“Down!” I yelled just a heartbeat before the grenade exploded to my right.

I heard the scream as Donovan was ripped to shreds not able to react fast enough. He was the last one that survived our initial encounter with the enemy. Everything since we tried storming this building had gone to hell. They opened fire as soon as we breached, had pinned us down and taken out 3 of my squad right away. Every meter forward in the abandoned warehouse was a death trap. Finally they pushed Donovan and me back into this room and threw the grenade. I looked over to my former squad mate. No point checking him out, he was missing half his face. Fuck!

Coming back up to a crouch I dashed behind a stack of crates. I tried to check where the gangers were at over the sights of my HK2079. 23 shots left. Okay, at least I don’t have to throw the gun at them. My P90md, the md standing for mass driver, was spent and the battery light gave a last few saw blinks in red and then died. Okay, 23 shots and two flashbangs vs 3 gangers. I know it shouldn’t be possible but they seemed to know exactly where we were the whole time.

I pressed a button on my wrist and activated my stealth field. 30 seconds of looking like the background. I positioned myself so that the crate would still provide cover but I could aim at the door. I am sure that they will be coming to check.

Just as that thought crossed my head, I heard the shuffling of feet. My guess, 2 people to check the room, one to check the other to cover. I shifted slightly to the side giving me a better angle at the door and the expected location of the gangers. One stuck his head into the room for a moment, having a quick look around and retracting it again. I bided my time.

Two seconds later ganger one stepped into the room and I saw a few inches of ganger two’s torso. That had to be enough. Now or never. I aimed at the guy providing cover from the door. I gently squeezed the trigger. 2 soft pops about half a second apart. Before his gun could clatter to the ground I had already shifted aim at number one. The sensor in my gun fed information through my neural-link. Half body armor, low chance of penetration in double tap mode.

The handbook said to go for burst setting in these cases but I only had 21 shots left. Burst would have cost me 5 right there. Instead I switched to single action. I finally heard number two’s gun clatter to the ground as I loosened my first shot and hit just underneath the armor in the crease of his upper thigh. He leaned forward, his own weapon forgotten and I aimed my second shot right between his eyes. My neural link in combination with my training had predicted his movement correctly and he collapsed to the floor. 19 shots left, one ganger to go.

I snuck to the door frame and peaked around. Eight seconds left on my stealth field. I poked my head out to get the lay of the land and immediately pulled back as 2 flechette darts ricochet off the door frame and whined into the room. Shit, I don’t know where number three is holed up and I can’t get a good look. I did however see an old metal sheeting press with about a foot and a half room under it.

“Put your weapons down, activate your surrender chip, get on your knees and fold your hands on your head,” I yelled into the gloom of the warehouse and no one in particular. I glanced at the indicator on my wrist. Nothing. Well, what did I hope for.

I threw the flashbang into the room and closed my eyes. A second and a loud bang later I dashed the 20is foot to the press and slid underneath. Now I at least could get a bit of a look around. Where would I hide if I was the last of a gang of kidnappers and wanted to make sure I took the last cop out. It was either the office that was set a little higher in the back or the metal staircase that led to the roof. Probably the office to be able to use the hostage as leverage.

The problem was if I go to the office I am exposing my back to the staircase. Not wanting anybody shooting at my back I took a chance to slide closer to the edge of the press and have a look at the staircase. Nobody there. I must have stuck myself out a little too far because the next moment something bit into my shoulder and threw me back under my cover. My left arm went numb and I clenched my teeth against the pain. My body started shaking. Fuck! High speed ammo. Designed to disrupt neuronal connections through impact shock.

I must have blacked out for a moment because the next thing I noticed were heavy footsteps and shuffling sounds.

“Come out of there or I kill this bitch!” The ganger growled from not far away.

My options were… nonexistent. Our assignment was taking out the kidnappers and rescuing the hostage. It was marked “Condition Red” - by any means necessary. Loss of life included. I shuffled around, my injured shoulder sending a muted pain spike through my whole body. My nervous system, still heavily impacted, had me feeling weak and shaky. And there was not much I could do. I gathered my last bit of strength and slid out from my hiding spot.

The ganger stood maybe 30 feet away in an aisle. His right hand was holding his gun, trained at my head and in his left he held the hair of the teenage girl they had kidnapped. She was hanging on to his arm but her body was bruised and she looked like she had been through hell.

“Did you really think you could take us?” The ganger growled and then added with a sneer: “Mister Fuller?”

As much as I wanted to respond, it took all my mental energy to stay on my feet and face him.

“I am tempted to let you go. Putting her head into your lap after I have some more fun with her and then leave you here so you can spread the words about “Thunder”.” He waited a few moments.

I managed to stop my teeth from chattering. I was angry, red hot angry. Who does this motherfucker think he is? How did they outmaneuver us so completely and where the hell did he get this kind of equipment from. My thoughts raced and my anger raged. I tried lifting my arm to aim at him but the simple action had me shaking and groaning.

“No reply? How the mighty have fallen!” He said with a hint of disappointment in his voice. “I didn’t think it would be that easy.”

With that he squeezed the trigger on his gun. I tried dropping to the ground but all I managed to do was put my face right in the way of the 3 darts he had fired. For a heartbeat agonizing pain flooded me and then everything went black.

* * * * *

Blackness. That's all there was. And then a tiny light appeared. It began to move from left to right tracing patterns in the blackness like carving out a little space that the black couldn't touch. Light clung to the pattern before they faded again. I observed to interplay for a moment and wondered: Was the light banishing the dark for a brief moment or did it re-emerge something that was there before and still is behind the darkness? How would it be to have only one or the other instead of the interplay of gray? 

A blinking red light shook me out of my thoughts. I blinked a few times. What the hell? I need a doc to check me out, maybe I had brain damage or something. I focused my eyes on the light pattern:

You have died and have been removed from the current map of “Strike Force Delta”. 

You are being transferred to the tournament lobby.

Underneath that statement was a blinking red button. I sighed and mentally pushed it. 

Immediately my surroundings changed as if they materialized out of thin air. I was in what looked like a hotel meeting room. The room was filled with people and cameras. A podium at the front had people sitting on a table, discussing. 

Two security guys appeared left and right and guided me through the room, past reporters and fans to the podium. 

“Ah, here he is now. Grant Fuller, Double world champion Virtual Rally Paris-Dakar, double US Virtual Shooting Association champion and 5-times winner of the annual Strike Force Delta tournament. Come up here Grant, have a seat.”

I made my way up to the podium and one of the couches that were placed on it. I nodded to the speaker. “How are you Alex?”

He nodded back. We had done this dance many times before. 

“ESPN is still treating you right man?” 

“What can I say Alex, I love what I do and do what I love,” He laughed. Yep, that was our game. And I would not like the next few minutes, or hours, of it. 

“Speaking of which,” he started the interrogation. “How long have you been holding number one spot or the VR World Games List? 3 years?”

“4 and a half actually. But you knew that Alex.”

He coughed, a little embarrassed: “Fair enough, fair enough. Always better to hear you say it. There is something humble in your voice when you do.”

No question there and I wasn’t sure if that was a real or an underhanded compliment, so I just looked at him expectantly.

“Okay Grant, let's talk about today’s match. What happened?”

“The short? We lost.” I shrugged nonchalantly. “The long story is: I am actually not sure. I believe we played well, followed procedure, breached correctly… and then things turned south. I don’t know how but they seemed to know where we were moving or taking cover before we even knew. I don’t know how that is possible as both tactics and setup were closely guarded by the team.”

“Yeah, that sure was a blow? What do you think you could have done better?” 

“Again, I am not sure. We did follow our strategy and tactics, were alert and our equipment was in perfect working condition. It isn’t like we were slow on the draw or anything. I will have to review the logs and the recordings before I can say more.”

“Yeah, let’s go through the recordings together for our audience in a moment. Just one more question: Are you ready for another record?” 

I nodded. “Hit me.”

“Your fight tonight had the highest ever amount of credits bet on it. Roughly three quarters of that money was bet on you winning in various scenarios and about one quarter was bet against you. Want to guess the amount?”

“I know the record bet so far was 1.8 billion credits on a Gladiator match about a year ago. So let’s say 2 and a half?” I gave him a questioning look.

My interrogator chuckled. “You are too modest Grant. Today’s match had a total betting volume or 43.8 billion credits.” I heard a thump. Well, maybe it was my imagination but I am sure my jaw had hit the ground. 

Pro-players like myself got paid out of the betting total. That number was normally 0.05% of the total divided by the amount of players. Since I had a good agent and a high profile, my cut was usually a little higher than for the rest. A quick run of numbers in my head told me that I had made about 4 million credits. I heard a distinct ‘cha-ching’ sound in my head. Holy crap. 

Alex must have seen my facial expression as he started laughing. “Okay, now let’s run through the footage of the game.”

After about two and a half more hours of interviewing, which at times felt more like interrogation we finally wrapped up. I popped my console open, ignored the thousands of messages that cluttered my virtual inbox and hit the logout button.