Arthur's eyes snapped open; his body drenched in a cold sweat. The night had brought no respite, only a relentless barrage of images that danced in the shadows of his mind—Luna's lifeless gaze, the desperate lunge of his attacker, the taste of victory that had turned to ash in his mouth. His chest felt tight, as if the very air was a noose around his neck, choking out any sense of peace he had once known.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn over the windows, but the light of the early morning peeked through the cracks, casting long shadows across the floor. His apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt like a tomb—a shrine to a life that had crumbled away with the city.

He dragged himself to the kitchen, his stomach gnawing at him like a starving beast. The fridge stood ajar, its dark, empty interior mocking him. The cabinets, too, offered no solace, only bare shelves and a thick layer of dust.

With a heavy sigh, Arthur knew he had to face the outside world again. The city that had once been his home was now a treacherous battleground, a labyrinth of shattered lives and unanswered questions. He had to find sustenance, to keep his body fuelled, to live—and to continue his search for Brian.

The door creaked open, and Arthur stepped into the hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the abandoned corridor. The air was stale, filled with the ghosts of laughter and the whispers of lost souls. He descended the stairs, each step a silent promise to do whatever it took to survive, to find his brother.

The city was a mirage of his memories, the buildings standing tall and untouched, yet somehow changed, wrong. The quiet was unnerving, a stark contrast to the bustling world he had once known. It was a silent scream, a cry for help that no one would ever hear.

He made his way through the streets, his eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of life. The city was a playground for the Game, a stage where survival was the only act. The grocery store loomed ahead, a beacon of hope in a desert of despair.

As he approached, his heart raced. He wasn't alone. A figure—another player—crossed the street, carrying a sword slung across his back. Arthur's stomach churned. Was the sword meant for protection, or something worse? Either way, he wasn't about to find out. He ducked into a nearby alley, crouching low as he watched the stranger walk out of sight.

Minutes passed in agonizing silence before Arthur emerged from his hiding spot. The grocery store, once a place of routine, now felt like entering a dragon's lair. Inside, it was clear others had come before him. Shelves lay bare, shattered glass and debris scattered across the floor. The chaos of survival had long since claimed this place.

But then, amidst the wreckage, Arthur spotted something—an untouched vending machine. It stood in stark contrast to its surroundings, almost too perfect, too tempting. Warily, he approached, half expecting it to explode or sound an alarm. But nothing happened. He dug into his pocket and retrieved a coin—the cold metal a reminder of the bland, monotone life he once lived, but now longed for.

The machine whirred to life with eerie cheerfulness, dispensing a chocolate bar and a soda. Arthur devoured them both, the sugar hitting his system like a jolt of electricity. It wasn't enough, but it would keep him going. He leaned against the vending machine, feeling its cold, metal surface press against his back, as if the mechanical hum of it was the only real thing in this twisted world.

Then it happened.

His wristwatch vibrated, its familiar, emotionless tone slicing through the stillness.

"New Mission: Marco Polo."

Arthur's breath hitched. He stared at the screen in disbelief.

"No..." he muttered, almost to himself. His throat felt tight, as if it were closing in protest. "No, no, no... I don't want to play your sick game."

His voice echoed in the empty store, swallowed by the vast emptiness around him. For a moment, the world felt like it had stilled, waiting for his response.

Then the automated voice of the game spoke again, its cold, indifferent tone sending chills down his spine.

"Failure to complete the daily mission will result in death. Respawn available only with a Life Token."

Arthur stared at the watch, his pulse quickening. There was no way out. He was compelled to play. He couldn't risk using it now, not when Brian was still out there somewhere. Such items were labelled as ‘Rare’ for a reason. He had been through hell to get that token, and he wouldn’t waste it by doing nothing.

"Proceed to the mission area."

Arthur let out a shaky breath, pushing himself off the vending machine. He was trembling, but he knew there was no point in fighting it. The light in the distance, that all-too-familiar beacon, blinked against the backdrop of the ruined city like a taunting reminder of what awaited him.

Without another word, he set off, heading toward the newly illuminated beacon of light in the distance.

As Arthur approached the mission site, he realized it was an old playground he recognized from his childhood. The once vibrant colors of the swings and slides had faded, the cheerful laughter of children replaced by an eerie silence. It was a stark reminder that nothing in this world would ever feel innocent again.

Stolen novel; please report.

The beacon flared brighter, and as Arthur crossed the invisible boundary, the mechanical voice of the game once again spoke.

"Mission: Marco Polo. Roles will now be assigned."

Arthur's heart raced as a series of digital sounds chimed in the air, and before him, eleven other players materialized, their figures flickering into existence. Some looked confused, while others immediately scanned their surroundings, hardened expressions etched across their faces. One man, tall with a shaved head and a military demeanour, seemed immediately on edge, his hand instinctively reaching for the combat knife at his belt.

Arthur hung back, his eyes scanning the group, wondering if any of them would be friendly—or if they'd see him as an enemy to eliminate later. The memory of his attacker from the previous day flashed through his mind, and he unconsciously touched his arm where the blade had emerged.

The automated voice continued.

"There are 2 Marcos and 10 Polos. The game will consist of three rounds. Polos will have one minute to find a hiding spot, and the Marcos will have three minutes to tag them. Polos must answer when called, or they be eliminated immediately. Marcos will be endowed with a basic sense of space and obstacles but will be unable to see the Polos. At the end of each round, the boundaries of the game will reduce. If the Marcos tag all Polos, they win. If any Polos survive until the end, the Marcos will die."

Arthur's stomach churned. The weight of the situation hit him hard. It was life and death.

The group exchanged tense glances, the reality of the stakes settling in.

One of the Polos, a middle-aged man with graying hair, broke the silence. "Wait," he said, voice trembling. "There are ten of us and only two Marcos. It's simple—if the Marcos don't chase us, if they… if they just let us hide… The two of you could sacrifice yourselves. You'd save ten lives."

The two designated as Marcos, a man and a woman, exchanged glances. The woman, muscular with dark eyes, laughed—an eerie, humorless sound.

"That's not happening," she said flatly, her voice carrying an edge of menace. "We're not sacrificing ourselves for anyone. If you're too slow, that's on you." The other Marco—a particularly thin man—nodded in agreement.

The graying man's face fell, and the other Polos shifted uneasily, but no one protested further. It was clear that the Marcos wouldn't give up their lives so easily.

Arthur stood silently, a knot forming in his stomach. He hadn't even spoken to these people, and already the group was divided. Trusting anyone here seemed impossible. He thought of Luna, of the man who had attacked him—how quickly things had turned deadly.

"The game will now commence."

Arthur's wristwatch buzzed, showing a countdown. One minute. His feet moved instinctively, heart hammering in his chest.

He sprinted toward the farthest edge of the playground, scanning the area for a decent hiding spot. The trees, he thought. There was a cluster of them near the rusting fence that surrounded the playground—maybe, just maybe, they would provide enough cover.

As he crouched behind the largest tree, he heard the frantic shuffling of other players finding their own hiding places. Some climbed the jungle gym; others hid under benches or behind bushes. The air was thick with tension.

"Marco!" The first Marco's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.

Arthur's pulse quickened. The rules of the game were clear—he had to respond, or he'd die.

"Polo," he muttered, hoping his voice blended in with the others.

"Marco!" The second voice, more distant this time, called out.

Arthur's voice trembled. "Polo."

Suddenly, there was movement to his left. Arthur tensed, his fists clenching, ready to defend himself if necessary. But when he turned, he saw another player—a well-built young man with scruffy blond hair, crouching near him behind another tree.

The man, catching Arthur's eye, gave him a quick nod. "Name's Ethan," he whispered hurriedly. "We should work together. Cover each other's tracks, make our calls sound farther apart."

Arthur hesitated, eyeing Ethan warily. Trust was a dangerous thing in this game, he had learned, but survival right now was even more dangerous alone. He glanced back toward the playground, where the two Marcos were slowly feeling their way through the space, calling out every few seconds.

"Fine," Arthur whispered back, thinking of Brian and how he might need allies to find him. "But keep your distance."

Ethan nodded and quickly repositioned himself behind a neighboring tree, a few meters away.

"Marco!" came the call again.

Arthur and Ethan both answered, "Polo," in sync, trying to throw their voices in opposite directions. The Marco inched closer, his hand outstretched, but passed by without detecting them. The moment of relief was short-lived as they watched, horrified, while a group of three Polos near the slide attempted to ambush the male Marco with sticks and stones. Perhaps their strategy was to… eliminate the Marcos before they could tag anyone. Cunning.

"Are they insane?" Ethan whispered; eyes wide.

The ambush was a disaster. One of the Polos lunged too soon, accidentally brushing against the Marco's arm. She disintegrated on the spot, her body dissolving into a cascade of glowing particles.

Arthur felt a chill crawl up his spine.

"One down," Ethan muttered grimly. "Let's hope we're not next."

Arthur and Ethan treaded lightly on the playground gravel so as not to alert the soul-hungry Marcos, whose ears captured and analysed the provenance of each and every sound like radars. The two newfound allies tiptoed in sync about the boundary of the playground, seeking shelter in the treeline. Under his breath, Arthur whispered, “Think we could climb one of these?”

“No,” Ethan hushed under his breath. “Branches too thin and high. Noisy.”

“What about the big one in the center?”

“Impossible. Too difficult. Boundaries are big now. We make use of it—stay out of trouble.”

As Arthur and Ethan moved quietly, in unison, they observed the commotion that unfolded at the center stage of the playground. The Marcos were calling out the Polos, never run short of breath. The two misfortunate Polos who had lost an ally trying, and failing, to ambush a Marco earlier on, now sped about panickily. The two Marcos were after them, arms wide out, swinging.

One of the two Polos pushed the other into harms way, protecting themselves from the caress of death and sacrificing their brethren in the process. Not long after, Karma came knocking as the second Marco called out and delivered them to justice.

The buzzer rang, signaling the end of the first round. Arthur let out a shaky breath, his heart still racing. The automated voice spoke again.

"Round 1 is complete. Seven Polos remain. The next round will begin shortly. The boundaries will now shrink."

As the voice faded, the edges of the playground flickered with an eerie blue light, slowly closing in. The space was getting smaller. Arthur knew that hiding would only get harder from here.

He glanced over at Ethan, who looked just as tense. This wasn't over—not by a long shot. Arthur's mind raced, torn between the immediate need to survive and his desperate desire to find Brian. He wondered if his brother was out there somewhere, forced to play these same deadly games.

"Round 2 starts in 30 seconds," the voice announced.

Arthur's mind raced. They needed a new strategy, and fast.