Blind Gambit - A Gamelit Novel: Blind Gambit, #1

By Jon Cronshaw

Brian's world is shrinking as his vision fades, but a revolutionary implant offers an escape: Gambit, a virtual reality where he can see again.

 

As Neuromantik, he finds purpose and friendship in this digital realm.

 

When a mysterious hacker threatens to destroy Gambit, leaving players with crippling migraines, Brian discovers he's immune.

 

Suddenly, he's thrust into a race against time to save the game – and the only place he feels truly alive.

 

But as Brian hones his skills in Gambit, he meets Rebecca, a blind girl who challenges him to navigate the real world in new ways.

 

Caught between two realities, Brian must confront his fears, forge unlikely alliances, and uncover a conspiracy that blurs the lines between virtual and real.

 

Blind Gambit is a gripping tale of resilience, friendship, and the quest for identity in a world where reality is just a matter of perception.

 

Will Brian find the courage to face his challenges head-on, or lose himself in a game where the stakes are higher than he ever imagined?

 

Get your copy now.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wyvern Books, Ltd
• Release date: Dec 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215456415

Jon Cronshaw

Jon Cronshaw writes fantasy and speculative fiction brimming with adventure, escapism, and an exploration of life's big questions. He lives with his wife and son in Morecambe, England.

Book preview

1. Moira Brown’s Boys

The dead city spawned around me, looming grey concrete and twisted steel. I crouched behind the shell of a burnt-out car, a metal husk in black and rust. Glass shards glinted on the road’s surface. Shifting my gaze across the buildings, I scanned for movement—searching for the dead, looking for my enemies.

The rest of my team spread out ahead, their locations blinking in green on my radar. FragQueen sprinted off to my right, skirting a building before disappearing around a corner. Harley followed close behind, moving between shadows.

Their avatars were too similar to tell apart at a glance. Both wore the same athletic female body and long brown hair. Harley’s face was dark and round, with wide brown eyes—she complained there was no option for curls. FragQueen wore a ghostly-white face with pale blue eyes.

We all sported the same brownish-grey coveralls.  

I scanned the rooftops, searching for a vantage point—a place I could hide and watch over the mission. Something flickered past a crumbling stone archway. There’s something in that church, I said, warning the others.

What you seeing, Neuro? Talk to me, bro. Socko’s booming voice crackled through his low-grade headset as he overtook me, charging ahead with a power-mace gripped in his right hand. His avatar was the type of thing a twelve-year-old would pick in a wrestling game—tattooed, bulky, and a foot taller than everyone else. A Mohawk crowned the top of his head. He had the wasteland look going on for sure.

Raising my rifle, I brought up the sight, the world turning from hues of browns and greys to a sweep of green and white. I focused on the church, taking aim at the zombie. It’s a deadhead. Want me to take it down?

I got this one, bro. Socko bolted forward, power-mace swinging.

You know, you don’t have to use your weapon until you’re on them?

Screw you, Neuro. I’m taking this deadhead out.

I dropped my sight and brought up my HUD. FragQueen and Harley moved east. The target glowed red to the north-east, the mission a simple in-out, capture the flag deal. Or at least it would be if we didn’t have to contend with The Inconceivable.

Approaching the church, I saw Socko going hand-to-hand with a low-level zombie. I took aim and let out a shot. The bullet ripped through the air, ricocheting off the doorway, sending out an explosion of stone and dust. Crap, I muttered, reloading.

Socko swung at the ghoul, smashing into its head. It crumpled to the ground, fading to nothing. Un-freaking-believable, Neuro. You suck as a sniper.

Yeah, yeah. I’m still a noob.

It’s bad form, bro. We’re meant to be working together, not trying to steal kill points.

I nodded to myself. Sorry about that. I’ll remember next time.

A stairwell descended from a rooftop on the end of a row of buildings to my right. I turned and climbed, metal clanging beneath my feet. From the top, the other buildings extended in all directions. I brought up my map again, lining it up with the world around me. Socko, head north-east. I’ll cover you.

Got you, bro. If I swing at something, it’s mine. He left the church and ran on ahead. Where you at, FragQueen? I need you to get those mines down, bro.

Bro? That's no way to talk to a lady.

Bite me, FragQueen. You're about as freaking ladylike as Hulk Hogan.

And you're about as sexist as...I dunno, someone really sexist.

Now, now, you two, I said, holding in a laugh.

He started it, FragQueen said.

I sighed. Can’t you just say sorry to each other? We’re supposed to be a team.

She called me sexist, bro.

And you said she was about as ladylike as Hulk Hogan.

She can claim she's a girl all she wants, but we all know FragQueen’s probably just some fat forty-six-year-old pervert from Detroit with the same physical stature as Doctor Robotnik.

I’m not even American.

You want us to win this, or what? I asked. Stop fighting.

You're right, bro. Sorry, FragQueen.

Sorry for implying you’re a sexist pig. I know that's not strictly true.

Strictly? snapped Socko.

Guys. Seriously.

Sorry, Neuro, said FragQueen.

Yeah, bro.

I let out an exasperated groan, making sure it was loud enough to be heard by the others. Any signs of The Inconceivable?

Nothing here, said Harley. These fools are too good.

It’s clear, bro.

Frag? I ran along the rooftop’s edge, checking the street below.

I’m just putting some mines out near this medi-pack.

Just grab the pack, bro, and keep going.

But I want to blow things up.

Seeing nothing, I dropped down to the road below, the landing taking a small chunk of my health. Bullet holes peppered the brickwork while rusted cars stood in silence.

You see anyone, Neuro? FragQueen asked.

Nothing...yet.

I don't like this.

Harley? I asked. What are you seeing?

I've got a positive on their scout. I'm tracking them as we speak.

I checked my map for Harley's position and charged between a pair of buildings to my right, heading in her direction. Climbing to the roof, I headed to the edge and took out my rifle, locating her in my sight. I’ve got you covered, Harley.

I caught a fleeting glimpse of The Inconceivable’s scout gliding past in stealth-mode towards her. I took aim and held my breath. When I pulled the trigger, the bullet fizzed through the air, burrowing into bare concrete. Harley, you’ve got a scout coming up at your rear. I tried shooting him.

That’s because you suck, Neuro, Socko’s voice crackled.

Whatever. Lowering my rifle, I reloaded and took aim again. I located Harley, and swept around her position, searching for the scout. Harley, you got a visual?

Negative on that.

I spotted The Inconceivable’s leader standing with his back against the wall at the end of an alleyway, longsword drawn. Harley, it's an ambush.

What the— An explosion cut her voice short.

Frantic, I checked the map. We’ve lost Harley.

Un-freaking-believable, said Socko. I can't believe this crap. Right, bro, this is it. Let's do this. It's time to kick ass and chew bubblegum—and I'm all out of gum.

If you wanted gum, I've got some you can have, said FragQueen.

I don't want any of your freaking gum, FragQueen.

Checking Socko’s and FragQueen’s locations, I let out a sigh.

Neuro, what happened? What can you see? Talk to me, bro.

I scanned between the buildings and Harley's last position, but saw no signs of the enemy. There was at least two of them—their scout and melee guy.

Why didn't you shoot them, bro?

I missed.

That’s weak, bro. FragQueen, you head north, let off a few grenades, pull them out of hiding.

You're the boss. A line of grenades exploded to the east with iridescent flashes.

I shook my head. Frag. You're leaving a trail behind you. If their sniper didn't spot you before, he'll have got you in his sights by now.

Well, maybe if you and Socko could agree on— FragQueen's voice cut out.

Another one bites the dust, I sang.

Damn it, Socko shouted. You know how much I hate Queen.

Let me get to the flag. You double-back, try to create a diversion. Maybe set off some of FragQueen's mines.

You sure you can do this, bro? Just asking because I know how much you completely suck at this.

I’ve got this. Scrambling down the ladder, I ran full-speed towards the flag. Explosions rang out in the distance, accompanied by a ripple of gunfire.

They got me surrounded, br—

You still there? Socko?

No reply.

The flag fluttered in a doorway ahead. I glanced over my shoulder at the barrel of a sniper rifle, my screen turning black before I could react.

I returned to our private forum. A long crimson sofa stood flush against the wood-panel wall. FragQueen sat with her back to me, dressed in full anime schoolgirl garb—knee socks, sailor skirt, all blues and whites, a bright red bow tied around her neck. She looked at me with big manga eyes.

Oh my God, bro. We freaking sucked out there. He flopped onto the couch to Frag’s right.

We should study the replay, Harley said, standing in front of the wall screen, her avatar no different than in-game. We need to see where we went wrong. She scrolled through the menus, bringing up the main scoreboard.

I’m just putting this out there, Harley, we don’t need a replay to know we’ve got freaking Stevie Wonder as our sniper.

FragQueen turned to him, face reddening. That’s not cool.

I raised my hands. What did I do? I’m pretty sure I was last out.

You suck, Neuro. You hear me? S-U-C-K, suck.

I don’t even know who Stevie Wonder is. I take it he’s another wrestler?

Socko sprang to his feet and ran over to me, head filling most of my view. You’ve got to be freaking kidding me, bro. Stevie Wonder. Innervisions, Higher Ground, Superstitious. He shook his head, eyes turning to question marks. What’s wrong with you? If you’re trying to wind me up...

I grinned.

He did that Ebony and Ivory, I think, FragQueen said. It was about racial harmony.

Socko flashed her a glare. That song sucked, and you know it, FragQueen. You’re all freaking philistines.

I think that’s racist. She tossed her hair back. Philistinians have as much right to be on this Earth as anyone else.

Bite me, FragQueen, I don’t have time to listen to your asinine crap.

If you don’t like Ebony and Ivory, I think that makes you doubly racist. She folded her arms, offering me a smile.

I took a step back and turned to Harley. I take it we’re still down?

She pulled her gaze from the screen and nodded. We’re last.

I followed her finger down the leaderboard until Moira Brown’s Boys flashed at the bottom, several places down from The Inconceivable. I can’t believe we’re at the bottom.

It’s because you suck, Neuro.

A unit is only as good as their leader, Harley said, narrowing her eyes at Socko.

I’m just messing. He gave a long sigh. We should watch something, bro. We could carry on watching the Royal Rumbles. I’ve got 1991. I think Ric Flair wins. It’s meant to be awesome.

Spoiler alert, Harley said.

I’m bored with wrestling, said Frag. Let’s watch a movie. She shot to her feet. We could watch Robocop again. I’ve got the cut for TV where all the swears were replaced with badly dubbed food-stuffs.

That’s baloney, Harley said.

I really don’t mind, I said. I just love spending time with Socko. He’s always such a great guy to be around. I don’t know whether it’s his wit, his charm—

Screw you, Neuro.

I shrugged and turned back to see Harley still scrolling through the leaderboards. How are the solo rankings?

She shook her head. You don’t want to know.

Seriously, it can’t be worse than our team rank.

You’re bottom.

Oh. I lowered my gaze. As in, bottom of our team?

Bottom, bottom. As in, bottom of everything.

Oh.

She brought up our individual rankings, scrolling past the hundreds of names. HarleyQ, Socko316, and FragQueen flicked past. And there I was, Neuromantik, blinking red at the bottom. I hate to admit it. She offered me a grin. Socko’s right. You really do suck.

I’ll get there. Just need to keep practising.

You ever considered taking up a different specialism? Your perception’s too low for you to be effective as a sharp-shooter.

I sighed. I like this team. If I change, I’ll have to find a new crew. I’d miss you guys too much...even Socko. Who else has an encyclopaedic knowledge of 80s and 90s wrestling?

And pornstars, Harley said. Don’t forget the pornstars.

We love you, Neuro, said FragQueen.

Socko looked up from his seat. Yeah, bro. But we can’t keep losing like this. You need to seriously up your game, otherwise we’re going to have to find a new sniper.

I’ll try. It’s just— I felt a tap at my shoulder in the real world. I need to go.

You back later, bro? We got some Street Fighter to do.

Turbo or Super?

Four, bro. Best one.

I shook my head. So you can spam me with Sagat again?

If you can’t beat an awesome strategy, that’s your luck-out.

It’s boring, Harley said.

Yeah, we should have a Sagat ban, said FragQueen. And no more Ryus either. I’m going to be Dan. Socko hates it when I beat him with Dan.

It’s just because a Dan victory counts for double, I said.

FragQueen gave an exaggerated shrug. And if you lose. Whatever...it’s Dan.

Socko shook his head. Whatever. Get your excuses in early. I’m gonna enjoy kicking all your asses.

No Sagat, I said.

Bite me, Neuro.

I’m done, I said, waving him off. See you later.

Take it easy, bro.

Yeah, bye, Harley said, still looking at the screen.

I logged out and the forum faded to black.

2. Limitations

The real world swirled back to the front of my consciousness, a kaleidoscope of blurs and formless colours. It never gets better than this for me.

Your tea is on the table, Mum said. You coming down?

I got to my feet and pressed the back of my hand against the wall to my right, wallpaper soft beneath my fingers.

You need my arm?

I shook my head. I'll be down in a second.

Waiting until I heard her reach the bottom of the stairs, I followed her down. Touching the doorframe, I reached out for the banister, making my way down twelve steps and past the first door to the kitchen. The smell of sausage mingled with Mum’s lavender reed diffuser. The TV remained on in the sitting room, voices garbled through the closed door.

You’ve been on that game awhile, she said.

I shook my head and wandered over to my seat, feeling its back before pulling it out and sitting down, wood scraping on floor tiles. Not this, again.

I just wish you’d go and see people.

See? I groped for my knife and fork, and ran a finger around the plate, discerning its rim.

You know what I mean. I cut your sausages for you.

You really didn’t need to do that.

Pieces of sausage stood at ten o'clock on my plate, a pair of soggy potato waffles at two o'clock, and a pool of beans at six. I licked the tomato sauce from my finger and drove my fork into the first chunk of sausage, lifting it to my mouth, steam rising up my nose.

I was talking to Margaret earlier. She was saying you should apply for a guide dog. It would get you out of the house more, give you some responsibility.

I don't want a dog, I said, between mouthfuls. I may as well just walk around with a big sign saying 'blind guy coming through'—I’m not doing that. It’s bad enough already.

Clearing her throat, Mum shuffled on her seat. I sensed her leaning forward and she touched the back of my head.

What are you doing? I ducked, flinching.

At least that scar's clearing up, she said. If I’d have known that implant would have been so invasive, I don’t think I would have signed those papers.

So, you'd rather I just sit around doing nothing?

Oh, Brian, she sighed. Why do you have to be so dramatic?

I shook my head and shovelled a pile of beans into my mouth, their ovoid forms squashing against my tongue.

You've been up in that room of yours for goodness knows how many hours. It's not right. It’s not healthy.

What’s the problem? I get to hang out with people I like. I get to watch movies. I can do all the things that normal people get to do.

Don't ever think you're not normal. You just need to be more willing to accept your limitations.

Give up, you mean?

No, I mean that you don’t need to be afraid or ashamed of accepting support. Margaret is worried about you. I'm worried about you. She tells me you’ve been very hositile to some of the solutions she’s been suggesting for you.

What's it got to do with Margaret?

She’s supposed to be your social worker. She’s meant to help you. You never talk to her. She can't support you if you refuse to be helped.

I don't need her help.

Mum reached for my hand and held it. Brian, please. I know this must be hard for you. But you don't have to do this alone. You get that pride from your dad, and look what that did.

I jerked my hand away, jaw clenching. That's not fair. It's completely different.

"You don't have any friends. What happened to Mike and Akash? You used to see them