Vikram Das was having a bad day.
It was raining, his raincoat had a tear in the armpit, and the customer for Order #4492 was screaming at him over the phone because the biryani was cold.
"Sir, traffic is jammed at Andheri," Vikram shouted over the roar of a passing truck, clutching the handlebars of his beat-up Splendor motorcycle. "I am coming in five min—"
The world didn't fade to black. It snapped to white.
The rain stopped instantly. The sound of horns vanished, replaced by a deafening, ringing silence. The smell of wet asphalt and exhaust fumes was gone, replaced by the scent of... curing cement.
Vikram blinked, his phone still pressed to his ear. "Hello? Sir?"
"No signal," he muttered, pulling the phone away.
He looked around. He was standing in a box. A 10-by-10 meter room made of seamless grey concrete. No windows. No doors. Just him, his helmet, and the red Z**ato delivery bag strapped to his back.
"Is this a prank?" Vikram spun around. "Did I crash? Is this the hospital?"
A blue holographic screen slammed into existence inches from his nose.
[WELCOME TO THE TUTORIAL FLOOR] [Current Objective: SURVIVE.] [Time Until Enemy Spawn: 03:45]
"Enemy?" Vikram took a step back, his heart hammering against his ribs. He was forty-two years old. He had a wife, a daughter in 10th grade, and a home loan that ate 60% of his salary. He didn't have time for video games.
Another window popped up.
[PLAYER POINTS GRANTED: 20 CP] [OPEN SHOP?]
Vikram hesitated, then tapped 'Yes'. A list of items scrolled before him.
Iron Sword: 10 CP
Spear: 15 CP
Rusty Dagger: 2 CP
Pot Lid: 4 CP
Biker Helmet: 8 CP
Painkillers: 2 CP
Vikram's eyes darted between the timer and the list. [02:50].
"Think, Vikram, think," he whispered, wiping sweat from his forehead. He had spent twenty years in logistics. He knew how to budget. I have 20 points. Something is coming, it may try to kill me"
"Distance," Vikram muttered, his breath hitching. "If I keep it away, I live. If it gets close, I'm too old to wrestle."
He looked at the Iron Sword. Too short. He looked at the Spear. Description: Long reach. Keeps enemies away.
"That's it." He tapped the button.
[PURCHASE CONFIRMED: Spear (-15 CP)] [Remaining Balance: 5 CP]
A long wooden shaft with a sharp iron tip clattered to the floor. Vikram picked it up. It felt good. Heavy. Solid.
"Five points left," he whispered. "I need armor."
He scrolled down. Leather Vest: 12 CP. Too expensive. Biker Helmet: 8 CP. Too expensive. Wooden Buckler: 6 CP. Too expensive.
"Damn it!" Vikram cursed. "I spent too much on the weapon."
he looked for his helmet or bike but hey had disappeared
His eyes fell on the only defense item he could afford.
[Pot Lid: 4 CP] Description: Metal. Small surface area. Good for parrying.
"Better than nothing."
He bought the lid. A small, aluminum cover—like something from his wife's kitchen—appeared in his left hand. It felt ridiculously light. Useless.
[Budget: 1 CP] (Wasted).
Vikram backed into the corner of the room. He held the spear out with both hands, the tip shaking violently.
[Time Until Enemy Spawn: 00:00]
[GOBLIN SPAWNED]
The Goblin hit the floor. Green skin. Bulging, unnatural muscles. Starved ribs. Arthur's [Hypertrophy] and [Starvation] modifications were terrifying up close.
The creature didn't scream. It just sniffed the air, its milky eyes locking onto Vikram.
"Stay back!" Vikram shouted, thrusting the spear tip forward. "I have a weapon!"
The Goblin didn't care about the weapon. It only cared about the meat holding it.
It kicked off the ground.
Vikram's eyes widened. It's too fast.
"Die!" Vikram screamed, thrusting the spear with all his strength.
It was a panic move. A clumsy, straight stab.
The Goblin didn't even slow down. It dipped its shoulder, sliding under the spear shaft with terrifying ease. The iron tip pierced nothing but empty air.
Vikram gasped. He had gambled everything on keeping the distance. Now, the distance was zero.
The Goblin was inside his guard.
Vikram tried to pull the spear back, but the long shaft banged against the wall behind him. It was too long for close-quarters combat.
SCREE!
The Goblin lunged.
Instinctively, Vikram threw up his left hand, holding the cheap Pot Lid.
The Goblin swung its fist. A fist boosted by Strength 8.
CRUNCH.
The aluminum lid crumpled like paper. The force of the blow didn't just bend the metal; it shattered Vikram's forearm.
"Ahhh!" Vikram shrieked, dropping the useless shield.
He fell to his knees, clutching his broken arm. He looked up, tears streaming down his face. The spear lay useless on the ground next to him.
"Please," he whimpered. "My daughter... her fees..."
The Goblin didn't understand english. It didn't understand mercy. It only understood [Starvation].
It leaped onto Vikram's chest, pinning him to the concrete. Its heavy, muscular hands clamped around Vikram's throat.
Vikram thrashed, his legs kicking uselessly against the floor. He clawed at the green skin, but his fingernails couldn't pierce the tough hide Arthur had designed.
His vision began to blur. The white room turned grey. Then black.
[Participant: Vikram Das] [Status: Raid Failed]