VHRRRRRRRMMMM!
A black car roared through the flooded streets of New York. Rain lashed the windshield as the teenage driver leaned back in his seat, one hand casually on the wheel, the other drumming the door.
Above his head, glowing in brilliant gold, hovered a single word:
KING.
"This car's fast," he grinned, glancing at the rearview mirror. A convoy of bikes, cars, and angry survivors chased behind. "Not bad for my first time driving."
Then—ding! A golden pop-up appeared beside him, floating in the air like a hologram only he could see:
Cooldown: 5:00
The boy clicked his tongue. "Oohhh… don't like that. Not at all."
He hit the gas harder, weaving through crumbling streets and abandoned vehicles. How do I get out of this one? he mused, smirking. But the tension in his voice was rising.
As he swerved hard around a corner, tires screaming, he glanced upward.
"I wonder how the other Kings are doing? Bet their games aren't as creative as mine. They lack the imagination," he laughed to himself. "Would've been nice to meet one, though."
Cooldown: 3:50
"Come on, man!" he hissed, annoyed. "I need less time—"
CRASH!
A silver car slammed into his from the side, sending both vehicles into a spin. Horns blared. Glass shattered.
The black car hit a hydrant and stopped. The King tumbled out, stunned—but smiling.
Traffic came to a halt. People inside the wreckage looked up at him, their eyes wide. They always knew exactly where he was. They had to. It was part of the game.
The King stood up slowly, brushed himself off, and ran—right into the twisting, rain-slick alleys of the city.
"Just survive," he said under his breath, not scared at all. In fact, he looked amused. Like this was a game… and he was winning.
Behind him, from the wrecked silver car, stepped an old woman in a biker jacket, a girl with green eyes, and a young man holding a dog—Coco.
The King saw them. Locked eyes with the boy. And smiled.
He kept running, but his path was blocked. Ahead of him, a group of survivors stepped into the alley. Knives, bats, even guns in hand. Some of them trembled, hesitant—they saw only a teenage boy.
From behind, more poured in—closing him off. Among them, the ones from the car.
The King stopped, sandwiched between both mobs.
But he didn't look afraid.
A pop-up flickered into view in front of him—golden like before:
Cooldown Complete. Please Roll.
The boy grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. "Finally."
"Don't let him roll that dice!" Jack screamed from behind, gripping Coco tighter.
But it was too late.
The King held his hand up high. "You're too late," he said, spinning the golden die between his fingers.
Then—he threw it.
Lightning split the sky—striking the ground between both groups, forcing everyone to halt. Wind and static ripped through the alley.
The glowing die hit the wet pavement. It bounced once. Twice. Then rolled to a stop.
"Lucky number 5," the King said, grinning wider than ever.
Everyone paused, waiting for what came next.
The King whispered, "Pirates."