Circa 2150

  A meteorite is spotted heading for Earth, a few years out. Space agencies determine a collision will render the planet unable to sustain life as they know it. Further investigations determine current technology to be incapable of diverting the meteorite safely.

  Circa 2151

  The Ark is constructed and loading commences. The Ark is a combination clone factory, terraforming engine and virtual space run by the most advanced computer systems created by man, loaded into a spacecraft designed to seek out a potentially habitable world and restart humanity. As many works of man as can be accessed in time are stored digitally, along with virtual copies of all humans, and instances of as many other types of life, it was possible to bring to an upload site in time, to live simulated lives while the Ark travels.

  It is accepted that these people will live out the rest of their lives in a virtual existence, as will their descendants up until the generation who will be uploaded into new bodies, cloned from versions within the simulation.

  Circa 2152

  The Ark launches, further Arks bearing copies of the same data due for launch when finished, until the destruction of Earth.

  June 2152

  The Earth is destroyed. Successful Ark launches: unknown.

  Circa 2200

  An unforeseen programming or hardware error starts to impact the archive of fiction. Effects unknown.

  Circa 2500

  A group of children access the core archive code, managing to connect it to gaming programs.

  Circa 3200

  The card game formed within the virtual space has spread to all reaches of the virtual space. The ability for the data manager program to update and expand in real time sees game become central aspect of the virtual space.

  Circa 4040

  The tendency for new creations to produce card versions is noted.

  Circa 5000

  The method to turn objects into cards is discovered.

  Circa 8000

  The last recorded case of a new object creating a card.

  9999 December 31 23:59:59 + 1

  Inconsistent date storage leads to Ark systems no longer synchronising properly. Date can no longer be measured properly.

  Date unknown

  Emissions of pulsar classed star impact hardware, results currently unknown.

  Corruption detected within data manager program.

  The first recorded case of a person being turned into a card.

  Ongoing damage to code.

  Emergency functions failure.

  Final emergency protocol activates.

  []

  It was said the world was formed from countless zones, each with their own hazards and opportunities.

  If so, Cross was stuck in the worst.

  He, like his friends, had been left in the scrapheap, the dumping grounds for an unknown number of different zones, by his parents. Whether he had been abandoned or… not.

  In any case, life in the scrapheap meant searching through the detritus of those who got to live in the city, the frontier and who knows what other zones (certainly the factory, if it was real, but you couldn't trust everything Rusty said), trying to find anything they could trade (sometimes fixing up or completely rebuilding first) for food and water to stave out the pain or security while you slept, to keep what meagre belongings you didn't trade safe.

  Or sometimes, even cards.

  Sure, they had all been abandoned (unless you got a lot luckier than a heaper kid could ever expect and found a spawn node, but those only seemed to survive a few drops before failing), but there were only two ways for them to escape the heap.

  First, if they managed to secure an absolute fortune from trade. The sort of money where, days before, even the most trustworthy of security would have robbed you blind, looking to escape themselves. Not that the guards cared where you got the money or how old you were, just that you could grease their palms.

  Second, to take a complete deck (52 deck cards, no more than four with any specific name) and defeat one of the zone guardians, earning permission to travel zones from the DMP, whatever that meant.

  The thing was, cards were the only objects that couldn't be stolen, couldn't be lost by accident.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  So while Cross hadn't needed security to protect his deck, it was made entirely of cards other people had decided to throw out, not even trying to trade or sell them.

  So right now, he wasn't ready to face a guardian, not with the rumours of what happened if you lost.

  He hadn't even got enough cards from any archetype to tell if he had any archetype cards!

  His friends were doing better on that front, Rusty, Aurora and Blanc each having an identifiable archetype at the heart of their deck, but they had agreed long ago that they were getting out together.

  So here he was, enough salvage stowed for the days expenses, scouting another stack for any cards to upgrade his deck.

  He had caught a glimpse of what looked like the corner of a card, leading to him climbing the tower of rubbish, only to discover it was just some kind of sign, the name scratched out before it was thrown away.

  A glance upwards told Cross that there weren't going to be any cards up there unless he was willing to dig, so instead he started climbing down.

  And then it happened.

  He was putting his hand back into one of the convenient climbing holes the heaps always provided, when he closed his hand around something loose in the stack.

  He had already let go with his other hand when he realised, giving him a moment of horror before he was falling through the air.

  Minutes later his back hit the lowest level of the heaps, pain shooting through his body like every time he slipped.

  He waited it out, letting the pain fade before looking at what had caused his fall.

  And his eyes went wide.

  “A spawn box.”

  It was the first he'd ever seen, but there was no mistaking it.

  From what he'd heard of spawn nodes, usually cards only spawned in the heaps one at a time, but here he'd managed to find a group of entirely new cards, almost certainly members of the same archetype, ready to become the heart of his deck.

  He popped the lid of the box, drawing out the cards with trembling fingers.

  There were four of them, ranging in level from 4, essentially taking two turns to play, up to the first level X he'd ever seen, each with a black background and white text rather than the normal colours of fighter cards.

  No matter what, people didn't throw out a card as rare as a level X, and those that managed to obtain such a card never came to the scrapheap, the card marking them as too important to bother with somewhere like this.

  Looking higher on the cards, Cross identified the word they had in common, the archetype they belonged to.

  “Harbinger…”

  “Cross,” the unmistakable voice of Aurora called out as she slid down one of the nearby heaps towards him, “you've got to help. Quickly,” she was already trying to pick him up to his feet, despite being orders of magnitude lighter than him, as the thinnest member of the group.

  Cross tucked his new cards away with his collection, making a note to look them over properly later and add them to his deck, and forced himself to his feet.

  “What's wrong,” he asked, trying to keep up with Aurora as she led him away.

  “It's Crash, he took Rusty's deck.”

  Cross felt his blood go cold.

  “Rusty bet his deck?” A deck that all of them had helped him make, trading the few suitable cards that reached their hands to the boy who'd collected a solid core of them first. “What did Crash bet in return?”

  “His own deck, with all sorts of cards he could only get outside the heaps.”

  Cross grit his teeth.

  It made sense.

  Crash wasn't a heaper like him and his friends, but a city resident who enjoyed coming down to rub his supposed superiority in their faces.

  Such as the decks filled with cards the heapers couldn't hope to get their hands on he kept showing off, always changing up the entire deck whenever he lost, dismissing the cards as worthless tools he only kept to prevent any heapers from claiming them.

  But this was the first time he'd bet any of his cards (even if he had won on rare occasions).

  “He wants to ‘prove himself better than me’, I take it.”

  “After all the times you beat him, a chance to beat you and claim your deck was the only way we could get him to wager any of Rusty's cards,” was Aurora's apologetic response.

  “I don't blame you,” Cross assured her, even as he winced internally at the idea of losing his deck, the best 52 cards he'd found or traded for, not counting his recent find and those he'd traded to his friends. “But why only some?”

  “He switched them into his deck, and was only willing to wager a full deck.”

  This time the wince wasn't just internal.

  He wasn't just playing against Crash and his deck, but against some of Rusty's cards too, maybe even ones he'd traded him.

  “Any idea why he wanted them?”

  “Well-”

  “Come now,” called out the arrogant voice of Crash in a tone of false cordiality, “surely you know the basic etiquette not to learn the contents of a deck without playing against it?”

  Cross hadn't noticed that they'd turned a corner into the informal arena they'd made for their matches, too intent on his discussion with Aurora, but here they were.

  He spared a glance to the side, where Blanc was comforting Rusty as he tried to fashion a deck from the remnants of his collection, the cards they held onto for trading purposes, before turning his attention back to Crash.

  “So a single match, you and me, our decks as the stakes?”

  “But of course! My cards may be far more valuable than anything you could hope to set your eyes on, but as my etiquette teacher always says it is the duty of the highborn to extend compassion to our lessers.”

  “I'll go first,” Cross snapped back, the effort to keep his temper around Crash harder than ever from the hypocrisy and being made to face his friends cards.

  “Very well.”

  And with that, a shudder ran through the heaps as the system acknowledged the start of the match, walls of light forming to separate them from their audience.

  The starting hands of seven cards appeared before them, and Cross glanced to the side to confirm he had the full 100 starting life, all too aware of the rumours of people starting with less due to injuries before a match.

  Confirming everything was good, he looked at the hand properly.

  A couple of fighters, but all of them costing more than the two levels he received this turn.

  And none of his better level 3 or 4 either.

  “Special draw,” he declared, his hand revealing itself to Crash, who'd already seen him play each of the cards in previous matches and demonstrating his inability to bring out a fighter this turn.

  That formality complete, he spoke, quietly, the name of the card to replace his normal draw.

  “Steampunk Tank.”

  It was often considered bad manners not to call out a special draw loud enough for the opponent to hear, but it didn't break any rules, and Crash had long demonstrated a complete lack of any manners in his matches.

  The chosen card appeared in Cross’s hand, ready for next turn.

  In many ways it was one of his stronger cards, at level 4 being cheap enough to play on his second turn while its lack of effect left it stronger than most level 4’s in terms of raw strength.

  “Now, activate Super Counterblow, back row.”

  Another theoretically strong card, limited by its long build up and how easy it could be to play around.

  Not that he'd ever drawn it early enough to use its effect before, the copy he'd traded to Rusty seeing a lot more use.

  “And turn end.”

  “Draw,” Crash drawled, an eighth card appearing before him. He flashed what was clearly supposed to be a smile. “You see, unlike some people I can manage to draw something useful, even without a special draw like the one you wasted. Like these in fact. I summon a Spear Legionary and a Shield Legionary!”

  Even without his experience with Rusty's deck, the way Crash could play two fighters in one turn made it clear that they would either both be level 1 or a level 1 or 2 and a level 0, the similarity in name suggesting to an experienced player the former.

  As was indeed the case, with the two near identical soldiers forming in the arena between them. The only differences were their titular weapons and stats.

  Spear Legionary

  Atk: 7 Def: 1 Life: 2 Level: 1

  Passive effect: all other ‘Legion’ fighters gain 1 Atk

  Shield Legionary

  Atk: 1 Def: 7 Life: 2 Level: 1

  Passive effect: all other ‘Legion’ fighters gain 1 Def

  That was the trick about the Legionary archetype, it consisted nearly entirely of level 1 fighters, each of whom boosted the statline of the other fighters.

  With time, and a way to draw extra cards, a Legionary deck could turn even these, the weakest of all fighters, into powerhouses capable of taking on a level X fighter.

  “And now, my Legionaries will attack directly,” Crash declared, and Cross braced himself for the impact of shield and spear.

  There wasn't any pain from damage in a match, but it could still knock you off your feet.

  “And your turn, unless you wish to forfeit,” Crash patronised, letting Cross start his second turn in what was honestly a better position than most matches he'd been in against Crash, with seven cards in his hand and 91 life to Crash’s six and 100 life