[Congratulations on finishing your first mission, 971 out of 1,000 humans from your reality survived.]
[Due to your high performance your rank among the survivors from your reality is 45th.]
[You may use all 235 points earned in the shop.]
The messages hovered in front of Paolo for several seconds before fading away. He read them twice, not because he did not understand them, but because the numbers carried weight.
Twenty nine people were gone.
He did not know their names. He had never seen their faces. Still, the number sat uncomfortably in his chest.
He killed at least 10 more hostiles before the mission ended and now Paolo arrived in the lobby with the other survivors from his reality. The transition was instant. One moment he was standing in a forest clearing, blood drying on his hands, and the next he was in a vast open hall that felt more like a convention center than anything else.
The ceiling stretched impossibly high, lit by a soft white glow that had no visible source. The floor was smooth and metallic, warm underfoot. Hundreds of people stood scattered across the space, some sitting, some talking in clusters, others staring blankly into the air as if afraid to move.
There were lots of familiar faces.
Paolo recognized professional fighters from televised events, soldiers he had seen in documentaries, prominent world leaders surrounded by quiet bodyguards out of habit more than necessity. Even influencers were present, some still trying to record themselves before realizing there was no camera to play to.
Discussions were ongoing everywhere. Voices overlapped in dozens of languages. According to the system they had about 2 days to interact with one another before the next mission began.
Paolo stayed away from the noise.
His focus was on the shop.
A translucent interface appeared at his command, hovering in front of him. Rows of items scrolled past his vision, each with a point cost and a brief description. With him were the tools he made from the island, strapped to his body or stored in a simple pack that had appeared alongside him.
Rankings showed up above the heads of his fellow survivors.
Numbers hovered faintly, visible only when he focused on someone. Single digits drew attention immediately. So did the top ten. Paolo made a mental note of where he stood compared to others.
Forty fifth.
Not safe, but not invisible.
"About 300 for a gun, but 250 for a drone," Paolo muttered as he scrolled. "With the scrap metal that I did get, I can weaponize the drone but to what degree."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"No," he continued. "I can't even afford either one of those at the moment."
Paolo sat at a desk tucked away from the larger discussions being had. The desk formed itself around him, responding to his intent. His fingers traced shapes on the surface as he thought, sketches forming and fading as he worked through ideas in his head.
His focus was on designing either a weapon or maximizing what he bought in the shop to optimize his kit.
"The best option for most is to buy a skill book," he said quietly. "But a single one is 1000 points. One of those martial arts books is cheaper but that's also in the 800s at the minimum."
He scrolled again.
Consumables. Materials. Tools.
His eyes stopped.
"There's a toolbox for 100 points," Paolo said. "It has everything I could want as a tinkerer save for a battery."
He smiled faintly.
"But that seems more worth it than anything else on here."
He selected it.
The interface chimed softly.
Some gears and gunpowder caught his attention next. Not much. Small quantities. Enough to experiment.
"Yes," Paolo said. "This'll do nicely."
By the time he was done, most of his points were gone, converted into tangible resources that appeared neatly arranged beside him. The toolbox was heavier than expected, dense with potential. He opened it, eyes scanning the contents with something close to excitement.
Paolo was in his element now.
The points shop would be used to its fullest, not for immediate power, but for future options.
The rest of the first day passed quickly. Paolo spent time resting, eating provided meals that tasted real enough to be unsettling, and listening more than he spoke. He learned who not to trust. Who drew too much attention. Who looked too calm.
Rank one and two never left the center of the lobby. People gravitated toward them instinctively.
On the second day, the system spoke again.
[Mission 2: As survivors of the isle, you have gained the privilege to train under the academies. At least for those who have earned more than 1,000 points this is the case.]
[For everyone else, the next month will be similar to what you're used to.]
[Large scale island survival. This time around you can go in groups of 5 to a maximum of 20 members.]
A murmur spread across the lobby.
Training under academies.
Points requirements.
Groups.
Paolo frowned.
For their reality only rank 1 and 2 reached 1,000 points or more during the first mission. That meant only two people would gain access to formal training. Everyone else would be thrown back into survival with slightly better odds.
Smaller cliques and groups have formed almost immediately. A particularly large group was created by rank 4, drawing in numbers through reputation alone. Rank 3 formed a tighter unit, pulling members from the top 20, but his group only had 7 members.
Paolo watched from a distance.
He was not interested in large groups. Too many variables. Too much noise. Too many chances for betrayal.
Paolo decided to join a group that seemed balanced.
The group is handled by rank 11, Matthew.
Matthew stood near the edge of the lobby, speaking calmly with a small group around him. His posture was relaxed, his expression focused. Above his head, the number 11 glowed faintly.
Matthew's ability allowed him to empower himself and others through the use of mana. Spells could do the same, but the effectiveness of his ability made him rank high. It was efficient. Flexible. Valuable in any situation.
At this point in time learning spells was nearly impossible due to the cost in points.
Paolo approached.
Matthew looked at him and nodded once.
"Rank forty five," Matthew said. "Tech based skill."
Paolo blinked.
"You looked like you knew what you were doing on the island," Matthew continued. "Traps. Terrain control. Efficient kills."
"I survived," Paolo replied. "That was the goal."
Matthew smiled slightly.
The group only has 5 members, the minimum, but each one is within the top 50.
A balanced team.
Paolo accepted the invitation.
As the group confirmation appeared, something settled in his chest. Not relief. Not comfort.
Resolve.
"If this is going to keep escalating," Paolo thought, "then surviving alone won't be enough anymore."
He closed his toolbox and stood with his new group, eyes forward.
The lobby began to fade.
And the next stage drew closer.