CHAPTER 3
I was driving through the dimly lit streets, the rain pattering against the windshield, creating a rhythm that matched the unease in my chest. The city outside was a blur of wet neon lights and shadowy figures. My fingers tapped absently on the steering wheel as I glanced at the article glowing on my phone, secured in its holder on the dashboard.
The headline caught my eye: "Abyssum Industries: The Giant Behind Virtual Arena's Launch." My brow furrowed as I skimmed through the lines, the words seeping into my thoughts like an insidious fog.
Abyssum Industries—just the name sent a shiver down my spine. There was something darker, more elusive lurking beneath the surface, a mystery that the world seemed eager to unravel, but I wasn't sure they were ready for. I've been burying my self these past few days of information about "Virtual Arena". I did ny digging and research but so far i haven't had enough information yet. Maya's face flashed in my head, i remember how upset she was. I want to help her.
I flipped the wipers on a higher setting as the rain intensified, my headlights cutting through the dense sheets of water. The article went on about Virtual Arena, how it was poised to change the world of gaming, how its challenges were rumored to be unlike anything before. A game so real that it blurred the line between reality and simulation. I couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a game. The sense of foreboding grew stronger with every word I read.
Abyssum's secrecy, the rumored origins, the speculation about its true purpose—it all felt like the calm before a storm.
Today, my father wanted to meet me probably to discuss business, dragging me into another world I had no interest in. The message had come in earlier today, curt and impersonal as always. He had new potential business partners he wanted me to meet, another opportunity to mold me into his successor, no doubt. I wasn't interested, but ignoring him wasn't an option.
The rain slowed as I approached the towering glass building where my father's empire was headquartered. The parking lot was nearly empty, the dark sky reflecting off the slick pavement like a mirror. I parked and sat there for a moment, the engine idling as I stared at the screen, re-reading the last lines of the article.
"As the world counts down to the launch of Virtual Arena, the question remains: what secrets does Abyssum Industries hold, and how far will players go to uncover them?"
I sighed and turned off the engine. The silence in the car was deafening. The thought of what my father wanted to discuss weighed on me heavily, but the article lingered in my mind like a shadow.
I stepped out of the car, the chill of the night air hitting me as I pulled my coat tighter. The rain had stopped, but the clouds hung low, oppressive, as if they were waiting for something to happen. My footsteps echoed in the empty parking lot as I made my way to the entrance. The glass doors slid open with a soft whoosh, the warm air inside a stark contrast to the gloom outside.
Inside, the lobby was almost deserted, save for a couple of security guards who gave me a nod as I passed. The silence was unsettling, the kind that makes your skin crawl. My father had the knack for choosing these eerily quiet moments to have his discussions—moments that seemed insignificant but left a lasting impact, like a stone dropped into still water.
I made my way to the elevator, the dull hum of its descent the only sound in the building. As the doors opened, I stepped inside and hit the button for the top floor. My reflection stared back at me from the polished metal walls, looking as tense as I felt. The elevator climbed steadily, but my thoughts were racing.
The envelope from Max, the article, the meeting with my father—they all swirled together in my mind like a toxic brew. I tried to focus.
The doors slid open, revealing the dimly lit hallway that led to my father's office. The heavy double doors at the end were slightly ajar, light spilling out into the corridor. I could hear voices inside—my father's deep, commanding tone mingled with others I didn't recognize. I took a deep breath and walked toward them, each step echoing louder than the last.
As I pushed open the door, the conversation inside paused, all eyes turning to me. My father stood at the head of the room, flanked by two men in sharp suits. His eyes narrowed slightly as he saw me, but he masked it quickly with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Jake," he said, his voice smooth and measured.
"I'm glad you could join us. I'd like you to meet Mr. Redgrave and Mr. Kessler. They're very interested in partnering with us on a new project."
I barely registered their names. My gaze shifted from my father to the two men, their smiles just as calculated as his. Something about them felt off, like they were wearing masks, hiding something beneath their polished exteriors.
"Nice to meet you," I muttered, shaking their hands out of obligation.
My father's voice droned on, but my mind was elsewhere, piecing together fragments of information that didn't quite fit.
I needed to stay sharp, to pay attention to every word, every gesture. But even as I tried to focus, the sense of unease only grew stronger, as if the darkness outside had seeped into the room, hanging over us like a silent threat.
And all the while, that article played on a loop in my mind, the questions it posed still unanswered, the secrets it hinted at still concealed. Secrets that, somehow, I knew I would have to uncover—no matter what the cost.
The office was filled with the low hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter. It was a typical business gathering, with my father, Richard, holding court at the head of the table. I sat beside him, my mind drifting elsewhere, barely listening to the chatter around me. This wasn't where I wanted to be, but my father had insisted.
As I stared at the table, tracing the lines of the polished wood with my eyes, Mr. Redgrave, a sharp-eyed man in his late fifties, leaned forward, his voice cutting through the din. "Richard, how's Max doing? I haven't heard much about him lately."
There was a pause, a brief silence that made the room feel suddenly smaller. I glanced up, catching the flicker of amusement in my father's eyes before he erupted into laughter. "Max?" he said, the word laced with disdain. "That boy's not cut out for any of this. He's a charity case, not a businessman."
The laughter from the others in the room was forced, uncomfortable. I felt my chest tighten, anger bubbling up inside me. Max might be my half-brother, but he had more integrity in his little finger than most of these men combined. My father's words felt like a slap in the face, a reminder of how little he valued Max's efforts.
Without a word, I pushed my chair back and stood up, the sound of the legs scraping against the floor breaking the uneasy silence. My father barely glanced at me as I walked out, too caught up in his own amusement to notice my departure. I needed air. I needed to clear my head.
The rooftop was quiet, the city sprawled out below me in a sea of lights. I leaned against the railing, taking deep breaths to calm myself. The night air was cool, but it did little to ease the storm brewing inside me. I closed my eyes, trying to push away the anger, the frustration, but it clung to me like a second skin.
A vibration in my pocket broke through my thoughts. I pulled out my phone, the screen lighting up with a notification. It was from Abyssum Industries, the mysterious company behind the Virtual Arena.
Registration for Virtual Arena: Secure Your Spot in the Ultimate Gaming Experience!
This is the moment gamers worldwide have been waiting for—a chance to step into a world where reality and imagination collide in ways never seen before.
The registration is now live, but there's a catch—only 1,000 slots are available, making this one of the most exclusive gaming events in history. If you're ready to take on the challenge, you'll need to act fast.
The registration link will only be active until 6:00 AM tomorrow
Don't miss out on your chance to be part of something truly extraordinary. The Virtual Arena awaits—are you ready to step inside?
Register Now and Secure Your Place in Gaming History!
My heart skipped a beat as I read the message. The registration form for the Virtual Arena was finally live. Only 1,000 slots available.
My phone buzzed again, this time a text from Tom.
Tom: Dude, did you see the announcement? We HAVE to join this! Maya's in too. This is gonna be epic.
I stared at the screen, the weight of the decision pressing down on me. This was more than just a game. It was an opportunity, a chance to step into something bigger, something dangerous. The stakes were high, but so was the thrill. And with only 1,000 slots, it was a race against time.
The thought of joining the Virtual Arena sent a shiver down my spine, a mix of excitement and fear. I looked out over the city, the lights blurring as my mind raced. The mocking laughter of my father still echoed in my ears, but this...this was something I could control. Something that could give me the edge, the escape, I desperately needed.
I typed out a quick response to Tom, my fingers trembling slightly.
Jake: I'm in.
As I hit send, the weight in my chest lifted slightly, replaced by a rush of adrenaline.
As soon as i pressed the notification, the screen on my phone flickered for a moment before displaying a countdown:
10 hours remaining
A message immediately followed:
"Congratulations! You are now registered for the Virtual Arena. All registered players must report to the Arena located at [1989 Abyssum Avenue, District 7, New Kings City]at the time of the countdown's conclusion."
The excitement was short-lived, however, as a heavy feeling settled in.
Now, with the countdown ticking down on my phone and the stark reminder that i would have to be physically present at the Arena, reality hit me hard.
The numbers on the screen ticked down relentlessly—10:00:00, 09:59:59, 09:59:58. Time was slipping away, and i couldn't help but feel that he had just crossed a threshold into something i couldn't come back from.
---
Other Person's Perspective:
In a dimly lit room, a large figure moved silently towards the person seated in the shadows. The only light came from a single desk lamp, casting long, ominous shadows across the floor. The bodyguard, a towering figure with a grim expression, approached the desk where a person sat in a black swivel chair, half-hidden in the shadows. The faint glow of a lit cigarette was the only indication that someone was there, aside from the occasional puff of smoke that curled lazily in the air.
"Mr. Weston registered," the bodyguard reported, his voice low and respectful.
The figure in the chair took a slow drag from his cigarette, the end glowing a fierce red before he exhaled a plume of smoke. The person didn't say anything, but the atmosphere in the room grew heavier, more oppressive. The bodyguard could feel the weight of the silence, the unspoken tension that permeated the space.
"And the others?" finally asked, the persons voice calm yet carrying an edge that made the bodyguard's pulse quicken.
"Almost 80% of the slots were filled within the first 20 minutes " the bodyguard responded. "We're on track for full registration within the hour."
A low, almost inaudible chuckle escaped from the chair. The person had anticipated this—the hunger, the desperation to be a part of something bigger than themselves. Everything was falling into place, just as he had planned.
"Good," the person murmured with a 1voice a blend of satisfaction and something darker. "Very good."
The bodyguard remained silent, waiting for further instructions. But there were none. It simply turned his attention back to the screen in front of him, where the registration stats were being updated in real-time. The bodyguard couldn't see it's face, but he didn't need to. The chilling presence of the person spoke volumes.
With a nod, the bodyguard retreated, leaving the person alone in the room. As he closed the door behind him, the oppressive air of the room seemed to cling to his skin. Whoever that was, wasn't just orchestrating a game. This was something far more sinister, and Jake had just unknowingly walked right into it.
....
I walked back to my father's office, the walls closing in around me as I prepared to say my goodbyes and escape to the solitude of my penthouse. But before I could get a word out, the air in the room shifted. Without warning, my father's hand connected with my face in a sharp, stinging slap.
I staggered back, the shock of the blow reverberating through me. My cheek burned, but the pain was nothing compared to the fire in my father's eyes. He was livid, his face twisted with fury, his pride bruised by my earlier actions.
"How dare you!" he hissed, his voice trembling with rage. "After everything I've done for you—shelter, education, a life most could only dream of—and this is how you repay me? You ungrateful brat!"
I could feel the anger boiling inside me, the years of resentment and unresolved issues bubbling to the surface. I wasn't going to just stand there and take it. Not this time.
"Ungrateful?" I shot back, my voice quivering but loud. "You think I'm ungrateful because I refuse to play along with your games? Because I won't stand by while you mock Max?"
His expression hardened, and I saw the disgust flash across his face at the mention of Max's name. I knew what was coming, but I didn't care. I had to say it.
"Max deserves this company more than I do! He's the one who's put in the work, who's earned it. Not me. I'm just… a placeholder, a distraction. But Max—he's the rightful heir, and you know it!"
"Max?" my father sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "That bastard? You think he's fit to run anything, let alone this empire? He's nothing. Less than nothing."
Hearing him talk about Max like that, like he was worthless, something inside me snapped. I felt the tears well up in my eyes, the frustration and helplessness overwhelming me.
"You're wrong," I said, my voice breaking. "Max is everything I'm not. He's strong, he's smart, and he actually cares about this company. But you can't see that because you're too blinded by your own pride and ego."
Tears spilled over, hot and fast. I hated crying in front of him, hated showing any sign of weakness, but I couldn't stop. All the years of watching Max struggle, of seeing him dismissed and ridiculed, crashed down on me. And all I wanted was for my father to see him the way I did.
"You're the one who's ungrateful," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "Max is your son too, and all he's ever wanted was your approval. But you'll never give it to him, will you? Because it's easier to pretend he doesn't exist, to pretend that I'm your perfect son. But I'm not."
The room was dead silent, the only sound the harsh breaths I struggled to take. My father's face was a mask of fury, but beneath it, I thought I saw something else—doubt, maybe even guilt.
I couldn't bear to be there any longer. With one final, choked sob, I turned and rushed out of the office, the door slamming behind me. I barely registered the cold sting of the air as I stumbled to my car, my vision blurred by tears. I had to get away, to put as much distance as possible between me and the man who would never understand.
I drove home in a daze, the city lights blurring past as I tried to make sense of everything. My chest ached, a deep, hollow pain that wouldn't go away. I kept hearing my father's words, the venom in his voice, and seeing Max's face, knowing that he deserved so much more than what he'd been given.
When I finally reached my penthouse, I collapsed onto the couch, my whole body trembling with exhaustion and grief. I wanted to scream, to punch something, to make the pain stop, but all I could do was sit there, staring blankly at the wall, the weight of everything crushing down on me.
All I wanted was for Max to be accepted, to be loved by our father the way he deserved. But deep down, I knew that might never happen.
The exhaustion had finally caught up with me. The weight of everything that happened with my father, Max, and the endless pressure had drained me completely. At some point during the night, I must have drifted off on the couch.
The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. I stirred, groggily opening my eyes to find a figure standing over me, a wide, annoyingly familiar grin plastered on his face.
"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Tom said, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.
I blinked a few times, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. "Tom? What the hell are you doing here?"
Tom laughed, plopping down on the couch beside me. "Well, I tried calling you like a hundred times last night, and when you didn't pick up, I thought you'd either passed out drunk or been kidnapped by aliens. So, I figured I'd swing by and make sure you were still breathing."
I rubbed my face, still disoriented. "You could have just assumed I was asleep, you know. No need for the early morning scare."
He shrugged, his grin never fading. "What can I say? I'm a caring friend. Plus, I wasn't about to let you sleep through the most exciting news of our lives."
I raised an eyebrow. "The most exciting news, huh?"
Tom's eyes lit up with excitement as he leaned in closer, practically bouncing on the couch. "Dude, we're registered for Virtual Arena! This is it—the big leagues! Can you believe it?"
A small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, Tom's enthusiasm contagious. "Yeah, I saw the notification last night. Looks like we're in for something huge."
"Something huge?" Tom scoffed, shaking his head. "Jake, this isn't just huge. This is going to be legendary! We're talking about battling it out with the best players in the world, in the most immersive game ever created. I'm already planning my outfit for the opening. I'm thinking something sleek, something that says, 'I'm here to kick ass and look good while doing it.'"
I couldn't help but chuckle. "Really, Tom? You're worried about what you're going to wear in a virtual game?"
"Of course!" he said, completely serious. "First impressions matter, man. I can't just roll up looking like some noob. I need to look cool, like the kind of guy who's going to dominate the Arena."
I shook my head, still smiling. "You do realize no one's going to see your real outfit, right? It's a virtual game. Everyone's going to be in avatars."
Tom waved a hand dismissively. "Details, details. It's the principle of the thing. Besides, I want to set the tone, get into the right mindset. You can't go into battle without feeling like a total badass, and looking the part is half the battle."
"Well, if it makes you feel better, I'm sure whatever you pick will be… appropriately badass," I said, playing along with his excitement.
"Damn right it will be!" Tom exclaimed, clapping me on the back. "But seriously, what about our team? We need to strategize. I'm thinking we go for a mix of offense and defense. You know, balance it out. And Maya's got those stealth skills—she'll be our ace in the hole."
"Sounds like you've got this all figured out," I said, relaxing into the couch. Tom's infectious energy was exactly what I needed after everything that had happened. It was comforting, grounding even, to focus on something as ridiculous as planning an outfit for a virtual game.
"Oh, I've been planning this for years," Tom said with a grin. "I knew one day we'd be part of something epic like this. And now, it's finally happening. We're going to make history, Jake. I can feel it."
For a moment, I let myself get lost in Tom's enthusiasm. The stress and tension from the night before started to fade, replaced by the prospect of this wild adventure we were about to embark on. It felt good to look forward to something again, to have something to be excited about.
"Yeah," I said, smiling at Tom. "We're going to make history."
Tom flashed me a thumbs-up. "Damn straight. Now, how about some breakfast? You look like you could use some food. I'll even let you pick the place."
"Wow, such generosity," I joked, getting up from the couch.
"Hey, I'm a man of the people," Tom said, laughing. "Now, let's get you fed. We've got a lot of planning to do, and I need you at full strength for all the ass-kicking we're about to do."
I couldn't help but feel grateful for Tom. He had this way of making everything seem okay, even when it wasn't. And right now, that was exactly what I needed.
Tom and I headed out to grab some breakfast at our usual spot. The early morning chill was still in the air, making the walk refreshing. After the intensity of the last few days, I was grateful for any sense of normalcy, even if it was just sharing a meal with Tom. He was in his usual mood, bouncing from topic to topic like a kid on a sugar rush, which was comforting in its own way.
"Dude, I'm telling you, we've got to make an entrance at the Virtual Arena. I'm thinking all black, maybe with some red accents—something that says 'I'm here to win, and I'm gonna look damn good doing it,'" Tom said, his eyes lighting up as he spoke.
I smirked, shaking my head at his enthusiasm. "Tom, it's a game, not a runway show."
"Exactly!" he shot back. "It's all about the vibe. You've got to intimidate the competition from the moment they lay eyes on you. Besides, the cameras will be everywhere, right? You can't just roll in looking like you just rolled out of bed."
Tom started talking about the opening ceremony for Virtual Arena. Every player participating in the game would have to introduce themselves in front of thousands, possibly millions, of viewers worldwide. The event will be broadcast in all the major cities, making it a global spectacle. Before, I assumed it would be just a regular game played from home using VR pods, but it's turning out to be something much bigger and far more intense than I ever imagined.
"Pretty sure no one's going to care what we're wearing when they're trying to kill us," I replied, but I couldn't help but laugh at his infectious energy. Tom had a way of lightening up even the heaviest of situations, and I needed that more than ever right now.
We reached the café, the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee hitting us as we stepped inside. It was busier than usual, but we managed to find a spot by the window. Tom, of course, ordered a mountain of food—pancakes, eggs, bacon, and enough toast to feed a small army. I stuck to my usual coffee and a bagel, not feeling particularly hungry but needing something to ground me.
As we waited for our food, Tom kept going on about his plans for the Arena. "You know, we need a team name. Something that sounds badass. Maybe something like 'The Reapers' or 'Blood Bound.' What do you think?"
"Honestly, I haven't even thought that far ahead," I admitted, taking a sip of my coffee. The warmth of the mug in my hands was soothing, a small comfort amidst the chaos.
"Well, you should. We've got to take this seriously. The slots are limited, and we're going up against the best of the best."
That was when I noticed her—Maya—sitting at a corner table, her laptop open in front of her. She was so engrossed in whatever she was working on that she didn't even notice us walk in. I nudged Tom and nodded in her direction.
"Look who it is," I said.
Tom's face lit up when he saw her. "Let's go say hi."
We grabbed our plates and made our way over to her table. As we approached, she finally looked up, her serious expression softening slightly when she saw us.
"Hey, Maya," Tom greeted her cheerfully.
"What are you up to?"
Maya glanced up, a small smile touching her lips. "Just catching up on some work. You guys eating breakfast or did you order the whole menu?"
"Ha ha ha funny"
"Mind if we join you?"
She gestured to the empty seats with a tired smile. "Sure, go ahead."
We sat down, and I could see that Maya was still deep in thought, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as if she was still processing something. Tom, ever the chatterbox, started talking about his plans for the game, trying to draw her into the conversation.
"Have you thought about what you're going to wear for the Virtual Arena?" he asked, his tone light. "I'm thinking we need to coordinate. You know, for team spirit."
Maya let out a small laugh, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. "Tom, it's a survival game, not a fashion show."
"That's exactly what I told him," I chimed in, glad to see her smile, even if it was fleeting.
As we chatted, our attention was drawn to a group of teenagers at the next table. They were loud, cocky, and clearly excited about something. One of them, a kid who couldn't have been older than 16, was holding court, bragging to his friends about how they were going to dominate the Virtual Arena.
"Did you hear?" one of them said, his voice full of cocky arrogance. "We're all registered for Virtual Arena. No one's gonna stand a chance against us."
Another one, who looked younger but had the same swagger, smirked. "Especially you, man. You're like, the top gamer in the country. We're gonna kick everyone's asses."
"I've been playing games since I was ten," the kid was saying. "This one's no different. We're going to kick everyone's ass."
One of his friends, a lanky kid with a perpetual smirk, nodded eagerly. "Especially those noobs who think they can just waltz in and win. They don't stand a chance."
Tom and I exchanged glances. The kid's voice was familiar, and it took a moment before it clicked. This was Axel, one of the top gamers in the country, a prodigy who had made a name for himself in the competitive gaming scene. His reputation was as notorious as his skill—he was ruthless, and his arrogance was well-earned.
"Oh? " Tom whispered, leaning in closer to me. "That's Axel. He's playing? "
I nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and unease.
Maya must have noticed the shift in our demeanor because she glanced over at the group, her expression unreadable. "We're going to be up against people like them," she said quietly. "They're not here to play—they're here to win, at any cost."
The group of teenagers talked loudly, not caring who overheard. They were bragging about how they were going to dominate the game, crush anyone who stood in their way. They laughed, full of bravado, but there was a dangerous edge to their words.
Tom, ever the optimist, tried to lighten the mood. "Well, it just means we have to be better. We've got each other's backs, right?"
"Right," I agreed, but my mind was already racing, planning, strategizing. This wasn't just about winning—it was about survival. And after everything that had happened, I knew I couldn't afford to lose.
As the conversation at the next table grew louder, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The Virtual Arena was more than just a game—it was a test, one that would push all of us to our limits. And with players like Axel in the mix, we'd have to be ready for anything.
Tom bolted from the table, clutching his stomach as he hurried to the bathroom, leaving Maya and me sitting in awkward silence. I watched him go, shaking my head at his antics, but my thoughts quickly turned back to Maya. She hadn't said much since the game's announcement, and I couldn't shake the worry gnawing at me.
"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice soft, almost hesitant. I wasn't sure how to approach her right now, but I couldn't just sit here and ignore the fact that something was clearly weighing on her.
Maya looked at me, her expression unreadable at first. She was always good at keeping her emotions in check, but I knew her well enough to see the cracks. "I'm fine, Jake," she finally replied, but there was an edge to her voice that told me otherwise.
"Maya, I know you're worried about this game. I am too. But if there's anything we can do—"
She cut me off, shaking her head. "It's not about being worried anymore, Jake. I've already accepted that the game is happening. There's nothing I can do to stop it now, but I won't just stand by and do nothing. That's why I joined the game. I have to see this through, to understand why this is happening, and maybe… maybe there's something I can do from the inside."
I could see the resolve in her eyes, but it was mixed with something else—fear, maybe, or doubt. "You don't have to do this alone, you know," I said quietly. "Tom and I… we've got your back."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I know, Jake. And that means more to me than you know. But this is something I have to do, for myself, and for everyone else who might get caught up in this."
There was a determination in her voice that I hadn't heard before, a kind of steel that made me realize just how serious she was about this. It made me uneasy, but I also couldn't help but respect her for it.
"Just promise me one thing," I said, meeting her gaze. "If things get too dangerous… if you need help… you'll come to me, to us, before you make any big decisions."
She nodded slowly, her eyes softening. "I promise, Jake. But you have to promise me that you'll be careful too. This game… it's not just a game. There's something more to it, something we don't understand yet."
"I will," I assured her, though the weight of her words hung heavy in the air between us.