Respawn in Reality: Game Over, Player One

Chapter 9

Instantly, the world around him froze. The loud laughter of the men faded into a dull hum. The dim lights of the bar seemed to darken, while the green surface of the pool table glowed with an intense, bright blue light.

[Analyzing Table Geometry.]

[Calculating Friction, Bank Angles, and Kinetic Transfer.]

[Target: Solid Orange Ball in far left corner.]

A single, glowing blue line shot out from the tip of Leo's pool stick.

The line did not go straight. It went backward. It hit the wooden rail behind the white ball. Then, the blue line bounced sharply to the right rail. Then it bounced across the table to the left rail.

It zigzagged across the entire table. It looked like a complex laser security grid from a spy movie.

[Calculated Path: Seven-Cushion Bank Shot.]

[Probability of Success: 100% with exact kinetic application.]

The HUD highlighted a tiny, microscopic spot on the white cue ball with a bright yellow dot. It also generated a power meter in the bottom of his vision.

[Required Strike Force: 87.4%.]

[Angle of incidence: 42 degrees.]

[Warning: Margin of error is 0.01%.]

Leo breathed in slowly. His Strength stat was low, but his Intelligence and Perception were high enough to follow instructions. He didn't need to be strong; he just needed to be perfectly precise.

He leaned over the table. He stopped pretending to be clumsy. He placed his left hand on the green felt, forming a perfect, professional bridge with his fingers. He held the wooden stick with absolute confidence.

The sudden change in Leo's posture made the crowd quiet down slightly. Raphael stopped smiling. He watched the boy carefully.

Leo lined up the leather tip of the pool stick with the tiny, glowing yellow dot on the white ball that only he could see. He looked at the power meter at the bottom of his vision.

He pulled the stick back.

Eighty percent.

Eighty-five percent.

Eighty-seven point four percent.

Leo struck the ball. CRACK! The sound was sharp and incredibly loud, like a tiny gunshot.

The white ball exploded backward. It slammed into the back cushion. It shot sideways, spinning wildly, and hit the right rail.

It crossed the table at a terrifying speed, squeezing perfectly between two striped balls without touching them, and hit the left rail.

The men in the bar gasped. The ball was moving so fast, bouncing off the walls at impossible, unnatural angles. It hit the top rail, bounced down, hit the side, and spun violently back toward the center.

The white ball hit the solid orange ball with a loud CLICK.

The orange ball rolled smoothly and perfectly into the far corner pocket. Plop.

The white cue ball stopped dead right in the middle of the table, perfectly positioned for Leo's next shot.

The entire bar went completely, totally dead silent. No one breathed. No one moved. The only sound was the rock music playing from the jukebox.

Raphael’s mouth was slightly open. His cigar hung loosely from his lips. He stared at the table as if a ghost had just appeared on it. 

A seven-cushion bank shot was the kind of thing world champions only did in trick-shot videos after trying a hundred times. This dirty, skinny kid had just done it on his first try, under pressure, on a bad table.

Leo did not smile. He did not celebrate. He looked at the HUD. The glowing blue lines shifted, drawing a simple, straight path to his next ball.

Leo walked around the table. Crack. Another ball went into a pocket. He walked to the other side. Crack. Another ball dropped.

Leo moved with cold, mechanical efficiency. He did not hesitate. He did not stop to think. The HUD told him exactly what to do, and his body obeyed perfectly. He was a machine.

In less than two minutes, Leo had cleared every single one of his solid balls. Only the black eight-ball was left.

The eight-ball was sitting right on the edge of the side pocket. It was the easiest shot in the world.

Leo stood in front of the white ball. He looked up. He stared directly into Raphael’s cold, angry eyes.

Leo barely tapped the white ball. It rolled slowly forward, gently bumping the black eight-ball. The eight-ball fell into the pocket with a final, echoing Plop.

[Game Complete. Victory.]

Leo stood up straight. He set the wooden pool stick down on the green felt. He looked at the stack of hundred-dollar bills sitting on the edge of the table.

"Good game," Leo said. His voice was calm and steady. "I'll take my money now."

The silence in the room stretched out. It felt heavy and dangerous. The men surrounding the table looked at Leo, and then they all slowly turned to look at Raphael.

Raphael did not move. He stared at the empty pool table. The muscle in his jaw flexed in anger. He slowly took the cigar out of his mouth and dropped it onto the dirty floor, crushing it under his shiny leather shoe.

"You hustled me," Raphael whispered. His voice was no longer smooth. It was vibrating with a deadly rage. "You came into my place, acting like a stupid kid, to steal my money."

"We made a bet," Leo said, his heart starting to hammer against his ribs. He pointed to the cash. "My jacket against your money. I won."

Raphael let out a low, dark laugh. "You won? Boy, you don't understand how the real world works. You don't win until I say you win."

Raphael raised his right hand and snapped his fingers.

Instantly, the huge guard at the front entrance turned around. He grabbed the heavy steel door, pushed it shut, and slid a massive metal deadbolt across it. CLACK.

The sound of the lock echoing through the room made Leo’s blood run cold.

The circle of men stepped closer to the table. They crossed their arms. The two mechanics who had laughed at him earlier cracked their knuckles. 

There were at least ten grown, violent men in the room, and they were all looking at Leo with murder in their eyes.

"You are a very smart kid," Raphael said, slowly walking around the pool table until he was standing just a few feet away from Leo. "That was the best trick shot I have ever seen. But you are also very, very stupid. You think you can embarrass me in front of my own men and walk out of here with my money?"

"I need that money," Leo said, his voice dropping into a desperate whisper. "Please. I have to pay my rent tomorrow."

"You won't have to worry about rent," Raphael smiled, his gold tooth flashing in the dim light. "Because you are going to be in the hospital for a very long time."

Raphael reached into his expensive silver suit jacket. 

A long, silver switchblade snapped open in Raphael's hand. The metal blade was sharp and gleamed dangerously under the pool table lights.

Leo stumbled backward, his back hitting the hard wood of the pool table. He was trapped.

Suddenly, his entire vision exploded into a blinding, violent red light. The calming blue grids of the pool table vanished. The air in the room seemed to freeze.

A massive, flashing red warning box covered his sight. An alarm siren rang painfully inside his head.

[CRITICAL ALERT.]

[Lethal Combat Initiated.]

[Multiple Hostiles Detected. Threat Level: Severe.]

Leo stared at the red text. He had only come here to play a game. He didn't want to fight a gang. His Strength was only a 3.8.

More text rapidly scrolled across his vision, locking onto Raphael's knife, onto the mechanic's heavy fists, and onto the locked front door. The system was generating a new, terrifying quest.

[NEW OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE.]

[Defeat the Syndicate Boss to secure funds.]

[Reward: Unlock 'Agility' Skill Tree.]

[Failure Penalty: Death.]

Raphael lunged forward, the sharp blade aimed directly at Leo’s chest. 

"Game over, kid," Raphael hissed.