Lyra's hands moved with practiced precision, stripping the flexible green bark from the slender branch she had selected. Six days in the Game, and she had already established a small sanctuary for herself in the hollow beneath a massive fallen tree. The space wasn't rge—barely enough for her to sleep stretched out—but it was defensible, hidden, and dry.

  Unlike the disorganized pyers she'd observed stumbling through the forest, Lyra had approached the Game methodically from the moment she materialized. Years of survival in Sector 17's harsh environment had taught her to prioritize: shelter, water, food, tools, security. In that order, always.

  "Tension calibration at approximately seventy percent optimal," her neural interface reported as she tested the bowstring she had crafted from pnt fibers soaked in tree resin.

  Lyra frowned. The Worker-css interface she'd been assigned was frustratingly basic, its feedback limited to simple assessments and obvious observations. But then, she hadn't expected anything better. The unaligned residents of Sector 17 were given the bare minimum—as always.

  What the system didn't know was how extensively she had modified her interface before entry. Tel had taught her well, showing her how to access and reconfigure neural pathways that were supposed to be locked to lower-css users. The modifications weren't perfect—attempting too much customization risked triggering security protocols—but they gave her significant advantages over other Worker-css pyers.

  "Override status assessment," she subvocalized, activating one of her custom commands. "Full diagnostic."

  Her interface hesitated momentarily before responding through her private audio channel: "Warning: Non-standard command structure detected. Running comprehensive assessment. Bow tension at sixty-eight percent of optimal range. Composition integrity stable. Functional accuracy estimated at seventy-five percent."

  Better. Not perfect, but better than what most pyers at her designated level could access.

  Lyra finished securing the bowstring and tested its draw, feeling the satisfying resistance against her fingers. The weapon was crude compared to manufactured equipment, but it would serve its purpose. Along with the sharpened stone knife she had crafted and the collection of spike traps positioned around her shelter, she was better equipped than most first-week pyers.

  As the afternoon light began to fade, Lyra secured the final trap—a simple tripwire connected to a counterweight of sharpened branches. Anyone approaching her shelter from the western approach would trigger it, creating enough noise to wake her and potentially injuring the intruder.

  Survival in the Game wasn't so different from survival in Sector 17. The environment was more lush, the air cleaner, but the fundamental reality remained the same: in a world of scarce resources, you protected what was yours or lost it to those stronger or more desperate than yourself.

  Her neural interface chimed softly, a sound only she could hear.

  "Warning: Weekly quota period begins in twelve hours. Current kill count: zero of ten required."

  Lyra's jaw tightened. The killing quota—the Game's most brutal requirement. According to the limited briefing she'd received, all pyers had to achieve specified kills weekly or face "termination and extraction." The requirement had been presented clinically, without eboration on what "termination" actually entailed. But she knew what it meant.

  _*]:min-w-0 !gap-3.5">She had options, of course. The most straightforward approach would be hunting the hostile wildlife that poputed the Green Realm. According to her interface, five beast kills would equal one pyer kill in the quota calcution. It would mean hunting rger, more dangerous creatures, but it would allow her to avoid directly killing another person.

  At least for now.

  As darkness fell, Lyra retreated to her shelter, carefully sealing the camoufged entrance behind her. The small space was surprisingly comfortable, lined with soft mosses she had gathered and treated with smoke to eliminate parasites. Her supplies were organized with meticulous care—water fsk within easy reach, weapons positioned for immediate access, food stores secured against scavengers.

  She allowed herself a small, carefully controlled fire, just enough to warm the shelter and provide light for her evening ritual. From a hidden pocket in her standard-issue Game clothing, Lyra removed a battered metal disc—one of the few possessions she had managed to bring into the Game.

  The disc had been Tel's, a memory storage device containing fragments of old Earth technologies. It wasn't functional anymore, but the patterns etched into its surface were complex and beautiful. Running her fingers over them helped Lyra focus, a meditation technique Tel had taught her for maintaining mental crity under stress.

  As she traced the familiar patterns, Lyra accessed her modified version of the Personal Library system. Unlike the limited texts avaible to standard Worker-css interfaces, her modifications allowed access to a broader range of basic information. Not the comprehensive libraries avaible to higher csses, but significantly better than what she should have had.

  "Dispy survival compendium," she subvocalized.

  A simple text appeared in her visual field, cking the sophisticated formatting and interactive features avaible to privileged users, but containing vital information nonetheless. Lyra navigated to the section on quota fulfillment strategies, which she had been studying systematically since entry.

  The text was clearly edited for Worker-css consumption, emphasizing beast hunting rather than pyer-versus-pyer strategies. Reading between the lines, Lyra understood the implication: lower-css pyers were expected to struggle with the quota, hunting dangerous creatures for partial credit rather than directly competing with better-equipped higher-css pyers.

  Just another way the Game was structured to maintain the existing hierarchies of Terminus society.

  A sudden, subtle vibration against her palm interrupted her reading. One of her perimeter arms—the one she had connected directly to her neural interface—had been triggered. Someone was approaching her shelter.

  Lyra immediately doused her small fire and gathered her weapons, moving silently into the defensive position she had prepared at the back of the hollow. Through her interface, she activated the enhanced perception mode she had programmed—another modification that pulled more processing power than her assigned interface should allow.

  The forest outside her shelter came into sharper focus, ambient sounds slightly amplified and movement patterns highlighted. She could detect two figures moving toward her location—not with the cautious stealth of experienced hunters, but with the clumsy determination of desperate pyers.

  "Found tracks leading this way," a male voice whispered, barely audible even through her enhanced perception. "Fresh. Someone's camped nearby."

  "Good," a second voice responded. "Two more kills and we make quota. Should be easy if they're alone."

  Lyra's heartbeat accelerated, but her hands remained steady as she nocked an arrow in her makeshift bow. These weren't random pyers stumbling into her territory—they were actively hunting. Hunting her.

  The first tripwire triggered with a subtle snap, followed by a muffled curse as branches cttered down nearby.

  "What the hell?" the first voice hissed. "Someone's set traps."

  "Keep moving," the second voice commanded. "Traps mean resources. Might be equipment we can salvage after."

  After. After they killed her.

  The reality of the situation crystallized in Lyra's mind with sudden crity. This wasn't Sector 17, where conflicts could often be resolved through negotiation or territorial compromise. The Game's quota system had transformed these pyers into hunters who saw her as nothing more than a tally mark toward their survival.

  The second tripwire triggered, this one connected to a spray of sharpened sticks. A pained yelp confirmed at least one had found its target.

  "Damn it!" the first voice cried out. "Got me in the leg!"

  "Shut up," the second voice snapped. "You want them to hear us coming?"

  "Too te for that," Lyra whispered to herself, shifting position to get a clear view of the approaching figures through a small observation gap she had created in the shelter wall.

  In the dim moonlight filtering through the canopy, she could make out two male pyers, both wearing the distinctive dark gray of Worker-css attire. One limped slightly, likely from her spike trap. The other moved with more confidence, a crude spear gripped in his right hand. Neither appeared to have substantial equipment beyond basic starter supplies, suggesting they were as new to the Game as she was.

  They were getting closer, now just meters from discovering her shelter's entrance. Lyra had seconds to decide: remain hidden and hope they passed by, or take action.

  The decision was made for her when the leading pyer's foot caught the edge of her camoufged entrance, causing him to stumble.

  "Here! Something under this brush!"

  Lyra didn't hesitate. She released her arrow through the observation gap, the projectile finding its mark in the man's shoulder. He screamed, stumbling backward as his companion raised his spear in arm.

  "Where are they?" the second man shouted, turning in circles, trying to locate the source of the attack.

  Lyra was already moving, slipping through the shelter's emergency exit—a narrow opening she had created on the opposite side, concealed by dense foliage. Years of navigating Sector 17's waste recmation tunnels had given her an instinctive understanding of confined spaces and exit strategies.

  Emerging into the darkness behind her shelter, Lyra circled silently, another arrow nocked and ready. The wounded man was leaning against a tree, trying to break off the arrow shaft while his companion searched frantically for their attacker.

  "Come out!" the second man called, voice betraying his fear despite the threatening tone. "We just want to talk!"

  Lyra almost ughed at the transparent lie. They had explicitly stated their intention to kill her just moments earlier. Did they think she hadn't heard? Or that she was stupid enough to believe them now?

  She aimed carefully, tracking the unwounded pyer as he moved erratically through the small clearing. Her modified interface provided targeting assistance—nothing like the sophisticated systems avaible to higher csses, but enough to improve her accuracy in the dim light.

  The moment came when he turned his back to her position. Lyra released the arrow, striking him between the shoulder bdes. He fell forward with a strangled cry, the spear dropping from his hands.

  The wounded pyer shouted in arm, finally spotting Lyra's position and lunging toward her with desperate speed. His sudden movement caught her by surprise—she hadn't expected someone with an arrow in his shoulder to move so quickly.

  There was no time to nock another arrow. Lyra dropped the bow and drew her stone knife as the man crashed into her, driving them both to the ground. He was rger and stronger, his weight pinning her as his hands sought her throat.

  "Killing bitch!" he snarled, face contorted with pain and fury.

  Lyra didn't waste breath responding. She drove her knee upward while simultaneously stabbing her knife into his side, aiming for the vulnerable gap beneath the ribs that Tel had taught her to target.

  The bde sank deep. The man's eyes widened in shock, his grip on her throat faltering. Lyra twisted the knife and pushed him sideways, rolling away as he clutched at the wound, dark blood spilling between his fingers.

  She scrambled to her feet, retrieving her bow and quickly nocking another arrow. But it wasn't necessary. The first man she had shot was lying motionless, a system notification hovering above his body, visible only through neural interface: "Pyer eliminated. Kill registered."

  The second man was still alive, but barely. He stared up at her, blood bubbling from his lips as he tried to speak.

  "Please... don't..."

  Lyra stood over him, arrow trained on his heart. This close, she couldn't miss. One more shot would end his suffering and secure her second quota kill.

  His eyes held hers, filled with the same desperation she had seen countless times in Sector 17—the look of someone realizing too te that they had made a fatal miscalcution.

  "You came to kill me," Lyra said quietly, a statement rather than an accusation.

  He couldn't deny it. Instead, he whispered, "Didn't... have a choice... the quota..."

  For a moment, Lyra hesitated. Then she remembered Tel's words: "In the Game, mercy can be as deadly as cruelty—to yourself and sometimes to others."

  She released the arrow.

  "Pyer eliminated. Kill registered."

  The interface notification appeared with cold efficiency, accompanied by an update to her quota status: "Weekly quota progress: 2/10 required."

  Lyra stood motionless in the clearing, bow still gripped in her hand, staring at the bodies of the two men who had minutes earlier been pnning her death. The entire encounter had sted less than five minutes. Two lives ended. Two deaths on her conscience.

  Mechanically, she began the practical tasks necessity demanded. First, checking the bodies for useful supplies—finding a water purifier slightly better than her own, some basic medicinal herbs, and a small collection of edible pnts. Then, dragging the bodies away from her shelter to avoid attracting scavengers.

  Only when these essential tasks were completed did Lyra allow herself to feel the full impact of what had happened.

  Returning to her shelter, Lyra sealed the entrance and pressed herself into the farthest corner, knees drawn up to her chest. Her hands were steady, but inside, something was trembling. Not fear, exactly, but a profound understanding that the Game had just changed her in ways she couldn't yet fully comprehend.

  She reached for Tel's metal disc, fingers finding the familiar patterns in the darkness. As she traced them, memories of her mentor's voice filled her mind.

  "The Game will try to make you something you're not," Tel had warned. "It will try to break you down and rebuild you according to its design. Your challenge is to use its systems without letting them use you."

  Lyra closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing until the trembling inside began to subside. She had survived. She had secured twenty percent of her weekly quota. She had gained resources that would help her continue surviving.

  These were the facts. These were what mattered.

  The men who had attacked her had made their choice. Just as she had made hers. In the Game, as in Sector 17, survival wasn't about morality but necessity.

  As dawn approached, Lyra finally accessed her Personal Library again, this time searching for information on more efficient hunting techniques. If she could fulfill her quota through beast kills rather than pyer encounters, she would. Not out of squeamishness—she had proven tonight she could do what was necessary—but out of practicality. Beasts didn't set ambushes. Beasts didn't have allies seeking revenge.

  The trembling had stopped completely now, repced by cold resolve. She would survive this Game. She would master its systems. And she would never forget that behind its simuted environments and point-scoring mechanisms y a reality as brutal as anything Sector 17 had prepared her for.

  Perhaps more brutal.

  But Lyra Kess had never expected mercy from the world. Not before the Game, and certainly not within it.

  She checked her weapons one final time before allowing herself a brief rest. Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Tomorrow would require strength.

  And strength, as Tel had taught her, often came at a terrible price.