The mischievous gamer God

Weiss and Blake carefully walked through the prison, their eyes locked on the rows of rusted cell doors lining the grimy concrete corridor. Each step echoed ominously, and both girls knew that at any moment, those doors could come crashing open and the creatures locked within would be on them. The air was heavy with mildew and blood, and the flickering overhead lights barely held back the darkness that clung to the corners.

Inside one of the cells, Blake suddenly stopped and narrowed her eyes. Through the grimy bars, she spotted a hulking, grotesque figure—massively built, with sickly mottled flesh, wearing a crude metal helmet bolted into his skull. His muscles bulged unnaturally beneath his tattered prison garb, and in his hands, he gripped a rusted Warhammer the size of a tree trunk.

Blake took an instinctive step back and muttered, "Yeah… I don't want to fight that thing. He looks like a bullet sponge."

They reached the far end of the prison only to find their path blocked by a gate. A mechanism that should've opened it was missing—specifically, a gear had been removed. Just beyond the gate, on the other side, sat a mounted flamethrower anchored into the floor. It looked old but deadly, connected by a line running from its base to a gas main bolted to the adjacent wall.

Weiss eyed the setup warily and said, "Alright, Blake. Let's go look for the missing piece."

As they turned back down the corridor, Blake trailed her fist against the wall near the gate, tapping rhythmically as she walked. The faint, dull thumps echoed strangely. Weiss furrowed her brow and glanced at her partner. "What are you doing?"

Blake stopped, tapped the wall again, then said sharply, "Do you hear that?" She tapped once more, tilting her head. "It's hollow. There's either a hidden room or some kind of void on the other side of the gas main."

Weiss blinked and asked, "And what does that do for us?"

Blake didn't answer right away. Instead, she turned and walked back over to the gate, her amber eyes scanning. That's when she spotted a small surveillance camera mounted high in the corner of the room full of cells, its lens aimed squarely at the gate mechanism.

Blake's expression hardened. "As soon as we get this gate open, whoever's been watching us is going to trigger something—probably open all those cells and let everything in here come pouring down on us."

Weiss frowned, her grip tightening on the shotgun. "You're right. But what can we do?"

Blake stared at the gas main again. A spark of resolve lit in her eyes. "Get back against the wall."

Weiss's eyes widened. "You're not going to—"

But before she could finish, Blake backed up several steps, raised her handgun, and fired.

The shot rang out, echoing through the chamber. The bullet whistled cleanly through the bars of the gate and struck the gas main dead center. For a split second, nothing happened. Then the gas ignited with a deafening boom, sending a fireball ripping through the air.

The explosion blasted Weiss and Blake off their feet, slamming them into the floor. The flamethrower ripped from its mount, hurtling across the room like a missile and smashing through the gate with a thunderous crash.

Groaning, Weiss pushed herself up, brushing ash and debris from her clothes, and said breathlessly, "You've been hanging out with Yang too much."

Blake winced as she got up, her ears still ringing. "Sorry—I just didn't want to waste time wandering around this hellhole looking for a gear. But hey, it worked. And… I'm pretty sure this confirms we don't have our aura here."

Weiss nodded slowly, her expression tense. "Yeah, I noticed that too," she muttered, rubbing her shoulder.

They climbed to their feet and made their way through the broken gate, stepping cautiously over the scorched floor. On the other side, they reached another gate, this one boarded up with old wooden planks. Weiss sighed, then handed the shotgun to Blake and started pulling at the boards.

But as soon as she began prying the first plank loose, a sharp alarm started blaring from somewhere above. Red warning lights bathed the prison in a sinister glow—and then, with a mechanical hiss, all the cell doors slammed open at once.

From within the cells, The Afflicted came pouring out—grotesque, mutated prisoners twisted by pain and madness, covered in sores and scars, armed with jagged tools and pipes.

Blake's eyes widened in alarm. "I knew it!" she hissed, raising her handgun and firing a shot clean through the skull of the nearest Afflicted.

The creature crumpled, and Blake quickly turned to the next, placing careful, rapid shots into its chest and head while Weiss worked furiously to rip off the last boards.

Then the massive figure from earlier—the hammer-wielding brute known as the Iron Head—came charging toward her, his bloodshot eyes burning with hate. Blake shot him again and again, but he soaked up every bullet like they were nothing.

Before she could retreat, he was on her. The Warhammer came down in a blur of rusted steel and raw force.

"Oh crap!" Blake gasped, ducking low at the last second. The hammer cleaved through the air where she'd just been.

From her crouch, Blake yanked up the double-barrel, shoved it against his exposed stomach, and fired point-blank. The boom of the shotgun echoed like thunder. The creature's torso erupted in a shower of gore, his spine obliterated by the blast. He collapsed with a sickening thud.

But there was no time to breathe. More Afflicted, along with another Iron Head, were barreling toward her.

Weiss shouted from behind, "It's open! Come on!"

Blake turned and sprinted for the now-open gate, diving through it as Weiss followed close behind. They ran straight into another shutter door—but without hesitation, both girls grabbed the bottom and heaved it up with all their strength, squeezing through the narrow gap before slamming it shut behind them.

Panting heavily, Weiss leaned against the wall and exhaled deeply. "We did it…"

Blake looked around and gave a tired grin. "Yeah. And bonus—we're outside. And it's still daylight. We've got time to find a place to rest."

As they walked through the stone arch into an open grass clearing, a soft buzzing sounded from their bracelet devices. A cocky voice crackled through: "Quite the clever little mice you two are. I worked really hard setting up those traps — yet you just blew right past them."

Blake's ears twitched, lips curling in offense. "Did that woman just call me a mouse? I'm a cat, thank you very much."

Weiss ignored Blake's indignation, her voice precise and cool. "Who are you, and what do you want?" she demanded into her bracelet.

The voice replied, smooth and unnerving: "I am the Overseer — because fear needs an audience... and a conductor." Then it continued, "You must go to the Wosseck, where life begins." And abruptly, the transmission cut off.

"Fantastic," Weiss whispered, narrowing her eyes in frustration. "I have no idea what that is."

Blake glanced toward the horizon. "Let's just look for a landmark and head towards it. That radio tower looks pretty good." She pointed confidently toward a tall, skeletal tower looming through the trees.

"As good a place as any, I suppose," Weiss conceded, tucking her hair behind her ear.

They set off down a narrow dirt trail, passing bushes and swaying grasses. A few minutes later, they paused at the edge of an old, crumbling wooden bridge. Boards were broken, gaps gaped wide; planks creaked under weight.

"Not really much of an obstacle, is it?" Weiss remarked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah… not really," Blake agreed.

Without hesitation, Blake sprinted forward, tucking into a graceful somersault that cleared the gap perfectly. Weiss followed in stride, leaping over the void with practiced precision and landing lightly on the other side.

Once across, they continued toward the tower. Upon arrival, they entered the base to check its interior instruments. Blake scanned dials and screens. "I think this is a good place to rest," she said with a relieved exhale.

Weiss was about to reply when she peered out the window—and froze. A large sign stood outside, featuring a chibi drawing of Tet and an arrow pointing left. Blake leaned forward to see the same.

"I think we should go see what that's about," Weiss said, curiosity flickering in her gaze.

They exited and followed the sign's direction. A few minutes later, they rounded a clearing and saw an RV inexplicably powered with its interior lights on, despite not being hooked up to anything. It looked out of place in the overgrown field.

Approaching cautiously, they found a note taped next to the door. Weiss read it aloud:

> "Dear Weiss and Blake:

In the actual game, you were supposed to find ammunition and other items just laying around. Resources would have been scarce but available — but this world is both a game and a real, living world. Items won't just appear randomly. So, to compensate, I've placed rest stops here and there — safe havens where you can rest and replenish.

At each rest stop, you'll also be rewarded with points. Everything you've achieved prior to arriving counts toward your total. These points can be exchanged for better weapons, equipment — but food and drinks will be free of charge. Because it'd be pretty boring if you starved and got booted out as a result."

Blake nodded, her voice light but pleased. "Well, that's nice of him. Let's go inside and see about these points he's talking about."

Inside, they discovered a surprisingly cozy setup: a sitting area with a table and television, a small kitchenette with working stove, cabinets stocked with non-perishable food, refrigerator and freezer full, and a sink with flowing water. A hallway led to a fully functioning bathroom with a shower. A comfy bedroom with two beds awaited at the rear. In the driver's seat area stood a terminal in place of the steering wheel.

Blake eyed the terminal suspiciously but then noticed ammo boxes perched nearby: one box of handgun rounds, one box of shotgun shells, plus two curious aerosol cans—high-powered wearable flashlights. Weiss tossed aside her blood-stained original flashlight with relief.

"Good. I don't have to use that thing anymore," she said lightly. "Let's check how many points we have and what we can exchange them for. Then… I'm taking a shower."

They booted up the terminal. The first thing displayed:

1. Achievement #1: Survived the Detention Center — 1,000 points

2. #2: Eliminated six regular enemies — 600 points

3. #3: Eliminated one elite enemy — 400 points

4. #4: Escape the detention center in record time — 500 points

5. #5: Escaped using outside-the-box thinking — 500 points

Total Points: 3,000

Weiss raised an eyebrow. "So… is that a lot or not?"

Blake began scrolling through exchanges. "Kind of. It's enough to upgrade our gear—but that's about it." After a moment's consideration, Weiss selected a handgun for herself: an M1911. It materialized instantly in her hand as if by magic, and 1,000 points were deducted.

"A thousand points for a pistol? That's pretty steep. Oh well—go big or go home, I guess."

Next, Blake purchased a Mossberg pump-action shotgun. Then, after some discussion, they used the remaining points on gear: holsters for their shotguns (25 points each), a combat knife for Weiss (50 points), two more boxes of handgun ammo (25 points each), and another box of shotgun shells (50 points).

They divided the ammunition equally: 30 shotgun shells and 75 handgun bullets each, loaded and holstered their weapons.

Weiss headed to shower while Blake prepared some dinner in the cozy kitchenette.

After dinner, the two of them laid down to rest. The dim light from the RV's ceiling gently flickered, casting soft shadows across the walls. The hum of the generator outside was the only sound that filled the silence.

Weiss pulled the blanket up to her shoulders, her back slightly turned but her voice soft. "Goodnight, Blake. Hopefully tomorrow will be less horrifying."

Blake gave a quiet chuckle from the bed across the room, her tone dry and amused as she stretched out comfortably. "We're in a horror game. It's only gonna get worse from here."

Weiss rolled her eyes, her expression a mix of sarcasm and weary resignation as she let out a long sigh. "Oh, joy."

She closed her eyes, her body still tense despite the warmth of the blanket. Blake, on the other hand, stared at the ceiling for a few moments longer, her amber eyes reflective in the low light before slowly drifting shut.