Re: Apocalypse Game

Alan gradually regained consciousness in the dimly lit Roman dungeon.

His vision was initially blurred, and his body ached with pain. As he tried to assess his surroundings, he cast his gaze upon the empty space where his right arm had once been. The wound had been cauterized by the game's mechanics, leaving behind a gruesome reminder of the violent act that had taken place.

In the real world, losing a limb would be a traumatic experience, but within the confines of this game, it was a mere setback. Alan knew that once the round concluded, he could visit the next town, expend 5000 survival points, and regrow his missing arm in a virtual reconstruction chamber. However, for the time being, his inability to wield his sword arm was a significant hurdle in the tasks and challenges that lay ahead in this round.

To add to his distress, Alan realized that his prized weapon, the [Third Reich Sword], was nowhere to be found.

"Damn you, scarface!" Alan muttered, his anger reverberating within the dungeon's stone walls. His outburst drew the attention of other prisoners in nearby cells, their curious and empathetic gazes directed at the man who had survived an ordeal.

"Alan! Thank God you're alive!" Bill shouted from the cell across from him. Singdal and the Thailand players were also present, albeit in separate cells.

"How long was I out?" Alan inquired, his voice reflecting his disorientation.

"A few hours," Bill replied. "It's just past noon."

Before Alan could fully grasp his new reality, the dungeon was intruded upon by a group of figures, and the first face that met his weary gaze was that of Zencher. The French player entered with a mocking tone, taunting, "Did you have a good sleep?" A sly chuckle accompanied his words. "I've brought a friend to join the party."

Alan's eyes followed Zencher's gesture, and there, to his surprise, stood a man in a U.S. military uniform. It was Captain Farell, a familiar face from his previous life.

Captain Farell appeared slightly anxious as his eyes scanned the dreary dungeon surroundings. Alan couldn't contain his curiosity and asked, "Why are you here, Captain?"

Farell's initial expression of confusion shifted to a more stern countenance as he responded, "I was sent here by Captain Carter to negotiate with the leader of the French server." He turned to gesture toward Alan, his voice heavy with concern.

"It's fortunate I came here... to hear that you dared to reject cooperation with them. What are you trying to do, Alan? Are you trying to get us all killed!"

Alan, hearing the captain's explanation, refrained from arguing and asked, "Alright, what did Axel want you to do?"

Captain Farell cleared his throat and replied, "Lord Axel invited us to come fight together here in the Roman castle. It was a kind offer, and I will make sure it is properly conveyed."

As the captain outlined the situation, Zencher began to open the cell door where Bill and the others were held, announcing, "You are all free to go, courtesy of Lord Axel."

The players initially cheered at the prospect of freedom, until they realized that this courtesy didn't extend to Alan. Bill voiced their concern, asking, "What are you trying to do with him?" Zencher calmly responded, "He argues too much. If you wish to accompany him, you are welcome to."

Alan approached Bill with a hushed tone, his words barely audible above the dungeon's hushed murmurs. He carefully handed over his [Spatial Ring], a gesture laden with unspoken implications. Bill, the CEO, quickly grasped the message, his expression shifting from defiance to understanding.

Zencher's reassurance did little to ease the tension in the dungeon, but he attempted to offer some comfort. "Don't worry," he said, his voice cutting through the dim, dank atmosphere. "This dungeon may be dirty, but it's the safest place in all of Britannia." A wry chuckle escaped him, an eerie contrast to their dire circumstances.

A particular look passed between Alan and Singdal. It was laden with gratitude for the assistance rendered and a shared hope for their safety. As the others left the dungeon, the weight of isolation settled upon Alan's shoulders, leaving him as the sole occupant of the desolate, stone-walled chamber.

In the solitude of the dungeon, with its stone walls embracing him, Alan's mind raced at full throttle. The events of the day were a stark reminder of how fragile things could become in this perilous world. He berated himself for his recklessness, realizing that if Axel, the Frenchman, had been even slightly more merciless, it would have spelled a Game Over for him. His limited survival points at the moment only compounded the urgency of his situation.

Frustration boiled within Alan, driving him to scream out his irritation. Giving up was not an option, for he still had so much to achieve, and this cell would not be the end of him.

One of the intriguing aspects of this game was that, despite being captured, no other player could access his inventory without his permission or unless an item was forcefully removed, such as his sword. Consequently, Alan still had several items on his person that could potentially aid in escaping the cell.

"Time for some science," he mumbled, his determination unwavering.

However, just as he was about to embark on his makeshift escape plan, a sudden explosion rocked the dungeon. The forceful detonation blew apart the wall opposite him, and a group of figures strode into the cells. At their forefront was Merle, the Crimson Gunner, and he was accompanied by his loyal group of rednecks.

"Alan, I'm here to rescue you!!" Merle announced with a grin while his arm showed his Crimson riffle and shout. "Now you owe me!!"