The crossing is a mental ordeal. We’ve barely taken three steps before the dungeon counterattacks. The sounds return, amplified. Clicks from bear traps snap right under our soles. Hateful voices scream at us from inches away.
I feel ice-cold fingers stroke the back of my neck. Invisible spiderwebs stick to my face. Chris and Kim stiffen at every step, flinching violently, but I hold them steady, forcing them to keep the pace.
“It’s all smoke and mirrors,” I whisper. “Keep going.”
They have their hands pressed against their ears, eyes shut, relying entirely on my lead. I’m an icebreaker plowing through a sea of pure terror.
After about ten minutes that feel like hours, a vertical line appears in the black. A sliver of light. “The door!”
I let go of my two burdens and push the door open.
Light floods over us. Real light, warm and reassuring. It’s the exit corridor.
We stumble out of the dark room, blinded but alive. Chris falls to his knees, practically kissing the stone floor. Kim leans against the wall, gasping for air. “We did it…” she breathes.
I turn back to the room we just left. Now that the door is open, the light from the corridor reaches inside, finally revealing the reality of the place. “You have got to be kidding me,” I mutter, an incredulous smile on my lips. “Come and see this.”
Chris and Kim stand up and look over my shoulder.
The room is empty. The abyss and the traps have vanished, replaced by a large dusty room and a few low walls.
And the monsters… They’re there. Hundreds of them. Perched on beams, clinging to the walls, sitting on the pedestals.
I was expecting zombies, ghosts, maybe even Bioraptors.
But no. They’re tarsiers.
Small primates, though much larger than the ones on Earth, with soft fur and huge, round, unblinking eyes that take up half their faces. They watch us in silence, heads tilted to the side, with that perpetually surprised and cute look.
One of them holds a small piece of metal that he clicks against a stone. Another rubs two pieces of leather together.
“They were… monkeys?” Chris stammers.
I narrow my eyes, staring at the nearest creature watching me with its head tilted. I analyze it.
[MONSTER ANALYSIS] Name: Prankster Tarsier | Level: 3
[Statistics]
- HP: 50 / 50
- Attack: 2
- Speed: 85 (Uncatchable in the dark)
- Defense: 5
[Skills]
- [Terror Mimicry] (Passive): Capable of perfectly reproducing any sound recorded in the collective memory of fear (blades, cocking guns, ragged breathing, children laughing).
- [Phantom Touch] (Active): Projects a tactile sensation from a distance—cold, moisture, or a rough tongue—onto the target’s skin to cause panic. Causes no real damage.
- [Stress Feeder] (Passive): The creature becomes intangible and invisible as long as the heart rate of targets in the area exceeds 120 beats per minute. Note: The only way to touch them is to stay calm.
[System Description]: A cute abomination designed to break the mind before touching the body. Harmless to your health points, deadly to your underwear.
“Prankster Tarsiers,” I correct him. “They don’t do physical harm, but they love scaring the hell out of people. They’re just cute little monsters made specifically to terrify.”
Kim stares at the cute little creature that had terrified her on her low wall. The tarsier blinks its big eyes and lets out a little “Hee hee hee” that sounds more like a chirp than a demonic laugh in the light of day.
“I almost had a heart attack… over a stuffed animal?” she says, her voice flat.
“Welcome to the Tower,” I say, closing the door. “The dungeon is trolling us, and it’s very good at it.”
Mentally exhausted, we collapse in the Safe Zone. Kim shakes slightly while checking her rifle for the hundredth time. Chris stares into space, his eyes glazed.
I sit with my back against the ice-cold wall and open the interface to see where we stand.
[Tower Ranking]
[Current Position]: 678,425,963rd
[Time Remaining]: 28 Days
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
[Status]: SECURE
I whistle through my teeth. “We’ve made a massive jump. We’re under the billion mark.”
I close the screen and look at the shut door we just came through. “This dungeon is a machine built to break GodRunners,” I mutter. “It’s psychological architecture, way more than a simple raid where you kill mobs and climb.”
I trace a line in the dust with my shovel. “Floor 2 formatted us. It exhausted us physically and made us paranoid with its tall grass and surprise attacks. We hit Floor 3 with raw nerves and peak adrenaline. And then? Boom. Sensory deprivation. They tapped into every primal fear we have right when we’re most vulnerable.”
Chris shudders. “And the door… it closed behind us, Uncle Ben.”
“Exactly. It was a mousetrap. Anyone who enters without mental prep is done for. They’re either paralyzed in the dark, waiting to die of hunger or a heart attack, or they’ve already checked out early to escape the voices. That jump in the rankings? That’s the sound of millions of people snapping.”
A heavy silence settles in. Chris stares at the number ‘678 million’ still floating in his vision.
“But… Uncle Ben, what do we do now?” he asks, his voice full of hope. “We’re in the clear. We’re well under the two billion mark. We’re safe from the purge. Can’t we… can’t we just stop climbing? We stay here and wait for the end of the month?”
I look at him. It’s tempting. Safety. Rest. “It’s tempting, kid. It really is. But you’re forgetting a crucial detail.”
I stand up and turn toward the ceiling, toward the invisible floors above us. “This Tower scenario is just a detour. A waiting room. Once the month’s up, we go back to Earth for Phase 1: The Wild Earth.”
I lean toward him, my face hard. “We don’t know what’s waiting for us down there. But what we do know is that there are 678 million people ahead of us. People who keep climbing. People winning XP, loot, skills… and most of all, Knowledge.”
I point at the ceiling. “Don’t forget the Guides. Every cleared floor is another lesson. The higher you climb, the more vital info you gather on how the universe works. Here, knowledge is absolute power. The ones ahead of us will have the matrix codes long before we do.”
I strike the floor with my shovel. “If we stop now, we stagnate. And when we go back to Earth, we’ll have to fight for resources against 600 million people who finished Floor 10, 20, or 50. They’ll be gods compared to us, armed with secrets we’ll never know. If we want to survive the apocalypse, we can’t just avoid elimination. We’ve got to be stronger and smarter than the guys in front. We keep going.”
As if to validate my decision, a new column of light hits the center of the room.
[System]: Appearance of the Third Tier Guide.
The light fades. And then… a heavy, awkward silence follows.
She’s a little girl dressed as an adventurer, with a backpack that looks twice as big as she is. She’s got massive, wide eyes staring through us into the void, and a frozen, permanent smile that looks almost like a fixed, unnatural grin.
She raises her hand in a jerky motion, like a poorly adjusted automaton. “Hello Tourists! I am the System Explorer Guide!”
Her voice is high-pitched and enthusiastic, with an intonation that rises at the end of every sentence. She turns toward the empty wall to our right. “Can you see the Status Tab?”
She freezes. She does not move. Her eyes don’t blink. Her smile doesn’t flicker. She waits.
One second passes.
Five seconds.
Ten seconds.
The silence starts to itch. Kim readies her rifle by reflex, disturbed by this living bug.
“Did she… did she crash?” Chris whispers.
The girl remains motionless, staring into nothingness with her psychopath smile.
“Uh… No?” Chris answers timidly.
The Guide snaps back to life instantly. “EXCELLENT! That is normal!” she shouts while clapping her hands. “It is the Golden Rule! Only you and the friends in your group can see your windows! For the others, it is invisible! It is our little secret!”
She raises an inquisitive finger. “Unless you want to show them! If you want to share with a new friend, you must give them Permission! You must say ‘I authorize’! It is like lending your toys!”
She raises her arms to the sky. “WE MADE IT! WE MADE IT!”
A small victory theme, sounding like a cheap synthesizer, rings through the air.
I put my head in my hands. “Dammit… they’re really mocking us. This isn’t a Guide, it’s a bad kids’ show for toddlers. The ‘Big Boss’ treats us like total idiots.”
The Guide ignores my comment and returns to her frozen pose. “Let us look in my Backpack! SHOUT ‘Backpack’!”
I refuse to answer. Not even at gunpoint. Chris, conditioned by years of TV but dying of shame, takes a deep breath.
“BACKPACK!” he yells, his voice cracking a bit. The bag opens on its own.
“Here is the Interface! There is the Status Tab to see your muscles! The Skills Tab for your powers! And the Map!”
She points to a black square floating in the air. “The Map is your best friend! Even if it is all black in the Tower! Keep it open always, even if it is useless! Can you see the Black Map?”
Silence.
A fixed stare.
Ten seconds of absolute discomfort as she stares into my soul with her dead fish eyes.
I start to answer. “Yes, I see…”
“EXCELLENT!” she cuts me off.
She continues, unflappable. “There is also the Friends icon! Look at the icon with two bubbles! It is the Group Chat! It allows you to talk to your buddies even if they are far away or in the dark! It is super useful, right?”
I almost choke. “Is this a joke?” I grit out through clenched teeth. “Seriously? You’re tutorializing this now? We just cleared Floor 3! We almost died of fear and loneliness in total darkness because we didn’t know this thing existed! You couldn’t show up one floor earlier, you sadistic GPS?!”
She keeps her frozen smile, waiting for her internal ‘audience reaction’ timer to finish. “GREAT!” she says.
She dives her hand into her bag. “And if you are hungry, there is the Shop! Look at this delicious Ration Bar! Yum!”
A description window appears before us.
[Dungeon Ration Bar (Tier 1)] Price: 5 CG. Effect: Restores 100% of Hunger and Thirst. Special Property: Featuring nanocrystallized nutrients, this bar offers 100% absorption. The body produces no solid or liquid waste for 24 hours after consumption. Ideal for prolonged explorations.
I read the description, but the Guide speaks up again. “Did you know System food is magical? Whether it is this bar, stale bread, or purified water… everything is absorbed 100% by your body!”
She leans toward us, as if to share a secret, whispering loudly. “That means, No Poo! And No Pee! Ever! During your whole adventure! Is that not wonderful?”
I freeze. My eyes light up with a glow Kim’s never seen before. “Wait… am I dreaming, or is this the best feature in the game?”
I turn to Chris. “Did you hear that? It’s the end of the bathroom break! No more looking for a dark corner, no more worrying about hygiene or smells in a locked dungeon. It’s the ultimate quality-of-life optimization!”
The Explorer stares at me, her smile still bolted to her face. “Do you like not pooping?”
Silence.
Ten seconds.
I look her straight in the eyes, my face dead serious. “Yes. I love it. It’s the greatest day of my life.”
“WE MADE IT! WE MADE IT! Lo hicimos!”
She explodes into a shower of stars and disappears, leaving us alone with this scatological yet revolutionary revelation.
I turn to the team, fully recharged. “Okay. It’s decided. We’re only eating System food from now on. We’re optimizing our transit. Heading to Floor 4.”