Fighting in the dark was no picnic.

Mathew crashed to the ground and accidentally triggered the gun. A half dozen bullets ricocheted around the hallway, blasted out part of the sliding glass door, and provided some much needed illumination.

An arm looped around and caught Mathew upside the head. He twisted his body and pushed the man off before he could land another strike. Mathew kicked out and got a welcome “oomph” of surprise. He pointed the gun at the man but if he fired, he would likely hit his own legs.

The guy came up with a club and took a swing. Mathew pushed himself back, but the club connected with his left shoulder and sent a blast of pain racing up his neck. Mathew tried to roll out of the way, but the man came in with yet another swing, like some psycho energizer bunny out for blood.

Mathew kicked again, and this time got the guy right in the kneecap. The man screamed in pain and fell back.

Mathew lifted the gun, since it no longer pointed at his own appendages, and fired. Three rounds smacked into the man’s body, and he fell back on his ass in shock.

“Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit,” the man said over and over as he touched his chest, then touched his camera, because of course another player would care more about how they were streamed out over common sense, and Mathew, all too aware of his own camera, turned his body so the guy’s death was captured in all of its glory.

Red stained the man’s shirt in two places. The third round had found the side of his face and ripped a furrow in the man’s cheek.

Mathew sat up. His eyes couldn’t stop roving over the damage the little gun had caused to a human being. He had killed animals, including a rhino, while out on a big game hunt in Zimbabwe. Mathew was surprised how easy it was to replicate the shooting when it came to another human being.

He cocked his head to the side as the man rocked forward and tried to stand.

“Huh. You don’t look so good, bro,” Mathew said. He lifted the gun and aimed it at the man’s head.

“Please,” the guy said through a mouth full of blood.

“What’s your name, man?” Mathew asked.

“Hector. Please,” Hector begged again.

Mathew pulled the trigger, but the gun clicked. He pulled back the slide and ejected a dud. Then he reconsidered. If bullets were going to be hard to find, he didn’t need to waste one right now.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Mathew pulled out the knife, leaned forward, shoved it into Hector’s chest, and then wrenched it to the side. Hector’s legs kicked a couple of times and then went still.

Mathew pulled Hector’s camera off his chest, then lifted the device so his face was centered.

“So you were all tuned into Hector’s channel, but now he’s out of the game. So what are you going to do?” He grinned. “My name is Mathew and I’m one more kill closer to twenty five million dollars. I hope you guys will switch over to my stream.”

He placed the camera back on Hector’s chest and then said, “Later, gators.”

He went back for his parachute, dug it out of the pile of refuse, and dragged it over Hector’s corpse. It wasn’t a proper funeral, but it was better than leaving the dead man lying out in the open. Something skittered in the hallway. Mathew pulled up the gun, but he had forgotten to reload. He reached into his pocket and grabbed a couple of rounds, but then he relaxed.

It was only a couple of rats, big bastards, too. Beady pink eyes turned back to regard him. He gave the rats the middle finger, but they just scampered off.

His search moved from store to store until he had assembled quite a plethora of items. He found a green camouflage backpack in the back of a shoe store and put his accumulated gear inside. A piece of body armor joined his haul. He slid into it and then tightened the straps around his waist and under his arms. But that wasn’t the only thing he had found.

The way to get noticed on the stream was to be personable. Smitty had made an art of that by always adding a little dialog.

He unfastened his own camera and turned it so the tiny lens faced him.

“I located some goods and just had to decide what to take. You all have seen the show so you know it’s better to go with something that can hold more rounds. I found a .40 caliber and two magazines. There was another handgun, but it was a revolver, so I left it. I need to be able to move fast, and the weight of all of those guns adds up.”

Mathew showed off the Springfield pistol he’d found. He sat back, loaded rounds into a magazine, then slapped it home. He put a handful of rounds in each of his front pockets, and then tossed the box into his new backpack.

The watch buzzed against his arm. He looked down and found that the zone was going to close in a few minutes. He would need to get on the move ASAP if he wanted to be one of the first in the new area.

Mathew had found another counter to hide behind while he packed up his goods. He popped the lid of his first Mule Punch energy drink and sipped it while he had a few seconds to spare.

“Better than sex.” Mathew grinned.

He tossed back half of the can then covered his mouth and belched as quietly as he could manage. It came out like a weird hiss.

“But this is pretty fucking good, too. I’m moving out because I need to find a long gun, and I don’t want to stay here for much longer. A mall is going to attract a lot of players and I made a lot of noise. Of course, I could wait here and setup an ambush.” Mathew paused and looked up sharply because a gunshot had just been heard from outside.

Someone returned fire.

“I’m getting the hell out of here. See you on the other side,” Mathew said.

He rose from his spot and poked his head over the counter.

At least two people had just started shooting at each other. Mathew went out fully intent on adding them to his list of kills.