Alt Control Save by Kody Boye

Author:Kody Boye [Boye, Kody]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-05-13T22:00:00+00:00

5

I curl my fingers.

Gravel bites into my palms.

I feel unnaturally cold.

Then I open my eyes, and for a moment, wonder what is happening.

I realize, soon after, what has occurred.

I am no longer in Kingsman Online Headquarters. I am in the world of Dystopia—and not only that: I am exactly where I was when I was lifted from the game upon my first win.

The mountains.

The wind skirts about my prone body as I lie here, on the ground, trying my hardest to gather up the nerve to rise and begin what will undoubtedly be my most hellish journey yet.

Before, we knew there was a chance we could make it out alive.

Now?

I shiver as I press my palms to the earth, then grimace as I push myself to my hands and knees.

Rising, I push my hair behind my ears and consider the world for what it is.

The gray sun is out. The birds are chirping. Chipmunks chatting. I feel a pair of eyes on me and spin to scan my surroundings, only to scare a deer who’d been grazing nearby.

I’d forgotten how real this place felt.

Now you know, my conscience offers.

I take a few moments to allow my body to acclimate to my surroundings—to breathe the air, to smell the smells, to feel the impressions of the gravel that are slowly disappearing from my fingers.

Then, slowly, I begin to walk.

Muscle memory is what compels me to make my way around the mountain and continue to the northeastern wilds of the map. Unsure what I will face in a world that appears to be constantly changing of its own influence, but knowing I cannot afford to slow in the slightest, I tighten my hold on my jacket and trespass along the rigid mountainside.

A thought hits me before I can make it five feet from my original destination.

What will I do if I’m attacked? How will I defend myself?

The thought, chilling as it happens to be, is not without merit. Given the volatile nature of this world, anything could be around any corner.

Ashen—

Lobo—

Screechers—

I swallow.

The Devil.

I’m just about to stop and take a moment to compose myself when my foot hits, and nearly trips me over, something.

I look down, only to find that a short, thick branch almost sent me tumbling to my knees.

“Stupid—” I start to say, then stop before I can finish.

Frowning, I consider it for several long moments, then crouch to take hold of it.

Its weight is ample, its length not in the least bit cumbersome. With a little bit of work, it could serve as the perfect weapon.

I swing it a few times to ensure it won’t impede my progress, then stoop to grab a rock.

Thus begins my work to fashion the item into a weapon.

It takes only a short amount of time, and a meager amount of banging the rock against the end of the branch, to fashion a point.

Come time I’ve finished, I’ve created a makeshift spear—which will not only serve as a perfect weapon, but also a handy walking stick.

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