DARC RAIDERS

Thunder.

Rain.

I couldn’t wait to shut everything out, throw on the headset and grind some extractions in Darc Raiders. Our Discord group had been talking all week about some of the new updates they finally added to the ransom mechanic—capture another player, lock their account, demand in-game loot and currency. “Ultra-immersive” the devs called it. A player could only be held for 48hrs and after that everything resets. During the first 48, the captors could demand a ransom. Loot from your vaulted stash, loot from your friends, or Rubies (in-game currency) for your release.

However, via a totally unintentional hack, some teams have figured out how to break the game mode and hold your character indefinitely, opening the extortion racket to include real money. To combat this, the devs introduced an update that allows an opposing player or team to infiltrate a hideout and rescue an abducted player, recovering all of their stolen gear.

Needless to say—player count was at an all-time high.

I run solo more than I should. I say it’s because I don’t trust randoms, but the truth is it’s just quieter that way. Players mostly just looking to gather resources. Fewer PVP engagements. CrownJul is my tag, but most people just call me Julian, or Jul.

I loaded into the Giants’ Graveyard map. It’s rainy and half-flooded. The lighting a bruised purple. I looted the first two containers, grabbed a Tier 2 rifle, and started making my way to the comms tower.

That’s when I heard it. A voice in the proximity chat, faint, just on the edge of range.

“—anybody hear me?”

I held up behind a forklift. Prox chat in Darc Raiders is a minefield. Half the time it’s kids lost in the candy store, the other half it’s trolls trying to bait you into a kill-box. I unmuted my mic but didn’t say anything. Just listened.

“Please. Don’t leave. I’m in the yard building...the one with the blue tarp.”

Female voice. Not whiny, not streamer-happy, just tired. Too tired for a match that just started.

I checked the minimap. No pings. No footsteps.

Rain drummed against the container roof.

Then another voice came through, male, filtered with that ridiculous codec some squads use to sound tougher: “You stay there. We said thirty K or no dice.”

Next, muffled shuffling, like someone covering their mic. Then nothing.

Okay, I thought. Hostage scenario. A ruse. Probably two guys with a third on overwatch, waiting for some savior type to come play hero. Seen it before. Hell, I’ve done it before.

I kept moving—low and slow.

“Is someone there?” the girl said again, more urgent. “I saw you drop in on the west side. I can pay, just—”

I exhaled. So they did see me drop in. They want to lure me. Textbook.

“Yeah. I hear you.”

“Are you close?”

Instant reply—too instant.

I scanned the factory silhouette ahead; broken cranes, scaffolding, a tarp flapping like a torn sail.

“Please. They’ve got me in a holding rig. You can shoot the chain and free me. Top level.”

I almost laughed. Chain-shooting was in the patch notes—you could “free” a captive by breaking whatever they linked to. The devs were really leaning into the human trafficking roleplay this season. Disgusting, but the extraction shooter crowd eats it up.

“Where’s your squad?” I asked.

“I don’t have one. I got grabbed on the bridge. I was just trying to extract.”

Her breathing came through the mic. Not performative. Just...scared. Exhausted.

The thing that nagged me—strangely—was the quality. Prox chat in this game is compressed to hell. Hers wasn’t. There was a clarity to it, like she was on the same LAN.

I moved through the yard, cover to cover, watching for the ambush. No movement—no red lasers. Just rain.

“Name?”

She paused. “Sparrow.”

I immediately pulled up the player list. No Sparrow. A Sparrow_17 in another lobby. A Sparr0 who had already disconnected. “Not seeing you.”

“They changed it,” she said. “He changed it.”

“He?”

She said nothing.

I made it to the outside of the tarp covered building she was being held in. It was a concrete shell with scaffolding, puddles in the corners, a flickering industrial light. I could hear her louder now, like she was right above me on the second level. I looked up and saw a portable cage unit high in the air with a glowing chain lock. No guards.

Too easy.

“This is bait,” I said, not bothering to mute.

Silence. Then her voice faded in and out, like she was leaning away from her mic. “No. That was for other people. It’s different now.”

My phone buzzed. My dasher was at the door with the pizza I ordered.

“BRB.”

I muted my mic and ran to the door.

The box was sitting on the steps. “Why do delivery drivers think this is okay?”

I ran back in and grabbed my headset.

“You said it’s different—how so?”

“You’re close. I could hear your footsteps. You were running.”

I stopped moving. "You mean—in game?"

"No..."

There’s something you learn in high stakes gaming; people will lie for loot. They’ll fake wanting to be your friend, fake a child crying in the background, fake being a girl, fake being twelve, fake a terminal illness, whatever might get you to drop your guard. If that doesn’t work, they’ll even threaten you.

“How do you know that?” I asked, “My mic was muted.”

“Think about it—there’s no delay in the chat. You’re right above me.”

I looked at the ping. 2ms.

My server is usually mid-teens, sometimes twenties. Two is impossible unless...

I alt-tabbed out, checked the router panel. No other devices connected but my desktop and my phone. No neighbors sharing. No one piggybacking.

“Please don’t log off.”

I tabbed back in. My brain was firing.

She continued. “I was abducted in real life. My real name is Malika Lakshmi; I went missing years ago. Look me up.”

I started searching.

“The man who abducted me would use me to bait other players—befriend them and get their info; he would then use that information to hold their accounts ransom for crypto. If I didn’t help him, he wouldn’t feed me.”

I found her. She went missing exactly three years ago—near a bridge about one mile from my home address while jogging.

“He was very angry when the mechanic became a feature in-game because it spread awareness. Made players more cautious. He still used it to his advantage though.”

I froze. “He broke the code.”

“Yes. Found a way to hold players captive indefinitely.”

I turned my head toward a door I hadn’t opened in years. The door that led to the basement. Old wood, cheap brass knob. When my Dad was alive, he was always “working on the sump” down there, or “rewiring the panel.” He would yell if I opened it. So I just stopped going down there. No reason to.

“My father was a software engineer. He died two years ago of a heart attack.”

She breathed. “I didn’t want to tell you who it was. Didn’t know how you’d react.”

She sounded nervous—but relieved.

I didn't want to believe it in full. My mind struggled—like spinning tires in sludge. I felt like a part of me had just been abducted. Along with things I thought I knew.

The house was dark except for the glow of the monitor. My vision tunneled. Dad had done a bunch of soundproofing down there. Said the boiler was too loud. He said he wanted to make a workshop.

My hand closed on the knob. It was cold and a little sticky. I twisted. The wood resisted at first, paint sealed in the jamb. The door let out long, tired sigh.

I moved down the hall, headset on, mic live. My fingers left crescents in the plastic.

Each step on the floorboard creaked in my ear.

“I can hear you,” she whispered. “You’re right above me.”

I shoved open the basement door and clicked on the light.

Nothing.

Nothing but wooden steps going into shadow. The bulb dimmed then steadied.

“Where are you?”

“Left,” she said.

Her voice almost in my ear now.

What looked like a wall of sound-proof padding housed a discreet handle.

I pulled it.

Inside, a stack of monitors arranged on a workbench. All on. Showing hidden cameras and Darc Raiders from different POVs. In front of the monitors is a note that reads:

Happy Birthday, Son.

Seed Phrase: Secret Garden Hidden Glance Posthumous Fortune Sweat Work Family Deep Dark Business

Wallet Address: bc1A1zZ1aP5QGefi2HNIOJY5SLmv7DivfNa

The floor was covered in empty cans of tuna leading to a disheveled girl with bound wrists and a headset.

Her eyes red and glossy. “See—I told you. You were right above me.”