SAVE POINT 3
Rosabella
I realized how extremely small I was then, crouching there—behind the lumpy pile of black trash bags—peering down the cracking, asphalt street.
A teenage girl. I, suddenly, felt as insignificant as an ant and as cornered as a jackrabbit.
Clutching my winter coat sleeves over my hands as the three men approached.
Adult-size shadows, towering over my own even in their advance.
Black body armor clinging to muscles and solid, unafraid walks.
More black boots...
[System Found 4 Nearby Hiding Locations.]
Fuck the system! I swiped the alert that popped up mid-air away like dismissing a text on my phone. What was going on?
A clattering behind me made me spin to see the girl who'd been chasing me slither down the fire escape—
And she marched towards me, her hands clenched in fists.
And it was official.
I’d not only been seen—I was trapped.
A green dumpster to my side. The wall of trash bags, in front.
The minivan and mega-assassin to the back.
And the three approaching figures in front with the shadow of a smoggy city looming overhead.
“System, figure out a way to help me?” I squeaked, but I was pretty sure in that moment that, even if this was some RPG game world, my request wasn’t going to work…
Dad had always said to run—but his life was at stake here. They’d said they would hurt him—
I swallowed hard, feeling panic well up in my chest.
“System, calculate my odds of winning a race against these four people,” I hissed under my breath, hoping the nearest one—the assassin girl behind me—wouldn’t hear. Please…please let this work… Maybe I could run away, darting just out of reach. Maybe I had a chance.
[System Understands Query…Loading Response…]
Come on! Come on! I chewed on my lower lip; my eyes scanned the approaching figures.
Their long strides.
Swinging arms.
My eyes flickered to the dilapidated skyscrapers overhead. Ming’s Chinese restaurant wasn’t on the street corner anymore—I’d just left there five minutes ago! ...And the surrounding buildings looked like they’d stood in the same, crumbling location for hundreds of years. A stray newspaper blew down the cracking street; the pavement was so faded there that the lines in the middle looked white-washed. ...Where the fuck was I? And how was it just outside of our apartment window? Why was there this system thing?
[System Answer: The Likelihood Of A Race Win Against NOMAD 9, WARRIOR 11 Or CODER 14 Is Not Looking So Hot… TRADER 10 Matches GAME MAKER 1’s Odds, Which Is A 50/50 Opportunity. Do You Wish to Take This Chance?]
[Yes] [No]
Are you kidding me?! All the air leaked out of me in a huff. No, absolutely ‘no’. I either was completely in front of all of them or the winning aspect was null and void. I’d hide, thank you very much. I hit the button floating in the air, and the text dissipated.
…But ‘Agility’ and ‘Endurance’? It was talking about abilities like a game. Maybe…
I opened my mouth to demand to see some stat tables when I felt every eye on me. They were closing in, nearly arm-in-arm. An electronic error beep sounded, only increasing my utter terror.
[System Penalty: A Terrible Hiding Spot, -2 XP, 3/100]
-2? Negative? It seemed like XP was some sort of reward component. Did XP stand for Experience Points?
The megaphone shrieked to life again; I watched the man at the front of the pack raise it to his lips. His eyes were shimmering black even in the shadows. "I repeat: stay where you are. Don't attempt to run, or the man on the screen will die."
I flinched.
I was surrounded. They were threatening to kill my Dad. What was I supposed to do? I couldn't let him die.
Maybe there was some mistake? That was it, there had to be some mistake—
Fear thrummed in my chest like a cello.
"Whatever your deal is," I growled into the group of three figures stepping closer and closer and the screen behind them, plastered with Dad's picture, "give me my Dad back safe. Now." My voice shook, even on the demand part. If they each took one more step, they’d be close enough to tell my hands were shaking too.
Still, they were silent.
Unnervingly so as the circle of them closed around me and the woman behind stepped up to complete it. Like their shadows made it hard to breathe, I gulped for air.
"What do you want from me?" I sputtered.
"Good question."
A girl's voice.
I nearly screamed as a hand reached out and spun me around.
It was the assassin—the one who'd chased me down the fire escape. I tensed to dodge away from her, but she lifted a black helmet off her head. Pink hair fell out as the corner of her lips and right eyebrow arched up in amusement. It was unfair someone so smug could be so beautiful. …Was she around my age? She was about the same height—
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
"Welcome to The Game, Rosabella—" she sneered with extra emphasis on my name. She used her pinky to direct a strand of bright hair away from the porcelain skin of her face, "Only took us what felt like fourteen fucking centuries to find you."
She had to be crazy. What was she talking about? Was this a dream? ...If so, it was a nightmare.
"Where's my Dad? And what is this place?" I spat back, my jaw hardening. Every hair on my arms rose, bristling for the slightest indication I should flee. Too bad the entire situation was already screaming that…
A man's huge hand clapped down on my shoulder.
I jumped and tried to spin around. My frantic breath caught in my throat—
"Hold your horses, newb," a deep voice echoed.
I looked and saw that his other hand, limp and easy at his side, clutched the megaphone he'd used before. His hair was pepper gray with specks of the same bristling in stubble on his jawline. The outline of his body armor showed bulging muscles which looked rather out-of-place for his age.
"You said to stay still, or you'd kill my Dad," I struggled against his incredibly firm hold, "I did what you asked, now let him go."
"Afraid it's not that easy with murderers—" he started.
Murderers? My jaw dropped open.
I struggled harder.
"He's not a murderer!" I screamed, "You have the wrong guy!"
"You have no idea, kid," he spouted with a chuckle. His hand twisted to easily pin me against the nearby minivan.
I tried to kick at him but only ended up smashing my toe into the metal bumper of the van, which caused his eyebrows to pitch forward in annoyance. Pain ripped through my foot as a system message popped up, floating before my eyes:
[-1 HP, 7/8]
Did it have something to do with health?
"Dad's been glued to my side practically since birth," I snarled around the pain, still trying to twist away with each biting word, "If he murdered someone, I'd have seen it—"
"Listen, stop struggling, kid,” the man berated, “It's pointless. If you look at your stats compared to mine, there's just no match, okay?" The man with the gray hair thumbed two fingers, still holding the megaphone, in the air, swiping a glowing screen with two boxes into view. I craned my neck to see them, having to press my cheek into the cold metal of the van:
NAME
ROSABELLA
NAME
CALLEN
CLASS & LEVEL
GAME MAKER 1
CLASS & LEVEL
GAME WARDEN (Disc.), TRADER 10
XP
3/100
XP
1043/1100
MRP
3640/6205
MRP
17885/18250
HP
7/8
HP
100/100
Baddie Points
25
Swag Points
500
Armor Class
10/20
Armor Class
13/20
ABILITIES /20
ABILITIES /20
Strength
-1
8
Strength
+0
10
Agility
+0
10
Agility
+0
10
Endurance
-1
9
Endurance
+0
10
Intelligence
+1
13
Intelligence
+3
16
Awareness
+1
12
Awareness
+1
12
Presence
+3
16
Presence
+2
15
CM
0
I gaped at the boxes in the air. Like a video game...this looked like a video game... I noted that his stat sheet didn’t have a CM ability…whatever that was…
He swiped the boxes out of view again with a tired wave, "So stop wasting your hit points, will you? You'll need all the health you can get where we're going."
My mouth was dry.
It felt like all the liquid there had evaporated, and I was left with the taste of sawdust and absolutely no conviction that I could fight these people…and, yet—yet, a fire still brewed in my stomach. Call it rightful outrage.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," I protested, not entirely convinced my own words were true.
What was happening? Was this some sort of hallucination or something? A joke? It was making my head hurt.
"You are if you're so hellbent on saving that man you call Dad," he quipped, raising an eyebrow.