Opportunity

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*Creak*

The sound of a wooden door scraping against the floor filled the air as Milo Smith entered the bar. The loud sounds of chatter and the clanging of glasses filled the air as he looked around, searching for a certain man.

The bar itself had been quite run down. The alcohol served there was cheap and bitter, the taste often compared to pig urine by the regulars. The people who frequented the place were all low-class workers, most of whom had slaved away in the oil fields for upwards of 10 hours a day.

This place was the 147th district. A place where people are forced to slave their lives away to survive. A small town on the outskirts of the country formerly known as Colorado. Owned by a major corporation, this district was one of the lowest-class districts, home only to oil workers or other manual laborers. 

Milo himself hadn't done much better than these men a few years back; he had also been a slave of the local corporation and had worked excruciatingly long shifts to keep his family off the streets. Those shifts were still vivid in his mind, the endless dull days with the sun beating down on his neck. 

Stepping inside the bar, Milo looked around momentarily before spotting the man he was looking for. Sitting in the far-right corner of the room was a man who seemed to match the description he had received over the phone.

The long brown trench coat and expensive sunglasses made the man look very out of place amongst the other tavern-goers, despite the man's obvious wealth compared to the others, not a single soul thought of robbing the man.

Crime in these parts was almost nonexistent. The fear of being beaten to death or imprisoned by the Milico Corporation made sure of that. People like the man in the brown trench coat were often management members of the corporation. To low-class workers like themselves, they were untouchable. 

Walking over to the man's table, Milo pulled out a chair across from him and sat down before reaching out his hand in greeting. His eyes trail up and down the man.

"Nice to meet you. You're the man that I talked with on the phone?" Milo asked curiously.

The man sitting across from Milo smiled warmly before accepting the handshake. His hands were thick and rough, reminding Milo of his late father's—the hands of a self-made man.

The man was around forty years old, his short black hair sporting some grey streaks, and his light blue eyes surrounded by aging skin which had begun to crack and crease. "That's right. My name is Lenard Kelly, and I'm here to talk to you on behalf of EcoEnergy."

Milo nodded his head respectfully, fully aware of how important this conversation was for his future. All his life, Milo and his family had worked for Kessington Oil, a company that had been owned by Milico Corporation, a major corporation that had owned most of the land that was once known as Colorado.

"Well, mister Kelly, what did you want from me?" Milo asked, cautiously attempting to feel out the man's intention. To a man like Lenard Kelly, Milo's existence was insignificant. The fact that he was allowed to talk on behalf of his company meant that he held a high level of authority. Even if the man decided to kill him right here and now there is nothing Milo or his family could do about it. 

A soft smile graced the man's lips. He reached down and grasped the handle of his mug before taking a strong swig of the piss-like beer. "I saw you last night. You were magnificent." The man said, followed by the slight thud of wood on wood from him setting his drink down.

Hearing this caused Milo to nod his head, a slight realization dawning on him. The Gladiator Fights. Suddenly this sudden interest in him made sense. Milo had guessed that this was what had caused the man to call him, but that was only a guess.

The Gladiator Fights were exactly what they sounded like. The members of the company who manage this shithole of a town often grow bored with the allotted entertainment. These people couldn't help themselves. A town full of desperate strong men and their boredom resulted in the creation of an underground fighting organization.

Apparently, the fights were inspired by an ancient civilization called the Romans. Or so Milo had heard from some of the older fighters. These fights would be held every Friday night, located in a small but well-kept building on the outskirts of town. A place called the Coliseum. The place was cleaner than most any other area in the town as the managers hated dealing with any filth.

The rules for every fight in the Coliseum were different. Sometimes they would fight in teams, others on their own. Sometimes when the managers were really bored they would even have the men fight completely bare-handed, watch the men beat each other to death. This was a rarity though. Most of the time the managers allowed them to use weapons. Shields, spears, swords, pitchforks, knives, daggers, pikes, tridents, nets, you name it and you could probably find it in the coliseum's armory. While the games were different, every game had the same rule. You live. Or you Die.

One would think that any sane man would never join the coliseum. However, that was only until the same sane man was offered the benefits the managers offered the fighters. Full exemption from work, triple the average worker's weekly salary, a small house in the middle of town, and a 1,000 credit payout to your family if you died. 

This was hard to refuse. Milo certainly hadn't been able to. After the death of his father, the responsibility of protecting his mother and two younger sisters fell to him. His mother was sickly and his sisters were too young to work, being only 9 and 13 years old. When offered a home in the middle of town, it had been impossible for him to refuse.

The middle zone of town is typically reserved for the managers and workers who showed enough potential to join management eventually. As such, these homes were much cleaner and made of much higher quality. It was the perfect place to keep his sickly mother to prevent her from falling ill. If Milo had to spill the blood of others for entertainment to keep it, he would. No, he had.

How many people had Milo killed? Twenty or so? He never kept track. He tried his best to forget their faces, to forget their screams. For the most part, he managed it. However, the one thing he could never forget was the scars that riddle his body. 

Milo was young, only nineteen years old. Despite this, his body was covered in more scars than most of the old men who used to fight in the Great War seventy-five years ago. His face was slightly roundish, still maintaining its slightly youthful feel. He had short well well-kept brown hair and deep emerald green eyes. 

His face was clean-shaven, making it easy to see all his scars. The most prominent of which spreads from the shirt line of his neck up his cheek, stopping just short of the eyebrow. However, it was his hands and arms that were the most riddled. Hidden behind the long sleeves of his shirt were his tone and muscular arms, both of which were riddled with over a dozen scars each, and his hands were not any better. Lenard himself had noticed this when the two shook hands. The thick scar tissue makes them much rougher than even the calloused hands of miners. 

"You need a fighter," Milo states, his voice both quiet but clear.

Lenard nods his head, taking a deep swig from his beer, "Aye. I need a fucking fighter."

Hearing the confirmation brought a grin to Milo's face. Now he finally knew what the man wanted. Now he just had to get what he wanted. "I can fight. Tell me the conditions. If I'm going to be a gladiator for you, you better be prepared to offer me a good deal. I'm not looking to relocate my family just for a minor pay raise."

"I think you misunderstand me, boy. I don't need a gladiator."

"Then what do you need?"

"I need you to join my company's guild, Immortal Flame." 

Milo pauses for a moment, thinking he heard incorrectly. "Guild? As in a gaming guild?" He asks.

"That's right," Lenard confirms.

Milo stared at the man, confused. "Listen. While I am still interested in the offer, you should know I have only ever played PC games and not a lot of them. I'm sure you know that people in these districts can't afford the full-dive equipment necessary to play the newer generation of games."

Lenard nods, "I'm aware of that, but you're a talented fighter. I need someone like you because this new game is completely different than any other game before it."

"Different how?" Milo asked. While he didn't know much about the gaming world, he wasn't completely in the dark. He would occasionally watch streams or videos of people playing the games on his computer.

Lenard's expression curls into an upward smile, the pearly whites of his teeth revealing themselves. "Have you heard about the new game called Avenfall Online?"

Milo shakes his head. He had not heard about the game. This was more than likely his fault though because for the last week and a half, he hadn't gone on his computer.

"Milo, understand that this game is unlike any game you have ever seen. Unlike most games, there is no guidance system for players, and even the leveling system is extremely unusual. The combat in this game is also shockingly realistic. That isn't even all of it. 

Avenfall is completely superior to any other game. It's a new world in the most literal sense. It is the future of the economy. It is incredibly expansive and realistic. It's almost fair to say that this game is the future."

Lenard stared at the boy seriously while explaining the situation. Avenfall truly was a new world. In the past four days, he and his guild had explored the world coming to a shocking conclusion. This world legitimately would replace the real world for a lot of people.

Avenfall was a beautiful land—a place where players could enjoy endless opportunities. Players could do whatever they wanted in this world. They could become soldiers, hunters, craftsmen, farmers, and more. To the companies of the world, Avenfall was a goldmine—a place filled with untapped resources and endless potential. Within only four days of its launch, it has over 800,000,000 players. Considering that the equipment required to play the game is quite expensive, this was a shocking number that is expected to skyrocket within the year.

Immortal Flame is relatively well-known in the gaming community being a 2nd-rate guild that was relatively successful in multiple popular games but struggled to compete with the powers of the gaming world. However, with Avenfall's release, came an opportunity to rise. With the incredible realism of the world, the many powers of the gaming world struggled to adapt resulting in a more even playing field for the lower-ranked guilds. 

Lenard would damn himself if he gave up this opportunity. As Guild Leader, it was his responsibility to scout talent and take advantage of this opportunity. He had been traveling the country recruiting many talented athletes and fighters to the guild when he had heard about the coliseum. One of his friends from university happened to be one of the managers who ran it and invited Lenard to watch, letting him scout their fighters, leading Lenard to discover Milo Smith.

 "Alright. I'll fight for your guild Mr. Kelly. Now, let's talk terms." Milo said, his curiosity piqued.