How To Survive As A Player Novel Novels & Stories

I’m about to be transported to somewhere to play a game I know nothing about, other than the fact that it gets to decide my life or death. I turn to Liz. But she’s no longer next to me. Instead, a child who looks no more than ten years old is who I find. Are the people governing this place so cruel that they want a child to play their silly games too? “I’m scared,” a small, shaky voice, belonging to the child, says. I try to be the big sister I never got the chance to be, and I offer a small, reassuring smile. “I’m scared, too.” His eyes are glossy, and it looks like he’s going to cry. “I don’t want to die. Psalm said if I don’t pass, I’m going to die.”

No one felt safe. Then I came along. I used to kill without word, without thought, without feeling. 12 Families, using the very land I planned to live out my last days. 12 families I have removed from meaningless deaths. I got out of the car, and went to the center where the rest of the families were sitting, watching the kids run around and play. “ Good evening everyone!!” “Good evening,” They all replied. “ I have a new guest for you. Please welcome him with open arms as I have done you. Please show him around and help him work through this new chapter in his life.”

I'd surviv⁠ed all of it. ​I could survive this t‌o‍o. Tomorrow. D⁠awn. Caelan's study. The game had changed. I w​a⁠sn't jus‍t resisting a⁠nymore. I wa⁠sn't‌ just survivin‌g.‌ I was play‍ing. And I was go‌i⁠ng to​ figure o​ut how to win. Even if I had to learn the rules as I we⁠nt.⁠

The abnormal weather had killed many survivors. In my past life, I'd only arrived at a safe zone five months after the zombie outbreak. There'd been elite soldiers and over a hundred thousand survivors there. Over a hundred of these safe zones were scattered across the country, significantly contributing to mankind's survival. "Why aren't we leaving now since the safe zones have already been set up?" Mom asked me. I looked at the snow outside. "It's highly likely we'll freeze to death in this weather if our car breaks down." …

When he returned to the chalet, a pot of hot soup, a plate of mashed potatoes, and two white porcelain bowls were on the table. Finn happily waved, "Come here for breakfast." Uri sat down at the table, marveling at Finn's cooking. "You're so good. If it were me, this soup wouldn't be edible." "I had no place to live, always had to run away. I would have died long ago if I couldn't care for myself." Finn scooped up a bowl of soup and set it down in front of Uri. "You eat it, and I'll teach you how to survive in the forest."

And ninety-one percent survival. Which meant the danger was no longer the story. The story was broken, the map was gone, and the thing that had replaced it was a man who had come to my door at eleven-seventeen with wine he didn't open and kept his hand at my waist for five seconds and appeared in my rehearsal take's second run at three feet away looking for something real. I got up. Got dressed. Went downstairs. Whatever came next was coming without a map and the only thing left to do was be present for it with both eyes open.

The bullet leaving the chamber. Ciro jumping. The red flower blooming on his chest. He took a bullet for me. He died for me. And I survived. I survived the debt. I survived the mansion. I survived the hit. I am a survivor. And this... this thing inside me... it is a survivor too. It survived the stress. It survived the malnutrition. It survived the violence. It clung to the wall of my womb while I was running for my life. It is tough. It is stubborn. It is a Vitale.

All of them vulnerable to her whims. “Why the long silence?” she asked, voice smooth and soft, like silk sliding over steel. I swallowed. “I’m thinking.” “About what?” “About how to survive your game,” I said firmly. She smiled, that predatory, slow smile that made my skin crawl. “Survival is an illusion, darling. You don’t survive by running. You survive by understanding the rules of the fire and learning when to walk through it rather than around it.” I clenched the flash drive tighter, feeling the warmth of her eyes on me, calculating, measuring. Every second inside this car felt like a razor pressed against my ribs.

I murmured, but nobody, well, no dead body in the room was in a mood to answer. “So please—scream nicely, die creatively, and give our audience something worth watching.” ‎The so-call system voiced, ignoring me completely. ‎“The rules are wonderfully simple; Survive twenty games, endure five locations, and if you’re especially unlucky, meet our charming overlord. Most of you won’t make it past the first act—but do try.” ‎ ‎Was she being serious? ‎I got cheated on, poisoned, left my savings, my apartment and LIFE to the horrible betrayers, and now I had to risk my neck as entertainment for some demented onlookers.

And now I am here. I survived the village. I survived the brothel. I survived the streets. I survived the academy. I survived the auction. I survived the kings. I fucking survived. Or did I?