CALL FROM ABOVE
Max sat hunched over the edge of his bed in his cramped, dimly lit hostel room. The air was thick with tension, his hands clammy as they hovered over the flashing system notification.
> Incoming Call – [Real Solutions HQ]
The notification pulsed menacingly in his interface, each flicker tightening the knot in his stomach. He had known this was coming—had dreaded it ever since the catastrophe in Blue Wind Town—but now that it was here, it felt like the walls of the tiny room were closing in on him.
A single, flickering candle sat atop the wooden nightstand, casting jagged shadows against the rough stone walls. His rented room was barely large enough to fit a bed, a rickety chair, and a worn-out table covered in half-empty potion bottles and discarded gear scraps. A far cry from the grand guild halls of top players.
His breathing was shallow. This wasn't going to be a strategy meeting.
This was a reckoning.
A sharp ping broke the silence.
> Incoming Call – [Real Solutions HQ]
10 seconds remaining before forced connection.
His pulse spiked. Forced connection? So, they weren't even giving him the choice to decline. Of course not.
Max exhaled sharply, pressing accept with a trembling hand.
Click.
For a moment, there was silence.
Then—
A voice sliced through the call like a dagger.
"Max, what the hell have you done?"
Max's back straightened instinctively. Cold. Sharp. Venomous.
Brandon.
The name alone made his stomach churn. A senior executive of Real Solutions. Not just a high-ranking officer, but a corporate handler—a man who had the power to decide the fate of every sub-guild they owned.
This wasn't just a guild leader calling to chew him out.
This was a man who could erase him from the game with a single command.
Max opened his mouth to respond. "Brandon, I—"
"Shut up."
The words landed like a slap. Max's jaw snapped shut.
The silence that followed was suffocating. He could hear the faint crackle of the candle beside him, the distant sounds of NPCs chatting outside the window, completely oblivious to the disaster unfolding in this tiny room.
Brandon's voice came again—low and deliberate, but dripping with controlled rage.
"Do you have any idea how much damage you've caused?"
Max swallowed hard.
He did know.
Over two hundred members humiliated, stripped of their gear, and slaughtered like dogs.
The guild bank emptied.
Their name smeared across town bulletin boards as a laughingstock.
NPC guards treating them like criminals.
Bounty hunters farming them for easy gold.
But hearing it from Brandon made the weight of it crash down on him all over again.
"You were given resources," Brandon continued, his words cutting like a scalpel. "Manpower. A direct investment from Real Solutions. You were supposed to establish dominance in Blue Wind Town. You were supposed to be the foundation for our expansion. And what do you have to show for it?"
Max's gaze flickered to the cracked mirror on the far wall. He looked like a ghost. His eyes sunken, his lips pressed into a thin line.
He wanted to argue, to fight back, but what could he say?
Everything he had built… was gone.
And now, his future was no longer in his hands.
Max's fingers hovered over the system notifications, his pulse hammering in his ears. The cramped, dimly lit room seemed to shrink around him, the walls pressing in with a suffocating weight. The candlelight flickered wildly, casting erratic shadows that danced like ghosts across the stone walls.
> [-200,000 Credits]: Debt Registered Under Your Account
Real Solutions has deducted initial damages from your personal funds.
His breath caught in his throat.
Two hundred thousand credits. Gone.
Not in-game currency.
Not a minor setback.
Real money.
Every single credit had been painstakingly saved over months. Side gigs. Loans. Pawned possessions. All for a chance to secure an early lead in God's Garden. The moment the game launched, he had invested everything, knowing that a head start meant the difference between power and obscurity.
Now, in less than twelve hours, it had all evaporated.
His trembling hands curled into fists.
> [-200,000 Credits]: Transaction Complete.
He felt sick.
The magnitude of it hit like a physical blow, like a punch to the gut that knocked the air from his lungs. His vision blurred, sweat dripping down his brow as nausea coiled in his stomach.
This can't be real.
A sharp inhale. He forced himself to focus, but the next notification was even worse.
> [Contract Violation Warning]
Failure to comply with Real Solutions' guild charter has triggered debt recovery protocols. Further failure will result in—
Max's mind reeled. Debt recovery protocols?
His eyes darted across the screen, panic rising like bile.
Real Solutions wasn't just an in-game guild. It was a corporate-backed machine, a power-hungry conglomerate that used God's Garden as a goldmine. They weren't just demanding repayment—they were enforcing contractual debt.
Which meant—
His debt wasn't limited to the game.
If he didn't fix this, they'd come after him in real life too.
A cold shiver crawled up his spine.
> "Three days."
Brandon's voice was like a knife against his eardrums, smooth and unwavering. "That's all you get to clean up this mess. Or the rest of your debt will be collected."
Max's heart pounded.
The rest?
His lips parted, voice barely above a whisper.
"The rest?"
Another system notification pulsed onto his interface.
> [Pending Debt: 1,300,000 Credits]
[Payment Due in 72 Hours]
The air left his lungs.
One. Point. Three. Million.
His body went rigid, a sudden, crushing pressure weighing down on his chest. He tried to breathe, but it felt like his ribs had turned to iron, locking his lungs in place.
> Three days.
Seventy-two hours.
If he didn't turn this situation around by then, they would own him completely.
Brandon's voice was calm, almost mocking.
"You should've thought about that before letting it collapse."
Max's fingernails dug into his palm.
He wanted to fight back, to scream, to tell Brandon that it wasn't his fault. That the ambush, the sabotage, the betrayal—it hadn't been his doing.
But the truth was no one cared.
Real Solutions wasn't looking for excuses. They were looking for results.
A long silence stretched between them, thick and unbearable. Max clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.
Brandon sighed, like a parent disappointed in a child.
"Fix it, Max. Or we'll fix you."
Click.
The call ended.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Max sat frozen, staring blankly at the system messages, unable to move. The dim candlelight flickered, the shadows swallowing his exhausted features.
> Twelve hours.
The game had been out for twelve hours, and he was already on the brink of financial ruin.
His future—both in-game and in real life—was hanging by a thread.
And he had no idea how to fix it.
Then—
Ping.
A new message flashed across his interface.
> [Private Message from Cathy]
Cathy: "Max… I need to tell you something. Meet me at the usual spot."
Max's eyes narrowed.
His hands clenched around the frayed fabric of his shirt.
Cathy.
A longtime friend. His right-hand strategist. One of the few people he had trusted in God's Garden.
Had she found a way out of this?
Or was this just another betrayal waiting to happen?
His jaw tightened.
There was only one way to find out.
What happens next imagine??