It was his last hope.
The building stood like a broken tooth against the skyline — jagged, rotten, and ugly, but stubbornly still there.
Its windows were either shattered or so clouded by grime they looked black. Rust streaked down the walls like dried blood, and a crooked sign dangled by one chain, swaying faintly in the night air.
Whatever words had once announced this place to the world were long since erased by rain and time.
It didn't matter what the building used to be. An arcade, an office, a warehouse. It was the kind of place no one cared about anymore. A perfect place for everything shady to take place...like a kidnapping.
'I can't believe I'm doing this shit...watch me get human trafficked for being a dumbass.'
Hook stood on the worn-down sidewalk, phone glowing in his hand, eyes fixed on the screen.
[Notification: Arrival confirmed.]
[Location verified.]
[Step inside Player #2007.]
The words pulsed on the cracked screen almost like they were alive.
The boy hated how calm he felt reading them.
This was insane. Absolutely insane. The app had to be a scam, a joke, a trap. And yet here he was, standing in front of the address it gave him like some obedient fool.
If this didn't show Hook was at his wits' end...nothing would.
Rent was three weeks overdue. His fridge was empty. His bank account was a zero mocked by overdraft fees. Even his body — the one thing he thought would always belong to him — was starting to feel like a liability. He'd already gotten two offers this week and they weren't for any damn jobs.
For his body. His face. His time. Things he couldn't imagine selling without vomiting.
In short, Hook was homeless, broke, and one stomach growling away from an easy 20 dollars.
So when a random app promised "Get Paid to Play Fighting Games!" it wasn't hope that drove him to download it. (What idiot believed in those types of ads anyway?)
It was spite. A half-conscious dare to the universe: 'Fine, scam me. Empty the nothing I already have. See if I care.'
Except the app didn't steal his money. It didn't crash his phone. It didn't disappear after he pressed download.
Instead, it asked him questions. After entering his bank details, the app started asking things he couldn't answer without feeling like someone was peeling his skull open and reading his thoughts.
[Would you fight if there was no other choice?]
[At your lowest, are you willing to go even lower?]
[Do you fear death?]
[What's left of you when your worth has been stripped away?]
He answered, because why not? It was all sarcastic--a game and no one else was listening anyway.
And now he was here. Led by the instruction that randomly appeared on the app 20 minutes ago.
[Your first game has been scheduled]
[Head to the location on the map]
[Reward: $1000+ (start game to see specifics)]
"Great," Hook muttered, shoving the phone back into his hoodie pocket. "Guess this is how I die. Lured by a shitty app into a horror movie opening."
The city hummed around him. Neon lights sputtered weakly in the distance, choked by smog. The streets nearby were empty — no footsteps, no cars, no curious bystanders. It was like the world had quietly agreed to ignore this place.
He adjusted his hood, took a slow breath, and pushed the door open.
It groaned like something alive, hinges straining, dust spiraling in the stale air.
Inside was worse.
The air was damp and cold, thick with mildew. Broken machines hunched in the corners like corpses, their wires hanging down like intestines. The floor was a patchwork of cracked tiles and dark stains he didn't want to name. Somewhere deeper in the building, a pipe dripped steadily, the sound sharp in the silence.
'A casino?'
Hook walked further, observing and analysing with all his senses on high alert. That's when he noticed that, leaning against the far wall, was someone else.
A guy.
Not a ghost(so the place isn't haunted!), not some kidnapper(at least Hook hoped so...) — a real, living human being, standing there like he'd been waiting.
He was taller, maybe older by a year or two. Dark hair, clean clothes — leather jacket without a single tear, sneakers that weren't falling apart at the seams. He looked like someone who still had a life to live. Someone who didn't belong in this place.
The guy looked up from his phone and met his eyes.
"You got the app too?" he asked.
His voice was casual, like they were two strangers waiting for the same bus.
"Yeah," Hook answered seemingly calm. "Thought I was the only dumbass."
They both laughed, but the sound died quickly. The silence swallowed it whole.
For a moment, they just stood there, staring at each other through the dust and the gloom. Two strangers, bound by the same ridiculous decision.
Then their phones lit up at once.
[Two players detected.]
[Game session commencing.]
[Objective: Kill your opponent.]
[Reward: 500,000 coins]
The words scrolled across their screens in perfect synchronization.
Hook's throat went dry.
The other guy frowned. "Wait… so it's real?"
Too busy lost in his thoughts, Hook kept staring at the screen.
'What the actual...so they meant an actual fight?! How deceptive to call it a game! Here I thought I was gonna compete in fucking Mortal Kombat or something. I was too naive.' He shook his head and face-palmed.
'The desperation got to me.'
Before either of them could react further, the building's lights flickered. Fluorescent tubes buzzed alive in the ceiling, casting everything in sickly white. A new notification dinged on both phones.
[Round begins in...]
[9]
[8]
The other guy stepped back, eyes darting around the room. "Hold on, what the hell is this? This isn't—this isn't a real game, is it? You're not actually telling us to fight?"
The countdown kept going.
Hooks' pulse thundered in his ears.
It was insane. Absolutely insane. And yet… how did he not expect this? From the moment the app asked those questions, from the moment he walked into this rotting place — shouldn't he have already known?
Deep down he probably did but just wanted to deny it.
"Ah fuck..." He mumbled to himself.
The app chimed again.
[Round begins in: 6… 5… 4…]
The numbers flashed like a countdown to execution.
The other guy swallowed hard. His hands trembled as he slid his phone into his jacket. Then he raised them — not defensively, but like a boxer. His stance wasn't perfect, but it was trained. He'd thrown punches before.
"Listen," he said, his voice tight. "I don't know about you, but I need this money. I can't walk away."
Hook almost laughed. Almost told him: "Join the club bro!"
But there was no time. The countdown kept ticking.
[3… 6… 5…]
He closed his eyes for half a second, forcing his lungs to pull in air. He wasn't a fighter. Not a professional, not trained. He'd gotten in scraps before — on the street, at school, against anyone who thought "weak" meant "easy target." He knew how to throw his weight and how to take a punch. But that was it.
'What the hell was it all for. Living an honest life If I'm just gonna kill someone in the end. What a waste of time my life has been to this point.'
Still.
What else did he have left?
Homeless or broken. Starving or sold. If this was a chance — even a slim, insane chance—he had to take it.
'Not like I can turn away from this now. I need it. And the world won't give it to me. I have to take it myself. That should be enough justification.'
Even now, by blindly believing in this ducked up game--that this weird app would keep its word and grant him money was naive. Naive, naive, naive!
His hands lifted. His body moved into something like a stance. Not perfect. Not pretty. But ready.
Enough.
[ 3… 2… 1…]
"Don't hold back," Hook spoke.
The countdown hit zero.
[Round One: FIGHT!]
The other guy moved first.
A jab — fast, sharp, and aimed at Hook's face. He ducked instinctively, the knuckles grazing his cheekbone like fire. Before he could think, Hooks' shoulder drove forward, slamming into the guy's chest.
The impact cracked through the silence, dust spiraling into the air.
They stumbled, fists flying. No time words or hesitation.
This wasn't a game anymore. This was for survival. At least in Hook's eyes. Muster ve for a big reason as well for the grown man to risk death.
And for the first time in a long time, Hook felt something real in his veins.
Not fear. Not despair. Feelings he had gotten long used to. Now he felt resolve.
If all he had left was his body, then he'd fight with it. He'd bleed with it. He'd win with it.
Because he would rather break every bone he had than return nack to his hell hole empty-handed.
And if this was the only way forward, then so be it.
A knee slammed into Hook's gut, his breath vanishing.
He doubled over, gagging, and caught another punch across the jaw. Lights burst behind his eyes. The floor tilted. For a second he swore he was already done.
But desperation steadied him. Resolve kept him on his feet.
'NO! not here! Not ever!' If he went down here, he didn't just lose a fight—he lost everything.
"I didn't live this far to GO OUT HEREEEE!!!"
Hook roared through blood and threw himself forward. His shoulder crashed into the man's ribs. They slammed into an unknown machine, glass cracking behind them. Hook hammered punches wild into the man's torso. The thuds echoed like meat hitting a counter.
The man shoved him off, eyes hard. He spat blood into the boys face, then charged again.
The two of them collided. Elbow against temple. Forearm across throat. Fingers clawing for grip. They slammed each other against walls, trading blows that were more animal than trained.
Hook felt something snap in his nose. Blood poured hot down his face. He was definitely taking more damage in this fight dud to his smaller, younger and untrained frame. The boy was at a huge disadvantage.
He swung anyway, blind, catching jaw, ear, neck. Every hit sent knives up his arms but he didn't care.
The man caught him in a chokehold. Thick forearm locked under Hook's chin, crushing air. Spots bloomed in Hook's vision. His hands clawed uselessly. Panic surged. His knees buckled.
Hook felt himself fading, an image of his childhood appearing before his eyes. Just as the image of his childhood room came to view...
*CRUNCH!*
He bit his own tongue!
'Backstory be damned! I am not dying here!!!'
With the last of his strength, he drove his head backward. Skull cracked against nose. The man cursed, grip loosening. Hook tore free, spinning with a desperate hook of his own. His fist smashed into his temple. The man stumbled, dazed.
Hook didn't let him breathe. He rammed forward, slamming fist after fist into the man's face. Cheekbone split. Lip shredded. Blood sprayed across Hook's knuckles, hot and slick.
The man dropped to his knees.
Hook's chest heaved. He should've stopped. In any normal fight, this was done. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't let him get back up.
With a guttural scream, Hook drove his knee into the man's skull. Once. Twice. Bone cracked. The body twitched, then slumped against the floor.
Hook staggered back, shaking, covered in sweat and blood that wasn't all his. His lungs burned. His hands trembled. For a moment he thought he might throw up.
The man didn't move.
It was over.
The phone flickered to life again.
[Triumphant!-->Player #2007.]
[Personal Protocol Awakened.]
[Combat Protocol downloading...]
The words seared across the screen in brilliant red. Hook stared, too drained to understand, too numb to process.
Then the letters burned into his vision, imprinting themselves behind his eyes like a brand.
He sank to his knees, chest heaving, blood dripping from his hands.
[Welcome to the Arena, Hook Wright!]
[Pseudo name pending...]