The door slid open, and I stepped outside, instantly hit by a wave of disbelief.
What lay before me was a sprawling, ruined town. Crashed cars littered the cracked roads, their frames twisted and burned. Buildings loomed on either side, their facades crumbling, windows shattered, and walls scorched with blackened streaks. The air was heavy with an almost metallic tang, as if the remnants of an apocalypse still lingered in the atmosphere, like the end of the world.
I turned slowly, taking it all in. Everywhere I looked, there were signs of destruction: overturned streetlights, debris scattered across the sidewalks, and even skeletal remnants of what might've once been homes or stores. The sheer detail was staggering.
"How did they do this?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. My hand brushed against a rusted mailbox, and the texture felt… real.
I shook my head, trying to process. Altiris Labs must have poured a fortune into this. A set this massive, this immersive? It was like they'd built an entire town just to tear it apart.
As I moved further, I noticed others emerging from their rooms. They all wore the same white jumpsuit, and soon the quiet streets were buzzing with noise. People filled the area, spilling out from every direction, their voices rising in amazement.
"Is this for real?" someone asked nearby.
"They actually built all this?"
"This is insane!"
I exchanged a glance with a man nearby—early twenties, messy hair, nervous energy practically radiating off him. "Do you think this is all fake?" he asked, his eyes wide with wonder.
I shrugged, still taking everything in.
More people joined the conversation, their voices blending into a chaotic hum of curiosity and disbelief. Everyone seemed equally bewildered, equally awestruck. There had to be at least a thousand of us here.
The noise around me quieted abruptly as a voice echoed in my earphones. It was calm, robotic, and disturbingly precise:
[Welcome, participants. Mission parameters initiating.]
I froze, listening intently as the voice continued.
[Objective: Locate a citizen. Protect the citizen. Escort the citizen to the designated central point.
Event duration: 72 Earth-standard hours. Termination: Completion of the mission by all surviving participants or expiration of time limit.
Resource provisioning: None. Self-sustainability required. Food, water, and tools must be acquired within the operational environment.
Event protocol: No pauses, interruptions, or suspensions permitted under any circumstance. Continuation is mandatory until mission resolution or participant disqualification.]
The words sank in, and I felt a prickle of unease.
[Disqualification parameters: Failure to reach the designated central point with a citizen within the allotted timeframe. Failure to protect a citizen. Inactivity or abandonment of mission responsibilities.
Initiating event countdown. Time remaining: 72:00:00. Mission commencement: Immediate.]
I glanced around, the weight of the announcement settling on everyone at once. The buzz of excitement shifted, replaced by murmurs of uncertainty and tension.
"No food or water?" someone said under their breath.
"Three days straight? Is that even legal?"
The crowd began to scatter, some moving purposefully, others hesitating. I adjusted the fit of my jumpsuit, taking one last look at the sprawling ruins ahead.
The morning felt almost surreal. People were strolling through the ruined streets, their curiosity tempered by the strangeness of it all. Some had already found their citizens—men, women, and even children who stuck to them like shadows. The citizens' performances were incredible, their fear and reliance palpable. I had to admit, these actors were good.
I wandered aimlessly, searching for a citizen of my own. Around me, the city stretched out in all directions, its decay hauntingly beautiful. Crashed cars blocked intersections, weeds broke through the cracked asphalt, and crumbling buildings loomed like skeletons of a lost civilization. It felt eerily alive, as though the destruction itself had a heartbeat.
A few hours in, the peace shattered.
The air shifted suddenly, a high-pitched whir cutting through the silence. I stopped in my tracks, craning my neck to see where the sound was coming from. A sleek, metallic drone hovered into view, its surface smooth and glinting under the faint sunlight. It was small, no larger than a backpack, with glowing red lights that flickered like searching eyes.
At first, I thought it was just another piece of the set—another prop designed to immerse us further into this elaborate roleplay. Someone near me laughed nervously, pointing at it.
"Looks almost real." they said.
But the drone didn't stay still. It turned sharply, focusing on a man standing just a few feet ahead of me. Before anyone could react, a loud zap echoed through the street.
The man's body jerked violently before crumpling to the ground.
For a second, everything froze. People stared, unsure of what they had just witnessed. A woman near the fallen man screamed, rushing to his side. "Get up! Oh my God, get up!" she cried, shaking him.
"He's acting," someone laughed.
But as the woman pressed her fingers to the man's neck, her face went pale. She looked up at the rest of us, her hands trembling.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd.
"Dead?" someone whispered, their voice laced with disbelief. "It has to be fake!"
But the blood pooling beneath the man told a different story.
Another drone appeared, then another, their whirring blades growing louder and more menacing. People scattered, their screams echoing off the ruined buildings.
"It's part of the LARP!" someone shouted, though their voice wavered with uncertainty.
"No!" another voice yelled back. "This is real!"
The drones moved quickly, scanning the streets with their glowing red lights. Anyone caught in their sights was mercilessly struck down. I watched as another participant—a woman clutching a makeshift weapon—tried to fend one off. She swung a metal pole at it, but the drone easily dodged, retaliating with a burst of energy that sent her sprawling to the ground.
Her body didn't move.
I ducked behind an overturned car, my heart pounding in my chest. Around me, the chaos was deafening—screams, shouts, the hum of the drones, the crackle of their weapons firing.
People ran in every direction, but without a map or guidance, it was impossible to know where to go. The city felt endless, a labyrinth designed to trap us. Some participants sprinted toward what they assumed was the center, while others turned on each other, fighting over citizens in their desperation.
I peeked out from my hiding spot and saw a man yanking a citizen away from another participant. The two grappled, their shouts drowned out by the chaos around them. The citizen stumbled, their wide eyes filled with terror.
"Let go!" one of the men screamed, punching the other in the face. The second man fell, clutching his nose, and the first man dragged the citizen away without looking back.
The turning point came when a massive man—a hulking participant with muscles that seemed carved from stone—grabbed a chunk of metal from a nearby car wreck. With a guttural roar, he hurled it at an approaching drone.
The metal collided with the drone, sending it crashing to the ground in a shower of sparks. The crowd around him erupted into cheers, their fear momentarily replaced by hope.
"We can fight back!" someone yelled.
The man didn't stop. He lifted another piece of debris and smashed it down on the drone's remains, ensuring it was completely destroyed. Then he turned to the rest of us, his voice booming. "Grab anything you can! We're not just sitting ducks!"
His words lit a spark. People began searching the ruins frantically, picking up anything that could be used as a weapon—pipes, bricks, jagged pieces of metal. A woman near me tore the leg off a broken chair and brandished it like a club.
I grabbed a sturdy-looking piece of wood, my hands shaking as I gripped it. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.
The drones didn't stop coming. They swarmed the streets, forcing us to fight or flee. I saw one participant use a steel rod to knock a drone out of the air, only to be struck down by another moments later.
The air was thick with tension and desperation. Some participants banded together, forming makeshift groups to defend themselves. Others worked alone, driven by the primal instinct to survive.
I stayed low, darting from cover to cover. My hands ached from gripping the wood so tightly, but I couldn't let go. Around me, the sounds of fighting grew louder, the streets a battleground of flesh and metal.
The high-pitched whir of the drones faded into the distance, their relentless presence finally gone. The silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by the muffled cries of survivors and the faint rustle of debris shifting in the wind.
I slumped against a crumbling wall, my chest heaving as I struggled to catch my breath. Around me, the streets were littered with the aftermath—broken bodies of participants, shattered remains of drones, and citizens trembling in the arms of those lucky enough to have protected them.
Then the voice came through the earphones. Calm, robotic, and unfeeling, it sliced through the quiet like a blade:
[Attention, participants. Status synchronization in progress.]
.....
[Scanning operational environment… complete.]
I hold my breath anticipating the announcement.
[Survivor count: 734 active participants. Disqualification count: 266 inactive participants.]
I froze, the words echoing in my head. Disqualified?
My mind raced, trying to make sense of it. Disqualified sounded so clean, so technical. But there was no mistaking the truth. My gaze shifted to the lifeless bodies scattered across the road.
"By disqualified… they mean dead?" I whispered, the question barely audible even to myself.
The voice in my ear continued, oblivious to the horror it had just delivered:
[Operational directives unchanged: Locate a citizen. Protect the citizen. Escort the citizen to the designated central point.
Time remaining: 62:12:43. Continue mission progression.]
My stomach churned as I looked around. Survivors huddled in small groups, their faces pale and hollow, their movements slow and hesitant. The reality of it all was sinking in for everyone—this wasn't a role playing.