It took two and a half bloody hours to find his way back to the apartment. First, he had to walk from the outer burrow to the city center, locate the competition center, then trudge to the penthouse building. He unlocked the door close to midnight and entered. The living room television was on and both women were curled up on the couch with the dog. They turned to look at him, and he gave all three a sloppy grin.

"I'm surprised you're back. Didn't you leave the bar with that female Meister?" Violet asked dryly.

"We fucked, she shot at me, and I decided it best to sleep at home tonight." Max replied with a ‘what-can-you-do' shrug.

"You do have a way with women," Friday said with a small smile.

"I know, right?! Girls are so strange. They can go from hot to cold in seconds."

"Do you want to join us?" Friday asked gesturing toward the television.

"I could use a sit," he admitted slumping into the closest leather seat. The black and white show was halfway through the episode. A boy with baby cheeks and light hair trudged through the front door of an old fashioned house. Following him was a collie with a white stripe on his face and black floppy ears.

A woman with dark hair, a white striped shirt, and a floured covered apron was making dinner inside.

"Mom!"

"Yes, Timmy?" She asked turning around and spotting the beautiful shiner on the kid's face.

"What happened to you?"

"I was playing football, trying out for the team. I need you to sign for permission. Where's the pen?"

"Uh uhh, no football.

"But mom, all the other kids are playing!"

"I don't care who else is playing, you're not. It's too rough a game for a small boy." The mother said walking away and into the rest of the house. Timmy dejected sat, pulling the permission slip towards himself.

On the couch, Rusty barked as the collie snuck forward and stuck his head under Timmy's arm. He whined to the boy, who turned to pet him. A depressing bit of music played as the camera zoomed in on the pair. Lassie whined again and licked at Timmy's face before the shot transitioned. Finally, Max remembered where he'd seen this before.

"This is Lassie, isn't it? I have never seen an episode." Max said and the women turned to him. "My dad used to say bruises were proof you were playing football the right way."

"It's a good show, and full of life lessons," Friday said, and Rusty barked his agreement.

"I'm sure it is, but I'm all tuckered out. Going to hit the sack," He replied pulling himself out of the leather couch. He wandered into the guest room and found his gunbelt and gloves sitting on the night. Out in the living room, Timmy continued to try and play football with the other kids. Max undressed and slipped in the blankets, then immediately sank into sleep.

***

The smell of bacon and fresh coffee reached his nose, and he rolled out of bed half asleep and followed the scent into the main room. Friday was just giving Rusty a strip of greasy bacon as a reward. He chewed it with the ecstatic fever of a rabid dog. Max wandered to the kitchen counter where Friday is making breakfast again.

"Good Morning," He said sliding onto the stool. Friday turned a radiant smile on him and he couldn't help but return it.

"Where do I get blades and such, or are they NPC's too?" He asked and she put her hands on her hips and tilted her head in thought.

"You can buy any melee weapon you want at a store in the back of the mall. Not many people go in there because few Meisters willingly enter melee range." She replied pausing her preparations to turn towards him.

"What are you doing today?" Friday asked with interest.

"Probably another match. Yesterday, I had a really sweet sword fight aboard a pirate ship. Good fun."

"That's… interesting." Friday admitted after a small pause.

"I'm still sure what I'll do with myself long-term, but I really took your message to heart, so I'm going to enjoy myself to the fullest.

"You mean like last night?" Friday asked and Max laughed. It was nice to see the woman wasn't afraid to tease him right back.

"I did not expect that Meister to drag me back to her apartment, but I wasn't going to pass up the opportunity. Holy shit, did I need that, too." He admitted and stood patting his jeans to make sure he had the apartment key. Violet turned towards him with an annoyed expression.

"Are you going to show up at my work again?"

"What, you didn't like seeing me?"

"Thanks to you, everyone assumed we were together. I got harassed by a hundred different guns, all asking about you."

"I'm popular!" Max said with a pleasant surprise.

"It's annoying. Several wanted to stay here."

"You have two other guest rooms, so charge them rent. Just tell them I don't promise anything."

"They'd only be here for the chance to contract. Besides, we like our privacy." Violet said with a huff.

"Don't go just yet," Friday said finishing her preparations. Max paused as Friday bounded toward him.

"What's this?" he asked as the woman handed him a brown paper bag.

"Peanut butter and jelly, in case you get hungry."

"Awww," he said taking it. "How thoughtful," Max added glancing inside to see the plastic wrapped sandwich. He couldn't remember his own mother had ever made him a sandwich. Not once. Violet rolled her eyes from the kitchen stool but said nothing. Max opened the apartment door and slipped out humming a cheerful tune.

Violet's voice called after him, "Don't come to the bar." Max smirked and rode the elevator down to the ground floor. He wandered down the street in the early morning light. Just inside the mall was the food court, and he stopped to buy a large cappuccino. He paid for the drink and wandered into the first store. It felt quite liberating, and for almost an hour, he idled in the different tactical shops. Eventually, he found himself into the same tactical duds shop from yesterday. Today he bought a pair of Kevlar combat gloves and was tempted by the desert cargo pants, but the price tag was still a tad steep.

The very last store was called Betsy's Blade Emporium. A sign on the display window read, "Don't see what you like? Build any custom blade for 10,000c." Below this was a six-foot-tall naginata with a silk wrapped handle and a dragon pommel. The store was empty of other players, and an old Asian lady was reading something behind the front counter.

"Irasshaimase," she said without taking her eyes off her work.

The inside of the shop was only about twenty feet by fifty and covered in Japanese posters. One wall was totally given over to a massive knife collection, while the back had truncheons, clubs, baseball bats, a morning star on sale, and a guitar made of steel. A low standing CNC machine was set up on the left side of the shop. Instructions in three languages described how any weapon could be custom made, but Max didn't have that kind of cash to waste, so he wandered over the knives.

At first, Max gravitated toward the giant American pig-stickers. He picked up a Huntsman Bowie knife with a thirteen-inch blade and ran a thumb along the blood groove. It was tempting just for the extra reach, but he put it back. Next, he pulled a couple of karambits off the wall and tested them. The first had a small curved blade, and tiny grip, which made it look like letter opener in his over-sized mitts. Toward the top row was a curved knife with a larger than average hilt, and a finger hole big enough to fit his thumb into. Max pulled it from the sheath and admired the greenish Damascus steel, which had a wavy pattern worked into the metal. The blade was about five inches long, with a five-inch rubber wrapped hilt and a finger hole he could use with his new gloves. He glanced at the 2800 credit sticker price and almost dropped the knife.

Holy shit, that was expensive for a sliver of steel, but damn he needed it. He took the curved knife up the counter, and the old baba put her book down. She was barely four feet tall with thick glasses and a thread-bare kimono. Two black lacquered needles kept the mass of white hair in s tight frizzy bun. She glanced at him, and rang the item up without comment or much expression, then gestured towards the console screen. After palming the screen, Max slid the karambit onto his belt and positions near the small of his back.

Now he could enter a match armed with something, and if things worked out, he'd come back for something custom made. He wasn't sure how long he'd make Violet wait, but sooner or later he'd need some actual firepower. For now, he'd jog over to the competition center and try his luck.

The mall seemed crowded as he left the store. By his reckoning, it was about 9:30, maybe ten as he pushed through the throng. He was excited to try out his new knife and jogged from the mall. The street was busy with traffic, both automotive and pedestrian.

Three women clung to a Meister as he ambled toward the competition center. The man was of average height with a stocky build and an Englishman's ruddy features. Short dirty blond hair was carefully styled atop his head, and a goatee added to his genial character. A long gray trench-coat hung to his feet mostly hiding a set of medium body armor, and a pair of black trousers. Ringing his belt were a dozen rifle magazines and a small unidentified pouch. The girls were almost nondescript in their beauty, and they hung from the Meister like exotic flowers.

Max was more than a tad jealous. Why couldn't he get girls like that? For about half a block he watched them fawn over the player. Growing annoyed, he jogged passed and through the intersection just before it changed color. For a few minutes, he toyed with the idea of stopping by the armory to check out his options. He didn't need to contract with Violet. She even offered to introduce him to some of her friends. No, better to give it a day to or two.

The competition center came into sight and a host of clan recruiters were calling out slogans around the entrance again. Girls, inc were out in force today with a squad of scantily clad Meisters. Along with two-piece thongs, they sported a small collection of pistols, slung rifles, and belts full of gear. Other clans imitated them to a greater or lesser degree.

"Be sexy, be badass! Any skill level welcome. Join Girls, Inc." A ginger-haired woman called out.

"Join Death's Head! Must be gold or higher and willing to work on an assigned team. Serious players only," a second man called with a megaphone. Behind him, a giant was crouched behind a ballistic shield, while four others fanned out on either side in a choreographed move. Each wore a ballistic mask shaped like a skull and moderate to heavy body armor. In completely sync, they duck walked—with raised weapons—around a temporary wall and disappeared. There was a contained flash and several suppressed gunshots.

"Try out for Team 666, platinum and above. We are going to win this years championship." A man with chiseled features shouted nearby. Max paused to look at the high-level player, who dominated a small table. A modified M4 carbine hung across his back, and a customized pistol rested in a thigh holster. That was the second time Max had heard about the winter tournament. He stepped closer and raised a hand to get his attention.

"What's this about the championship?" Max asked stepping up the man. The Meister glanced at him, noticed his lack of weapons, and promptly ignored him. Undeterred, Max stepped closer and blocked him the throng of players streaming past. He smiled more with his teeth than last time, and the man sighed.

"It's a twice a year tournament…" the man muttered before turning and shouting his clan pitch again.

"And?" Max prodded and the guy groaned dropping his clipboard onto the table.

"Not that it matters to you, but squads randomly compete against each other. Points are awarded for round time and kills. The best squad wins the tourney cup and five million dollars." The man said and Max nodded. The girl from yesterday mentioned the competition as well, and it was good to hear the confirmation.

"That's some serious prize money."

"It's split between five people. The money spent is an easy way for Skybot Studio's to generate interest in the game." The guy said picking up his clipboard again. "Now would you kindly, fuck off," He added shooing Max away.

He shrugged joining countless others going into the competition center. Just like yesterday, the lobby was crowded with Meisters. He got into line for a console, waited an agonizing ten minutes, and finally started a quick deathmatch.

"Please Enter Lobby 89," it said and he smiled. The elevator ride was short and he stepped into a private lobby already full of victims. Today's batch looked more kitted out than normal, but he didn't have much time to eyeball them. Darkness closed in after a few steps.

[Match Started]

Standing not five feet from him was one of the topless women, and he knew he was kinda fucked. They faced each other in an open warehouse. Behind her, a half dozen other Meisters were paired off into dueling groups. She grabbed at the black gun on her thigh holster. Max shot forward while he pulled the Karambit from behind his back. He meant to tackle her, but she back peddled as the Glock cleared the holster. The first bullet slammed into his stomach as fell upon her small frame. The gun barked five or six times in rapid succession, and dull pain stitched up his chest as he dug his own blade into her. Max staggered sideways to the concrete, but the blade was buried to the hilt between her ribs.

Well darn it, he thought as darkness closed over him. The door to the lounge opened and he was surprised to see the pink haired girl was there before him. She sat sulking with arms crossed over her chest. Max walked over to his previous spot and plopped down to watch.

Each of the duels concluded within seconds, and the Meisters quickly picked new targets. The camera focused on a woman laying on the concrete using a large male corpse for cover. She and the dark haired boy started exchanging shots. Two other women were shooting at one another on the east side, while the last woman got to maneuver into a better position. The whole thing was done before the circle was even visible. The last Meister standing was a woman with bright green hair and a great ass. She entered the private lounge with a jaunty little victory dance.

Max sighed, stood, and climbed into the elevator with the others. He got into line for a console. Finally, after five minutes of waiting, it was his turn and he pressed his palm against the screen, and selected Quick Death Match from the list.

"Please Enter Lobby 95," it replied and he quickly got into the nearby elevators.

The private lobby was empty as he exited the elevator. Max sat and dropped his arms over the back of the couch. The first two people to enter were obviously friends. Both men looked like teenagers in tactical clothing. The dark haired kid had burgundy colored eyes and watched Max while he relaxed on the touch. The other had short platinum blond hair and big baby blue eyes. They went over to another couch and sat down together.

The next group to enter were five women wearing skin-tight pants, combat boots, and little else. Sure they had a belt of mags, but each was topless save the odd tattoo or nipple piercing. He supposed he could see the reasoning. The breasts on display were a useful distraction, if only for a few seconds, but that might be enough to win the match. Plus, it saved them from buying clothes. Three had wildly colorful hair, while a fourth was a dark brunette with tinted glasses. The last woman had short black hair, a scar across one cheek, and a bandoleer of shotgun shells across her chest. The rail-thin woman was impatiently tapping her leather boot on the carpet floor. She carried a chrome revolver on her hip and a dozen speed-loaders on her belt. Stick up from her back was Remington 870 pump shotgun. Max would have continued to ogle the women, but the final Meister entered, and everyone turned to glance at him.

He was probably six foot with a completely bald head and a truly impressive handlebar mustache. Like most others, he was wearing ballistic armor, but his pants and jacket were straight from a WW2 era film. Hanging on his back was an old 1919 Browning Machine Gun, and several large ammo pouches dangled from his belt along with a holstered 1911. Most of the pistol was hidden by leather, but he could see the custom Betty Page grips.

Max belatedly realized everyone in the room had a primary weapon except him, and he swore softly to himself. This match was probably going to end even faster than the last. Darkness closed in and he mentally prepared for the shit show that was about to take place.

[Match Start]

Snow covered the ground in a light layer of white powder, and a mist veiled the nearby trees. Above him, the tall evergreen trees blocked the sun from view. The forest floor was left in dim shadow except a few god rays plunging through the canopy. His breath plumed in the cold air. There wasn't anyone nearby and the circle wasn't in sight, though he could only see fifty feet in any direction before fog and tree's blocked his vision.

The fresh snow crunched under his boots. He sought shelter under the laden branches of a tall evergreen. Max was in a pickle and he tried to consider his best option. This was an old growth forest with few bushes, and little in the way of cover. Hiding would be next to impossible, and he was unsure where the other players were. They could come at him from any direction, and if it happened to be from behind, he was as good as dead. Climbing a tree might be an option if he had a pistol. Otherwise, he'd be a sitting target. Yes, moving was his best option right now.

The sound of snow crunching spun Max around, and he came face to face with a giant Canadian moose. It had stopped no more than ten feet from him and was hunting in the fresh powder for late season nuts. Max slowly removed his knife, for all the good it would do. He held the blade at his side wondering what he would do if it attacked him. The giant animal chewed methodically as it stared at him without concern. He was a little peeved the creature managed to sneak up on him, but it solidified his decision to move. Max kept his eyes on the moose while backing away.

It didn't take long for the moose to disappear from sight. He picked his way through the trees until he managed to locate some tracks. Max crouched and placed a palm over the huge bear track. It was easily twice the size of his hand which meant it was a full grown adult. It would be hunting for food to fatten up for the winter. He followed the giant tracks reasoning it was better to find it than be found by it.

Less than two minutes later gunfire erupted nearby. The fog played tricks with sound, but the roar that followed was much easier to focus on. Max crunched through the snow until he caught sight of a man running to his right. A giant gash ran from his shoulder to his stomach, and crimson blood dripped onto the pristine snow. A giant brown and black grizzly bear drunkenly chased the man. It hobbled on its front right leg but continued to gain. Max quickly ducked behind a tree to watch.

The player snatched a full magazine on the run but fumbled the reload. It tumbled to the ground as the bear tackled the man from behind. Both man and bear roared as the creature reared up on it's two back legs. The Meister had landed close to his magazine. He grabbed it, shoved it into the pistol, and dropped the slide release. The bear's full weight landed on his frail human chest as he aimed the weapon upward. A single shot rang out before 800 pounds of apex predator tore into flesh and muscle. It was brutal thirty-second mauling which left the snow stained red in all directions. Victorious, the animal tottered sideways and collapsed on the mauled corpse.

In the distance, Max could make out the red glow of the closing circle. It inched along at a snail's pace but confirmed which direction the center was. He had a minute or so until the buzzer, then the energy barrier would quickly close. He turned from the wall and crept along heading north. The trees made for partial cover, and he hopped from one to the next. More tracks crisscrossed the snow, mostly deer and small game, but no more bears.

Max returned his knife to its sheath as the buzzer sounded. Soon everyone would be forced together and the real killing would begin. He crouched next to a young evergreen tree and peered out between its branches. Ahead of him was a clearing covered in late autumn grass. The stalks were about four feet tall and packed together in the small space. What little snow had fallen had already melted with the rising sun.

Lowering himself to ground, Max lay prone on the frozen snow and carefully scanned the clearing. About halfway across a patch of grass shifted. A small gap opened as a bundle of blond hair became visible. The female stood up, scanned the forest, then quickly ducked into the grass again. Max had a target and he smiled. Before moving, he looked around and behind him before crawling into the grass.

His pace was agonizingly slow. He lifted an arm and placed it a few inches ahead of himself, then carefully pushed the grass aside. His progress halted as gunfire erupted off to his left. The first report was a quick six or seven shots, then another person joined the fray. A hail of fire filled the air. Max used the distraction to crawl forward another ten feet. Someone a few paces from him stood. He heard them fire at the players duking it out along the forest's edge. Bullets ripped over his head as they returned fire.

Max gathered his legs under his body and his heart began to pound with eager anticipation. He could hear his quarry slapping at his belt for a fresh magazine. His Karambit made a quiet shishk sound as it left the Kydex sheath. He lunged forward bulling through the grass. In three strides he upon a woman crouched in the grass. She spun to face him with an SMG magazine still half inserted into the gun. He landed on her and she dropped everything to fight him off. Her painted nails clawed at his face, and her legs feebly kicked beneath him. His powerful hands pulled her wrist aside and he drove the blade into her neck, then dragged it hard across her throat. Almost immediately her eyes rolled back and her arms relaxed in death as blood poured down her bare chest.

More bullets flew back and forth as several people sprinted into the grass. He dropped to the ground as a hail of rounds cracked past his head. This did not look good, and he was no hopeful about winning this match. Max counted at least five shooters by the number of bullets zipping by. He couldn't just wait here, because they were running about in the low grass. If someone stumbled upon him laying there, he'd be in no position to fight back.

He lay there for maybe thirty seconds as everyone paused to reload. The grass nearby made a sound like dry sticks rubbing together. Max was forced to his feet and turned in its direction. Five bullets cracked past just barely missing him. Throw himself to right and then left, more bullets blazed through the low grass. A man in a brown leather jacket came into view. A shotgun quickly aimed in his direction as Max hurled himself forward, knife extended. The muzzle flashed and buckshot slammed into his stomach, chest, and shoulder.

Darkness closed in as he collapsed to the ground, and a few seconds later, a door opened. Max stepped into the private lobby. Four people sitting on the couches watching the battle finish. He wandered over and sat down next to the blond girl. She glanced at him, then returned her attention to the main display.

The red circle was closing fast on the grass clearing, and the timer said there was only three minutes left in the match. Max saw his dead body crumpled in an unresponsive heap, blood spilling across the ground. The man who'd killed him pulled a bloody Karambit from his thigh with a grimace. Max was a little mollified he'd gotten a piece of the Meister. The knife went into his belt before he reloaded with a fresh mag.

A stray bullet caught one man in the head, brains spraying across the tall grass. Behind them, a door opened and he joined them in the private lounge. As the final minute ticked down four players were left in a quickly shrinking circle. The view slowly rotated to take in the remaining Meisters.

At thirty seconds the four remaining Meister's reloaded in near unison. They advanced slowly through the grass pistols twitching back and forth. The crackling shield dogged their heels. At twenty seconds the shooting resumed, and bullets sawed the grass as each player threw themselves to the ground. The fact all of them were still alive at ten seconds was amazing. They scrambling across the ground just ahead of the circle. Two men -- down to using pistols -- shot each other dead while the last two players grabbed at each other's weapons. A bullet struck an arm, while the other shot a leg, and they rolled together through the energy barrier.

[Match Complete]

"At least everyone lost that round," the blond said as she stood from the couch. "I don't feel so bad now." Max stood and joined the others in the elevator. It had been a good game, even though he lost.

He decided to check his stats finally and discovered why everyone in the last match had machine guns and SMG's. Max was Silver One.

_____________

Player ID - NA2114002

Registered Competition Name - None

Clan - None

Hours played - 55

Wins - 2

Losses - 2

Kills - 12

Deaths - 2

K/D Ratio - 6.0

Battle Rank - Silver One

Player Score - 1033

Credits - 17408c

_____________

Well… well, Max thought to himself. He'd managed to get to Silver all on his own. However, from now on he'd really have to work to get any kills, especially without a weapon. He flicked back to the main menu. The boxes for quick Deathmatch and Team Deathmatch were grayed out, and a warning flashed when he pressed one.

[Two matches completed for today]

"What? I can only play twice a day?" He asked and the woman behind him looked over his shoulder.

"You're gun should have told you can only play two comp matches day. You can still do as many casual matches as you like, but you’ll only get credits for killing players." She said and he groaned. Great, another thing Violet failed to tell him before stomping off. Max wanted to play again, but what was the point if he couldn't make any credits?

"If you're not going to play then let the next person go," She said in a slightly exasperated voice. Max tapped out of the screen and stepped aside. Welp, that did him in for today. Maybe he'd hop over to Quinn's bar and relax for the rest of the day.

The air seemed fresher outside the hall and the mass of players. He didn't want to spend any more time in the competition hall. The apartment would be empty, and he wasn't in the mood for more shopping. Max snapped his fingers as the idea struck. The gay bar wasn't too far away, so he could stop by and annoy Violet for a little while. Seeing her in that sexy black dress from this morning would be a nice bonus.