Victorious Athea: My Gacha Luck Decides Humanity’s Fate

"Ah, good ol' life. Another day being a corpo slave…" John sighed heavily as he stepped onto the late train, his shoulders slumped from the weight of another endless day.

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sickly glow that perfectly matched his mood. His whole body ached, his head throbbed, and his legs felt like lead as he shuffled into a seat. 

It had been weeks of nonstop work—long hours, unreasonable deadlines, and bosses who seemed to thrive on squeezing every ounce of energy from him.

At 28, he'd managed to climb the corporate ladder to a middle management position, the kind of job that looked good on paper but left him feeling hollow.

"A big shot," his coworkers would joke, though he never joined in the laughter. The truth was, his life felt more like a prison than an accomplishment.

Each morning, he dragged himself out of bed. Each night, he crawled back in, barely noticing the days slipping by. Today was no different, except for the pounding headache that had started around noon and hadn't let up since.

It wasn't just the work. It was everything. The way his life had narrowed down to nothing but endless deadlines and meaningless reports. He hadn't seen his mom in years, not because he couldn't, but because the thought of explaining his pathetic existence to her made his stomach churn. 

He didn't have friends—just coworkers and acquaintances who only called when they needed something. He used to have a girlfriend, but she left him for a better man.

His life was meaningless, a rat race with no substance, no joy,,y and no happiness. 

Yes, he had lots of money. But for what, he wasn't even the type of guy who enjoyed spending, and buying a house seemed to be impossible.

'God, I'm going to be lonely for the rest of my life.'

Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly bleak, he thought about stepping in front of the train instead of boarding it. The idea of it, the stillness that would follow, almost sounded like peace.

 But he never did.

Not because he thought life would get better—he wasn't that optimistic. No, there was one thing that kept him going, one thing that gave his tired mind a sliver of escape: a game.

Not just any game. Victorious Athea. A gacha game for depressed adults like him. The ads for it were shameless—sexualized characters and over-the-top promises—but underneath all that was a story that had hooked him from the start. 

The characters, the world, the lore… It was the only thing that made him feel anything anymore.

"The banner should be here now," he muttered, pulling out his phone with trembling hands. His lips twitched into the faintest shadow of a smile as the game's familiar loading screen greeted him. 

The upbeat music filled his ears, drowning out the drone of the train and the chatter of other passengers. For a moment, the weight on his chest eased.

Today was the third-anniversary event. Along with the anniversary festivities came a host of new features: a lore-expanding event and an entirely new gameplay system called Pandora Project.

"Pandora Project," he mused, the name lingering in his mind like a faint mystery. He'd read the teasers, watched the live streams, and pored over every scrap of information the developers had released. 

And he was hyped for it and eager to try it out.

Still, that could wait.

For now, there was only one thing on his mind: rolling for her.

He'd been hoarding gems for weeks, biding his time for this moment. His favorite character—Annihilator—was finally getting a limited banner. She wasn't just any character; she was the character.

A fierce former antagonist who had joined the protagonist's side. Her design was striking—like a black dragon in human form, with sharp eyes, a sultry smirk, and a body that made every other waifu pale in comparison. 

But it wasn't just her looks. Her story arc had captivated him. She was powerful, independent, and tragic in a way that resonated with him.

He stared at the summon screen, his finger hovering over the button. "Annihilator, you're mine today," he murmured.

The train rattled beneath him as it sped through the city. He didn't even notice how fast it was going, nor the faint sound of screeching brakes in the distance. He was too focused on his screen, too lost in the one thing that made him feel alive.

And then, the world shifted.

A violent jolt threw him sideways in his seat. The train lurched, the screech of metal grinding against metal filling the air. John's heart jumped as he grabbed onto the pole beside him, his phone still clutched in his other hand. Around him, passengers screamed, their voices blending into the chaos.

The train tilted. Outside the window, the city blurred into a dizzying swirl of lights. John's mind raced, but his body felt frozen. The next moment, the train slammed into something with a deafening crash, throwing him forward.

The train swayed, tilting, throwing passengers off balance. People screamed. John's heart skipped a beat as the world outside the window blurred, the screeching of metal against metal growing louder.

His grip tightened on his phone, instinctively trying to hold on to something. The train jolted, and then, with a terrifying crash, everything went black.

'What the hell.'

His head struck the seat in front of him. Pain exploded across his skull, his vision swimming with dark spots. His phone slipped from his hand, landing in his lap, the screen still glowing faintly.

He felt warmth on his face, on his neck—blood, he realized dimly. He was bleeding. A lot.

"Shit…" he whispered, his voice weak. His limbs felt heavy, his chest tight. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. His mind reeled with half-formed thoughts, fragments of regret.

He hadn't visited his mom. He hadn't finished the game. He hadn't… lived.

He never felt loved before and was a certified virgin.

The phone screen caught his eye, the summoning button still lit. The bright colors seemed so out of place against the blood pooling around him. He let out a bitter laugh that turned into a cough.

'...Well… at least… I can roll once…'

With trembling fingers, he reached for the phone. Every inch felt like a mile. His hand shook as he pressed the button. The screen flashed, bathing his pale face in brilliant light.

For a moment, he thought he saw something—a figure, maybe a face—but then the light swallowed everything.

And just like that, the world went silent.

***

...Initializing...

...System reactivated...

...Rebooting...

...Resetting...

...Memory recalibrated...

...System recalibrated...

-[PANDORA]-

"Project Activated."

[AUTHORIZED: USER—JOHN ARBUCHER]

A mechanical hum echoed faintly in the void, cold and clinical, cutting through the suffocating silence.

"Ugh… what the hell…" John's voice cracked, dry and weak, as if dragged from a depth where no sound should escape. Consciousness surged back in erratic bursts, each one jarring and unnatural.

Slowly, his eyelids fluttered open to a dim, unnatural light. His vision swam in distorted fragments, shapes and colors blending together. He blinked, focusing on his hands, trembling and pale against the cold surface beneath him.

He realized, his fingertips brushing over the textured grooves of cold metal. There was a faint, steady vibration beneath him.

"I... died…" he murmured, the words spilling out in a hoarse whisper. The memory hit him like a freight train. The screech of metal. The train derailed.

The gut-wrenching crash. The agonizing pain. Blood soaked through his clothes, the world around him darkening as his body gave out. The last thing he remembered was the helpless blur of panic and regret before everything went dark.

Yet here he was. Alive—or something disturbingly close to it. His body felt foreign as if something had shifted within him.

A sudden heat radiated from his chest, faint at first but rapidly intensifying, as though something deep inside him was stirring. The faint hum of machinery accompanied the sensation, followed by a rhythmic whirring that seemed to sync with his pulse. 

He gasped, tugging at the fabric of his shirt with trembling fingers. Beneath the layers, a faint blue glow illuminated his skin, casting eerie patterns on the walls of the chamber.

John's face twisted in confusion and disbelief. "What the hell… is going on?"

His memories were a jumbled mess. His final thoughts, his regret, the desperate press of his bloodied finger against his phone screen... and now this. Whatever "this" was.

He was in some kind of chamber—dimly lit, with towering machines humming softly in the background. The air felt sterile, cold, and heavy with the faint scent of burning circuits.

Wires snaked along the walls, pulsating faintly like veins filled with some strange, glowing energy. Each pulse sent a rhythmic thrum through the air, vibrating under his skin.

It was a scene ripped straight out of a dystopian sci-fi nightmare.

'Wait, I recognized this background!'

"Victorius Athea…."

John's breath quickened, his heart hammering against his ribs. He took a shaky step forward, the sound of his boots clanging against the metallic floor echoing in the cavernous space. 

Before he could make sense of his surroundings, a voice cut through his spiraling thoughts—smooth, confident, and unmistakably smug.

And confirmed his guess.

"Welcome, my guinea pig. How was the system?"

His blood ran cold.

'Guinea pig.'

The voice was familiar. Too familiar. He turned sharply, his movements stiff and uncoordinated. Standing at the far end of the chamber was a figure bathed in the glow of an overhead light.

Lena Kross.

John's jaw tightened, his stomach twisting. He recognized her immediately. There was no mistaking that infuriatingly smug expression, her lips curling in a way that made his skin crawl. Her purple hair, sleek and immaculate, shimmered under the light, framing her sharp, beautiful features.

Beautiful... yet punchable.

She stood with the casual confidence of someone who knew she was in complete control, her arms crossed over her chest. The fitted, high-tech suit she wore only added to her air of authority, its subtle glimmers of light giving her an almost ethereal quality.

Her presence was commanding, but it was her voice—smooth, condescending, and laced with amusement—that truly grated on him.

"Well?" she continued, her tone light, almost mocking. "Cat got your tongue? Or are you brain dead?"

John's fists clenched at his sides. Of all the people he could've encountered first, why did it have to be her? The worst of the CEOs of the Big Three—powerful, ruthless, and infamously manipulative.

Her name alone carried weight in the underground city, and her face was plastered across every corporate propaganda poster.

But it wasn't just her reputation that set his teeth on edge. It was the way she carried herself, the way she spoke—like she was always two steps ahead, always in control, and always, always smug.

"What the hell is going on?" he finally managed, his voice hoarse and uneven. "Why am I here? And why are you here?"

Lena's smirk deepened, her violet eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Oh, you've got questions. That's cute."

She took a deliberate step closer, her heels clicking against the metallic floor, each sound sharp and grating. Her tone grew more taunting, her voice laced with mockery.

"It seems like you're braindead after activating the system, after all~"

'Braindead…'

The word stung more than it should have, but it was enough to jolt John into action. His mind, still foggy and sluggish, began piecing things together.

His pale skin, the unnatural chill in his limbs, the dull ache in his chest—it all painted a grim picture. For some reason, the body he was in now… had died. The sluggishness in his thoughts wasn't just disorientation—it was the lingering echo of death.

'This body isn't mine.'

A wave of nausea swept through him as the realization hit. Somehow, impossibly, his consciousness had been transferred—no, forced—into this lifeless husk. He'd overtaken it, replaced whatever had been here before with himself.

Lena's smirk didn't waver as she tilted her head, studying him like a cat toying with its prey. "Oh, don't look so lost. You should be grateful. Not everyone gets a test out our latest tech."

John gritted his teeth, forcing himself to steady his trembling hands. He wouldn't give Lena the satisfaction of seeing him break. Not yet. Not until he understood what was going on.

"What did you do to me?" he demanded, his voice steadier than he expected.

Lena's smirk softened into something almost patronizing. 

"What did I do? You signed up for this!" She waved a hand dismissively as if brushing off his question entirely. 

"You signed up to be a test subject and activated the Pandora Project. You're the one who chose this whole thing. I'm just here to guide you through your new reality."

His fingers twitched at the mention of the project. Pandora... That was the name of the event in the game. The new system, the lore—it all revolved around it. He had no idea what it truly entailed in the game's context, but now it is a reality to him.

"What the hell even is the Pandora Project?" He asked, his voice a mixture of anger and desperation. But this was more like an emotional response than a real question.

Regardless, Lena took it as a real question.

Her expression darkened slightly, her amusement fading for the briefest moment. 

"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," she said, her tone now colder, more businesslike. "But for now, all you need to know is that you've been chosen. You're a commander. And whether you like it or not, you have a job to do."

John clenched his fists, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He wasn't sure if he was angrier at Lena's smug attitude or at the fact that she clearly knew more than she was letting on.

But one thing was certain: he was trapped here, in this body, this world, with no way out. And Lena Kross was his only link to understanding any of it.

For now, he'd have to play along. But he wouldn't forget the position he was in—or the burning desire to take control of his own fate.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Let's get this over with."

Lena's smirk returned, sharper than ever. "Oh, guinea pig," she purred. "You're going to love what comes next."