Endzone: Simulated Apocalypse

"Go on," Doctor Finch said like a drunkard, leaning back in his rotating chair. "Ask me anything."

Cyanide was dubious about whether or not he could actually trust this guy's information. Hell, he wasn't even human anymore. He was made of machinery, already having lost his life long ago.

Still, it's not like he had any other options. He decided to at least hear Doctor Finch out, since his theories did sound interesting if nothing else.

"Let's start with the basics, then," Cyanide said, grabbing a nearby chair of similar architecture to the Doctor's and sitting down in it. "What, really, is this place?"

"This place is my private lab, Aterra Headquarters, kid!" Doctor Finch laughed boldly, earning him a deadpan glare from Cyanide.

"… You know full well what I mean, old man. But if you're only going to make bad jokes like that… I guess coming here was a waste of time."

"Hahaha! I like you, kid," Doctor Finch said, then fell silent for several seconds.

"But… are you sure you want to know?"

"… Why? Will it be dangerous for me if I discover this information?"

"Yes, boy. Very."

"Cool. My life's been dangerous since the day I was born."

Doctor Finch shrugged. "All right… just don't say I didn't warn you. All the players I've told this information in the past… were promptly eliminated. They control everything here. It is as easy as snapping their finger to kill you."

"Oh? I hate to say it, but I've never been one to leave my fate in another's hands. If they want to kill me, so be it."

Doctor Finch glanced at him, then sighed. "Tell me, boy. Why did you people from that other world come here?"

"All sorts of reasons," Cyanide replied, relieved that they were finally getting into a topic worth discussing. "Money, power, just like you said. And others, like me, are just searching for a new challenge to take on. The final standing player of this survival game can have any one wish of theirs granted."

Hearing this, Doctor Finch chuckled.

"Ha. It's all fake."

Cyanide furrowed his brows slightly. "… What?"

"You're not the first ones to have come here, y'know. There were others in the past, who were also invited to come participate in this 'survival game.' But do you want to know one thing they all had in common?" Doctor Finch smirked, revealing human-like teeth. "… None returned."

"… Not even the last one?"

"Not even the last one," Doctor Finch confirmed with a sinister smile. "Do you understand what this means, boy?"

"… They lied to us, huh?" Cyanide muttered. He had already been expecting this when he first was debriefed about the game, but he had still came here since the reward wasn't what he sought anyway.

"That's the less important part, kiddo. Think about it. Why would they bring so many people here into this survival game, only to kill them off?"

"Entertainment…?"

"Perhaps. I'm not too sure of the reason myself. But something tells me this entire simulation… it's home to a far grander purpose. That's not any of my concern though—that, is for you 'players' to figure out, haha!"

It would seem that even Doctor Finch didn't know everything. He had merely drawn conclusions based on the previous generations of players, many of which came to see him the same way Cyanide was doing now.

Judging from the dust settled on all the objects he had seen so far, however, the previous batch was probably quite a bit ago. Either that, or the world was just somehow reset into a clean state every time this game—this simulation—was run.

But the problem was…

"… This place… it's not really a simulation, is it?"

Cyanide's words were quiet. Cold, even. But they struck true within Doctor Finch's heart.

"… You noticed from the very beginning, didn't you?"

"…"

"You noticed, yet you still came here. Why, kid? All this, for a challenge? You're nothing but a player here. Everything is in control by the admins, the Gamemaster. All of this. The apocalypse, the virus, it was planned by them. You are just a lowly pawn, one of many, and you want to disobey your king? This isn't a joke. You can really die."

"I'm well aware," Cyanide replied, mouth twisting up into a smirk. "But… where's the thrill without the fear of death?"

Doctor Finch stared at Cyanide for a few moments longer, then sighed and shook his head.

"… You're a crazy one, kid. Even more crazy than me, heh."

"Hm. What's your goal now, Doctor Finch?" Cyanide asked, raising an eyebrow and expertly changing the topic. "Are you just sitting here all day, without meaning and purpose?"

"What else is there to do? I'm not physically strong, even if I am a Stage Three Mutant now. Everyday, I'm reminded of my own unholy existence. I've tried killing myself before, but nothing will kill me. After a while, I just gave up. There's nothing left of my old world. Nothing left of the man I once was. I am but an empty shell now."

"So?"

"… What?"

"I said, so?" Cyanide repeated, folding his arms once more. "You may just be an empty shell now, but I can give you a new purpose. Help me break out of this game. Help me… defeat the Gamemaster."

"Oh? And what rewards will I stand to gain by doing this?" Doctor Finch taunted, spinning around in his chair and swiveling a pen between his fingers. "Don't get cocky now, kid. I told you what little knowledge I knew about the truth behind this world, this game, because you made me laugh. Nothing more. Watch your bounds—even if I am not that physically strong… that is in comparison to the other Stage Three Mutants and higher in this city. I can still tear you apart, right here, right now."

Knowing full well he was stepping on dangerous territory, Cyanide continued undaunted.

"Don't bluff, old man. I know hatred when I see it. Many of my assassination targets had the same look on your face when I murdered their allies," he said with a devilish smirk. "They followed soon after, of course," he added. "But that hate in your eyes isn't directed as me. Instead… it's the Gamemaster, isn't it? You hate him for what he's done to your old world. To you. All for the sake of running this simulation for purposes still unknown to us."

After several seconds of hesitation and thought, the Doctor replied.

"… And so what if I hate them? Ha! I don't care who you were back in your old world, but if you think you can fight back against absolute authority, you've never worked under someone before."

"Oh, trust me, I have," Cyanide rebuked. "Ever since I was six, I've been working for a professional underground assassin agency known as the Nighthawks. But so what? I did what I wanted. The authorities tried to do something about it, but none were strong enough to go against me. Anyone who tries to control me… either ends up controlled by me, or in a body bag. The Gamemaster is no exception."

In text, Cyanide sounded haughty. Overconfident. But in reality, there was no arrogance in his voice. Only cold, hard, truth.

And in that moment, Doctor Finch saw. A terrifying look within this young adult's eyes, who seemed to be 22 at best. Something colder, darker than anything the Doctor had witnessed before. Something that could only be manifested after thousands of kills. Something that could only belong to someone who saw life as a privilege that could be taken away at any given moment, not a right.

"If you don't wish to join me, that's fine," Cyanide said, turning around so his back was facing Doctor Finch. "But just remember: this is your one and only chance to become my ally. For the next time we meet… I'll kill you."

The Doctor knew he was not bluffing. This was not an empty threat. A terrible feeling of dread creeped up the Doctor's mechanical heart as he stared at the back of this frightening boy, as if he was seeing the Grim Reaper himself.

This boy was different from all the rest. Fate, Destiny, Gods and Angels, none could control him. He was a wild, untamable beast, but also a cold and calculating assassin. He held his life in his own hands, and steered his own ship.

His name was Cyanide, raised to be the 'ultimate' human being.

And he did not let anyone roll the dice.