The journey down was a descent into a different kind of hell than the one she had just escaped. The stairwell, which had been her escape route, now felt like a concrete tomb, a vertical coffin dropping her floor by agonizing floor into the unknown.
The door to the roof swung shut behind her, sealing her in. Her only light was the thin, nervous beam of her phone's flashlight, cutting a frantic path through the absolute darkness. Without her heels, the sharp click-clack of her ascent was replaced by the soft, wet slap of her bare feet on the gritty concrete, a sound that seemed obscenely loud in the profound quiet.
For some reason, the entire fifty-story tower was silent. Utterly, unnervingly silent. The distant symphony of screams and destruction from the city outside was a muffled, impotent roar, unable to penetrate the thick layers of steel and concrete. Here, inside, there was nothing. No alarms, no panicked shouting, no sounds of struggle. Just the whisper of her own ragged breathing and the frantic drumming of her heart against her ribs. The silence was a coiled snake, a waiting predator, and with every flight of stairs she descended, the tension in her shoulders tightened until it was a solid bar of ice.
She passed the twenty-seventh floor, her floor, and for a sickening moment, her flashlight beam lingered on the stenciled number. She could almost see it: Brenda from accounting, her face a mask of disbelief as one of those horned beasts crashed through the window; Mark, his condescending smirk wiped away by pure terror as claws found his throat. She imagined the cubicle farm, once a monument to beige monotony, now painted in arterial red, spreadsheets and TPS reports scattered among broken bodies.
A wave of nausea rolled through her, and she forced the images away, shoving them into a dark corner of her mind. No. She preferred not to think about them. Thinking about them meant acknowledging that they were real people, not just background characters in her former life. Thinking about them would break her.
She moved with a newfound stealth, trying to make her footsteps as whisper-light as possible, though a cynical part of her brain doubted it made any difference. If something was hunting in this silence, it would likely hear her heart pounding anyway. Down and down she went, a ghost in her own office building, past floors filled with unimagined horrors, until she finally reached the bottom. The fire door leading to the lobby was ajar, a sliver of the hellish red twilight leaking through. She didn't even consider it. Instead, she pushed through another heavy door marked 'B1', and the air changed. The sterile concrete dust of the stairwell was replaced by the cool, familiar smell of gasoline, rubber, and engine coolant. She was in the parking garage.
A breath she hadn't realized she was holding escaped her in a long, shaky sigh. It felt safer down here, the wide-open space a relief after the claustrophobia of the stairs. But the relief was fleeting. The darkness here was thicker, broken into a thousand jagged shadows by the hulking shapes of sedans and SUVs. Emergency lights flickered intermittently, casting the scene in strobing, grotesque flashes. A child's car seat lay on its side next to a minivan with all its doors flung open. A single, expensive-looking loafer sat forlornly in the middle of the aisle. The evidence of panic was everywhere. Stifling the urge to call out, she crept along the wall, using the parked cars for cover as she searched for the ramp leading up to the street.
The moment Riley emerged from the concrete throat of the garage, the world hit her like a physical blow. The muffled sounds she'd heard from the stairwell were a lie, a pale imitation of the reality now screaming in her face. This was not chaos. This was an orchestra of annihilation, and she had just stepped onto the stage. The sky bled a venomous, pulsating red. Smoke, thick and black, billowed from the upper floors of neighboring skyscrapers, ugly plumes against the diseased clouds. And everywhere, there were monkeys.
A whole bunch of them, a chittering, screeching plague of Flame-Horned Macaques, swarmed the streets. They leaped from the hood of one car to the roof of another, crushing metal under their weight. One clung to the side of a bus, methodically punching its claws through the windows, while the screams from within grew fainter. They tore down traffic lights for sport, their horns blazing with malevolent fire, and hurled chunks of broken pavement into storefronts with shrieks of primal glee. This was hell. This was probably what hell looked like.
People were everywhere, a frantic, terrified tide of humanity. Some ran blindly, their screams cut short as a monkey dropped on them from above. Some tried to hide, crouching behind burning cars or crawling into shattered shop doorways, only to be dragged out seconds later. But some... some were fighting back.
Amidst the pandemonium, Riley's eyes locked on a woman who couldn't have been much bigger than her, yet she wielded a twisted length of metal rebar torn from a construction site, a pole easily twice her height. She swung it in a brutal, elegant arc, her movements economical and deadly, smashing monkey skulls with a sickening crunch. Over there, a man in a ripped business suit, his face a mask of pure fury, grabbed a macaque by its horns and, with a roar that seemed to shake the very ground, slammed its head into the asphalt until it was nothing more than a red paste. And then, most astonishingly, Riley saw a girl, maybe a teenager, standing on the steps of the public library. As a monkey charged her, she simply pointed a finger, and a brilliant blue beam of pure energy shot out, punching a clean, smoking hole straight through the creature's chest.
Oh, right. The game. The players. A dizzying wave of understanding washed over Riley. Of course it wasn't just her. The sky had broken for everyone.
A bitter, hysterical laugh almost escaped her lips. Damn. They all looked so strong, so cool, like heroes ripped from the pages of a comic book. They had super strength and laser fingers. And what did she get? An SSS-Grade skill that was, essentially, a glorified 'Keep Out' sign. She couldn't attack with it, couldn't fight with it. She was a turtle, and this world was full of hammers.
Yeah, no. Better to leave the heroics to the others. Her job wasn't to fight. Her job was to survive.
Riley ducked behind the wreck of a taxi, the scent of burning rubber and something far worse stinging her nostrils. She took a deep, shuddering breath, the air tasting of ash and fear. Her hand tightened around the familiar, blood-stained grain of her baseball bat. With her other hand, she reached into her blazer pocket, her fingers finding the cold, hard comfort of the dagger's hilt. She had a goal. She had a weapon. And she had a very, very good reason to stay away from the monkeys. Peeking around the edge of the taxi, she plotted a path through the carnage, a rabbit picking its way through a field of wolves.
Thank god, her apartment was only a twenty-minute walk away.
Well, a twenty-minute walk for a normal person not fleeing for their life in a city actively being used as a demon monkey's jungle gym. For the old Riley, the one who considered the walk from the bus stop to her building's entrance a legitimate form of cardio, twenty minutes on foot was an ordeal to be avoided at all costs. But now, in this twisted new reality where the bus was a flaming metal coffin and every corner hid a potential mauling, that distance felt like a miracle. It was a tangible, achievable goal. She could do this. With her bare feet and a bloody baseball bat, she could absolutely make a twenty-minute walk. Considering she was planning on a gait somewhere between a panicked jog and an all-out sprint, she might even make it in fifteen.
The optimism lasted for approximately ninety seconds. She'd managed to slip down a side street, hugging the shadowed walls of the buildings, the gritty pavement an unpleasant texture against her raw soles. But the world was too loud, too chaotic for stealth to last. A trash can overturned with a deafening clatter a block away, and instantly, three heads swiveled in her direction. Three sets of glowing, malevolent eyes fixed on her from the roof of a crumpled sedan.
Oh shit. Her internal monologue, once preoccupied with deadlines and lukewarm coffee, had become a stunningly eloquent loop of profanity. One had been a nightmare. Three was a statistical improbability she had no desire to engage with. They leaped from the car in a synchronized, terrifying arc, their flaming horns leaving trails of smoke in the air. Riley didn't even have time to scream. She threw herself sideways in an undignified scramble, tumbling over a discarded bicycle frame and landing hard on the pavement, the impact jarring her teeth. A set of claws raked the brick wall right where her head had been, sending a shower of dust and chips into the air.
She lurched up, pain lancing up her arm from the fall, and did the only thing that made sense. She ran.
This, it turned out, was a monumentally stupid decision. A single, fleeing figure was far more interesting than the static carnage all around. Her desperate, slapping footsteps on the asphalt acted like a dinner bell. The first three monkeys shrieked in pursuit, and their calls were answered by others. From alleyways, from smashed storefronts, from the awnings above, more of the creatures joined the chase. Suddenly, it wasn't three. It was a dozen. Then more. A chittering, screeching horde was boiling out of the woodwork, and they were all focused on her.
There was nowhere left to go. She skidded to a halt in the middle of an intersection, her back to a shattered bus stop, the glass crunching under her feet. They were closing in, a tightening circle of matted fur and hellfire. Panic, sharp and cold, seized her heart. Her breath came in ragged, burning gasps. With her vision blurring and her lungs on fire, she squeezed her eyes shut. She had no other choice.
"Safe zone," she whispered, the words lost in the cacophony. "Safe zone, safe zone, safe zone..." she repeated, the phrase becoming a frantic, desperate mantra against the encroaching doom.
It was like a prayer answered by a god of geometry and golden light. Just as the first monkey lunged, its claws extended and its fangs bared, a ripple, not of sound but of pure force, erupted from her core. A wave of brilliant, honey-gold energy expanded outwards in a perfect circle, so fast it was instantaneous. It swept through the air, silent and absolute, establishing a perimeter with a radius of about fifteen meters around her.
The effect on the monkeys caught within that sudden boundary was immediate and catastrophic. The ones on the very edge were simply thrown back, as if hitting an invisible, solid wall. But the twelve that had been inside her personal space, the ones closest to her, screamed. It was a sound that was cut short, a high-pitched shriek of agony that dissolved into nothing. They didn't explode. They didn't burn. They simply... disintegrated. One moment they were lunging, snarling monsters, the next they were crumbling into fine, grey ash, their forms collapsing like sandcastles hit by a sudden tide. The ash blew away on the foul wind, leaving nothing behind on the ground but a dozen small, glittering objects.
The familiar, dispassionate voice chimed in her head. [You have slain
Riley's eyes snapped open. She stared, dumbfounded, at the empty space where a horde of monsters had been a second ago. Her hands trembled. She stared at them as if they belonged to someone else. Slowly, cautiously, she knelt, her knees cracking in protest, and picked up one of the small objects. It was a crystalline stone, cool to the touch and perfectly clear, but shot through with a deep, crimson core, like a drop of blood trapped in glass. A dozen monkeys, a dozen stones. And 120 'C'. Coins, she assumed. A currency for the apocalypse. She had no fucking clue what she was supposed to buy with them, but a lifetime of ingrained capitalism dictated that you don't leave money lying on the ground. She quickly gathered all twelve stones, stuffing them into her blazer pocket alongside the dagger.
She stood up, still inside the glowing, golden dome of her barrier. It was strangely peaceful in here. The screams and explosions of the city were muted, the howling wind just a gentle whisper. It was an oasis of perfect calm in a world gone mad. But as grateful as she was for the last-second save, a new anxiety began to creep in. How long did this thing last? Was she now just a sitting duck in a fancy hamster ball? She wanted to get home, not set up a permanent residence in the middle of a war-torn intersection.
As if the system was listening in on her frantic thoughts, a new panel of information bloomed in her mind's eye, neat and orderly.
[Safe Barrier: Part of the
Riley frowned. Part of the skill? Wait, a skill within a skill? That was... weird. Like a feature nested in a drop-down menu she hadn't known existed. But there was no time to ponder the strange taxonomy of her newfound powers. The five-minute timer was already ticking down in the corner of her mental display. She looked out through the shimmering golden wall at the monkeys, who were now cautiously circling, screeching in frustration but making no move to touch the barrier. She needed to move.
"Can I... get rid of it?" she thought, focusing on the barrier itself. "Dismiss. Retract. Go away."
The golden dome winked out of existence as suddenly as it had appeared, like a soap bubble popping. The full, deafening roar of the city crashed back in on her. The monkeys, startled by the barrier's disappearance, hesitated for a crucial second.
Riley didn't waste a single heartbeat. She spun on her heel and sprinted down the street, leaving the confused creatures in her dust.
To her profound relief, the screeching horde did not give chase. Perhaps her vanishing trick had short-circuited their tiny, malevolent brains, or maybe a more interesting, slower-moving victim had captured their attention. Riley didn't care about the why. She only cared about the fact that the sounds of pursuit were fading behind her, swallowed by the city's greater symphony of destruction.
She ran. She ran like her life was a finish line she was about to cross, every ounce of her remaining energy poured into the desperate, slapping rhythm of her bare feet on the grimy asphalt. Her lungs were twin furnaces, her vision blurring at the edges, the world a smear of red sky and black smoke. The bat in her hand felt like it weighed a hundred pounds, a dead weight she refused to let go of, a grim security blanket from a life that had only existed minutes ago.
And then she saw it. Through the haze of smoke and her own exhaustion, a familiar silhouette rose against the bruised sky. A squat, five-story block of faded brick and uninspired architecture, a concrete shoebox that had been a source of mild embarrassment when she had friends over in the before-times. Now, it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Home. The second floor. A sanctuary. The sight sent a fresh, desperate surge of adrenaline through her veins, and she pushed harder, her legs screaming in protest.
She was almost there, just crossing the mouth of a narrow, debris-choked alleyway, when she skidded to an abrupt halt. Her head whipped to the side, a motion so sharp and sudden it sent a jolt of pain through her neck. Again. It was that uncanny vision, a trait she'd once used to spot typos on spreadsheets from across the room, now serving a far more critical function. Deep within the oppressive gloom of the alley, nestled between an overflowing dumpster and a pile of sodden cardboard, something had winked at her. A single, sharp glint of impossible, liquid gold.
Rational thought didn't even get a chance to chime in. Her body, now fully operating on some primal, loot-goblin instinct she never knew she possessed, had already made the decision. She pivoted and plunged into the shadows, the stench of stale piss and damp garbage assaulting her nostrils. Her eyes, already adjusted to the dim, hellish light, zeroed in on the source. With a precision born of pure adrenaline, she dropped to a crouch beside it. Another one. It was another golden chest, identical in every intricate, flowing detail to the one from the rooftop.
"No fucking way," she breathed, the words a reverent, giddy whisper. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the lid, half expecting it to be a mirage that would dissipate at her touch. But it was solid, cool, and it opened with the same impossible, silent grace as the first.
Her breath hitched. Inside, resting on that same bed of spun shadow, were two of the crystalline
There was no time for hesitation. She snatched the two Skill Seeds and shoved them deep into her blazer pocket, a giddy, hysterical laugh bubbling in her chest. Then her hands closed around the firearm. It felt strange in her grip, heavier than it looked, its surface cool and unnervingly smooth. She lifted it to inspect it, but the oppressive darkness of the alley rendered the details a murky blur. Crap. How was she supposed to see anything in here?
She scrambled back out of the alley's maw, blinking as the city's bloody twilight washed over her again. Now, in the light, she could see it properly. The weapon was bizarre, unlike any firearm she'd ever seen in a movie. It was crafted from a stark white material that looked like polished bone or some high-impact ceramic, its lines clean and futuristic. It was slightly longer than a standard pistol, with an ergonomic grip that seemed to mold perfectly to her hand. But the most peculiar feature was the lack of a traditional magazine well. In its place was a perfectly cut, empty rectangular slot just in front of the trigger guard.
Riley's brow furrowed as she stared at the empty recess. An ammo port, obviously, but for what kind of ammunition? Then, like a flashbulb going off in her exhausted brain, an idea sparked. A wild, insane, but suddenly plausible idea.
Her fingers, slick with sweat, dove back into her blazer pocket, bypassing the new Skill Seeds and the dagger. They closed around one of the small, crimson-cored crystals - the monster drops. She pulled one out, its facets glittering malevolently in the red light. Holding her breath, she brought it to the empty slot on the gun.
It was fitting. The crystal slid into the recess with a soft, satisfying click, its crimson core flaring for a moment before settling into a steady, ominous glow.
Riley swallowed hard, a lump of pure terror and exhilaration lodged in her throat. Her hands, which had been shaking from exhaustion, were now trembling with anticipation. This could work. Or it could blow her hand clean off. At this point, it was a fifty-fifty chance she was willing to take. Gripping the strange pistol with both hands, she aimed it back into the dark, empty alley and squeezed the trigger.
The result was not a bang, but a deafening CRACK. A lance of brilliant azure light, thick as her wrist, screamed from the barrel, momentarily turning the alley's shadows into stark, crisp lines of black and white. The recoil was a solid, physical punch that slammed her shoulder back, but she held on. The beam of energy struck a metal dumpster at the far end of the alley, and the sound of the impact was like a thunderclap, echoing off the brick walls. When the blinding afterimage faded from her vision, she saw a ragged, fist-sized hole punched clean through the thick steel, its edges glowing a cherry red.
Riley's eyes, wide with shock, slowly lit up with a dangerous, feral glee. She lowered the gun, a wide, incredulous grin spreading across her grimy face. A low, breathless laugh escaped her lips.
One hand now clutching the alien pistol, the other still gripping her familiar, blood-caked bat, Riley turned. She fixed her gaze on the squat, beautiful shape of her apartment building down the street and began to run again, not as a terrified victim, but as something else entirely.