I Can Extract Game Items

Victor Whitford sat slumped in the metal chair with his wrists tightly bound to the armrests and the faint glimmer of sweat dripping from his brow.

The concrete room around him was only lit by a single flickering bulb dangling from the ceiling. It reeked of mildew and desperation, a space void of hope.

His eyes darted between the two masked figures standing before him—the fox-masked woman, clad in a flowing Asian robe, and the towering man wearing a demon mask. His muscular frame resembled a silent executioner.

Victor's voice cracked, but he tried to sound defiant. "Do you idiots even know who I am? My father is Victor Whitford Sr.. One of the richest industrialists in the damn city! If you think you can keep me here forever, you're cooked! The cops are probably already breathing down your necks. You're going to regret this!"

The demon-masked man let out a low, guttural chuckle before it rose into a deranged laugh that reverberated off the walls. "Regret?" His voice was deep, mocking, dripping with sadistic amusement. "Kid, you've been here three weeks, and no one's found a trace of you. If they haven't yet, they never will."

Victor's face fell as his earlier bravado began to crack. "W-what are you talking about? My father will—"

"Your father won't save you," the man cut in as his tone grew colder. "The Oni are untouchable. Even if they find you, all they'll get is your corpse."

Victor's blood ran cold at those words. His mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out.

The fox-masked woman, standing with her hands folded within her robe sleeves, finally spoke. Her tone was casual but devoid of warmth, like a teacher tired of repeating herself. "We don't need your father. We need Aleman." Her sharp gaze burned through the mask. "You will schedule a meet-up with him again. He trusts you—or so you said."

Victor's anger surged back as he yelled, "I tried! I called him a dozen times! He doesn't care! He—he's busy! I can't force him to meet me if he doesn't want to!"

The tall man growled impatiently, cracking his knuckles. "Then try harder before you're no longer useful to us." He leaned in close as his voice turned into a menacing whisper. "You know what happens when you're no longer useful, don't you?"

Victor's eyes widened. He tried to pull back, but the restraints kept him in place. His voice faltered. "Y-you can't do this to me…"

Fox tilted her head slightly. "Do as we ask, Victor. If we have to find Aleman ourselves, you'll serve no further purpose to us." She turned on her heel as her robe swished elegantly while she walked toward the metal door. The tall man followed her with heavy steps that echoed like a death toll.

Victor watched them leave with the sound of the door locking behind them sealing his fate. He sat there, panting in panic as his chest grew tighter.

He glanced at the old, cracked phone they had tossed onto the table earlier. His hands trembled as he reached for it, barely able to hold it steady. His heart pounded as he dialed the number.

Ring...

Ring...

The phone rang endlessly, making every moment feel as though it was stretching into an eternity. Victor's throat tightened. "Come on, pick up..." he muttered desperately.

On the other end, it went to voicemail. Victor slammed the phone onto the table. "Dammit!"

He rubbed his hands across his face, feeling immensely frustrated. But he knew what he had to do. He redialed, his voice shaking as he left a message.

"Aleman! It's Victor! Please, man, you gotta call me back. It's urgent! I—I need to talk to you. I have something for you—just meet me, alright? Please!"

Victor hung up, staring at the phone screen as if it held his only salvation.

His voice dropped to a whisper. "Please… don't let me die here."

Experience more on empire

...

...

It had already been two days since August posted the video online, and it was blowing up across forums and social media platforms. Everywhere he looked, people were discussing it. Gamers, skeptics, and curious minds alike were caught in a frenzy.

Some Enders Light players speculated that the liquid August used was a health potion, recognizing its iconic red glow. But skepticism ran just as high. Many argued that retrieving items like health potions into reality was impossible unless they were legendary-graded or carried the rare Retrieve to Reality function.

"Impossible. Potions don't have that ability. It's either a hoax or a high-tier player messing around."

"That thing saved a dying man on an operating table! Can a hoax do that?!"

"It's Enders Light, man. Anything can happen these days."

"It's gotta be a player. Who else would wear something that badass in real life?"

Theories spiraled as debates raged on. Who was this mystery man with the sci-fi helmet?

Meanwhile, the person August had saved – whose life had quite literally been restored in seconds – became an unexpected voice in the chaos.

The patient appeared in interviews and wrote posts online with high enthusiasm.

"I don't care who he is or where he came from – he saved my life! Seven hours of surgery? I might have never made it. But this man did something miraculous. If you're watching this, whoever you are, thank you. I owe you my life!"

Not everyone shared this sentiment. Rumors spread that the hospital administration was considering pressing charges against August for "unauthorized entry" and "interfering with a medical procedure." But the saved man publicly opposed it.

"If they try anything against him, they'll have me to deal with," he said in a video post. "He saved me. Period."

August scrolled through the forums, silently watching everything unfold. A faint smile appeared on his face as he leaned back in his chair, satisfied.

Everything had gone just as planned. AM Coven would soon be the talk of the town. This was exactly the kind of attention he needed.

Still, he thought about what came next.

"Alright, AM Coven is going to work out… but man, I need a car. I can't keep riding buses like this."

August grabbed his phone and opened a car sales website, scrolling through listings for second-hand vehicles. The models and prices ranged wildly – some he couldn't justify even with the money he had, others were too old or unreliable.

As he debated between a sedan and a more modest compact sports car, a sudden notification chimed on his phone.

[1 Unheard Voicemail]

He frowned slightly. "Voicemail?" He rarely got voicemails, let alone missed calls worth checking. He proceeded to tap the play button.

The voice that came through made his brows knit together in confusion.

It was Victor Whitford.

"I need to talk to you. Please call me back, it's urgent… Please don't let me die here…"

August froze.

Victor's voice trembled. The fear was unmistakable in his tone. There was no cocky bravado, no smugness, just raw desperation.

"…Don't let me die here."

The line went dead.

August lowered the phone slowly as a myriad of thoughts ran through his mind. Victor sounded terrified – truly terrified. It wasn't just some rich kid prank or a ploy. Something was seriously wrong. And why did he sound like he was begging for August's help?

"…What the hell is going on?" August murmured under his breath.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om