Cubicle to Cube World

"All right, step one: punch trees. Step two: survive. Easy, right?" Markle muttered under his breath, standing in the middle of an unfamiliar forest with blocky foliage and a surreal pixelated sky above.

A bird chirped somewhere in the distance, seemingly mocking his optimism.

"Sure, laugh it up. Let's see you punch a tree with your face and come out ahead," he muttered sarcastically. His blocky hand swung at a nearby oak trunk, splinters flying as the bark cracked.

"Yep, real hero material here," Markle quipped, rubbing his hand as the oak block finally broke free and floated inexplicably toward him. He caught it, watching it vanish into his inventory. "Because nothing says survival like defying basic physics."

He glanced at the gathered materials so far. A handful of wooden blocks. Not exactly Fort Knox.

"This'll have to do for now," he murmured, turning to survey the open plains nearby. Patches of tall grass waved under a nonexistent breeze, while a small stream trickled along the base of a hill.

"Hmm, this place might work for my cozy dirt shack of dreams," Markle mused before dragging his heels to the perfect spot. Setting down his first block, he chuckled dryly. "Just call me the Picasso of primitive architecture."

The crunch of grass alerted him to movement nearby. Whipping around, he saw a cluster of cows grazing lazily. Their square bodies plodded across the terrain like low-resolution puzzles brought to life.

"Oh, hey, neighbors. Nice to meet you," Markle called. "Do me a favor and don't eat my house, okay?"

The cows ignored him, continuing their forage. Markle turned back to his masterpiece, a simple three-block-tall wooden box with no windows or style could qualify as such.

"This is fine," he declared after surveying his handiwork, hands on his hips. "A minimalist design. Very... post-apocalyptic chic."

Just as he was about to dig out a door space, something warm tickled his ear. It wasn't a sound, not exactly, its more like a sensation at the back of his mind, alarming him.

A shadow darted between trees in the distance.

Markle blinked hard, convincing himself he was seeing things.

"You know what? No. Not dealing with whatever that is right now," he muttered, hastily hammering down more blocks. His voice adopted a mocking monotone. "Step three: ignorance is bliss."

The sun crept lower and the skies tinged with a faint orange glow. He shoved dirt into gaps, forming crude reinforcements for the night. While he'd never been an avid gamer, Markle remembered enough Minecraft basics from friends' memes and chaotic YouTube streams.

"I am not going to die on night one because of some meme skeletons. No way."

As if summoned by his determination, an eerie, muffled groan sounded across the plains.

Markle froze mid-swing. "And that's my cue to panic."

He ducked inside his tiny box, bolting his makeshift door shut with trembling hands. Shoving himself against the wall, he peeked cautiously through a small gap in the wooden planks.

The world outside darkened fast. Long shadows stretched, and soon only faint starlight bathed the landscape.

From his safehouse, Markle squinted. A square-headed creature shambled into view, its green body unnervingly steady despite its jerky movements.

"Creepers..." Markle whispered with a dawning realization. "Why did it have to be Creepers?"

Another low groan startled him, louder this time and far too close for comfort. His pulse spiked, his back pressing harder against the wall.

"Note to self," he hissed under his breath. "Next time, really over prepare for nightfall."

He dared to look again and something caught his attention just on the edge of the horizon, lava glowing softly under a nearby hill.

"All right, Markle," he whispered, determination kicking in. "New plan. Survive the night here, and then check out Lava Hill for better supplies. Because nothing screams 'builder's paradise' like volcanic ambiance."

An inexplicable rush of pride surfaced as he thought of surviving a single night. Despite the absurdity of his situation, he smirked. "Not so bad for a scruffy office worker-turned-pixelated castaway, huh?"

But the muffled groans outside didn't wane, and Markle could only hope his house of wood and stubbornness would last until dawn.

The muffled groans outside became a steady background noise, like a perverse lullaby designed to keep Markle wide awake. He pressed his blocky fingers to his temples, wishing desperately for silence.

"Right, change of plans," he mumbled to himself. "Forget sleep. Let's strategize."

His stomach growled loudly, filling the tense void.

"Great. Survive the night, find food in the morning. Easy-peasy," he said sarcastically. "Because starving to death is so much cooler than getting blown up by a Creeper."

Faint rays of sunlight began to edge over the horizon, skies shifting from deep navy to a dim grey. Markle peeked through his tiny wooden barricade, watching as the night's monsters began to hiss and smolder in the faint glow.

"Finally! Morning's here. Now let's—" Markle paused, furrowing his brows as he squinted into the distance. "Oh, that's new."

Smoke curled lazily into the air, thin tendrils winding up from beyond the hill with the lava he'd seen last night.

"Is it a forest fire? Or... did something happen?" His curiosity got the better of him, and his half-formed thoughts quickly turned into action.

Markle tore the barricade from his makeshift door and stepped cautiously into the fresh daylight. The Creeper from last night stood a few feet away, turning its head eerily in his direction.

"Whoa, no, no, no!" Markle shouted, scrambling backward. He grabbed his one and only block of dirt and chucked it uselessly at the green menace.

The Creeper stared back, entirely unfazed.

"Oh, you're real helpful," he muttered bitterly at the dirt block as he backed away slowly. Then he turned, breaking into a full sprint up the nearest hill.

As he approached the source of the smoke, Markle couldn't help but frown. The lava had indeed spilled out, consuming part of the landscape, leaving patches of scorched earth in its wake. There, at the edge of it all, stood the ideal site he'd been hoping for, a flat clear area with a scenic view of the valleys below.

"This spot is perfect," he said, standing atop the hill and ignoring his still-growling stomach. He spun in a slow circle. "Wood nearby, lava for... uh, I dunno, aesthetics? Maybe energy? I'll figure it out."

Markle knelt to inspect the scorched edges and frowned. "Gonna need to build something that won't burn this time, though."

He glanced back at his cramped wooden box on the distant plains and let out a sigh. "Wood's a no-go. Maybe stone? But where do I even—?"

Another growl interrupted his train of thought. His stomach grumbled again, louder this time, as if in agreement.

"Food first. Lava house later." He clapped his hands and looked around. Nearby forest bustled with cows and chickens, all roaming blissfully unaware of the blocky figure sizing them up.

"Sorry, guys," Markle muttered, narrowing his eyes at a chicken that clucked innocently by his feet. "You're about to make the ultimate sacrifice for survival."

The chase was comical with Markle darting back and forth, arms flailing as he swung his crude wooden pickaxe. Chickens scattered in every direction, squawking their disapproval.

"Stand still, would you?!" Markle groaned, managing a lucky swing that finally sent feathers flying. "Gotcha!"

Victory was short-lived as he realized the next challenge.

"Okay, genius," he said, holding the raw meat. "How do I cook this? Not exactly smart to toss it on the lava."

The rumbling from his gut answered that. "Raw it is, then," he muttered, taking a bite and immediately grimacing. "Oh, that's disgusting."

By the time Markle managed to cobble together a few more scraps, the sun was already dipping lower. Full daylight had passed quicker than expected. Smoke curling in his peripheral vision snapped his head up.

His heart stopped as he turned back towards his wooden shack, with what remains now a flickering tower of flames.

"What in the..." Markle stumbled, dropping his loot while making haste to scramble down the hill. Panic kicked in as he sprinted to the fire.

"No, no, no!" Markle yelled as if the flames would care about his pleas. He tried throwing dirt blocks on the fire in a desperate attempt to smother it, but they vanished under the raging blaze.

Markle dropped to his knees at a safe distance, coughing from the smoke.

His shack collapsed into a smoldering pile of ash and charred blocks.

"Well, that's just fantastic," he choked out as his voice was as bitter as the acrid air around him.

Markle coughed, waving the smoke away from his face, though it clung to him like an unwanted memory. "Brilliant, Markle. Truly a masterpiece of survival strategies," he said bitterly, staring at the ashes of what had been his home for all of... what, one day?

He picked at the charred ground with his hands, half-heartedly hoping for a salvageable block. There wasn't any.

"Of course," he sighed, flopping back onto the ground. "First house, first disaster. What's next? Falling into a ravine? Oh wait, don't say that out loud."

His stomach growled again, louder and angrier than before.

"Great. Homeless and still hungry." He rolled onto his side, curling into a loose ball. The soft grass under him provided little comfort as the square sun sank below the horizon.

Markle lifted his head, squinting as a pixelated spider skittered into view just beyond the hill.

"Fantastic," he muttered under his breath. "Right on time. And me? Zero defenses. Zero backup. Zero clue what to do next."

Pulling himself upright, he glanced around for a solution. His gaze settled on a patch of dirt nearby, barren and unobtrusive. He eyed the ground skeptically before nodding resolutely.

"Desperate times, desperate measures," he said, pacing over to the dirt patch. "I don't care how ridiculous this is, if it works, it works."

He began digging furiously, blocky hands tearing through the soft earth. Within minutes, he'd carved out a narrow 3x3 pit.

Markle stood at the edge, brushing dirt off his blocky robes and nodding to himself like he'd just solved world hunger.

"A genius. A pioneer of the survival arts. An innovator!" His self-praise faltered as distant groans rumbled over the plains. He glanced at the horizon, where more square-headed zombies had begun to appear.

"Less talking, more hiding."

He leapt into the hole and hastily began piling dirt blocks over the opening until only a sliver of space allowed light or air inside.

"Cozy," he mumbled, crouched awkwardly in the dark space. The makeshift hideout smelled strongly of earth, and he wasn't sure how long the oxygen would last, but it was safe for now.

As the night unfolded above, Markle sat in quiet, listening to the shuffle of monsters overhead. Each groan, each hiss set his nerves on edge.

"Well, at least I didn't say falling into a ravine," he whispered, leaning his head back against the dirt wall.

A faint, scraping noise above made his heart leap to his throat. Something was moving closer. Something large.

"Okay, maybe this wasn't such a brilliant idea," Markle muttered, gripping his knees. He glanced nervously upward, half-expecting to see a Creeper's grinning face peering through the cracks.

The shuffling continued for an eternity or so it seemed but the cover above held firm. Whatever was up there moved on, and the noise faded into the ambient groans of the night.

Markle exhaled slowly, slumping forward. "Good. Just stay up there. Far, far away from—"

A low growl broke his thought, coming from somewhere nearby. Too close.

Markle's eyes widened as realization struck him. "Wait... Did I leave the entrance uncovered?"

The growl deepened, and then he heard it, a crunching sound. Dirt shifting.

"No, no, no, no!" he hissed, pressing himself against the wall.

A zombie's blocky head peeked through the opening above, its glowing eyes locked onto Markle.

"Oh, come on!" Markle shouted, fumbling for his wooden pickaxe. He swung wildly as the creature dropped into the pit.

Panic took over. He swung again, gritting his teeth as each hit chipped away at the zombie. The confined space left little room to maneuver, and the suffocating weight of fear pressed harder with each passing second.

Finally, the creature dissolved into a puff of smoke, dropping a single, shining orb of experience. Markle leaned against the wall, panting.

"Well, lesson learned," he murmured, voice shaking. "Tomorrow? Walls. Definitely building actual walls."

As the first rays of sunlight touched the horizon, Markle peered up from his dirt cocoon.

"Made it through night two," he said, blinking at the pale light. "And all it took was losing everything. Again."

He climbed out of the pit, dusting himself off and taking in the aftermath. Broken tools. Sore arms. And no closer to thriving in this hostile world.

But for the first time, a tiny ember of determination flickered within him.

"New plan," he said, straightening. "Not just survival. I'm going to build something better. Something that lasts."

The plains stretched out before him, a blank canvas for his ambitions. Markle took a deep breath, picked a direction, and started walking.