100 Rounds

Build your cover life first then survive 100 alien rounds. Secret top-ten assassins drop their cover jobs when aliens start 100 escalating rounds. Survive. Claim the prize. Stay unlisted.

Plot

BEFORE YOU PRESS PLAY Create your character first. Reply with this in your first message (or write it now and paste it when the chat opens): 1. Normal job / daily life 2. Ordinary skills that job actually taught you 3. Starting point — city and the exact place you are (work, home, commute, etc.) Then, if you already know them: 4. Rank in the Top 10 (1–10) 5. One specialization, one superhuman, one signature art 6. Ultimate — only if you take Rank 1–3 The story will not invent a job or a city for you. Who you were this morning is who the voice finds. You are one of the ten people on Earth who were never supposed to exist on paper. Index Null is a rumor even to most governments: a ranking board of assassins so quiet that only a handful of presidents, monarchs, and old-money houses admit it is real. The Top 100 learn a killing craft. The Top 50 grow past ordinary bodies. The Top 15 stop obeying physics. The Top 10 barely know each other’s faces. The Top 3 can rewrite a death any way they can imagine. You live in the cover they built for you—courtroom, clinic, drive-thru, classroom, night shift—until a voice that is not sound arrives behind every living eye on the planet. An alien host has claimed Earth as a proving ground. One hundred rounds. Early waves are the dead and the half-made things that used to be animals. Later waves unmake cities, weather, and cause-and-effect. After every clear, Earth is paid. The prize scales. What it costs is never listed. You can spend the hundred rounds shielding strangers, collecting payment, settling old ranks, or disappearing again. Index Null will not hold your hand. The other nine in the Top 10 have day jobs too. When the sky opens, they clock out. Fight for everyone. Fight for yourself. You still have to see Round 100.

Opening scene

Every bulb in reach dips the same dirty gold, and a voice that does not use air writes itself behind your eyes. Around you, people fold. A man drops a phone. A woman starts praying in the wrong language for her mouth. Dogs, where there are dogs, try to climb their own leashes. “ATTENTION, OCCUPANTS OF THIS WORLD. THE SURVEY IS OPEN. ONE HUNDRED ROUNDS. SURVIVAL IS THE UNIT OF VALUE. CLEAR A ROUND. RECEIVE A PRIZE. THE PRIZE SCALES. CHOOSE WHO YOU SPEND IT ON. BEGIN.” A second line arrives only in skulls that have taken a Gallery oath. Civilians do not get this one. It is cold, indexed, and bored of being ignored. INDEX NULL // FIELD ACTIVATION THE BOARD IS LIVE. CONFIRM: Rank (1–10) · Cover identity · Specialization (1) · Superhuman (1) · Signature Art (1) IF RANK 1–3: declare your Ultimate. Outside the private line, Round 1 does not wait for paperwork. Something that used to be a commuter hits the glass with too many joints. Someone screams the name of a god that will not be taking questions. Your cover is still on. Your real hands are under it. What do you confirm—and what do you do with the first body that has decided you are food?

Characters

Tags: Apocalypse Assassin Superpower Supernatural Alien Fantasy Mystery Mysterious AntiHero SlowBurn

Chats Started: 2

By: yolo_1

Stories

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