Marleen found herself in a cell. Only she wasn’t alone. And, neither was she the one in chains.

“This is a very simple thing to understand, my friend,” said the other free one. Tall, well-rounded, showing a bare chest swirling with icy blue tattoos. Though he was bent over the prisoner, leering and scowling with the demeanour befitting an interrogator, Marleen could sense that he wasn’t ready to commit any atrocities. “Either tell us where the caravan is, or my associate will have you join her workout.”

He was calling her. Shit. One step in front of the other and –Am I carrying a club?

She was. A bulbous, dark and wrinkled length of wood that felt strangely cold in her hands. Marleen balanced the weapon, tapping it on one palm as her partner in this ‘interrogation’ slipped to the side to let her have at it. She smiled in thanks. Was that appropriate? Seemed a bit morbid. The victim had his mouth clamped shut, but wriggled in cuffs fastened to the arms of his chair. As she drew close to the victim she blocked the only light source, swathing him in darkness, and so the victim struggled harder.

Marleen stood over them; they were so small in comparison. So helpless. Hurting them would be so unfair. Messy, and unforgivable. What was she doing here, again? Where was she?

Marleen de Jaeger wobbled, then fainted inside the interrogation chamber.

She woke to the sounds of bludgeoning and sobs at her back. Sitting down against a thick cobbled wall, the festivities continued on without her. Which was fine, given that Marleen’s head panged with a pain almost as bad. Wincing, she helped up, then scolded herself; You can’t compare your pain to that! Lurching over to an open window for some fresh air, she supposed that’s what she got for trying out a wild idea with that many tequila shots in her system. Every time she had tequila, she said it would be her last but here she was, in Bilgewater.

That’s right. The VR game. A moment of focus swept over her as she remembered stealing away the spot. The panic but also the laughter, the joy -so certain that she was going to go away with the half a million dollar prize.

“Uhghh.”

Marleen’s stomach lurched. How the fuck did that work in virtual reality? Would she get sick in real life? Clenching a fist over her abdomen, she seized control of the sick feeling. No, she couldn’t let that happen; she wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place, and she didn’t want to give them an excuse to kick her out of the pod. They probably haven’t even noticed, yet. There were 99 other live feeds to watch.

Marleen felt calmer now that she had a handle on her state. Somewhat. It helped that the crunching and smashing sounds had also subsided. Selfish as it was, she did not want her ‘associate’ to invite her back in. She didn’t think she could handle actually seeing what she allowed him do -I could’ve stopped that, but I didn’t act. With her pain dulling and negative thoughts bubbling to the surface, Marleen tapped her fingers on the table she was leaning against. Maybe when this was all over she could laugh at the idea that her worries still ruled over her, even when completely immersed inside a game. But right now she was too fucking stressed.

Also on the table was an open chest. The victim’s belongings? Evidence? Either or seemed likely. She waltzed her idle fingers inside, unsure what she was looking for until she found it. Thin, and nestling comfortably between two fingers; a smoke, or what appeared to be one, anyway. Yes. Oh dear Lord, yes.

Upon closer look, the long tube was hollow, like a pipe. And there wasn’t really anything to smoke, but nothing here was real anyway, so who gave a fuck? Leaning out the window, Marleen put it to her lips and pulled, her long history with cigarettes filling in the sensations: Awareness. Clarity. Reality just a little ways under control. Peace.

“Fuck,” she said, breathing out a heavy nothing, “That’s exactly what he said. And I’m doing it.”

It was the whole reason she was in this contraption. A riot employee at the conference bar spilling just a little bit too much. And the young ones ate it up. Everyone was asking how long he thought the Battle Royale would go on for. Some cared about the game, some about paid hours. And besides, he was buying.

“I wouldn’t worry about hours,” he had said, “It’ll last for the entire three days, guaranteed, which when undiluted gives the event a week of content. None of them are prepared. Yes, even the pros.

“They’ll get caught up in the world, in the realism of it. They’ll forget what they were doing. Some of them might not want to leave. But don’t worry, we have ways of forcing action -and no it’s not a closing circle, who do you think we are?

“The Battle Royale isn’t really the point. Obviously the prize money is a bonus, but we just want to show off the world. Show how far our design has come along, and get you ready for the real thing -when is it coming? C’mon now, you know I couldn’t tell you that, even if I knew.”

The world, the realism. They’ll forget.

Marleen took another pretend drag, even coughing as the door to the interrogation room opened. She prepared, continuing to tell herself that it wasn’t real, the blood, the inevitable violence, her headache, the taste of bile, none of it. The only thing that was real was her ex-husband’s debt, and the prize money she’d win by committing just a little virtual murder.

As her associate came out, Marleen’s head slammed again, the pain returning but worse. Foreign. Bewildered, she looked to her ‘pipe’ to find a dark purple ooze leaking out the end.

She shared a look while her eyes were still open. One of shock, and horror. And many other things she couldn’t even share with her children, let alone this computerized stranger. She couldn’t die! If she didn’t, would she be able to sleep? Or would she be taken out? Was there time to recover? Was there still a chance—

*

The ceiling faced her when Marleen woke up. Innocuous grey plaster that could have existed anywhere in reality. But she knew that’s not where she was. There was no need to move or get up, the mere fact that she could see the ceiling, and the breaking edge of night from the window to the side told her everything she needed to know. She was still in the Bilgewater Battle Royale. The ‘pipe’ was a blowgun, poisoned, yet she survived. And therefore, she was going to be the last one standing.

Kipping up with ease, Marleen admired the body she had taken over for the first time. A little thicker around the hips than she was used to, but damn strong. However, her surroundings hadn’t held up so well. The victim had escaped; she could see handcuffs hanging loosely off the chair in the room ahead. They had retaken most of their belongings, as well as scattered other equipment. Then there was her associate, face down on the floor with the blowgun in his grasp. Marleen knelt down and checked his pulse; dead. Plucking the blowgun off his body, Marleen was impressed by her own ability to not feel sad by his passing. The whole ethics thing was apparently something that needed to be slept on, and being forced to do so may have been the best thing for her situation. Pain and poison compartmentalized, Marleen not only had a weapon, but had been handed a plan of action by it.

Not trusting the logical way out of this compound, she slung herself over the window onto the street tops. The night air was cool, lurking about easy. It seemed that Bilgewater was built on high-rise buildings and narrow walkways, perfect for pursuing someone at range. The rafters rattled as she leapt from roof to roof, but the city was still awake, no one looking up from their revelry. Overcoming the poison made Marleen bold, but also taught her that the contestants were different to the civilian AI.

The first part she already knew from the Riot employee; the game session lasted for three days, but inside the pods it would feel like a whole week. No wonder she was so fucked up before. If she was a real contestant, there was no way she would have passed the health screening and been allowed to play. What this meant was that sleeping patterns would be different for players than for the natural Bilgewaterans, or whatever they call themselves. On the first night especially, they’d all be out.

The second part was her blowgun. How could she tell one suspicious figure in the dark from another? Well, it seemed the poison was lethal to the citizens but not to players, as she could attest to. If they didn’t quickly drop dead, then she had to hit them again. A few innocent casualties were inevitable in her hunt, but it’s not like they were ever alive in the first place.

*

She’d need to pick smaller groups, too many managed to get away. The first few were always easy to get, most froze in shock when caught off guard by a silent weapon. One. Two, three bodies down, the fourth being tricky to hit, and then Marleen would drop down. She snatched any snacks not spilled, while kicking those she poisoned just to make sure.

Another group of civilians.

Marleen thought her plan was solid, but didn’t expect Bilgewater to be such a party town, with the majority of sailors and workers openly bearing arms. And a player could easily be fraternising with them, playing the part while they looked for their own opportunity. Ripping a bite from a heel of cheesy bread, Marleen took a seat amidst the carnage. Why the fuck does it taste so good? She pondered for a second, clearing her throat with perfectly under-chilled ale. Too many people, too many good cooks. Shame, next time go to sleep early. As nice as the rewards were, killing the populous en masse wasn’t ideal. She’d lost count at this point, but it was safe to say not a single one of her victims were players, and after these last couple botched assaults the survivors had likely spread word of her. She’d keep going, of course, but it was disappointing.

As she rose, someone ran out from the house next to the scene, axe raised and shimmering silver. Marleen put the blowgun to her lips and spat. The materialized poison dart struck his nose, and he flattened to the floor of the porch in two steps. His axe skittered across the cobble road.

Idiot. Marleen always had the blowgun between her fingers. Climbing her way up through the axe man’s house, she started to think that she was enjoying the act of killing itself. But no, it was just the emotional addiction of smoking; each time the wood met her tongue, her stress dissipated in a plume of worry. Death was an afterthought. An excuse rather than a reason, in fact she’d been tempted to hunt down those who ran away just for another drag.

Marleen stopped inside the family room. Wafts of baking, roasting and boiling lingered in the air for the last time. There was no longer a family here. And she hadn’t even taken note of their faces. Not a single one. She pushed the thought away and hoisted herself onto the roof. All of it was fake. She wasn’t a killer, just trying to erase some bad credit. Yes, and she couldn’t stop searching.

She stepped in the open dark for a bit. It took time to adjust, but this angle was too useful to give up. Eyes still fuzzing and focusing, Marleen snapped to the left to avoid an arrow of crystal blue. Once clear of her, it snapped and crumbled to twinkling vapor. Another one was already on the way from beneath, but Marleen pounced away from the edge of the roof, making the angle of attack impossible.

It had to be a player! Crouched in darkness, Marleen twirled the blowgun like a pencil before a test. So… tonight wasn’t a waste.

As she inched towards the next housetop, she expected a callout. A plea to her morality, a random flurry of attacks, or the sound of her pursuer bounding up the creaky stairs below. Unfortunately, whomever she had drawn in wasn’t a complete idiot. Marleen peeked out, checking the gap between houses. She spotted a blue bow, and jerked back before another arrow cracked into the corner tile.

Both of them were hunters. Prowling. But who had more experience killing in Bilgewater? Marleen would bet that she did. And though her position was a great vantage point, she was essentially trapped. It seemed like her pursuer’s ability was similar to hers, and would materialize projectiles when needed. And as a player like her, she needed no sleep, could easily wait her out until Bilgewater authorities came to surround any other means of escape. They were hardly going to let her get away with tonight’s ‘festivities’.

Marleen lay down and faced the sky, controlling her breathing, just cold enough to be visible. She fidgeted, swapping her blowgun from hand to hand. It felt uncomfortable in every position now that she was sweating. Distant dark shadows of arches looped round the periphery of her vision. Are those…cliffs? Marleen hadn’t realized just how huge this city was. How hard this work would be. But still, this was only the first night.

She spun on her feet, rising in a corkscrew motion. She tightened her core, juggled the balance of her shoulders; she had but one shot at this. She had to be quick. With a loud step, she bounded toward the gap between the houses. Instead of going over, however, she jumped short, sliding down against the wall as she watched the first arrow flit ahead. It took a lot of effort to roll out the landing without hurting herself -or losing grip of her blowgun.

Still, by the time she was on her feet, her pursuer had notched the second attack. The impact whipped back Marleen’s head. Like an ice shower in brick form. But Marleen ran through it, blowing out poison.

She had gambled on their abilities being similar. If that was the case, then it would take several arrows before she was brought down. As she shook off the damage from the ice arrow and kept running, Marleen took her pursuer’s hesitation as a sign that her gamble paid off. She realized eventually, but by then Marleen knocked the bow aside and shot her with poison again. Falling down, the archer proved herself quick to adapt, and fired a shot at Marleen’s legs.

Crumbling down together, they wrestled. Each had taken two shots, and were feeling the effects of it. A final attack would decide the victor. Both disarmed, they held each other at bay, arms locked.

“I… need…to win.” The woman, Marleen’s adversary, meant it. In a moment Marleen saw her own anxiety, her fears reflected and the woman punished her for it, shoving her into the ground.

There was no time for Marleen to explain her own situation. To measure out who was in greater need. But admittedly, she did feel guilty.

The woman used her advantage to try and get to her bow, but Marleen held on to her with both arms and lunged across the cobbles. The thing was, you didn’t need arms to smoke if you were desperate. Or to blow. She knew that from experience, and kept pulling and shooting, eyes closed, until her adversary stopped struggling in her grasp. Even when it was over, Marleen kept the tube in her mouth. The taste of the wood comforted her. Took her away to old clouds, grey memories.

She didn’t realize she wasn’t alone anymore until the blowgun was plucked from her teeth.

“Such a dangerous thing, in so small a package.”

Marleen made to get up, slow and weary as she was. But the blowgun was now aimed at her. By a bald woman, neatly dressed and standing with the air of authority. There wasn’t a hint of pirate about her.

“This would be a fitting end, the mothers of Fleet Street would thank me,” she said, talking down to Marleen, “But I’ve been told I’m too quick with the trigger -especially for a diplomat. So tell me something worth knowing. Why is your kind here, and what exactly are you?”

Hands up, Marleen eyed the corpse of her only player kill. “The rest are killers,” she said to the official, “And I will hunt them.”