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Arcane: TTB: Ch. 03
🕑 Added 2025-01-21 00:34:40 +0000 UTCCipher was in the middle of his fifth energy drink when it happened.
He'd been playing Apex for sixteen hours straight, climbing the ranked ladder with barely any breaks.
His room was a mess of snack wrappers and his favorite book, "Ready Player One," was propped open against his monitor stand for good luck.
"One more squad," he muttered, guiding his character through Fragment East. After thousands of hours, the movements were second nature, slide, jump, perfect recoil control.
That's when his cat decided to knock over his drink.
The energy drink splashed directly into his power strip, the one he'd been meaning to replace because the surge protector was broken. The one connected to his very metal gaming chair.
Blue electricity arced up through his chair. His muscles locked up, but strangely, it didn't hurt. Instead, the world started pixelating around him, breaking apart like a corrupted game file.
The last thing he saw was his character in Apex getting shot, his first death in hours.
Everything went white. Then black. Then... digital.
He was floating in what looked like the inside of a computer, streams of code flowing past him. But the code wasn't normal, it was mixed with fragments of Apex matches, weapon stats, movement techniques.
Am I actually dying, or is this just what happens when you drink too many energy drinks?
Then came darkness.
---
He woke up small. Tiny. His hands were pudgy with baby fat, and the world seemed impossibly large around him. Toxic fumes burned his nose, and everything was dirty and strange.
"Get out of the way, you little Zaunite rat!" A well-dressed man kicked at him as he passed.
That's how Cipher learned where he was, Zaun. The Undercity.
The place where people were less than rats.
He was three years old, alone. And had no idea how he'd gotten there. His adult mind was trapped in a toddler's body, trying to make sense of this new reality.
No parents.
No home.
Just the endless maze of Zaun's toxic streets.
The first week was the hardest. He could barely reach the edges of garbage bins to find food. His tiny legs got tired quickly.
Every alley cat seemed bigger than him, and they fought him for scraps.
But he learned. He discovered that the warmest places to sleep were near the chemical vents, where the toxic fumes were thinnest. The rats became his unlikely allies, where they gathered, the food was usually safe to eat. At least, he hoped. But it was better than starving anyway.
On cold nights, they would huddle around him, their bodies keeping him warm.
He made his home in an abandoned chemical drum, cleaned out by years of rain. It was small enough that bigger kids and adults couldn't reach him inside. He lined it with discarded papers and cloth, creating a nest that was almost comfortable.
"Hey, little one," an old woman called to him one day, seeing him dig through her trash. Instead of chasing him away, she gave him half a stale bread roll. "You're a clever one, aren't you? Most street kids don't last this long alone."
He learned to read people like that, the ones who might show kindness, the ones to avoid. The Chem-Barons' thugs were the worst. They'd hurt children just for fun.
But some of the working folks would leave their garbage bags slightly open, making it easier for small hands to reach the edible bits.
Years passed this way. His body grew slowly, but his mind stayed sharp. He watched everything, learned everything.
How the chemistry works dumped their waste.
How the smugglers moved their goods.
How the enforcers could be avoided.
Then came the Day of Ashes.
---
Standing on the Bridge of Progress, he and two little girls watched helplessly as everything burned.
The adults who loved him perished one by one. Smoke filled his lungs.
Screams filled his ears.
He just watched, unable to do anything. That day taught him the true meaning of powerlessness.
That suffocating sense of despair and helplessness crushed down on him.
As the darkness threatened to consume him, something deep within began to resonate with his desperation. His emotions peaked, and in that moment of utter hopelessness, they triggered his dormant ability.
[Ready Player One] awakened.
The world shifted. Dissolved. Reformed.
---
When he came to, he found himself in a strange place.
The sun beat down mercilessly as Cipher stumbled through endless dunes.
His throat burned with thirst, tongue swollen and dry.
Three days.
He'd been wandering for three days, choking down what little moisture he could find in desert plants, learning which ones were safe through painful trial and error.
His vomit-stained shirt told the story of his mistakes.
The wound in his side from his rough landing had started to smell bad. Without proper medical supplies, he'd tried to clean it with the alcohol-like sap of a desert plant.
The burning had nearly made him pass out, but at least the infection seemed to have stopped spreading.
A rock formation rose ahead, offering shadow.
Cipher dragged himself toward it, legs shaking with exhaustion. Each step stirred up fine red dust that clung to his sweat-soaked clothes.
The shade felt like heaven.
He slumped against the cool stone, closing his eyes. His hands shook as he reached for his makeshift water container, a hollow piece of vegetation he'd learned to use from watching the local wildlife.
Three careful sips left. Had to make them last.
"Don't move." The voice was rough, amused.
Cipher's blood went cold. Footsteps crunched in the sand behind him.
"Turn around. Slowly."
He turned to see two men. The first was tall, weathered, with a scratched R-99 slung across his chest. The weapon was battered, held together with makeshift repairs and what looked like scavenged parts.
A far cry from the clean, game-ready version Cipher knew.
Behind the armed man stood another figure, younger, maybe twenty, with haunted eyes and chains on his wrists. His bare shoulders were covered in scars, some fresh, some old.
A slave.
He carried a heavy pack that clinked with salvage.
"Thought I saw someone stumbling around out here," the armed man said. "Lucky day for me. Always need more hands for scavenging." He jerked his thumb at the slave. "Ain't that right, Kev?"
The slave, Kev, looked away. His chains rattled softly.
"I'm Reed," the raider continued, smiling without warmth. "And you're my new worker. Unless you'd prefer to die out here?" His free hand rested on a pistol at his hip.
In the game, he'd have options.
Weapons.
Abilities.
Teammates.
But here he had nothing. Just three sips of water and an infected wound.
"Smart kid," Reed said, seeing Cipher's resignation. "Kev, bind his hands. Use the good rope this time."
The next hours were a blur of walking. The sun climbed higher as Reed led them through the canyon, searching old structures half-buried in sand.
Remnants of the Frontier War, Cipher guessed, remembering the game's lore. Now they were tombs full of rusted machinery and sun-bleached bones.
The rope burned his wrists. Kev had tied them tight, too tight. No chances of slipping free. But Cipher noticed how Kev's hands had shook while doing it, how he'd whispered "I'm sorry" so quietly only Cipher could hear.
Reed kept them moving, always alert. He was experienced, Cipher had to admit. Never let them walk behind him. Always kept sight lines clear. Watched the high ground.
This wasn't his first time handling captives.
They searched three sites before the sun began to set. A small bit of tech here, some salvageable metal there.
Each time they found something, Reed's mood improved slightly.
Each time they found nothing, his face grew darker.
They stopped at another rock formation as shadows lengthened across the sand. A small cave offered shelter from the wind that had begun to pick up. Reed pushed them inside, keeping the gun trained on them.
"Rest up," he ordered. "Long walk to the camp tomorrow." He tossed them each a strip of dried meat. "Eat. You're no good to me dead."
The meat was tough and salty. Cipher's dry mouth could barely handle it, but his stomach cramped with hunger. He forced himself to eat slowly, making it last.
Beside him, Kev did the same.
Reed sat by the entrance, R-99 across his lap. The silence stretched, broken only by the wind. The temperature dropped rapidly as night fell.
Cipher huddled against the cave wall, shivering.
Hours passed. Reed's eyes grew heavy. The gun drooped slightly.
Seeing this, Kev moved.
The attack was sudden, desperate. He launched himself at Reed, chains swinging toward the raider's head. The gun clattered away, spinning across the cave floor.
Reed roared in surprise, wrestling with Kev. They rolled in the sand. For a moment, it seemed Kev might win.
Bang!
Kev stumbled back, red spreading across his chest. He looked at Cipher with dying eyes. "Run... when you can..." He collapsed, chains clicking one final time against the stone.
Reed stood, pistol in hand, breathing hard. Blood ran from a cut on his forehead where the chains had caught him.
"Stupid," Reed spat, kicking Kev's body. "Could've had a decent life. Instead..." He turned to Cipher, eyes cold. "Let that be a lesson. Behave, you live. Fight..." He gestured at Kev's corpse. "Ain't much living as a corpse, is there?"
Cipher nodded, trembling. But his mind was already working.
Reed was bleeding.
Tired.
Angry.
People made mistakes when they were angry.
They spent the night in that cave, the body cooling in the corner. Reed kept the gun close, forcing Cipher to sleep in his sight. But Cipher didn't sleep. He watched through slitted eyes as the raider fought exhaustion, head nodding before jerking up again.
---
The next day brought more walking, more scavenging. The weight of Kev's pack was added to Cipher's burden.
And the sun seemed hotter, the sand deeper.
Reed grew increasingly frustrated at finding nothing valuable in the ruins they searched.
By the third day, his temper was fraying visibly. The sun, the constant disappointment of empty ruins, the need to watch his captive, it was wearing him down. His water was running low. The cut on his head had started to fester in the heat.
When Cipher stumbled, spilling the day's water across the sand, something snapped in Reed.
"You worthless..." he grabbed Cipher by the throat, slamming him against a stone wall. His fingers squeezed with strength. His breath stank of dehydration.
Cipher clawed at the hands crushing his windpipe. His bound hands scrambled against the rough stone wall behind him, feeling the coarse surface scrape his knuckles raw.
There.
His fingers found loose sand and grit on the wall. With his fading strength, he threw it directly into Reed's eyes.
Reed howled, grip loosening just enough for Cipher to gasp air. But he didn't let go completely. His rage seemed to have overtaken his pain.
Can't bite. Hands bound. But his eyes...
His thumbs found Reed's eyes. He pushed, hard, feeling something burst and split under the pressure. The human eye was so fragile.
The games never showed that. And the scream was horrible.
Reed released him completely, stumbling back. Cipher fell, lungs burning as he sucked in air.
His vision swam.
Reed was still screaming, hands over his face. Blood and fluid ran between his fingers. The R-99 swung wildly on its strap as he staggered.
Cipher scrambled away on all fours, searching desperately for something.
His hand found a rock, sharp and heavy. Not ideal, but it would have to do.
Reed was still stumbling, trying to clear his eyes. He pulled the pistol from his belt with shaking hands, firing blindly. Bullets kicked up sand around Cipher.
Cipher gripped the rock with both bound hands and swung as hard as he could. The rock glanced off Reed's shoulder as the man twisted at the last second.
One eye, bloodied but functional, locked onto Cipher with pure hatred.
"You little..." Reed's hand shot out, grabbing Cipher's ankle. He yanked hard, sending Cipher face-first into the sand. The rock tumbled away.
Cipher kicked wildly with his free leg, but Reed's grip was like iron. The raider dragged him across the ground, sand burning against Cipher's skin. With his hands still bound, he couldn't get any leverage.
Reed pulled him closer, blood still streaming from his ruined eye. "Going to take my time with you now."
One of Reed's hands found Cipher's throat again. The other fumbled for the fallen pistol in the sand. Cipher thrashed desperately.
His bound hands scraped against something metal in the sand, the R-99. It had come loose in the struggle, the strap snapped.
Reed saw his movement. His remaining eye widened. They both lunged for the weapon.
Cipher's fingers closed around the grip. Reed grabbed the barrel. They wrestled for control, rolling in the sand.
Bang!
The gun went off, and the recoil ripped the weapon upward, the stock smashing into Cipher's face.
Everything went dark for a moment.
When his vision cleared, he was lying on his back. Blood ran from his nose. The R-99 lay in the sand between them, barrel still smoking.
The raider lay face-down a few feet away, a single lucky shot through through his heart.
Cipher tried to stand but the world spun. His face throbbed where the gun had hit him. He vomited.
Then he crawled to Reed's body, checking for any movement.
Nothing.
The last bullet had found its mark.
He took to the gun with trembling hands. This time, he carefully examined every part, comparing it to his game knowledge.
Safety. Magazine release. Chamber.
Everything was similar but different.
Rougher. Heavier. Real.
Never again, he thought, checking the magazine with shaking fingers. Next time, I'll know how to use it properly.
He looked at the body. I'm sorry. But better you than me.
The sun continued its merciless beat as Cipher shouldered the R-99 and stumbled on. He had a lot to learn if he was going to survive this world.
