Lobbies & Leaderboards

Sakuya found himself dissipating into a mess of pixels and blue smoke. The arena faded out in the same way it would when he died. Once again, only the HUD remained:
“Please wait…”

He had no idea what awaited him in the lobby. In the old days, it was just the menu, a place for the admin to pick the map or gamemode and a scrolling chat window for player trashtalk, “GG” or midlife-crisis sales banter. Would he be thrown into that void of icons and usernames until someone hit “Ready”? Would the game crash (like it loved to) and dump him back to the desktop? What then?

The text disappeared. Did that mean he was here?

Oh no, did it crash?

He found himself rematerializing in a storm of static. He was still in the B-7X armor. He felt the heavy boots hit marble, or rather… something that looked like it. It was rougher, dark, uneven and etched with glowing blue and orange lines. He heard the vague hum of machinery, maybe servers, and a muffled voice that sounded like it’d been filtered through a hundred hidden speakers.

A message flashed on the HUD:

“CALIBRATING…”
“PLAYER: B-7X”
The message glitched, turned to static and changed:

“RECALIBRATING…”
“PLAYER: SAKUYA”
“WELCOME TO THE LOBBY.”

He blinked a few times. The world finally resolved itself in neon and fog. His health was locked to 100, his ammo and armor at 0.

A city sprawled before him: vast, vertical and shrouded in dark blue mist. Gothic towers reached towards a cloudy sky, their arches carrying digital banners for canned sodas and sponsored gun skins. Apartment blocks were stacked atop each other, as eerie as the towers themselves and lined with stained glass windows glowing in ever-shifting colors. Antigrav cars were floating on rails overhead, weaving through archways and past blinking sponsor ads for “Plasma Crunch” and “UltraJuke Energy.”

The ground hummed gently under Sakuya’s boots, sending up little pulses of blue light with every step he’d take. 

He didn't know what he expected from the lobby, but it certainly wasn't this. In the game, the lobby used to be just a drab console overlay: a scroll of "GG," ASCII art, and players begging the host to load their favorite maps, usually either Fleshcore or Void Heights, depending on whether you were feeling cursed or sweaty.
He never imagined that it could become such an expansive, living and breathing city. But truth be told... it always felt that way. Even when it was only a chatroom.

A leaderboard soared above like a skyscraper of pure data, showing endlessly scrolling names and scores on its glassy surface. Each flickering line was crowned with an avatar, icons for main weapons, and a colored badge denoting the rank. Names and scores shifted around constantly; some lines highlighted in gold, marking players on a hot streak of victories. The board never lingered any one entry for long, remaining a blur of numbers and color.

Above it all, glowing text read:

“15,984 PLAYERS ONLINE.”

The number wasn’t constant, ticking up and down by a few every few seconds.

Drone-cameras zipped and buzzed through the air, their lenses tracking every movement below. Giant holoscreens flanking the leaderboard showcased frag montages, game-winning plays and perfect b-hops. The main display faded into a spotlight of Today’s Blastreel. The screens showed a player touting slicked-back blonde hair and a long coat, dual-wielding a revolver in one hand and a rapier in the other, launching three opponents skyward with a swipe of his blade, then headshotting each one before they’d even hit the ground.

Show-off. Just like any other Richter player.

But this wasn’t just some player behind a screen.

The holoscreen flashed a name in bold, gold-edged letters:

RICHTER - #2, Legend of Duels

To Sakuya, the style was unmistakable. It was so precise, stylish and aristocratic in the middle of chaos. Rezrektion was always weird like that: half Eastern European metal, half JRPG. 

The man in the longcoat was Richter, the famed Duelist himself. Sakuya used to main him back in the day, before switching to B-7X for its armor boost and that infamous Quadbarrel.

Richter’s win rate was the stuff of legends, sparking overnight forum arguments and even getting him banned from some LAN parties. The lore said that Richter had never lost a duel; others would claim he’d taught the entire top ten everything they knew, and still out-fragged them. Watching the replay, Sakuya felt a pulse of familiarity and admiration.

Maybe I could have made it even with Richter. Maybe I’ll meet him one day.

Players never stopped respawning into the plaza. A crowd of all species collected around it, all conversing as they looked up at the leaderboard.

A hooded archer sighed. “Man… Richter’s been hogging that number two spot for ages.”

“Richter… me thinks he not want to be number one.” His armored ogre friend replied.

“I feel like he’s working with number one. Plus... there's that NIL thing that keeps popping up." The archer continued. "You know, some people say NIL and Izanami are the same person, hogging numbers one and zero."

So I'm not number one... Who are Izanami and NIL? I don't remember either of them from the game.

The leaderboard kept scrolling as the holoscreens flickered. This time, a replay showed an armored elf with long white hair getting a triple collateral with the infamous Ripper Crossbow the crowd gleefully erupting in a “WOAHHH” noise at the spike gibbing all three players.

Can’t believe someone knows how to use that thing. I never figured it out.

The screen flashed another name:

ALPHYN - #5, Crossbow Master

Sakuya’s eyes drifted back to the endless scroll of names. His own was buried somewhere in the 10,000s. Near the bottom, entries disappeared and changed too fast to keep up.

Ah, man. All that grind for nothing. So this is what it feels like to be at the bottom of the ladder… I’ll have to climb all the way back to number one. Even get past Richter.

He didn’t believe himself. Not yet.

Below the leaderboard, announcements scrolled sideways.

Arena Locale: Infinite Falls is functional again.
Player: W0LF has entered the top 10!
Important: Notify any NIL-related sightings to the admin drones ASAP.
Reminder to Players with Weapon Passes: No random deathmatches in the lobby.
Reminder to All Other Players: No violence in the lobby! Drones are watching 24/7!

He left the plaza to explore further. Everywhere he’d turn, the city felt busy, pulsing with activity just like a metropolis on Earth. People headed in every direction. The air was carrying all kinds of scents: fryer oil, metal and ozone. It felt surprisingly fresh, all things considered. An automated announcer’s voice boomed over loudspeakers carried by the antigrav cars:
“Match queue in five minutes! Ready buffs and teams!”

Players and not-quite-players hurried past. Some were decked out in armor, others in modded streetwear, some having angel wings, glowing tails, leaving behind glittery clouds of sparkles. Some even had pets: boxy, pink robots displaying emojis on their head-screens and waving to passersby, iridescent birds perched atop their armored shoulders, some even showed off glossy insects and beetles the size of eagles.

The activity wasn’t limited to ground level either. People were sprinting on neon bridges between the dark spires overhead. hopping into portals and elevators. Sakuya stepped out onto the nearest walkway. A group of players tumbled out of a side-alley bar, arguing about their last matches:

“So then I hit the perfect railgun 360—”
“Dude, your accuracy is like, 30% at best.”

He turned to another group.

“I’m telling you, I telefragged him!”
“That’s just a myth! No way you did!”

One of the members nodded at him, putting his thumb up.
“Sick armor, dude.”
Sick armor? Don’t you know it’s THE B-7X?
The guy walked away before Sakuya could retort.

Vendor stalls lined the street, lit by sickly green and magenta LEDs. One bot hawked “Robot steak skewers! Only ten bonebits!” Another displayed a case of glitched cookies that kept flickering in and out of existence before Sakuya’s eyes.

Yeah… I don’t think I want to try any of that.

Someone actually bought a handful of the skewers.

Guess bird creatures eat circuit-boards-on-a-stick.

He glanced up at a floating admin-drone, its optic flickering red as it zapped some graffiti off one of the columns. Really, everything was pristine. The admin drones were going around vaporizing any trash or dirt. Some even vaporized dried blood off a player’s armor. Cleanliness seemingly mattered way more in the lobby than it did anywhere in any of the arenas.

He continued wandering, the armor’s servos continuing to whir as the heavy boots tapped the neon-reflecting stone below. The alleys grew busier the deeper he walked: a hellish-looking palace covered in messy electric cables labeled 24/7 Hop Center echoed gunfire and the clatter boots clattering against metal platforms from behind its skull-encrusted gates. Elsewhere, a player stepped into a blocky booth and dissipated into the same mess of code Sakuya had just earlier. The sign above it read: Instant 1v1! Win skins and permanent buffs!

He considered it, but opted against for now. This street seemed almost like some sort of modded server browser. Booths, tunnels and gates all offered something a hacked server would: melee-only matches, instagib and bonebit wager matches. The kind of stuff the Arena wouldn’t normally allow; played only for fun, practice or cheap rewards.

Even back in the day, modders were doing a lot of work keeping the game alive. The devs had gone radio silent after bundling each physical copy with a 100-page manual in broken English and Lithuanian poetry.

More street vendors advertised strange concoctions and brews. A red-skinned, muscular horned beast in an apron and hat stirred a pot of glistening red jelly, smelling spicy, fruity and somewhat herbal: “HP paste! Get a HP buff for your next match! Seven bonebits, minimal speed dropoff!”

Sakuya kept hearing "bonebits," unsure if it was currency or actual bones.

Players seemed to be actually lining up for this. The digital sign above it flickered: BARON’S BUFFS: +10% HP, -15% SPD.

A drone nearby was erasing graffiti off a wall. Sakuya had barely managed to catch a glimpse of its message: “NIL WATCHES.”

A second drone buzzed past, carrying a player away—most likely the culprit. A faint blue glow pulsed from a shadowy alley corner, flickering with player nametags. It was a small monolith, puny in comparison to the massive leaderboard. This seemed to be a shrine to the fallen.

Much like on the leaderboard, the number of players on the holoscreen kept changing, but only one way.

“MAY THE 491,851 FALLEN SPECTATE OUR WAY TO VICTORY.”

Crossed out avatars appeared next to names, labeled “ELIMINATED.” A box of offerings was right next to the monolith, filled with energy drinks, bullets and plasma clips, even chipped pieces of what looked like bone.

Are these the "bonebits"?

Players walked by, some pausing to bow or mutter a prayer. Sakuya lingered, feeling the weight of it all. This wasn’t just a game. It was a world with real rules and real losses.

He nearly froze when he heard the click of demonic foot-claws against the stone floor. Klikk, the gray demon from Sakuya’s first match lumbered into view, hunched in the soft blue glow. Sakuya’s instincts kicked in; his hand twitched for the Quadbarrel, but nothing was there. His hand just awkwardly thudded against his leg.

But Klikk wasn’t here to blast Sakuya with rockets He wasn’t even armed. He crouched by the monolith, setting down a battered lightning battery next to a can of UltraJuke in the offering box. He looked back at Sakuya, catching him still tensed for a fight.

“The hell’re you so stiff for, you hunk of junk?” Klikk growled with an almost sardonic tone, albeit his eyes were clearly tired, his endless rows of teeth hidden behind a tight-lipped frown.

Sakuya expected a fight, a taunt, a challenge. He managed a stiff, “Thought you were gunning for a rematch.”

Klikk only gave a rumbling sigh. “Lobby’s friendly, newbie. No fighting unless you wanna get timed out or banned.” He nodded toward the monolith. “Just paying respects. Old friend dropped out of the board.”

Sakuya looked at the avatars, then at Klikk. “Dropped out?”

“That’s just how it is on the bottom rung,” Klikk grunted, mostly to himself. “This place eats you up if you’re not in the top hundred. Lose too many times, fall too low, and then? Pfft, buddy.” He mimed an explosion, spreading his three clawed fingers. “That’s it for ya. No more respawn. You just vanish.” He flicked a glance at the monolith, watching as the count of eliminated players just kept rising.

“Gotta keep playin’, newbie.”

Sakuya found his voice, low and tinny. “You just get deleted like that?”

It wasn’t like that back when I played… With any game, really.

Klikk let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, playfully thumping Sakuya’s chestplate. “What, you afraid behind that big piece of tin? Maybe you become a spectator, maybe you get deleted. Doesn’t matter. Nobody comes back.”

Deleted from the server? Can’t just be that easy to vanish… right?
Sakuya’s armor suddenly felt much heavier. “So… I just have to stay on the leaderboard and I’ll be fine?”

Klikk shook his head. “Leaderboard’s the big rule, yeah, but not the only way out. Some get banned, some glitch out, some just get unlucky. Lose your footing, and you can kiss the arena goodbye.”

For a second, Klikk watched the flickering list, his orange eyes distant. “Don’t let it get to you too much, kid. Everyone here’s playing with borrowed time.” He hesitated, then continued. “If you want to blow off some steam, hit up Patch Notes & Pints. It’s the best place around here. Catch some replays, pick up upgrades and pick up on the meta. Sometimes they even set up matches to give newbs like you a fighting chance. Better than wandering the lobby ‘til you drop.”

He straightened up, curling his three fingers into a fist, his tone gruff but kind. “Live by the frag, die never.” He flashed a hint of a grin—half-challenging, half-encouraging. “That’s the only way this place works, Sakusomething. Gotta have fun. See you around, kid.”

Klikk gave a last nod, then lumbered into the neon-lit alley.

Sakuya watched him disappear into the neon haze, his heart pounding in the silence that followed. For a moment, the lobby felt just like those late nights back then: sitting in a dark room, alone except for the glow of the screen, the hum of a fan and the blink of a chat window with familiar names.

He remembered the old regulars: guys who’d play through the night, doling out advice between matches, laughing about life, work, and the perfect timing for a railgun boost. Fatherly, in an odd way. Klikk sounded just like them. Maybe that’s why Sakuya managed a small smile despite all the gloom and uncertainty. Even in a world of deathmatches, people still looked out for the newbs.

Another name entered the list on the shrine; another light went out.

But for the first time since he’d arrived, Sakuya felt… not exactly safe, but not alone. That’s what mattered the most. He lingered for a moment longer in the shrine as the weight of memory settled.

His HUD blinked with a message in the top-left corner:
“Patch Notes & Pints: Get upgrades and buffs! Watch matches LIVE and save your rank! (300m away)”

Okay, it’s close… but how do I actually get there?

A gentle beep sung from the helmet, which then projected a glowing blue arrow onto the pavement, snaking forward through the crowd.

Bless you, B-7X. Even you want me to make some friends, huh? Sakuya smiled ruefully.

He squared his shoulders and followed the arrow into the streets, weaving his way through a growing tide of players and noise. The further he went, the wilder it got: vendors were shouting over one another, hawking mods and snacks. The air smelled more like meat, sweets and coffee, even more holo-signs flashed ads for modded servers. Players were all around, trading stories. Some watched, enamoured, as a four-armed centaur juggled gravnades.

A little further on, players held an MMO-esque fashion show, flexing  colorful outfits, special emotes and flashy cosmetic trails. A woman in crystalline plate armor spun, her angelic cape waving behind in a prism of digital light. The crowd clapped, holographically projecting a mix of surprised mascot stickers and angel emojis and, inevitably, the eggplant.

Beside her, a player in a frilly gothic lolita-style dress conjured up a throne, munching on a piece of cake atop it as pixelated hearts, skulls and crude dolls showered down all around from her tiny parasol. The crowd clapped, spamming roses, hearts and heart-eyed catgirl stickers. Even the admin drones lingered, their cameras flashing as they recorded the scene.

Sakuya stepped aside just in time to avoid a pair on hover-scooters racing past, one tossing him a wave: “Sick suit, dude!”

He was halfway through waving off a vendor when a new figure stepped into his path: towering, gaudy and skeletal. The word “sleazy” immediately began to repeat in Sakuya’s mind as he felt his senses get assaulted by the stench of synthetic tobacco.

I’ve seen enough yakuza movies to know what to expect from this guy… Sakuya felt himself tensing up.

“B-7X! Thought it’s been long since incinerated! Must be my lucky night.”

The figure slapped his shoulder, a rattling clack echoing from its finger bones against the metal shoulderplate.

“Name’s Bonebags, but that’s Lord Bonebags to you.” He knocked a knucklebone on Sakuya’s chestplate. “You may think that suit makes you a big game, but I know you’re in the 10,000s, Sah-koo-yaaa.” Bonebags taunted. “Gonna fall out before you know it. But don’t worry. I have the best buffs, the finest modded matches. Only 100 bonebits a pop. How about it, huh? Beats getting eliminated, doesn’t it?” He blew the foul-smelling smoke into Sakuya’s face, which made an air filtration alert pop up on the HUD.

“I’m not buying any of the crap you sell.” Sakuya retorted, which only made Bonebags grin.

“I don’t just do this for anyone, you know. But suit yourself. You’ll be back. The board always bites, and I’m the only one who can bring them back up.”

With a tip of his top hat and a trail of nervous laughter from onlookers, Bonebags sauntered away, flicking his cigar into a nearby trash drone.

Sakuya shook it off, glancing back as Bonebags was already prancing toward his next mark.

I’d rather drop off the board than owe this guy a single “bonebit” or whatever.

He caught sight of a street corner with glitched paving, flickering between stone and a mess of hex code. Two drones buzzed over it, raising a barrier of pure light, blinking with “CAUTION: RECOMPING” until the texture reloaded.

A few players turned to stare as he passed. Even amongst so many with custom armor or outlandish mods, the B-7X stood out as an old, mostly-forgotten legend that was now walking their streets again.

Just ahead, the alley opened into a broad square, where the objective marker on Sakuya’s HUD faded away:
PATCH NOTES & PINTS blazed in white letters over a set of heavy iron doors rimmed in blue neon. Glowing holo-posters cycled over the windows, advertising live matches, “Cassie’s Upgrades,” “Buffs on Tap,” and promises: “Low on the board? We’ll set up a duel or co-op match for you anytime!”

A few players lingered on the benches right outside, arguing over the latest meta, while others laughed and discussed their replays on battered tablets over colorful cocktails. The gothic lolita girl from earlier was perched atop her pixelated throne not too far away, locking eyes with Sakuya’s visor for a moment. Or maybe she was just looking at her parasol.

Sakuya slowed his steps, walking up the stairs and gripping the door handle, feeling the sounds of music and conversation vibrating the ground from indoors. His nerves slightly sharpened as he pressed it, squaring his shoulders and stepping through.