David Clark [Clark - Game On

Game Master

Game On

David Clark

Game Master Copyright 2018 by David Clark. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover designed by Becky Narron
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Author David Clark
Visit my website at http://www.authordavidclark.com/
Printed in the United States of America

CONTENTS

Robert had no idea how long he and his friends have been trapped in a box barely big enough to stand up in; much less to stretch out in. It was dark and the air was hot and stale, even with the holes in the wall and the slits in the floor. A sense of depression and despair hung heavy over the group. It had been a while since any of the others had said anything. They yelled for what seemed like hours, but it was closer to just minutes. After no response from outside, each person pulled within themselves to ponder their situation in their own little space of their cramped confines.

For the first few minutes, the six friends thought this was just an accident. They hoped Christopher was stuck in the elevator, and cant get out to let them through. As time wore on, that dissipated into nothing. Along with any hope they would be let out soon.

When Michelle turned on her cellphone, they gained their first real look at their situation. With each detail they observed, any lingering hope that this was all a mistake, or even a joke, disintegrated. There was one truth that was now clear for them all to see. Their friend of the last several weeks led them here intending to trap them and, well, they dont know what else yet. In fact, no one speculated about it out loud, but they were thinking about it; it consumed Robert.

In this dark solitude all he could do was think. His mind raced through the possibilities; from ransom to murder and the more demented. He thought back to every interaction with Christopher over the last several weeks for anything that might give him a clue, a direction, a hint at what his motive might be. No matter how many times he reviewed it, nothing stood out. What was yet to come was anyones guess.

As he searched for answers, Robert was quick to discount the thought of ransom, he had no money, neither did Amy or his family. Then the thought, maybe someone else was the target emerged. He knew little about each of them; only what they told him or disclosed in other ways. It was possible that any one of them was hiding a secret life, something rather common with people you meet online (like he did each of these friends). Some even created a new persona. Are they who each claim to be or is this a fake life they concocted for the online world?

Could anyone, or several, of them have something in their past that made them a target? Something someone would want to get revenge for or to hold for ransom?

There was no way Robert could know. A part of him that wanted to ask, but how do you ask a question like that? Hey, guys, has anyone here done anything that might cause someone to want to kidnap you?

They could be the target and not even know it. Just asking that question might single one person out and the rest would attack or isolate them. That would be the worst case. To survive, Robert knew they must work together as a team.

There was that sound again: a machine of some sort starting up. When it started, you could hear it muffled in the distance and feel a strong vibration throughout the box. Other than the rustling of someone in the box trying to get comfortable, it was the only sound Robert had heard for the past few hours.

Sitting there in the darkness, he reviewed the images of the box stored in his mind. He turned each image around and around, looking for a weakness, a way out. There were no exposed joints, screw or nail holes. The door they came through had no exposed hinges or doorknobs on their side. No perceived weak spots at all. Each pass over the details resulted in the same conclusion. There was no way to escape, at least not until Christopher made his next move.

With that futile analysis completed, again, his mind shifted back to the question of why. What good would it do to just trap a group of people in a box and leave them? There was a bigger plan than just holding them in this box. There must be, or was there?

Over and over the questions cycled through Robert, with no answers to be found. The mental gymnastics were tiring. One fact was for sure, this was not something he believed could happen in his wildest dreams when he first met this great group of friends. Back then, it was all about fun and games.

Gotcha, Biotch!, a voice exclaimed while one fist pumped in the air and the other maintained a firm grip on the game controller.

An adolescent voice protested the celebrated conquest through the headset, That wasnt fair! I wasnt ready.

Back engaged in a battle that took place in a non-existing universe of ones and zeros, broadcast across sixteen other monitors around the world, various bodiless conversations took place via headsets worn by participants who have taken on personas like Killazilla, EyeShotUREye, MadUBe, WhoMe, and BOB with no reference to who they were in the real world. These conversations were not earth-shattering deep conversations that would solve world hunger by any means. They were more of a casual nature.

EyeShotUREye taunted his most recent victim over the open mic, Tell it to your mother. Oh, and tell her I will be over later to spank that ass!

Another voice chimed in, Come on guys. Keep it clean, there could be little kids in here.

ULose responded with a voice that sounded like a six-year-old boy: No kids here.

The rest of the room threw in their two cents in fake high-pitched voices: No kids here. Say hi to your mom for me.

While the intelligent verbal barrage took place, EyeShotUrEye hunted down the last participant in the game, winning the Last Man Standing match. The players returned to the lobby and checked their match statistics, current rank, and any special perks they earned during the game. Once the stats were reviewed and bragged about, the wait for the next game ensued.

Some players left and said their goodbyes, while new players joined for the first time. The game was played all around the world making the concept of time irrelevant. It could be two in the afternoon for one player and two in the morning for others. Most had no sense of the actual time; they have been playing the same game for hours in total darkness. Pyramids of empty, colorful caffeinated energy drink cans and remnants of junk food decorated their room.

The passage of time paused while immersed in this world. Playing for days, only to stop to retrieve rudimentary microwaved nourishment that contributed to the global obesity problem, and an occasional bathroom break, was not unheard of. In fact, the world record for playing this kind of video game was one hundred and thirty-five hours straight. So, twelve, sixteen, or twenty hours was rather common, which made the question repeated at the end of every game somewhat rhetorical: Do you want to play another?

Killazilla confirmed the obvious, Of course. Lets go. Im going to win this time. Watch out!

Killazilla was nineteen-year-old Robert Deluiz. He lived in a simple one-bedroom apartment in La Jolla California with his high school girlfriend, Amy Carter. It was 3:50 pm on a Friday afternoon in his world. His girlfriend was at work while he enjoyed the first day of a four-day weekend at the end of his second semester at San Diego Community College. With no homework, classes, or work until Tuesday, he wanted to unwind and enjoy the next four days. That included spending a significant amount of time online waging mindless war in the digital universe. He knew he needed to log off when Amy came home; she was not a fan of what she called a waste of time. So, he tried to limit his game time when she was home to while she was on her laptop doing homework or reading the news, but when she was away, it was game on!