The Survival Games

Chapter Eight: Tools in the Shadows

Nightfall in the slums of Sector 9 was a suffocating blanket of silence and stench. In the dim light of flickering alley lamps, I stepped out from the rusted doorway of the abandoned canning facility I called shelter. Dressed in black from head to toe, a hood pulled low over my brow and a scarf wound tight across my face, I blended into the shadows like a ghost.

My steps were swift, practiced. I'd memorized the placement of every working security camera, every flickering bulb, every blind spot. Avoiding detection wasn't optional—it was survival. Luckily, in the slums, no one looked twice. People dressed like this every day to avoid attention. Here, anonymity was normal.

I ducked into the cracked concrete stairwell of the derelict storage facility I used as my hideout. Once inside, I locked the rusted door behind me and climbed to the third floor, where my makeshift room waited.

A cold shower came first. I scooped water from the old rain tank into a basin, poured it over my head, and exhaled sharply at the icy sting. No luxury. No heat. Just grit.

After drying off, I secured the room: window latched shut, curtain drawn tight, chair jammed against the doorknob. Paranoia? Maybe. But in this world, caution was the last thing keeping me alive.

I sat cross-legged on my flattened cardboard bedding and opened the system interface.

Game Credits: 700

More than I expected. I opened the system's store and scrolled down. All of them are too expensive. It seemed like have to saved it—spending could wait. Who knows the points might be able to me save me in the games. For now, I checked the reward box blinking at the corner of the screen.

"Claim Reward: Stealth-Class Weapon"

I tapped it.

A box materialized in my hands with a faint hum. My breath hitched. I listened carefully. No footsteps. No whispers through the walls. I opened it slowly.

Inside was a black, metallic star etched with crimson patterns.

Item: Raven Fang

Description: A mental-control projectile capable of being thrown and redirected midair. Allows user to see through the weapon's location while active. Sharp enough to pierce reinforced material. Can be recalled at will.

I smiled.

Carefully, I stood and aimed at the flickering bulb near the ceiling where a moth fluttered in lazy circles.

I aimed it at the moth.

The star flew—but swerved awkwardly and missed. It embedded into the wood beam. I grimaced. Controlling it was harder than I expected.

"Surroundings," I thought.

Instantly, my perspective shifted. In front of me was the clear view of ceiling. I could see the dents, chaotic blend of mismatched materials—rusted tin sheets, mouldy plywood, and frayed tarps nailed or tied together with bits of wire and rope. Cracks spidered across water-stained panels, revealing the decay of age and neglect. It felt like I had seen it through my eye, but I wasn't seeing through them. I was seeing from above. From the Raven Fang.

I twisted the mental image, spinning my view slowly in a 360-degree circle. It was like having a second pair of eyes—quiet, detached, and perfect for scouting.

"Return." I thought

The weapon zipped back into my hand. I held it tightly.

This is Deadly. Efficient. Valuable. It can increase my chances of survival in the slums and the games. The next award must also be good as well. 

I opened the next reward.

Claim Reward: Companion-Class Tool

Inside, a folded paper figure sat in my palm. Human-shaped. Fragile-looking.

Item: Whisper Puppet

Description: Can record sensory data—sight, sound, smell, touch. Can shift sizes and relay information to the user. Usable Only Twice per day.

I hesitated.

Twice a day....But I needed to know how to use it.

"Scout,". "Listen to the neighbours." I thought.

The tiny puppet stood up, moving its arms and legs, and darted toward the floor. It slid under the gap in the door. I walked to the window and opened the window slowly observing the paper person. 

Seen it carefully move into the neighbour's door. I closed my eyes.

"Look."

Vision switched.

I moved with it.

Trash littered the neighbours room. Bottles. scattered foods. A massive man snored like thunder, shirtless, sweat staining his cot. Next room over, a couple screamed at each other. Plates breaking. Someone crying.

"Return."

The puppet slid back and reassembled on my palm.

Uses Remaining: 1

I smiled again.

These tools... they were more than just rewards.

They were leverage. Survival.

I placed them in the system inventory and leaned back.

Finally, I yawned.

For now I need to sleep. A luxury I hadn't allowed myself during the game.

I turned off the room's single light.

And let darkness take me.

--------------------------------------------

Morning.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

I jolted upright, heart hammering.

"Bastard! Get your ass out here! You're late again, you useless rat!" An angry older woman voice rang through my head. 

I groaned, rubbing my eyes against the sunlight bleeding through the curtain. It seemed that I was late.

"Do you hear me! You better have a good excuses for being late!" It's Madam Grelza. The women who owned the small restaurant that I work for. 

I stumbled out of bed, slipping on my black pants and pulling a faded hooded jumper over my head. Hunched low, I shuffled to the door and opened it.

There she stood—round as a barrel, arms like logs, face pinched with perpetual anger. She looked about forty but carried decades of hate in her glare.

"You think you're special, huh? Because I let you sleep here? You haven't repaid back my kindness for taking you in. You ungrateful little bastard!"

"Sorry, Madam Grelza," I murmured.

I grabbed the overflowing trash bags beside the door. They reeked and were heavy.

She spit at the ground behind me as I passed by her.

"I should've let you rot in the gutter. I take you in, and you act like you're the owner of the Dust Lands."

She never let anyone forget that she "rescued" me. I sarcastically smirked. The way she rescue me was to make me work long hours and nearly sold me to the gangs for organ harvesting. Knowing that I would be done for, I signed a slave contract, which meant I could never run away and only can work for her. 

I thought back to when I tried to run away, I was caught by the henchman Madam Grelza had sent. I had nearly lost a leg from the beatings. After that I thought I had to wait a few more years for a chance to escape.

But now.... clenched my fist. I know I can change my plans now.

-------------------------------------------------

Outside, I trudged through the cracked alleys toward the dumpsters behind the kitchens. As I rounded the corner, someone blocked my path.

"Hey, bastard."

Neo.

Tall, wiry, a sneer permanently etched across his face. He was my age, maybe younger, but already wore the gang's red band.

"What? Not gonna greet me? Where's your respect, rat?"

I didn't speak.

He shoved me hard against the wall.

"You're gonna regret ignoring me. You think cause you wear black now, you're better than us?"

I clenched my fists.

Not yet.

Neo spit at my feet and walked away.

"You better bow next time, or I'll break those bony fingers."

I watched him go.

There is no need wasting my time on him. I just need to find a way escape this place. 

To be Continued....