Let’s see…
What did I actually remember about this world?
Not much, which was unfortunate considering I was currently trapped inside it.
First: The city was made up almost entirely of skyscrapers.
Second: Going down wasn’t an option.
The stairways to the lower floors were blocked, sealed, or protected by something.
Honestly, I couldn’t remember which.
The important part was that trying to leave through the lower levels usually ended with people becoming significantly more dead.
Third: The rooftops were connected by rope bridges, which meant whoever designed this place should never be allowed anywhere near a construction company again.
Fourth: The masks.
The masks were bad, though some were considerably worse than others.
The smiling ones killed people, while the expressionless ones were…
friendly?
Maybe.
I thought so, though my memory became increasingly unreliable whenever the information was actually important.
The sad masks were dangerous too, especially the ones carrying firearms.
Fifth: I wasn’t alone.
There were other people trapped in this place.
Survivors, victims, future corpses, or whatever term you preferred.
And finally: There were weapons hidden throughout the city.
At least, I was fairly certain there were.
Unfortunately, “fairly certain” wasn’t particularly comforting, but knowing something was better than knowing nothing.
Right now, surviving was more important than remembering trivia.
I examined the office around me.
Tables, chairs, books, computers, more tables, and more chairs.
No swords, no rifles, and no conveniently abandoned magical artifacts.
Honestly, this room sucked.
I sighed, then picked up a pen.
“Congratulations,” I said, holding it in front of my face.
“You are now a weapon.”
The pen offered no comment, which wasn’t particularly encouraging, but a terrible weapon was better than no weapon.
Probably.
I hoped.
I slipped it into my pocket, then immediately stopped.
“…Wait.”
Why had I taken the pen?
What exactly was I planning to do with it?
Challenge somebody to paperwork?
I stared at the pen.
The pen stared back.
After a brief internal debate, I kept it anyway.
Survival was survival.
Slowly, I approached the office door.
Carefully, very carefully.
The last thing I wanted was to open it and immediately get introduced to a sledgehammer.
I had already met one today, and that was enough.
The door creaked softly as I pulled it open.
I peeked into the hallway.
Left, right, nobody.
Good.
I stepped outside and immediately regretted it.
Not because something attacked me, but because now I actually had to explore.
Exploration always sounded fun until you were the one doing it, at which point it became considerably less entertaining, especially when murderers were involved.
Still, I began searching.
One room, then another, then another.
Most of them were useless: office supplies, documents, furniture, and a genuinely shocking amount of paperwork.
Apparently, even nightmare dimensions suffered from bureaucracy.
Eventually, I found a screwdriver, a thin metal rod, a length of rope, and a coffee mug.
I wasn’t entirely sure why I took the mug.
Maybe I could throw it, maybe I could drink from it, or maybe it would help me achieve enlightenment.
Who knew?
The important thing was that it belonged to me now.
Several hours passed, and surprisingly, nothing happened.
No killers, no monsters, no elaborate death games.
Nothing.
Honestly?
That worried me.
Things were going too smoothly.
I had read enough stories to know that whenever everything started feeling safe, it was usually because the author was preparing to hit someone with a truck.
Or, in my case…
a helicopter.
The memory still hurt.
Then I heard it.
KRRRRKKKKK.
My entire body froze.
The sound came from somewhere nearby.
Metal scraping across the floor, slow, heavy, and deliberate.
My heart immediately began trying to escape through my rib cage.
The noise grew louder, closer, much closer.
“…Nope.”
I abandoned the room I was searching and dove beneath the nearest desk.
Dignity could wait; survival couldn’t.
The scraping continued, then stopped.
Silence.
A few seconds later, footsteps echoed through the hallway outside.
Heavy, slow, and unhurried, like whoever was walking knew they had all the time in the world.
I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, and didn’t blink.
For one horrifying moment, the footsteps stopped directly outside the room.
My pulse thundered inside my ears.
Then…
the footsteps continued, growing quieter and quieter until they finally disappeared.
“…”
“…Okay.”
I slowly released my breath.
That was terrifying.
I hated this place.
Eventually, I found the source of the blood trail: a room that smelled absolutely awful.
I already knew what I was going to find inside.
The blood had made that fairly obvious, but knowing something and seeing it were two very different things.
I took a deep breath, then opened the door.
“…”
Yeah, that was bad.
Really bad.
Body parts were scattered throughout the room.
Blood covered the walls, the floor, the desks, almost everything.
For several seconds, I simply stood in the doorway, silent, trying very hard not to throw up.
My stomach disagreed, violently.
I stepped back, then forward, then back again, then forward.
It was an intense internal battle.
Eventually, practicality won.
“Damn it,” I muttered, covering my nose with one hand.
“There had better be loot in here.”
Because if I was forcing myself to walk through this nightmare fuel for nothing, I was going to be extremely upset.
Slowly, I entered.
The smell somehow became worse.
I didn’t know how, but it did.
Six bodies: five civilians and one masked killer.
Or what used to be a masked killer.
Its mask had been shattered.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
One of the killers had died, which meant they weren’t invincible.
That alone was worth remembering.
I started searching.
Food and water.
Useful, very useful.
A backpack.
Excellent.
Clothes.
Even better.
Then, finally, a pistol.
I froze.
For several seconds, I simply stared at it.
An actual gun.
A real gun.
Not a mug, not a screwdriver, and not a metal rod.
A gun.
My eyes watered slightly.
Human civilization had finally returned to me.
I picked it up and checked the magazine.
“…”
One bullet.
I checked again.
Still one bullet.
I wasn’t sure what I expected.
Maybe I had hoped the rest would magically appear out of pity, but they didn’t.
Naturally, life remained committed to the joke.
Still…
technically, one bullet was better than none.
I packed everything useful into the backpack, changed into a set of cleaner clothes, and left the room.
By the time I finished searching the entire floor, I had gathered a respectable collection of garbage: a screwdriver, a sharpened metal rod, a length of rope, a mug, a backpack, food, water, and a pistol carrying the hopes and dreams of exactly one bullet.
Honestly, I looked less like a survivor and more like a homeless man preparing for a garage sale.
Still, it would do for now.
I found a small storage room and used it to organize everything I had collected.
Then I stepped back into the hallway, ready to move, ready to survive, ready to…
“SOMEBODY HELP ME!”
I froze.
A girl’s voice, coming from somewhere above me.
Loud, panicked, desperate.
“…”
Immediately, two sides of my brain began arguing.
The first was my survival instinct: Don’t go.
It’s probably a trap.
You’re going to die.
The second side had significantly worse priorities: What if she’s cute?
“…”
Don’t.
What if she’s really cute, though?
Don’t.
But what if…
“God damn it.”
I grabbed the sharpened metal rod and started running toward the stairs, because apparently my instinct for self-preservation could be defeated by hypothetical attractiveness.
“Wait for me!” I charged up the stairs.
“Justice is coming!”
I made it several steps before adding, “…And hopefully she’s cute.”
End of Chapter 3