Grudges and Old Debts

Looking behind Nimin spotted several players sprinting over the hill. Unable to get an accurate estimate due to the Elite blocking most of his vision, he still was fearful.

During the fight against Collection he barely came out on top. With these many players all potentially level 65, there was little hope for survival. The only choice was to escape the Red Zone before dying. To not lose too much.

Still, Nimin couldn't help but be curious. Almost a week had past since he started playing again, so the highest levels should've be raised. But this many people at level 65. . . it's not something too common. These had to be accounts that were being power leveled 24/7. Which was something that only Organizations were capable of doing realistically.

If that's the case, which Organization had he offended? A sure way to tell when a player was part of an Organization was their outfit. If an Organization reached a high enough player count they could submit a design to the developers. If accepted the members all could get one free vanity exclusive outfit for that Organization. So many of the higher ranked ones usually required you to wear the outfit.

Rolling past another attack from the Elite he looked back again. As the faster classes began to close the distance he spotted their matching outfits. A three piece suit, almost all black. Frowning he began to rack his brain. A three piece suit. . . ?

"Ah! Why the hell are they here?!", Nimin spoke aloud as he realized.

Sol nearly jumped out of his skin, "Don't yell like that! What do you mean?"

"It's an economy Organization! Strict Business! No wonder they're level 65!"

"Strict Business. . . ?"

"They handle the more rare items for trading. If there's something you want there's a high chance they have it. However they usually only trade for other rare items or materials on the surface. If you have a contact they might be willing to part with something for a price."

"Blackmarketing? They haven't been caught?"

"They're careful, and often deal with Pros. To not cause drama it's often overlooked, as long as they keep it subtle."

"So what do they want?"

"That's a good question! There's a chance Collection is part of them and is trying for revenge, but large scale movement like this isn't like them. . ."

Taking a hand off his mouse he fished for his phone, "Hold on I need to make a call."

"A call?! During this time?!", Sol asked incredulously.

Nimin paused while raising his phone. He no longer was Nimin, and couldn't make the call. His voice certainly sounded different, and it would be hard to pass as him. Additionally with Sol right next to him he would have to explain the whole ordeal. So he quickly thought of an alternative, "You're right, I should text."

Opening the messaging platform he began to scroll through his various contacts. Finding one he rapidly sent a message.

Nimin: What's your purpose in the new server?

It took only a minute for a reply.

Three Suited Suite: Materials as always.

Nimin: Obviously, I mean the large scale hunt you have going on in the Red Zone.

Three Suited Suite: . . . 

Three Suited Suite: How do you know of this?

Nimin: A move like that is hard to hide?

Three Suited Suite: So it would seem.

Three Suited Suite: First Season Target appeared after a long time, we're just settling debts.

Nimin: Holy. . . who is it?

Three Suited Suite: Critical Shot.

Nimin stared at the text for a few seconds before resisting the urge to swear. He remembered now, before making the switch to Second Shot he made an enemy of these people. It wasn't intentional, he was just fulfilling a favor he owed someone. Rapidly coming up with a new text he attempted to smooth things over.

Nimin: What if I asked you to not hunt him?

Three Suited Suite: I would have considered it if you weren't retired.

Nimin: Fair.

Nimin: I'll give you a warning though. You probably shouldn't mess with the guy.

Three Suited Suite: You know him?

Nimin: Something like that.

Three Suited Suite: We'll keep that in mind.

Nimin: That's all.

Placing the phone down he made a face, "Ok so bad news."

"What could be more bad?"

"Remember how I told you I was gifted this account?"

"Yeah?"

"Turns out it has some history with these guys. They want to settle old debts."

". . . I'm never playing with you again."

At that moment the Cybernetics reached closer. Sol and Nimin's screens turned a new shade of color as copper Traces began to creep across their screen. Speeding across the distance both Raging Torch and Critical Shot were knocked to the ground. Soon after the Skill was canceled and the two rolled back up.

Nimin was greeted with an attack from the Elite, a claw tore into Critical Shot's back. With the critical damage and the Elite's absurd stats his HP began to drop quickly.

Now, it is worth mentioning that as a Pro Nimin's skill is way above the average. However at this very moment, he was faced against multiple Cybernetics, and a group of various other classes all who were high level. Try as he might there was a limit to his ability. 

This wasn't to say he was dying without a fight however.

His hands began to move swiftly the moment time resumed to normal. Rolling through various attacks his handguns fired rapidly into the head of a cybernetic. The skill level of this group was lower than Collection, but the level advantage would make up for that. Despite unloading his colts into one player the damage was negligible. Additionally a syringe flew across the air and landed onto the Cybernetic, their health rapidly rising.

The ranged support class Scientist! Known as a wild card due to their extreme buffs with harsh side effects, this was the longest ranged support class. The only other class capable of competing in support range was Captain. Equipped with a syringe gun the Scientist would fire various serums into their team and enemies. The healing syringe was the only Skill that could compete with the Medic's healing, but came with a defense reduction as a cost. 

A slight reduction, not too serious to warrant avoiding any healing. The only downside was that this debuff stacked. The hard counter to Scientist was the class itself. A process dubbed 'Overdose' by the community. A quirk of the class that made it largely unpopular among teams and players, it was far too risky! 

Yet all of this didn't matter! Right now Nimin had no way of taking advantage of these debuffs! With the other players closing in there was no more time! At this moment, he was completely and utterly helpless! 

In the next few moments several attacks made their way towards Critical Shot. Several snap Dodges were performed to avoid potential damage, but it wasn't enough. With bullets flying almost endlessly as Nimin opted to use every last bit of his ammunition, he fell fighting.

Indeed! Ever since he regained his youth Nimin had not fallen in battle, but that changed at this very moment. As he watched the death screen a very familiar feeling surfaced. Each time he failed to claim that championship he saw this very death screen. No matter the effort he put in he always fell short. 

All of this. . . pissed him off!

This wasn't just a game anymore! He was doing all of this to keep his new life! If he failed to take the championship in his limited time, he would experience 'true death'! Everything he had been doing up to this point was for the championship, and some obsessive item collectors were stopping him?!

Grabbing a pen he clicked the button again and again, a slow pattern filled the silent room. Click, click, click, each click having more than a second of waiting time. Sol watched him with wary eyes, he didn't stand much of a chance in the first place and had died shortly before Nimin. Eyes wandering towards the pen that clicked again and again he asked, "So. . . what now?"

"Thanks for your help so far. You can get some sleep, this is a personal grudge now. I'll settle this soon enough."

His voice was cold, a stark contrast to his normal joking demeanor. Or rather, it was more calculating than cold. It was a simple statement devoid of emotion, and was something stated as fact. Giving off the feeling of being cold, but that was all.

Reaching for his phone Nimin turned it on and scrolled down to a number near the bottom of his list. Typing a message he waited for a response.

Kache: Well shit, never thought I'd get a message from you. Especially from a ghost.

Nimin: Never died.

Kache: You vanished overnight, might as well have. 

Nimin: Not here to talk about that night. Need a favor.

Kache: You don't have access to our team's resources anymore.

Nimin: It's my stuff. Account Stick. 

Kache: You're not asking for Second Shot are you?

Nimin: I know better. Just need you to log on the account. Named "Stored Shot".

Kache: Your storage account?

Nimin: Good, you know of it. Need the rifle "Godwit". Once you have it transfer to the new server.

Kache: Godwit? That niche rifle?

Nimin: That's the one. 

Kache: Ok, give me five minutes. In exchange I want to talk.

Nimin: Can't do stuff like that right now. 

Kache: Personal?

Nimin: Yeah.

Kache: Fine, just talk to me sometime. I'll message you when I'm at spawn.

Nimin: Thanks.

Turning the phone off Nimin returned to the laptop and opened a video file. Each of the laptops came with a recording software that automatically stores video files of Fractured Worlds. This was to make it easier for camp members to review their mistakes and improve quickly. This software had some customization to it, for instance Sol turned off the automatic recording and opted for a button instead. 

Nimin had left this option alone, occasionally only reviewing old footage to delete to not clutter up space. Now it held a purpose. Opening to the battle he paused and searched for something specific. Swiftly writing several things down on his notebook.

Regaining his will Sol asked, "What are you doing?"

Nimin responded simply, "Hit list."

It was time for these people to be reminded of why they hated Critical Shot, and why this account should be feared.