Marshall hadn't spent a single cent. He unquestionably had to expect the lowest rank of all. He was willing to risk everything for a new chance, and even if he had known about that clause, he wouldn't have paid a dime. At best, he could've offered pocket change.
What the bull-masked host talked about was intriguing. A virtual game? This would allow anyone to participate in the Survivor Game. It would give equal opportunities to all, as real-world physics would not be a factor. This was the case, at least on paper. Even in this game, the rule of Social Darwinism applied. The rich would have advantages over the poor. Many couldn't accept this, and as predicted, there was a revolt within the community. Some didn't want to participate anymore, some wanted to beat the crap out of this spinning idiot, and some were just desperate. Then some kept to themselves. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they were the ones with money. Why would someone with money participate in such a contest?
Marshall and Dam took a step back and decided to keep their distance. After all, rebelling would be pointless. Opting out of the Survivor Game was impossible because they had signed a contract. The rebellion was tumultuous and uncoordinated. Participants shouted, waved their fists, and desperately sought justice. Suddenly, from the sides of the massive hall, riot police appeared with batons to quell the unrest. They started beating anyone involved in the disorder.
"Hmpf. All this noise is useless. We're all in this together now. If you're here, you have to participate." Dam blurted out. Marsh could only nod.
The scene was chaotic, with screams of pain and lamentations filling the air. The violence from the riot police was brutal, and this event had a paralyzing effect on most participants. Everyone understood that opposing the game's organization meant a quick and brutal death. Marshall and Dam included.
Once the revolt had been suppressed, the order was restored, and the host, who had been standing aside on the raised platform, was able to resume presenting.
"We will now proceed with the drawing." The host announced in a nervous tone, obviously not appreciating the interruption. None of the participants knew what to expect, but everyone, including Marshmallow and OK Damage, waited anxiously to see who would be drawn first.
From above, a giant projector appeared, buzzing to life and illuminating a massive movie screen. The projected image was absurd: a white background highlighting a gigantic 500-faced dice. It was as if an element from a fantastical world had been catapulted directly into that projection.
"One, two, three, and... ACTION!" The host announced enthusiastically, visibly impressed by the magnificence of the huge die. He must have already recovered, as his tone was back to its previous state. With a swift movement, as if pulling the lever on a giant slot machine, he set the 500-faced dice rolling.
On the big screen, the dice began to spin, showing each of its 500 faces twirling around and bouncing off the screen's walls.
"Look, my dear participants!" The host exclaimed with his shrill voice. "Who will be the lucky first to be drawn in this magnificent game?"
The faces of the dice sped up and then gradually began to slow down. Eventually, the die came to a stop, revealing who would be the first to enter the Survivor Game.
"And here it is! The first draw is..." The host almost yelled in excitement. "Number 346!"
The room filled with curiosity as participants tried to figure out who number 346 was. Marshall was breathless because the first draw was him: Marshmallow.
Marshall nodded nervously. It took him a moment to rationalize what was happening, as he saw everyone else whispering and asking around who number 346 was. What were the odds that the first one drawn would be Marshmallow himself? 1 in 500? Maybe even less. Marshall mustered up his courage and headed for the stage. Seeing this, Dam and all the players around him were taken aback.
"What? The first one drawn is you?" Dam exclaimed with his hands in his hair as Marshall made his way to the stage. Marshall pushed through the crowd and reached the stage. He climbed the stairs and met the bull-masked announcer.
"Here we have our first draw. Number 346! Now, let's see what Rank will be given to this player!" The announcer yelled. The audience was silent, waiting in anticipation. The big 500-faced dice disappeared from the large screen, replaced by a white screen, and after a moment, the result was displayed.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Number 346: Marshmallow
Jolly Rank
"Huh? What does that mean?" That was the question echoing in Marshall's mind, and not just his. Everyone present was equally puzzled. What the hell did "Jolly Rank" mean?
"Hey, what the heck is this about?" Marshall aggressively approached the announcer. He had assumed he would be given a lousy E Rank, the worst of all. Maybe Jolly Rank was even worse? Either way, it didn't take a genius to figure out that this had something to do with him not even paying a single Wyodollar. The announcer seemed exhilarated by the situation.
"Heh, dear Marshmallow, it means a lot! More than it seems. There's only one Jolly Rank on each team and mark my words: you could be the team's downfall. But maybe not! Maybe it'll be the opposite. You might be the one who leads the Wyolands to victory. Who knows? Only the Survivor Game will tell."
"What are you... Hey! What the hell do you want? Let me go! Let me go!" Marshall didn't have a chance to answer before two burly men appeared, grabbed his arms, and led him away. Only one Jolly Rank per team? That was why he was drawn first. That way, all players would know who the Jolly Rank was.
There was no need to push through the crowd as the players had already naturally made way for another room: the place where the Survivor Game would be held. Marshall tried to break free, there was no need for such harshness. He just wanted to know what role he'd play. No matter. He'd find out once inside.
The three walked through the door into a new room, and this time, Marshall genuinely thought he was in a sci-fi movie. He found himself facing an array of cryogenic pods, each identical and looking like a futuristic sarcophagus. It felt like he'd stepped into a parallel world where technology and science fiction merged into one reality.
“Military tech is still really advanced," Marshall mumbled, awestruck. The two brutes had already let go of him, but Marshall was so mesmerized he hadn't even noticed. It was well-known that military technology was at least a decade ahead, and since the Wyolands had been at war for several years, their tech must've skyrocketed.
"Listen closely." One of the brutes said. "You're going into virtual reality, and your real body will be stored in a freezing cell. If you wake up, your body will remain intact. Know that the Survivor Game is becoming a global show, a chance for both warring states to make a boatload of money. You'll be constantly watched, so try not to do anything that could tarnish the honor of the Wyolands."
"Be careful, Marshmallow." The other said. "The world inside the Survivor Game is like the real one. If your virtual self dies, a lethal electric shock will fry your brain in the real world. Dying virtually means dying in reality. Do whatever it takes to survive."
Marshall nodded with his eyes fixating on one of the pods, which opened automatically inviting him in. Just as he suspected, enormous economic interests hid behind this game. A global show? The warring states had set up a death reality show. The idea was so grotesque that if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would've never believed it. War had already desensitized him; he was surprised by nothing but still saw clearly how reality had utterly gone to shit.
Without hesitation, Marshall lifted one leg, then the other, and lay down in the pod. He had to admit that the pod felt incredibly comfortable as if it had been tailored to his physique. The mechanisms activated with an electronic hiss and the glass door closed over him. Marshall was about to enter a nightmare, but he knew there was a way out. His fate was now tied to this bizarre game of death.
"System initialization complete, starting the game..."
An artificial voice echoed around him as Marshall was enveloped by an intense feeling of cold. It felt like time was slowing down, and he knew that from this point on, the Survivor Game was truly on.
Around Marshall, everything changed abruptly. There was a moment of calm that was instantly flipped by a thrust into the void as if he were a rocket pilot launching into infinite space. He found himself in a white, featureless space.
A bright light seemed to wrap him from every corner, with Marshall floating weightlessly and without a defined direction. The surrounding whiteness wiped out any sense of reality, and an astounding quiet overtook Marshall. There was no sound, only prevailing silence. Then slowly, indistinct shadows, almost like contours of unknown realities, began to emerge from the white.
All of a sudden, these shadows merged into a single, majestic form: a gigantic, brilliant white space portal. It was as if the virtual world was welcoming him into an uncharted chapter of his life.
That portal was like a powerful magnet; Marshall was sucked into it, and as he crossed it, the virtual world materialized around him. The thrill of a new beginning washed over him. Taking a deep breath, Marshall opened his eyes, aware that reality was no longer the same.
"Welcome, Marshmallow."
Now, Marshall Merson was no longer Marshall Merson. He was Marshmallow.