《60 Days In Hell》


 Chapter 1: Day Zero

    I wake up to the shrill blare of my alarm clock, the sound tearing through the haze of a sleepless night. My fingers fumble to silence it, and I glance at the time¡ª7:30 AM. Damn it. Late again. I should feel the usual pang of anxiety, but all I can muster is a resigned sigh.


    Rolling out of bed, I stumble over the pile of dirty laundry that¡¯s become a permanent fixture in my room. My mother always said a tidy space equals a tidy mind, but right now, my mind is a tornado of chaos, and I can¡¯t seem to find my socks. I throw on the first shirt I see¡ªwrinkled and stained¡ªand head to the bathroom.


    As I brush my teeth, I catch my reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes tell the story of late nights spent binge-watching shows I¡¯ll forget by next week. I¡¯m a psychology student, for crying out loud. You¡¯d think I¡¯d have better self-control, but here I am, a lazy fool struggling to break free from the chains of procrastination.


    By the time I stumble out the door, I¡¯m already ten minutes behind schedule. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I¡¯m supposed to be an adult. But adulthood is hard, especially when all I want to do is crawl back into bed and drown my sorrows in another season of The Officemate. I quicken my pace, only to stop at the corner store for a sugary energy drink. What¡¯s the harm in a little boost, right?


    ***


    The first lecture of the day is a blur of theories and terminology that seem to float over my head like the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. I can¡¯t help but glance at my phone every few minutes, a habit I¡¯ve cultivated to avoid facing the daunting reality of my life. Each notification feels like a distraction, pulling me deeper into the abyss of digital escapism.


    When class finally ends, I grab my bag and head home. The weight of my responsibilities sits heavy on my shoulders, but I shove it aside, just as I shove aside the growing pile of overdue assignments. Instead, I plop down on my couch, remote in hand, and lose myself in another episode, the world around me fading into a dull hum.


    Hours pass, and I¡¯m still glued to the screen, the flickering images a comforting distraction from my reality. I¡¯m well aware that I¡¯m wasting my time, but there¡¯s a morbid thrill in the self-destruction. I can hear my mother¡¯s voice in the back of my mind, reminding me of all the dreams I once had, the aspirations I¡¯ve let slip through my fingers like sand.


    ¡°Alex!¡± My mother calls from the kitchen, breaking through my daze. ¡°Could you please help me with dinner?¡±


    I groan but push myself up. She shouldn¡¯t have to manage everything alone. She¡¯s been sick for too long, and I know she feels guilty for relying on me, but I wish she wouldn¡¯t. I want to take care of her, yet I can¡¯t even take care of myself.


    I shuffle into the kitchen and find her, pale but smiling as she stirs a pot on the stove. My heart sinks at the sight of her frail frame, the illness that lingers over her like a storm cloud. ¡°Hey, Mom,¡± I say, forcing a smile. ¡°Need a hand?¡±


    ¡°Alright, just help me set the table. Thank you.¡± She doesn¡¯t press me, which only makes the guilt worse. I set the table in silence, the clinking of dishes punctuating the tension between us.


    ¡°Did you finish your studies?¡± she asks casually, but I can hear the underlying worry in her voice.


    I nod, but I know I¡¯m lying. ¡°Yeah, just a few more to go.¡± I can¡¯t bring myself to tell her the truth. I want her to be proud of me, not worried about how I¡¯ll pay for her surgery. Every day, I remind myself that I need to keep pushing forward, yet every day, I find new ways to delay my responsibilities.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ***


    As we sit down to eat, I watch her pick at her food, and I can¡¯t help but feel anger bubbling inside me¡ªnot at her, but at the circumstances that have brought us here. My mind drifts to the mounting medical bills, the countless nights spent researching treatments that could save her life but come at an unbearable cost. I want to scream, to shake off this apathy that clings to me like a second skin.


    I finish my meal in silence, the taste bitter in my mouth. I know I need to change, but the thought of facing my demons is daunting. I¡¯m caught in a cycle of laziness and guilt, and it¡¯s suffocating.


    After dinner, I retreat to my room, the familiar chaos wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. I know I need to study, to break these bad habits, but instead, I sink back into the couch, grabbing the remote. The screen lights up, and I lose myself in another episode.


    I sit there, trapped in my own head, the desire to escape mingling with the knowledge that I¡¯m running out of time. My mother¡¯s life depends on me, yet I feel powerless to change my own. Each binge-watching session chips away at my resolve, a paradox of intelligence and apathy.


    As the credits roll, I glance at my phone. It¡¯s time to do something, Alex. But I ignore the thought, burying it deep under layers of procrastination. Tomorrow, I promise myself. Tomorrow, I¡¯ll start fresh. But tomorrow becomes another cycle of excuses.


    And deep down, I know that every day I waste brings me one step closer to losing everything.


    The following week, I found myself walking into the lecture hall, the usual buzz of excitement replaced by a heavy sense of dread. We were about to receive our mid-term grades, and I felt a knot tightening in my stomach. I had poured hours into studying¡ªbut I knew deep down that I hadn¡¯t truly committed.


    When Professor Anderson handed back our papers, I braced myself for the worst. I opened mine, and there it was¡ªa glaring D. My heart sank, and the room spun slightly. ¡°This isn¡¯t me,¡± I thought, a voice echoing in the back of my mind, but it felt like a stranger.


    I glanced around the room, watching my classmates celebrate their A''s and B''s, their laughter cutting into my soul. I couldn¡¯t shake off the feeling of inadequacy. I was just a lazy fool masquerading as a student, and every other person here seemed to be thriving. The walls felt like they were closing in, and all I wanted was to escape.


    As I made my way out, I collided with Jenna, a fellow psychology major who often sat in front of me. She turned, her brow furrowed with concern. ¡°Hey, Alex! I saw your grade. Are you okay?¡±


    Her genuine tone hit me like a splash of cold water. For a moment, I hesitated, fighting the instinct to brush it off. ¡°Yeah, just... you know, not my best day.¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± she insisted. ¡°I can help you study. You don¡¯t have to go through this alone.¡±


    I shook my head, trying to brush off the concern. ¡°No thanks. I¡¯ll figure it out.¡± But deep down, I craved the connection, the feeling of not being so utterly alone in this mess.


    As I walked away, her worried eyes lingered in my mind, a reminder that maybe I wasn¡¯t as invisible as I thought. Maybe I should change. After all, I couldn¡¯t keep living this way. I promised myself that today would mark the beginning of a new chapter.


    For the next four days, I forced myself to break the cycle. I swapped late-night binges for early morning runs and traded junk food for salads that I would prepare with my mom¡¯s help. I even tried studying at the library instead of succumbing to the siren call of the couch and my ever-tempting phone.


    At first, it felt good. I was proud of myself, feeling a spark of hope that maybe this time, I¡¯d stick with it. I started to think that perhaps I was capable of more than my current existence.


    But, as they say, all good things come to an end. By the fifth day, the routines I had painstakingly built began to unravel. The allure of watchflix was simply too strong, and the temptation to reach for a bag of chips instead of a balanced meal was a siren call I couldn¡¯t resist. One night turned into two, and soon I was knee-deep in the familiar haze of apathy again.


    I could feel the despair creeping back, the nagging guilt clawing at my insides. The healthy habits faded, replaced by the comforting embrace of my old routines. I drowned myself in episodes of whatever series was trending, my phone buzzing with notifications that I¡¯d ignore, feeling the numbness wash over me like a warm blanket.


    The cycle was complete, and with each passing day, my self-destruction grew more profound, more consuming. I couldn¡¯t shake the overwhelming sense of hopelessness.


    It was one of those nights when I realized I needed junk food to accompany my binge-watching. The thought of walking to the convenience store felt like a monumental task, but the cravings were too strong to ignore. I threw on a hoodie and left my dim apartment, the cold night air slapping me awake.


    As I walked, I tried to shake off the clouds of despair hanging over me. ¡°Just a little treat,¡± I thought, hoping it would lift my spirits. My mind drifted back to my mother, who had promised me she would get better. I couldn¡¯t let her down. But as I reached the store, my thoughts spiraled once again, tumbling deeper into self-pity and despair.


    I grabbed a few bags of chips and a couple of sodas, shoving them into my hoodie pocket. As I turned to leave, the sudden darkness enveloped me. A van pulled up beside me, and before I could process what was happening, a figure stepped out, masked and intimidating.


    ¡°Get in the van,¡± they growled, voice distorted. My heart raced, and all thoughts of chips and laziness evaporated in an instant.


    ¡°Wait¡ªwhat?!¡± I stammered, backing away instinctively. But they moved quickly, grabbing my arm and dragging me toward the van.


    I fought, thrashing against the grip that tightened around my wrist, but it was no use. In the blink of an eye, I was thrown into the dark interior of the vehicle. The door slammed shut behind me, sealing my fate.


    The last thing I heard before the engine roared to life was my own desperate thoughts screaming in my head: This is it. This is how it ends.

 Chapter 2: The Game

    I awoke in total darkness, the kind that presses in from every side, thick and unrelenting. My pulse thudded in my ears, loud and insistent, but I forced myself to remain calm. Part of my life learning is that panic was for the weak. Breathe. Assess.


    I pressed my hands to the cold, smooth floor beneath me. No walls, no corners. Just an endless flat surface. I couldn¡¯t tell if I was in a room or some kind of void.


    Perfect. Another normal day. I allowed myself the briefest smirk in the dark.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I whispered, barely audible. ¡°Let¡¯s figure this out.¡±


    I scanned the space with my mind more than my eyes. My instincts told me nothing was immediate danger¡ªyet. Still, the pounding in my head was too real, too sharp for this to be a dream. The darkness felt... intentional, like it was meant to unsettle me. Someone¡¯s idea of fun?


    Suddenly, a face flashed in my mind¡ªmy mother, frail, smiling through pain, she endured so much. I¡¯d promised her I¡¯d come back. No matter what. And I always kept my promises.


    Before I could think further, a sharp, metallic noise cut through the silence, echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once. I tensed. Slowly, a line of light carved through the void¡ªa door, slowly opening. The light grew, too blinding after the oppressive darkness, but it was all I had.


    Another trick? Probably. But staying here wasn¡¯t an option. The door was the only move.


    I stood, cautious but steady, steps deliberate. Whoever¡ªor whatever¡ªput me here wanted me to make this choice. I reached for the door, feeling the cold metal, and stepped through.


    The instant I crossed that threshold, the world shifted. The darkness was gone. Instead, I saw a bustling city street, alive with noise and movement. Cars honked. People rushed by, each on some urgent errand. The air smelled like grilled food, almost pleasant. But something wasn¡¯t right. It was too¡­ orchestrated.


    I scanned the crowd. Everyone moved in perfect, mechanical patterns, not a single glance in my direction. NPCs? Simulations? No one looked real. And that¡¯s when I heard the voice.


    ¡°Welcome!¡± The voice was inside my head, as clear as if someone stood next to me. I reached up instinctively, fingers brushing something cold and metallic behind my ear. A device, implanted there. How long had it been there?


    ¡°You¡¯ve been chosen to be part of the greatest game in the world!¡± the voice continued, almost cheerful. ¡°I¡¯m Zero, and this is your one chance to change everything. Think of this as your second chance of living your life because you will end up destroying yourself after all.¡±


    My jaw clenched, but outwardly I remained calm. A game? That explained the weird city, the staged people. I wasn¡¯t in a normal world anymore.


    ¡°Here¡¯s how it works, couch potato ¡± Zero said, mockingly. ¡°You¡¯re one of 21 players, all stuck in this beautiful city. The rules are simple so make sure to avoid being an idiot: Hunt, or be hunted. Track down the most dangerous criminals in the city¡ªmurderers, traffickers, the worst of the worst. Take them out before they take you.¡±


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    I felt a cold knot form in my stomach, but my mind stayed sharp. Criminals. Twenty-one players. Hunt or be hunted. There was more. There always was.


    Zero didn¡¯t disappoint. ¡°And here¡¯s the fun and exciting part! You and the other players will also be hunting each other. Take out a player, and you get a bonus. Here''s aanother exciting news for ya! You can earn money just by catching your fellow players or eliminatjng some dangerous criminals. You can use that money to buy your freedom to get out of here earlier than you expected, That''s the pros! The cons however is that you can''t participate for the main prize if you purchase your independence and you will earn nothing. That''s it! And be careful¡ªyou target the wrong person, and it¡¯s game over for you.¡±


    A chill shot down my spine, but my body language remained controlled. This was bigger than just hunting criminals. The stakes were life and death.


    Zero laughed softly, as if it enjoyed my realization. ¡°Oh, and there¡¯s a massive main reward too just like I said. The winner¡ªthe last player standing¡ªwalks away with a fortune. Enough to solve all your problems, including that little issue with your sickly mother. Win, and she gets the surgery that you cannot afford even if you work all your life. Lose, and... well, you know.¡±


    The mention of my mother hit me harder than anything else. I clenched my fists, feeling the weight of it all. Her life depended on this. My body remained relaxed, but my mind was racing. This isn¡¯t just survival. It¡¯s a game of control. And control is something I must learn.


    ¡°I assume you understand, Mushroom head,¡± Zero¡¯s voice was smug now. ¡°You¡¯ve been chosen because you¡¯re the perfect kind of player. Lazy fool, you know you can do better than that but you chose to be a lazy bastard. You became smart when motivated, what the hell is wrong with you. Generally you are fucked up. And maybe this game will not only earn you your mother''s surgery but it can also finally get you to stop wasting your potential.¡±


    My teeth gritted for a moment. The voice wasn¡¯t wrong. I¡¯d been content to drift, coasting by on smarts without effort. But now? Now I had no choice. My motivation was clear¡ªmy mother needed me. And I wasn¡¯t going to fail.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have weapons, of course,¡± Zero went on, as if this was just some casual conversation. ¡°Anything from knives to guns. But remember, everything¡¯s being watched. Kill an innocent, and you¡¯re out.¡±


    Weapons? I barely held back a bitter laugh. I wasn¡¯t a fighter. I was a thinker. Still, a tool in the right hands... maybe I could make this work.


    ¡°And just so you know,¡± Zero added, voice darkening, ¡°there¡¯s no hiding. You can¡¯t wait for the others to tear each other apart. They¡¯ll come for you, too. The criminals, the players¡ªthey¡¯re all in this for survival. Just like you.¡±


    I stayed silent, processing everything. This wasn¡¯t just about taking out criminals. It was about playing the game smart, manipulating the other players, figuring out the right moves before anyone else did.


    And it comes to the part that I have to choose my weapon.


    I¡¯ve always liked precision. It''s not about obsession or some neatness disorder. It¡¯s about control.


    When I stare down at the weapon laid out before me, a line of cold metal gleaming under fluorescent lights, the choice comes naturally. The Desert Eagle .50 AE. I love it, it''s the gun that I frequently use when I''m playing online. Not because it¡¯s flashy, though people love to mistake it for that. No, it¡¯s tactical. Brutal. One shot, done. Efficient. That¡¯s what matters when your life is constantly teetering on the edge of someone else¡¯s trigger finger.


    I wrap my hand around the grip, the cool surface biting into my skin with just enough pressure to remind me I¡¯m still alive. Barely.


    "Scattered!"


    The voice crackles from the earpiece, sudden and sharp, yanking me back into the present. The system is setting the game now. I steady my breath. In, hold, out. There¡¯s a strange calm that comes right before the storm¡ªwhen every nerve sharpens and the world starts to make sense. In a second, everything¡¯s going to shift. I know it. It¡¯s how it always goes. The chaos isn''t about the noise or panic. It¡¯s in the quiet moments, where you feel like you have control, that it all unravels.


    My eyes flick to the streets outside the window. People. Everywhere. Faces I¡¯d normally pass by without a second thought, now seem too composed, too intentional. The streets of this city¡ªalive with a hum of chatter, the occasional car horn, distant laughter¡ªdon¡¯t change. But I do.


    I step outside, and the feeling hits immediately. It¡¯s subtle at first, like an itch at the back of my neck. The hairs stand on end, tension crawling beneath my skin. The civilians¡ªif they¡¯re even that¡ªare too calculated in their movements. Like they¡¯ve been briefed on a role and are playing it with a little too much conviction. I can feel them watching. A glance too long, a conversation too quiet. Like background noise suddenly turned up just a notch too loud.


    Another breath. Control.


    I move, letting the rhythm of the streets carry me forward, the Desert Eagle heavy in my jacket pocket. Each step calculated, deliberate. Panic means mistakes, and mistakes mean you lose. It also means eliminating my past self, laziness, and other factors that may destroy me through this process. I must eliminate my usual self so that I won''t lose. I won''t lose, not when the stakes are this high.


    The city seems to pulse around me now. Every shout, every laugh, every whisper twists into something more. I can hear it. That underlying current of fear they try to mask with forced smiles. But it''s there. Clear as day. They know what¡¯s coming, just like I do. The question is: who¡¯s going to make the first move?

 Chapter 3: Counter

    The rough urban scene stretched out before me like a living being¡ªmoving, pulsing, and just as dangerous. I pushed through the busy crowds, my mind racing as I thought about what my life meant and the path I had been given.


    The walls were covered in graffiti¡ªbold signs of rebellion mixed with the faded remains of a once-vibrant neighborhood. The far-off sound of sirens echoed, reminding me of the chaos lurking just below the surface.


    Catch the criminals, and eliminate your enemies. Every step I take in this city is a step closer to being a fully sick person.


    I surveyed the crowd¡ªhardened faces, empty eyes, and fleeting glances that betrayed an underlying fear. I was an observer, an outsider navigating a world where I could easily slip into the shadows.


    I found a quiet spot away from the constant noise and curious gazes. The air felt thick with unspoken tension, and the shadows wrapped around me like an old friend. The ground was littered with reminders of the city¡¯s life¡ªcrumpled fast-food wrappers and broken bottles.


    I took out my Desert Eagle .50 pistol, holding it in my hands and studying the cold metal that promised power.


    It¡¯s just a game, right?


    But the weight of reality pressed heavily on me, a sharp contrast to the escape offered by video games.


    What does it mean to wield such a weapon? I pondered, unease creeping in. I wasn¡¯t prepared for this¡ªthis was real life, not a level to conquer. But I needed to overcome this.


    Ten minutes slipped by in quiet thought as I wandered aimlessly until I spotted a small gun store nestled between two decaying buildings.


    It had an old-world charm that hinted at hidden stories¡ªdusty shelves filled with firearms and hunting gear. The air was heavy with the smell of oil and metal, while hunting trophies hung on the walls, frozen in time.


    I stepped inside, and the bell above the door jingled¡ªa sound that felt like a relic from a forgotten era.


    Behind the counter stood a tall, elderly man, rough-looking but giving off a warmth that made the shop feel more welcoming. His face was marked with wrinkles, each one telling a story about his life experiences.


    ¡°Can I help you, kid?¡± he asked, a mixture of skepticism and curiosity in his voice. I approached the counter, my nerves a coiled spring ready to snap.


    ¡°Uh, yeah. I just¡­ wanted to look around,¡± I replied, trying to mask my nerves with feigned confidence.


    ¡°Look all you want, but don¡¯t touch anything you can¡¯t afford,¡± he chuckled, his gaze sharp yet playful.


    A strange mix of intrigue and nervousness bubbled within me. I needed to take the plunge. ¡°Actually, I¡¯m interested in learning how to use a gun. This one specifically.¡± I gestured towards the Desert Eagle, my voice steadier than I felt.


    The old man laughed, the sound rich and unexpected. ¡°You want to learn how to handle that beast? What do you think this is, a game?¡±


    Exactly, I thought, feeling the flush of embarrassment creep up my neck. ¡°This is not just any fun game, I''m aware of that old man¡± I replied, my voice low. ¡°But I''m motivated to learn not just for my own interest.¡±


    His laughter faded, replaced by a contemplative gaze. ¡°Alright, alright, I¡¯ll teach you. But you better not waste my time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll repay you somehow,¡± I said, surprised by my own boldness.


    The old man studied me, and I saw a flicker of something in his eyes¡ªa reflection of lost potential. ¡°Just don¡¯t expect it to be easy, kid.¡±


    His teaching began, and the old man walked me through the details of the Desert Eagle. I held the pistol carefully, feeling its weight¡ªa mix of power and responsibility.


    ¡°Keep your stance steady. It¡¯s all about control,¡± he instructed, demonstrating how to align the sights.


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    I focused intently, absorbing every word. This isn¡¯t a game. My hands trembled slightly as I processed the information, understanding the gravity of the situation.


    As our session wrapped up, the old man''s expression changed. ¡°I need a favor from you,¡± he said, the seriousness of his words clear. ¡°My daughter, Estella¡­ she¡¯s been missing for a week.¡±


    His voice wavered, and I could see the fight in his eyes to hold back tears. I felt a surge of empathy; I understood that pain all too well.


    What could I do? My mind raced with the implications of his request.


    ¡°old man, tell me more about her¡± I asked, my voice steady despite the turmoil within.


    He took a deep breath, looking around as if the shadows were eavesdropping. ¡°She¡¯s in her twenties, with long black hair and striking green eyes. The last I heard, she was spotted near the old docks, associating with some guy. I tried, I tried to stop her from meeting this guy but it all comes to this.¡± He shared fragments of her last known whereabouts, his expression clouded with concern.


    "And what''s the name of that guy, old man?" I asked.


    "Ronan, Ronan Mercer. I didn¡¯t know him personally but my daughter spoke about him quite a few times." He replied.


    After he finished his story, I stood firm, a resolve settling in my chest.


    ¡°Aight seems I¡¯ll start finding some useful information about your daughter for now¡± I declared, my voice firm and unwavering. ¡°I promise I¡¯ll return with information.¡±


    The old man¡¯s expression softened, gratitude shining through the pain.


    Two missions, one path. As I left the store, the promise lingered in the air, a double-edged sword. The city stretched out before me, filled with dangers yet to come, but I was prepared. I had a mission¡ªnot just for myself, but for someone else as well.


    Stepping into the chaotic streets, the weight of my commitments began to take shape. I would confront whatever challenges awaited me. I had to.


    As I stepped out of the gun shop, the weight of the Desert Eagle felt unfamiliar yet thrilling in my hand.


    The bell jingled softly behind me, and for a moment, I savored the crisp city air, a refreshing change from the stale scent of metal and oil inside.


    My mind raced with the old man''s words about training and responsibility, but I couldn''t shake the feeling that danger was lurking just beneath the surface of my new life.


    The streets buzzed with energy, alive with chatter, honking cars, and distant sirens echoing off the crumbling buildings.


    However, as I wandered deeper into the urban sprawl, that vibrancy began to fade, replaced by an unsettling sense of dread. I could feel the city''s dark side closing in around me, like a predator stalking its prey.


    Then I heard something, no, someone¡ªa scream, sharp and desperate, cutting through the chatter like a knife.


    Most people don''t care, few finding the scream. But me, my heart raced, adrenaline flooding my veins.


    I instinctively turned toward the sound, my instincts urging me to move. With each hurried step, the world around me blurred as I struggled to pinpoint the source of that horrifying cry.


    I found myself in a part of the city that felt foreign, a no-man''s land where the noise of civilization faded into a heavy silence.


    The buildings loomed over me like giants, their darkened windows resembling empty eyes, watching my every move.


    My feet carried me deeper into the shadows, the alleyways narrowing until they felt like a funnel leading into a dark abyss.


    That¡¯s when I saw them. Three men were huddled over a woman pressed against the grimy wall, their laughter a twisted melody that sent a chill down my spine.


    The tallest among them was gaunt and twitchy, as if he¡¯d been fueled by a mix of some drugs and violence.


    He walks toward the woman, and my heart raced, pounding like a war drum in my chest. I felt frozen, a mere spectator in this horrifying scene.


    The woman¡¯s eyes darted around, wide with fear, tears streaking down her cheeks, then she looked at me. The ground seemed to shift beneath me, pulling me into a whirlwind of confusion.


    I¡¯d never faced anything like this¡ªraw, desperate violence.


    My mind raced to think what to do in this situation, but my body remained paralyzed, trapped in shock.


    Suddenly, the tallest man lunged forward, hands reaching for her body.


    That¡¯s when instinct kicked in.


    Fear morphed into a surge of rage, fueling my resolve. I tightened my grip on my Desert Eagle, steadying my breath as I focused on the moment.


    In a flash, I squeezed the trigger.


    bang!


    The gunshot rang out, echoing through the alley and drowning out the woman¡¯s cries.


    The bullet shot through the air with lethal precision, finding its mark. The tall man¡¯s head burst apart in a spray of blood and bone, splattering the wall behind him.


    I stood there, horrified but strangely satisfied, as pieces of his skull flew through the air. It was a moment frozen in time, a stark reminder of the brutality in this city.


    The other two men froze, shock plastered on their faces as they turned toward me, eyes wide in disbelief.


    The woman, still crouched against the wall, stared at me, confusion and horror mingling in her expression. For a heartbeat, the world felt like it had paused. I had crossed a line I never thought I would, and now I was inextricably tied to the violence around me.


    As I processed what I had done, a single thought echoed in my mind: I could never go back.


    ¡°Who the hell are you?¡± one of the remaining men barked, his bravado evaporating as fear took over. His hands instinctively reached for a knife at his belt, a desperate bid to reclaim some control.


    The chaos unfolded in a surreal haze, like I was watching a movie on slow motion. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, sharpening my senses as I braced for whatever came next.


    Before I could react, the second man charged at me like a wild animal cornered. I aimed the Desert Eagle, my heart pounding in my ears, and fired again. The gun kicked against my hand, the shot resonating through the narrow alleyway.


    Bang!


    This time, the bullet struck true. The man crumpled to the ground, shock etched on his face.


    The echo of the gunshot lingered in the air like a ghost, mixing with the sounds of the woman¡¯s sobs and the faint drip of blood pooling around the bodies.


    In the silence that followed, the reality of my actions crashed over me like a tidal wave.


    I had killed two men, reduced them to lifeless husks in the blink of an eye.


    The weight of the Desert Eagle felt heavier than ever, a stark reminder of the line I had crossed.


    The woman, trembling, looked up at me, fear mingling with something else¡ªwas it gratitude?


    But I couldn¡¯t dwell on that now. I had to act quickly. The gunshots would attract attention, it''s an open weakness, and I couldn¡¯t afford to be caught here.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± I asked, forcing my voice to sound steadier than I felt.


    She nodded slowly, tears still streaming down her cheeks. ¡°I¡­ I¡¯m fine. T..th.thank you¡±


    After ensuring the area was clear, I left the woman for a brief second, moving towards the trash cans where her coat lay crumpled on the ground. The fabric was dark and worn, its presence a stark reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded.


    As I bent down to retrieve it, the last image I had of her was heartbreaking¡ªher head bowed low, tears falling silently. I felt a pang of sympathy and urgency.


    I needed to get her out of this hellhole, back to safety where she must stay.


    But as I straightened up, coat in hand, everything shifted in an instant.


    My instincts screamed at me as I turned back to her, and there it was¡ªa gun pointed straight at my head.


    The metallic glint of the barrel caught the dim light, and the realization hit me like a punch to the gut.


    The one aiming the pistol was the very girl I had just saved.


    "Don''t move" she said.

 Chapter 4: A Calculated Gamble

    The woman''s cold eyes locked onto me, her gun leveled with unsettling precision.


    My heart pounded in my chest, but I refused to let panic take over. Fear was an enemy in situations like these, one that dulled the mind.


    I clung to the girl¡¯s coat, feeling the rough fabric in my grip, grounding myself.


    ¡°Alright¡± I thought. ¡°I need options.¡±


    Every second felt like an eternity as my mind ran through possible escape routes. Running would leave me exposed, fighting head-on would mean death¡ªI wasn¡¯t foolish enough to underestimate her skill with a gun.


    The weight of the situation bore down on me, but beneath it all, a plan started to take shape.


    The coat. A simple piece of clothing, now my most valuable asset.


    Before she could react, I threw the coat straight at her face. The fabric billowed out like a makeshift smoke screen, momentarily blinding her.


    Bang!


    The sound of the gunshot echoed through the narrow alley. I felt the burning sting as the bullet grazed my arm, a sharp pain ripping through my body, but I didn¡¯t stop.


    The coat had given me exactly what I needed¡ªa split second to close the distance between us.


    Blood soaked through my sleeve, but it didn¡¯t matter. My mind was already calculating my next move.


    As I lunged forward, a memory flashed in my mind. I saw myself back in the weapon selection room earlier, surrounded by the cold gleam of steel.


    The rules were vague, full of loopholes. I¡¯d noticed that no one had said anything about taking more than one weapon. In that moment, I¡¯d pocketed both a knife and a pistol, knowing the advantage it would give me later.


    This is why.


    My knife was in my hand before she even realized I was upon her. She stumbled, disoriented by the coat and my rapid approach. Her gun was useless now, too close for her to aim properly. I didn¡¯t hesitate.


    The blade slid into her abdomen with a sickening, wet sound. I felt the resistance of muscles as I pushed it deep, my movements precise, calculated.


    She gasped, her eyes widening in shock as the pain registered. The power shifted in an instant, and for the first time, she wasn¡¯t the one in control.


    Her body staggered back, the gun slipping from her fingers and clattering uselessly onto the ground. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Only the shallow sound of her ragged breathing and the blood pooling at her feet filled the space between us.


    She collapsed.


    Her body slowly falling, then he kneeled on to the ground with a dull thud. I stood over her, breathing steady as I watched her writhe in pain, blood soaking her clothes. Yet, despite the wound, she wasn¡¯t dead. Not yet.


    I could feel my heart pounding, but my mind remained calculating. The question was clear now:


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Should I finish her off? Like I''ve been told Or leave her like this, bleeding, but still breathing. I had time to decide, and that was the luxury of control.


    She groaned, her eyes barely able to focus on me as I crouched beside her. "You a player?" I asked, my voice even, almost casual.


    A sharp smirk cracked her lips, despite the pain racking her body. Her breath came in shallow gasps, but the gleam in her eyes told me she was no stranger to this. "You... already know... the answer..." she hissed through clenched teeth.


    I didn¡¯t respond immediately, taking a moment to glance down at her injury. The knife had gone in deep enough to hurt, to incapacitate, but not quite fatal.


    Blood pooled under her, a thick, dark red stain on the cold pavement. Her hand pressed against her abdomen, futilely trying to stem the flow.


    The wound, though serious, was placed carefully¡ªnot too deep to end her life, but enough to cripple her for now.


    ¡°You¡¯ll live,¡± I muttered, more to myself than to her. I wasn¡¯t in the business of killing unless necessary. She wasn¡¯t my main target. The game had bigger players, and she was just a piece.


    I could see the tension in her face, the disbelief flickering behind her eyes as she realized what I was contemplating.


    I wasn¡¯t going to kill her. No, that wouldn¡¯t serve my purpose. I had bigger plans.


    "You¡¯re like me," I finally said, standing up and wiping my hands on my pants. "A player. Which means you¡¯ve got your own reasons for being here."


    She tried to laugh, but it came out as a pained, ragged breath. ¡°You think you¡¯re the only one using their brain here...¡±


    I ignored her. Instead, I leaned down and grabbed her pistol from where it had fallen during the scuffle.


    It felt heavy in my hand, its cold metal surface reflecting the dim light of the alley. I checked the chamber¡ªtwo bullets left. I slid it into my jacket, where it sat snugly against my side.


    Her smirk faltered, a flicker of something unreadable passing over her face as she struggled to lift herself on one elbow, watching me as I backed away. For a moment, she just stared, wide-eyed, as if she couldn¡¯t quite believe what was happening.


    ¡°Hey... you¡­ you¡¯re sparing me?¡± she rasped, her voice strained but laced with disbelief.


    I didn¡¯t answer. Instead, I turned, walking swiftly out of the alley, leaving her there in her shock.


    I could feel her eyes burning into my back, still trying to comprehend why I hadn¡¯t finished the job.


    In her world, mercy wasn¡¯t part of the equation. But for me? Mercy was just another tactic¡ªa way to keep the board in motion, to keep the pieces moving in the direction I wanted them to.


    As I disappeared into the night, I could almost feel her confusion lingering in the air behind me. It didn¡¯t matter. I had my own game to play, and she wasn¡¯t part of the endgame. At least, not yet.


    As I stepped out of the alley, the cold night air stung the fresh wound on my arm. Blood dripped steadily, but the pain was manageable.


    I pressed a hand against it, grimacing slightly. It wasn¡¯t a deep injury¡ªjust a graze from her pistol. Still, the sting was enough to keep me on edge.


    Before disappearing into the shadows of the street, I glanced back.


    Our eyes met one last time, hers wide with disbelief, mine steady.


    She was still on the ground, clutching her stomach, blood pooling beneath her.


    In a video game, I might¡¯ve ended her, but that wasn¡¯t the game I was playing tonight.


    Then, I turned, my figure vanishing into the darkened cityscape.


    As I moved through the empty streets, the dull ache in my arm was drowned out by the familiar and irritating voice in my mind¡ªthe system. Perfect timing.


    "Congratulations, Showoff! You killed a person for the first time. You have been rewarded for eliminating the criminals. Reward: 10 Neocoin."


    The system¡¯s voice was as cold and mechanical as ever, delivering its message with no emotion. A Neocoin. My lips curved into a faint smirk. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was something. I¡¯d earned it by neutralizing those lowlifes earlier, before the woman revealed herself as a player.


    "Neocoins can be exchanged for dollars or used to purchase items within the system. Spend wisely."


    A currency that could be used for anything from survival gear to luxuries, depending on how you played the game.


    I¡¯d been given 10, and now I had a choice: save it or invest in something useful. A med kit, I decided. No point in bleeding out over a few bucks.


    "Would you like to claim your Neocoin?" the system asked.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I muttered under my breath, feeling the weight of the coin appear in the virtual balance.


    It didn¡¯t exist physically, but I could sense its presence, just like all the other rewards the system had offered in the past.


    10 Neocoin. Might be more than enough to patch myself up.


    I scanned the area, my eyes catching the faint glow of a shop sign a few blocks down.


    It was an unassuming place¡ªno flashy windows or advertisements¡ªbut the system had flagged it as a participating vendor. A perfect spot to grab what I needed.


    The bell chimed softly as I pushed the door open, stepping inside.


    The shop was dimly lit, shelves lined with all sorts of survival tools, supplies, and gadgets that only people like me would ever need.


    Behind the counter, a bored-looking cashier glanced up, then quickly returned to whatever he was reading. No questions, no interest. Just how I liked it.


    I walked to the section with first-aid supplies, my eyes quickly locating a basic med kit. Not too expensive, but enough to clean and bandage the wound. I grabbed it and headed to the counter.


    "That¡¯ll be 1 Neocoin," the cashier droned, barely looking at me.


    I nodded, accessing the system and transferring the Neocoin directly.


    A simple process¡ªquicker than paying with cash or card. The med kit was mine in seconds, and I tucked it into my jacket.


    As I turned to leave, a voice suddenly cut through the stillness of the store.


    "That¡¯s quite an injury you¡¯ve got there."


    I froze, my senses immediately sharpening. The voice was deep, calm, and too casual for comfort.


    Slowly, I turned my head to see a man standing a few feet away, leaning casually against one of the shelves.


    His eyes were fixed on my arm, where the blood had soaked through the sleeve.


    I didn¡¯t reply, but my gaze narrowed. He wasn¡¯t a customer.


    His presence was too deliberate, his posture too relaxed for someone just browsing.


    No¡ªhe was waiting for me.