His eyelids cracked open slowly, then all at once as his breath seized in his chest. Cold. The surface beneath him was impossibly cold, leaching warmth from his skin. He forced his body upright, limbs protesting as if they'd forgotten how to move. Sitting now, he blinked against the dim light.
Where am I?
The room was unfamiliar — utterly, completely foreign. Before he could catalog more than the bare walls and strange emptiness, a translucent screen materialized in the air before him, glowing with an eerie blue light.
PLAYERS REMAINING: 1000
GRAB ANYTHING USEFUL BEFORE TIME RUNS OUT.
ITEMS: 0/3
TIME REMAINING: 5:00
PLAYERS IN THE CABIN: 3/3
What? His thoughts raced. What is this? Are there more people here?
Questions could wait. Something primal in his gut told him to move, to act. Time was ticking down, and whatever this was, he couldn't afford to waste a second. He stood like a marionette pulled by invisible strings, his body moving with strange certainty despite his confusion. As if he'd been programmed.
The room was small and square, with a door hanging open. In the corner, two cards lay face-down on the floor. He rushed over and snatched them up. The screen flashed again.
2 SKILL CARDS COLLECTED.
HEALING SKILL CARD: PASSIVE
COLLECTOR SKILL CARD: PASSIVE
SKILL SLOTS: 2/3
Before he could process what any of that meant, a commotion erupted outside. Shouting. Something crashing. He moved to the door and eased it open, peering into the corridor beyond.
His blood turned to ice.
A man stood over a crumpled body, sword dripping red. The blade came down once more with a wet, meaty sound, and the figure on the floor stopped twitching. Blood pooled outward, dark and spreading. The sound of the body hitting the ground — a heavy, final thud — echoed in the confined space.
He'd barely reacted to waking up in a strange place, but this... this was different. This was real. Death was real.
The killer looked up, and their eyes met. The man's face twisted into something that might have been a smile but looked more like a grimace — wrong, too wide, showing too many teeth.
"Oh, you're the third guy." The voice was casual, conversational. "Did you just wake up? Don't worry."
That smile again. It made his skin crawl.
He stood frozen in the doorway, shock coursing through him, but he kept his expression neutral. He didn't know what else to do. Showing fear seemed dangerous.
"Man, I thought we could steal from others by killing them." The killer kicked at the corpse in frustration. "But I can't pick up anything. What is this?" He spat on the ground, then turned and stalked away, disappearing through another exit.
Alone now, he stared at the dead body. Items lay scattered around it — another card like the ones he'd found. He glanced around. The man who'd been here earlier was gone. His hand began to glow with a faint light, and an urge — overwhelming and instinctive — pulled him toward the items. He knelt and reached for the card.
"Oh, so you needed a skill for that."
His heart stopped. The voice came from behind him — too close. He looked up without standing and saw the killer peering around the corner, that same creepy smile plastered across his face.
"Oh, crap!"
Every hair on his body stood on end. Before he could move, the man charged, sword raised high, closing the distance with terrifying speed. He threw himself sideways, barely avoiding the blade. He was alive. Somehow, miraculously, he was alive.
But something was wrong with his hand. It was moving — writhing. He raised it and saw blood, his own blood, but... no pain. The wound was closing, flesh knitting together before his eyes.
"Man, how lucky are you?" The killer's voice was almost admiring. "You heal? Now I need that skill so bad."
He charged again. This time, desperation drove movement. He dove for the gun lying near the corpse, took a slash across his arm — healing already beginning — and wrapped his fingers around the grip. He pointed it at the advancing killer and squeezed the trigger.
Click.
Nothing. He fired again. And again. And again.
Click. Click. Click.
"How do you think our cabin mate died?" The killer gestured lazily at the corpse. "Wasn't that his gun?"
The man charged once more, sword arcing toward his neck. He raised the useless gun and blocked with the metal frame. The blade screeched against it. Before the killer could recover, instinct took over — muscle memory from a life he couldn't remember. He grabbed the man, twisted, and executed a perfect suplex, slamming him into the floor.
Then he was on top of him, fists falling.
One. Two. Three. He lost count. His knuckles split open and healed. Split and healed. The killer's face became a mask of blood. When the struggling finally stopped, he grabbed the sword from the man's loosening grip and drove it into his chest.
The killer's hand rose weakly, grasping at the blade. Then it fell limp.
Dead.
He sat back on his heels, gasping for air, heart hammering against his ribs. Where had those moves come from? Did he know how to fight? Who was he? Why was he here?
Everything was blank. An empty void where his past should be.
He pulled the sword free, and it vanished in a shimmer of light. The screen appeared again.
GRAB ANYTHING USEFUL BEFORE TIME RUNS OUT.
ITEMS: 3/3 [2 CARDS, SWORD]
TIME REMAINING: 0:36
PLAYERS IN THE CABIN: 1/3
PLAYER INFO:
USERNAME: —
SKILLS: HEALING, COLLECTING
INVENTORY: SWORD
STATS:
STR: —
VIT: —
AGI: —
INT: —
GRAB ANYTHING USEFUL BEFORE TIME RUNS OUT.
ITEMS: 3/3
TIME REMAINING: 0:00
PLAYERS IN THE CABIN: 1/3
The world lurched. Reality twisted and folded, and he felt himself pulled backward through space. When everything stabilized, he was somewhere new — a vast, empty plaza stretching out in all directions.
Multiple screens erupted into existence around him.
CONGRATULATIONS.
YOU HAVE SURVIVED.
CONGRATULATIONS.
YOU HAVE GOT 2 ADMIRERS.
CONGRATULATIONS.
YOU HAVE RECEIVED GIFTS.
AN ADMIRER HAS AWARDED YOU A USERNAME.
YOU ARE AWARDED 30 POINTS.
CONGRATULATIONS.
WITH YOUR AMAZING PERFORMANCE,
YOU ARE AWARDED 10 POINTS.
PHASE 0 OF THE GAME OF SURVIVAL HAS ENDED.
He read them all, hungry for information, for anything that might explain what was happening. Points. Admirers. The words felt familiar and foreign at the same time, like memories viewed through frosted glass. But he had a feeling he'd understand soon enough.
He just needed to survive. If this was a "Game of Survival," that should tell him enough.
What the hell?
WOULD YOU LIKE TO DISTRIBUTE POINTS?
When he thought "yes" — the screen responding to his intent — a new display materialized.
TOTAL POINTS: 40
STR: 1
AGI: 1
VIT: 1
INT: 1
TIME REMAINING: 0:30
POINTS WILL BE AUTO-DISTRIBUTED WHEN TIME RUNS OUT.
Pressure mounted. First, how did he automatically understand what these stats meant? Second, how was he supposed to allocate them? He'd never done this before — or had he? He couldn't remember anything he had or hadn't experienced.
Panic rising, he simply thought about it, imagining the distribution, and the points shifted on their own, arranging themselves according to some intuition he didn't know he possessed.
PLAYER INFO:
USERNAME: tafgai
SKILLS: HEALING, COLLECTING
INVENTORY: SWORD
STATS:
STR: 11 (+10)
VIT: 10 (+9)
AGI: 15 (+14)
INT: 8 (+7)
PLAYERS REMAINING: 987
PHASE 1 WILL BEGIN IN: 10:00
PREPARE YOURSELF.
He stared at the final notification, his new name — tafgai — burning in his vision. Nine hundred and eighty-seven players remained. Which meant thirteen had already died.
Thirteen people, dead in minutes.
And Phase 1 hadn't even started yet.
He clenched his fists, feeling the phantom ache of split knuckles that had already healed. Whatever this game was, whatever he'd been before, none of it mattered now.
He had ten minutes to figure out how to stay alive.