The mischievous gamer God

Zoe woke up on a bus headed back to Blackwood. The quiet rumble of the engine beneath her was steady, almost hypnotic, but it did nothing to soothe her nerves. She and the other characters had been called there by Josh—for the annual getaway and a big reunion party in honor of Beth and Hannah.

Zoe didn't care about any of that.

All she cared about was her mission: the survival of herself and the other characters.

She did a quick once-over of herself and noticed she was wearing a leather jacket over a white hoodie, black pants, and black leather combat boots. She had on warm but functional gloves, and white earmuffs cushioned her ears. These weren't her usual clothes, and she had a funny feeling they probably weren't Sam's either.

She raised an eyebrow slightly and muttered under her breath, "Tet…"

They must have been picked out by Tet. Still, she was thankful that at least she could somewhat blend into the snowy mountain landscape with them.

Next, she checked her backpack. Inside, she found a folded note sitting on top of the contents like a final touch to a care package.

It was from Tet.

"I'm not sure what direction you're going to go with this little challenge of mine," it read, "but even though Sam didn't pack her bag with survival prep in mind… I went ahead and did so for you."

Zoe arched a brow, mildly impressed. "Well, thanks for that, I guess," she muttered, unfolding the rest of the pack.

Inside the bag, Zoe found an orange cylinder with a strike strip along its side. Curious, she unscrewed the cap and felt waterproof matches inside. A practical start.

Then she found protein bars and an insulated thermos containing hot chocolate—still warm to the touch. Alongside them were two bottles of water nestled tightly in place. Her fingers brushed the cold metal of a survival knife, and then something else caught her eye—a strange circular object that fit in the palm of her hand.

There was what looked like a small bowstring attached to both sides of it, and a hole ran clean through the middle. She furrowed her brows in curiosity. Plucking the string experimentally, it snapped back with the force and tension of a shortbow.

Unzipping the side of her bag, she found small arrows packed in a slim case. She grabbed one, nocked it on the string, placing the arrow inside the hole. With steady hands, she pulled back and fired at the seat in front of her.

To her surprise, the arrow hit its mark with no problem—and penetrated cleanly through the seat's padding with a soft thunk.

A small, satisfied smile curled on her lips. "Nice," she whispered.

She retrieved the arrow and carefully stowed all the items back in her bag. Her fingers next brushed over two road flares, their bright red casing a stark contrast to the rest of the gear. Then finally, she found a sturdy rope and a roll of duct tape.

She stared at the items for a moment, then deadpanned, "Am I prepped for survival… or a kidnapping?"

Chuckling quietly to herself, she zipped the backpack shut just as the bus began to slow.

The vehicle groaned slightly as it rolled to a stop. The snowy trees outside loomed tall and quiet under the pale winter sky, and as the doors hissed open, Zoe slung the backpack over her shoulders, her eyes sharpening.

She was ready.

Zoe made her way through the woods toward the cable car station, her boots crunching softly against the frozen ground. The snow-dusted trees loomed overhead, their skeletal branches creaking in the wind. The air was bitterly cold, and her breath came out in white puffs as she trudged on with practiced vigilance. Eventually, she came upon a large iron gate blocking her path. Rust clung to its bars like moss, and nailed to the front was a hastily scribbled note that read: "Gate's busted—climb over."

She sighed, her breath curling like smoke as she eyed the note with disapproval. "Of course it is," she muttered under her breath.

Without hesitation, she stepped over to the nearby rock wall, sized it up, and quickly scaled it with a mix of grace and grit. Her leather-gloved hands gripped the cold stone expertly, and within seconds she dropped down on the other side.

Not long after, Zoe reached the cable car station. The place was eerily silent, with no one in sight. The wind howled softly through broken windows, and the building creaked with age and neglect. She swept her gaze across the station with sharp alertness, every muscle in her body tensed.

Then she felt it—someone behind her.

Zoe spun on her heels, her instincts flaring, only to find Chris standing there with his hands raised in surrender, eyes wide.

"Zoe! Whoa—it's me!" he said, a bit startled but smiling. "I'm glad to see you made it."

Zoe didn't lower her guard immediately, but she relaxed just slightly. Her eyes remained watchful. "Yes... it's good to see you too, Chris," she replied, careful to play her part as one of his friends. Her voice was neutral, unreadable.

Chris's grin returned, more genuine now. "Anyway, I found something kinda cool. Come check it out," he said with a nod, already walking behind the station.

Zoe followed, her pace steady, eyes still scanning the surroundings. Rounding the corner, she saw it—a makeshift shooting range with empty soda cans lined up on wooden posts, half-buried in snow.

Chris stepped in front of it with a flourish. "Ta-da!"

Zoe raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. "You wanted to show me... a shooting range?"

"I know, right? Pretty rad!" he said, grinning like a kid in a candy store.

Zoe's expression didn't change. "Suuuuure," she said with dry sarcasm.

Chris, either oblivious or unfazed, picked up one of the air rifles resting on a bench. "Come on, look at these beauties," he said, admiring it with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Wanna try?"

Zoe shook her head with mild disinterest. "Not really my thing."

"Suit yourself," Chris said with a shrug, then turned and began firing at the targets, whooping with excitement as the cans flew off the posts.

Zoe stood off to the side, watching in silence, her eyes distant. Her mind was elsewhere. She didn't care for games—only survival.

Outside the game…

One of Artemis's Huntresses tilted her head, frowning slightly. "Since when does Zoe speak modern English?"

Tet, lounging upside down , waved his hand nonchalantly. "Oh, that's most likely a side effect of all the information she received when she took Sam's place," he said with an amused tone. "She'll probably go back to normal once she leaves the game. Maybe."

Artemis, sitting in front of the screen, narrowed her eyes at him. "Maybe," she echoed with a touch of skepticism.

Tet shrugged again, doing a lazy spin midair. "How often do you directly beam knowledge into someone's head? Just 'cause I can do it doesn't mean I know everything about it."

Artemis gave a nod of reluctant agreement. "I suppose that's fair."

"I am curious, though," Tet said, floating closer and resting his chin in his hand. "Why is Chris still mostly following the game's script? He's not a puppet anymore—he has some semblance of free will."

Artemis tapped her fingers on her bow, deep in thought. "Perhaps… despite no longer being bound, he will still play his part, so to speak."

"Hmm. Maybe," Tet mused, his mismatched eyes twinkling with interest. "I think Zoe's the deciding factor here. They'll probably act the same as before—unless she does something that changes the situation. Then they'll respond, improvise. React."

He clapped his hands. "Anyway, back to it."

---

Back in the game…

Zoe and Chris had just exited the cable car, stepping into the snow-covered clearing. Jessica stood nearby, bundled in her winter gear, having just let them out. Chris had barely opened his mouth to tease Jessica about Mike when Zoe wordlessly walked past him.

She had more important things to do.

The cold wind whipped through the trees as she made her way briskly toward the lodge. Her sharp eyes scanned the large building as it came into view, tall and looming beneath the gray sky. The snow clung to the shingles and windowsills like a thick, wet blanket. Zoe moved with purpose, already forming a mental map.

The sooner she could check the perimeter and assess how defensible the lodge was, the better.

When she reached the front steps, she found Josh hunched over the door, fiddling with the lock. He looked up with a frustrated huff.

"Something wrong, Josh?" Zoe asked, her voice cool and composed.

Josh glanced back, rubbing his gloved hands together. "Oh, Zoe—yeah. The lock's frozen. Can't get it open."

Zoe tilted her head. "Is there another way in?"

Josh thought for a moment, tapping his chin. "I think the basement window might be unlocked. Could you go around the side and check?"

Zoe nodded once and turned to go without another word. As she walked, she kept her gaze sharp, taking note of every window, every possible entry point. Her senses were on high alert. She didn't know what threat was coming, only that it would come—and likely not until nightfall at the earliest.

She found the basement window slightly ajar. Snow had drifted against it, but it wasn't frozen shut. She slid it open and crawled inside, landing softly on her feet. The basement was cold, dark, and dusty. The smell of mildew and wood greeted her. She reached back and secured the window, locking it firmly.

Making her way to the front door from inside, she knelt before the icy lock. The layer of frost wasn't very thick. She struck one of her matches, the flame flickering brightly against the dim hallway, and held it to the lock. After a moment of careful heating, she tried the knob—click.

It turned.

Zoe opened the door to let Josh in. He stepped through with a surprised smile.

"Nice job, Zoe! You make yourself at home. I'm gonna check and make sure everything's working before the others get here."

He walked off into another room, leaving her alone in the grand main hall of the lodge. The space was wide and empty, filled with looming shadows and dust-covered furniture. The silence was thick.

Zoe didn't enjoy being idle. Never had. So while the others were still making their way here, she got to work. She found some old firewood stacked near the hearth and quickly built a fire in the stone fireplace. Soon, the first gentle crackles of flame grew into warmth, filling the room with a soft orange glow.

The heat was a small comfort in a place that was anything but safe.

Hours later, she had been sitting in the room, staring boredly at Mike, Matt, Jessica, and Emily arguing. She didn't really care—until Josh calmly told Mike and Jessica to spend the night in the detached cabin until everybody calmed down.

As she watched them leave, she debated following them, thinking about how much harder it would be to keep everyone safe if the group wasn't all together. She was about to get up and follow them, her expression thoughtful and cautious, when she heard Artemis' voice echo calmly in her head:

"Don't follow them, Zoe. Stick with the main group for now. They will likely draw the most attention."

Zoe nodded subtly, her eyes narrowing with reluctant agreement, and sat back down.

Zoe had been patrolling the lodge while the others did their own thing. It was now 9 PM, and nothing had happened yet—other than her finding a baby wolverine in the upstairs bathroom. She'd managed to calm it down and release it outside unharmed.

She resumed patrolling the darkened halls, her every step light and calculated, until she heard screaming.

Chris came running up to her in a panic, his eyes wide with fear and breath ragged. Moments later, Matt and Emily burst into the room, drawn by the noise.

Chris stammered breathlessly, "There's some freak with a mask running around! He got Ashley—he knocked her out and dragged her off somewhere!"

Zoe looked at him coldly, her voice cutting and sharp like a blade. "And you did nothing to help her?"

Chris winced under her glare. "I—I panicked! I didn't know what else to do!"

"Shit," Matt muttered, pacing nervously. "What do we do?"

Emily, her voice tinged with tension but still keeping her usual edge, suggested, "We could go to the radio tower—try to get some help."

Zoe immediately shut the idea down. "No. You three go find a secure room with one entry point and no windows. Wait there. I'll go see if I can find Ashley—and Josh. Don't open the door for anyone but me."

Matt frowned and stepped forward. "We can't just leave you alone!"

Zoe's voice was calm but firm, unwavering. "I'll be fine. Just get somewhere safe. If I'm not back in an hour, then go for help."

Emily crossed her arms and thought for a moment, her sharp gaze flicking between Zoe and the others. "She's right. We'd just slow her down. And finding a defensible room… In the worst case, like she said, we can still go for help."

Chris and Matt looked uneasy, exchanging glances. They didn't feel right letting Zoe go alone, but after more urging from Emily and a steely look from Zoe, they finally relented and went to find shelter.

Zoe, now on full alert, stalked through the lodge like a predator, her knife out and ready. She crept around corners and hugged the walls with the grace of a trained hunter. Her eyes were sharp, senses attuned to every creak and groan of the old building.

Suddenly, the lights went out.

She smiled faintly, her voice barely a whisper in the dark. "That won't help you."

As she stepped through the darkness, she spotted a masked man tearing through the lodge—frantic, like he was searching for something or someone.

Silently, she crept up from behind and delivered a quick, precise blow to the back of his head. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

She knelt down, removed his mask, and was a bit surprised to find Josh underneath.

Zoe sighed, her voice laced with disappointment. "I suppose it's too much to hope that this was a prank."

With no further comment, she slung him over her shoulder and carried him back to the room where the others were hiding.

Chris's eyes widened in shock. "Whoa—wasn't that Josh? What happened to him?"

Zoe laid him down on the floor and tossed the mask to Chris. "Was that the mask you saw?"

Chris caught it, staring at it like it was some kind of ghost. "Yeah…"

She said flatly, "Josh was wearing it. He was stalking me through the darkness. I knocked him unconscious."

Chris's expression twisted into heartbreak and disbelief. "No… no way…"

Matt swore under his breath. "So… was all this just a fucking prank?"

Chris shook his head, looking pale. "No… it couldn't be a prank. He punched Ashley out—then carried her off to God knows where!"

Zoe quietly stepped out of the room and returned moments later with rope and duct tape in hand. She didn't want them to see her pull those items out of her bag—no need to unnecessarily raise suspicion.

She tossed them to Matt and said, "Tie him up."

Matt blinked. "Wait, what? Isn't that a little extreme?"

Emily looked between Zoe and Josh, then crossed her arms and said firmly, "No. She's right. If Josh did bring us all up here to kill us, then we don't want him trying again when he wakes up."

Matt hesitated, but Emily's glare left little room for argument. "Matt, listen to her."

Reluctantly, he and Chris began tying Josh up. Zoe, keeping her calm and composed demeanor, said, "I'm going to go look for Ashley. Secure the door behind me. There's a chance he wasn't doing this alone."

Emily gave a grim nod. "Got it."

Zoe slipped back into the shadows of the lodge, and Emily shut and locked the door tight behind her.

After a while of searching in the basement, Zoe found hidden corridors and rooms—some of them rigged with traps. Her movements were slow, careful, as she analyzed each passage for danger. Eventually, she found Ashley unconscious, tied to a chair in one of the rooms.

She undid the ropes gently and lifted her up, carrying her back to the others with practiced ease.

They were all relieved to see Ashley was okay. Chris ran to her side immediately. Emily sighed in visible relief. Matt rubbed his forehead and leaned back against the wall.

Everyone was starting to relax a little—except for Zoe. She stood near the door, tense, her eyes scanning every shadow.

This couldn't have been the danger, she thought to herself. If it was, I would have already completed the challenge by now…

Then, from downstairs, she heard panicked yelling.

She bolted down the stairs and found Mike—scared, injured, and holding a shotgun.

Zoe's eyes narrowed.

Oh… finally.