It was November, and the wind outside was howling like a dying beast.
The heating in the basement apartment had been cut off three days ago. The cold seeped through the cracked concrete walls, biting into the bone.
Arthur sat on the edge of his thin mattress, rubbing his hands together to generate a sliver of warmth, but his fingers remained numb and stiff.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The heavy iron door shuddered under a violent assault. Dust drifted down from the ceiling, dancing in the pale light of the single flickering bulb.
"Arthur! I know you're in there!" a rough voice roared from the hallway. "You have three days! If the money isn't in my hand by Friday, we're taking the apartment. And your sister... well, she might have to work off the interest!"
The voice belonged to Marcus, a debt collector for the Viper Syndicate who enjoyed his job far too much.
Arthur didn't answer. He stared at the small, black chip sitting on the wobbly wooden table.
It was an dark square, no larger than a fingernail, with a single crimson circuit line running through its center.
Arthur had sold everything he owned—his car, his grandfather's watch, even his laptop—to buy this chip from a shady dealer in the electronic district's back alley.
The rumors were wild. They said there was an underground game, a server that didn't exist on any official network. They said the currency inside could be exchanged for real-world crypto at a one-to-one ratio. They said you could become a millionaire overnight.
They also whispered that people went in and never woke up. Brain death. Cardiac arrest. "Log-out failure."
But Arthur didn't care.
If he didn't come up with fifty thousand dollars in three days, his life was over anyway. Worse, his little sister, Lily, who was currently safe at her aunt's house, would be dragged into this mess.
"Three days, Arthur!" Marcus shouted one last time, followed by a final kick to the door that rattled the hinges.
Then, silence returned.
Arthur exhaled a breath he didn't know he was holding. The white mist of his breath hung in the freezing air.
He picked up the black chip. It felt unnaturally heavy, cold to the touch, like a piece of ice.
"It's this or nothing," Arthur whispered to the empty room.
He reached under his bed and pulled out an old, second-hand VR helmet. It was a standard model, scuffed and scratched, but the dealer had assured him the chip would override the hardware limitations.
He slotted the black chip into the external port.
Click.
The helmet hummed. A red light on the side flickered, then turned a deep, ominous purple.
Arthur lay back on the mattress, pulling the thin blanket up to his chin. He closed his eyes and slid the helmet over his head.
Beep!
A mechanical voice, devoid of any warmth, echoed directly into his skull.
[Unrecognized Hardware Detected.]
[Bypassing Security Protocols...]
[Connection Established.]
[Warning: Bio-feedback set to 100%. Pain inhibitors disabled. Safety protocols removed.]
[Warning: Neural Link absolute. Death in the simulation may result in cessation of neural activity in the user.]
[Do you wish to proceed?]
The warnings floated in the darkness of his vision, glowing in blood-red text.
Arthur didn't hesitate. He focused his mind on the "Yes" button.
[Welcome to Call to Duty.]
[Scanning User ID...]
[ID Confirmed: Arthur, 21 years old. Status: Desperate.]
[Generating Character...]
[Entering Tutorial Dungeon: The Silent City.]
[Background: A plague of shadows has consumed the kingdom. The sun has not risen for a century. The streets are filled with those who refuse to die, and those who hunt them. You are a scavenger, starving and alone, seeking a way out of the quarantine zone.]
[Primary Duty: Survive for 5 Days. (0/5)]
[Secondary Duty: Rescue as many natives as you can.]
[Note: Good luck, Scavenger. You will need it.]
The text dissolved.
Suddenly, a sensation of falling overwhelmed him. It wasn't the floaty feeling of normal VR. It was a violent, stomach-churning drop, like falling off a skyscraper.
Arthur tried to scream, but the wind rushed into his mouth, choking him.
Thud!
Pain exploded in his shoulder. Real, searing pain.
Arthur gasped, his eyes snapping open.
He wasn't on his mattress anymore.
He was lying on wet cobblestones. The smell hit him instantly—a thick, cloying stench of rot, wet fur, and stagnant water. It was so potent he gagged, retching dryly.
"This... this is a game?" Arthur wheezed, clutching his shoulder. He could feel the bruise forming, the tender ache of the muscle.
He pushed himself up. The air was frigid, damp, and heavy.
He was in an alleyway. Tall, gothic buildings loomed on either side, their windows boarded up or shattered. The only light came from strange, luminescent moss growing in the cracks of the stone and a pale, fractured moon hanging in the sky.
It was terrifyingly realistic. The texture of the moss, the chill of the puddle soaking into his jeans, the distant sound of dripping water.
"Status," Arthur whispered, his voice trembling slightly.
A semi-transparent blue window flickered into existence in front of him.
[Name: Arthur]
[Level: 1]
[Class: None]
[Title: None]
[HP: 100%]
[Stamina: 100/100]
[Strength: F-]
[Agility: F]
[Constitution: F-]
[Intelligence: E]
[Perception: F+]
[Skills: None]
[Equipment: Ragged Shirt, Worn Jeans, Sneakers]
[Remark: You are weaker than a starving rat. Avoid combat at all costs.]
Arthur stared at the remark. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."
He stood up, his legs shaking. The cold here was different from his apartment. It felt malicious, seeking out the warmth in his veins to snuff it out.
He needed to move. The mission was to survive for 5 days.
Arthur checked his pockets. Empty. No weapon, no food, no map.
He crept to the edge of the alleyway, peering out into the main street.
The street was wide, littered with overturned carriages and piles of debris. A thick fog clung to the ground, swirling around his ankles.
Scrape... Scrape...
A sound echoed from the fog.
Arthur froze, pressing his back against the cold brick wall.
Scrape... Drag...
It sounded like metal being dragged across stone.
Arthur held his breath, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
A figure emerged from the mist, about twenty meters away.
It was humanoid, but wrong. Its limbs were too long, its back hunched over. It wore tattered rags that looked like a butcher's apron. In its right hand, it dragged a rusted, notched cleaver the size of a shovel.
The creature stopped. Its head, wrapped in filthy bandages, twitched.
Sniff. Sniff.
Arthur pressed his hand over his mouth. He could see the steam rising from the creature's body. It was hunting.
The creature let out a low, gurgling growl and turned its head slowly towards the alleyway where Arthur was hiding.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced Arthur's chest.
It knew.
Arthur didn't wait. He turned and bolted down the alleyway, his sneakers slapping against the wet stones.
ROAR!
The sound behind him was not human. It was a shriek of hunger and rage.
Arthur didn't look back. He sprinted, his lungs burning in the freezing air. He saw a broken door hanging off its hinges a few meters ahead on the left.
He threw himself through the gap, landing on a rotting wooden floor.
He scrambled to his feet and slammed the door shut, shoving a heavy, moth-eaten cabinet in front of it.
BOOM!
The wood splintered as something heavy slammed into the door from the outside.
"Open! Meat! Fresh meat!" A voice gurgled from the other side. It could speak. That somehow made it worse.
BOOM!
The cabinet slid back an inch. Dust rained down.
Arthur looked around frantically. The room was a ruined kitchen. Broken plates, a collapsed stove, a table overturned in the corner.
He needed a weapon. Anything.
His eyes darted across the debris.
There.
Half-buried under a pile of shattered wood was a fire poker. It was iron, blackened with soot, with a sharp hooked tip.
Arthur scrambled over, digging his fingers into the debris. He grabbed the cold iron handle and yanked it free.
[Item Acquired: Old Iron Poker]
[Quality: Poor]
[Damage: Very Low]
[Remark: Better than your fists. Barely.]
CRACK!
A massive hand, grey and covered in sores, punched through the wood of the door. It grabbed the edge of the hole and ripped, tearing the planks away like wet cardboard.
The creature was coming in.
Arthur backed away until his legs hit the overturned table. He gripped the poker with both hands, his knuckles white.
"Come on," he whispered, though his voice cracked. "Come on!"
The door gave way completely. The cabinet toppled over with a deafening crash.
The creature stepped into the room.
Up close, it was hideous. The bandages on its face had slipped, revealing a jaw that was unhinged, hanging loosely against its chest. Rows of jagged, yellow teeth dripped with black saliva.
It raised the massive, rusty cleaver.
"Found... you..."
The creature lunged.
It was fast for something so large. The cleaver swung down in a vicious arc.
Arthur threw himself to the right.
CRASH!
The cleaver smashed into the floorboards where he had been standing a second ago, sending splinters flying. The force of the blow shook the entire room.
Arthur rolled and scrambled to his feet. He was behind the creature now.
Adrenaline flooded his system, slowing time down. He could see the muscles on the creature's back bunching up as it tried to pull the heavy cleaver out of the wood.
It was stuck.
"Now!" Arthur screamed in his mind.
He stepped forward and swung the iron poker with everything he had.
Thwack!
The iron rod struck the back of the creature's head.
The monster howled, thrashing backward. It didn't go down. It was too strong.
[Strike: Inflicts 5 Damage to Target HP.]
Arthur didn't stop. He couldn't stop. If he stopped, he died.
He swung again. And again.
Thwack! Crunch!
"Die! Just die!" Arthur yelled, fear turning into a frenzy.
[Strike: Inflicts 6 Damage to Target HP.]
The creature roared, finally ripping the cleaver free. It spun around, swinging the blade blindly.
The handle of the cleaver clipped Arthur in the ribs.
Crack.
The wind was knocked out of him. He flew backward, crashing into the wall. Pain radiated through his chest, hot and blinding.
[Warning: Rib Fracture detected. HP -15%.]
Arthur gasped, sliding down the wall. He tasted blood in his mouth.
The creature loomed over him, raising the cleaver high for a finishing blow. It was bleeding from the head, black blood oozing down its neck, but it was still standing.
Arthur looked up at the descending blade.
I'm going to die here. In a dirty kitchen. For nothing.
No.
Lily.
Rage flared in his chest, overpowering the pain.
As the cleaver came down, Arthur didn't try to block. He lunged forward, under the creature's guard.
He drove the sharp, hooked tip of the poker upward, aiming for the soft spot under the creature's unhinged jaw.
SQUELCH.
The resistance was sickening. The poker slid through flesh and muscle, driving up into the brain.
The creature stiffened. The cleaver fell from its hand, clattering harmlessly to the floor inches from Arthur's leg.
The monster let out a soft, wet gurgle, and then collapsed heavy on top of Arthur.
"Get... off!" Arthur grunted, shoving the heavy, stinking corpse aside.
He crawled out from under it, gasping for air, clutching his broken ribs.
He sat there in the dark, blood—both his and the monster's—soaking his clothes. His heart was beating so hard it hurt.
A crisp, clear chime broke the silence.
[Target Neutralized: Rotting Butcher (Level 3)]
[Experience Gained.]
[Combat Analysis Complete.]
[Critical Hit Achieved.]
[Blunt Weapon used effectively 3 times.]
[Skill Acquired: Blunt Weapon Mastery (Basic)]
[Skill Acquired: Vital Strike (Basic)]
Arthur stared at the floating text. He started to laugh. It was a dry, hysterical sound.
He was alive.
And he had just leveled up.
[Blunt Weapon Mastery (Basic)]
[Passive]
[Effect: Increases damage with blunt weapons by 10%. You know how to swing without hitting yourself.]
[Vital Strike (Basic)]
[Active]
[Cost: 10 Stamina]
[Effect: A calculated strike to a weak point. Deals 150% Damage. High chance of Critical Hit.]
Arthur wiped the blood from his mouth. He looked at the iron poker in his hand. It was bent, but it was sturdy.
He looked at the dead monster.
This game... it was hell.
But in hell, demons could be killed.
Arthur reached out and grabbed the rusted cleaver the monster had dropped.
[Item Acquired: Rusted Butcher's Cleaver] [Type: Heavy Weapon] [Damage: Medium] [Requirement: Strength F+] [Remark: Heavy, dull, and covered in tetanus. It splits bone efficiently.]
His Strength was only F-. He couldn't use it effectively yet. He shoved it into his belt loop anyway. It was money. Everything here was money.
He stood up, wincing at the pain in his ribs.
4 days, 23 hours and 45 minutes left.
Arthur looked out the broken door into the fog. His eyes were cold.
The first conflict was over, but the night had just begun.
He was no longer just a desperate man in a basement apartment. He was a survivor. And for the first time in months, the fire of ambition burned in his gut, hotter than the cold city air.
He would survive. He would kill. And he would get paid.
Arthur stepped out into the mist, the iron poker gripped tight in his hand.
The hunt was on.