Chapter 8: What shall we do?

The night had swallowed the amphitheater in a heavy shroud of smoke and silence.

Fires still smoldered in patches across the ruined grounds. Despair hung in the air, thicker than the smoke, heavier than the rubble.

A handful of players had returned to the field. They searched, silently, for survivors. Their faces were pale, bloodied, hollow. Some moved with mechanical urgency. Others overcome by grief, staggered aimlessly. Here and there, quiet sobs echoed against the destroyed arena. Some players simply knelt or lay down, staring blankly into nothing.

Among these rescuers was Henry. His armor was dirty, one eye swollen nearly shut, but he kept moving.

He picked his way through a toppled pillar and spotted a woman nearby. She knelt on the ground, her body unnaturally still, her gaze fixed on the dagger lying in front of her.

She reached for it.

Henry froze for a heartbeat—then sprinted to her just as she gripped the hilt.

With a sudden, desperate motion, she raised the knife toward her neck.

He caught her wrist mid-thrust, gently prying the dagger from her trembling fingers. “No,” he said softly. Her eyes which were lost somewhere deep inside, drowning in invisible pain, awoke and she burst into tears.

Henry turned and waved another player over. A burly man with a torn cloak arrived. “Get her out of here.” Henry said.

The man helped lift her to her feet and guided her out of the arena.

Henry turned back to the rubble. Near the shattered remains of the stage, something caught his eye—a flash of familiar armor beneath a pile of broken stone.

Henry rushed over and dropped to his knees.

It was Tayo.

He was half-buried, unconscious, his face smudged with ash and blood. A beam pinned part of his leg. Henry braced his shoulder against the debris and pushed, muscles straining until the stone shifted enough for him to pull Tayo free.

“Hey!” Henry shouted over his shoulder. His voice is hoarse. “I need help!”

Another player runs over.

Together, they lifted Tayo’s limp body as gently as they could, carrying him through the rubble-strewn battlefield. “Careful,” Henry said.

Around them, the ruined amphitheater loomed, vast and broken under the smoke-choked stars.

The hospital ward was a cold, endless sea of cubicles, each one holding a player locked in a silent, fragile sleep. Machines whispered and hummed, the only sign that life still clung to the bodies beneath the headgear.

Aramide sat hunched beside Tayo’s bed, her hand wrapped tightly around his, as if she could will him back into the world with her grip alone. His face was peaceful — too peaceful — and the sight of it broke something in her chest all over again.

She barely noticed when their mother arrived. Rebecca’s face is a mask of strength that somewhat concealed the storm behind her eyes. She reached out and placed her hand over her son's.

“Come, Aramide,” she said gently. “Mr. Spencer has agreed to look after your brother.”

Aramide didn’t move. Her voice cracked as she spoke. “Did he say anything? About the government? Are they going to shut it down?”

Rebecca shook her head, her own voice brittle. “They won’t do that. They won’t”

Aramide blinked back the flood of tears rising in her eyes. Deep down, she knew it was irrational, but she couldn’t stop the thought that looped through her mind: If only I hadn’t given him the gear.

Rebecca pulled her daughter into her arms, her hands trembling slightly.

“They won’t shut it down,” she spoke fiercely. “He promised. Tayo promised he wouldn’t be long. I have faith, he won’t be long.”

Tayo's eyelids fluttered open, the world around him blurry and muffled, as if underwater. Gradually, the sounds sharpened — the groans of the wounded, the hurried footsteps of attendants, the quiet sobbing of those who had lost too much. He was lying on a narrow cot, the crowded shelter packed with injured players and NPC medics tending to them as best they could.

A bandage was wrapped tightly around his leg. He shifted, wincing at the dull throb of pain.

Across the room, Hiro sat rigidly beside Haruto’s bed. Haruto’s legs were gone below the knees, his body frighteningly still. Hiro’s face was blank, broken.

Tayo tried to push himself upright, but his body gave way. A voice called out from nearby.

"Hey, take it slow," Jim said, getting up from the cot opposite. He turned his head and shouted, "Henry! He's awake!"

Through the bustling crowd, Henry appeared, looking relieved.

"Hi," Henry said gently.

"Hi," Tayo rasped. "What happened?"

"We pulled you out of the rubble," Henry replied.

"So… it's real? We're trapped?"

Henry nodded slowly.

Tayo’s heart twisted. "Did you find Guy? The boy I was with?"

Henry’s face darkened. He shook his head. He wished he had a better answer.

"We haven’t seen him."

The answer crushed him. He had just woken up, but he now felt like sleeping and never waking up. He sank back against the cot, turning his face away, as grief swallowed him whole.

That night, Tayo found himself at the ruins of the stables. Among the charred wreckage of horses and fallen players, he searched. Somewhere deep inside, he still wanted to believe Guy had somehow survived.

Other players — scavengers — moved among the ruins, picking through what was left.

Henry strolled up beside him.

"Any luck?" he asked.

Tayo shook his head.

"In times like these," Henry said quietly, "you have to find a way to move forward. Some of us are leaving soon. We heard most of the tourists landed in other cities. Maybe a change of view will help."

He waited for Tayo to respond, but Tayo said nothing. Henry started to walk away.

"Henry," Tayo called after him. "Thank you… for saving me."

Henry smiled faintly. "Stay safe."

Tayo hesitated. "One more thing — do you know if any of the executives survived? The ones who made the game?"

Henry paused. "Don’t know for sure. Heard most of them were seated in front. They were... the first to go." His voice faltered. "Some military guys made it, but most have already left this city."

"I see," Tayo whispered.

"Take care," Henry said, and walked away.

Tayo found an empty, half-burnt stall, crawled inside, and curled into a fetal position.

The next day, the food lines stretched endlessly across the broken square.

"Sorry everyone," a tired woman called out, standing behind a stack of crates. "Rations are finished! Please come back later!"

The crowd erupted into angry, desperate voices.

"When’s later?!"
"Have you heard anything from outside?"
"Where’s the General?!"

The woman shrank under the weight of their despair. "We’re doing our best! Please!"

Tayo pushed his way through the mob, clutching a small loaf of bread. He spotted Jim sitting against a broken wall.

"Were you able to get some?" Tayo asked.

Jim shook his head.

Without hesitation, Tayo tore off the part he had already bitten, and handed the rest to Jim.

"You can have it," he said.

Jim hesitated. "Nobody gets extra," he said with a weak smile.

"I was lucky," Tayo lied.

Jim took the bread gratefully. As he ate, he glanced at his dashboard — his HP bar creeping upward with each bite. Tayo checked his own stats: Level 5, warrior class, health at 40%.

"It’s hilarious," Jim muttered bitterly. "That we have to eat here too. Freakin' geniuses who made this world. All in the name of progress or should I say greed."

"Then what would that make we who chose to enter?” Tayo replies. Jim shoots him an angry glance. “You’re blaming the wrong people," Tayo said softly. "I don’t think they ever imagined it would go this wrong."

"Yeah? Then whose fault is it?"

"It’s still theirs," Tayo said, bitterness creeping into his voice. "They underestimated what they created. They thought only a 'superintelligence' could destroy humanity."

Jim scoffed. "I should've let Henry try it first... Shit."

He laughed dryly and flirted with an NPC walking past, who surprisingly gave him a kind smile.

“Why didn’t you go with him?” Tayo asked. “Do I look so eager to die?” Jim retorts.

Tayo’s eyes followed a wounded girl limping along with another player’s help. His resolve begins to strengthen.

"Do you know where I can get a weapon?" Tayo asked.

Jim frowned. "Why?"

"I think I’m going to leave," Tayo said.

"We need to be patient," Jim said. "Help will come."

Tayo didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the amphitheater ruins — on the solitary figure standing atop the broken rim.

Realization slammed into him like a physical blow. He lurched forward, pushing through the crowd.

"NO!" he screamed internally, sprinting as fast as his injured body would allow.

But he was too late.

The figure at the top let themselves fall, and Tayo watched in helpless horror as another life got swallowed by the broken world around them.