12

  LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES

  REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 9,499,748

  TIME UNTIL CULLING: 56 days

  NAME: JACK REN

  CURRENT RANK: 919,918

  I’m thinking about Sarah. Specifically, I’m thinking about the first time we met. I’d been an amateur fighter at the time, undefeated, but young and untested, fighting in dark, dingy establishments for no money and no fame—just a love for the sport and a distant dream that maybe one day I could make it, maybe I wouldn’t need to work some bullshit job for the rest of my life.

  And I had been. Working a bullshit job, I mean. Stocking shelves at a supermarket, which, to this day, is the most mindless and soul-crushing thing I’ve ever had to do. I did it for years. Still spotted with acne at the time, and without the developed physique I’d one day boast. I was, despite my height, an awkward, quiet kid. Didn’t have many friends. Didn’t know how to talk to girls. Training MMA helped me feel a little more confident, but not when it came to women.

  It was my eighth amateur fight. My last one, in fact, before I turned pro. The venue was a small, cramped warehouse that smelled of stale beer and sweat. I was fighting at middleweight; over the next year or two, I’d put on a lot more mass. My opponent was bigger than me by a wide margin, and that’s why he was the favorite, and I the sacrificial lamb. He—his name was Martin—was well-known on the local scene, and it was expected that he’d go pro soon and make a name for himself. People were already whispering that he’d be fast-tracked to the MFC.

  Well. He wasn’t. Because I beat his ass. I beat it badly. He had a good chin and refused to be knocked out, but I hit him so many times, and so hard, that the ref stepped in and called it for his own good. Martin left on a stretcher. Afterward, a bunch of guys bought me beer. I got drunk. There was a girl there, bright-eyed, pretty, wearing a dress. She’d been dragged along by her boyfriend, a meathead named Austin. Austin, she’d later tell me, was an abusive loser who she was planning on dumping; it was just a matter of finding the right time, since she was worried he wouldn’t take it well.

  Anyway. I saw her. Sarah. She saw me. We smiled at each other from across the venue and, a little later, started chatting. Her boyfriend didn’t like that. He grabbed her arm, dragged her outside. I followed—what can I say? I felt as though I’d already fallen in love; I hadn’t, not yet, but I was young and naive and, honestly, a little lonely. I fancied myself the knight in shining armor, as cringeworthy as I might find that now. I laugh when I think back on it. Sarah laughs too. She doesn’t think it was cringeworthy, though. She says it was cute.

  I caught Austin pulling Sarah roughly to their car, grabbing her arm so roughly that, later, it’d badly bruise. I called out. Austin, alpha tough guy that he fancied himself as, couldn’t back down. We fought. I beat a man bloody for the second time that night. Broke his nose, tore up his legs so that he’d be limping for a month afterward, and left his right eye swollen. I offered to drive Sarah home. We ended up getting a drink together. She’d been smiling all night, completely unbothered by everything that had happened. I joked, then, that she was a little psycho—and she’d just winked at me.

  That’s what I think about now as I sit up, the first orange rays of daylight pouring into the cave. I barely got any sleep. One of the others had given me their cloak to use as a sort of makeshift bedroll, but it hadn’t quite been enough to mitigate the discomfort of the solid rock floor. My back is aching like mad, and all I can think about how is to get through that mountain pass, how to get the dragonstone, how to win this fucking game.

  I remember calling Sarah a psycho, and I think, that’s funny, because now I feel like a psycho.

  Death. Killing. Violence. Right now, I feel ambivalent toward those things. I feel manic. I truly would do anything and everything to get Sarah back. I already knew that, but now, the thought comes with so much conviction that I’m afraid of myself—of what I might do.

  I think, they made a mistake by choosing me for this game.

  Because I’m going to make them pay.

  I’m going to make them suffer.

  Big words, though, from someone in not such a big position, tired and laying on the rocky floor of a cave without a single clue of how to proceed.

  #

  Once everyone else is up, Cole holds a meeting. Elizabeth and I gladly sit in, the whole group forming a rough circle at the widest part of the cave while Cole stands in the middle and addresses us all. He tells us that we need more supplies, that our position is not tenable, and that we’re wasting too much time sitting around. I agree with him. My mind flashes back to David, clad in that immense, black armor, with a sword made of pure death. I don’t even know if he’s rank 1. I hope he is, because the thought that there might be others out there, even more powerful and dangerous than David, is terrifying.

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  “We need the stone, and we all know that,” Cole says. “But we can’t get through the pass. Okay. Why can’t we get through? It seems to me, in this game, how many people we have is not as important as how many levels we possess amongst us. So what I’m thinking is, instead of right now worrying about how we get through that pass, we worry about how we can level up. Become, individually, much more powerful. And then breaking through those things, those vampires, as some of us have taken to calling them, won’t be so difficult.”

  “Yes,” Mary says, rolling her eyes. “But how, exactly, do you propose we gain these levels?”

  “And that, my friends, is where I’d like to open up the conversation,” Cole says.

  But he doesn’t need to. Because now I do, actually, have an idea. An idea that one against leaves me wondering if I was the psycho all along, not Sarah.

  “We set a trap,” I say, speaking loudly to the whole group. “Every contestant in here is going to be feeling the same desperation as us. We all want to level up, find supplies, and equip ourselves with new weapons and armor. In essence, we’re all greedy. Most people’s first instinct is going to be to pursue the first thing they see of value. So, it seems to me, setting a trap should be easy.” I look at Cole. At his ring. “Here’s an example. We have Cole position himself out in the open somewhere with that ring of us. We find a way to draw attention to him. We wait, then, for other contestants to show up, hoping to outnumber him and take the ring. The rest of us will be hiding closeby. Once they’re close enough…we spring the trap.” I take a deep breath. “What do you all think?”

  No one has any better ideas, as it turns out, and although a small argument follows, during which Mary and several others express their preference to simply lie low, my plan ultimately wins out. When it does, Cole flashes me a look, frowns. I wonder privately if he’s worried about the fact that I’ve already exerted influence over his group. Is he already viewing me as a challenge to his authority?

  I have to be careful. I like Cole, but I don’t trust him.

  I don’t trust anyone.

  I remind myself that I only have me. That I am a team of one, and that if I’m joined to this group, it’s only temporary, an alliance that lasts for as long as it benefits me, and no longer.

  More discussion follows. We decide that there’s no point in wasting time—we’ll set the trap today and see what comes of it.

  #

  Elizabeth and I are crouched side-by-side in the undergrowth. It’s midday, and about a hundred paces away, Cole and Mary are sitting on a large boulder atop a grassy hill. They’ll be visible from a distance, and, thanks to the fact that Mary has her spear in hand and is subtly turning it from side to side so that the sun is reflecting off the steel head, they should stick out like a sore thumb to anyone who might be looking in their direction.

  The question is, will anyone take the bait?

  And whoever does take it—will we be able to take them?

  Because that’s the big risk here. It should be easy enough to get someone to notice them and decide to approach, but there’s no guarantee that we’ll be able to beat them, even with the element of surprise on our side. If David appears, for example, I have a feeling that there’s very little we’d be able to do to stop him. I can’t even imagine what we could do against that armor of his.

  Cole and Mary are chatting idly to each other, shielding their eyes from the sun and pointing in different directions, acting the part of two lost contestants trying to figure out where to go. I don’t think either one of them are particularly good actors, but I appreciate the effort.

  I let out a breath. We’ve been hiding for a good half hour or so now. I’m worried that nothing will happen, no one will come, and we’ll waste the day simply waiting, and thus allow ourselves to fall even further behind.

  The further we fall behind, the further away Sarah gets.

  I push aside the thought, anxiety gnawing at me. I hate this. I hate all of this.

  “Hear that?” Elizabeth grunts.

  I frown, shake my head, tilting it to one side as I listen out for whatever’s grabbed her attention.

  At first, I catch nothing.

  And then, after several long moments…

  A distant pounding. A little like thunder.

  I squint toward the distance. A cloud of dust is making its way toward Cole and Mary, barely visible from our angle.

  Someone has taken the bait already.

  But who? Or what?

  The anxiety worsens. I curl my hands into fists, power flowing through my body. My own strength alleviates the anxiety, at least a little bit. I feel good. I feel competent. Like I can handle myself against anything that might be on its way.

  But I know that’s just an illusion.

  “Are those…” Elizabeth’s eyes widen. “Oh.”

  I try to see what Elizabeth’s seen. At first, I can’t.

  And then, after a moment, individual shapes become clearer at the center of the incoming storm of dust.

  Horses.

  A dozen riders, men and women both, all human, and all astride great, muscular warhorses. They’re coming fast, holding lances, swords, axes, and gleaming shields.

  And I wonder, suddenly, if we’ve just made a huge mistake.

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