Mason didn't bother trying to push his way to the promenade. Though plenty of other players did. After the eastern elite went through in a vaguely orderly fashion, the rest of the crowd started clustering and squabbling as they all tried to get out first.

A sound like a security alarm blared. Some player cried out and fell to the ground, shaking like he was being electrocuted as he foamed at the mouth. Everyone else pulled back and stared in horror.

[Player against player violence will not be tolerated] intoned the system all around them. [Minor infractions will be punished with physical and mental disciplinary techniques. Serious infractions will result in imprisonment, or death. Thank you, and please enjoy your time in the Neutral Zone.]

"Well that poor bastard isn't enjoying it, is he?" Seamus said with a laugh. The convulsing eventually stopped, the player rolling over with a groan and half-conscious eyes. The line got more orderly after that.

Mason and the others eventually got inside the promenade, all staring at the various lights and colorful decorations. A good half of the floor was water, a kind of lazy river coiling through a dozen pools and maybe hot tubs. Small bridges criss-crossed it all, leading to small bars, maybe dance floors, and any number of other activities Mason couldn't comprehend at a glance.

Between the strange furniture, and the plastic smiles of dozens of system servants, it was all somewhere between a techno club and a relaxing tropical hotel. Which made about as much sense as everything else in the apocalypse.

"We have some seats reserved," Haley said, gesturing to a balcony. "Right this way, please."

Mason followed with his hand in Haley's, now noticing the television screens pretty much covering every available surface. They were even cycling through what looked like high production value trailers, or ads, showing humans battling in different arenas. He couldn't tell if the fighters were real or fake, but the system would occasionally zoom in and show them in some still-frame move.

Haley led them past a smiling system servant. Mason realized his House crest was set out on flag poles and draped as a banner, clearly marking the area as for his people.

"Jesus," he said as he gestured to it with a nod. "Did you do all this?"

Haley shook her head. "I just asked for it to be reserved."

He wasn't sure how he felt about any of it, but he soon took a seat at a large table and looked out over the promenade. He was trying to get a general head count of the players, which was hard in the visually cluttered space. But it was definitely in the high hundreds.

Even that seemed...low, when he thought about it. Out of the billions of people on earth. He was realizing that actually choosing (or being allowed to choose) 'player' was fairly rare. But still. Maybe one in ten? Even if you removed all the kids and people over sixty five, you had to have what…four billion? Out of all those possible players, only a thousand were left?

He couldn't quite comprehend it. And how many civilians were left, he wondered? Was it something similar?

"This fucking thing," he heard himself mutter, a hand balling into a fist. Had roboGod already wiped out ninety-nine plus per cent of humanity?

Haley gave him a confused look, but squeezed his hand. She smiled and pointed to her mouth, probably trying to remind him not to be so scary.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"There are lots of people watching us," she said quietly.

Mason clenched his teeth and nodded. He reminded himself he needed to think about his people. If his basic calculations were at all right, the balance of power was something like 100 to 1 against him and his players. Even if they were considerably more powerful individually, that wasn't a good situation.

"Greetings, honored Founder." A blue system servant literally appeared beside Mason's table. "Please access the menu in your display. Any food or drinks will appear on the table teleporter free of cost for House Mason. Can I assist you with anything else?"

"What are we doing here?" Mason said, trying to stay calm. "When do we fight again? When are you going to explain the actual tournament rules?"

"I'm sorry, tournament rules are outside my parameters." The blue servant almost became a living sad face emoji. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

"No, thank you, you've been very helpful." Haley answered and exchanged a smile with the servant before Mason could tell it to fuck off. She sighed and leaned in. "These things like to know they did a good job. They actually get more helpful if you start really..."

"Haley." Mason met her eyes. "I'm glad I have you, and I don't judge you or anyone else for playing this game. But I'm never going to forget what this is. What these things are, and what they've done. OK? The fiction out there helps me. But in here...it's all so fucking...in our faces. I'll do what I have to. But I'm not going to smile at our genocidal jailers."

Haley opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but decided against it, then just nodded. The other players were scrolling through their menus, grinning and magically appearing drinks and a whole range of food on their personal teleporters.

"This is amazin'!" Becky flashed her beautiful smile, not having heard Mason and Haley's conversation over the loud music. "They’ve got jalapeno corn bread. Oh man, chicken fried steak?" She squealed with glee as she materialized a heaping plate.

Mason tried to be happy for her. For all of them. They'd come so far and fought so hard. They deserved to eat what they wanted, to relax and drink and laugh and be human for a day and maybe a week.

But what they really deserved was a lifetime. They deserved to be free. To be safe from this murdering alien who fought them like dogs in a pit, then tossed them the occasional bone.

Maybe it was just his temperament, and maybe he should try not being miserable. But Mason decided if being a leader meant anything, it meant remembering the dead. It meant honoring their memory, protecting their legacy. And protecting their children. I didn't ask for this burden, Mason thought but didn’t say to the others, but it's mine now. Sorry if it makes me a touch serious.

He reached for the absent Streak without thinking, then put his hand on Haley and Becky's legs. He smiled for them and buried the rage, knowing sometimes he'd have to learn to wear a mask. For their sake.

"Excuse me? Uh. Mr. Mason? Er, Nimitz?"

The voice came from the stairs, and Haley popped up before Mason could answer. She smiled and spoke quietly to someone before coming back to whisper in Mason's ear.

"It's a player," she said, unable to hide her excitement. "A man from the East. Tier three. No player kills. He says he'd like to talk. To exchange information. Should I invite him in? We can take five guests at a time."

Mason nodded, and after a few more words from Haley, a middle aged Caucasian man came stomping up the stairs with a big grin. He wasn't thickly built but still looked strong, like a man who'd spent his life working with his hands.

"Daniel Simms," he said, jutting out a callused hand until Mason took it and gestured to a chair. He sat and grinned, mouth moving like it was used to chewing a pick or tobacco. "Danny to my friends." He winked. "Hard to believe I'm the first to come over, really. Figured I'd introduce myself."

"Well," Mason said, trying desperately to be nice. "You've done that now. Why are you here, Daniel?"

The man met Mason's eyes and smiled, shaking with a little snort.

"Shit, I'd hardly realized just how young you were. I mean you looked young enough in the image it showed. But in person it's hard not to notice. No offense, or anything, it's just...a bit surprising."

Mason just stared, not detecting any kind of point except possibly negative connotation. Daniel shook his head and sat a bit straighter in his chair.

"Plenty of iron in that spine, though, I reckon. Look, I don't know what you know and what you don't. But since my side of the world doesn't seem to know a damn thing about you and yours. Well, I figure you're in the same boat. So maybe we can help each other."

Information, Mason thought, not hating the idea. Of course what Mr. Simms knew or didn't know Mason had no way of verifying. But he supposed he had to start somewhere. He gave a small nod to Haley just to let her know he was satisfied, then pulled up his menu.

"Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Simms?"

The older man grinned.

"I tell you what, son, I've been waiting three long months for a God damn whiskey."