Darrel crouched on the rooftop's edge, the cold wind stinging his face. From here, the entire district lay sprawled before him—ruined streets, hollowed buildings, and the crawling silhouettes of hunters sweeping through the debris like wolves.
He could hear them—boots crushing gravel, radios crackling with terse commands, the faint metallic clatter of weapons being readied.
The screen appeared again in his vision, its faint glow cutting through the gray morning haze:
[Trial Phase – Day 1: 22h 14m Remaining]
[Primary Objective: Survive]
[Secondary Objective: Optional – Reduce Hunter Count by 50%]
Optional objective?
His lips curved into something between a grin and a snarl. "Guess they want me to play aggressive."
The voice from the loudspeakers echoed across the dead city:
> "Target is armed. Extreme caution advised. Do not approach alone."
Darrel's fingers tightened around the rifle he'd taken earlier. It wasn't much—a mid-grade, old model, scratched and worn—but in his hands, it felt like a promise.
He inhaled deeply, scanning the hunters below. His strange new vision—this overlay—highlighted their positions with glowing markers, tiny notations floating beside them:
[Hunter – Low Armor – 70% Weak Point Exposure]
[Hunter – Sniper Unit – 42m Distance]
[Hunter – Squad Leader – Estimated Threat Level: C+]
Information he'd never seen before now poured into his mind with startling clarity.
A flash of movement caught his eye. Two hunters were moving ahead of the others, cutting across an open courtyard toward a collapsed parking structure. They were faster, less cautious—scouts, maybe.
Darrel's mind ticked like clockwork. Two scouts meant the main force was close behind. If he took them out quietly, he could reposition before the others realized.
He moved.
His boots hit the next rooftop without a sound. The city seemed to hold its breath as he crossed the gap, using the skeletal remains of billboard frames as cover.
The first scout never saw him. Darrel dropped behind the man, one hand clamping over his mouth, the other driving the rifle's barrel into the base of his skull with a brutal, precise strike. The man crumpled silently.
The second scout spun, eyes wide, but Darrel was already on him. A knee to the gut, a hook to the jaw, and the man was down. Darrel took his knife, tucking it into his belt.
[Hunter Eliminated – +2% Survival Probability]
[Hunter Eliminated – +2% Survival Probability]
Four percent better odds. I'll take it.
But then the sound came—static in the earpiece of the fallen scout, followed by a sharp voice:
> "Scout team? Report."
Darrel didn't hesitate. He grabbed the earpiece, pressing it against his own ear. "Courtyard clear. No sign of—"
A gunshot cracked through the air, cutting his sentence short—not aimed at him, but close enough to rip a chunk of concrete from the wall beside his head.
Sniper.
He dove for cover as another round smashed into the rooftop. The screen flashed urgently:
[Threat Detected: Sniper – 0.8 Seconds Between Shots – 65m Distance]
Darrel peeked, spotted the glint of glass in a broken window far across the street, and exhaled slowly. The sniper was patient, steady—someone who'd trained for this.
That made it a duel.
He waited. The sniper fired again—Darrel counted the rhythm in his head: One… two… Then he rolled from cover, aimed, and fired in a single fluid motion.
The overlay highlighted the exact pixel of movement where the sniper's barrel protruded. His bullet smashed through the glass, and a distant cry confirmed the hit.
[Hunter Eliminated – +4% Survival Probability]
Silence reclaimed the rooftops for a heartbeat.
Then, the world exploded.
Shouts erupted from every direction. Hunters poured into the street below, their armor catching flashes of sunlight as they formed up in a semi-circle. They weren't scattering anymore—they were converging.
Darrel's mind raced. Staying put meant death. But retreating without thinning their numbers would only buy him minutes.
The optional objective came to mind: Reduce Hunter Count by 50%.
He made his choice.
Sliding down a rusted drainpipe, he landed in the shadows of a narrow alley. The hunters' voices grew louder as they approached, weapons raised. He could hear their leader barking orders—a deep, commanding tone that cut through the chaos.
[Hunter – Squad Leader – Threat Level: B-]
Darrel's grip tightened on the rifle. He could take him. The overlay marked the leader's armor joints, pulsing faintly at the neck and under the arms.
The first hunter rounded the corner, and Darrel struck like lightning—two shots, center mass. Another came up behind him, only to be met with a knife to the throat.
Gunfire erupted. Darrel darted between broken walls, firing from cover, using the debris as a maze to control their movement. Hunters fell one by one, their glowing markers vanishing from his vision.
But they were adapting—flanking him, pushing him toward the open street.
A grenade clinked against the pavement nearby.
Not good.
He kicked it back before it could detonate, sending it skittering toward the advancing squad. The explosion tore through them, dust and shrapnel filling the air.
Darrel used the smoke to move, sprinting toward the leader. The man turned just in time to see Darrel leap from a low wall, driving his shoulder into his chest. They hit the ground hard, weapons clattering away.
The leader swung a heavy fist—Darrel blocked, countered with an elbow to the jaw, then grabbed the man's head and slammed it against the pavement. Once. Twice.
The overlay pulsed: [Critical Opportunity]
Darrel pulled the knife from his belt and drove it into the exposed gap beneath the leader's armor. The man gasped, body jerking, then went still.
[High-Value Target Eliminated – +12% Survival Probability]
He didn't have time to savor the moment. The rest of the hunters had regrouped, their shouts drawing nearer. Darrel scooped up the leader's rifle—heavier, better condition, with an extended mag—and bolted for the nearest building.
Bullets chased him, chewing into the crumbling walls as he disappeared inside.
The interior was dark, dust swirling in the narrow beams of light from shattered windows. His footsteps echoed as he ascended the stairs two at a time. Reaching the top floor, he kicked open a door and stepped onto another rooftop.
From here, he could see the hunters below, still searching, unaware of his vantage point.
He raised the rifle, the overlay marking each target in clean red outlines.
Time to thin the herd.
He fired in controlled bursts, each shot finding its mark. Hunters dropped, confusion spreading among the survivors. Some tried to take cover; others fired wildly, unsure of where he was.
When his magazine clicked empty, Darrel ducked behind the rooftop's ledge, reloading with practiced efficiency.
The screen flickered:
[Hunter Count Reduced by 46%]
[Secondary Objective: Near Completion]
Not enough.
Darrel rose again, sighting the last few stragglers. One shot. Another. And finally, silence.
[Secondary Objective Complete – Bonus Survival Probability +10%]
[Remaining Hunters: 12]
His chest rose and fell steadily. Sweat cooled on his skin as the wind picked up again, carrying the scent of smoke and blood.
The screen faded, leaving only the ruined city and the quiet.
But Darrel knew better. This was only the first hunt. And the trial… had just begun.