The red dot on my minimap pulsed. It was a small, simple light, but it was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen. It was another player. An enemy. And they were coming for me.
My heart hammered against my ribs. My hands were slick with sweat inside the tactical gloves. I gripped the P-19 pistol so hard my knuckles were white. It was a real gun. I had to use it. I had to shoot another person.
If I die here, I die for real. The thought was a constant drumbeat in my head. Live. Live. Live.
I stayed low behind the rusted car. My gamer brain took over. It was the only part of me that was not screaming in panic. Don't let him see you first. Information is everything. Peek from cover. Get a visual.
I took a slow, shaky breath. I raised my head, just a little. I peered over the hood of the car. My eyes scanned the dusty marketplace.
I saw him.
He was moving cautiously between the market stalls. He was dressed just like me, in the same default combat gear. He was also holding a P-19 pistol. His head was on a swivel, turning left and right. He was looking for targets. He was looking for me.
He looked young. About my age. And he looked just as scared as I felt. His face was pale. His movements were not confident. They were jerky and uncertain. He was not a soldier. He was another person, like me, who had woken up in this nightmare.
My gamer instinct screamed at me. Shoot him! He's in the open! It's an easy shot!
But my body would not move. My finger was on the trigger, but I could not pull it. That was a real person. A living, breathing human being. How could I shoot him? How could I just end his life?
My hands were shaking. I could not hold the gun steady. The iron sights on the top of the pistol moved up and down, left and right. I could not aim.
He was still moving. Closer now. He did not see me yet.
Shoot him now, Leo! the voice in my head yelled. He will kill you! This is not a game! SURVIVE!
He stopped. He looked directly at my position. Our eyes met.
For a second, we just stared at each other. His eyes went wide. He saw me. The fear on his face was replaced by pure panic.
He raised his pistol.
There was no thought. No time to decide. There was only the glint of sun on his weapon.
A loud crack echoed through the marketplace. The sound was deafening, much louder than in the game. A bullet whizzed past my ear. I felt the air move. It was hot.
Instinct saved me.
I dropped down behind the car. My head hit the hard metal. Pain flared in the back of my skull. But I was alive.
Another crack. The bullet hit the car, right where my head had been. The sound was a loud PING. Metal on metal.
He was shooting at me. He was trying to kill me.
The thought was clear and sharp, cutting through my fear. Him or me. That was the choice. The only choice.
My objective was to survive.
I took a deep breath. I gripped my pistol with both hands to stop the shaking. I pushed myself up from behind the car.
He was there, still aiming at my cover.
I pointed my gun in his direction. I did not use the sights. There was no time to aim properly. I just pointed and pulled the trigger.
Bang.
The gun jumped in my hand. The recoil was stronger than I expected. My shot was wild. It hit the wall of a building behind him.
He shot back. Crack. Another bullet flew past me.
I fired again. Bang. Bang.
The P-19 was a weak pistol. I knew this from the game. You needed multiple shots.
One of my bullets hit him. It hit his shoulder. He cried out, a real sound of pain. It was not a game sound effect. It was a human being, hurt. He stumbled back a step.
I did not stop. I could not stop.
Bang.
Another bullet hit him. This one hit his chest. A dark red spot appeared on his grey shirt. It spread quickly, like spilled ink.
He looked down at his chest. His eyes were wide with shock and disbelief. He looked at the red stain. Then he looked up at me. His expression was not angry. It was just… surprised. Confused.
Then his eyes went empty. He fell backward onto the dusty ground.
He did not move.
Silence.
The world was completely silent. The only sound was my own breathing. It was loud and ragged in my ears. I lowered my pistol. My arms felt heavy, like they were made of lead.
I killed him.
I just killed a person.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. My stomach churned. I felt sick. I leaned against the car, my legs suddenly weak. I wanted to vomit. My hands were shaking again, but this time it was not from fear. It was from horror.
This was real. The smell of gunpowder was real. The body on the ground was real. The red blood soaking into the sand was real.
A blue box appeared in my vision. It felt wrong. It was cold and detached from the horror of the moment.
[ENEMY PLAYER ELIMINATED]
Another box appeared right after.
[FIRST KILL OF THE MATCH! REWARD: +1 SKILL POINT]
A reward. A skill point. For killing someone. The system did not care that I had just taken a human life. To the system, it was just a point. A statistic.
The world started to spin. I needed to sit down.
Then, a sharp pain in my left shoulder reminded me of my own situation. I looked down. My combat shirt was torn. There was a long, bloody scrape along my arm and shoulder. A bullet must have grazed me. It was not a deep wound, but it was bleeding.
I checked my HUD. The green bar was no longer full. [HP: 92/100].
The pain was real. The damage was real. Eight points of my life were gone. If that number hit zero, I would be the one lying on the ground. I would be terminated.
The gamer part of my brain spoke again. It was cold and logical. It ignored the sickness in my stomach.
His ammo. You need his ammo. You used half your magazine. You need more.
The thought was disgusting. I did not want to go near the body. I did not want to touch him.
But the voice was right. My objective was to survive. Survival was not clean. It was not noble. It was practical.
I checked my own ammo counter. [AMMO: 7/12]. Not enough.
I forced myself to walk forward. Every step was heavy. I kept my eyes away from the man's face. I knelt down beside the body. My hands were still shaking. I searched his vest. I found two extra magazines for the P-19. Each one held twelve bullets.
I took them. They felt heavy in my hand. Heavy with a weight that was more than just metal.
I stood up and backed away. I reloaded my own pistol. I put the half-empty magazine in my pouch and put a full one in the gun. My HUD updated instantly. [AMMO: 12/36]. I had twelve bullets in my gun, and thirty-six in reserve. I felt a tiny bit safer. And a thousand times worse.
Suddenly, I heard more gunshots in the distance. Pop-pop-pop. Not close. But they were a reminder.
This was a deathmatch. There were other players. The man I killed was not the only one. The match was not over.
I had to move. I had to find a better place to hide. This open area was a death trap.
I started to run, my heavy boots kicking up dust. I moved between the buildings, my eyes scanning every window, every doorway. I ran toward the edge of the map, where the cover was better.
As I passed between two tall, sand-colored buildings, I heard a new sound.
It was a strange, high-pitched whistle. It started quiet, but it was getting louder. And closer.
Wheeeeeeeeee—
I knew that sound. I knew it from the game. It was the sound of a grenade falling.
I looked up.
A small, black object was tumbling through the perfect blue sky. It was getting bigger. It was getting closer.
It was falling right on top of me.