2026-01-27 19:30:23Darkness. Cold. And the pervasive stench of rotted meat preserved in formaldehyde.
Mark Miller stepped out of the pantry, leading his two companions toward the emergency stairwell, which had now mutated into a pulsating spiral of flesh. Each step was coated in a thin, sticky membrane that let out a sickening squelch every time Mark’s fractured feet made contact.
[MISSION NOTIFICATION: ‘FIRST QUARTER TARGET’]
[Target: 0/10 Elite Monsters (Stalking Paperboy)]
[Time Remaining: 58:12]
[Warning: If the target is not met, the ‘Painkiller Fluid’ reward will be revoked, and accumulated pain will be returned ten-fold.]
"Dammit," Mark cursed under his breath. His cold eyes pierced the gloom below. "Ten monsters in an hour? With these two anchors dragging behind me?"
"Mark, slow down!" David whimpered, his hand gripping Mark’s shoulder for support as he limped along. "This place... it’s not our office anymore. The walls... they have eyes!"
Sarah stood behind David, clutching a kitchen knife she had scavenged from the pantry. Her face was deathly pale, but her eyes held a frantic glint bordering on madness. "Mark, what is that moving down there? I hear a sound... like paper being shredded."
Skritch. Skritch. Skritch.
From the shadows of the stairs below, lithe figures emerged, standing no taller than five feet. They were the Stalking Paperboys. Their bodies were composed of stacks of office documents as sharp as razors; their faces were mere scraps of newsprint with a single, massive ink-blot eye at the center. In their hands, they carried leather satchels filled with "newspapers"—thin steel sheets capable of decapitating a man in a heartbeat.
"David, Sarah, listen to me carefully," Mark said without turning, his voice unnervingly steady from the lingering sedative effects. "You see those things? They are our targets. Do not let a single sheet touch your skin. If you get hurt, you slow me down. And if you slow me down... I will cut your legs off myself so I can run faster."
"You’re insane, Miller!" David shouted. "We’re your coworkers!"
"In this world, David, you are merely undepreciated inventory," Mark retorted coldly.
Suddenly, one of the Paperboys leaped with incredible velocity, hurling a silver sheet toward Mark’s throat.
Whish!
Mark ducked with terrifying precision. The paper embedded itself in the fleshy wall behind him, oozing green fluid. Mark didn't wait. He lunged forward—ignoring the silent screams of his torn thigh muscles—and drove his iron beam straight into the creature’s ink-eye.
CRASH!
The papers making up the monster scattered like a blizzard of documents on a mass-layoff day.
[Target Slain: 1/10]
"One," Mark muttered. However, the kill ignited the rage of the others. Five monsters simultaneously scrambled up the side walls, flanking them from all directions.
"Mark! They’re surrounding us!" Sarah cried. She began swinging her kitchen knife wildly, but the monsters were far too agile.
One of them landed in front of Sarah, ready to hurl a "headline" into her face. Mark saw it but didn't intervene immediately. He wanted to see if his "equipment" was functional.
"Use your brain, Sarah!" Mark barked as he parried another attack. "They’re made of paper! What is paper's weakness?"
Sarah froze for a split second, then remembered the gas lighter in her pocket. "Fire! David, help me!"
"How am I supposed to help?! I can't even stand up!" David yelled, bashing a monster that tried to bite his leg with a mineral water bottle.
"Shut up and hold this!" Sarah struck the lighter and sprayed her perfume into the flame. WOOSH! An improvised flamethrower erupted. The monster in front of her shrieked, its voice sounding like curling, burning parchment before it crumbled into ash.
[Target Slain: 2/10]
"Good," Mark said, snapping the neck of a third monster with his bare hands—an act that caused his own joints to let out a loud pop. "Now you're becoming useful. But don't celebrate yet. We still have eight more, and the clock is ticking."
They continued their descent. Pain began to crawl back into Mark’s body as the drug faded. Every time he struck, his chest felt as though it were being hit by a sledgehammer. Cold sweat mixed with blood dripped from his brow.
"Miller, you’re sweating blood," David whispered as they paused on the 35th floor. "You won't make it to the bottom."
"I’ll make it because I have to," Mark replied, his voice now trembling slightly. "The system wants me to quit. The Auditor wants me to fail. If I die here, I become the most miserable fuel in hell because I signed that contract. I don’t have the luxury of dying, David."
Suddenly, the stairwell pulsed violently. A static-filled laughter echoed once more.
The Auditor appeared in the reflection of a mechanical eye on the wall. "Forty minutes remain, Subject Miller. You are far too slow in processing this waste."
"Shut your mouth and watch, you bucket of bolts!" Mark hissed.
But at that moment, an Elite monster larger than any before emerged—The Editor. This creature possessed four arms, each wielding massive shears. It wasn't made of mere paper, but of hardened, plastic file folders.
The Editor attacked with brutality. Its great shears snipped through the iron handrails as if they were chocolate bars. Mark was forced to shove David and Sarah back, taking a heavy blow to his shoulder that cracked his collarbone.
"AAAGH!" Mark collapsed. The delayed pain hit him like a tsunami. His entire nervous system screamed.
[Warning: Accumulative Pain Detected!]
[Physical Condition: 5% HP. Acute Bone Trauma.]
"Mark!" Sarah ran toward him, but Mark raised a hand.
"Don’t... come closer," Mark groaned. He looked up at The Editor, which was poised to snip him in two. "System... I want to make a 'Trade-In'."
[System: "What Trade-In do you offer?"]
Mark looked at the terrified David. "Not their lives. I offer... every happy memory I have of the old world. Erase them all. Give me the power to destroy this thing."
David and Sarah’s eyes widened. "Mark, no! That’s the only thing keeping you human!"
Mark didn't care. Memories of his mother, of his childhood, of the taste of his favorite pizza—all were pulled out by the system in a burst of brilliant white light. His eyes turned hollow, leaving only pure darkness.
[Transaction Successful. Memories Erased. Activating Mode: ‘Cold Machine’.]
Mark stood up. He no longer felt the pain. Not because of a drug, but because he no longer felt as though he "owned" that body. With movements faster than the human eye, Mark evaded The Editor’s shears and drove his iron beam directly into the monster’s throat, twisting until its head was torn clean off.
He slaughtered the remaining Elite monsters in under five minutes. His movements were cold, efficient, and devoid of emotion.
[Mission Accomplished: 10/10 Targets Slain.]
[Reward Sent to Inventory.]
Mark stood amidst the pile of ash and shredded paper. He turned toward Sarah and David. His gaze was vacant, like a robot that had just finished a routine task.
"Miller?" David asked tentatively. "Do you... do you still know us?"
Mark stared at them for a long moment, then spoke in an utterly flat tone. "You are support staff. Let’s move. We still have 35 floors to go."
Sarah wept at the change in him. The cynical but soulful Mark Miller was gone. What remained was the perfect system operator—and that was far more terrifying than any monster.
However, as they prepared to move on, the wall of the stairwell opened, revealing a luxurious office untouched by the apocalypse. There, sat a middle-aged man in a sharp suit, holding a cigar.
"Congratulations on your promotion, Mark," the man said. "I am the Area Supervisor. And I am here to tell you that the contract you signed with The Auditor... was actually a suicide note for the entire human race."
Mark only stared at him without expression, but inside his head, one final system notification appeared:
[Secret Message: 'He is lying. Kill him before he finishes speaking.']
Would Mark follow the system’s command to execute the man, or would the remnants of his humanity rise to hear the truth?"
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CHAPTER 112: THE PHOENIX PROJECT REVEALED
The central lift rocketed upwards at a speed that made the stomach churn, but Mark Miller paid no heed to the physical sensation. His eyes were fixed on the screen of his decryption device, now glowing brightly with the access he had just forced open using the Phoenix code. The light from the display reflected in Mark’s pupils, revealing rows of data that were finally beginning to coalesce into coherent information. Beside him, David was still panting, his trembling fingers attempting to stabilise the wireless connection so their access path wouldn't be severed by ARCH’s central defence systems, which were undoubtedly tracking them with aggression now.Sarah stood in the corner of the lift, her binary rifle aimed at the ceiling, her eyes alert to every floor number flashing on the indicator panel. This lift wasn't stopping at administrative levels or Management’s residential sectors. It was heading to coordinates that technically didn't exist in the Megastructure’s public blueprints:
CHAPTER 111: THE CORE PROCESSOR CODE
The air inside the Sector 14 transit room felt paper-thin and reeked of a sharp, metallic tang—the lingering scent of scorched circuits from the research lab they’d left behind. Mark Miller leaned against a corridor wall that vibrated with a low, rhythmic tremor, trying to steady his ragged breathing. Under the erratic flicker of neon lights, Mark’s shadow stretched and fractured against the floor, a mirror to his own shattered state of mind following the revelation of Alistair Thorne’s true identity. He could feel the pulse of the Illegal Ware strapped to his wrist; its heat had yet to subside, as if the forbidden device were ravenous for more data to consume.Before him, David was kneeling in front of a secondary data distribution panel tucked away behind a structural pillar. Sweat poured down the young man's temples, soaking a shirt collar already grimed with industrial dust. Sarah stood a few paces ahead, her back to Mark and David, her binary rifle held with steady precision towa
CHAPTER 110: THE ARCHITECT OF BARBARISM
Mark Miller’s footsteps echoed heavily across the cold metal floor of Sector 14, leaving behind the lingering remnants of data bursts from the previous storage vault. The scent of burnt ozone and the suffocating heat radiating from the server engines behind the walls felt like a physical weight. Red emergency lights pulsed rhythmically along the corridor, casting a ghastly hue over Mark’s face and sharpening the lines of exhaustion and stony fury etched there. Behind him, David monitored his digital tablet with trembling fingers, while Sarah maintained the rearguard, her binary rifle leveled and ready to spit pure energy into the encroaching darkness.They had just managed to breach the black particle curtain that barred the way to the primary research laboratory. Mark came to a halt before a terminal desk unlike any he had ever encountered. It was crafted from obsidian glass that reflected their shadows with an eerie clarity, as if the surface itself were scanning their biological es
CHAPTER 109: DESPERATE MEASURES
The air inside the R&D core database felt suffocatingly heavy, as if gravity here exerted twice the force of the previous sectors. A sharp scent of ozone mingled with the stifling heat radiating from thousands of crystal data pillars that loomed toward the darkened ceiling. Mark Miller stepped forward, his legs still feeling a trace of weakness after weathering the cognitive onslaught of the Logic Traps. Behind him, David kept a frantic eye on his scanner, while Sarah took up a position at the mouth of a narrow corridor, her index finger never straying from the trigger of her binary rifle.They now stood before the final gate, a digital architectural anomaly known as the Causality Firewall. Unlike steel doors or light partitions, the barrier ahead was a curtain of slow-swirling black particles, emitting static waves that made Mark’s skin crawl. Every time a particle collided with the air, a faint hiss echoed—a sound that reminded Mark of the thousands of agonized whispers he had heard
CHAPTER 108: THE LOGIC TRAP
The pulsing red emergency lights along the R&D corridor created a sickening illusion that the metallic walls of Sector 14 were breathing, contracting and expanding in sync with Mark Miller’s erratic heartbeat. Mark came to a halt before a massive gate. It wasn't forged from steel, but rather from a lattice of liquid crystal screens displaying thousands of raw data streams flowing vertically. This was the entrance to the R&D core database—the final bastion holding the secrets of what truly happened to test subjects like the figure he had seen in the earlier footage.David attempted to link his device to the gate’s interface, but a static shock wave instantly repelled the panel, sending the young man tumbling backward. The screens in front of them abruptly turned a blinding, clinical white, and a layered mechanical voice—sounding as if it were composed of thousands of overlaid human voices—echoed through the stale air."Access denied. Cognitive Defense Protocol engaged. Prove your logic
CHAPTER 107: SHREDDED MEMORIES
The Sector 14 corridor felt increasingly claustrophobic, its metallic walls encased in a web of pulsing fiber optics that carried raw data like lifeblood through the veins of a titan. The sharp tang of scorched ozone and the stifling heat radiating from the server banks behind the bulkheads made the air thick and heavy. Mark Miller moved forward, still reeling from the shock of the previous archive room. His mind was trapped in a loop, haunted by the echo of a child’s voice calling out for "Father" within the system—a ghost in the machine that played over and over like a corrupted tape.Behind him, David and Sarah remained on high alert. David wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his eyes fixed on a scanner showing the Management’s defense systems growing increasingly aggressive. Sarah held her weapon at the ready, though her gaze frequently drifted toward Mark with a look of profound concern. She could tell their leader was standing on the precipice of an emotional breakdown."Ma
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