The Treasury

Reluctantly, Aria leaned down and picked up the gun and one box of ammo. She had never shot a gun in real life, but this wasn't real life. Still, in most games, guns reloaded themselves. She held the Colt in one hand and the ammo in the other, waiting for the magic to happen, but there was no ping of success. The bullets didn't float from the cardboard box to the chamber of the gun. She brought her hands together and touched the box to the cold steel of the weapon - still nothing. She was going to have to do it old school.

Fuck this game!

Aria used her foot to slide the remaining boxes of ammo and the knife off the pulsing circle, wanting to make sure there wasn't a time limit before the game took the stuff back. Looking at what the circle produced, she wasn't exactly thrilled with a revolver and a knife, but it beat a stick and a rock by a mile. If there were other people out there, armed survivors who'd found better loadouts than hers, a Colt and a kitchen blade wouldn't count for much. She picked up the extra boxes of ammo and stuffed them into the pockets of her cargo shorts. It was a tight fit, but she managed. She left the knife on the floor and walked back to sit on her bed, grateful she had opted for Weaponsmith, since it let her load the revolver quickly.

Once she felt comfortable with the process of loading the Colt, she retrieved the knife from the floor in the other room and brought it to the bed. She looked around for something she might use to make a sheath, but found nothing. Maybe she could cut off part of her boots and use that? She took off a boot and inspected it, trying to determine whether it would retain any structure if she cut strips of leather from it. After minutes of turning the boot over in her hands, she realized she was using it as a distraction.

She calmly pushed down the butterflies threatening to send her into a panic. She left the knife on the bed and walked to the next room with the metal door. It was only a game, right? She stopped in front of the door and carefully slid the revolver down the front of her shorts; the steel felt cold through the thin material of her underwear. Not for the last time, she wished there had been a choice of weapons. If there had been, she was convinced the Colt would have been the last one chosen.

Cautiously, Aria reached out and touched the metal door with her palm. A humming sound filled the room, and seconds later the door sank into the floor. Behind it stretched a very primitive hallway that ended in an elevator, built from concrete poured in molds to resemble blocks. It had the feel of a basement hallway in any high school. Long fluorescent light fixtures lined the ceiling at roughly ten-foot intervals; some were dark, others dim or flickering. The limited light didn't inspire much confidence that nothing was waiting to attack her.

It didn't take her long to reach the elevator. She pressed the call button while pulling the revolver from her pants. If something was on the elevator, she wondered what the best way to stand and fire her "hand-cannon" would be. She knew it wasn't really a hand-cannon, but she loved how the words sounded together. In the end, she opted for the classic Angie Dickinson stance from Police Woman - legs spread shoulder-width apart, arms extended parallel to the floor, Colt gripped in both hands. She remembered that her accuracy was Novice, so she would have to expend an excess of ammunition to stop whatever might come bursting through those doors.

Aria was so nervous that the moment the door opened, she squeezed off several rounds into the empty elevator car. The sound of the gun firing was almost as surprising as its kick. Even though it was a small gun, she wasn't ready for the force of pulling the trigger four times in quick succession, and she attributed it to her mediocre strength score. Unless she found a way to increase her strength, what would happen if she found a real gun? She might get one round off and then have to recalibrate her whole body just to fire another shot without sending it harmlessly into the air.

While she worked to slow her breathing, she pulled some ammo from a box and made sure the chamber was full, then replaced the extra ammo in a pocket. It took her a second to unlock her knees and walk to the waiting elevator car. She was almost there when the doors started to close. She darted forward and slid her arms between them to trigger them open again. Once inside, she put her back to the wall and looked at her choices, expecting a tree of options. There was only one: she pushed the "L" button, and the door slid closed with a hush.

As the elevator began its slow descent, gears creaked and squealed above. If the cables snapped, she wondered whether she would survive a fall from this height. The interior matched the disrepair of the hallway. One ceiling tile was missing, and Aria couldn't take her eyes off the darkness above, waiting for something or someone to drop down and attack her. If this was going to be her mode of transportation to the safe zone, she was going to have to find a way to block that off.

She arrived at the lobby without incident.

The doors opened, and she peered out, trying to gather as much information as possible before leaving the safety of the car. The elevator seemed to open onto a very large, nondescript room - though "room" wasn't quite right, since the space was the size of a high school gymnasium. Large windows near the top of the opposite wall filled it with sunlight. Aria stepped out with the Colt extended in her right hand, the size of the area making her feel small.

"Hello," she called, using her inside voice, wanting to announce her presence without really announcing it. When no one responded, she knew she'd have to try again, louder this time.

"HELLO!"

This time she used her outside voice, and the only answer was the echo of her own greeting. Well, fuck - what was the purpose of this area? There wasn't a vendor, a health station, or anything useful, unless the space would fill in as she explored the city. Hopefully there was a deli and an armorer. Her mind wandered to other shops she hoped to find.

Seeing no immediate threat, she started across the concrete floor toward the exit, her boots tapping softly with each step. A third of the way there, she lowered the gun and rolled her shoulders to release some of the tension that had built up over the stressful morning.

The warmth of sunlight filtering through the windows felt good on her skin. She didn't feel as lonely walking through it. Everyone knew sunlight symbolized protection from most things evil - countless movies and books had proven that sunlight saved the day.

Aria took several more steps forward, startled by the sudden blare of alarms. A loud siren filled the area, reminiscent of air raid warnings from WWII. Her heart pounded, sweat formed on her forehead, and she gripped her gun, turning in a slow circle, ready to fire at the first sign of movement.

A woman's voice filled the room: "WARNING! YOU ARE LEAVING THE SAFETY OF THE TREASURY. EXIT AT YOUR OWN RISK!"

"You didn't have to scare the shit out of me with that stupid warning!" she shouted into the emptiness.

She took a calming breath, wondering if she could turn off that warning in the future. Walking toward the exit of the large, vacant safe zone, Aria felt pretty good about things. Sunlight streamed through the high windows ahead of her, and she thought it must be some kind of portent. The sound of John Denver filled her mind, and she started singing, "Sunshine on my shoulder makes me happy."

The exit resembled plenty of entrances she had passed through in her life - a large revolving door centered in the glass wall, with no other access points. If this place was meant to be her safe zone, she briefly wondered about the strength of those doors. Beyond the glass, shapes drifted past - figures moving with purpose rather than the aimless wander of debris in wind. People, maybe, though she couldn't make out details. Was she about to walk into some demented version of West Side Story? If so, was she standing in the heart of Jet territory? Maybe she was meant to be a Shark instead; one of her favorite movies was Jaws. She wondered how much the game knew about her, though it hardly mattered. Her first order of business was to find a real weapon, and that meant leaving the building.

She reached the door and tried to look through the tinted glass - it reminded her of the frosted glass in bathrooms, clear enough to suggest shapes but not enough to make out details. Was the glass like this to keep her from seeing out, or to keep things from seeing in? If the latter, what needed to be kept from seeing in? Whatever the reason, she knew she would have to exit the building or go crazy wondering what was out there.

Aria stepped into the open, pie-shaped chamber of the revolving door, and her movement triggered a sensor that brought it to life. It spun slowly counterclockwise, and she kept pace until she reached the other side. Outside, she found herself in a small vestibule, its walls also made of glass - though this time she could easily see what lay beyond the transparent barrier. The only way out of this small space was a sliding glass door activated by motion detection.

She approached the glass carefully, avoiding the sensor, and looked out. The street was littered with cars, most looking as if they hadn't moved in years. Some were overturned, others fused together by twisted metal from old collisions. Nothing moved except the occasional piece of trash stirred by an invisible wind, and a low sound drifted from somewhere out of sight - a scrape of metal on concrete, slow and deliberate, like something dragging itself closer. Whatever waited out there, standing still wouldn't keep it from finding her. Gathering her courage, she tightened her grip on the Colt and stepped in front of the door. It slid open, and she was free.