My reaction was pure instinct. I saw a stranger, a potential threat, and my body moved before I could think. I raised the S-12 shotgun and pointed it directly at her chest. My heart hammered against my ribs. After the fight with the pack, my nerves were raw. Everyone was an enemy until proven otherwise.
A blue box appeared in my vision, right next to the woman's head.
[WEAPON DISCHARGE DISABLED IN SAFE ZONE.]
The woman did not even flinch. She did not raise her own rifle. She just sighed, a long, tired breath. It was the sigh of someone who had seen this a hundred times before.
"See? That's a newbie move," she said, her voice flat. "Put the gun down. You can't hurt me here, and I can't hurt you. Save the adrenaline for the arena."
I stared at her, then at the notification on my HUD. My finger was tight on the trigger, but the system would not let me fire. Slowly, cautiously, I lowered the heavy shotgun. The end of the barrel pointed at the glowing white floor.
"Who are you?" I asked. My voice was rough.
She gave a small, tired smile. It did not reach her eyes. Her eyes looked ancient, like they had seen too much. "Just another prisoner in this digital jail," she said. "The name's Anya."
She gestured around the empty white room. "This is the Safe Zone. A lobby. A place to breathe between the matches. More people will start showing up as their own deathmatches end."
A prisoner. That's what she called herself. That's what we were. It was the perfect word.
I was hesitant to trust her, but I was desperate for answers. The pack I fought. The way they moved together. It wasn't normal for a free-for-all.
"I just fought a group of players," I said, my voice low. "They were working together. A team of three. They messaged me."
Anya's expression darkened. The small bit of light in her eyes vanished. "A pack," she said. "Sounds like you ran into some hyenas. There are groups in here. Factions. People who figured out it's easier to survive if you hunt in packs. They prey on new players, take their gear, get stronger."
The tattoo. The image of the serpent and the gear flashed in my mind.
"They had a symbol," I said. "A tattoo. A snake eating its own tail, with a gear in the middle."
Anya froze.
Her whole body went still. She looked at me with a new, sharp intensity. Her casual, tired attitude was gone, replaced by something that looked like fear. Or maybe shock.
"Ouroboros," she whispered. The name was like a curse on her lips. "You ran into Ouroboros? And you're still alive?"
I just nodded, my throat suddenly dry.
"Gods," she breathed. She took a step back, looking me over again, as if seeing me for the first time. "They're the oldest and most ruthless faction in this place. They've been here since the beginning, or so the stories go. They kill for sport. They hunt newbies just to get a single weapon upgrade. They mark themselves with that tattoo so everyone knows who they are. They want you to be afraid."
I thought of the man I killed. The leader. He was one of them. A member of this "Ouroboros."
The cold feeling in my stomach got colder. I did not just kill some random player. I killed the leader of a pack that belonged to the most dangerous faction in the game. They would not forget that. They would come for me.
The thought was terrifying. It meant I had to get stronger. Fast.
My mind went back to my reward. The crate.
"I got this," I said, my voice shaky. I opened my inventory menu and showed her the icon for the [RARE WEAPON CRATE]. "But it says I need a workbench. How do I open it?"
Anya's eyes widened when she saw the purple icon. She was impressed. She pointed to a blank section of the far wall. "The System provides tools when they're needed," she explained. "Workbenches, medical stations. They appear when enough people are in the Safe Zone."
As she spoke, another chime echoed through the room. Another doorway of light opened, and two more players walked in. They were both heavily armed. They glanced at me and Anya, then moved to a far corner of the room, keeping to themselves. They did not speak.
Then, a part of the white wall in front of Anya began to glow. It dissolved, re-forming into a sleek, metallic workbench. Blue lights pulsed along its surface. It looked futuristic and complex.
Anya looked from the workbench to me. "You're lucky," she said. "But you're also in a lot of trouble. Ouroboros holds grudges. They will find out what you did. Open that crate. Whatever is inside, you're going to need it."
I nodded. I walked over to the workbench. It hummed with a low, quiet energy. I placed my hand on its cool surface. A system prompt appeared in my vision.
[SYSTEM WORKBENCH DETECTED. SELECT AN ITEM FROM INVENTORY TO USE.]
I selected the Rare Weapon Crate.
The purple box materialized on the workbench with a soft thud. It was solid and real. It was about the size of a guitar case. I held my breath.
The crate opened with a sharp hiss of pressurized air. A seam of purple light appeared down the middle. The two halves of the crate separated, revealing the contents inside.
It was a rifle. A long, black rifle. It was sleek and angular. It had a massive scope on top, with a lens as big as my fist.
I knew this weapon. I knew it instantly. I had been killed by it many times in the game. I had dreamed of owning one.
It was the Phantom SR-90. A high-caliber sniper rifle.
It was one of the most powerful weapons in Aegis Protocol. It was famous for its ability to kill any player with a single, clean headshot from across the largest maps. It was a weapon of incredible power.
I stared at the rifle. It was a game-changer. A tool that could let me fight back against anyone. Even Ouroboros.
But I was not a sniper.
In the game, I always used shotguns and SMGs. I was a close-quarters player. I liked to run and move. I did not have the patience for sniping. I had never even tried to use a sniper rifle seriously. This beautiful, powerful weapon felt alien to me. It was not my style.
I looked up at Anya. She was staring at the sniper rifle. Her face held a strange mix of emotions. She looked impressed. She looked envious. But she also looked sad, like she was pitying me.
"A Phantom," she said, her voice quiet and full of meaning. "That's a king's weapon."
She paused, and her tired eyes met mine.
"But a king's weapon paints a big target on your back," she said. "Can you handle that, newbie?"