"Keep your head down. There's a lot of shady characters in this ring of Valor," Ronin said, avoiding stepping in a shiny puddle slicked with oil.
Neon signs flickered in the dark, their glow contributing to light the massive city and its streets. Overhead, clouds and haze obscured the stars. A faint drizzle dampened the air, causing the holographic ads and billboards to glitch every few seconds. They promised trinkets to raise strength, exotic food that would fill stamina bars for days, and company that guaranteed good mental in the battles to follow.
"Don't have to tell me twice." Mori scampered along like a mouse in Ronin's shadow, careful not to glance too long at any of the players they passed. Some looked tough and worn like old leather, their eyes smoldering embers and their mouths puffing smoke from vapes. Others stumbled out of bars with hollow gazes, reeking of desperation to escape this life the only way they knew how.
Once, when she fell too far behind Ronin's long strides, greasy hands found their way into her long hair.
"Not many pretties like you around here," a low voice said.
Hot breath fanned Mori's neck and she yelped as the fist tightened to hold her hostage. Panicking, Mori prepared to summon her rifle. But at this range...She gagged at the stench of too many missed showers. A man's face appeared at the edge of her vision at the same moment a pistol pressed against his temple.
"Let her go or I'll blow your brains out." Ronin's dark eyes flashed. The jewel at his ear sparkled in the night, the only color to contrast his black attire.
Mori sighed in relief as the hand released her, fingers finding the tender spot of her scalp. She hurried to put Ronin between herself and the man, a player with a buzzcut and a modern tactical vest.
"If it isn't the dishonorable samurai back from the front," he sneered. "Found another teammate after you got the last one killed?"
Before Mori could blink, Ronin had the other man slammed against the wall of a building. He still had the pistol in his grip, but the weapon shook. "You're lucky she remains dear to my memory, otherwise I'd become a player killer right now," he growled.
"Do it." The man laughed, half-choking when Ronin pushed against his throat. "Or are you too afraid?"
Something wild entered Ronin's eyes, his breaths coming in short gasps like he'd been shot. Mori watched his golden bar jump from four to five before she stepped forward and grabbed his sleeve. "Ronin."
His gaze snapped to her, a smidge of sanity pushing back the bloodlust pooling in his eyes.
"C'mon. He's not worth it," Mori said with a gentle tug.
Ronin released the other player, gun still trained on his head. When he took Mori's hand, she almost shivered from its ice-cold touch. "You're right. He's not." Hate burned across his face like a red hot-brand, twisting his usually neutral expression into something ugly and dangerous.
She hadn't dared ask who his old teammate was, not as they left the alley and not now as she stepped around the puddles dotting the asphalt. Ronin looked back for her every few steps, but whenever she caught up, he walked away faster. It's like he wants but doesn't want me here, Mori thought, tucking her hands in the pockets of her jacket.
Ronin tugged open a door below a humming sign reading "The Golden Cat". A bell chimed, light and clear. "After you."
Mori stepped inside to the sound of clinking glasses and quiet murmurs. The homey scent of jasmine tea tickled her nose. Red paper lanterns bathed the room in a muted light, along with soft music in the background.
A golden lucky cat statue sat on the front counter, ruby eyes glinting with an uncanny similarity to the wolves she'd killed. Mori often tapped the paws of maneki-neko in greeting when she visited a restaurant with one, but not this time. Not with those eyes.
"Table for two," Ronin said to the worker behind the counter. "Is Cap in?"
The guy shrugged, the chain accessories on his leather jacket rattling. He gathered up menus into his arm and gestured for them to follow him to a booth. "Can never tell if Cap's in or out, but I'll check back of the kitchens to see."
"Much obliged." Ronin settled in and Mori slid into the seat across from him, her attention captured by the floating screens spaced around the restaurant. Some displayed a person walking around an otherworldly landscape, others a battle against monsters. One fought a chimera-like creature spouting flame from three heads, the scene playing out like in an anime.
"They're the top ten players in Valor," Ronin explained, tracking her gaze. "Rankings fluctuate, but the feeds of the top ten are available for anyone to tap into at any given time." He pointed at a screen showing a player in a futuristic suit of armor marching across a barren plain, machine gun in hand. "There's one of your brethren. Darkhorse9, first of the Fearless to arrive." A hint of bitterness tinged Ronin's words.
Mori watched the player fighting the chimera get thrown against a wall. Thankfully, their silver plating appeared to absorb the impact and their team rushed the beast before it could deliver the final blow. "What determines rankings? And why are we able to watch them?"
"It's a mixture of stats, popularity, and progress through the seven rings of Valor. You lose ranking if any of those three factors drop." Ronin flipped through his menu. "I think top ten is a distraction of FEAR, a ploy to set a false goal and add pressure onto those players. It's easy to get wrapped up in rank and lose sight of what really matters."
Mori tilted her head, chewing on her lip in thought. You were top ten, weren't you, Ronin? She didn't voice the suspicion. "So what really matters?"
Ronin mirrored her action, cocking his head to the side like a curious puppy. "You tell me, Fearless. Why'd you enter the death game?"
Mori opened a menu to buy time. Her nose wrinkled at the items listed on the electronic pages. She swiped her finger to scroll further but nothing normal presented itself. Rattlesnake? Bear tongue? Cockatrice feet? She closed it, stomach flipping. "I'm...looking for someone," she admitted.
"I see." If Ronin were a therapist, she could've sworn he'd be clicking his pen and jotting down notes.
Out of the corner of her eye, Mori saw a flash of light. Turning to find the source, she caught sight of a fellow diner raising a menu to cover his face.
"He took a picture of you," Ronin murmured. "You're attracting a lot of attention and part of that is my fault. I'm sorry for that."
"Do you think I should cut my hair? It might be the reason why..." Mori shuddered at the memory of having her long black locks being used as a weapon against her. In SniperX, her avatar had always sported a short bob style with purple ends, so she wondered why Facing Fear had left it unaltered from her real world self.
"Nah, we'll get you something to tie it up. Listen, kiddo." Ronin leaned over the table and lowered his voice. "The other Fearless are heading for the center of Valor, the seventh ring. Your goals might not align with theirs, but I'm going to be level with you. I know the Fearless must be able to end this purgatory. Nothing else makes sense—not with how many are willing to come in. I can help you get to the center, but we'll need to trust each other."
"I—" Mori hesitated, scratching at the grain of the table. "There's just so much I don't know. With the guy in the alley...what did he mean abo—"
"Ronin!" a voice boomed. A tall man wearing a cook's apron emerged from the kitchen and slapped Ronin on the back so hard Mori thought he'd flip over the table.
"Mori, this is Cap," Ronin wheezed.
Cap took off his poofy chef's hat to expose a shock of orange hair. His green eyes glimmered as he shook Mori's hand. Despite hers feeling like a child's hand in his giant grip, Cap held it with a gentle touch as if handling a bird's egg. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss. Glad this ole' renegade has someone sensible to keep him in line. Please, allow me to show you to the back where we can talk undisturbed." He nodded toward a door with an "Employees Only" paper posted on the entrance.
"Whoever said she was sensible?" Ronin protested, though a smile lighted his face when Mori turned to look at him. They left the booth behind for a break room with sparse furnishings where Cap offered their choice of the plushy seats and couches. Mori declined a soda from the mini fridge, but Ronin cracked his can with vigor and took a long slurp.
"You have a thing for empyrean stats, my friend," Cap said to Ronin. Then, at Mori's confused glance— "Empyrean stats are named for their colors: grey for accuracy, blue for defense, white for health. Translate those to their traits and you've got patience, loyalty, and compassion." He sent a smug smile at Ronin. "Put those together and you have a fair likelihood of being sensible."
"You mean real world traits translate to in-game stats?" Mori exclaimed, sitting up in her chair.
"Well, yes." A puzzled frown replaced the smile. "You didn't teach her about that?" Cap whispered in a low tone, but not low enough that Mori couldn't hear.
"Cap is known for his talent of guessing a player's stats just by looking at them," Ronin continued, as if he hadn't heard the question. He sprawled out to take up the whole couch, the hue of his cloak brightening to blue. "What's the read, old boy?"
Cap nodded toward Mori. "With your permission, of course."
"Oh, of course," Mori stammered out in reply.
The cook bowed his head in thought. "High in all three empyrean. Mid strength. Low agrestal stats—stamina, agility, speed." He looked at Ronin for confirmation.
Ronin shook his head. "Mid self-control, low strength. Otherwise, you're as on the mark as ever."
Cap rubbed the back of his neck, pale skin coloring until his freckles almost melted into the bright red. "Poor guess on my part. Seem to have allowed the Fearless stereotype to throw me off."
"That's what Ronin mentioned earlier. Why are the Fearless expected to have high strength?" Mori ventured to ask one of the questions that had been tugging at her brain. "What real world trait does strength translate to?"
The two men shared a glance.
Cap attempted to soften the explanation. "The translation of traits to stats is an imperfect practice as it's based only on player experience and interpretation. It's not confirmed that—"
"As near as we can tell," Ronin cut in. "Strength translates to courage."
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Chapter Word Count: 1811
Total Word Count: 10386