60 Days In Hell

The woman's cold eyes locked onto me, her gun leveled with unsettling precision.

My heart pounded in my chest, but I refused to let panic take over. Fear was an enemy in situations like these, one that dulled the mind.

I clung to the girl’s coat, feeling the rough fabric in my grip, grounding myself.

“Alright” I thought. “I need options.”

Every second felt like an eternity as my mind ran through possible escape routes. Running would leave me exposed, fighting head-on would mean death—I wasn’t foolish enough to underestimate her skill with a gun.

The weight of the situation bore down on me, but beneath it all, a plan started to take shape.

The coat. A simple piece of clothing, now my most valuable asset.

Before she could react, I threw the coat straight at her face. The fabric billowed out like a makeshift smoke screen, momentarily blinding her.

Bang!

The sound of the gunshot echoed through the narrow alley. I felt the burning sting as the bullet grazed my arm, a sharp pain ripping through my body, but I didn’t stop.

The coat had given me exactly what I needed—a split second to close the distance between us.

Blood soaked through my sleeve, but it didn’t matter. My mind was already calculating my next move.

As I lunged forward, a memory flashed in my mind. I saw myself back in the weapon selection room earlier, surrounded by the cold gleam of steel.

The rules were vague, full of loopholes. I’d noticed that no one had said anything about taking more than one weapon. In that moment, I’d pocketed both a knife and a pistol, knowing the advantage it would give me later.

This is why.

My knife was in my hand before she even realized I was upon her. She stumbled, disoriented by the coat and my rapid approach. Her gun was useless now, too close for her to aim properly. I didn’t hesitate.

The blade slid into her abdomen with a sickening, wet sound. I felt the resistance of muscles as I pushed it deep, my movements precise, calculated.

She gasped, her eyes widening in shock as the pain registered. The power shifted in an instant, and for the first time, she wasn’t the one in control.

Her body staggered back, the gun slipping from her fingers and clattering uselessly onto the ground. The silence that followed was almost unbearable. Only the shallow sound of her ragged breathing and the blood pooling at her feet filled the space between us.

She collapsed.

Her body slowly falling, then he kneeled on to the ground with a dull thud. I stood over her, breathing steady as I watched her writhe in pain, blood soaking her clothes. Yet, despite the wound, she wasn’t dead. Not yet.

I could feel my heart pounding, but my mind remained calculating. The question was clear now:

Should I finish her off? Like I've been told Or leave her like this, bleeding, but still breathing. I had time to decide, and that was the luxury of control.

She groaned, her eyes barely able to focus on me as I crouched beside her. "You a player?" I asked, my voice even, almost casual.

A sharp smirk cracked her lips, despite the pain racking her body. Her breath came in shallow gasps, but the gleam in her eyes told me she was no stranger to this. "You... already know... the answer..." she hissed through clenched teeth.

I didn’t respond immediately, taking a moment to glance down at her injury. The knife had gone in deep enough to hurt, to incapacitate, but not quite fatal.

Blood pooled under her, a thick, dark red stain on the cold pavement. Her hand pressed against her abdomen, futilely trying to stem the flow.

The wound, though serious, was placed carefully—not too deep to end her life, but enough to cripple her for now.

“You’ll live,” I muttered, more to myself than to her. I wasn’t in the business of killing unless necessary. She wasn’t my main target. The game had bigger players, and she was just a piece.

I could see the tension in her face, the disbelief flickering behind her eyes as she realized what I was contemplating.

I wasn’t going to kill her. No, that wouldn’t serve my purpose. I had bigger plans.

"You’re like me," I finally said, standing up and wiping my hands on my pants. "A player. Which means you’ve got your own reasons for being here."

She tried to laugh, but it came out as a pained, ragged breath. “You think you’re the only one using their brain here...”

I ignored her. Instead, I leaned down and grabbed her pistol from where it had fallen during the scuffle.

It felt heavy in my hand, its cold metal surface reflecting the dim light of the alley. I checked the chamber—two bullets left. I slid it into my jacket, where it sat snugly against my side.

Her smirk faltered, a flicker of something unreadable passing over her face as she struggled to lift herself on one elbow, watching me as I backed away. For a moment, she just stared, wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t quite believe what was happening.

“Hey... you… you’re sparing me?” she rasped, her voice strained but laced with disbelief.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I turned, walking swiftly out of the alley, leaving her there in her shock.

I could feel her eyes burning into my back, still trying to comprehend why I hadn’t finished the job.

In her world, mercy wasn’t part of the equation. But for me? Mercy was just another tactic—a way to keep the board in motion, to keep the pieces moving in the direction I wanted them to.

As I disappeared into the night, I could almost feel her confusion lingering in the air behind me. It didn’t matter. I had my own game to play, and she wasn’t part of the endgame. At least, not yet.

As I stepped out of the alley, the cold night air stung the fresh wound on my arm. Blood dripped steadily, but the pain was manageable.

I pressed a hand against it, grimacing slightly. It wasn’t a deep injury—just a graze from her pistol. Still, the sting was enough to keep me on edge.

Before disappearing into the shadows of the street, I glanced back.

Our eyes met one last time, hers wide with disbelief, mine steady.

She was still on the ground, clutching her stomach, blood pooling beneath her.

In a video game, I might’ve ended her, but that wasn’t the game I was playing tonight.

Then, I turned, my figure vanishing into the darkened cityscape.

As I moved through the empty streets, the dull ache in my arm was drowned out by the familiar and irritating voice in my mind—the system. Perfect timing.

"Congratulations, Showoff! You killed a person for the first time. You have been rewarded for eliminating the criminals. Reward: 10 Neocoin."

The system’s voice was as cold and mechanical as ever, delivering its message with no emotion. A Neocoin. My lips curved into a faint smirk. It wasn’t much, but it was something. I’d earned it by neutralizing those lowlifes earlier, before the woman revealed herself as a player.

"Neocoins can be exchanged for dollars or used to purchase items within the system. Spend wisely."

A currency that could be used for anything from survival gear to luxuries, depending on how you played the game.

I’d been given 10, and now I had a choice: save it or invest in something useful. A med kit, I decided. No point in bleeding out over a few bucks.

"Would you like to claim your Neocoin?" the system asked.

“Yes,” I muttered under my breath, feeling the weight of the coin appear in the virtual balance.

It didn’t exist physically, but I could sense its presence, just like all the other rewards the system had offered in the past.

10 Neocoin. Might be more than enough to patch myself up.

I scanned the area, my eyes catching the faint glow of a shop sign a few blocks down.

It was an unassuming place—no flashy windows or advertisements—but the system had flagged it as a participating vendor. A perfect spot to grab what I needed.

The bell chimed softly as I pushed the door open, stepping inside.

The shop was dimly lit, shelves lined with all sorts of survival tools, supplies, and gadgets that only people like me would ever need.

Behind the counter, a bored-looking cashier glanced up, then quickly returned to whatever he was reading. No questions, no interest. Just how I liked it.

I walked to the section with first-aid supplies, my eyes quickly locating a basic med kit. Not too expensive, but enough to clean and bandage the wound. I grabbed it and headed to the counter.

"That’ll be 1 Neocoin," the cashier droned, barely looking at me.

I nodded, accessing the system and transferring the Neocoin directly.

A simple process—quicker than paying with cash or card. The med kit was mine in seconds, and I tucked it into my jacket.

As I turned to leave, a voice suddenly cut through the stillness of the store.

"That’s quite an injury you’ve got there."

I froze, my senses immediately sharpening. The voice was deep, calm, and too casual for comfort.

Slowly, I turned my head to see a man standing a few feet away, leaning casually against one of the shelves.

His eyes were fixed on my arm, where the blood had soaked through the sleeve.

I didn’t reply, but my gaze narrowed. He wasn’t a customer.

His presence was too deliberate, his posture too relaxed for someone just browsing.

No—he was waiting for me.