2
LEVEL ONE: THE DRAGON STONES
REMAINING CONTESTANTS: 10,000,000
TIME UNTIL CULLING: 60 days
NAME: JACK REN
CURRENT RANK: RANKINGS NOT YET ALLOCATED
I spit dirt. I’m laying face down in soft, warm soil, and as my awareness returns to me, I roll over onto my back, spit again, then blink against the harsh, warm light of the sun. White clouds drift languidly across a pleasantly blue sky.
Where am I?
The question comes, at first, from a place of curiosity,
But then comes the sudden, existential terror.
It isn’t the first time I’ve woken up somewhere without remembering the context. I’m a fighter. That means I’ve taken my fair share of hard shots to the dome. After a bad knockout, it isn’t uncommon to wake up in, say, the back of an ambulance, without any memories of the fight that got you there.
But this is different.
For one, I feel…good. Suspiciously, physically good. Like I’ve just had the best sleep of my life. As I rise easily to my feet, I clench and then unclench my hands. My body is unharmed. Even better, my knees, which have troubled me for the last few years, feel better than they have in a long time. To test them, I jump in place, barefoot on soft grass.
So. This, I tell myself, is likely a dream.
Only, it does not feel like the dream…everything is too tangible, too real. My dreams have never been particularly vivid.
And now, suddenly, memories come rushing back in…
The fight with Tseren. My victory. Then hours of interviews, of medical exams, and of a long bus ride back to my hotel, where Sarah and I had…
Had been attacked. Images flashed through my mind: the strange opening in the air, the golden, armored figures…
“Sarah?” I turn on the spot, panic flooding in. We’ve been abducted. That’s the only logical, rational explanation.
I’m standing in a field, flat grassland extending in all directions, except east, where there’s a dense patch of woodland. Distantly, I can see mountains outlined against the pale sky, immense, jagged peaks forming a serrated outline. The air is cool. Fresh. Wherever I am, it’s far, far away from civilization. And that makes sense, because the last I can remember, I was on the sixty-third floor of a hotel building right at the very heart of New York City. The vista before me surely can’t be from within New York state, and to my eyes, it doesn’t even look American.
One question leads to another. I’m overwhelmed. Confused. I look down, and for the first time see that I’m wearing a plain gray tunic. It’s not a modern piece of clothing. In fact, it reminds me of something a person would wear in a historical movie, something set in the middle-ages.
This can’t be real. I don’t understand.
Light flashes in front of my face.
A small, bright thing floats in the air in front of me. It’s roughly the size of an adult human head, although it doesn’t look solid; rather, it’s wispy, like a cloud made out of multi-colored, flickering light. Even still, it has a sort of face, with a pair of eyes and an opening that’s like a mouth.
Jack Ren, the wispy thing says. Its voice is genderless, toneless. I know that it’s the source of the voice because the mouth moves in perfect harmony with the syllables.
“I…I don’t understand—” I start to say.
Allow me to explain, says the thing. I am your Whisper. You may think of me as your guide. For as long as you participate in the Reality Games, I will follow you wherever you go. I will answer your questions and help you as much as I possibly can.
First, here is the situation: you, Jack Ren, have been entered into the Reality Games. You may think of the Games as a tournament. The greatest, grandest tournament ever held. They are a regular occurrence; in human terms, the Reality Games are held every six years. There are ten million contestants, chosen from a multitude of worlds, dimensions, and timelines. Each contestant has been selected due to their brawn, intellect, fighting prowess, cunning, or pure entertainment value. There are ten levels. Only a set amount of contestants can move to the next level. Your goal, Jack Ren, is to survive this level and make it to the next—and then, ultimately, to win the Reality Games.
I stare at the thing—the Whisper—with wide eyes. My heart is pounding furiously in my chest. “Where is Sarah?” I choke out. If this is real, and I’m actually here, and Sarah has been taken as well…
Allow me to introduce you to the Incentive Program, says the Whisper. For each contestant, organizers of the Reality Games take away the one thing—or person—that the contestant values most in life. This, for you, is Sarah Anderson. Right now, Sarah is being held in stasis by the organizers. If you win the Reality Games, she will be given back to you, and you’ll both be returned to your regular life as though none of this happened. Additionally, there are bonus prizes for winning. Secret prizes. The Whisper winks at me, an oddly grotesque expression. I cannot tell you anything about the secret prizes, except for this: if you win, you will have anything that you wish for.
My ears are ringing. The Whisper’s words pour across the surface of my mind like oil. I can barely comprehend what’s happening. What I’m hearing.
I lunge forward and attempt to grab the Whisper out of the air, to squeeze the life out of it—
If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
But my hand simply goes straight through it.
“Where is she?” I growl. “Where is Sarah?”
As I have just explained, Sarah is in stasis. Safe for the time being.
An odd calm settles upon me. The world narrows. I don’t know if this is real. I don’t care.
I just need to get Sarah back.
“If I do not win,” I say calmly, “what happens to her?”
She, along with the incentives for all other contestants, will be destroyed.
A long, deep silence stretches out after this. I grit my teeth so hard that I worry they might shatter in my mouth. A bird flies overhead. The wind pulls at my gray tunic.
“No,” I say. “No. Fuck this.”
Furthermore, says the Whisper, I feel that now is a good time to inform you that there are sixty days until the Culling. Since only five million contestants can move to level two, if there are more than five million still alive when the Culling begins, the bottom-ranked five million will be automatically destroyed. Initial rankings will be assigned at midnight tonight—
I cover my ears with my hands, turn away from the Whisper, and start to walk in the opposite direction. I can’t hear this shit anymore. This endless rambling. Fact of the matter is that someone or something has brought me here and that they’re holding Sarah hostage. That’s all that matters. I will find her.
I stop. But what if this is the wrong way? Wherever I am, it’s vast. The middle of nowhere.
And if this Whisper is supposed to be my guide, it makes sense to take it with me.
But the Whisper is way ahead of me there. It’s already floating by my shoulder, smiling blandly.
“Where is Sarah?” I ask calmly. “Just give me a direction. And do you know where my things are? My clothes? My phone?”
Your belongings are back on Earth, in your bedroom.
“On…” I let out a hiss. “On Earth? So then, where the fuck are we now?”
Level One, the Whisper says simply.
Slow, deep breaths. Just play along, I tell myself, until you learn what you need to learn. And then get out of here.
“These games,” I say slowly. “Who’s doing this? Who are the organizers?”
The Reality Games are organized and conducted by the Celestan Empire.
“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
The Celestian Spire is an intergalactic and interdimensional empire.
“And what is the purpose of all this?”
Entertainment, said the Whisper.
Entertainment. The word echoes around inside my head.
Rage eats at the edges of my awareness. My hands tremble.
I’ve probably gone insane. Probably none of this is real. And yet even still, I feel, then, the imperative to punish this Celestan Empire. To find the individuals who had made this possible. To wrap my scarred hands around their throats and squeeze the life out of them.
But if Sarah was here with me now, she’d tell me to keep a clear head. That’s what she always does. There’s no one in the world as good at keeping me in check as her. It’s part of the reason why we work so well together. She makes me better. I like to think I make her better, too, but in truth, I think she’s just perfect.
Since I know that the Whisper will simply follow me, I start to walk, striding across the grass toward the distant woods.
In my ear, the Whisper says, For as long as you and I are together, I am here to answer as many of your questions as possible and to assist you to the full extent that I can—
“Do you have a name?” I interrupt.
I am simply a Whisper.
“So, no name. Are you sentient?”
The Whisper’s faint, glowing eyes widen as though it’s never before contemplated such a concept. I glance at it.
I…do not know, it says finally. Is there a way to know for sure?
I shrug. I want to laugh. The whole thing feels comically surreal.
“You need a name,” I say, still walking, “because there’s no way I’m calling you Whisper.”
You may name me whatever you like.
“Yeah? Whatever I like? What about Fuck Face?”
If that pleases you.
I scowl. “Why don’t you pick something?”
I cannot make independent decisions. I exist merely to guide you.
I try to think of a name. I’ve never been good at naming things. As a child, my parents got me a cat. They’d wanted me to name it, and the best that ten-year-old me could come up with was Mr Bell, because his collar had boasted a single silver bell. That name isn’t going to do now. But, in my early twenties, when I’d first moved out, I’d bought myself a dog, a German shepherd I’d loved dearly. His name had been Loki. I’d always been obsessed with Vikings and Norse mythology.
So, unable to think of anything better, I say, “You’ll be Loki from here on.”
As you say.
“Before,” I say, “you said that there are ten million contestants.” I pause and look around. “So, where the fuck is everyone?”
Level One has an area of eighty-thousand square kilometers, says Loki. The Reality Games began roughly ten minutes ago. All ten million contestants have been spread across the eighty-thousand square kilometers as randomly and evenly as possible. It is likely that you will encounter another contestant before the day is over.
“And then what?”
That depends entirely.
“On what?”
On you and the contestant in question.
I pause. The reality of the situation is starting to set in. “The goal is to kill each other, yes?”
It would be more accurate to say that the goal is to achieve the highest possible ranking—and, of course, to survive. But killing other contestants is one way to achieve both of those things.
I consider that for a moment: the concept of killing. I’m a fighter, not a killer.
But in my heart, I know that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to save Sarah.
I’ll be whatever I have to be. A killer? Sure.
As long as I win.
Before we continue further, says Loki, you should know that all contestants are allowed a starting weapon.
I pause and slowly turn. “A what?”
A starting weapon. There are five options.
“Is an automatic rifle one of them?”
No. The options are as follows: a sword; a spear; a bow with thirty arrows; an ax; a warhammer.
I stare at Loki, realization dawning. “This level…what is it? Medieval themed?”
Not exactly, says the Whisper. And then Loki draws closer, eyes bright, mouth twisting. Welcome to Level One: The Dragon Stones.
Hey all! Welcome to the Reality Games!
This is an interactive story! Readers will vote in polls, and the results will determine what happens next.
The first poll, down below, is open to everyone. All future polls will be on my patreon, for subscribers only.
Right now, there are 25 FREE, gifted memberships available for the first people to claim them.
Right now, I have no advance chapters on Patreon. I'll be posting here on RR twice a week. I'll be posting on patreon MORE than that. Week by week, the patreon will get further and further ahead. At a certain point, I'll start posting more frequently on RR.
And the more subscribers I get on patreon...the more I'll push myself to write faster and faster.
I want to provide as much quality content for you guys as possible.
More to come,
Alexander
What weapon should Jack choose?
