How To Survive As A Player Novel Novels & Stories

“Our hearts aren’t red. They’re not hearts of happiness.” Then, without hesitation, they opened their own chests revealing cold, dead hearts, black as coal. Because in the end, most players had only pretended to care. Fear, dread, and survival instinct had tainted everything. And so, no one else had earned a truly happy ending.

It’s hard to hear, but I can’t do anything but understand everything, even if it’s hurting me. “He also helps us to improve our skills and to follow the path that our parents chose,” Ciara let out a low chuckle. “We are trained to defend ourselves since the game is not yet done. We are still here, alive. If we get executed or we execute all of them, there’s a chance that the game will end.” “So it depends on our life?” I asked. “Yes,” she answered. I didn’t know that it was a survival game. It’s a life and death game and we haven’t found the culprit, but I know that they are doing their best.

"Your father didn't either. That's why he's dead." The blue panel flickered at the edge of her vision — quiet, cold, patient. [Host 3 has initiated a hostage situation] [Choose: SURRENDER — FIGHT — HIDE] [Time remaining: 60 seconds] Sera looked at the dark staircase. She looked at the empty pedestal. She looked at the one man who had trusted her enough to turn his back on her — bleeding somewhere above. In her first life, she would have gone up the stairs with her hands raised, begging.

Chapters turned into a story. And before I could catch my breath, it was no longer a coping mechanism. It was a novel. In my story, the characters aren’t named Stacey and Noah, but anyone who truly looked could recognize us in the margins. The male lead is a basketball player with a fire in his eyes and the weight of his dreams pressing hard on his back. The female lead is older, cautious, guarding her heart like it’s glass but unable to resist the pull of something dangerous, something real.

Solace seemed to believe that the only way to motivate us was to keep death constantly in front of our faces, a thing that was always waiting, always hungry, always watching. Maybe she was right. Because as the weeks went on, we stopped being a group of shocked survivors and started being something closer to actual fighters. Not good fighters—we weren't anywhere near Solace's level or even Vex's. But competent enough that I could spar with someone without immediately disarming myself, competent enough that I could actually hit a target with a bow, at least occasionally.

My bad habit was curling my toes when I was anxious. Why? I didn't move again. I stayed still. Maybe they would go away. I was done. There was no way now. "She looks dead though." It was another soldier. "Who could survive after falling from that height?" I wanted to give a thumbs up to that soldier. "What if it's an undead?" The first soldier asked with a trembling voice. "The undead city isn't far from here." Undead city? There was no such mention in the novel. Then again, the novel focussed too much on the female lead's love life.

He turned to Claire with a smug smile. "Hurry and choose." He tossed the gun at Claire. "You're a sociopath. I'm not picking between both of them!" "You are. Choose now!" He yelled, taking the safety off. "Harper!" "Choose or I kill both of them. Better still, a guessing game." "Harper! The fuck!" I screamed, my heart racing. I can't breathe. "Tic-tat." "Inne, Minnie, Minnie, dead!" "Wait!" I shouted as the first shot went off. ****

Not yet. Sebastian stepped back, observing her, unreadable. “Rest. You’ll need your strength. The game has only begun.” Ivy nodded, retreating to the corner of the room. Her back pressed against the wall. Fingers traced invisible patterns across the cold surface. She wasn’t free. She wasn’t safe. But she could survive. She had to. Above her, the city pulsed, unaware that a silent war had claimed one of its most fragile pieces. And Ivy Harper—pawn, leverage, survivor—would learn how to play.

Fiel stated seriously. A thrifty smile crept through the warrior's lips. "Be alive until the end, it will be much better," the warrior responded before he finally close the door of Fiel's room. With a nod, Fiel watched as the door closed gently. He felt relieved today for surviving that more difficult stage of the game. Tomorrow, he knew it will be harder. Fiel fought the urge to be afraid, to be depressed, and to lose hope. "I am still alive and I will survive until the end of this game. I will have that free pass out of this hell place," he murmured fueling himself to stay strong and focus. His goal is to survive and leave this place of his nightmare.

It was a nightmare anyway he thought about it. I didn't even want to imagine if it was me who died. Impossible. If he had come this far, he could continue to survive. Surely G wouldn't even show up, Hunter even less so. Plus it could always alert them in some way. He wasn't going to let anyone get killed. I would have to be more cunning than usual and try to make the lies come out more natural. Now what? I sighed and covered my face with a pillow. These things shouldn't happen to a writer. If he ever left this life once and for all, he would publish a book: How to Survive the Mafia.