Reality Glitches and Other Daily Annoyances [LitRPG][Post-Apocalypse][Snark]

Right, listen up, meatbags. The world didn't politely end with nukes or zombies. No, reality itself apparently rage-quit, slammed Alt-F4, and now we're living in the cosmic equivalent of a Windows ME crash dump, complete with physics errors, texture glitches spawning monsters made of dial-up noise, and a "System" that's less helpful overlay and more passive-aggressive error log generator.

And guess who drew the short straw for tech support? Yeah. Me. Ren. Ex-Tier 2 drone, current freelance Reality Debugger. My superpower isn't punching holes in reality, it's applying the occasional sanity patch, untangling hostile geometry errors, and maybe, just maybe, figuring out why gravity sometimes decides to take five in the middle of the street.

What This Is:

• LitRPG: But the Universal Runtime Environment (URE) is unreliable, buggy, and probably hates you. Don't expect clean stat sheets or balanced skills. Progression is... messy.
• Post-Apocalypse: Where the apocalypse is the glitch. Expect weirdness, absurdity, and things that defy explanation trying to eat your face.
• Snark & Dark Humor: My coping mechanism. Filtered through years of dealing with user error, now applied to cosmic horror.
• Adventure & Survival: Main focus. Staying alive, scavenging, figuring out what the hell happened and if reality has a rollback option.
• Harem? (Tagged for Honesty): Yeah, it's tagged. But before you sharpen pitchforks or get too excited, it's slow burn, rooted in practical reliance on my unique skillset (apparently debugging reality makes you weirdly popular when everyone's gear keeps glitching out), and definitely not the main focus. Think spice, not main course. Suggestive, awkward, nothing explicit. This ain't that kind of story (mostly).

What to Expect:

• Chapters: Aiming for 1200-1500+ words each.
• Schedule: Monday to Friday, with occassional weekend soda parties if the Glitches Allow.
• Length: Long haul planned. Hundreds of chapters if the server hamsters hold out.

First chapter below. Try not to trip over any clipping errors on your way in. Comments, feedback, and pointing out my typos are grudgingly accepted. Just don't ask me to fix your printer.

Chapter 0001: When the Universe Blue-Screens

"No, no, don't kick it! Are you trying to validate its warranty on existential aggression?"

The words ripped out of my throat, hoarse and exasperated. The guy – wild-eyed, clad in mismatched scavenged sports gear, and radiating pure panic – jumped back from the flickering ATM like he'd touched a live wire. Which, arguably, he might have.

The ATM wasn't just malfunctioning; it was actively throwing a digital tantrum. Its screen cycled rapidly through [INSUFFICIENT FUNDS], [REALITY ERROR: PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER], and bursts of angry red static that coalesced into jagged, vaguely threatening polygons before dissolving again. It shuddered with each cycle, the physical manifestation of corrupted code grinding against burnt-out processors. With each flicker, it spat out another crystalline shard of... something. Hard light? Solidified data? Whatever it was, it looked sharp enough to cut reality itself, embedding itself in the crumbling pavement around the survivor's frantically shuffling feet.

"But it's… it's attacking me!" the guy shrieked, brandishing a bent golf club like it might scare faulty banking hardware into submission.

"Yes! It's glitching! Kicking things that are actively rewriting physics in your immediate vicinity is generally filed under 'Bad Ideas'!" I snapped back, keeping my distance near the shattered storefront of what used to be a noodle bar. "Just back away slowly! Its targeting routine looks like it was coded by a caffeinated squirrel!"

My own view wasn't much better. Instead of a crisp HP bar and objective tracker, the upper corner of my vision was currently occupied by a poorly rendered GIF of a cat furiously playing a keyboard. Below it, text scrolled: [System Message: Current Objective - Survive User ID: Brenda_Is_An_Idiot's Poor Life Choices. Reward Pending…] followed by a string of corrupted characters that looked vaguely like wingdings having a stroke.

Thanks, URE. Super helpful. Knowing the panicking lunatic potentially shared a handle with Brenda from Accounting wasn't exactly boosting my confidence in his survival odds. Or mine.

----------

[Hostile Entity Detected: Automated Threat Machine (ATM) - Corrupted AI Module]

Level: 5? Maybe 6? (Analysis fluctuates wildly)

Threat: Dispenses Non-Euclidean Aggression. Low Rarity. High Annoyance.

Weakness: Probably Terrible Security Protocols? Predictable Error Loops? Try Ctrl+Alt+Del?

Recommendation: Do not insert card. Do not attempt transaction. Do not make eye contact?

----------

The System's analysis flickered unreliably, superimposed over the keyboard cat. Fantastic. It wasn't even sure how dangerous the damned thing was.

I risked a focused look, activating [Perceive Glitch (Level 2)]. The world snapped into a different kind of focus, the air itself resolving into layers of noisy data. The air around the ATM shimmered, thick with tangled lines of angry red 'code' – visualize a bowl of spaghetti woven by malfunctioning spider bots. I could see the core loop: check_balance -> insufficient_funds -> trigger_error_protocol -> access_asset_library[hostile_geometry.pak] -> dispense_sharp_object() -> loop. Basic, predictable, lethally stupid.

There was also a subroutine furiously trying to connect to a non-existent banking network, adding to the processing strain. Kicking it probably just fed garbage data into its damaged sensors, validating the error state.

"It's stuck in an error loop!" I yelled over the zzzt-chunk sound of another crystal shard embedding itself dangerously close to Brenda_Maybe's left foot. "It thinks dispensing sharp things is the correct response to not finding money! Just. Back. Away. Don't give it new inputs!"

He hesitated, glancing between me and the polygon-spitting machine. Finally, bless whatever minuscule scrap of self-preservation he possessed, he started inching backward, eyes wide. The ATM continued its rhythmic dispensing, but the shards now landed harmlessly where he used to be. Its targeting was indeed primitive. Like trying to aim with a disconnected mouse.

My SP bar, thankfully visible under the cat GIF, had dipped slightly from the focused analysis. 77/80. Using my 'power' always felt like running complex diagnostics on three hours of sleep – mentally taxing, leaving a faint buzzing behind my eyes.

The survivor reached the relative safety of the noodle bar entrance beside me, breathing heavily. "What… what was that?"

"Tuesday," I replied automatically, scanning the street. Another glitch in the cosmic code. Another ticket in the universe's infinite helpdesk queue. This little encounter probably attracted unwanted attention. Need to move. "Also, a prime example of why you don't argue with broken technology, especially when it has access to physics cheats."

He stared at me, then down at his bent golf club. "You… you knew what it was doing?"

"Debugging is kind of my thing," I sighed, already turning to leave. "Less of a superpower, more of a cosmic janitorial duty. Now, unless you want to wait for whatever else heard that racket, I suggest relocating."

He scrambled after me. "Wait! Where are you going? Is there somewhere safe?"

"Define 'safe'," I shot back, navigating around a car that had partially sunk into the asphalt like quicksand. Saw a mailbox phase through a lamppost last week. Safe is... optimistic. "My definition involves minimal reality tearing and functional plumbing. It's a high bar these days."

My actual destination was the Kwik-E-Mart visible a block down. Looked relatively intact, which usually meant either nobody had bothered looting it yet, or it was guarded by something particularly unpleasant. Worth the risk for potential non-meat-product sustenance.

Brenda_Maybe kept pace, looking nervously over his shoulder. "I just got into the city… I heard there were stable zones…"

"Rumors," I grunted, eyeing a flicker in the upper window of an office building. Probably just a texture fail, but you never knew. Nothing hostile, just background corruption. Probably. "Stable is a relative term. Mostly means things only try to kill you in predictable ways."

We reached the Kwik-E-Mart. Its lights stuttered weakly, sign buzzing erratically (Kwik-E - File Not Found). Standard. The automatic doors were stuck half-open.

"Okay," I said, stopping him before he could barge in. "Rule number one of scavenging: Assume everything inside wants to eat your face, use your data for nefarious purposes, or is currently experiencing catastrophic cascade failure resulting in sentience and a demand for union rights. Got it?"

He nodded dumbly.

I peeked inside. Gloomy, shelves mostly bare, but no obvious signs of [Sentient Spam Constructs] or [Aggressive Dust Bunny Swarms]. Just… a faint, rhythmic skittering from the back.

"Stay here. Watch the door. Yell if anything tries to render you non-essential," I ordered, slipping through the gap. The air inside was stale, tinged with ozone. My boots crunched on… something that glittered faintly like corrupted pixels.

The skittering resolved into a familiar nuisance near the back coolers: a Glitch Skitter, a dog-sized mess of bad code and static, bumping uselessly against the reflective surface of a freezer door, caught in a simple reflection loop. Level 2, barely a threat unless you tripped over it.

Ignoring it for now – prioritizing non-hostile targets was key – I scanned the aisles. Jackpot. Canned goods aisle. Relatively untouched. Score! Grabbed three cans of suspiciously perfect peaches and two of the ominous "Processed Meat Food Product (Try It!)". Also found a working (after minor debug-poking) flashlight and a packet of what might be beef jerky, or possibly fossilized boot leather. Protein is protein.

Stuffing my meager haul into my backpack, I headed back towards the entrance. Brenda_Maybe was still there, peering nervously up and down the street.

"Find anything?" he asked hopefully.

"Potential indigestion and mild radiation poisoning," I replied, holding up a can of peaches. "Success." I tossed him one of the meat-product cans. "Try it. Or don't. Your call."

He fumbled the catch, staring at the aggressive label. "Uh… thanks?"

"Don't mention it. Now, I'm heading back to my hole. You coming, or are you going to try your luck finding the mythical 'Stable Zone Spa & Resort'?"

He looked down the ruined street, then back at me, clutching the can of mystery meat like a holy relic. "Which way is your hole?"

I sighed internally. Great. A tag-along. Just what my cynical, solitary existence needed. Another user clinging to my ankles, demanding support for systems I didn't design and couldn't possibly fix. But abandoning him felt… vaguely like failing a crucial system check. Besides, maybe he could carry stuff.

"This way," I grunted, heading towards the mostly-stable office building district. "Try not to trip over any localized gravity wells or attract the attention of anything that looks like it lost an argument with a particle accelerator. And for god's sake, don't kick anything."

The keyboard cat on my HUD finally vanished, replaced by crisp, clean HP/SP bars and a new message:

----------

[Quest Completed: Survive User ID: Brenda_Is_An_Idiot's Poor Life Choices.]

Reward: [+15 XP], [Item Acquired: Tag-along (Uneasy Alliance Status)].

New Objective: Don't get Tag-along killed (Optional, but recommended for positive Karma score?).

----------

I closed my eyes for a brief moment. Karma scores? Tag-alongs? Optional objectives with passive-aggressive recommendations? The universe wasn't just buggy; it was developing middle-management P.R. speak. This was my reward? Fantastic.

This apocalypse was getting weirder by the minute. And I had a feeling my headache was just getting started.

Chapter 0002: Error 418: I'm a Teapot

The trek back to my little slice of semi-stable reality was, as expected, an exercise in navigating Murphy's Law as interpreted by a reality engine that had clearly failed its QA testing. Leo, my newly acquired tag-along – User ID: Brenda_Is_An_Idiot according to the URE, a fact I was keeping to myself for sheer comedic value – provided the running commentary of someone whose worldview was actively unraveling frame by agonizing frame.

"Did... did that mailbox just phase through the lamppost?" he stammered, pointing a shaky finger like it might pop the illusion.

I spared it a glance. Sure enough, the standard blue postal box occupied the exact same space as the rusted metal pole, their textures flickering and merging like two poorly layered images in a buggy graphic editor. "Quantum superposition," I deadpanned, steering him around the ontological paradox. "Or maybe they're just really good friends exploring the intimacy of shared coordinates. Don't stare. Sometimes co-located objects get violently protective of their personal… shared space."

A few steps later, the texture underfoot changed abruptly. Not visually, but tactilely. It felt like walking on coarse sandpaper, despite looking like smooth, cracked asphalt. "Localized haptic field distortion," I explained as Leo stumbled, trying to adjust his footing. "Feels weird, probably won't skin your knees unless it decides to become actual sandpaper mid-step. Keep moving."

Sound remained a persistent headache. A cacophony erupted ahead – screeching metal, shattering glass. But the noise source was clearly two blocks behind us, the delay creating a disorienting echo that bounced strangely off buildings that weren't quite solid. Leo flinched violently, crouching slightly. "What was that?!"

"Probably just Tuesday," I sighed. "Or possibly a spontaneous multi-car pileup caused by gravity deciding to go on coffee break. Try not to think about it. Auditory lag is common. Focus on what you can see trying to kill you." Easier said than done, especially when my own internal processor felt like it was still defragging after that EMR spike back at the ATM. The constant sensory dissonance frayed nerves faster than almost anything else.

Leo kept glancing at me, a confusing cocktail of fear, disbelief, and grudging reliance brewing in his eyes. "So, you can, like, see this stuff happening? The glitches? The… errors?"

"Sometimes," I admitted, side-stepping a puddle that was calmly bubbling and emitting faint, lavender-scented smoke ([Glitch Effect: Unexplained Aromatherapy? Harmless... Probably.]). "It's less seeing the future, more reading the system logs in real-time. Reality throws error codes before it completely face-plants. Warnings like [Warning: Physics Engine Stability Dropping] or [Fatal Exception: Object Permanence Failure Imminent]. You learn to spot them."

He shook his head, clearly struggling. "Before… before all this… I was training to be an architect's draftsman. Lines, structure, rules… This place…" He gestured vaguely at a nearby building whose corners seemed to be melting like candle wax, defying its own structural integrity. "This place breaks all the rules."

"Tell me about it," I muttered. "Welcome to the bug report that is existence."

We finally reached the sullen monolith of the office building. I bypassed the crackling, user-installed energy field at the main entrance ("Definitely not OSHA compliant, probably powered by tortured squirrels and wishful thinking") and led Leo around back to the service entrance, held ajar by the eternally patient filing cabinet.

Inside, the transition was stark. The chaotic noise and visual static of the outside world muffled instantly, replaced by the cool, steady hum of server fans. Clean, filtered air, smelling faintly of ozone and warm plastic, replaced the street's miasma of decay and glitch-rot. Rows upon rows of blinking server racks marched down the aisles like disciplined technological soldiers, creating canyons of humming metal under the high, grimy windows. Dust motes danced in the beams of emergency lighting like phantom data packets. It wasn't silent, but it was an orderly sound. The sound of computation still valiantly trying to compute.

Leo stopped just inside, genuinely speechless for a moment, simply absorbing the relative calm. "It's... working? It's cool in here."

"Best real estate in the glitch-zone," I confirmed, weaving through the familiar maze. "Independent power filtering, climate control still mostly functional, structurally sound. Built by people paranoid about losing data, not reality itself, but the overlap in precautions is beneficial." I pointed to a server rack displaying a perfectly stable array of green status lights. "See? Some things still remember how to function properly."

My personal sanctuary, the supply closet, was exactly as I'd left it. Leo peered inside, taking in the controlled explosion of scavenged tech. My blanket-nest, the shelves overflowing with components, tools, dubious foodstuffs. A half-disassembled drone sat on one shelf, wires spilling like metallic guts – a project I'd abandoned after realizing its guidance system interpreted 'fly straight' as 'become a non-Euclidean pretzel'. Beside it, my perpetually optimistic coffee maker project remained stubbornly dark, its front panel displaying only [Error 418: I'm a Teapot]. One day, caffeine. One glorious day.

"Cozy," Leo managed, still looking overwhelmed. He perched nervously on the offered plastic crate near the entrance. "You fixed all this?"

"Less fixed, more… curated stability," I clarified, dropping my backpack. "Think of it as a lifeboat in a sea of bad code." I grabbed the flickering flashlight. "Right. Rule two: Don't touch anything unless you want to potentially debug it with your face. Especially the sparking bits."

Sitting on my nest, I focused on the faulty light. Time to impress the newbie (or just make the damn thing work). Closed my eyes. Activated [Perceive Glitch]. Okay, visualize. Show, don't just tell yourself.

The flashlight in my mind became translucent light and wireframes. Cool blue energy streamed from the 'battery'. Followed the flow. There – the angry orange knot, sparking around the blue stream, the parasitic feedback loop ([Error: Redundant Photon Drain Subroutine Active]). Looked like tangled, pulsing static cling on the clean power line. Okay, [Localized Data Glitch Dampening]. Summoned the mental 'logic probe'. Touched the knot. Felt the resistance – like pushing against thick static, a jolt that echoed behind my eyeballs, tightening the band of my lingering headache. Focused. Found the recursive core of the error: while(light_on) { drain_power(extra); flicker_annoyingly(); }. Sloppy coding. Highlighted the entire loop. Applied the 'isolate and nullify' command. Wrapped it in a mental container, snipped the connections. Silence it.

The orange knot flared, pulsed erratically, then dissolved into faint grey whisps that faded into the background hum. Blue energy flowed clean and bright. [-8 SP]. Felt like I'd mentally wrestled a stubborn driver conflict.

Opened my eyes. The flashlight beam was steady, clean, strong. Tossed it onto the shelf. Satisfying clunk.

Leo jumped at the sound, then stared, eyes darting between me and the flashlight. "But... you didn't even touch it! It just... stopped!" He shook his head vigorously, rubbing his eyes. "Okay, no. That's not possible. Glitches don't just stop because someone squints at them."

"Battery contacts were loose," I lied smoothly, fighting a smirk. His disbelief was oddly refreshing. "Focused application of percussive maintenance. Sometimes you just gotta knock sense into faulty hardware."

"By thinking at it?" He lowered his voice. "Come on, Ren. I might be new to… this," he waved a hand encompassingly, "but I'm not stupid. What are you?"

"Complicated," I deflected, turning to my backpack. Distraction time. Pulled out a can of peaches. "And hungry." The can felt cool, looked perfect. Popped the top. The syrup inside seemed to almost glow faintly. The scent was intensely, unnaturally peachy. Took a bite. Sweet, tangy, texture disconcertingly firm. Tasted more like the idea of a peach than any fruit grown on actual soil. Finished half the can, pushed down the faint internal query about long-term mutagenic effects. Calories are king.

Then, the pièce de résistance: "Processed Meat Food Product (Try It!)". I presented the can to Leo. "Your welcoming gift."

He recoiled slightly, reading the label. "Processed... Try It? That sounds..."

"Like truth in advertising," I finished, popping the lid. The smell hit first – vaguely metallic, faintly salty, with an undertone of something that might have been boiled gym socks. The contents sloshed – a pinkish-grey loaf suspended in a trembling, translucent jelly. "Observe." I poked it with my multi-tool knife. The loaf quivered, then slowly oozed back into shape. "Nutritional value: debatable. Texture: questionable. Potential side effects: unknown, possibly hilarious. Recommended usage: extreme emergencies or developing a robust sense of nihilism."

Leo looked positively green. "I… I think I'll pass."

"Wise choice," I conceded, sealing the can with grim finality and placing it on the 'Maybe Later If Actively Starving To Death' shelf section. "More radioactive peaches for me, then."

We lapsed into a slightly awkward silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic chorus of server fans. Leo seemed to be wrestling with the conflicting evidence of his senses versus his understanding of reality. Me? I was just enjoying the relative lack of things actively trying to kill me.

And then, slicing through the hum, it returned.

Click-flash-flash. Pause.

Click-flash-flash. Pause.

Subtle, but insistent. Precise. Coming from deeper within the server farm aisles. A rhythmic disruption in the background harmony. My headache, momentarily banished by the debugging effort, pulsed back into existence, a dull throb keeping time with the anomaly.

Leo tensed. "What's that? That clicking?"

"Just background noise," I lied again, but my attention sharpened. Too regular. Too clean. My [Perceive Glitch] skill focused on the sensation – not chaotic noise, but a structured, repeating pattern. Stable. Clean, in its own corrupted way. Like a meticulously crafted error message. It felt… intentional. "Old servers make weird sounds when they're contemplating retirement."

But the feeling deepened. This wasn't a machine dying. This was a machine broadcasting. A weak, rhythmic pulse echoing in the digital wasteland.

And the silence that followed each three-flash burst felt less like a pause, and more like it was listening for a reply.

My makeshift sanctuary suddenly felt less like a fortress and more like a listening post I hadn't known I was manning. The mystery wasn't just out there in the glitching streets; it was right here, humming patiently in the dark.

As it will be a running gag in the series (not every chapter), I would like to explain it upfront to save everyone any confusion.