Nick wasn't completely idle, but he wasn't about to get out of bed so early either.
The guy, now existing as a literal child, decided to analyze his surroundings with a bit more attention.
And "a bit more," for him, was almost nothing.
Since he had no memories whatsoever of this "Nicholas" person—whom he believed to be some alternate version of himself—it already opened the door to an endless stream of questions.
"If there was another 'me' before I got here, that would imply a lot of things."
"And if I have a system, that would imply others."
"Am I even real? Do my memories matter? What are the odds that I'm just a bunch of letters written by some caffeine-addicted writer?"
The room had already become the backdrop of a sad photograph in his eyes, captured by death during these last few minutes of introspection.
"Does my life even matter...?"
"I... I feel like something is watching me. I don't know what, I don't know who. But this sensation won't leave me."
Nick's nervous, anxious eyes darted around like a blur as he forced himself to focus on the room he was in rather than the overwhelming sense of nonexistence he felt.
"Looks like a kid's room. 'Childish' is the right word for this, I guess?" Nick murmured, his mind wandering. "Not like I'm the pinnacle of maturity myself."
Nick sighed before letting out a loud sneeze. He jerked his head back as he felt it coming, sneezing right onto the wall.
He wiped his nose with the sleeve of the shirt he was wearing, his voice not too weak but still sounding like someone with a fever. "The flu still sucks, whether I'm an adult or not."
Nick rested his head on the pillow again. Then he blinked, noticing that the bright blue rectangle—his system—followed every movement of his eyes, always positioning itself in a visible corner but staying far enough away that he didn't mind it.
Nick moved his head a few more times, left to right. The system followed at a moderately slow pace.
Then, Nick made a pinching gesture with his fingers, his hand moving toward the rectangle.
Unexpectedly, it worked exactly as he intended. It shifted and positioned itself in the center of his vision, its size increasing slightly.
Below what seemed to be the "home screen," Nick noticed an arrow symbol. He pressed his finger there, and the previous text changed.
|| This basic system operates with the function of entertaining through art as its foundation. Therefore, entertain.
Nick's eye twitched, his smile vanishing.
"That's... it?" Nick said, his voice faltering momentarily, disbelief creeping in.
"Seems so... bland." Nick finally muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's that level of message some kind of irresponsible person writes to dodge accountability."
"I guess I get why it's called 'basic.' It's kinda... empty." Nick sighed, his fingers massaging his temples in slow circles.
"I wished for a job. I searched for a job." He said, his voice low, frustration evident.
"Hours, months, years... And nothing. Just a pathetic death waiting for me, not the Hawaiian retirement I imagined." He let out a light laugh.
"If everything I lived was fake, if I'm not real, I don't care anymore." Nick murmured, his gaze serious. "It's still my life. It's still a life."
He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. He pushed the comforter off his body, tossing it aside, and got out of bed.
His feet touched the floor, feeling the wooden planks beneath him. He nearly stumbled—the difference in height and weight of this body throwing him off a little—but he steadied himself.
Nick took a few steps. He walked over to a desk on the other side of the room, where there were some sheets of paper, colored crayons, and a lone pencil.
Nick's eyes lingered on the system's message for a moment before he ignored it.
"It's art you want?" Nick said quietly, his voice challenging, a small smirk forming.
He sat down on the chair at the desk, grabbed one of the sheets of paper, and picked up that pencil with the slightly chewed eraser end.
Ignoring the slight disgust he felt, he held the pencil in a comfortable grip, brought the tip close to the paper, and started sketching.
"You and the world will have your art, then."