Day 1
The world rematerialized in a whirlwind of wind, noise, and adrenaline. Klaus now found himself inside a vast, impersonal aircraft with bare metal walls. The floor vibrated with the engine's power, and an open hatch on the side of the fuselage revealed a sickly sky, painted in shades of green and purple, over a sea of churning clouds.
Hundreds of recruits were packed together — some trying to communicate, most staring silently into the void. The air reeked of sweat, fear, and fuel.
Suddenly, the robotic, omnipresent voice of the System echoed through the cabin.
>> SYSTEM: APPROACHING NECRÓPOLIS-7 DROP POINT. <<
>> PREPARE FOR DEPLOYMENT. <<
>> THE SYSTEM WILL ASSIST THE INITIAL JUMP TO ENSURE MINIMUM SURVIVAL RATE. <<
>> DEPLOYMENT IN... 3... 2... 1... <<
It wasn't an invitation. It was an executed command.
Klaus felt an invisible yet irresistible force grab him and hurl him toward the open hatch. There was no time for panic. Wind howled in his ears as he was flung into the open sky, spinning wildly through chaos.
>> STABILIZING TRAJECTORY. << The System's voice echoed inside his head — calm and clinical, absurdly at odds with the madness around him. His body, which had been tumbling uncontrollably, suddenly straightened, assuming an ideal skydiving position. It felt as though a giant, unseen hand had adjusted him.
He managed to look down. Necropolis-7 stretched beneath him — a sprawling urban graveyard of ruined skyscrapers, winding highways, and decaying industrial zones, all shrouded in dirty fog. Holographic markers flashed across his vision, displaying the current Safe Zone (a large circle on the map) and the Exclusion Zone, already contracting — a red, pulsating ring of lethal energy.
He wasn't alone in the sky. Dozens of other figures — the other recruits — were falling like shooting stars. Some stabilized as he had; others kept spinning; and some… some never opened their parachutes. Tiny silhouettes turned into dark stains on the ground, followed by a brief red icon on Klaus's HUD: "ELIMINATED."
I won't be one of them, he thought, surprised at his own cold resolve.
He pulled the parachute cord — a basic, functional model — and felt the violent jolt. His descent slowed and steadied. He aimed for a peripheral area: a cluster of warehouses near the edge of the Safe Zone. Fewer people, more loot opportunities.
He landed with a rough thud on the roof of a warehouse, unhooked the parachute — which disintegrated into particles of light — and climbed down an emergency ladder into a walled yard surrounded by cargo containers. The wrench was gripped tightly in his sweaty hand.
Silence pressed down on him. Only the wind whistled between the containers and the distant echo of gunfire and explosions.
Then — a sound. Footsteps. Heavy, uneven.
Klaus crouched, peering around the edge of a container. A man in a filthy industrial jumpsuit was staggering across the yard. His movements were mechanical, aimless. His eyes glowed a dull green. A Bot. The System had placed them here as cannon fodder for recruits to train on.
The Bot turned, its sensors locking onto Klaus. It let out a guttural electronic growl and began advancing, wielding a length of pipe.
Klaus's heart pounded. This was it. The first kill. The line he'd have to cross.
The Bot swung the pipe — predictable, slow. Klaus dodged sideways; the pipe whooshed through the space where his head had been. Without thinking — driven purely by survival instinct — Klaus lunged forward and drove the tip of the wrench into where its throat should be.
A sound of tearing metal and grinding circuits ripped through the air, followed by a spray of sparks and a dying electronic shriek. The Bot fell to its knees, the light in its eyes fading, then collapsed to the ground. A small icon floated above the body: "+10 Experience Points" before vanishing.
Klaus panted, staring at what he'd done. There was no triumph — only a cold emptiness in his gut and the stench of burnt oil.
He knelt beside the body as it began to dematerialize. Where the Bot's chest had been, a small metallic chest — the size of a shoebox — formed from particles of light.
With trembling fingers, Klaus opened it.
Inside were a few cans of food, a pack of bandages, and… a ring.
It was simple, made of dark, matte metal. As soon as he touched it, System text appeared before his eyes.
>> INVENTORY RING [COMMON] <<
>> CAPACITY: 1 TON (1,000 KG) <<
>> SLOTS: 10 <<
>> CONDITION: LOW SYNCHRONIZATION. INANIMATE OBJECTS ONLY. <<
Klaus almost laughed. It was real. His first major advantage. He slipped the ring onto his right index finger. Instantly, a small grid interface appeared at the lower-left corner of his vision, showing ten empty squares.
Instinctively, he focused on the chest and thought, store. The chest and its contents vanished, and one of the grid squares now displayed a small chest icon. He then focused on the wrench — store. The weight vanished from his hand, and the wrench appeared in another slot.
A faint but thrilling sense of power washed over him. He was no longer just a survivor — he was a collector. A hoarder.
He glanced at the map in his vision. The Exclusion Zone continued its slow, relentless advance.
Day 1 had barely begun, yet Klaus already had the taste of blood in his mouth — and an entire universe of possibilities wrapped around his finger. The hunt for more loot — much more loot — had just become his new obsession.