“Suck it up, Buttercup.”

Those words, from former player Terrance Gaffney, raced through Mathew’s head as he pondered what might be the last few hours of his life.

Bright sunlight greeted his eyes as Mathew pushed his way out of the fast-food restaurant’s back door. Just as the door slammed shut and glass, already spider webbed from multiple gunshots, shattered and splashed across the ground, Mathew fell back, and then a shape loomed in the doorway directly across from him. Mathew carefully centered the gun on the man’s chest and stroked the trigger.

The man who had pursued Mathew wasn’t very big, but he wore a ski mask and a long black shirt. It was what gave him away and made him an easy target. The dark clothing against the sunny background made him stand out, and Mathew made him pay.

The gun spat one round, and the overly eager person who had been after Mathew flew off their feet.

Mathew lowered the gun as he stood up. His leg shook with effort, and blood leaked from his wound and ran down his ankle. No time to worry about it now. All that shooting would draw players from the immediate area.

The body on the ground didn’t move. He had killed again, and this time it had been none easier. He had simply pointed, pulled the trigger, and found himself one more body closer to that elusive $25 million dollar prize.

His watch buzzed a fast double pulse against his wrist.

“Shit,” Mathew exclaimed.

The zones were closing in and he would have to move out right the hell now.

He hustled to the corpse and grabbed the dead guy’s gun. The man’s hand had closed around the pistol, forcing Mathew to tug.

“I guess rigor mortis sets in pretty fast,” Mathew said for the benefit of his streamers as he leaned over and showed the dead guy’s face to his audience.

Suddenly, the dead man wasn’t so dead anymore. A hand looped up and caught Mathew across the cheek. The guy shifted forward as Mathew fell back. He ripped his ski mask off to reveal a face battered from the game. A bruise on his forehead, a gash that bled, purple splotches across the side of his face, one eye bloody red. He looked like he had been chewed up and spit out. Jesus, this guy looks like a fucking zombie!

Mathew didn’t have time to contemplate who the man was. He didn’t look familiar, but then again, there had been forty-nine other people on the plane. He did look like he was in pain, thanks to all the wounds on his face. Mathew had shot him right in the chest, which meant one thing.

“Shoulda’ shot me a few more times,” the man said.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

The gun came up, and all Mathew saw was the barrel. He could have been a deer in the headlights, but instead he pushed the gun aside just as it fired. The round went wide, and the boom of the weapon echoed sharply in the confined space.

Mathew brought the .40 around, aimed it again, and fired just as the man rolled to the side, knocking Mathew off his feet.

He had shot the guy in the chest and blown him off his feet. That meant he had to be wearing body armor, and Mathew needed that gear. But first he needed to kill this fool, for the second time.

They crashed together in a heap, and then it was all flailing arms as they did battle. Mathew took a blow to the middle of his forehead and returned a stiff elbow to the man’s throat. Mathew managed to get his gun around and pull the trigger again, but this time it clicked empty. The guy’s eyes lit up, and he shoved Mathew to the side, and then pushed himself backwards. The man’s gun flashed in the sunlight, but it also clicked empty as he pulled the trigger. Good thing for Mathew, since his face had been dead center. What he wasn’t prepared for was the weapon being tossed at his head.

Mathew spun to the side and crashed into a chair, tipping it over and almost sending him on his hands and knees again. The man’s hand flashed behind his back and came up with a large knife.

Mathew yelled, “Screw it!”

He spun, reached for the chair he had almost fallen over, and picked it up by the back. The metal bars made for a pair of clubs as he swung the chair around and hit the guy. The impact raced up his arms, but he changed tactics, lifted it over his head, and brought it down with a shout.

There wasn’t a lot of thought behind the blow. While he had gone out for years of training in Krav Maga, none of that came into play. It was more a culmination of how quickly his initial plans had fallen apart. Just like his life and ex-wives. Mathew threw everything he had into the beating.

The chair smashed the man’s head and crushed him to the ground. The guy grunted in pain, and Mathew hit him again. Then again. He continued raining down blows like a pro wrestler until the other player didn’t move. The corpse’s head looked like something out of a horror movie with blood, bits of brain, and skull all over the damn place.

“Now he looks like a fucking zombie.” Mathew gasped for breath.

Mathew staggered back from the horror until his ass hit the wall.

His watch triple buzzed. He looked down and found a flashing red arrow.

“Shit!”

No time for second guessing, searching the area, or the prime corpse that now lay battered before him. He was about to ride the electric chair if he didn’t run, but there was one thing he needed more than anything else, and he had to risk it to get the stupid fucking biscuit.

The other player’s body had been mangled. Head crushed to a pulp. One arm, stuck behind his back was snapped in half, with bone protruding from his shoulder blade.

It wasn’t the damage that got Mathew’s attention. It was the armor the guy wore across his chest.

Mathew rolled the corpse to the side, found velcro straps, and ripped them open. He dragged at the heavy kevlar upper suit, but it stuck.

Mathew’s mouth clicked together as his body went stiff. He dropped to his knees, and his back arched as the shock jolted him.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” Mathew groaned as he ripped the body armor off. The body flopped over, and Mathew spotted a gun stuck in the man’s belt. The snub nose revolver joined Mathew’s collection as he ran for the door.

Striding through the doorway into the sunlight, Mathew slapped the body armor over his chest as he ran. His watch indicated he needed to go east, and he hightailed it, but not before a stronger jolt arrived. He dove forward just as it struck, and a painful split-second later, the electricity stopped.

Mathew rolled over and over as his forward momentum carried him down a dirt hill, and then stopped, thanks to a large tree.

The world went fuzzy for a moment, and then completely dark.