But inside the basement, the blue light of the monitor was a fortress.

The sun was a giant orange square sliding toward the horizon. He had maybe eight minutes.

Leo sat cross-legged on his worn-out office chair, the kind with the faux leather peeling off in brown, curly strips. Outside his window, the summer rain hammered against the glass of his grandmother’s basement. It was July 2011. The world felt huge and terrifying—high school was three months away, his parents' divorce was six months old, and his best friend, Marco, had just moved to a town without a single computer.

The world spawned him on a beach. Not the fancy, pixel-art beaches of today, but the brutal, jagged sand of Beta 1.2_02. The water was a violent, solid cyan. The leaves of the oak tree beside him were opaque, bright green rectangles. And the sky? A flat, serene, infinite blue.

He placed it on the ground. The world shuddered. A giant, hellish spire of netherrack erupted from the earth, vomiting pigmen and setting the forest on fire. His wooden house ignited. Leo didn't panic. He just laughed—a real, belly-deep laugh that echoed in the empty basement.

As the first zombie groaned somewhere in the dark, Leo leaned back. The rain outside had stopped. The basement smelled like dust and old pizza. For the first time all summer, he wasn't thinking about Marco’s empty house two blocks away. He wasn't thinking about the two Thanksgivings he'd have this year. He was just… here. In a dirt hut. Safe.