The Extra-dimensional Pioneer Of Fiction [Draft]

The moment Arlo's Analysis skill deactivated, clarity hit him like a jolt of electricity. His grip tightened on the Pit Viper, the cold metal a reassuring anchor against the chaos unfolding before him. He steadied his breath, the rhythmic hum of his BrainLink fading into the background as the purgers closed in. Shadows danced around them, their grotesque masks glinting under the pale moonlight.

They're not going to stop. Focus, Arlo. Prioritize threats. His thoughts snapped into alignment with the cold logic of the analysis: ranged attackers first. His gaze locked onto the man with the rifle, a figure shrouded in darkness save for the mask—a crude, snarling wolf painted in streaks of crimson.

Arlo didn't hesitate. He raised the Pit Viper and pulled the trigger. The gunshot cracked through the night like a whip, and the wolf-masked man crumpled to the ground without a sound.

[Pit Viper Effect Activated - Critical Damage: 80]

[EXP Gained: +5]

The glowing text hovered briefly in his vision before vanishing. The remaining five purgers froze for a split second, their shock quickly replaced by feral rage. They charged, their weapons glinting ominously under the moonlight.

Arlo pivoted, his sights locking on the next closest threat—a burly man wielding a barbed bat. The purger lunged, swinging the bat with bone-crushing force. Arlo ducked low, sidestepping the swing, and fired a single shot into his opponent's head. Blood sprayed as the man dropped instantly.

[Headshot - Critical Damage: 60]

[EXP Gained: +5]

Before Arlo could breathe, instinct kicked in. He grabbed the man's collapsing body, using him as a makeshift shield. Bullets whizzed past him, some slamming into the corpse with wet thuds. The two remaining gun-wielding purgers—one with a pistol and the other with a shotgun—relentlessly fired, their shots echoing like thunder.

"Two down, four to go," Arlo muttered under his breath, his mind racing. His next target was the shotgun wielder, a lithe woman whose mask was a grotesque parody of a doll's face. She shouted something unintelligible before taking aim. Arlo pushed his human shield forward just as she fired, the shotgun blast tearing through the shield's torso. He lunged, closing the gap between them, and fired point-blank at her head.

[Headshot - Critical Damage: 67]

[EXP Gained: +5]

The doll-masked woman dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. Arlo barely had time to register the kill before a searing pain lanced through his shoulder. He staggered, glancing at the glowing HUD notification.

[Damage Taken: -10 HP]

[HP: 110/120]

Gritting his teeth, Arlo turned to face the man who'd shot him—a lanky figure with a grotesque mask that resembled a cracked skull. His gun was already aimed for another shot, but Arlo reacted faster. He raised the Pit Viper and fired, the bullet piercing the man's head.

[Pit Viper Effect Activated - Critical Damage: 74]

[EXP Gained: +5]

Arlo caught his breath, scanning for the last two threats. The pistol wielder was now aiming, but Arlo yanked the remaining female purger, a smaller figure with a crudely painted clown mask, and used her as a shield. The man's bullets tore into her body as she screamed. Arlo didn't flinch, lining up his next shot and taking out the pistol-wielding purger with a single, precise bullet to the head.

[Notification: Headshot - Critical Damage: 62]

[EXP Gained: +5]

The clown-masked woman in his grip gurgled weakly, her life draining fast. Arlo knew she wouldn't survive, and he felt a pang of regret.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, before raising the Pit Viper and firing a mercy shot.

[Damage: 27]

[EXP Gained: +5]

The final notification flickered away, leaving only silence. Arlo's chest heaved as he surveyed the carnage. His coat was spattered with blood, his shoulder throbbed from the bullet wound, but he was alive.

Alive. For now.

He holstered the Pit Viper, his mind racing with thoughts he didn't have the luxury to unpack yet. Survival wasn't just brutal—it was relentless.

He shook his head, muttering to himself, "This isn't a game. Don't let it feel like one."

Adjusting his coat, Arlo started walking again. His Danger Intuition quieted, but he knew better than to assume he was safe. The Purge was far from over.

==================================================

Arlo stood motionless in the aftermath, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Sweat dripped from his brow, mixing with the dried blood on his face and hands. His fingers trembled as they gripped the Pit Viper, its barrel still faintly warm.

Around him, six lifeless bodies lay sprawled in the dirt, their grotesque masks frozen in silent screams.

Six people. Six headshots. Arlo's mind reeled at the realization. He'd just taken down an entire group with brutal efficiency, like something out of John Wick. The thought made him nauseous rather than proud. This is what it takes to survive here?

The weight of his actions pressed down on him. These weren't monsters or some faceless NPCs in a game. They were people, human beings who had lives before tonight. Twisted by the Purge's sick ideology, sure, but they were still people. And I killed them. In self-defense, yeah, but does that really change anything?

He entered Cogitation, closing his eyes and focusing on his breathing. The HUD flashed briefly as his MP ticked down, but he ignored it. Slowly, his racing heart began to calm, and the fog of panic lifted. You're alive. That's what matters. One step at a time, Arlo.

The realization chilled him. This won't be the last time. The thought gnawed at the edges of his mind, filling him with dread. He clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening against the Pit Viper's grip.

"You'll take responsibility," he muttered under his breath, a quiet promise to himself. "No excuses. No losing yourself."

Kneeling beside the doll-masked woman, Arlo inspected her weapon: a worn shotgun with a decent weight to it. He checked the chamber—fully loaded—and pocketed the extra 16 shells strapped to her belt. A notification appeared in his vision.

[Weapon Equipped: Remington 870 Shotgun]

The Pit Viper was holstered, and the shotgun took its place in his hands. Its heft felt strange but solid. Arlo glanced at the carnage one last time before shaking his head.

"Can't stay here," he whispered, the words half to himself, half to the dead. He rose to his feet and took off, his boots pounding against the dirt as he sprinted into the night.

...

His legs burned, his shoulder ached from the earlier wound, but he didn't stop. The weight of the shotgun against his chest kept him grounded, a reminder of the harsh reality he was now living.

His thoughts churned as he ran. Sandin's house. Where the hell is it?

The BrainLink's mini-map flickered faintly in his vision, the marker not as precise as he wanted.

"Thank God the GPS from the BrainLink is super advanced," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

The quiet frustration helped distract him from the grim images replaying in his mind.

Eventually, he slowed, ducking into the shadows of a cluster of trees. His breathing was ragged, his muscles sore, but he couldn't risk being spotted. He scanned his surroundings, his Danger Intuition faintly tingling—nothing immediate, but enough to keep him on edge.

Movement caught his eye. A figure stumbled through the darkness, their gait uneven, one arm clutching their side. Arlo squinted, his Danger Intuition flaring slightly stronger now. A group of masked figures was closing in on the man, their laughter and taunts audible even from a distance.

The man, a tall black figure, looked vaguely familiar to Arlo. Where have I seen him before? His curiosity won out over caution.

Arlo activated [Observe], the screen lighting up briefly before displaying the man's details.

Dante Bishop - Level 6

Description: A poverty-stricken black man, trying to find refuge during the Purge. He appears wary, strong conviction, and a strong moral compass.

Threat Level: Low - Mid

Recognition struck like a jolt of lightning. Dante Bishop? The guy from the Purge movies. He's the stranger who helped people survive the first one and became a leader later in subsequent movies.

The pursuers gained ground, their weapons glinting under the faint moonlight. Arlo didn't hesitate. He raised the shotgun and fired, BANG! BANG!, the blast roaring through the night.

One masked figure dropped instantly, and the rest scattered, momentarily startled.

[Damage: 22]

[Damage: 30]

[EXP Gained: +5]

Sliding the shotgun back, Arlo shouted toward Dante. "Hey! Over here!" He kept his hands visible, signaling he wasn't a threat. "I'm not gonna kill you!"

Dante froze, his distrust evident even from this distance. Arlo's mind raced. Charisma stat, don't fail me now. He stepped forward cautiously. "Look, I know you don't trust me, but those lunatics will be back. We need to move!"

Dante hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he studied Arlo. The tension hung thick in the air, but another shout from the remaining purgers forced his hand. With a reluctant nod, he limped toward Arlo, keeping his distance but following his lead.

Arlo exhaled, a small relief washing over him. He glanced around, shotgun raised and ready. "Let's get out of here," he said, his tone firm.

Together, they vanished into the trees, the sounds of the chase fading behind them.

==================================================

[The Sandin House, Outside]

The sound of Arlo's boots pounding against the asphalt matched the rapid thudding of his heartbeat. Dante's ragged breaths filled the space between them as they ran, the injured man struggling to keep pace.

"Keep going!" Arlo shouted over his shoulder, scanning the area with sharp, darting eyes for any sign of pursuit.

Dante, clutching his side, gasped out, "They're still back there! We can't stop!" His voice carried a note of desperation, his movements frantic.

"Don't stop pleading, man," Arlo muttered, though not unkindly. His thoughts raced as fast as his legs. This guy's drawing attention like an escort quest NPC. If those psychos catch up, we're screwed.

Minutes blurred together, the sounds of their pursuers ebbing and flowing like a twisted tide. Just as Arlo was beginning to wonder if they'd have to run all night, a soft glow appeared ahead. His mini map pulsed faintly, marking their proximity to the house he'd been searching for.

As they drew closer, the porch light flickered on, and the front door creaked open slightly. Arlo's eyes widened, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips despite the circumstances.

"Finally!" he breathed, his pace quickening.

Dante slowed, his energy waning, but Arlo surged forward.

"Come on, man, keep running! It's right there!" he called, motioning for Dante to follow as he bolted toward the open door.

Arlo stumbled into the entryway, his breathing heavy. A nervous-looking boy stood just inside, his hands shaking slightly as he held the door ajar.

"Th-thank you," Arlo said between gasps. He recognized the boy immediately. Charlie Sandin. That's gotta be him.

Charlie gave a hesitant nod. "Y-you're welcome. Are you okay?"

"Better than most out there," Arlo replied, glancing back to see Dante finally staggering up the steps. "Let him in. He's with me."

As the door shut behind them, Arlo leaned against the wall, taking a moment to assess the room. His eyes darted to a staircase just as two adults emerged from an adjacent hallway. Recognition hit instantly. James and Mary Sandin.

Arlo blinked, his mind automatically comparing them to their actors from the movie. James looks like a more grounded version of Ethan Hawke, and Mary... wow, straight-up Cersei Lannister vibes. Great. A Game of Thrones character is the last thing I need right now.

James's expression hardened as he leveled a pistol at Arlo. "Who are you? What are you doing in my house?"

"Whoa, whoa! Chill out!" Arlo raised his hands defensively, his voice steady but urgent. "We're not here to cause trouble. Just trying to survive the night, alright?"

Mary's sharp gaze darted between Arlo and Dante, her skepticism evident. "And we're supposed to believe you're harmless?"

Before Arlo could answer, a sudden commotion from upstairs drew everyone's attention. A young man descended the staircase with wild eyes, brandishing a pistol. The moment he reached the bottom, he turned his weapon on James and opened fire.

Chaos erupted. Mary screamed, Charlie dove for cover, and James scrambled to avoid the shots. Arlo ducked into the kitchen, adrenaline spiking. This isn't part of the plan!

From his crouched position behind the counter, Arlo's mind raced. He heard hurried footsteps and muffled voices—James, Mary, and Charlie had likely retreated to the security room. The house fell eerily silent, save for the faint hum of electronics. Then, without warning, the lights cut out, plunging everything into darkness.

Great. Just great. Arlo tightened his grip on the shotgun. "Guess it's time for survival horror mode," he muttered under his breath, steeling himself for what came next.

"Dude, where the fuck are you?" Arlo whispered, his voice barely audible. No response. Damn it. Where'd he go?