It was never really Reever's fault that he did not speak to his teammates. Even if he wanted to say something, even if he wanted to join in their jokes or callouts, they would never hear him. He was a bot after all, a real one inside a game meant for humans. His voice, his thoughts, his intentions could not reach their comms. So after a few silent matches, he gave up on speaking. There was no use trying to talk to people who could not hear him.
As for the name Bot 067, he had chosen it for a good reason. The Reever of this timeline was a legendary ranked player, famous and respected. If he used the same name, players would ask questions he could not answer. They would wonder if he was copying someone important or trying to impersonate a pro. He wanted none of that. Bot 067 felt simple, clean and safe. He liked it. It matched his current identity and kept him hidden.
Besides, he could not meet the real Reever yet. Not like this. Not as a rookie, not as a low ranked player who was still climbing. Until he reached legendary rank, he would stay with the weak players, fighting his way upward one point at a time.
He had also tried to log out of the game once. Only once. The moment he attempted it, a system notification appeared in front of him, ringing sharply.
Unless he reached master rank, he was trapped.
For the first time in a long while, he had felt hope. Real hope. That meant there was a way out. A real exit. Something he could aim for and reach. All he had to do was rank up fast, reach master level and he would finally escape this place. Finally rest. Finally breathe without watching his back.
He was also lucky in another way. During this current game era, bots were nearly impossible to identify. There were no special marks, no symbols, no tags that exposed them. It was only in the future update that bots carried insignias. Right now, he could blend in like any normal player, and no one questioned him except for how strange his name was or how perfect his aim looked.
But still, something worried him deeply.
The developers.
The ones who controlled everything from behind the scenes. If they noticed him, if they figured out something was wrong, they could shut him out of the game instantly. And there were already signs that might make them suspicious. His loadout could not be inspected. No player could see his weapons, his armor or even his badge. Only his rank was visible. That alone was strange.
Second, the developers had access to every gamer's ID. They could look up a person in seconds. But in his case, they would find nothing. He did not exist in their database. That was another anomaly.
Third, his movement was too clean. Too seamless. While humans relied on keyboards, controllers and joysticks, all of which caused delays and small errors, Reever was inside the game itself. He had no input delay, no reaction lag, no fatigue. He could fight at full performance every second of the day. He could outlast every player on the server, and he knew it.
But despite all this, he trusted the system that brought him here. Something was protecting him, holding a shield between him and the developers. If they tried to trace him, they would fail. If they tried to remove him, something blocked them. He did not know what it was, but he could feel the protection like a faint layer around him.
Even so, he was not fully free. He could not claim any new weapons. He could not receive kill streaks .He could not unlock special rewards. He could not obtain blueprints or skins. The game treated him like a ghost who could only take experience points and nothing more.
That part frustrated him the most. He could fight with everything he had, destroy entire teams alone, but in the end, he gained no treasure. No weapon upgrades. No bonus loot. Only rank.
He was bound tightly, unable to break the chains until he reached master rank and escaped this virtual prison.
What could he do. What could he say. He was a bot with no voice.
All he could do was climb. Climb fast, climb without stopping, and escape this cursed game world.
Master rank was his only door out. And he would reach it, no matter how many enemies he had to bury along the way.
The moment Reever queued for his next match, he felt the difference right away.This time, there was no team list. No ally roster. No chatter from random players.Just a loading screen with a single mode glowing at the center.
Free for All.
Perfect.
No teammates to protect, no one slowing him down, no one stealing kills by accident. Just thirty targets, scattered across one of the smallest and fastest maps in the game.
Nuke town.
As soon as he spawned on the right side of the yellow house, he lifted his sniper rifle, checked the chamber, and moved without hesitation. The countdown barely finished before he was already sprinting toward the middle of the street.
Gunfire erupted instantly. Players rushing for the first blood kill. The air filled with bullets, grenades rolling down the pavement, windows shattering at both houses.
Reever slid behind the blue truck in the center, raised his rifle and fired.
First kill. Clean headshot.
He did not wait. He shifted, popped out on the left side, and fired again.
Second kill. Third kill.
Two enemies respawned on opposite ends and tried to rush him. Their footsteps were loud, predictable. Reever spun around the truck, walked calmly into the open and fired twice.
Fourth kill. Fifth kill.
The kill feed blinked his name over and over again.
A player in the second-story window tried to hold position, clearly thinking he had an advantage. Reever crouched, aimed through the open window and shot him before the man could even aim down his sights.
Sixth kill.
Bullets started flying at him from behind. Someone had spawned near the garage. Reever dashed into the house, climbed the stairs and waited near the edge of the hallway, rifle ready.
As the enemy ran up, Reever fired at point blank range.
Seventh kill.
He jumped out the window the next second, rolled across the front lawn and took position behind a mannequin in the garden. Players across the street were fighting for control of the center. He watched them, quiet and patient.
Bang.
Eighth kill.
Bang.
Ninth kill.
Bang.
Tenth kill.
The match had barely started and he was already far ahead of the rest.
Someone finally noticed.
"Oh no, he is in here," a player said on the voice channel. "Bot 067 is in this lobby. We are done."
"Bro who invited that monster. Report him for existing."
"I am hiding behind the house. I do not care."
None of their panic mattered.
Reever switched to the backyard, climbed the bus, and fired from the roof. His shots were smooth, quick and perfect. He killed anyone who peeked the doors, anyone who spawned outside, anyone who dared cross the street.
Twentieth kill.
Twenty fifth kill.
He crossed the map like a shadow, always one step ahead. Sometimes he shot through the tiny crack in the fence. Sometimes through the bedroom window. Sometimes he dropped down silently and shot someone from behind.
They never saw him coming.They never survived more than a second.
Players were panicking on the comms now.
"He already has twenty seven kills."
"Someone stop him."
"You stop him."
"I tried. He shot me the moment I moved."
Reever reached the final stretch of the match. His rifle felt warm, familiar, comfortable in his grip. He aimed across the backyard and fired three final shots.
Twenty eighth kill.Twenty ninth kill.Thirtieth kill.
Victory.
Free for All ended instantly, the world freezing as the match summary loaded. Players groaned, complained, yelled and argued on the comms, though many sounded impressed despite their frustration.
Reever did not stay to listen.
A soft notification opened in front of him, glowing gently.
[ Congratulations.
Player has ranked up.
New rank: Veteran V]
Reever took a slow breath.
Another step. Another rank. Another move closer to Master. Another move closer to freedom.
Without wasting a second, he queued for his next match.