Debt of Souls

Chapter 8

The bridge’s collapse echoed like thunder across the Main River, and the night swallowed the sound in seconds. 

Charlie’s lungs burned as he sprinted along the muddy riverbank, boots slipping on wet grass. 

The Safe Zone’s pulsing icon, bright white against the misty skyline, hovered like a ghost ahead of them, promising sanctuary but offering no guarantees.

Behind them, the Enforcers’ distorted voices carried on the wind. “Run all you want… the Game is everywhere.”

Lucas gasped between ragged breaths. “We… can’t… outrun them forever!”

“Then we make it to the Zone before they close the gap,” Charlie said, his voice sharp. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his thigh where the energy spear had grazed him. 

Every step sent fire through the muscle. Kessler kept pace beside him, his coat flaring with each stride. “You’re bleeding.”

“Not dead,” Charlie shot back. “That’s what matters.”

The path narrowed to a crumbling concrete embankment hugging the river. Water slapped against the wall below, dark and cold. Overhead, the skyline of Frankfurt loomed, glass towers gleaming like cold stars.

Lucas skidded on loose gravel. “Wait, look!” He pointed upriver. A series of neon-blue glyphs shimmered across the air, forming a lattice that stretched over the path.  The Game’s interface flickered, showing a message in glowing text:

Checkpoint: Hazard.

Detour Required, Time Penalty: 10:00.

Kessler cursed. “They’re funneling us.”

Charlie’s jaw tightened. “Not happening.” He scanned the surroundings, the embankment ended in a steep drop into the river on one side, while an abandoned warehouse loomed on the other. “Warehouse,” he decided. “Cut through.”

Lucas hesitated. “What if it’s trapped?”

Charlie didn’t slow. “Then we’re already dead.”

They vaulted a broken railing and crossed a patch of weeds to a rusting side door. Kessler yanked it open, hinges screeching. 

Inside, the warehouse was a cathedral of shadows, steel beams arching overhead, puddles reflecting the faint glow of the Game’s symbols. Lucas swallowed hard. “This feels… wrong.”

A faint buzzing filled the air. The symbols on the walls pulsed brighter, then shifted, forming arrows that spiraled deeper into the building. Kessler’s voice was a low growl. “It’s leading us, wants us inside.”

Charlie raised his pistol, stepping cautiously. “Stay sharp.”

As they moved between rows of forgotten shipping crates, the buzzing grew louder. Lucas’s tablet vibrated violently, flashing a warning: Proximity Alert: Player Ambush Imminent.

A metallic clang echoed from above, a crate shifted. Then another. Figures dropped silently from the catwalks: four players, their eyes glowing faint blue, weapons drawn. They spread out, cutting off the exits.

The leader, a woman with a shaved head and a jagged scar over her lip, smiled coldly. “Charlie. You’re carrying something the Game wants.”

Charlie tightened his grip on the pistol. “Then come take it.”

The scarred woman tilted her head, considering him. “You’re brave. Or stupid.”

“Both,” Kessler muttered.

Lucas edged backward until his heel hit a crate. He froze as another player, wielding twin knives, blocked his retreat.

The scarred woman’s voice was almost playful. “Drop the case. Walk out alive.”

Charlie’s mind raced. Four enemies. One gun. Kessler had the rebar. Lucas was unarmed.

The Game’s symbols on the walls pulsed faster, feeding on the tension. Then the scarred woman snapped her fingers. One of her men lunged.

Charlie fired, one shot, clean and fast. The man staggered back with a cry, clutching his shoulder. The warehouse exploded into chaos.

Kessler swung the rebar like a bat, catching another attacker across the ribs. Lucas dove for cover behind a crate as knives clanged off metal where his head had been.

Charlie ducked behind a shipping container as bullets ripped through the air. The briefcase strap dug into his shoulder as he rolled to a new position.

A crate toppled, splashing water across the floor. Sparks flickered from a broken light fixture, casting strobe-like flashes that turned the fight into a nightmare. “Lucas!” Charlie shouted. “Find us another way out!”

Lucas crawled toward a side door, tablet scanning for exits. “There’s… there’s a hatch on the east wall, but it’s sealed!”

Kessler grunted as he blocked a blade with the rebar. “Then unseal it!”

The scarred woman advanced, pistol raised. “Last chance, Charlie!”

Charlie’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. He needed to create an opening, fast. He spotted a dangling chain above a stack of crates. 

With a quick aim, he fired at the pulley. The chain snapped, and a crate crashed down, sending debris flying and forcing the attackers to scatter. “Go!” Charlie barked.

Lucas bolted for the hatch, frantically tapping at the control panel beside it. Kessler followed, covering him with wide sweeps of the rebar.

Charlie backed toward them, pistol trained on the scarred woman. Her grin never wavered, even as dust and splinters rained down. “You’re learning,” she said softly. “But you’re still playing by their rules.”

Charlie hesitated, just long enough for her to fire. The bullet grazed his shoulder, spinning him slightly. 

He gritted his teeth and fired back, forcing her behind a crate. Lucas shouted, “Hatch open, move!”

They scrambled through the hatch into another narrow corridor, the Safe Zone’s marker flickering faintly ahead. 

Behind them, the scarred woman’s voice echoed through the warehouse: “Run, Charlie! But the Game always collects!”

The hatch slammed shut behind them with a metallic clang that vibrated through Charlie’s chest. 

He pressed his back to the wall, listening to the distant shouts and gunfire echoing from the warehouse. 

Rainwater dripped through cracks in the ceiling, forming slick puddles on the floor. Lucas leaned against the wall, panting. “Safe… maybe?”

“Not yet,” Charlie said, scanning the dim corridor. The walls were lined with pipes and conduit boxes, the flickering light of his pistol illuminating every shadow. 

His mind raced, another few minutes and the Safe Zone would be just ahead, but if the Enforcers caught them here. 

“Charlie…” Kessler’s voice was low, tense. “We’re not alone. Sensors are picking up movement.”

Charlie’s eyes narrowed. “Where?”

Kessler pointed to a grate in the floor. “Below us. Footsteps. They’re fast.”