The recoil of the Submachine Gun rattled Nic’s arm. Hard. He wasn’t used to this level of tactile stimulation in a shooting game; this aspect was very much unlike Trigger Point.
Kicks like a son-of-a-gun, he thought. Ha. Gun. Appropriate.
Bullets pinged metallically on target, but Nic’s fresh aim was imperfect. His opponent also broke into a sprint to evade some of the rounds. The HUD then displayed a health bar above his enemy's proxybot:
PLAYER 275 [#######-__]72%
He grinned at his quick progress, but it was short-lived—the trigger clicked impotently when his gun ceased firing. Out of ammo, he lamented.
The enemy proxybot raised its own SMG against him. Before it could fire, it was already dead.
Another player killed this proxybot from behind. The fallen combatant fell lifelessly to the rocky ground, motionless.
PLAYER 202 [##########]100%
Puzzlingly, this assailant was not wielding a gun of any kind; Nic could see the butt of the SMG still sticking out from behind their back. They exchanged a wordless glance before the enemy turned abruptly and retreated behind cover.
“Darn,” he grumbled. “I didn’t even get an Assist for that!” He used his sudden downtime to grab a fresh magazine, stored on his belt, and slap it into his SMG. “Need to work on my follow-through.”
The Arena was home to a veritable playground of a battlefield. Each of its four walls was roughly a kilometer in length, with proxybot holding cells arranged equidistantly along the outer perimeter. There were both artificial astrosteel towers with ramps and staircases as well as several of Ayrus’ natural rocky spires of varying heights. There was a small cave, a few scattered boulders, and a number of hills and ditches; these, along with sporadic 1-to-2-meter-tall walls of astrosteel, provided a diverse environment of cover, high ground, trenches, and unique vantage points from which to scope out the enemy.
Nic took a moment to examine his HUD.
PLAYER 443 [##########]100% SUBMACHINE GUN: 50/100 ROUNDS PISTOL: 30/30 ROUNDS COMBAT KNIFE: 20/20 SHARPNESS GRENADES: 2/2
I’m Player 443. Huh. No wonder it took me forever to walk to my bunk... But at least I didn’t finish my exit exams dead last. Now, let’s see here. Even my knife has ammo. I’ll have to keep that in mind—not that I’ll be using it much, if at all.
Methodically, he picked apart all the details his HUD displayed, moving the factors of the game around in his head like pieces on a chessboard. He’d expended an entire SMG magazine on his first target, juicing half his ammo with a single squeeze. Excitement got the best of him.
If his assumptions were accurate, it meant that it would take about one full magazine of dead-on SMG rounds to reduce an enemy’s health to 50%—that is, unless there were certain weak spots on a proxybot that could be exploited. If Pistol rounds were comparable in damage output, he’d need to use a combination of his guns, budgeting for reload time, and/or his Combat Knife to get the job done. He was unsure if a Grenade would be an instant kill, but he guessed they must have dealt at least moderate damage if he only had two of them.
His strategizing was cut short by a smattering of bullets peppering his back. He dove into a trench and scanned his surroundings for the attacker.
PLAYER 443 [#########-]91%
His eye twitched at that imperfect number. This is just your first life, he pep-talked himself. It was bound to happen.
Nic rested his Submachine Gun on the ledge of his trench, and just as he sighted his attacker—
PLAYER 310 [#####-____]53%
—something landed in the trench with him.
A lit Grenade.
He was still assessing the best plan of action when it exploded at his feet in a clap of thunder and an eruption of Ayrus dust.
The yanking support cords of his SimSuit, along with selective pressurization in his suit’s gel layer, really sold the fact that he was knocked into the air and onto his back. The explosion, the way it tossed him like a ragdoll, the impact—he believed every millisecond. If his proxybot had come with ears, they’d be ringing.
Suddenly, the recoil of his weapon seemed like a negligible discomfort.
PLAYER 443 [###-______]36%
“Point blank Grenade,” he grunted with the illusory effort of standing up. “Fifty-… five percent damage. Roger.” Somehow he’d kept his grip on the gun in his hand. He climbed out of the trench with his free hand, holding up the SMG with his finger on the trigger. No sign of the grenadier anywhere. “310 wandered off somewhere. Funny. You had a lot to say a minute ago.”
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Nic approached a rock arch about 10 meters in height, the base of which could be used for ample cover and hiding. He wheeled around the corner—no dice. Even in Trigger Point, he’d always taken more of a run-and-gun, spray-and-pray approach. It seemed some of his classmates preferred stealth and lining up their shots with care.
Something clanged against his head and he caught it with his free hand.
Another lit Grenade.
Instinctively, he wound up and threw it back where it came from—squarely at Player 310. It never touched the ground before detonating.
PLAYER 310 [DEAD]
“Yes!” Nic exclaimed. “I got one!” He relished the fact that whoever had tenderized Player 310 would not be rewarded with an Assist, either.
KILL! | +100pts PLAYER 443: 100pts [4TH]
“Fourth.” He scoffed. “Not bad. It’s early.”
Climbing the single-file staircase hugging tightly against one of the Arena’s towers, he got a better view of the battlefield. Pandemonium didn’t quite do it justice.
There were nearly 500 students in his class. Every class was designed to start with exactly 500, but some were lost to mothers pulling their children from PPI, an unfortunate death, or, even more rarely, a transfer to another facility. He still had well over 400 classmates by the time of the Final Exam.
Now they were all trying to kill each other.
He heard the guttural, metallic barks of SMGs spraying rounds, the individual pop-pop-pops of Pistols peppering targets, and Grenades booming all across the landscape in telltale plumes of vaporized rock. Some of the proxybots were even shouting at each other; apparently they came equipped with voice output for player-to-player communication. He wasn’t sure why that would matter in a free-for-all game mode.
But he wouldn’t ask anyone even if he could.
A cluster of bullets ricocheted off the tower behind his head. He ducked.
He was no weapons expert, but based on his best educated guess of the angle of fire, it was coming from a six-player fracas atop a nearby boulder. The shots probably weren’t meant for him; whoever the shooter was, they didn’t try again.
Okay. If I want an edge, I need some new toys. New weapons. An Upgrade Pak, maybe. But I need to find them first.
Just as he was about to descend the staircase, a proxybot levitated in midair to the top of the tower, hovering toward the railing.
PLAYER 64: [##########]100% >>ACTIVE UPGRADE PAK: JETPACK<<
Nic’s HUD highlighted the proxybot with a glowing blue outline.
He raised his weapon and squeezed.
All his shots were on target. Player 64 even seemed to be letting him empty his clip, as the enemy just maintained altitude, otherwise still.
PLAYER 64: [#####_____]50% >>ACTIVE UPGRADE PAK: JETPACK<<
Nic reached for the next magazine on his belt—and realized he had none.
Just as he reached for his Pistol, Player 64 floated forward, lifting Nic underneath his armpits and pulling him up into the air.
Proxybots must take fall damage, Nic realized. You let me empty my ammo so I’d be distracted enough for you to grab me. Well, I’m not going down that easy, chump. He unholstered his Pistol and got off eight shots by the time they’d ascended to the Arena’s ceiling.
This is barely having an effect. At this rate, all the Pistol rounds I have will just bring him down to 20%. If I toss a Grenade, it’ll just fall with me. I have no idea how to use my Knife effectively yet. Think, Nic, think! One wrong move and I lose my chance!
“Almost there!” Player 64 taunted him. “Got a kill with a ‘nade. One with the Sub. This is way more fun!” Then the jetpacker’s proxybot head clanged against the astrosteel ceiling. “Any last words?”
That gave Nic an idea.
“Just one,” said Nic, dropping his Pistol. In one sleek robotic motion, he unholstered a Grenade, pulled the pin, and tucked it into Player 64’s empty Grenade holster. “Surprise!”
Player 64 dropped him and said, “That was thr—” before the explosive killed him.
The force of the blast shoved Nic on his way down to certain death.
PLAYER 64 [DEAD] KILL! | +100pts PLAYER 443: 200pts [4TH]
Still fourth... Oh well. I don’t need to be first. I just need to be in the Top—
PLAYER 443 [DEAD]
He slammed into the Ayrus rock floor of the Arena back-first. His video feed cut off almost instantaneously. The impact pounded his real-life back with hardened SimSuit gel. “Your SimSuit is programmed to provide moderate tactile stimulation to simulate combat damage,” RTIFIS had said. “Moderate” must have been code for “it’s going to leave a bruise.”
“...100,” he exhaled in his bunk.
PLAYER 443 PROXYBOT ELIMINATED [9/10 REMAINING] RESPAWNING: 10...
But it’s not as much fun if I don’t take first place.