The fluorescent lights had stopped humming.
Takeshi noticed that first as he stepped through the shimmering blue barrier that marked the tutorial zone's exit. The silence hit him like a physical thing—no electrical buzz, no air conditioning, no ambient noise of a functioning building. Just wind, distant screams, and the crackle of fires burning across what used to be Tokyo.
The Sakamoto Industries building opened onto a street he'd walked a thousand times. Shibuya crossing. The famous scramble intersection where millions of pedestrians had crossed each year, where neon advertisements had blazed 24/7, where the pulse of the city had been loudest.
Now it looked like a war zone.
The massive screens that had dominated the intersection hung dark and shattered. Cars sat abandoned at odd angles, some overturned, others with their doors hanging open as if their occupants had fled mid-drive. The Starbucks on the corner—where Takeshi had bought overpriced coffee during rare lunch breaks—had a gaping hole in its facade. Something large had gone through the wall.
And the people. God, the people.
Hundreds of them clustered in makeshift camps across the intersection, huddled around fires built in trash cans. Tents made from torn billboards and salvaged fabric dotted the scramble crossing like a refugee settlement. The famous Hachiko statue stood surrounded by injured survivors, its bronze surface now serving as a landmark for what looked like a triage center.
But that wasn't what made Takeshi stop.
Black Company checkpoints ringed the entire area.
They'd set up barriers at every street entrance—sleek black metal structures that hummed with the same blue energy as the tutorial zone exit. Armed guards in crisp black suits stood at each checkpoint, processing people through what looked disturbingly like immigration control. Lines of survivors waited, some holding makeshift weapons, others clutching children or injured family members.
Above each checkpoint, holographic signs displayed the same message in English and Japanese:
BLACK COMPANY SAFE ZONE - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITIES AVAILABLE
INQUIRE WITHIN FOR CLASS ASSESSMENT
Takeshi's briefcase felt heavier in his hand. His Corporate Drone status window still showed the exhaustion debuff—all stats reduced by 30% for another hour and forty minutes. His stamina bar had recovered to 43/100, but that was still pathetically low.
He joined the nearest line, falling in behind a woman clutching a baseball bat and a man who looked like he'd raided a sporting goods store for armor. Neither of them had the telltale shimmer of a status window visible to their eyes. Civilians, then. People who hadn't gotten classes yet, or had refused them.
The line moved slowly. Takeshi watched the checkpoint guards process each person with bureaucratic efficiency that would have made Tanaka-san proud. Scan their status. Check their class. Grant or deny entry based on criteria Takeshi couldn't hear from this distance.
Most were turned away.
"Next," called the guard at Takeshi's checkpoint.
He was young—maybe mid-twenties—with the kind of crisp professionalism that came from either military training or really good corporate onboarding. His nameplate read 'Kimura.' A status window hovered beside him, visible only as a faint shimmer in the air.
Takeshi stepped forward.
"Status window, please," Kimura said without looking up from his tablet.
Takeshi pulled up his interface. The translucent blue screen materialized between them, displaying his information in neat corporate formatting.
Kimura's eyes widened slightly. "Corporate Drone class. Junior Associate rank." He looked up, actually meeting Takeshi's eyes for the first time. "You cleared the tutorial?"
"Quota met," Takeshi confirmed.
"Performance review completed?"
"Scheduled. I have twenty-two hours to report."
Kimura's expression shifted from professional distance to something almost like respect. He tapped his tablet rapidly. "You're flagged for priority processing. Management wants to see you." He gestured to a separate entrance, one with no line. "Through there. Someone will escort you to the regional office."
Takeshi glanced at the hundreds of people still waiting in line, then back at Kimura. "What happens to them?"
"Standard protocol. We assess their class potential, offer employment contracts to qualified candidates, and provide temporary shelter to the rest." Kimura's tone was perfectly neutral, the kind of practiced detachment that came from delivering bad news repeatedly. "The Black Company maintains order in exchange for dungeon access rights and resource extraction privileges."
"And the ones who aren't qualified?"
"They're free to seek shelter elsewhere." Kimura's expression didn't change. "But most of the city is still unstable. The safe zones are the only places with guaranteed protection from monster incursions."
Translation: accept a contract or take your chances with the apocalypse.
Takeshi looked at the priority entrance again. No line. No waiting. Just a clear path to whatever the Black Company wanted from him.
He'd spent eight years learning to read between the lines of corporate speak. This wasn't an invitation. It was a summons.
"Understood," Takeshi said. "Thank you."
He walked toward the priority entrance, very aware of the eyes following him. The civilians in line watched with expressions ranging from envy to resentment. The other Corporate Drones—he could spot them now by their briefcases and ties—watched with calculation.
The apocalypse was less than twelve hours old, and the Black Company had already established a hierarchy.
Takeshi just hadn't expected to be near the top of it.
The Black Company's regional office occupied what used to be the Park Hyatt Tokyo—a luxury hotel in Shinjuku that Takeshi had only ever seen from the outside. Now its lobby had been transformed into a corporate command center that would have made any Fortune 500 company jealous.
Holographic displays showed dungeon maps across Tokyo. Status windows tracked employee locations in real-time. Conference rooms that once hosted wedding receptions now held strategy meetings where executives discussed territory control like generals planning a campaign.
And everywhere, that same corporate aesthetic: sleek black furniture, minimalist design, and the subtle message that the Black Company had adapted to the apocalypse faster than anyone else.
"Yamada-san?"
Takeshi turned to find a woman in a perfectly tailored suit approaching. She was maybe thirty-five, with sharp eyes that missed nothing and the kind of confident stride that came from years of corporate warfare.
Her nameplate read: Matsumoto Reiko - Regional Operations Manager
"I'm Matsumoto Reiko," she said, extending a hand. "Thank you for coming so quickly."
Takeshi shook her hand, noting the firm grip. "I was told management wanted to see me."
"Indeed." She gestured toward a bank of elevators. "Please, follow me. We have much to discuss."
They rode up in silence. Takeshi watched the floor numbers climb—42, 43, 44—while Matsumoto studied him with the kind of analytical gaze he recognized from every performance review he'd ever endured.
"You're exhausted," she observed.
"Overtime Exploitation has a cost."
"But you survived. And you met quota ahead of schedule." She smiled slightly. "That's rare for tutorial completions. Most Corporate Drones barely scrape by."
The elevator opened onto the 52nd floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of devastated Tokyo. Fires burned across the skyline. The Tokyo Tower stood dark and silent. And in the distance, Takeshi could see what looked like a massive pillar of light rising from somewhere in Roppongi.
"The Tower's core dungeon," Matsumoto said, following his gaze. "It appeared six hours ago. Level 50 minimum entry requirement." She led him to a conference room with a view of the pillar. "Have a seat."
Takeshi sat. His briefcase rested against his leg, solid and real. His status window showed his stamina slowly recovering—52/100 now. The exhaustion debuff had another hour to run.
Matsumoto sat across from him and pulled up a holographic display between them. It showed his status window in detail, along with data he hadn't seen before.
EMPLOYEE PERFORMANCE ANALYSIS
Name: Takeshi Yamada
Class: Corporate Drone (Unique)
Level: 2
Tutorial Completion Time: 5:43:17 (Top 15%)
Combat Efficiency Rating: B+
Resource Acquisition: Below Average
Unique Skill Detected: Monopoly (Unactivated)
Management Track Eligibility: APPROVED
Recommendation: Immediate recruitment for specialized operations**
Takeshi read it twice. "Management Track?"
"A development program for high-potential Corporate Drones." Matsumoto dismissed the display and leaned forward. "The Black Company doesn't just employ people, Yamada-san. We invest in them. And your unique skill makes you a very interesting investment."
"Monopoly." Takeshi had barely looked at the skill since it appeared. The description had been vague—something about supply chain control and market access. "What does it actually do?"
"That's what we'd like to find out." Matsumoto's smile sharpened. "Unique skills are rare. Powerful. And in your case, potentially game-changing for territorial control." She pulled up another display, this one showing a map of Tokyo divided into colored zones. "The System doesn't just create dungeons. It creates resources. Monster parts for crafting. Magical materials for equipment. Territory that can be claimed and controlled."
The map showed the Black Company controlling most of Shibuya and parts of Shinjuku. Other colors—red, green, yellow—marked territories held by what Takeshi assumed were rival organizations.
"We're in a race," Matsumoto continued. "Every major corporation, government agency, and organized crime group is trying to claim territory before the System stabilizes. The ones who control the most resources will control the new world order." She met his eyes. "Your Monopoly skill could give us an edge in that race."
"In exchange for what?"
"Smart question." Matsumoto pulled up a contract. "The Management Track offers significant benefits. Priority access to dungeons. Better equipment. Training resources. A support team for high-risk operations. And most importantly—a significantly lower mortality rate than standard employees."
She highlighted a section of the contract:
STANDARD EMPLOYEE MORTALITY RATE (30 DAYS): 73%
MANAGEMENT TRACK MORTALITY RATE (30 DAYS): 31%
Takeshi felt his stomach drop. "Seventy-three percent?"
"The apocalypse is efficient at separating the competent from the expendable." Matsumoto's tone was matter-of-fact. "Standard employees get basic assignments. Minimal support. They're expected to either excel quickly or die trying. The Management Track invests more resources because we expect better returns."
"And the restrictions?"
"You're bound to the Black Company for a minimum of one year. You can't accept contracts from rival organizations. Your unique skill usage is monitored and reported to upper management. And you're required to participate in mandatory team operations—starting with your first assignment tomorrow."
Tomorrow. Takeshi's exhaustion debuff wouldn't even be gone by then.
"What's the assignment?"
Matsumoto pulled up a new display. It showed a dungeon map—multiple levels, high monster density, and a difficulty rating that made Takeshi's tutorial look like a warm-up exercise.
DUNGEON: Shinjuku Station Undercroft
RECOMMENDED LEVEL: 3-5
PARTY SIZE: 4
ESTIMATED COMPLETION TIME: 6-8 hours
MORTALITY RATE: 45%
"You'll be joining three other Management Track candidates," Matsumoto explained. "This is your evaluation assignment. Complete it successfully, and you're officially on the track. Fail..." She didn't need to finish that sentence.
Takeshi studied the map. The Shinjuku Station Undercroft looked like a nightmare—a labyrinth of subway tunnels transformed into a monster-infested death trap. The recommended level was 3-5, and he was level 2. With an exhaustion debuff.
"The other candidates," he said. "What are their levels?"
"Three to five. All have combat-oriented classes." Matsumoto's expression was unreadable. "You'll be the only Corporate Drone in the group."
Of course he would be. They wanted to see what his unique skill could do under pressure. This wasn't just an evaluation—it was a stress test.
Takeshi looked at the contract again. One year of binding service. Monitored skill usage. Mandatory team operations with a 45% mortality rate.
But also: a 31% chance of survival instead of 73% chance of death.
He thought about Nakamura-san, transformed into a monster in their own office building. About the hundreds of people waiting in line at the checkpoints, hoping for shelter and employment. About his mother's unanswered text message asking about dinner.
The old world was gone. The new one ran on different rules.
"I need to know one thing," Takeshi said. "If I refuse the Management Track, what happens?"
"You remain a standard employee. You get basic assignments. Basic support. Basic everything." Matsumoto didn't sugarcoat it. "You might survive. Most don't."
Takeshi picked up the contract. The terms were restrictive, the risks were high, and he was being manipulated into accepting by the implicit threat of the alternative.
It was exactly like every corporate decision he'd made for the past eight years.
The difference was that now, at least, he knew what he was getting into.
"Where do I sign?"
The team briefing was scheduled for 0800 the next morning. Takeshi spent the intervening hours in a company-provided dormitory—a converted hotel room that was nicer than his actual apartment had been. He had a bed. A shower. A meal that wasn't convenience store food.
He also had time to actually examine his status window without the immediate threat of death.
[TAKESHI YAMADA]
Class: Corporate Drone (Unique)
Level: 2
Employer: The Black Company
Corporate Rank: Junior Associate (Management Track)
HP: 120/120
MP: 60/60
Stamina: 100/100
His stats had improved from the level-up, and the exhaustion debuff had finally expired. More importantly, he could now examine his unique skill in detail.
[MONOPOLY] (Unique - Passive/Active)
Passive Effect: Gain supernatural awareness of supply chains and market access within your operational area. Identify resource bottlenecks, trade routes, and economic opportunities that others cannot perceive.
Active Effect (Locked): Requires Capital Accumulation Threshold
Unlock Requirement: Accumulate 10,000 Credits or establish control over a resource production chain
Current Progress: 15/10,000 Credits
Takeshi stared at the locked active effect. The passive was already valuable—being able to identify resources and opportunities was huge in a world where information was survival. But the active effect... that was what the Black Company really wanted.
He pulled up his skills list and noticed something else new.
[EXPENSE REPORT] (Active): Analyze defeated enemies to calculate resource value and drop rates. Cost: 10 MP
He'd used this on Nakamura-san's corpse without thinking. Now he realized it was more than just loot identification—it was economic analysis. Every monster wasn't just an enemy. It was a potential resource.
That was what Monopoly did. It turned everything into an economic calculation.
Takeshi lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow he'd be diving into a dungeon with three strangers, all of them higher level and probably resentful that a Corporate Drone was on their team. The mortality rate was 45%. The Black Company would be watching his every move.
And somewhere in that nightmare subway system, he needed to figure out how to activate his unique skill before someone decided he wasn't worth the investment.
His phone buzzed. A new message from the Black Company's automated system:
TEAM ALPHA-7 BRIEFING - 0800 TOMORROW
REPORT TO CONFERENCE ROOM 47-B
ATTENDANCE MANDATORY
FAILURE TO ATTEND WILL RESULT IN TERMINATION
Takeshi set an alarm for 0700 and closed his eyes.
Just another day at the office.
Just another quota to meet.
Just another performance review where failure meant death.
He'd survived worse.
Probably.