It was one on one. Him against me. My trap had worked, but it had not been enough. The leader of the pack was still alive.
He was injured. A small health bar flickered into existence above his head, a game mechanic I had not seen before. It must only appear on heavily damaged enemies. The bar was red, less than half full. [HP: 40/100]. But he still had the shotgun. And I was still just a guy with a pistol.
I knew I could not stay behind this crumbling wall. The S-12 shotgun would tear it apart, and me with it. I had to move. I had to be a hard target.
The pack leader did not wait. He let out a roar of fury and fired.
BOOM.
The shotgun blast was a deafening explosion of sound. It hit the stone wall, not where I was, but where I had been a second before. The wall disintegrated. Chunks of concrete and dust filled the air. If I had stayed there, I would be dead.
I was already running. I fired my P-19 as I moved, a wild shot from the hip. "Suppressive fire," my gamer brain called it. Keep his head down.
Crack. My bullet hit him in the leg. He grunted in pain and stumbled, but he did not fall. He was tough.
I zig-zagged, moving between the broken crates and piles of debris that littered the courtyard. I was playing like it was the game now. Never stand still. Always be moving. Use the environment. The fear was still there, but it was a fuel now, pushing me forward, making me faster.
I checked my ammo counter. It flashed an angry red. [AMMO: 3/36]. Three bullets left in my magazine. I had to make them count.
The pack leader was enraged. He was no longer a tactical hunter. He was a wounded animal. He made a mistake. He charged forward, wanting to close the distance and end me with one more blast from his shotgun.
I saw it coming. It was a reckless, angry move. I could use it.
I slid behind a large metal crate, breaking his line of sight. My hands moved with a speed I did not know I had. I dropped the empty magazine. I slammed a new one into my pistol. The click of the magazine locking into place was the most satisfying sound in the world. [AMMO: 12/36].
The leader charged past my crate. For a single second, his side was completely exposed to me.
I popped out from cover.
Time seemed to slow down. I had a clear shot. He was so close. I saw the look of surprise on his face as he realized his mistake.
I fired. Bang. Bang. Bang. I emptied my pistol into his side.
He let out a guttural groan. The sound was not angry anymore. It was just… final. The S-12 shotgun fell from his hands, clattering onto the dusty ground. He collapsed to his knees. He stayed there for a moment, his head bowed. Then, he pitched forward, face down in the dirt.
He did not move again.
Silence.
The ringing in my ears was the only sound. I stood there, my pistol still pointed at his body. I was breathing hard, my chest heaving. My whole body was trembling from the adrenaline.
I did it. He was gone. They were all gone.
I survived.
My vision was suddenly flooded with blue boxes. A stream of notifications, one after another.
[ENEMY PLAYER ELIMINATED]
[TRIPLE KILL! REWARD: RARE WEAPON CRATE]
[OBJECTIVE COMPLETE! SURVIVE THE DEATHMATCH]
[ALL OTHER PLAYERS ELIMINATED. MATCH VICTORY!]
A final, new message appeared.
[REWARD: TELEPORTATION TO SAFE ZONE. INITIATING IN 30 SECONDS.]
A countdown timer appeared in the center of my screen. [29]. [28].
A Safe Zone? What was that? A place to rest?
I did not have time to think about it. I had to move. Thirty seconds was not a lot of time. I had to loot the bodies. It was a grim thought, but it was necessary. I needed their gear. My survival depended on it.
I ran to the two players killed by the explosion. Their bodies were badly burned. I quickly searched them, taking extra pistol magazines and a Med-Syringe. Then I ran to the leader.
He had the most valuable prize. The S-12 Shotgun. I knelt down and took it from the ground beside his hand. It was heavy, solid, and powerful. It was a huge upgrade. This weapon was a real lifesaver.
As I took the gun, my hand brushed against something in the pocket of his combat vest. It was not hard like a magazine. It was soft. Paper.
The timer was at [15] seconds.
Curiosity got the better of me. I reached into his pocket and pulled it out. It was a small piece of paper, folded into a neat square. It felt old and worn.
I unfolded it.
It was a photograph.
My breath caught in my throat. The picture showed a smiling man—the man I had just killed. He had his arm around a woman, who was also smiling. In front of them, sitting on the man's shoulders, was a small child. A little girl with a bright pink bow in her hair. They were in a park. There were green trees and a blue sky behind them. It looked like a happy family on a normal day. In the real world.
The truth hit me like a physical blow. A wave of nausea washed over me.
These were not game characters. They were not mindless AI. They were real people. People with lives. With families. Pulled into this death game, just like me.
I had not just killed three enemy players. I had killed a husband. A father.
The weight of what I had done was suddenly immense. Unbearable.
The teleportation timer was at [5] seconds. The world around me started to glow with a bright blue light. The edges of the buildings, the crates, the bodies on the ground—they were all starting to dissolve into particles of light.
My eyes fell on the leader's body one last time as it began to fade. The explosion had torn his sleeve. On his forearm, I saw something.
A tattoo.
It was a strange, complex symbol. A black serpent, curled into a circle, eating its own tail. But in the center of the serpent's circle was a black gear, with sharp, mechanical teeth. It was not a symbol I recognized from the game. It was too detailed. Too personal. It looked like the mark of a gang, or a faction.
[3]
[2]
[1]
The blue light became blinding. It washed over everything.
[TELEPORTATION COMPLETE.]
The light faded. I was standing in a new place.
It was a room. A perfectly clean, white, empty room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all a seamless, glowing white. There were no doors. No windows. I was completely alone.
The silence was absolute.
I was holding the heavy S-12 shotgun in one hand. In the other, I was still holding the faded photograph of the man and his family.
The image of the strange tattoo—the serpent and the gear—was burned into my mind.
Who were these people? What did that symbol mean?
And what in the world was a "Safe Zone"?