Max woke to a bronze covered dog sitting on his chest. It's red tongue lulling from a drool filled mouth. The animal barked at him once more, then licked his cheek again, before jumping from the bed. He sat up, watching as the animal padded from the room.

"Thanks for the welcome," he said wiping the slobber from his face. He climbed from bed and quickly pulled his jeans and tank top on.

Friday wore a short orange summer dress that matched her hair. Violet was already seated on the same stool as yesterday, though today she wore no pants. A short black leather jacket covered a fishnet blouse, while the high cut skirt barely reached her pale thighs. Max saddled up to her and sat on the stool next to hers.

"You look ready for a night out on the town," Max said letting his eyes slide down her barely concealed chest to her long legs. He especially liked the amount of skin on display. She uncrossed then recrossed her long legs, and Max was momentarily distracted by the sight of her black lace panties. He dragged his eyes up to here which glittered with a knowing look.

"Work outfit," she said playfully putting a hand on his cheek and turning his face away.

"What are your plans?" Friday asked in reply.

"Figured I'd wander around today, maybe visit the competition center," Max said giving the other woman a broad smile.

"Do you want a ride?" Friday asked, but Max shook his head.

"We're not that far from the city center, and I was paying attention last night."

"You sure?" she asked, and he smiled again.

"Thanks, but I'll walk," Max said hopping off the stool. He wasn't hungry today, so he went into the guest bathroom to shower. After dunking under the scalding water, Max toweled off and went to get dressed. The empty holster and mag pouches he left sitting on the nightstand but did slip the belt on. Then he laced up his combat boots before walking back into the penthouse. Friday bent over as Rusty whined pawing at the fridge.

"But we're out of sausages," Friday said in a plaintive voice. "You ate them all yesterday; remember." The dog sank to the floor in a dejected heap and Friday rubbed his head. Violet watched the action as she ate her bagel.

"We'll go shopping after work," she said noticing Max. The woman stood and gave him a wave goodbye, which Max returned. Rusty resorted to padding around the counter and begging Violet for food. The two stared at one another before Violet swallowed the last of her bagel.

He strode through the entryway. The elevator opened and he took it down to the first floor. The late fall morning was chilly, and fog rolled across the ground in thick patchy banks. The sun was just over the horizon and it wouldn't be long before the streets cleared. Max stretched feeling the morning light caress his face. Then he patted his empty pocket, remembering the key Violet had given him.

"Shoot," he muttered going back into the building. The elevator dinged as it opened and he quickly touched the control screen. It asked him which floor he wanted, and he selected Penthouse. It ascended and he jogged across the welcome mat. The apartment door, thankfully, was unlocked.

"Oohhhh," Friday cried in a high pitched shriek, which was accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a slapped butt cheek. The angel's ass was in the air, ankles tied to the support posts. A blindfold was roughly tied around her head, and her wrists were bound behind her back. The bright summer dress was heaped on the floor nearby, so her only clothing was a surprisingly risque pair of white panties.

"You like that?" Violet asked in a syrupy voice.

"More," the woman moaned. Black painted fingernails raked Friday's reddening bottom, and a line of thin scratches appeared across her smooth skin. The door closed behind Max alerting the two to his entry. Violet spun to face him, but Friday shrieked again, this time in surprise. Max ignored the erotic scene and walked past them. Poor Rusty was laying on the couch looking on with some bewilderment, and Max felt for the dog. He wasn't sure if he should protect his master, or run into the bedroom and hide. He pretended not to see anything and quickly walked into his room, fetched his keys from the nightstand, then spun about.

Friday's face turned away, and Violet placed herself in front of her girlfriend. Max jingled the ring with a single key for effect. "Forgot these," he added making for the door. "Didn't want to get locked out while you two were off at work." Max slid the keyring into his pocket and gave the two girls another friendly wave.

"Have… a spanking good day," he quipped closing the apartment door. Max smirked to himself as he entered the elevator again. Well, well… they were in a relationship. He supposed there might be hope for them.

The morning fog was slowly burning off as he stepped outside. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the California sea side. He patted his pocket, like most men do after leaving the house, then set off for the mall. Sports cars and racers slid past toward the competition center. Now that he knew what to look for, the dome was visible about four blocks away. He found the main avenue, then turned away from the arena. At the slow ambling pace he set, it took him about twenty minutes to reach his destination.

The Competition Center was mostly empty this morning, probably because it was barely nine. The clan recruiters had not arrived, so he went in unmolested. A bored looking kid was manning a convenience counter with golden eyes. He sat with elbows on the desk nodding his head sleepily. Idle Meisters sparsely populated the rest of the lobby.

Should he wait an hour for more players to log in? He supposed he could sign up and wait for the math to fill up. He intended to run just one match, then spend the rest of the day dicking around. Friday had been right. There was no need to rush into things. So he wandered over to a console and slapped the screen. It activated, and he selected [Quick Deathmatch] from the list.

"Please enter Lobby 89," it said, and his lips parted in a feral grin. Later he could figure out what to do about his living situation, but for now, he was going to have some fun. He slowly walked to the bank of elevators, then stepped in.

The private lounge was empty, so he sat down in a free couch. The first player to join came in about five minutes later, and soon more joined them. Almost all were wearing the same gray uniform, and only one other person had bothered to change clothes — a good sign, in his opinion. Max closed his eyes relaxing into the couch. Twenty minutes later, the lounge filled, and the world faded to black.

[Match Started]

Light struggled past the overgrown front windows to reveal a dust covered map under his feet. To his left, a concierge counter and a sign pointing him towards the gold membership express line. Max was surprised. He had been here once on a three week trip to Las Vegas, so he immediately recognized the lobby entrance for Treasure Island. He walked to the windows. Outside the palm trees formed a small jungle, and two galleon sailing ships were anchored in the manmade lake.

Across the street was the Palazzo hotel, and a red wall cut across its parking lot. From what Max could tell the circle pretty much encompassed Treasure Island resort. So it was more than likely everyone would be spawning in or around the building.

He walked unhurriedly through the lobby, unconsciously following the red dotted line toward the casino. Everything was in surprisingly good shape despite the state of apparent decay. Dusty slot machines stood like toy soldiers in seven orderly ranks. In the center of the amassed army was a circular bar and he hopped the counter. Most of the bottles had fallen from the shelf and shattered, but a couple of survivors lingered.

One such bottle was a skull-shaped bottle of vodka. Max plucked it down, pulled the cork out, and sniffed the contents. His nose hairs curled from the alcohol, and he nodded in satisfaction. Max set about ripping cloth strips from the bottom of his shirt. He soaked the cloth with spirits before stuffing a majority into the bottle's mouth. With one extra he tied the bundle together so they wouldn't fall out.

His next problem was acquiring flame, but thankfully, among the bar's ruined shelves was a whole basket of black hotel matches. He picked one up and opened the flap. The inside label warned him of the dangers of tobacco, which could —gasp— cause him lung cancer and other long term health hazards. He plucked one from the row and struck it across the strip. It flared but failed to catch and he tried several more. None were willing to surge into fiery self-destruction, and Max solved this problem by using two matchbooks and striking all the heads at once. He touched the surging fire against the molotov's cloth. It caught quickly burning a bright incandescent blue color, and he smiled again.

It was a good thing he'd set that van on fire earlier; else he'd never think to try this. It might have been possible to make more, but gunfire broke the silence. Someone had crept through the lobby following his footprints to the casino. The first bullet struck the bar counter, wood splintered and a container of grenadine exploded. The second and third were wildly off, but they did score a surviving liqueur bottle. He would have wept to see the hundred-year-old scotch splattered across the shelf.

Snatching the flaming skull, Max ducked around the other side of the bar. Several more bullets tore through the wood shelving as he hopped the counter and sprinted toward a collection of poker tables. He caught sight of red hair between the machines as his attacker chased him.

He needed to get his target somewhere they wouldn't be able to dodge his single grenade. They weren't bad this time. Who was behind him had at least a couple of games under their belt. Bullets tore into the felt table next to him, and he changed direction. Ahead of him, a stack of poker chips blew into the air. He shouldered through a set of double doors and into the resort's restaurant. Marble tables were littered with old plates and decayed food. Max decided this was the right place, and tipped several tables over before his pursuer arrived.

The Springfield XD appeared first. It poked one side of the door open as the player scanned for threats. Max waited until they were standing in the doorway before stepping out from cover. She fired at him, but the marble tabletop protected him long enough to hurl the skull at the player's feet. The glass shattered and clear liquid splashed over her shoes and leather pants. The flames caught and blue fire raced up her legs.

At first, she ignored the flames and Max was forced to duck behind the table again. Marble shattered and the giant slab collapsed. Crouching down he shifted behind cover.

"Holy shit, Ow-ow-ow!" A girl shouted from the doorway, and Max dared peak from cover. The player was smacking her legs with one hand trying to put the flames out. The other held the XD pistol in his direction, but she was too preoccupied to notice him.

That is Russian vodka, sweet cheeks, good luck putting that out, he thought. The blue flames quickly spread up to her thighs. She finally dropped her pistol and tried to pull her burning pants off. Rolling to the ground she began to fight with the tiny zipper. All the while she cursed like a sailor. The pants were half off when her green eyes suddenly rolled into their sockets. She went limp among the growing pool of fire and Max ran forward. He grabbed the pistol from the ground.

As his fingers closed on the grip an angry voice filled his right ear. "Take your mits off me, pervert. You're not my Meister." He ignored the voice because he'd already pissed off one gun. It made little difference to him whether this one disliked being used. Max attempted to press-check the pistol, but the slide refused to move.

"Use your own pistol," the female hissed in annoyance. He aimed the weapon at the corpse and tried pulling the trigger, but that too refused to budge. He was about to drop the pistol when it vanished in a small flash of light.

"Jerk," she spat as a goodbye.

So… he couldn't use other people's guns, which was going to make this much harder. He walked away from the burning corpse and spreading flames. Max was going to need a new weapon and he figured the kitchen would be a good place to look. He wandered through the main seating area and toward the back.

"Funny there aren't any corpses," he mused aloud. There were signs that people had been in the middle of eating. Ancient plates of long decayed food and drinks sat molding on the tables. Decades had passed since anyone had walked through this place, but there should have been a couple of skeletons, maybe even some bones laying around. He paused next to a plate and tipped what used to be a T-bone steak onto the ground.

The same had been true for the last match. Plenty of ruined buildings, rusting cars and overgrown vegetation, but he couldn't recall seeing any bodies. Maybe that would have been too mature for the masses. After all, people played this to have fun.

Max entered an industrial kitchen that was at odds with the pirate-themed resort. White tiles and polished chrome reflected the outside light from two skylights. A walk-in freezer separated two kitchen spaces.

Max spied a cooking island and the mass of utensils hanging above it. He was halfway to it when a man wearing a skull mask rose from behind it. The pistol in his hands looked like an FN Five-Seven, and he aimed at Max. There was no place to dodge, so Max snatched open the freezer door. A dozen bullets slammed into the metal, then through the thick insulation, and made round dents on the backside. He would have ducked through the open door, but the shooting quickly ended.

"For a guy in a death mask you sure emptied that weapon in a hurry," Max said closing the fridge door. The eyes behind that mask widened, and he fumbled at his belt for another magazine. Hanging above the oven was a vast array of knives, skewers, and other utensils. Max's thick fingers danced across them looking for something unique. What came down was a large silver soup ladle, and Max grinned. His adversary back peddled around the island and Max jumped over the oven with his chosen weapon. He brought it down on a wrist, and the magazine dropped to the ground.

"This might take a few blows," Max admitted as he struck the man's face. The mask fell off. Max saw baby blue eyes and attractive adolescent features.

"God damn, what are you, nineteen?" He asked smashing the side of his head again. The answer was unintelligible as the man-boy sagged to the floor. Behind him, the door to the restaurant pushed open and another Meister stormed in with a drawn pistol.

Man, gunfire sure brings in the players, Max thought in annoyance. Today's game was far different than his first match where the other Meister's had huddled in fear. He dropped the spoon and spun sideways as bullets tore into the wall. Max grabbed the first thing that came to hand, which turned out to be a large cast-iron pan. Running sideways he raced around the second cooler. The man swung around the corner as Max raised the pan, and the first bullet struck at an angle. It dug a long groove in the metal before flying off into a wall.

They collided and went down in a tangle. His opponent attempted to gain distant by kicking off the wall, but that gave Max room to swing the pan still in his grasp. He brought it across the man's face with a loud clang. He instantly collapsed, and the pistol fell to the tiles, but Max let him have one more blow just to be certain. The kitchen resounded with another loud clang as the pan conformed itself to the man's handsome features.

Max stood triumphantly, raising the deformed weapon in admiration. The player's shocked expression was still visible in the warped metal. It was totally unrealistic, but Max appreciated the artistic touch.

Despite the gray uniforms, these guys weren't the pushovers he'd expected, and they'd quickly gotten over their fear. Going back over to the kitchen tools he selected the largest meat cleaver on the rack. The surface had a patina of rust, but the edge drew blood when he ran a thumb across it. He opened the back entrance and was confronted with a red wall of crackling energy not five feet away. From somewhere above, there was a loud buzzer. That meant the circle would close somewhere in the resort.

Max jogged back into the restaurant only to find the air filled with smoke. A blaze was hungrily consuming everything in sight. Worse still, it cut off the route back into the casino. Max used his new blade to cut a scrap from a nearby table cloth and wrapped it around his face. It took almost three minutes of wasted time to find stairwell for employees. The first, second and third floor were all locked, and he sprinted up the levels until he reached an open doorway. By then the circle was slowly chasing him out into a hallway. He raced down it and came out onto a lounge overlooking the pirate cove.

A steel cable connected the building to the bird's nest of the nearest ship and was covered with a hundred or so decorative flags. Max pressed himself to glass and saw six heavy bolts anchoring the cable to the wall. He quickly grabbed a chair, lifting it over his head, and threw it against the window. Glass shattered and fresh air blew across his face. Behind him, the eager flames raced toward him and the new source of oxygen.

Max fought with his gun belt until he worked the loop free of his pants. He leaned out of the glass and threw one end over the cable. Grabbing both sides, Max jumped into space and instantly picked up speed. He did his best to ignore the flags and pendants slapping his face as he quickly slid down the zip line. He slammed into the Mainsail mast with enough force to temporarily stun him. He managed by dumb luck to fall into the crow's nest where he lay stunned for the better part of a minute. Dull, insistent pain throbbed across his chest from two broken ribs.

Groaning in pain, Max pulled himself up using the railing and looked over. Far below four people were shooting at one another. A tall gangly man with a dark goatee was hiding behind the captain's wheel and taking pot shots across the deck. Two more were hiding behind barrels on the foredeck, while a third hung onto a rope in the water. The red circle was closing in on the ship, so it appeared he'd made the right choice.

One adventurous soul darted down into the hold, and gunshots rang out below. Seconds later, an old keg of pyrotechnics went off blowing out a section of the hull. Fire raced up the deck entrance, and a burning man ran up and tumbled over the side. Below, the captain and another player fired at each other from across the ship. The player in the water slowly crawled onto the deck and took the pistol from between their teeth. She turned out to be female, and Max watched her steal forward. She fired several times in quick succession, and the man behind the barrels jerked sideways as bullets slammed into his back.

There was a loud ship breaking crack from below, and something snapped. Part of the pirate ship—once the king of the cove—began to sink. The crows nest began to tilt and it was already leaning dangerously close to the red wall. The woman race forward to the mainsail spare. She and the captain continued to exchange fire as Max looked for a way down. He fumbled around looking for a rope, but the angle of the mast was increasing by the second. He leaned out over the nest struggling to grab a sail line. The closest one dangled almost a foot away and he swore under his breath.

Max bit the meat cleaver between his teeth, crawled over the railing and jumped into mid hair. His fingers closed over the rope and he hung on for dear life as it started to drop. Above him, a pulley spasmed and smoked as he sailed closer and closer to red wall. Max jerked to a stop as the rope ended. The bottom of his boots just barely grazed the barrier and energy tingled up his legs like a taser. Then he was swinging back towards the pirate ship, and the woman standing by the main mast. He forced his tingling feet out ahead of him as he cleared ship's railing.

The female player spun towards him, eyes wide in surprise as Max's feet slammed into her. The smaller player went flying off the deck and into the red barrier. He let go of the rope and tumbled across the wooden planks.

"I see ya lost yer pistol, ya scurvy dog. That's fine by me," a laughing man said from the captain's wheel. The player jumped over the railing and landed on the main deck. Max rolled over as the pirate walked slowly toward him. The man was a tall, muscular white guy wearing jeans and a pirate hat. He waved his pistol at Max, glanced at it, then tossed the firearm over the side. It splashed into the water and disappeared from sight.

"It's better to do it like men, don't you think?" The man asked with an exaggerated pirate accent. Max's legs were sluggish to respond, but he managed to pull himself up to his feet. He reached up taking the meat cleaver from between his teeth and the pirate captain smiled.

"A sailor after me own heart," he laughed drawing a chipped cutlass from his belt. The captain lunged forward driving his blade at Max's face, and he just barely dodged the incredibly swift thrust.

"Ye, ain't bad." The man said an impressed voice.

"You've got sword training?" Max asked in return. Both players slowly circled one another as the ship continued to sink.

"Six months playing Heavenly Sword," The pirate admitted lunging forward again. Max went to dodge, but the thrust was a feint. A booted foot kicked his knee instead. Max collapsed, and he just barely rolled sideways as the tip of the cutlass dug into the wood. He slashed up with his knife, but the man expertly danced backward gaining the high ground. Max used the deck railing to stand, and glanced behind him slowly. The red wall crackled and spat with suppressed energy only a foot away.

The man seemed content to keep his advantageous position and flicked the sword through several quick moves. Max changed tactics and hid the cleaver behind his back. Then he tried to circle sideways, but the other man cut him off. They met somewhere near the middle and Max flicked his dominant hand out.

"Good move, but I've seen that one before," the other man said without his cheesy accent. The cutlas flashed like silver lightning through the air and several fingers went flying. That's when Max's other hand pulled the cleaver from the belt at his back. He swung as hard as he could and the other man stepped forward. The cleaver sliced into the meat and his arm fell to the deck.

"The blind weapon swap should have guessed," the other man grunted holding up what was left of his arm. Max swept up the cutlass and drove it down between the pirate’s collar bone and shoulder blade. The captain stumbled back looking at the sword, then fell backward into the red circle. Darkness closed in as he fell backward into the red circle.

[Match Complete]

The door opened onto a private lounge. Eight men and women were standing around the main display screen. Max walked forward along and they turned towards him. A woman with tight leather pants gave him a mixed smile.

"That was a really awesome match, so I'm only a little annoyed I got taken out early. Good idea with the Molotov. I'm definitely going to use that sometime. I thought you'd brought a grenade into the match, then I watched the replay, and was like holy shit, you can do that!?" She said looking past Max. The pirate captain was minus his hat and cutlass which must have been items on the ship.

"I was too confident in my sword skills," the man admitted with a sigh.

"You would have won if you hadn't thrown your pistol away," Max said, and the pirate lord shrugged his shoulders.

"Did they really have to do that with the frying pan? It was so cartoony." A third man said and everyone laughed. The elevator doors opened and everyone piled inside.

The upstairs lobby was filled with players. He and the others in the elevator had to fight there way clear. Thousands of people were waiting to start their own matches. Almost all were dressed in some flavor of tactical clothing and carrying two primary weapons. Max felt a pang of jealousy, but he quickly pushed it aside.