Drawing on the brief training he'd received before entering the Apocalypse Game, Thomas clumsily checked the pistol, ejecting the magazine and inspecting the rounds.
"Full mag. Seventeen rounds. Not bad," he muttered, a wave of relief washing over him. The Glock was his only reliable weapon for now. Weapons were paramount in this game of survival, especially in the urban zones, where refugees and rebels posed the greatest initial threat. Eliminating a lone straggler would provide valuable loot – weapons, gear, armor – the necessary tools to carve out a foothold in this brutal world.
He holstered the Glock and continued his search. From the security uniform's pockets, he retrieved a small bundle of keys. A grin spread across his face.
Keys. Excellent.
Apartment 15 Main Door Key
Effect: Unlocks the main door of Apartment 15.
---
Apartment 15 - Room 807 Key
Effect: Unlocks Room 807 in Apartment 15.
---
Locker 45 (Men's) Key
Effect: Unlocks Locker 45 in the station's men's locker room.
A good start, he thought. Keys were vital in the urban zones. They granted access to locked rooms and the precious resources within. Sure, he could break windows or bash down doors, but the noise would attract unwanted attention, especially from the roaming refugees. Suicide in the early game.
He stashed the keys in his inventory. Further searching yielded a flashlight and a chocolate bar. He'd cleaned out the security room.
His current inventory: Glock 17, 3 keys, flashlight, chocolate bar, water bottle. Shelter, food, water, and a weapon. Day one was going surprisingly well.
He sat on the cot in the rest area, consuming the chocolate and some water, replenishing his hunger and thirst meters. He opened the Zone Chat, curious about the progress of other players.
Someone at the shopping mall, help! Rebels are after me!
Guys, five or six refugees near the district hotel. Be careful!
Where's a good place to set up a shelter? Nowhere feels safe.
Trading a key for a weapon. There's a lone refugee I want to take down.
I'll trade! I have a spare knife.
Holy crap, you won't believe this. Rebels in an APC patrolling the city. Stay low!
The chat scrolled with frantic messages. The survivor count in the top right corner had dropped from 1000 to 983. Thomas felt a chill. Seventeen deaths in less than an hour. The urgency of survival tightened its grip.
No time to rest, he thought, pushing himself off the cot. Need to improve my odds.
He finished the chocolate, stowing the remaining water. Checking the Glock's safety, he left the security room, venturing deeper into the station. His mental map confirmed the station was clear, but he remained cautious, pistol gripped tightly, the silence amplifying every creak and groan of the deserted station.
According to the map, the most promising loot locations were the staff lounge, locker room, and station control room. The other areas – electrical rooms, communication hubs – were likely barren. He headed for the staff lounge, the locker room located within.
He tried the lounge door handle. It opened. He breathed a sigh of relief. A public area, thankfully unlocked. He slipped inside, closing the door behind him.
The lounge was a mess. Chairs and tables were overturned, shards of glass littered the floor. Dried bloodstains painted a grim picture of past violence. Unsure if his mental map could detect enemies in real-time, he swept the room with his pistol, clearing each corner before holstering the weapon and beginning his search.
He started with the locker room. He used the key to open locker 45. Inside, he found a backpack. He opened it, revealing its contents:
Marlboro cigarettes x1
Encrypted USB drive x1
Energy drink x1
The backpack itself could be equipped.
Simple Backpack
Capacity: 4x5 grid (20 slots)
Movement Speed Penalty: -3%
Turning Speed Penalty: -1%
He slung the backpack on, his inventory expanding from 5 to 25 slots. He also discovered that looted items now automatically went into the backpack. Much more convenient.
With increased carrying capacity, his looting efficiency soared. He cleared the remaining lockers, then moved back to the lounge. His haul was modest: a box of matches, a screwdriver, a tape measure, two towels, and a discarded blanket. Not much, but he felt a surge of excitement. He now had the materials to upgrade his shelter's rest area! And the tape measure was one of the components needed for the door upgrade. He just needed a reinforced lock.
Now all I need are Apocalypse Coins, he thought.
He was about to head for the station control room when his face paled. He whipped out his Glock, flicking off the safety and chambering a round. He pressed himself against the wall beside the door, holding his breath.
Two red dots had appeared on his mental map at the station entrance, moving inwards.
Refugees were the most numerous faction in the Apocalypse Game, a motley crew of scavengers, criminals, thugs, and…cultists. The cultists, while rare, were the most dangerous, performing ritual sacrifices to appease their dark gods and gain power. Their fanaticism and aggression made them a nightmare for new players. Encounters rarely ended well for the victims.
Thomas's breath hitched. His heart pounded against his ribs. He glanced at the Glock in his hand, a daring plan forming in his mind.
High risk, high reward, he thought. Cultists were dangerous, but the potential loot… According to the pre-game briefing, eliminating cultists could yield rare items and powerful weapons, significantly boosting a new player's chances of surviving the first Apocalypse Event.
The voices of the approaching refugees grew louder. Thomas focused on his mental map, the two red dots closing in on his position. He confirmed there were no other enemies in the station.
Footsteps echoed outside the lounge door, less than two meters away.
"Let's rest here for a bit," one voice said. "We still have that…event to attend tonight."
The door swung open, and a refugee stepped inside. He froze, spotting Thomas in the shadows. He opened his mouth to shout—
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The Glock roared, spitting lead. Thomas saw the flashes of gunfire reflecting off something on the refugee's chest. Body armor! He adjusted his aim, targeting the head. He emptied the magazine, the slide locking back with a metallic click. He gasped, his heart hammering.
The refugee crumpled to the floor, dead. His companion, who had started to raise his own weapon, fell beside him, a bullet hole in his forehead.
Adrenaline surging, Thomas dragged the bodies inside the lounge, slamming the door shut. He snatched up their dropped weapons, his eyes glued to the mental map. After two tense minutes, confirming no new hostiles, he turned to the bodies, a wide grin spreading across his face.
On closer inspection, they weren't cultists. No telltale sigils on their necks. Just regular refugees. But their gear…
Holy crap. I hit the jackpot.
He stripped the bodies, piling their equipment on the floor:
PM submachine gun x1 (with 1 magazine, 30 rounds of 9x18mm ammo)
PM 30-round magazines x2 (60 rounds of 9x18mm ammo)
AKS-74U short assault rifle x1 (with 1 magazine, 30 rounds of 5.45x39mm ammo)
AK-74 compatible magazine x1 (30 rounds of 5.45x39mm ammo)
PL-15 pistols x2 (with 1 magazine each, 16 rounds of 9x19mm ammo per magazine)
F-1 defensive fragmentation grenades x5
Damascus steel knife x1
6H5 bayonet x1
Terrorist balaclava x1
Half-face mask x1
PACA soft body armor (Level 2) x2
MK1 chest rig x1
SOE micro chest rig x1
Sterile bandages x6
Golden Star Balm x1
Beef sausage x2
Bottled beer x1
Apocalypse Coins x30,000
He stared at the loot, slightly dazed. This is insane.
He crammed everything he could into his backpack, realizing the chest rigs also provided additional inventory space. He equipped the larger one, a 16-slot MK1, boosting his capacity to 41. He quickly tidied the scene, slinging the rifles over his shoulders and grabbing the body armor. Then he sprinted back to his shelter.
His heart sang with the thrill of his first big score. The greater the risk, the greater the reward. Ancient wisdom holds true.
Back in the safety of his shelter, he slammed the door shut and collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily. Carrying all that gear had been a workout. But the grin plastered on his face wouldn't fade. This was his first real step towards security.
Half an hour later, he'd organized his loot. He examined the Apocalypse Coins, 30,000 worth of 1000-denomination bills.
I have everything I need to upgrade the rest area now, he thought. Thirty minutes to a better night's sleep.
He grabbed the matches, blanket, and 5000 Apocalypse Coins, approaching the cot. The upgrade prompt had changed:
Rest Area
Effect: Restores 80% Stamina during sleep. Consumes 40% Hunger, 30% Thirst.
Note: Trust us, it's better than sleeping on the floor.
Next Stage: Rest Area Level 1
Requirements: 5000 Apocalypse Coins, Blanket x1, Matches x1
Upgrade Time: 30 minutes
Upgrade available. Proceed with upgrade?
He didn't hesitate.
"Yes!"
The cot, along with the placed items and coins, shimmered, enveloped in a soft, warm light.