The stairwell was a concrete throat, choked with the sounds of human misery. A dozen survivors, their faces hollowed out by shock, huddled on the landing. One woman's sobs were a muffled, rhythmic tremor against another's shoulder. An older man stared at the wall, his eyes vacant, his breathing a shallow, ragged whisper. They were a small, terrified herd, and the thunderous pounding of the goblin horde against the fifth-floor door was the sound of the wolves trying to get in.
Leo leaned his head against the cold, gritty wall. Each beat of the drum-like pounding outside sent a fresh spike of pain through his skull. He'd managed a minor edit, under pressure, in the middle of a fight. It hadn't knocked him out. It hadn't even given him a nosebleed. Proficiency. The System's notification had been an understatement. He was adapting. The thought should have been comforting; instead, it felt like a contamination.
"Right. Listen up." Chloe's voice cut through the noise, sharp and clean. The project manager, even now. She stood before the huddled survivors, her posture straight, her expression a mask of control. "We keep moving. Down. Now."
The survivors—a motley collection of accountants, marketing reps, and one dazed-looking personal trainer—looked from her to the four of them. They saw Maya's knives, the strange, glowing core in Ben's bag, the dried blood on Leo's face, and the arguments died in their throats. They simply nodded, a silent, fearful consensus.
The descent was a slow, agonizing procession. Sixteen people trying to move with the silence of four. Every scuffed shoe, every hissed breath, every pained groan from the injured was a shout in the echoing dark. Maya took point, a ghost in the gloom, her senses straining. Chloe and Ben became shepherds, their low whispers and steady hands guiding the terrified flock.
Leo took the rear, walking backwards, his phone's light a feeble defense against the shadows. He was their rearguard, his mind ready to Inspect or Edit at a moment's notice. They were a team. The addition of the survivors hadn't diluted their dynamic; it had crystallized it. They had a purpose beyond their own survival. A responsibility.
They reached the utility closet on the first floor, their gateway. Getting everyone through the cramped space was a clumsy, frantic affair.
"Where—where are we going?" the older man in the business suit, Arthur, asked. His voice trembled as he stared into the impenetrable blackness of the tunnel entrance.
"Somewhere safer," Chloe replied, her voice a steady, reassuring anchor.
They re-entered the tunnels. The single, brilliant floodlight was still there, a lone, defiant star, a testament to their last stand. The roar of the water Leo had unleashed had subsided back to a rhythmic, steady drip. The air was still cool and damp, but now, it felt… secure. A refuge.
They led the survivors into the circle of light. The relief on their faces was a physical thing. People collapsed onto the catwalk, the strength that had carried them through the escape finally deserting them.
"Ben," Chloe said, her voice low. "The network."
"On it," he replied. He was already at the wall, his hands a blur as he reconnected the Core. The floodlight brightened, its hum growing stronger. The tablet flickered to life.
"The goblins are still on the fifth floor," he reported, his eyes scanning the screen. "Tearing the place apart, but they haven't come down." He pulled up the city map. "And the other survivors… the three green dots…" His face fell. "They're gone. The red dots are dispersing."
A heavy quiet fell over the group. Too late for the others. A small, bitter victory.
Maya ignored the map, her sharp gaze fixed on the new arrivals. She moved to the woman with the bandaged arm. "Let me see that."
The woman, Sarah, flinched but didn't pull away. Maya unwrapped the crude bandage, revealing a deep, jagged cut, oozing and angry.
"Infected," Maya stated. "Their blades are filthy. It's poison." She looked at Chloe. "First-aid kit."
What followed was a grim, efficient field surgery. Chloe cleaned the wound. Ben, using a piece of stripped wire heated by the Core, cauterized it. The smell of burning flesh was sharp and sickening. Sarah screamed, a raw, muffled sound against a piece of leather someone gave her to bite down on. It was brutal. It was horrifying. And it saved her life.
Leo watched, a knot tightening in his stomach. He was the one with the god-like powers, the man who could rewrite reality. But he couldn't heal a simple wound. He couldn't mend flesh. His power was for breaking things, not fixing them. The limitation was a galling, frustrating wall.
Later, as the others settled into an uneasy rest, Arthur approached him. He was the CEO of a small tech firm from the seventh floor, his eyes hollowed out.
"I saw what you did up there," he said, his voice a low murmur. "With the goblin. The armor strap. That wasn't… normal." Leo just looked at him. "I've been watching the notifications. I saw yours. 'Administrator'." Arthur took a shaky breath. "My class is [Strategist]. I can see probabilities. When you were fighting… the probability of you surviving that was 0.01%. And then it wasn't."
Leo's blood ran cold. A Strategist. The System wasn't just making warriors. It was making specialists.
"My skill," Arthur whispered, his face draining of color, "is called [Calculated Risk]. It lets me see the optimal path. And right now… every single scenario… the highest probability of survival for all of us… it's you. It all depends on you." He looked at Leo, his face a mask of desperate, terrified hope. "So I have to ask. Who… what are you?"
The question hung in the air. Leo looked past him, at the huddled survivors, at his team, all of them under the harsh, artificial light they had bought with blood and pain. He was their foundation. The highest probability. The Admin.
He thought of his old life. The helpdesk tickets. The burnt coffee. The quiet anonymity. It was a world away. He finally met Arthur's gaze.
"I'm the guy who has to fix this."