The blue light faded. The noise, the dust, the smell of gunpowder—it was all gone.
I was standing in a room of pure, clean white.
The floor, the walls, the ceiling—everything was a seamless, glowing white surface. There were no corners, no doors, no windows. It was an endless, sterile space. The contrast was a shock to my system. One moment I was in the bloody, wrecked courtyard of Dustgate. The next, I was here.
The silence was the most unsettling part. It was not just quiet. It was a total absence of sound. It pressed in on me, a heavy, unnatural stillness.
In my right hand, I held the heavy S-12 shotgun I had taken from the pack leader. In my left, I held the worn, folded photograph of his family. These two objects were the only proof that the last thirty minutes had been real. They were my only link to the nightmare I had just survived.
The adrenaline from the fight was gone. In its place, a cold, heavy feeling settled in my stomach. I looked down at the photograph in my hand.
The smiling face of the man I had killed stared back at me. He looked happy. Carefree. Next to him, his wife and daughter smiled, their faces full of light. They were a family. They had a life. A real life, somewhere outside this hell. And I had destroyed it.
I did not kill an "enemy player." I killed him. I took him away from them forever.
The realization was a physical weight. I felt sick. My hand trembled, and I tried to drop the photograph. I wanted it gone. I did not want to see their faces. I did not want this reminder of what I had done.
I let go of the paper. It did not fall to the white floor. It hovered in the air in front of me for a second, then floated gently back into my open palm.
A blue box appeared in my vision.
[ITEM IS BOUND TO PLAYER. CANNOT BE DISCARDED.]
The system would not let me forget. The photograph was a part of my inventory now. A permanent record of my first real kill. A ghost that would follow me.
I clenched my fist around the photo, forcing the horror down. I could not fall apart. Not here. Not now. My objective is to survive. The words were a lifeline. To survive, I had to understand this place. I had to understand the rules.
As if sensing my thoughts, a new HUD element appeared.
[WELCOME TO THE SAFE ZONE. OPEN MENU?]
I focused on the message. "Yes," I thought.
A large, transparent menu materialized in front of me. It was clean and simple, with several options listed in a neat column.
[INVENTORY]
[SKILL TREE]
[MATCH HISTORY]
[SYSTEM STORE (LOCKED)]
This was the lobby. The place between the games. A place to prepare.
I started with the [INVENTORY]. A grid appeared, showing icons of all my gear. The P-19 Pistol. The S-12 Shotgun. Several magazines of ammo. The single Med-Syringe I had looted. And the photograph, a small, grim icon in the corner.
There was also a new item. A purple box with a question mark on it. The [RARE WEAPON CRATE] I had earned for my Triple Kill.
I focused on the S-12 Shotgun icon. A sub-menu appeared: [EQUIP AS PRIMARY]. I selected it. The shotgun felt more solid in my hand. The P-19 Pistol automatically moved to the [SECONDARY] slot. This was my new loadout. A powerful one.
Next, I opened the [SKILL TREE]. The diagram of the three branches—Assault, Tactical, Survival—appeared again. A notification told me I had [3 UNUSED SKILL POINTS]. One for each member of the pack I had eliminated. The thought made my stomach churn, but I pushed it away. These points were tools for survival. I had to use them.
I looked at the Tactical tree. My single point was in Acoustic Sensor (LVL 1). That skill had saved my life. It had warned me about the grenade. It had let me see the pack coming for me. It was the reason I was still alive. There was no question. I had to make it stronger.
I put another point into it.
[SKILL UPGRADED: ACOUSTIC SENSOR (LVL 2) - Enemy footsteps are now brighter and show elevation (above/below).]
The upgrade was huge. Now I could tell if an enemy was on a floor above me or below me. In a complex map, that kind of information was priceless.
I had two points left. I could put another one in the Tactical tree, or I could diversify. I thought about the fight. I had healed myself once. But what if I was under fire? I would not have time for a slow injection.
I moved to the Survival tree. The first skill on the branch was called Fast Heal.
[FAST HEAL (LVL 1) - Med-Syringe usage is 30% faster.]
It was a practical choice. A choice made from the memory of panic and near-death. I put one point into it.
One point left. I could save it. Or I could specialize even more. I looked back at the Tactical tree. The next skill after Acoustic Sensor was Ghost. It would make my own footsteps quieter. It was tempting. Very tempting.
But I thought about the man with the shotgun. I thought about how close I had come to dying. Information was key. Knowing where they were was the most important thing.
I put my last point into Acoustic Sensor.
[SKILL UPGRADED: ACOUSTIC SENSOR (LVL 3) - Enemy footsteps remain visible on the minimap for 1 second after they stop moving, creating a "ghost" image.]
Perfect. Now, even if someone stopped moving to try and hide, I would know their last position. My minimap was becoming my most powerful weapon. I was not a great soldier, but I could be a great hunter.
I felt a little more confident. A little more prepared. I closed the skill menu. Now, for the final piece of business. The purple crate. My big reward.
I selected the [RARE WEAPON CRATE] in my inventory. I was ready to see what was inside. Maybe a new rifle. Maybe some better armor.
A new message appeared. It was not what I expected.
[REQUIRES SYSTEM WORKBENCH TO OPEN.]
A workbench? I looked around the empty white room. There was nothing here. Just smooth, white walls. Was this a trick? Did I have to wait? How did I get a workbench? Was I stuck?
The silence of the room was suddenly oppressive again. I was alone. Powerless.
Then, a sound.
It was soft. A gentle chime, like a small bell. It was the first sound I had heard in this place. It echoed in the vast, empty room.
I turned quickly, my new shotgun held ready.
On the far side of the room, a section of the white wall rippled like water. It dissolved into particles of light, revealing a dark, rectangular opening. A doorway that had not been there a second ago.
Someone stepped through.
It was a woman. She was wearing a mix of armor pieces that did not match. A heavy chest plate, but light leg guards. Her gear looked worn, scratched, and repaired many times. She held an assault rifle in her hands, and she held it with a casual ease that spoke of long, hard experience. She looked tired. Her eyes were sharp, scanning the room, and they landed on me.
Her gaze moved from my face, down to the new S-12 shotgun in my hands, and then back to my eyes. Her expression narrowed. She spoke, and her voice was low and sharp, cutting through the silence.
"You're new," she said. It was not a question. It was a statement. "And you smell like trouble."