.

“Reddy-boy. You’re supposed to be back at the club, making me money, what’s up?” Pak slammed his palm against the grimy wall, beside Pomi—then he rubbed his dirty palm on her shoulder. Pomi slapped at his hand.

“I like that,” He leered, “You look like you could use some fun. I’m not the type that likes to share.” Pak pushed his frames up his face with his middle finger. His face scrunched, squinting and looking at Red’s look of concern on his face. “Oi, don’t tell me, you know this hoe?”

“I—”

BUZZ. BUZZ. RING. RING. Everyone standing in the dirty alley had their phones ringing and vibrating. Pak and the crew paused, Nico dropped Pomi and reached into his pocket, looking at his phone. Pak laughed, looking at his phone, and then turned to his boys. “Ya’ll signed up for this game too?” “Yeah, I think we all did together, bored and shit, at the club.” “Oh, right. I was high as a kite.” “Yo, are they for real?” “Look they got an app and everything.”

They were conversing with each other, ignoring Red. His phone had also vibrated, he reached into his pocket, and saw a text notification.

IT IS NOW MIDNIGHT, LET THE GAMES BEGIN, FIGHT DIRTY! WA-CHA!

A notification appeared at the top of his phone screen, Red clicked on it, the FIGHT DIRTY APP. A punching monkey with Muay Thai shorts and an eye patch appeared on screen, seemingly yelling at the top of his lungs—but only text appeared:

WELCOME TO THE FIGHT DIRTY APP!

HERE YOU CAN READ THE RULES, TRACK YOUR POINTS, AND WATCH THE LIVESTREAM.

It was a short list of menus and dozens of live camera feeds, showing various different locations and buildings within the city of Ruam Mai. Suddenly, the buzz of a drone flew overhead, the glint of a camera focused in on the group in the alley.

What is going on?! Why are we showing up on a live stream?! Who is the hell is this monkey?!

Several questions ran through Red’s mind. He felt the heat of blood flow out of his nose and over his lip, as he narrowed his eyes onto another notification appearing from within the app.

FOUR CHALLENGERS NEARBY, FIND THEM AND DON’T FORGET TO FIGHT DIRTY, MANGORICEPUDDING137, WA-CHA!