He crouched low and moved through the booths and tables to the middle of the small room, where he crouched behind a salad bar with a view of the kitchen to wait. Three members of the Hound team entered cautiously, stopping to whisper to each other. Finished giving instructions, the head of the group started moving through the room carefully, raising his rifle to his shoulder as he headed through the trail towards the kitchen.

  The Messenger gripped in his hand, Kurt smiled and watched while they entered the doorway and stopped. The leader turned back and directed his two teammates with hand motions, silently returning to the kitchen. One of the team stayed in the kitchen doorway, covering the room with their SMG while the other began walking slowly among the tables and chairs, looking for Kurt with shotgun raised. Moving to keep out of their line of sight, Kurt slipped around the corner of the salad bar and waited for the microwave. Shotgun Hound moved ever closer, until Kurt was staring at his combat boots while counting down the seconds.

  “What the hell?” A voice from the kitchen spoke the instant before an explosion sounded, a gout of flame erupting from the doorway and setting off the fire alarm. Red light flashed through the restaurant from emergency bulbs in the ceiling as Kurt moved quickly. He stood and turned the corner of the salad bar, gripping the shotgun and keeping it low while he slammed the Hound’s head through the salad bar’s sneeze guard. Kurt raised his magnum and shoved it under the Hound’s chin, before pulling the trigger and turning the player into a cloud of black smoke.

  Automatic weapon fire rang out in the small restaurant and Kurt ducked low as he ran for the exit. Bullets snapped through the air around him and tore apart condiment containers as he scrambled away from the shooter. Gripping the Messenger tight, he stepped outside and put his back to the wall beside the door to wait. As the SMG Hound chased him outside, Kurt pressed the gun to her temple and squeezed the trigger. Hearing the proximity of the group running towards him, Kurt knew he wouldn’t be able to make it to a new hiding place. Instead, he slid into place behind the open door, tucking into the shadows and waiting with the Messenger gripped tightly.

  As soon as the team entered the building they swung around to clear their corners and check behind the open doors. Kurt was ready. He squeezed the trigger, Messenger aimed at roughly gut level. The Hound he hit double up with a grunt, having taken the round in the plated armor covering his stomach. Kurt pressed the weapon to his forehead and pulled the trigger again, stepping through the cloud of inky smoke that dropped to the ground. The leader of the team lifted a long barreled shotgun, but Kurt shoved the weapon aside and stepped inside its range, gripping the other man around the neck and holding him tight as he aimed over his shoulder. The man’s team-mate made an undignified noise as Kurt let him have a round to the chest. In a panic, he lifted his light machine gun and unleashed it into his team leader. Kurt shoved forward, heaving the armored man into his friend to absorb the rounds. He struck his friend and knocked him onto his ass even as he puffed into a cloud of silver dust.

  Kurt stood above the last man with the Messenger pointed down and waited. As the dust cleared, the man on the floor glared up at him for an instant before Kurt pulled the trigger and ran out of the restaurant, thick black smoke swirling at his feet.

  “Over here Molly!” a player shouted before lifting their tube launcher and pointing it at Kurt. He scrambled past a novelty ice cream kiosk, sprinting away from the tromp of booted feet coming towards him. The kiosk detonated, scattering tiny frozen beads of ice cream all over the food court. He ran flat out for the darkened interior of the shopping center, heading deeper into the assorted shops. The sound of that monster shotgun rang out behind him again, and Kurt took a hit to his back before he dove into cover behind a map kiosk in the middle of the walkway. His health had regenerated, but now dipped down below ten percent. He couldn’t take another hit, and he was stuck in the middle of the broad walkway between shops. Kurt scrambled to reload the Messenger, as the armored woman stopped close by, also reloading and rallying what was left of her team to her.

  “How many are left?” An urgent whisper came from around the other side of his kiosk, too close for Kurt’s comfort. She slowly advanced, her remaining team-mates at her back.

  “Just the three of us. Where is he Molly?” The responding voice was clearly nervous. “Those sounds his weapon makes, all the smoke . . . what the hell is it?”

  “Use hand signals for our numbers!” Molly responded in a harsh whisper, clearly unhappy with her crew. “It’s just a Unique, calm down. See the smoke? He’s behind that kiosk, just blast him.”

  Deciding it was time to make an impression, Kurt stood and tore a flashbang from the quick release pad at his back, tossing it at their feet. He ducked low as it went off with a resonating bang and waited for the onslaught he knew was coming. The shotgun rang out, accompanied by the automatic weapons to either side, sending bits of glass and plastic spinning all around Kurt. Their panicked blind fire finished, Kurt stood and casually walked the few steps over to them, shooting Molly’s friends each in the face. He paused in front of her for a moment, watching as she struggled to reload her shotgun. The drum magazine clattered and slid along the bottom of the weapon, before Molly gave up and shook her head in frustration.

  “Well played anyway, Molly.” Kurt said as he lifted the Messenger and shot her point blank. As he moved to find a stairwell up, Kurt glanced at his phone to see the thirty minute marker slide by with a chime. The enemy count was now down to just under two hundred. He grinned as he approached an emergency exit door that promised stairs behind it.

  Kurt cracked the door open carefully, peering down the dark stairwell before entering. He shrugged at the emptiness and clicked his flashlight on, starting the climb at a leisurely jog, the assumption that nobody would want to climb forty flights of stairs to get to him keeping him going. He huffed up the stairs, glancing downward every so often to make sure his flashlight beam was the only one he could see.

  Stopping at the fortieth floor to rest, Kurt caught his breath. “This is a wonderful time waster.” It’d take any enemy team minutes to climb all the way up to get to him.

  Then came the heavy sound of helicopter rotors from above, and he slumped in despair as the roof door above him slammed open, daylight pouring in. “Oh, come on!” Kurt whispered to himself.

  Peering up, Kurt saw almost two dozen players coming down the stairs towards him. He quickly ducked out onto the nearest floor, immediately realizing his mistake as he took in the mostly empty area. The floor was unused and had nothing but a handful of construction equipment clusters set up in it — a few cans of empty paint, a hand truck here or there, but nothing substantial enough to even hide behind. The windows were also uncovered, allowing plenty of the late afternoon sunlight to pour in and illuminate the empty floor. A quick glance at his map showed the new team encroaching down the stairs quickly, and Kurt could hear shouts of excitement and heavy boot falls echoing in the stairwell behind him.

  Running out of time, Kurt grabbed all four of his smoke sticks from the ankle holster and popped the caps on them, running in a circle around the central pillar and throwing each of them in a spread-out pattern on the floor. That finished, he grabbed one of his flares and waited, his back pressed to the elevator door while the entire floor began to fill with tactical smoke. As soon as he could hear players, he popped the cap on his flare and tossed it across the room, aiming for a corner by the windows.

  Right on time, the door slammed open and a group of players filed in, several of them commenting on the smoke. Kurt smiled as the sticks sputtered out, their job complete. He couldn’t see much past his own nose and smiled as he pulled up his map to navigate.

  “Where is he?”

  “Who’s got thermals?”

  “What the hell?”

  The voices continued as more players entered the now smoke-filled floor, each one pinging on the map and making Kurt’s job that much easier. He slid around the central column and stood out in the open, close to the players, as a voice with more authority emerged from the stairwell. “Everyone stay quiet! I have thermals, form up on me, stay close.”

  A quick glance at the players brushing past him told him this was not a regular group like the last one he had faced. These people had teamed up on the fly to stop him from winning, and likely were in different factions. Kurt pulled off his mask and fell in with the group, moving in close behind the makeshift leader with the thermal goggles.

  “Oh, sorry,” Kurt hissed.

  “Not that close. Stay within visual range. This bastard is hiding in the smoke somewhere.” The man had no clue who Kurt was.

  His eyes rolled unconsciously, and Kurt stepped up close behind the leader. “Got it, boss. Just tell me where to shoot.”

  The leader nodded, turning as he strapped his thermals in place. He performed a quick visual sweep of the team at his back, and then the room. “There!” His voice was a hissed whisper as he lifted a rifle to his shoulder and aimed carefully. He fired off a few rounds, before starting towards the corner where Kurt had thrown the flare. “On me!”

  His rifle fired in three round bursts, and as he moved he stopped to shoot a handful more times. Kurt heard the bullets crack into the windows and shook his head slightly, remembering to stay in character. “You get him, boss?” Kurt asked. He kept his own voice low, Glock raised as he moved with the group of Hounds. They arrived at the corner, and the leader stepped up to investigate the flare.

  Kurt pointed at the various players around them, giving vague hand signals to direct them. He created a small perimeter, each player facing outward as the group spread across that section of the room. That done, he turned and stepped up behind the group’s leader as he picked up the now burnt out flare.

  “What the—” His question was cut off as Kurt shoved him hard. The man stumbled and fell through the shot-up window, shattering it and plummeting with a piteous wail.

  Smoke began to pour out of the new hole in the building as Kurt turned and pointed behind the group towards the stairwell. “Behind us!” He fired his Glock over a nearby player’s shoulder, ducking behind them as the player he had shot returned fire. Suddenly the map began to fill with bright red traitor dots, and Kurt chuckled as he moved to sow more confusion. “OVER THERE!” he shouted and fired his Glock in another burst. He aimed for players, figuring a basic position from their pings to his map, but he didn’t bother trying to kill any of them, merely encouraging the crossfire already taking place.

  Kurt ducked behind a player in heavy armor and stayed close to his back as they pivoted in place, gunning down their friends as they were flagged as traitors on the map. The heavily armored Hound never realized they had also been flagged as a traitor, and panic spread quickly through the ranks as more and more of the two dozen players became flagged. Kurt left the group as their fire fight continued in earnest, ducking behind the central pillar and reloading his Glock before holstering it. He leaned back against the wall and watched the fun unfold on his map, as the enemy team did his work for him.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  A single player ran over to him in a panic, shooting over his shoulder as he went. “What the hell is going on?” the hapless player asked.

  “I don’t know, man, I just hid. Everybody’s goin’ nuts!” Kurt had to suppress the snicker in his voice. “I kinda just wanna go back to hitting armored cars.”

  “Yeah, I hear that.” The gunfire dwindled and faded out as the glaring red dots on the map vanished. “Holy shit are we all that’s left?” His new friend paused to glance at his wrist.

  “No.” Kurt turned away and put his wolf mask back on. He lifted the Messenger at his buddy. “You’re all that’s left.” The player turned, realization replacing confusion as Kurt stepped forward and pulled the trigger at point blank range.

  The forty-five minute chime sounded, and Kurt smiled widely.

  Before he could congratulate himself too much, the building shook, rocked by a series of powerful explosions. Swaying on his feet, Kurt staggered over to the broken window. Gripping the edge and looking down, he saw the reason for the explosions. The long-bodied trailer truck he had seen on the freeway earlier had arrived and set up shop at the base of the building, guarded by three tanks. The Smerch was upon him.

  The truck had extended long, metal bracing legs and the rack of tubes on its back had lifted to point at the building’s lobby. As Kurt watched, several puffs of flame and smoke erupted from its back end, sending rockets slamming into the building’s base. The floor shook and the building screamed as metal tore and everything began to list ever so slightly. Kurt gaped as the floor shifted beneath his feet. An empty paint can tumbled and rolled past him, plummeting from the window as the scream of twisting metal continued, emanating from deep inside the structure. It appeared they had given up on hunting him down properly and were just going to bring the entire building down to get the kill. The rattle of an SMG and the sharp pain of wasp sting-like bullets taking out the last of his armor indicated the Smerch may have been too late.

  Kurt whirled on the source of the latest attack, spraying a magazine from his Glock at the biker in the doorway of the stairwell. “Enough!” he roared as he charged, ignoring the incoming fire and dropping the Glock when it ran dry. Kurt hauled the Messenger from its holster and fired three times while sprinting towards the white-suited biker. One round struck the biker in the chest, and he wheezed as he staggered backwards, trying to put the doorway between himself and Kurt while scrambling to reload his chrome-plated FN90. Kurt slammed into the door with a heavy kick, stepping around it as the biker stumbled with a pained grunt. He shot the Hound in the chest point blank three more times with the Messenger, staggering him backwards before Kurt stepped in close and shoved his helmet. The biker fell backwards over the railing of the stairwell and plummeted until he struck a railing a few floors down and puffed into silver dust directly beside Jimbo.

  The older man raised his hands. “Woah! Truce, kid!” He started walking towards Kurt again, wiping at the dust on his suit coat. “I came to help, but it seems like you’re doing just fine.”

  Kurt’s eyes narrowed at his mercurial acquaintance, the Messenger raising. “We really need to stop meeting like this.” He strongly considered just shooting the other man for a second.

  Jimbo continued climbing the stairs, not bothering to answer until he was close enough to be heard without shouting. “I happen to enjoy this mode. I’ll admit, I don’t play it often, but I like to check in and see who’s playing Fox. Might be somebody I know.” His eyebrow raised significantly at Kurt. “I saw you sign up and thought you could maybe use a friendly face,” Jimbo said. He shrugged, nodding at the Messenger with an impressed look. “Nice Unique. Guess I’m not that important after all, I didn’t get one.” Jimbo finished with a slow nod, standing before Kurt on the stairwell, hands in his pockets.

  “So you just showed up to help out? A friend indeed.” Kurt sniffed, holstering the Messenger after performing a reload. He moved to pick up his discarded Glock, reloading and holstering it too, keeping an eye on Jimbo as he did. “I’m touched, Jimbo.”

  “Ah, you got me.” The other man ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. “I came to say something, and it felt like it might have more weight here.” His gaze lifted to meet Kurt’s. “I’m in.”

  A sigh of relief attempted to escape Kurt, but he suppressed it, facing the other man. He removed his mask and tucked it away into his jacket pocket again, allowing a look of mild apprehension to cloud his features. “In? Like . . .”

  “Yeah, kid, the GoonStorm buyout. You and me, fifty-fifty. I know where it’s being held for transfer to the Ursa — all one big shipment, all dirty cash.” Jimbo stared at Kurt hard, watching for any kind of reaction.

  Kurt allowed himself some slight excitement, increasing his rate of breathing slightly and showing a faint smile. “Tomorrow then?”

  “GET DOWN, KID!” Jimbo charged the few steps between them and grabbed his jacket, throwing him sideways onto the floor. High caliber rounds ripped through the room, turning Jimbo into silver dust as the Harrier loomed in the broken window.

  Kurt rolled away, the screaming fire from the Harrier’s nose cannon tearing a swath through the floor as it attempted to track him. The pilot slipped away from the building, distraction not a friend to the hover-capable fighter jet. As the building continued to slowly lean, Kurt tumbled across the floor to the window and grabbed the edge as he stood up, leaning against the broken glass. He glanced at the timer and shook his head to see the fifty-five minute mark slide by. The Harrier approached again. “Well, at least I don’t have to fall forty floors to get killed,” Kurt said.

  The Harrier slid directly in front of him, the blowback from its jet engines swirling smoke all around as its underslung, multi-barreled gun began to spin up. Kurt raised a defiant gesture at the tinted cockpit, before ducking back onto the floor and going flat.

  A brightly painted orange and blue helicopter with the logo ‘Illusion City Tours!’ emblazoned on its side slammed into the Harrier from above, crushing its struts and shattering the cockpit of the jet in a scream of twisting metal and shattering glass. The Harrier fired wildly, its nose smashing against the building as it twisted out of control. With a surge of its engine, the helicopter lifted a few floors, and then dipped its nose, slamming into the top of the Harrier one final time.

  A piece of wing snapped off against the building as the Harrier spiraled towards the ground. The pilot ejected, shooting straight up out of sight in the air above the building. Now flagged, the helicopter swung back out from the building. It hung awkwardly, swaying back and forth until the Harrier’s pilot fell screaming into its rotors, puffing into silver dust with a horrible grinding sound.

  Kurt crawled to the ledge to see the rocket launcher truck start up again, with a dozen streaks of smoke lancing into the lobby and exploding in sequence. The entire building shuddered as something started to give, deep inside. Spiraling with jet black smoke pouring from its engines, the Harrier fell to land on top of a nearby tank and both erupted, launching a fireball into the air.

  The helicopter was back at his window, swaying and rocking as its engines sputtered. Gadot was visible in the cockpit, struggling with the control stick as she glanced between the building and her console, her red hair whipping around with the movement. Kurt took a deep breath and stood, moving back into the building a few steps. He nervously glanced at the helicopter outside of the window, trying to gauge the angle and distance he needed to jump for this insanity to be even remotely plausible. Gadot continued fighting to control the helicopter, shouting wordlessly at Kurt with what he assumed was a polite but firm instruction to jump. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted towards the window. Gadot rocked the helicopter sideways, exposing the open bay door as Kurt flung himself out.

  He slammed into the side of the helicopter, grabbing at a cargo net strapped onto the floor while his feet scrambled at the mangled struts for leverage. Gadot veered the helicopter away from the building as a series of loud cracks rang out over the roar of the rotors, and it began to collapse. The roar of steel and concrete tumbling to the ground deafened him to all else, and Gadot’s shouted instructions went unheard. A heavy dust cloud rose and provided them some cover from the machine gun fire that streaked towards them. The ground teams couldn’t get a proper line of sight to bring down the helicopter but were using their maps to get a general idea of where to shoot. Bullets snapped around them and filled the air, with only a handful sinking into the helicopter itself. Kurt turned to watch behind them as the building he had just occupied crashed into the ground, spreading chaos and destruction around it. The two buildings closest to it went down as well, dragged down by its collapse into them.

  Kurt scrambled more fully into the cabin, still clinging to the cargo net. “Holy crap, Gadot! Thanks for the save, but you . . .” He puffed out a breath. “I actually feel kind of bad for that guy.”

  “You never have to feel bad for anything you do to a player in a Harrier, Kurt. Not ever.” Gadot fought the stick as a heavy sniper round sunk into the helicopter, and their engines stalled. “Get ready, this won’t be pretty!” She aimed the helicopter at a nearby rooftop, beside the bay.

  Kurt braced himself, lying flat on the cabin’s floor. “I thought you couldn’t fly choppers?”

  “Not very well, no!” The helicopter’s engine cut out momentarily, stuttering back to life with a cough of heavy black smoke. Two separate alarms began to ring, blaring over the top of each other. “Missile lock. Jump, Kurt! Jump now!” She lowered the helicopter, holding her place over a nearby rooftop.

  Risking a glance back, Kurt saw the trail of the missiles streaking towards them from the ground near the collapsed buildings. The last gasp of the Smerch, it crumpled in a muted fireball as debris from the collapsing buildings crushed it. He let go of the net and fell backwards out of the open door, dropping a thankfully short distance onto the rooftop and rolling violently against the gravel. The missiles screamed over his head and slammed into Gadot’s tour helicopter one at a time, shoving it sideways through the air in a series of fiery explosions. From his prone position on the roof, he watched helplessly as the burning helicopter was drilled into a building by the succession of missiles and erupted in another explosion, showering the road with glass and burning metal.

  Kurt gave himself a moment to lay flat, rolling over onto his back and just breathing. As he lay on the hard, uncomfortable gravel, he pulled up his wrist to watch the timer run out one second at a time.

  The ruined city faded from around him, the celebratory tone ringing from his phone. He was loaded back into Jimmy’s lobby, Jimmy and Gadot already waiting for him. His friends were staring at him, a touch of awe on their faces.

  “Well done Kurt! Very well done,” Gadot said. She maintained a serious expression.

  Kurt smiled in response from his position flat on the floor.

  Jimmy lightly kicked him on the shoulder. “You’re famous now, brother. You should see the kind of stuff that’s going on in the forums.” He pulled his phone’s display back up, apparently having been watching the match after he was killed. “We have another Fox!”

  “Who the hell wants to be famous in this game?” Kurt grinned at his friend. His own phone was showing only the match end screen, a huge reward of five hundred million dollars his to claim. As soon as he hit the ‘accept’ button, his clean cash account spun up, pleasantly refilled with far more money than they needed for the Pirates’ missiles. The cash counter finished, and his phone started filling with skill up notifications. They completed their tally, and a reward chime sounded. He had unlocked a specialist class.

  Specialist Class

  The Wraith

  Naturally skilled at getting where they are feared and dispatching foes without discovery, The Wraith is a terrifying enemy to face, especially on the road. The Wraith specializes in striking from hiding, killing without mercy or hesitation, then fading away from retaliation unscathed.

  While The Wraith specialist class is equipped, a bonus percentage equal to 25 ranks is applied to each of the following skills:

  Ambush, Cartography, Combat Driving, Disguise, Driving, Gunslinger, Liar, Magnum Force, Planning, Small Arms, Sneak attack, Stealth, and Underhanded.

  Specialty services, clothing, vehicles, and weaponry have been unlocked for purchase and use. Lock Picking is 25% faster with this class equipped. Map presence is reduced by a further 25% with this class equipped. Player health and armor resilience while inside any vehicle is increased by 25%. Player weapon damage while inside any vehicle is increased by 25%.

  “I got a specialist class.” Kurt stared in pleased wonderment at his wrist.

  “The hell you did.” Jimmy glared angrily at him from across the couch. Kurt reached in his pocket and removed his business card holder. It had transformed into a small black skull with glittering red jewels in the eye sockets and a thin stream of black smoke rising from its empty nose holes. When he opened the jawbone, the smoke exhaled in a sigh and a jet black card with silver embossed lettering was extended, coming to rest on the bottom teeth of the skull. He offered the card to Jimmy, a smug look on his face.

  Jimmy snatched the card, shaking his head in wonderment. “Three years I worked for mine. Three years, man.” He sighed deeply, sitting back. “I shoulda played stealth.”

  Gadot leaned over, looking at Kurt’s card. “No, you shouldn’t have.” She smiled gently at him.