Reever stepped fully into the container and sealed it shut.
The interior was cramped and narrow, barely wide enough for him to stand straight. Cold metal pressed against his back and shoulders. There was no light inside, only darkness and silence. The door locked with a dull mechanical sound, cutting him off from the battlefield completely.
He remained perfectly still.
Then the world shook.
A deafening roar tore across the field as missiles began to rain down. The sound was not a single explosion, but dozens layered over one another. The ground trembled violently, like the earth itself was trying to tear free from its foundations.
Even inside the container, Reever felt the vibrations ripple through his frame. The metal walls hummed and rattled. Dust drifted from unseen seams. The force of the impacts pressed against him, heavy and relentless.
The system did not exaggerate.
Anyone caught outside during this would not survive.
Several long seconds passed. Each felt stretched, dragged out by the constant shaking. Reever counted them in his head, calm despite the chaos. He trusted the container. He trusted the rules of the game.
Finally, the explosions faded.
Silence returned, sudden and unsettling.
A soft click echoed inside the container.
The door unlocked.
Reever stepped out.
The battlefield was no longer the same.
Deep craters scarred the ground in every direction. Entire sections of ruins had been flattened. Smoke hung thick in the air, turning the sunlight dull and gray. The smell of scorched earth lingered, heavy and unpleasant.
Several containers nearby were gone completely. Not damaged. Not cracked. Gone. Along with anyone who had chosen them poorly or arrived too late.
Reever glanced at the system timer.
Ten minutes passed.
Container count reduced.
He exhaled slowly.
"This is where it gets interesting."
The number of players had dropped sharply. Those still alive were either cautious, lucky, or smart enough to learn quickly. The careless ones were already gone.
Reever moved without hesitation. Confusion still hung over the field, and he used it. He looted boxes near fresh craters, knowing most players avoided those areas out of fear. To him, they were opportunities. The missiles had already fallen. The danger had passed.
He encountered resistance once.
A duo appeared near a ruined platform, moving together with practiced steps. They forgot that partying was forbidden in this mode and tried to coordinate anyway. One covered while the other advanced.
Reever did not rush.
He fired once.
The first shot struck one player in the leg. The second hit the other in the shoulder. Both cried out and broke formation instantly, panic replacing confidence. They fled in opposite directions, abandoning their loot.
Reever watched them go.
"Rules matter," he muttered.
His piggy bag was heavy now. The weight pulled at his shoulder and slowed his movement. Sprinting at full speed was no longer an option. He adjusted his pace, conserving energy.
Another warning flashed across his vision.
Nine minutes until the next missile drop.
Reever shifted his strategy.
Loot was no longer the priority. Survival was. He began hunting positions instead of boxes. High ground that offered vision. Solid cover that could stop bullets. Clear escape routes that would not trap him.
He located two more containers and memorized their locations. One showed signs of damage. Cracks along its surface suggested it might not hold forever. The other was hidden beneath debris, nearly invisible unless you knew what to look for.
Players were starting to notice him again.
Whispers carried through proximity channels, low but unmistakable.
"That bot is still alive."
"He is loaded."
"Follow him."
Reever smiled faintly.
"Good," he thought. "Let them."
He led them on carefully. Never sprinting. Never stopping long enough to be cornered. Five players trailed him at first. Then seven. Then nine.
Their footsteps echoed behind him. Their breathing grew heavier. Greed sharpened their focus and dulled their caution.
Reever chose his moment.
Just as the missile warning flashed again, he dove into a narrow passage between two ruined walls. The space was tight and uneven, littered with debris. The players followed without thinking, eager to trap him.
That was their mistake.
Reever turned and fired.
His shots were controlled and precise. Knees. Ankles. Hands. One after another. He did not rush. Each bullet landed where it needed to.
Screams filled the passage.
Weapons clattered to the ground. Some players fell and crawled. Some begged. Others cursed loudly, anger mixing with fear.
Reever moved through them calmly, stepping around fallen bodies. He looted their bags one by one, efficient and focused. He did not finish them off.
"You are still alive," he said quietly as he passed them. "Be grateful."
Of course, no one could hear him.
The missile warning turned red.
Reever sprinted.
The damaged container was only seconds away. He slipped inside just as the sky began to roar again. The door sealed behind him.
Explosions followed, louder and closer than before.
The container shook violently, metal screaming under the pressure. Reever braced himself and waited.
Then silence returned.
When he emerged, the passage was gone.
Reduced to rubble.
Nothing remained but broken stone and scorched ground.
Reever checked his piggy bag.
It was full.
More than full.
The timer ticked down steadily.
Players remaining were far fewer now.
Reever straightened his posture and looked toward the center of the battlefield.
A soft chime echoed through the air, cutting through distant gunfire and movement. New text unfolded across the sky, large enough for every surviving player to see.
Thirty eight minutes remained.
The clouds above shifted, parting slowly. A massive golden list descended from the heavens, hovering high in the air. Letters burned bright, glowing as if carved from light itself.
Current rankings.
The system no longer hid anything.
Reever narrowed his eyes and scanned the list.
Forty players remaining.
That surprised him. After two missile drops, he expected fewer. Either luck favored them today, or the field held more capable players than usual.
His gaze moved down the list.
Seventh.
He paused.
"Huh."
Not disappointment. Not satisfaction either. With the amount of loot he carried, he expected better. For a brief moment, he wondered how the six above him managed to stay ahead without crossing his path.
Then he remembered the size of the map.
"This place is massive," he said quietly. "I cannot be everywhere."
It made sense. Some players avoided conflict entirely and focused on looting. Others took early risks that paid off. Survival had many paths.
The golden list faded slowly, but its message lingered.
Reever moved again, slower now. His piggy bag was a liability. Heavy loot meant slow movement. In the late game, that could be fatal.
After a short search, he found a fallen player near the edge of a crater. The body was motionless. Their piggy bag was intact.
Reever knelt and lifted it.
"Perfect."
He walked a short distance and found a deep trench carved by an earlier missile strike. The ground was uneven and scorched. Most players ignored it. He slid his original piggy bag into the trench and covered it with debris and broken metal.
Hidden.
He slung the new bag over his shoulder and adjusted it.
"Now I can move again."
Time passed.
The battlefield shifted. Movements became deliberate. No random gunfire. No reckless charges. Everyone left understood the cost of mistakes.
Another warning flashed.
Missiles incoming.
Reever was already moving.
One of the containers he memorized earlier was gone, destroyed completely. He adapted without hesitation, slipping into a collapsed underground section just as the missiles fell again.
The ground shook. Dust rained down. Explosions echoed like distant thunder.
When silence returned, the battlefield was even more scarred. Fires burned in scattered pockets. Smoke drifted low. Several names vanished from the list without ceremony.
Reever looted efficiently. His shots were clean. Always low. Always enough to cripple without killing.
Players began whispering again.
"He does not kill you."
"He takes your loot and leaves."
"He aims for your legs."
Fear spread faster than bullets.
Missile drops continued. Each one thinned the field. Containers grew scarce. Players fought harder and gambled more.
Reever adapted every time.
He hunted after drops. Fresh craters meant panic. Panic meant opportunity.
The golden list appeared again.
Twenty minutes remained.
Ten players left.
Reever looked up calmly and found his name.
Third.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"Better."
He adjusted his grip on his weapon and looked toward the center of the field once more.
The real fight was about to begin.