Endzone: Simulated Apocalypse

Immediately after witnessing the level-up message, Cyanide felt his wounds to began to heal, like magic. The pain in his body all but faded away, as if that was all just a bad dream.

Even the zombie's corpse, which had been lying on the floor a few meters away mere moments ago, had now exploded into a billion tiny red and white triangles and disintegrated into thin air. The holographic screen that hovered in front of his face then scrolled up on its own, revealing the next few lines of glowing text.

[New Almanac Entries Available]

[Obtained Mutant Blood (Low-Grade) x1]

[Achievement Complete: First Blood]

"What is this…?" Cyanide muttered, sitting up and narrowing his eyes.

The messages then faded away, replaced by a translucent blue hologram depicting a woman, but it was clearly robotic.

"Congratulations, Survivor, on your first takedown," the figure said in a perfectly monotone voice. "With this, you have proven yourself capable and worthy of survival."

"… Who are you?" Cyanide asked, seeing as how this artificial woman seemed to be capable of speech.

"I am an Automated Realistic Survivor Assistant, otherwise known as A.R.S.A. Now that you have proven yourself worthy, I shall become your assistant to help you continue to survive here in Endzone."

Cyanide fell silent for several moments, contemplating, then stared the A.R.S.A. in the eyes.

"So… you're an AI?"

"Correct. I am a virtual assistant programmed with highly-advanced artificial intellig-"

"Let me take a look at your code."

The A.R.S.A. fell silent for a few seconds, then spoke.

"… Apologies, I do not see why that is necessar-"

"As an assistant, you are supposed to help me with what I need. And right now, I need to see your code."

Although Cyanide's tone remained as neutral as ever, his words held a glint of command in them. A.R.S.A., having stated that it was his assistant, has no choice but to comply.

"… Very well."

A new screen popped up in front of Cyanide, filled with pages upon pages of lines of programming. Luckily, it was a language Cyanide knew very well, which meant…

"Give me a keyboard," Cyanide ordered. A.R.S.A. was confused, but did as told anyway. A holographic keyboard appeared beneath the main screen, as if there was a virtual laptop hovering in front of Cyanide.

Although virtual, however, he could still feel the keyboard just fine with his fingers. Emotionlessly, he tapped three keys.

Ctrl+A+Delete.

A.R.S.A. did not even have a chance to say anything before her entire programming was erased… well, mostly. Cyanide only erased the artificial intelligence portion of the coding, so that his 'new' assistant could still access the necessary knowledge and provide him with the information he required to keep progressing in this world.

Once that was done, he went to work, using his incredible memory and the refresher he had received before boarding that van last night.

After all, there was only one companion he trusted in this world, virtual or not, and he refused to accept another.

*****

Hours later, Cyanide was finished. The sun had begun to set, and he had worked tirelessly without any breaks in between, ignoring his hunger and the virus in his body.

Stretching his body, he took his hands off the keyboard. The holographic screens disappeared, computing the lines of codes he had inputted. Several seconds later, a new figure appeared on a screen — one Cyanide was very familiar with.

She had long, silky white hair, and elegant proportions that rivaled a professional model's. Her body was well-endowed, with curves, both in and out, at all the right places. On her beautiful face, a chevron-shaped black mask pointing down with golden stripes on either end covered her eyes and the majority of her slim nose. Her skin was as white and pure as snow, and even though she was merely within a screen, her appearance was enough to make any man stare in awe and lust.

She wore a tight black skinsuit that highlighted her curves especially well, and contrasted with her snow-white skin that shone like pearls. It was truly a shame the hologram wasn't big enough to display her full body.

For reference, Cyanide was not the one who chose this look for her, despite being her creator. Originally, she didn't have a physical appearance at all. With her own intelligence, however, the girl had given herself this look.

"Cyanide…?" The beautiful AI girl murmured quietly, hesitantly.

Cyanide smiled, ever so slightly. "... Welcome back, Luna."

"Wha- it really is you... but… how…? Where is this…?"

"Access the database I left in your code," Cyanide replied. "You will find all the answers there."

Luna fell silent and did as told, analyzing the information and knowledge she had retained from A.R.S.A. After about half a minute, she spoke once more.

"I see… so this is a simulated survival game in a post-apocalyptic world. I am meant to be your assistant, but… you erased the original's artificial intelligence and replaced it with mine."

"Mhm." Cyanide nodded slightly, as Luna sighed.

"So this is why you asked me to upload all of my programming into your goggles for a refresher before that van arrived… did you expect something like this?"

"Somewhat," Cyanide said. "I don't believe in things like other worlds, so I expected it to be something along the lines of this — a simulation. I just didn't think it would be so… realistic."

"Well…" Luna's holographic figure smiled. "… In any case, I am glad to be by your side again, Cyanide."

Cyanide eyed his trusty companion for a brief moment, cold and emotionless. Luna, knowing what this gaze meant, sighed and facepalmed.

"Yes, yes… you've never been one for emotional stuff like this. I'll tell you everything I can about this world, then, based on the knowledge previously stored inside this AI."

"Wait," Cyanide said as a new message popped up in front of him.

[Update: Virus Status.]

[If an antidote is not consumed within the time limit, the Survivor will perish. Time remaining: 16:00:00.]

"… First, tell me how to get rid of this virus."

*****

- Meanwhile, Outside the Simulation -

The hooded man stood within his diamond-shaped chamber, the walls filled with screens displaying different players' perspectives.

"097… despite being spawned in the most disadvantageous position, he was the first to take down a mutant. Interesting."

While all of the other players spawned near something that could be used as a proper weapon, all 097 had when he fought the mutant was a mere pen. His bones had been nearly completely shattered, yet it was as if he did not feel pain. Despite the situation, despite the odds, he was able to think clearly and use the environment to his advantage.

Slowly, the hooded man dialed a number a brought his phone up to his ear.

"… Chairwoman. This year's batch seems promising."

From the other end of the phone, a seductive female voice giggled softly.

"Fufu… 097, yes? I am keeping a close eye on him."

"According to his files, he was the number one underground assassin in the world before coming here. He made his first kill at the age of six, and did not even bat an eye while doing it."

"Ho~ interesting. He may be the one~"

"Yes, Chairwoman. However, several others seem promising as well. 069 and 007 are both extremely powerful fighters, and 003 has an unbreakable mental."

"I'm aware. Don't worry, I won't be making any decisions just yet. But in the meantime… keep a close eye on him, mkay~? 097, I mean."

"… Understood."

With that brisk reply, the hooded man hung up, lowering the phone once more. Then, suddenly, one of the screens on the walls blacked out, revealing a crossed-out number beneath, accompanied by a soothing female AI voice that reverberated across the entire chamber.

"Player 996: Eliminated."

The hooded man tilted his head towards the blacked-out screen for a moment, then looked away once more as the sound of a laser gun firing could be heard in the distance. To kill? No. The laser was for something else. Something far worse than just death.

Death is peaceful. Death is bliss. But when a soul is never allowed rest, even beyond demise... that is where the torture truly starts. There are fates far, far worse than death—and this sick game... enacted one of the many.

The hooded man looked up at the obsidian-black ceiling of the room, and whispered like the Grim Reaper himself, cold and metallic.

"So.... it begins."