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Chapter Eight; Gloves Off, Fight Dirty

Chapter Eight

Gloves Off, Fight Dirty

White was a color that Onyx and Winston were seriously getting tired of.

In a labyrinth of endless high-ceilinged, completely spotless, white rooms, all lined up against one another, the two gamers sighed as they slumped up against a wall.

Hungry, despaired, helpless.

“Man, we really screwed this up,” muttered Onyx, rubbing his stomach, sighing.

“We’re going to die!”  cried Winston, nearly breaking down. They really shouldn’t have tried to randomly ask people for information—of course they would have been lead into a death maze!

“I knew it . . . that kid wouldn’t have let anyone go un-brainwashed . . . .”

The overall strategy had been to locate some anti-Sswyvy interlopers, who might’ve actually gotten some intel as to where the emperor’s secret torture chambers were. The two had severely underestimated their opponent.

Winston’s face fell as he looked dejectedly to the high-unreachable ceiling, near tears at the prospect of dying the video game, and then turning into a vegetable when it was Game Over time.

Onyx, however, did not change his expression, but he did look up.

There was a moment of silence.

Onyx and Winston suddenly turned towards each other, and flew up on their feet, eyes wide as they gazed up at the ceiling.

“Were we just thinking the same thing?”

“Dude, do you still have that King Dragoon eye?”

“I hope . . .”

Winston fumbled around in his pockets, remembering the time that Dr. Narret had given them a King Dragoon eye as a reward for destroying it. It was like a super telescope!

Suddenly Winston’s face completely lit up, as he began beaming uncontrollably, extracting a huge sphere from his pocket—the eye! Onyx smirked, as he swiftly grabbed the eye, only to have it snatched back by Winston.

“You plank!”  Winston scowled, “we have to cut a perfect hole right through the anterior chamber—just barely scratching the optic nerve, to have perfect view!” His uncle was an esteemed eye doctor.

Onyx scratched his head, and loosely dug out a thin knife, the eyeball was quite large, after all, so he figured it would work.

“I’ll do it,” proffered Winston, as Onyx shook his head in a rare act of self-motivation.

“I have a steady hand.”

Winston grumbled, but didn’t argue. Onyx clenched his teeth as he felt himself go cold suddenly, a sensation he wasn’t used to. Fear? Onyx forced himself to concentrate, as the knife hovered over the optic nerve, and forced his hand to apply slow pressure, as a tiny hold began to form through the macula, Onyx felt himself tremble involuntarily, gritting his teeth even more, as he felt the knife hit a thin layer of plasma.

Glancing upward, Winston squinted and guessed, “I think you’ve hit the posterior capsule.”

Gingerly handing the eyeball over to Winston, Onyx slowly pulled out the Atlantis specialized handgun, and quickly took out an Ultracyan, pinnacle of terminal ballistics, specialized Knights of the Angel-brand, ultimate flash-fire bullet. 

“Where’d you get that?”

“Lilith.”

“What?” Winston was shocked.