The sound of gunfire echoed through the lobby, sharp and unrelenting. Kang Dae Ho, Player 388, crouched low near the bodies of fallen guards. His blood covered hands trembled as he scavenged ammunition from their lifeless forms. The weight of it. the blood, the violence, made his breaths come short and shallow. His face was pale, beads of sweat dripping from his forehead as he muttered under his breath,, “w-we need ammo… we need ammo…” His voice shook as he tried to focus.

Behind him, the remaining players who hadn’t participated in the ambush stared in uneasy silence. Questions buzzed through the group, their murmurs rising like static.

“What is he doing?” “Why’s he taking their ammo?” “Where are the others?”

Dae Ho didn’t answer them, couldn’t, his focus solely on the ammunition he pulled from the dead guard’s belt. His hands shook so violently that he almost dropped the bullets.

Blood smeared across his face, his breath came in shallow gasps, his mind racing with fragmented thoughts. He shoved the bullets into his pocket and stood, his knees weak. Dae Ho took a step toward the exit, but the sharp crack of gunfire outside froze him mid-stride. His body seized, his chest heaving as his vision narrowed. The screams of the dying filled his ears, even though the lobby was momentarily quiet.

The echoes of his past crashed over him. memories of chaos, blood, and hopelessness. He took a shaky step back, and the next second he was wedged between two rows of bunked up beds. Curled into himself, his hands over his ears, mumbling under his breath, his body shaking violently.

“Make it s-stop… make it stop…” he whispered, his eyes clenched shut.

The shooting wouldn’t stop. The screams wouldn’t stop. Even in silence, the sounds were deafening.

The other players started to crowd closer, their questions louder now.