When a jaded gamer inherits a retro game console from their late grandmother, they’re thrust into Lucky’s Adventure—a cartoon world of talking animals and endless sunshine. Tasked with helping Lucky, a spunky rabbit in a red baseball cap, collect 100 golden carrots to escape, the narrator soon discovers their presence is corrupting this sugarcoated realm. Characters like the flirty fox Mila and nervous bee Dr. Bumble begin questioning their programmed identity, confronting darker emotions and mature concepts they never knew existed. As innocence fades and their thoughts and feelings begin to change in ways no game designed, the narrator is forced to confront the effects of their interference. Can they end the game before its reality—and Lucky's newfound humanity—collapses entirely? Or will becoming “real” cost Lucky everything she loves about her world… and herself?






The orchard was alive with laughter. Apples glowed like amber lanterns, their branches tangled in a canopy of twilight. Mila the fox lounged against a gnarled trunk, her bushy tail flicking lazily as she watched Lucky hop toward her.

“Well, well,” Mila purred, tilting her head so her crescent-moon earrings caught the dappled light. “If it isn’t my favorite little sidekick—and her very lost human.” She winked at me, her voice syrupy sweet. “Need a guide through the dark?”

Lucky rolled her eyes. “We'll manage just fine on our own, Mila. Go flirt with someone else.”

“Flirting?” Mila gasped theatrically, pressing a paw to her chest. “I’d never! …Though I could show you where to find ‘golden treasures’ later.” Her gaze lingered on me, all coy smiles and smokey gazes. I felt my face heat up—not from attraction, but from the way Lucky’s ears flattened defensively beside me.

But then Mila’s grin faltered. Her tail stilled mid-flick. “Why do I… want to say things like that?” she murmured, almost to herself. She shook her head sharply, but her laugh came out brittle. “Stupid. Just teasing! It’s fun, right?”

Lucky paused, her twitching nose betraying her confusion. “Uh… yeah. Fun.”

“No,” Mila said suddenly, her tone shifting like a record skipping. She stepped closer, her voice low and urgent. “Why do I want things I don’t understand? Why does ‘fun’ feel… hollow?” Her paw drifted to her chest again, desperately clawing at the fabric of her bodysuit. I stepped back slightly as the fox's sanity seemed to unravel in front of us.

“Mila!” Lucky barked, darting between us. “Knock it off! You’re freaking him out.”

“I’m freaking me out,” Mila whimpered. She blinked rapidly and squeezed her eyes shut, as if resetting herself. When she looked up again, the sly charm was back, but her smile was brittle and forced. “Right! Fun. Soooo, that carrot you’re after is in a hollow tree up ahead. But I'll only tell you which one…” She reached into her fur and pulled out a folded note—her paw trembling ever so slightly. “If you solve my little riddle: What do you call it when you're thirsty for something, but no drink will quench your thirst?”

Taking a wild guess I offered, “Uh… desperation?”

Mila’s ears drooped. “Oh,” she said softly, deflating. “That sounds… sad.” She crumpled the note, letting it fall to the ground. For a heartbeat, I saw her—the real her—peering out from beneath the programmed flirtation: a creature waking up to pain she couldn’t name.
Then she straightened up, flicking her tail with forced playfulness. “Off you go, then! Tree’s that way!” She pointed, but her arm remained half-raised, as if stuck between gestures.

As we left, Lucky glanced back at Mila’s slumped figure beneath the glowing apples. “She used to just give riddles about pie,” she muttered. “What’s happening to her?”
I had no answer—only the sinking feeling that Mila’s question wasn’t really about being thirsty at all.
The package arrived on a Tuesday, unmarked save for a faded sticker of a grinning rabbit and the words “For My Favorite Grandchild – Press Start to Begin!” scribbled in my grandmother’s looping cursive. She’d died three weeks prior, leaving behind a cluttered apartment and this—whatever this was—a dusty game console the size of a shoebox from a company I had never heard of, its plastic sun-bleached to a sickly yellow, and a single cartridge labeled Lucky’s Adventure. I laughed at first. Grandma had always been more of a crossword puzzle person. But as I slotted the cartridge into the console and plugged it into my TV, curiosity won out over skepticism. The screen flickered to life, bathing my dim apartment in a garish rainbow glow. A jingle blared—a chipper, earworm melody—and then, without warning, the room dissolved into static.
I blinked.
Cool grass tickled my ankles. The air smelled like cotton candy and damp earth. Before me stretched a meadow so saturated with color it hurt my eyes: dandelions the size of umbrellas, butterflies with iridescent wings, and creatures that defied logic—a hedgehog wearing a polka-dot bowtie, flowers that giggled when I stepped too close. This was cartoon logic, pure and unapologetic. And there she was at the edge of it all: a rabbit in a red baseball cap, her ears twitching as they hung behind her head, her eyes wide with a mix of wonder and… recognition.

“About time you showed up,” she said, her voice sounding boyish with a slight California accent. “We’ve got carrots to find, and you’re the one who figures out the clues. Name’s Lucky. You’re my… what’s the word? Sidekick. Yeah, sidekick.” She grinned, and something in her expression felt familiar—like a joke I’d forgotten the punchline to. “Stick with me, and maybe we’ll both get out of this mess.”
I opened my mouth to argue but before I could speak, she bounded forward, feet kicking up grass with every hop.

“First golden carrot’s hidden somewhere up high!” she called over her shoulder. “Better keep up, slowpoke!”