Surviving the Lock Keeper's Game

001- Meet corey

Rain pours heavily in the back ground as a young fit male walks into his home. He hadn’t bothered with an umbrella, instead preferring the nearly freezing temperatures of the rain to bathe his tattered skin. The risk of getting hypothermia doesn’t enter his mind. Well it did when he first stepped out, but he no longer cared.

Corey glanced at the empty living room. Snoring roared rampantly from the somewhere in the kitchen, that was the sign he always took whenever he arrived from his part time job at the small town bakery. The snoring meant his step father had drank too much and was taking a light nap before he would rain hell on Corey and his wife. He was incredibly predictable, and if Corey wanted, he could kill the man with ease. But being a teen genius didn’t make him a murderer.

And no matter how much he hated his step father, he would never actually harm the man. That would only lead his mother into a depressed state. Feeling the sombre way he always did, he walked the way up to his room. His mother was out, usually at this time. Getting groceries she would use to cook a meal Corey wasn’t allowed to eat. He was fed three times a week, he had to pick it wisely.

Sundays were never chosen by him. Those were the worst days for him and he preferred to suffer on an empty stomach. Corey slugged the hefty, torn, carry-on he called a back pack. It landed with small bounce on his bed.

He slid the lock on his door, wanting to gain a little bit of privacy before his step father awoke. With a sigh falling from his bruised lips, he made his way over to his desk.

The mirror hanging next to it gave him a good look at his reflection. He winced. His bandages made him look stand out, but no more than the cuts that were obvious around his body. They were always covered up with his work uniform. That protected him from crude comments, or people asking if he was a burnt victim. But today had been different. A nice girl had asked him to help her out with a flat tire.

If he hadn’t convinced himself that maybe someone actually liked him, he wouldn’t have gotten jumped by the girl’s boyfriend and his goonies. No, he would have been behind the counter, safe and uninjured. Their punches didn’t hurt, after years of abuse Corey had developed a pain tolerance that went too far for a teen his age. Just eighteen, he thought.

Although their punches didn’t hurt, and their words did no more than peck his docile heart, the damages on his only uniform and fragile skin were there.

He counted his luck that they hadn’t ripped into one of his major sores. That would have cost him a lot of his money to fix.

Corey found luck as a pro gamer. A kid who makes enough money to buy himself a car and pay for his own school fees. But instead, he’s poor. His mother and step father eat every thing he makes. He had made his gaming account at the age of ten, and earned his first pay in a battle royale. But because he was so young, he had to place in his mother’s banking details to collect the money.

His step father had smiled at him for once. And quit his job. Leaving the task of fending, not just for himself, but for two other people, to young Corey. And his mother supported it.

She always did. He couldn't remember the last time she took his side.

Another sigh and Corey flipped his computer on. It was the only expensive thing he owned. His step father limited the amount of money that was spent on Corey, and he wondered why he never opened his own account.

The reminder of his mother quickly provided him with an answer. She had begged him not too. Begged him to stay with her even after he turned eighteen. Out of the little bit of love he had, he promised he would. Until he could leave for college. The latter was kept to himself. If he told her his plans, she might guilt him into staying.

He signed into his account- BestGamer900. His head phones sat comfortably on his head. He gripped the controller and searched for a game on steam to play. With a small chuckle, he remembered there was an alert on a new mod coming to his favorite game.

Clash of thunder was the name of the game. A deep fantasy game with extensive world building, and fascinating characters. Corey’s character happened to be a gift from the game’s designer.

Because Corey had become so good, people online wanted to be able to play with him whenever they logged on. But they couldn’t tell what character was him as he only spoke a few words, and his name was on private setting, softly they might tell you. Some believe he doesn’t have a real voice or that he might be shy. Neither is true. His voice is a deep mix. He sounds both out of breath and gravelly each time he talks.

So he refuses too. His insecurities hold him back in that aspect. It’s bad enough that he looks like a walking corpse, he didn’t need to sound like one too.

The character design he was given was similar to the real him. The game designer had emailed him, and asked BestGamer900 to create a specific character for himself. Corey made a purple skinned demon, with black and gold eyes. The character had bandage wrap covering both of his arms. And jarred lines on the exposed half of his collar bone. And one more scar running from one end of his nose to the other.

Female gamers thought his character was hot, Corey called them liars in his head.

He thumbs the controller and the screen flashes with two warriors welcoming him to CLASH of THUNDER. He broke into a smile. Returning to his element always brought him small peace and joy.

The gamers that were online immediately started chatting with him, sending messages and request to voice call. Corey picked one, a link to some of the familiar people he often played the game with. The group voice & video chat opened up and he was greeted by a female gamer.

CrazyKatIsDead.

“Hellooooo. BG! Welcome back. How’d you like the new update?”

“It’s alright.” He muses, saying it barely higher than a whisper. The men in the group chat hollered at him, and CrazyKat’s voice was drowned out into the very corners of the call.

“Dude, the new map is difficult as hell. If you get any of the eight grade items you can add them to your world and actually-” the gamer was cut off by CrazyKat.

“-Become a thunder god!! Can you believe that BG?”

He gives a nod, before realizing that they can’t see him. His camera is never on. So he gave a grunt.

“I think he’ll be the first to become a thunder god tl be honest. People can’t beat BG at any game, let alone CLASH of THUNDER.” The male gamer from before says. He sounds very fond of Corey, and the praise makes the teen happy.

A feeling he’s rarely used too. It only occurs when he’s gaming.

“True. Remember league of legends?” Another female points out.

Corey restrained his chuckle. That had been fun, he recalls. He won with so much ease it wasn’t even consider a competition. The lobby had gone toxic so fast, people accused him of cheating and hacking. He could only fight back his laughter. Sure his father is using his gaming as a means to enjoy life, but Corey was just grateful he was allowed to play games.

"I have to start school tomorrow," he mumbled to himself. He needed a big win to carry him into the depressing final year of high school. A win always aided him. It made him feel something before the world stepped on it and reminded him endlessly about how horrible his existence has proven to be.

A message slides into his group chat. Everyone is too busy talking about Corey to even notice the player with no character ID. The player tags Corey in his next message.

@BestGamer900, how do you feel about an python to pentagon battle?

Corey’s eyes extended too far they nearly budged out if their sockets. He had read much on the new update. A dual P battle would give him an eight grade weapon if his challenger had one. That weapon would make him a thunder god depending on the speed and tactic he uses to win the battle. He was smart enough to do his research. The difficulty level on that challenge is wild.

But for Corey, the harder a game was, the more excited he got. Games were becoming too easy. This would prove enjoyable, depending on the height of the stakes.

He replied to the player’s message.

@GodofGames, do you have an eight grade weapon?

@BestGamer900, I have several, and you know, since I bought them instead or earning them I am not a thunder god. But I’m not challenging you for that rank. It's something else entirely.

Corey furrowed his brows, filled with confusion. If that wasn’t the case, then what did the player want.

@BestGamer900, I want the title you have. I have to be the best gamer. And to be the best, I have to beat the best. What’d you say, BG? If you win, you keep your title and become a thunder god. And if I win, let's just say your smooth record will be the talk of the industry.

Corey felt like he was being led into a trap. Never one to back out from a challenge, he accepted, and asked the gamer to join the voice chat. The player did, but said nothing. They were as quiet as Corey, but atleast he said a few words and his breathing could be a heard. This player though, not a single noise emanated from their mic.

Shrugging his shoulders, Corey waited for the player to drop the challenge in the game.

The other gamers had grown silent, they must have seen that a battle was to go down.

When the challenge dropped onto Corey’s screen, he took a deep breath, exhaled and formally accepted. The narrative voice welcomed both players.

Corey heard CrazyKat cheer his alter name. The other gamers joined her.

“Go BG!! KICK HIS ASS!”

"HE DOESN'T STAND A CHANCE BG!"

"LET'S GOOOOOO."

He grinned, feeling the pump of adrenaline. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in his mind that he might lose the game. He could never lose. This was the one thing excelled at. Gaming was his special ability. He took one look at the ring, and the defense GodofGames had created and immediately drew out six weak points in his mind.

“Why is it always like this?” Corey asked no one but himself.

Corey bit down his disappointment. This was going to be another easy game. He thought the gamer would bring him something he had never felt during a challenge, worry. But instead, they chose the systematic defense method because it has a high rate of bringing the win.

This person clearly works on robotic terms. They lack creativity. They have never met Corey, his brain works at 100%, faster than most human beings. The method this player chose could have given them the win over everyone, if you calculate the clash of thunder methodical statistics- meaning, their guide on how to win each level and game- you would find that every major player has won using this method.

It's tricky to form your army like that, when you do, you can attack from all angles, steal loot, and keep your main character safe.

It's a classic, and very easy to predict.

Corey never used that method. He used what he call NewAge. A method that allows his defenses to appear weak, mainly because his character is at the Frontline of the battle. It gives the other players an ego boost, thinking they can gain an easy win.

But they never do.

The narrative voice started again. “Warriors, get ready. Set. CLASH!” Two large sounds swung towards each other on the top of the screen, the sound of them clanging together was like a breath of fresh air for Corey.

The player waited for Corey to strike first, and he did. He shot his main character headfirst for the large ogre standing amongst several others. The ogres weapon, a second grade mallet, slammed into the head of his character, and Corey had to swallow his laugh. It was easy, yes, but so damn satisfying.

The character vanished. Appearing behind GodofGames’s main character. Corey flicked one button and severed the head clean off.

"BESTGAMER900! WINS! FATAL MASTER!" The narrative voice commended.

Victory slid atop his screen and the gamers in his chat went ballistic.

“Yo, that was too fucking easy!”

“How the fuck did you do that?”

“I swear he comes up with a new strat every time he plays! You can never study this guy.”

“BG! BG! BG! BG!”

“For real, that is humiliating. I think that’s the easiest win BG has ever gotten.”

"Who's da man of games?!"

"I would bury myself if I lost in under five seconds. Excuse me while I laugh my ass off."

Corey was crowned the CLASH of THUNDER’s first god of thunder. A nice tag was added to his private box. More loot. Free gems. Eight grade weapons from the other players. And a new character with a high skill set to aid him on scavenger missions. He checked for the player, and found that the person had logged off.

Corey felt it was a bit rude to do that without saying anything. He brushed off the nagging feeling that ate at his spine. Focusing on the people cheering for him and asking questions about his strategy. NewAge is a flexible strat. Corey can change it at any time depending on the fight and the player. That’s why people believed he invented a new strategy with each fight.

That would be a lot of work. He did something far better, not that he would ever tell them.

He played a few rounds with his new god like character before logging off. The gamers were sad to see him go. His schedule wasn’t consistent, they worried he wouldn’t be online for another week or more. He didn’t correct them or make any promises, he never did. He offered a faint farewell and shut his computer off.

Corey took a warm shower, sitting on the stool he kept there. The heat always burn his scars but it helped them heal as well.

He didn’t look at himself, he simply washed off and dried his skin with the utmost care. He wrapped a new set of bandages around them, and dabbed some ointment on the new bruises he had sustained. He took some painkillers, not caring that he would probably get sick from taking medication on an empty stomach.

Corey threw on his favorite gamer of the year hoodie, and track pants. Then he turned on his phone, buying time for his step father to wake up. The time read 4:30pm. His mother should be home any moment now. He would help her cook and then head to bed.

With the time reaching 4:50pm, Corey decided to check the news. He didn’t fancy TV shows, or movies, television was a bleak addition to His boring life. A new alert filled the screen, and Corey found fascination on what the reporter was saying.

“Engineering student at the Mercury university in a small town next to Arkansas, has been confirmed missing for the past two weeks. She was last seen leaving her college library to hang out at a local bar with her friends, but she never made it. Her friends said they waited four hours until they decided to return to their dorms. They called her number several times on their way back, and found the number did not exist. An odd occurrence for the county police department, as the surveillance shows the student walking out of the library but never leaving the school grounds. Her parents have reached out and are begging anyone with information to come forward. They’ve placed a reward of $2000, for anyone with real information on their daughter’s mysterious disappearance. The teen's name is, Pamela Anderson, and I urge you to come forward and contact her parents if you-”

Crashing from downstairs snapped Corey’s attention from the screen. The image of a lightly blonde haired female was presented. She was from his town. The college library isn’t too far from where Corey worked. Students came into the bakery every day. He chucked the missing woman to the very end of his mind, turned off the television, and dropped his phone on the bed.

“Show time." Corey noted with dry enthusiasm.

He exited the room just in time to hear his mother scream, and his step father's voice echo through their home.

“HOW COULD BUY THE WRONG TYPE OF BEER, YOU HORRIBLE SLUT?!”

While most would hurry to the rescue, Corey took a slowly approach. Casually walking down each step with his hands shoved into his pockets. He found out long ago that his step father yelled for the dumbest reasons.

Reasons dumber than the man himself.

The same beer he was complaining about, is the same one he drank every Sunday. He would kiss Corey’s mother and thank her for the beer. Then when 5pm rolled around, his mother would return home and wake her husband the moment from the sound of the front door closing.

He would drop the bottle, sending it crashing to the ground and then march his drunken ass over to her to begin his rant.

A smack resounded in Corey’s ear. He felt nothing, he couldn’t really understand why he came downstairs every Sunday at five pm anymore. Why he even bothered to save a woman who treated him like trash. But he still did. The first smack always made her cry. He heard her sobs as he entered the main entrance way. Bags of groceries laid on the floor. They contained items they were supposed to be used for a whole week’s dinner.

Corey stretched his right hand, dragging his mother behind him just as his step father swung again. The back beefy hand of the Caucasian man wrecked Corey’s cheek. And again, he noted how numb he was.

He didn't even flinch. His body moved, but he was empty throughout.

The research online showed how unhealthy it was for him to not feel anything, Corey knew he was damaged. He’d come to terms with it.

His step father glared him with eyes glazing over from the liquor. He couldn't even see straight. If Corey moved, the man would fall on his ass on the next swing and hopefully die.

But instead, he rooted his feet to the floor.

“Look if it isn’t the big man of the house. Mr big shot. Making your fancy money, and yet still leeching off me my living under my roof.” He dropped another her hit to Corey’s face, this one so loud Corey knew his neighbors must have heard it. Did they ever do anything? No.

He didn’t mention to his step father, Larry Turner, that Corey was paying the mortgage on the house. That would only anger the man.

His incompetence made his anger worse on Corey's mother.

Corey gave a shrug of his shoulders. Larry roared hit after hit after hit until his hand got tired of the abuse. Since Corey never cried, or made a noise, beating him had lost its appeal to Larry.

The man instead gurgled his throat, and spat next to Corey’s feet. He was too drunk to aim right. Corey watched the tubby body of his step father sway side to side, heading for the living room. As predicted, Larry never made it there. He dropped next to the steps.

He was one step away from entering the other room.

Corey turned to face his mother, reaching to wipe the tears from her face. She smack his wrist hard enough to sting, but he didn’t feel it. He knew this was a part of his Sunday routine but he never changed it. He hoped it made her feel better.

“How dare you? Your father-” step father, he corrected in his mind. But what difference did it make? His father was a useless drunk living the rest of his life in prison for statutory rape of a minor. Corey wanted nothing to do with either his father, or his father’s replacement. “- works hard to provide for us. And you dare to interrupt his discipline.”

She threw her right arm high, her eyes were weak, she wanted him to move. If he did, she wouldn’t feel as guilty as she always did after she beat him. He stayed in his position, tilting his head so she could slapped him the hardest she could.

She whimpered, her nails had cut a part of Corey’s cheek. Probably the same one his bullies had messed up. She stopped at one, turning away from him to cry and gather her grocery.

He knew the guilt was eating her up, Corey didn’t feel sorry for her. He had asked her to leave the pig, take his money, and start a new. Just the two of them. She reported it to her husband, and Corey was beaten till he passed out. He was then left in the basement to starve for three weeks after he woke up.

How could he feel sorry for her?

He aided her in carrying the bags. She avoided eye contact with him. Together they prepared a soothing dinner his step father and her would enjoy. He always let her take the credit for these dinners. He didn’t care who made it anyways, he didn’t eat the meal so who cares?

Corey returned to his room, feeling his mother’s gaze on him. She had become so frail and small since remarrying. Going from one asshole to another. He could only give his step father credit for not being interested in the underaged.

His phone lit up the moment he stepped in, and he grabbed it. An email from RuthX, the gaming company that made Clash of Thunder.

NEW GAME ALERT: A new game will be released tomorrow at 3pm. It’s called The Lock Keeper. We were thinking about keeping it a secret for a few more months but there’s no time like the present. Unfortunately, the game will only be released in CDs at Belloway, next to Arkansas. It’ll go country wide depending on how the game is received in that small town.

Corey batted his eyes, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A new game….on the same day he is to resume high school.

He laughed out loud, shakily brushing off the thought that this term might bring him some good luck. Life will always suck for him.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a new game.” he told himself. Plugging in his cellphone, and twisting the lock on his door. Corey slid under the covers, dreaming of himself, sitting alone in a dark room, with no one to disturb him.