10

  LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES

  REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,601,006

  TIME UNTIL CULLING: 58 days

  NAME: JACK REN

  CURRENT RANK: 613,118

  We wake, eat a small amount of our stashed food, drink as much water as we dare to drink, and then come to the conclusion that we’re probably not going to see Earl again. It’s sobering, and immediately puts me in a black mood. With him, things had felt a little more possible, a little easier. His confidence and competence had been rubbing off on me. Now, with just the two of us, it’s hard not to feel as though we’re doomed.

  Even still, we resolve to keep moving. The goal is the same: to find a dragon stone. How we’re going to do that, we have no idea. But the plan is this: we’ll keep going until we find a clue, a sign, anything at all that promises to offer us an advantage in this Hellhole.

  We move toward the mountains, an uphill march that leaves our legs burning. Elizabeth, as it turns out, has no outdoor skills. I don’t know why, but I’d imagined that she did. An assassin, I’d figured, ought to know a thing or two about rugged survival. But in reality, she wasn’t the glamorous, Hollywood-style of assassin. She didn’t fire high-powered, silenced sniper rifles from tall buildings. She wasn’t ex-military. She didn’t take out high-profile targets. She’s a real assassin, an urban killer, and what that actually involves is dirty, grimy murder, a brutal knifing in a dark alley late at night, or a house set on fire while its occupants slept, or a shot to the back of the head while the victim was walking home.

  We spend three, maybe four hours in silence. It’s a gray day, with a sky that threatens to storm, which is the very last thing I want, because the idea of being caught out in the middle of a storm without even a tent is frightening—especially when there’s no way to know just how bad storms might get in this fake-world.

  The terrain becomes increasingly rough, with thin, scraggly trees jutting out of the soil alongside boulders. We’re following a rough, serpentine path that we hope will lead through the mountains, guiding us to whatever might be beyond. Going up into the mountains at all is a risk, since, aside from how inherently dangerous the terrain itself might be, there’s no telling what other nasty surprises might be waiting for us. But at the same time, we figure that there’s also a decent chance there could be treasures up here, or clues linking us to the dragon stones.

  The key, I think to myself, is to think from the perspective of the bastard who set this game. Because, realistically, I find it unlikely that there’s going to be much of value hidden amongst the barren, rolling plains. It’s too basic. Too easy. No, if there are treasures, or weapons, or dragon stones to be had, they’re going to be in difficult, dangerous zones. Because, after all, it’s all about the entertainment. So, they’ll force us into situations that they might find entertaining by providing the incentives that’ll keep us alive.

  It makes so much sense that I feel absolutely confident this is the correct way forward. The smartest thing for any contestant to do is to push for the riskiest zones as early in the Game as possible, before anyone else has the same idea, and before those other people have had a chance to exceed you in levels.

  I could be completely off the mark. I have no idea. I have nothing to go off of except for my intuition.

  Which is partly what makes this situation so difficult. We’re totally blind, totally clueless.

  “We should rest,” Elizabeth grunts. Really, what she means is, I need to rest because I’m fucking tired.

  But so am I, so we rest amongst several large stones, the two of us quietly eyeing the increasingly violent sky, neither of us liking what we’re seeing.

  There’s a faint, scraping sound from somewhere behind, like a shoe scuffing across gravel. My stomach drops. I spin around.

  Too late.

  Seven individuals have fanned out around us, penning us in. All seven are human; four men, three women. They carry a mixture of weapons, amongst which are two bows, one trained on me, one on Elizabeth, who quickly notices that something is wrong and glances over her shoulder—only to go completely still when she realizes, as I have, how completely fucked we are.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Slowly, I raise my hands, showing that they’re empty. “Peace,” I say. “Peace.”

  “Peace,” echoes one of the men. He’s middle-aged with short, graying hair. He has an Australian accent. Dressed in leather armor and with a broad, black sword resting across one shoulder. His green eyes are narrowed in my direction. “No such thing as peace in this place, son. That’s not why we’re here.”

  I lick my lips. “We’re like you. So, there’s no need for us to fight. Not right now. We’re in the same boat. Why not work together?”

  “To a certain extent, that’s a good point,” says the man. “But seeing as how only fifty per-cent of us are making it through this first level, there’s a limit to how many of us can be friends. You hear what I’m saying?”

  “I hear you,” I say. “But that’s still five million contestants.”

  “Aye, it is,” he says. His eyes flicker across to the two with the bows. They lower the weapons slightly, and I let out a breath. “Here’s how this is going to work. The two of you are going to have your weapons over, and then you’re going to consent to having your wrists tied. After that, we’re going to lead you back to our leader, so to speak, and he’s going to decide exactly what we’re going to do about you. Until that decision is made, there’s to be no talking, no resisting, no bullshit. Understood?”

  I nod slowly. I don’t like it, because once our wrists are tied, we’re totally at their mercy. But then, we are anyway, and this, at least, is an alternative to being killed on the spot.

  Sometimes you have to take what you’re given. Even if you’re given something shitty.

  “No,” Elizabeth says immediately. “No way. You can take him. But let me walk. I’ll go in the opposite direction and you won’t have to worry about me. But I’m not having my wrists tied.”

  “The alternative,” says the man, “is that we shoot you right now with a nice sharp arrow and leave you to bleed out on the ground. Which is not something any of us really want to do, but…well, it’s not like any of us want to be here at all, is it?”

  It’s funny, I thought, how seemingly normal people, living normal lives in the normal world, can so quickly flick a switch under the right circumstances and become something entirely other.

  #

  With our hands bound, we’re led up into the mountains.

  It isn’t easy. Bound as we are, we’re denied any of our usual balance, so when the path becomes narrow and the way forward is increasingly steep, we stagger and stumble and nearly fall on multiple occasions. At one point, the drop to our right is so steep that I’m sure an actual fall would result in my swift death—but one of our captors, evidently thinking the same thing, places a hand on my shoulder and steers me onward.

  I find myself impressed by their composure. The crazy thing is, these people are clearly members of an even larger group. And it’s only the third day of the Reality Games, meaning that, in such a short span of time, they’ve managed to organize themselves into an actual, functioning faction. And they’re quiet, disciplined. There’s a certain seriousness about them. A sense that these people aren’t fucking around. It’s more than a little intimidating, but, at the very same time, promising.

  Because if we can convince them to let us join them, we’ll be safe. Or at least, safer than we currently are. We’ll be a part of something.

  And my chances of getting to Sarah will increase dramatically.

  Assuming, of course, these people don’t just slit our throats, take our levels, and steal all of our shit.

  And I have to admit, that’s a very real possibility.

  While we hike upward, my legs aching, my lungs burning, I try to figure out a plan, an alternative in case things go sour and it turns out that they’re not looking for any new members. I test the rope binding my wrists together, pulling gently at it. Thanks to my recently acquired levels, I’m strong. Stronger than I’ve ever been. And maybe these people haven’t leveled up as much as I have and don’t quite understand how much of a difference it makes, because I find myself feeling pretty certain that, if it came to it, I could break free.

  But then what? Can I fight my way through all of them and rescue Elizabeth in the process?

  I don’t know. What I do know is that there’s nothing I won’t do, or try, to save Sarah.

  If anyone gets in my way, then woe to them.

  The sun sets, orange smears of light fading, the moon revealing itself amongst the sea of soft, gray clouds, a perfect, glowing circle high above, a cyclopean eye bearing witness to the Games below.

  We’re led along a narrow mountain pass, jagged, black rock to either side of us. Our footfalls echo. We’re all breathing hard, and in fact, Elizabeth and I are holding up better than some of our captors, which almost makes me laugh.

  The urge to laugh dies once we reach the mouth of an immense cave, within which torches provide a soft, warm glow. Figures are seated upon wooden crates, engaged in quiet conversation which ceases the moment they see us coming. They rise to their feet. Humans, all of them, at least a dozen more. Although it’s only day three in the arena, they all look rough and grizzled, as though months of hardship have been condensed into the span of less than seventy-two hours.

  Even worse, as they see us and exchange glances with one another, they instinctively begin to reach for their weapons.

  And I can’t help but think that they look as though they want to kill us.