Short Story: Into the game – Act 1

Chapter 2: Wrong side of jail

The guard broke the silence, his posture snapping rigid as though someone else had seized control of his body. When he spoke, the voice wasn’t entirely his, layered, distorted, like two people talking through the same mouth.

“You…” His eyes twitched, glowing faintly. “You should not be here. This is not your challenge, not your fight. How have you entered this realm without accepting the rules?”

His head jerked sharply, as if resisting an invisible hand.

“Leave,” the voice hissed. “Leave before you regret taking on this burden. You’re too late. They are mine to claim. I will let you walk away without trouble… if you go now.”

Daniel didn’t move.

The guard’s jaw spasmed, the next words spilling out in a stuttering, broken rhythm.

“Do you wish to leave? Why can you remember? Why are you so powerful? Why do you still have your past gear?”

A low laugh rattled in his throat wrong, glitching, delighted.

“Oh, it’s obvious, isn’t it. Obvious and yet… not.”

He leaned forward, lips curling into a smile that didn’t belong to him.

“I give you a choice. Leave… or you won’t make it out of here alive.”

The smile widened, stretching too far.

“And I’m not letting you have her easily.”

A beat.

“Or him.”

Daniel looked around, scanning the room for exits and the rows of jail cells. A narrow staircase led down into the basement, the only place his friends could be.

“I don’t have a choice,” he said quietly. “And I don’t trust you.”

The guard snarled, voice cracking with borrowed anger. “No.”

Daniel’s reply was calm, almost eerily so, with a steady, unflinching anger beneath the surface. A single tear slid down his cheek.

“I guess you’re addicted to chaos,” he murmured. “Just like me.”

He snapped his fingers.

The lights died instantly.

Something heavy dropped from the ceiling and slammed onto the guard’s head. Metal clattered. The guard collapsed with a distorted grunt, the red glow in his eyes flickering out.

An alarm blared to life, shrill and panicked.

Daniel didn’t wait. He sprinted toward the stairs and descended into the basement. Behind him, he heard the chaos erupt boots slipping, bodies tumbling, swords clattering violently down the steps as guards tried to give chase.

He kept moving.

The jail awaited.

Daniel reached the bottom of the stairs and froze.

Rows of jail cells stretched into the darkness, each one flickering with unstable light. Inside them were people, dozens of them trapped like corrupted save files. Some were half‑rendered, glitching in and out. Others were twisted versions of former friends, their avatars warped by whatever force ruled this place.

And then he saw something worse.

Past versions of himself.

Old avatars from failed playthroughs stared back at him, their eyes hollow, their bodies flickering like broken holograms. Some reached toward him through the bars, hands phasing through the metal before snapping back into place.

Claire’s avatars were there too three of them. One from her first run, one from the time she tried a healer build, and one wearing the armour her boyfriend Ant had helped her earn. All of them are corrupted. All of them stuck.

But the cell directly in front of him held the real Claire human, terrified, and glitching only slightly around the edges.

Before Daniel could move, the human version of himself, the tea‑drinking one, appeared beside the stairs and casually stuck out a foot.

The first guard tripped, tumbling down, landing face-first. The others crashed into him like dominoes.

Daniel didn’t question it. His mind felt sharper, guided, as if someone or something was helping him think three steps ahead. He moved through the chaos with practised ease, knocking out guards as the dim lights flickered overhead.

“Daniel!” Claire shouted from her cell. “I… I think I remember you. I tried, I really tried, but I died three times and I’m losing it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Daniel said, voice steady. “I’m here now.”

He pointed at the lock. Frost spread instantly, coating the metal. One strike of his staff shattered it into glittering shards.

Then he noticed the key lying on the floor dropped by one of the guards he’d knocked out.

“Typical,” he muttered.

Claire stumbled out of the cell just as more guards appeared at the far end of the corridor, swords drawn, eyes glowing red.

They had found him.

And this time, they weren’t tripping over each other.

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