I rolled out of the way just as a flurry of blasts tore through the stone around me, the gun falling from my hands even as the knife found its way back into my hand, my body falling into the water with a loud splash, energy blasts ripping through the space around me.

I hurriedly pressed myself up against the foundation of the docks as the water was heated up, rippling and boiling, my oxygen meter depleting once more. This continued for a few moments before the gunfire stopped racing down into the water, a faint crackling that sounded exactly like the rifle I'd just discarded.

I surfaced again, seeing another player standing and holding what I assumed was a different rifle, firing of staccato bursts of lead into the air while the aircraft repositioned itself.

It was an ashen haired woman, her shoulders braced as she fired off burst after burst, doing little to no damage to the ship, though it had at least stopped shooting at me, so that was a plus. She wore the dull grey boots as if they were made for her alone, the prisoner garb rustling as ocean winds blew right by, her hair fluttering in a perfect ponytail, her alabaster skin shining under the night sky as her slender figure depicted that of a defiant heroine, standing alone against the dark.

It only took a few shots from the alien craft falling all around her before one went straight through her chest and out her back, none of the usual gore one might expect from a wound. Instead, she simply fell back and disappeared into a shower of light fragments on impact, the gun clattering against stone while her boots quietly thudded to the ground.

The dock was suicide so I dipped back below the water, swimming to shore as the cannons were turned back to the other players who still hadn't made it to the wall, of which there were surprisingly many. My oxygen bar slowly ticked downward even as I kicked my legs out again and again, having not swam at all for several years now, my muscles barely remembering the motions. I'd almost never used my hands when I swam, relying only on my legs. This proved detrimental as I could only roughly scoop water to my sides as I went, my speed laughable as the waves pushed and pulled at my body.

The sand felt rough under my hands as I dragged myself onto shore, my oxygen bar nearly gone, the knife scraping against the small cut it had given me a minute ago. The cannon fire continued, near-deafening now that there was no water to muffle it. The sand sprayed into the air again and again, players being launched away from explosions and shattering like glass, their boots the only things remaining of the corpses while the rest of their gear simply disappeared.

The blasts turned away from someone who had been sprinting across the unlit beach, stopping to catch his breath once he realized that the aircraft was no longer after him. It was coming around to finish me off once and for all.

The one bright side about me was that whenever I'd been forced to choose between fight or flight I had always been able to decide quickly. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the right, charred sand singing my feet with every step. The energy blasts followed swiftly, catching up with far more speed than I could muster. The spotlights were still working somehow and I ran out of those as fast as I could, sand beginning to fly into the air behind me, whipping against my skin.

I dove to the left, my shoulder hitting the ground hard enough that the body display turned yellow in that area. The blasts passed over me for a moment before pausing, starting to come back around.

I did the only thing I could at the time which was getting up and running in the opposite direction, back into the light, my feet pounding harder and harder against the ground. I think I broke the game a little at this point, but I was too far gone to realize it.

There's something people don't realize about life and death situations, real or otherwise. When you get it into your head that you absolutely have to do something, your subconscious mind may ask you a question. It's incredibly simple, but the result can kill you depending on your answer.

Do you want power?

I answered yes and felt pain immediately. Not the dulled pain that the game gave me, but real, genuine, agony searing through my muscles. I moved even faster than I had before, just barely staying ahead of the cannon fire.

I had accessed hysterical strength, something that when used, can give a normal human being the strength to lift a car, or run faster than they ever have before. The price of doing so however is usually immense pain as your body literally tears itself apart in order to give you that strength or speed. People have killed themselves several times in the past to accomplish a task while in that state, which was also why a death grip tended to be so strong. When you're dying, there's no reason to hold back anymore.

My body screamed at me to stop even as the explosive blasts slammed into the ground with such frequency that the earth shook again and again, sand flying past me as the air pressure threatened to knock me off my feet, all my senses skyrocketing back up to the point where they were inhumanly shrieking again, the warning flaring back into existence with a piercing wail, a countdown beginning from five seconds as I ran and ran.

The sounds of cannon fire joined what I could only describe as total hell, filling my head with a continuous cacophony of insanity even as the wall mounted guns finally came back online, shooting at the interloper that dared attack so close to its borders.

The alien craft stopped firing as it was forced to back off and finally disappear into the night. The countdown hit three seconds as I stopped running, only for my body to continue moving and fall into a roll, coming to a stop with my arms and legs splayed out around me.

I breathed heavily as my whole body seemed ready to explode, and the countdown hit zero, my consciousness ejected from the whole thing, my vision slamming back to that of the VR pod in my house, several lights blinking and alarms beeping at me.

My breathing was ragged and I had sweat all over, my entire lowering body aching fiercely. The monitor showed that I seemed to be having a panic attack on top of everything else. I grinned despite my brain feeling like it was boiling, and began laughing a manic, shuddering, borderline psychotic laugh. My body shook horribly as I lay there, slowly coming down from the horror I'd just experienced. I didn't dare sit up or take off the helmet until I'd finally steadied my breathing, not trusting myself enough to move.

After removing the helmet I opened the glass door and sat up, my legs resting over the edge. My right leg felt lighter than my left and I looked down at it, confused.

"Oh..." My voice was near silent as the stump of a leg greeted me, flexing the non-existent muscles I hadn't had for a few years now, discomfort making itself known as I did so. I sighed as I grabbed my prosthetic and re-fastened it so I could walk without falling over.

I left the depressingly bare room, pulling aside the reinforced metal door that I'd paid to have installed. I'd become extremely paranoid after the first time I was tortured, my house becoming more and more of a fortress.

I entered my bathroom where I leaned against the sink, staring into the mirror like the vain man I was. I didn't like what I saw.

A hollow face stared back at me, unkempt brown hair falling down both sides of my face, my skin ghostly pale, my once bright hazel eyes a dark, dim shadow of what they once were, like that of a cornered animal. The one thing that remained in those eyes was the same intensity that I would almost always see in the mirror, even before I had won the lottery. The one thing that I'd kept with me through the long years. The eyes of a cornered animal ready to attack and kill anyone or anything that came close. I looked at the toilet's water tank as if I could see the gun inside, resting inside a sealed ziploc bag.

I shrugged it off, my reflection shrugging back as I filled the sink and splashed water onto my face, before subconsciously grunting to myself as I left, flicking off the light as my hands dripped onto the carpet.

I didn't bother paying attention to the VR room and the pod inside for the moment, my nerves still raw from everything that had just transpired. I thought about what I could do to relax for a bit, mentally running down a list.

I had a computer I could use when I needed to, though I didn't feel like going through the various VPN's I'd picked up over the years. I also had a small library with dozens of books to read, though I was still too keyed up to be able to sit down in my recliner.

In the end I found myself in the kitchen, looking into the various cabinets I used to store food. I finally just grabbed a blueberry bagel and a glass of water, sitting down on my couch as I moved my guitar to the side of the coffee table. Then I remembered the amount of sweat on the padding of the pod. I grimaced, before ensuring that the padding was put into the washing machine. Luckily for me it was safe to put it in both the washer and dryer.

I got back to the couch and picked up the remote, turning on the TV and turning off my brain for a few hours, all the while gnawing on my bagel. As I slowly came back to myself I decided to be a bit more careful when it came to playing, especially if things remained that chaotic in the future.

My legs were sore as I washed the dishes that had been piling up over the past two weeks, and put the clean padding back into the pod, finding myself in the Virtual world once more.

As I sat down at the laptop I couldn't help but simply stare at the screen, hesitating to click the button to log back in. My ears started ringing, my breath hitching as the sound of gunfire flashed in the back of my mind.

Taking several deep breaths, I clicked the button and logged back in.