Chapter 33: Shelter's End
By afternoon, my apartment looked like it was hosting a garage sale run by someone with no consistent interests.
Umbrellas, tissues, kitchen supplies, random tools, boxes, bags, and one very broken table occupied most of the room.
Mixed among them were several objects that would make a police officer age ten years if he looked too closely.
I started with the duds.
They were annoying, but at least none of them could explode.
Probably.
Once those had been pushed into their own miserable corner, I moved on to the equipment I could actually use.
Every weapon was checked again before being claimed.
The firearms came first, followed by their magazines and ammunition. Then the blades, cases, straps, and pouches.
Anything I might need to Recall under pressure had to feel familiar before that pressure actually arrived.
Most objects were easy enough to claim.
Some felt heavier inside my awareness.
Not because of their physical weight, but because of what they were.
A magazine was simple.
A knife was manageable.
Grenades were slightly harder to ignore when I could feel several of them sitting across the room like extremely dangerous metal eggs.
I claimed them anyway.
Then spent several minutes practicing not panicking about it.
Black Meridian took the longest.
Even while resting against the wall, the shield felt unusually present.
Dense.
Quiet.
Like someone had cut a circular hole in the room and filled it with three hundred kilograms of common sense violation.
I tested it several more times.
Carefully.
Very carefully.
No throwing.
No sudden movements.
And absolutely no experimenting near the veranda.
I claimed the shield and lifted it a few centimeters from the floor.
Held it there.
Then lowered it.
Once its full weight rested safely against the floor, I released the claim.
The boards beneath it gave a low creak.
I claimed it again.
Lifted.
Lowered.
Released.
Then repeated the process until I was reasonably confident that I would not accidentally send it through a wall.
Moving the shield with Reclaimer felt surprisingly natural. Its actual weight never changed, but the moment my Sigil took hold, most of that burden seemed to leave my body.
That did not mean it became harmless.
Three hundred kilograms was still three hundred kilograms.
If I lost control while it was moving, the shield would not politely stop and apologize.
For now, being able to lift it was enough.
Learning how to fight with it could wait until I found somewhere that was not my apartment.
Preferably somewhere reinforced.
After that came cleaning.
Not because I expected the apartment to look normal again.
That possibility had died with the table.
I simply needed enough space to walk without stepping on something expensive, explosive, or embarrassing.
The broken table had to be dragged aside. The larger boxes were flattened and stacked near the wall. Everything useful was separated according to what I might need immediately and what could remain behind.
By the time I finished, the apartment was still a mess.
Just a more organized one.
I checked my phone.
Less than an hour remained on the Shelter timer.
The sight of it made the room feel quieter.
For the past week, that timer had always been there.
A small guarantee that no player could select me for a Class Match.
It had not made me completely safe. Encounter Battles still existed, and I had spent the entire week avoiding crowded player areas because of them.
But Shelter had given me time.
Time to recover.
Time to prepare.
Time to pretend I was not part of D-Game for a few hours each day.
That time was almost over.
I took a shower and changed.
Dark jacket.
Plain shirt.
Jeans.
Boots.
Gloves.
Ordinary clothes at a glance.
Nothing tactical enough to attract attention. Nothing that would make a stranger look twice.
Still, I knew why I had chosen each piece.
The jacket concealed the pistol.
The boots were sturdy enough to run in.
The gloves kept my grip secure and prevented me from leaving prints on everything I touched.
Before leaving, I stood in the middle of the apartment and looked around.
The room was different from what it had been one week ago.
So was I.
Probably.
Not by much.
A week of terrible exercise, amateur shooting practice, and reckless gambling had not transformed me into an action hero.
But I had more equipment now.
A better understanding of my Sigil.
And a shield that required construction machinery unless I personally asked it to move.
That would have to be enough.
I checked the Shelter timer once more, then locked the door behind me.
The city outside looked normal.
That almost made it worse.
People walked out of convenience stores carrying plastic bags. Cars moved steadily through the streets. Office workers smoked near alleys while students laughed outside a restaurant.
Nobody looked like they knew an invisible death game was taking place beneath the surface of their lives.
Maybe some of them were players.
Maybe none of them were.
There was no reliable way to tell.
I kept walking until I reached a commercial street several blocks away.
It was busy, but not overcrowded. Enough people were around that I did not stand out, while the street remained open enough for me to see anyone approaching.
A large concrete planter sat near the sidewalk.
I took a seat and checked my phone.
00:07:42
Seven minutes.
Forty-two seconds.
Ten points remained in my account.
Technically, that was enough to buy another Shelter.
One tap could give me another protected week.
The option sat there, surprisingly tempting.
Ten points would hide my name again.
It would also leave me with nothing.
No emergency funds.
No room to gamble.
No points to spare if something went wrong.
And once the next week ended, I would be sitting in the same position with fewer options.
That was no longer preparation.
That was just delaying the problem until I became too poor to delay it again.
I rested my elbows on my knees and watched the numbers fall.
00:05:18
My heart was beating faster than I wanted.
I was scared.
There was no point pretending otherwise.
Some excitement had mixed in with it, sure. A week spent collecting weapons and discovering an impossible shield had done strange things to my brain.
But beneath that excitement was simple, honest fear.
Once the timer reached zero, my name would return to the Class Match list.
Anyone near my rank could choose me.
Anywhere.
At any time.
I looked at the passing crowd.
A man wearing a gray coat.
A woman speaking on her phone.
Two drunk office workers supporting each other badly.
A cyclist moving too close to the curb.
Any of them could have been normal.
Any of them could have been watching me.
00:02:03
I flexed my fingers.
Then forced them to relax.
My pistol rested beneath my jacket.
The rest of my equipment waited nearby, close enough for my Sigil to reach.
I had prepared as much as I could in one week.
Whatever happened next, hesitation would not make me more prepared.
00:00:30
The numbers continued falling.
Around me, the city kept moving.
No dramatic music started playing.
No wind swept through the street.
There was only traffic, footsteps, and the faint noise of conversation.
00:00:10
Ten seconds.
00:00:05
I watched the screen.
00:00:04
Waited.
00:00:03
My name was about to return to the list.
00:00:02
No more hiding behind a timer.
00:00:01
The Shelter icon vanished.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
No challenge.
No teleportation.
No lunatic dropping from the sky with a knife between his teeth.
The city simply continued as though nothing had changed.
I stared at the empty space where the timer had been.
Then slowly looked up.
Somewhere inside D-Game, the list had already updated.
My name was available again.
I had ten points left, one week of preparation behind me, and no protected days remaining.
Whether I liked it or not, I had to play.
I stood from the planter and slipped my phone into my pocket.
"All right."
My voice disappeared beneath the noise of traffic.
I looked out over the city.
"Let the game start."
End of Chapter 33