Jim’s day started with a bang.

  [HP - 30/40]

  And whichever dungeon-designing asshole had decided to booby trap the bathroom should rot in hell.

  This day started with some ups and downs for certain.

  The upside? The water was still running, so at least he wouldn’t die of thirst. The downside? Food was going to be a problem.

  For now, he had to focus on gearing up. He’d spent the morning wrapping rope around shards of broken glass, fashioning a set of makeshift daggers, which he slid into his belt. Not ideal, but better than punching things to death.

  With his weapons secured, he carefully stalked through his ruined office space. No sign of the goblinoid bastards from yesterday.

  That was… reassuring.

  If this was anything like those survival games, they probably wouldn’t respawn until he left the “dungeon” and came back in.

  Which meant today might actually be safer.

  Still, he moved carefully, hugging the walls as he crept toward the neighboring real estate office. Nothing. No monsters. No corpses. Just a stale, rotting air that made him question how long this place had been abandoned.

  Skipping the empty reception area, he beelined for the large executive offices in the back.

  Most of the desks were either smashed, overturned, or coated in a thick layer of dust and mold, but he didn’t leave empty-handed. In one drawer, he found a letter opener—slightly rusted but still stabby. In another? Jackpot.

  A heavy-ass paperweight made of solid metal.

  Good bludgeoning weapon. He gave it a few test swings before tucking it into his belt.

  Jim worked quickly, sweeping through the floor while he still had time. The final stop? The law office. If anywhere had actual weapons, it’d be here.

  Or at least blunt objects made to smash kneecaps.

  The air was stifling as he cracked the door open. Something was off. He took a slow step inside, noting dark pools of water dotting the floor, their stagnant surfaces occasionally disturbed by unseen movement.

  Pipes must’ve burst.

  The stench of mold and rot hung thick in the humid air, making him swallow a gag as he searched the piles of scattered papers and debris.

  That’s when he saw them.

  A cluster of deep red jelly-like orbs, nestled together in a corner. They weren’t in the other two offices.

  His gut twisted.

  inside each, something wriggled.

  Jim reached out, curiosity winning over caution.

  He poked one.

  [You have broken open a Bloodsucker Egg. The swarm has been frenzied.]

  Jim barely had time to gulp before he heard it.

  The buzzing.

  —-

  Korrak ground his yellowed teeth, flexing the massive muscles along his arms. He was a killer, through and through.

  The two scouts assigned to his team sweated like Thorlaks being prepped for slaughter just standing near him, and he relished it.

  Grabbing his massive war axe, he lifted it effortlessly onto his shoulder.

  “Let’s go.” His voice was gravel and steel. “Lead way. We find out what happened to Hazzar’s Team… if monster, we utterly destroy it.”

  His mouth curled up into a sinister grin.

  The hunters—though not as brutish as Grazak—were still seasoned killers. Lean muscles, taunt bows, and cruel daggers. Their kind didn’t hesitate.

  And so, without another word, they descended.

  The stairwell leading to Floor seven was silent. Too silent.

  The kind of quiet that made the hairs on their necks stand up.

  As the trio stepped out of the stairwell door and spread out onto floor seven, bows drawn, blades ready. They were prepared for anything.

  …Well, almost anything.

  Because they definitely weren’t ready for the screaming human that barreled past them at full sprint, arms flailing, wild-eyed, and absolutely covered in blood.

  Hot on his heels? Dozens of buzzing, football-sized horrors.

  Bloodsuckers.

  The human let out a panicked wail, dove into the stairwell, and slammed the door behind him.

  For a beat, the goblinoids just… stood there. Staring.

  Then the screaming began.

  —

  Jim braced against the door, chest heaving, as the buzzing and pounding from the other side reached a fever pitch.

  Apparently, not all the goblins were gone.

  Fantastic.

  He scanned the stairwell, searching for anything to block the door.

  He found an old piece of metal and shoved it under the door. Most of the pounding had stopped anyway.

  After kicking it in and making sure it was secure he received a pop up.

  [Falling for you upgraded]

  Upgrades were always good, he’d have to check that later.

  Without a second thought he hustled down the stairs only to be met with a problem at the next stairwell.

  Rubble blocked any further progress. Great, fingers crossed it wasn’t bullshit game mechanics.

  He’d have to hope the stairs on the other side didn’t suffer the same fate. But that meant a quick cut through the sixth floor.

  He looked at the door with the big six on it, how hard could it be?

  As he slowly opened the door to the hallway and peaked out, he was met with the site of an in door forest.

  “The hell?”

  Jim stepped out onto the sixth floor and immediately froze. It wasn’t an office. Not anymore.

  Towering trees stretched upward, their thick, gnarled trunks breaking through what remained of the old drop ceiling. Roots twisted through the carpeted floor, cracking through linoleum and sending jagged slabs of tile askew. Vines wrapped around metal support beams, their tendrils creeping into the hollowed-out husks of cubicles like living wires. The glow of flickering fluorescent lights mixed with beams of golden sunlight filtering through a dense canopy high above.

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  A forest. Inside a building.

  Jim exhaled slowly. He had long since stopped questioning the logic of this apocalypse. He felt each floor would probably be another glimpse down the rabbithole.

  The stairs down should be in the same spot they were on the last floor. If the layout was still intact. He picked a direction, moving carefully through the undergrowth.

  The air was unnaturally still, the only sound his own cautious footsteps. The deeper he went, the more the cubicles around him blurred into the landscape—gray partitions now covered in moss, desks warped and overgrown, monitors flickering with static before shorting out completely.

  Did the internet work on this floor?

  Then—movement.

  Jim barely had time to react before something heavy slammed into his back, knocking him forward. He hit the ground hard, rolling through broken foliage and landing on his side. Pain shot up his ribs, but he forced himself up, spinning to face his attacker.

  It was a cat. Or something like one.

  [Level 5 Mature Cubicle Cat - HP 50]

  Slightly squarish, its gray fur was dull, almost metallic. Its eyes glowed faintly with a sterile, fluorescent white, like an old office lamp that had never been turned off. The creature was bizarrely rigid, as if its very body had been designed for efficiency rather than comfort.

  And it was already leaping again.

  Jim barely dodged as the Cubicle Cat pounced, its claws slashing through the space his neck had been moments before. He rolled backward, drawing his glass daggers from his belt. The weapons gleamed with a faint iridescence, sharp enough to cut through flesh—and, hopefully, whatever this thing was made of.

  The cat circled him, its movements oddly precise, almost mechanical. Its tail flicked, its ears twitched, but there was no sound—no growl, no hiss, just the eerie hum of something that should not be alive.

  It lunged.

  Jim reacted on instinct, sidestepping and bringing one dagger up. The glass blade met resistance—a brief, sharp vibration as it cut through the creature’s side.

  The Cubicle Cat twisted midair, landing with an unnatural stiffness. There was no blood, but the cut had taken effect. The thing’s movements faltered, its body glitching for a fraction of a second, like a buffering screen.

  That was his opening.

  Jim surged forward, bringing his second dagger down hard. The blade pierced through the cat’s back, driving deep into its strange, squarish form.

  The creature let out a sound—not a yowl, not a screech, but a distorted dial-up tone, warping into static as its body collapsed in on itself, breaking apart into dust-like particles that scattered into the air.

  Jim took a step back, catching his breath. His hands were shaking. That had been too close.

  The forest around him remained still. No more glowing eyes peering from the undergrowth, no shifting shadows. For now.

  Taking only a moment to catch his breath against a moss-covered partition, he forced himself to move. He wasn’t going to wait around for something worse to find him.

  The trees grew denser as he pressed forward, but the cubicles were fewer and farther between. The transition was gradual—office supplies overtaken by creeping vines, keyboards half-buried in soil, an old conference table split in half by tree roots.

  This wasn’t the first time he felt like the building was much larger than he remembered.

  He turned his gaze downward, searching through desks and rubble for something—anything—that could be useful.

  Among the debris of an old cubicle, something caught his eye.

  A triangular glass paperweight, wedged into a moss-covered filing cabinet.

  Jim pried it loose, inspecting it. It had weight. A good heft

  Not far away a desk with scattered drawers.

  He crouched near an overturned desk, rifling through scattered office supplies, hoping for something useful. After pushing aside a pile of rotting reports and dead office plants, he found some new loot.

  A steel drawer handle, still intact. It wasn’t much, but it was sturdy, and praise be to the angels or whatever, a roll of duct tape, worn but still adhesive.

  Jim grinned slightly. This would do.

  He sat against the nearest cubicle wall, working quickly. Duct tape secured the paperweight to the steel handle, wrapping tight enough that it wouldn’t shift. He tested the grip, rolling it in his palm.

  The result was a makeshift, one-handed weighted club, sturdy and solid—strong enough to cave in a skull, or at the very least, fend off another one of those cubicle cats.

  [Makeshift Mace]

  Damage: Okay

  Durability: Questionable

  Quality: Made with Duct Tape

  He stood, testing the weight in his hand. Not bad.

  Just as he was about to move forward—

  A rustle.

  He dove to the side, but not quick enough.

  He screamed in pain as claws raked across his back

  Another Cubicle Cat.

  The force knocked him forward, sending him crashing through a tangle of vines and old office chairs. He rolled, barely managing to keep hold of his new weapon and getting back to his feet.

  The Cubicle Cat landed a few feet away, its unnaturally squared-off body twitching, eyes flickering with that cold, artificial light.

  It hunched low, preparing to pounce again.

  Jim didn’t give it the chance.

  He lunged first, swinging his new weighted club in a wide arc.

  The impact was immediate.

  The club slammed into the creature’s side, sending it skidding across the floor.

  It was surprisingly light for its size and the club clearly did damage.

  Its body flickered, glitching, as though reality itself was unsure whether it belonged here.

  The Cubicle Cat let out that same horrific, dial-up screech, its claws scraping at the carpet as it tried to recover.

  Jim took the opening.

  He stepped forward, bringing the club down hard—striking just behind the creature’s head.

  [Level Gained]

  The Cubicle Cat convulsed, its body cracking apart like shattered glass. The air filled with static, the scent of burned-out circuits hanging heavy.

  Then, like before, it dissolved into nothing.

  Jim exhaled sharply, gripping his new weapon tightly. His back throbbed from the claws, but he was still standing.

  He took a deep breath, scanning the dimly lit, overgrown cubicles around him.

  With a final glance at the empty space where the Cubicle Cat had fallen, Jim turned and pressed forward.

  Jim kept moving through the overgrown office, his breathing steady but tense. His back still ached from the last Cubicle Cat’s claws, but he pushed the pain aside. He had no time for weakness. Not in this place.

  Atleast he hadn’t gotten the damn bleed debuff.

  As he stepped past another cluster of half-collapsed cubicles, a new sound reached his ears.

  A struggle.

  Somewhere up ahead, something was fighting.

  Jim slowed his steps, crouching low as he approached. The noise was close—a sharp, rhythmic skittering mixed with a mechanical growl.

  He peeked around a moss-covered filing cabinet, and there it was.

  A Cubicle Cat—gray, squarish, its glowing white eyes flickering like a glitching screen—was locked in combat with something unexpected.

  A massive beetle, roughly the size of a basketball, was trying to defend itself.

  The beetle’s hard, glossy carapace shimmered with an oil-slick sheen, its six thick legs scraping against the floor as it struggled to hold its ground. The Cubicle Cat circled it, pouncing and swiping, its unnatural claws scraping across the beetle’s shell, leaving faint, silvery scratch marks.

  [Level 5 Monsterous Dung Beetle - 35/60]

  Clearly playing with its prey.

  Jim hesitated for a moment.

  He hadn’t expected to find anything else living here, much less another creature being hunted by the Cubicle Cats. But as he watched, his hatred for the squarish little bastards solidified.

  They weren’t hunting to survive. They weren’t natural.

  They were just malicious little office monsters, creeping and attacking like programmed predators.

  Jim made his decision.

  He gripped his makeshift weighted club, rolled his shoulders, and stepped forward.

  “Hey, tin can furball!” he barked.

  The Cubicle Cat froze, its glowing eyes snapping to him.

  The beetle seized the moment, rearing up slightly, its powerful front legs twitching, ready to counterattack if given the chance.

  Jim didn’t wait.

  He swung his club with full force, aiming for the cat’s side.

  The weapon slammed into the creature’s ribs, sending it crashing into an overturned office chair, its body glitching wildly from the impact.

  The Cubicle Cat let out a sharp, corrupted screech, its form shuddering like a dying hard drive.

  Jim advanced, swinging again, his weapon colliding directly with the cat’s skull. The impact sent a jolt through his arms, but the effect was immediate—

  The Cubicle Cat twitched violently before bursting into static, its remains dissolving into scattered pixels and dust.

  Jim stood there, breathing hard, staring at the empty spot where the creature had been.

  Then he turned toward the beetle.

  The insect had stopped moving, watching him with strange, glimmering eyes.

  Jim took a slow step back, raising one hand cautiously.

  “Look, buddy. Don’t start nothing, won’t be nothing.”

  The beetle twitched its antennae, its massive front legs flexing slightly, but it made no move toward him.

  Jim nodded, taking another step backward. He had no quarrel with the beetle.

  “You do your thing, I’ll do mine. Just keep those legs to yourself, alright?”

  The beetle didn’t react—at least, not aggressively. It simply shifted its weight, then began rolling a small, perfectly round ball of dust and debris, ignoring him completely.

  Jim exhaled, feeling a small bit of tension ease from his shoulders.

  He hated those damn Cubicle Cats, but he saw no reason to bother dungeon denizens that didn’t have beef with him.

  Shaking his head, Jim turned away, leaving the beetle to its business.

  Jim exhaled in relief when he finally spotted the stairwell door.