The dungeon lobby was not what I expected. White marble flooring divided into squares paved a large, open space penned in by glass. A receptionist’s desk, complete with a widescreen computer monitor and a rather geriatric looking Qualcomm phone, stood near the front. There was a wide swathe of wall behind the desk where a corporate logo would typically be stamped. But instead of a corporate logo, there was a simple oversized symbol in dark, cast iron.

:)

Weirdly out of place. Everything else was almost disturbingly modern and sterile. Not a single bit of dirt or detritus to indicate that a human had ever been through here, save for the black footprints I tracked in from the bank wreckage. To the right of the desk was a sizable security office, pinioned off by a series of brass poles connected by velvet ropes. The only entrance was a high-tech looking door. An oversized one-way mirror reflected my confused expression back at me.

They’re always watching.

The chill started at the small of my back and worked its way across my body. I clamped down on it, refusing to give into the fear. After a few-too-many near-death experiences, it was understandable to be jumpy. And hadn’t warned me to leave, or evade the mirror as it had in the hospital.

It was just letting me know that my actions were being monitored. By what, or who, was only a guess. I took a moment to ponder what they could see. A lanky teen in civilian clothes with a hood obscuring most of his features. Over the clothes was a gray set of what looked like fantasy leather armor: a many-segmented chest plate fitted with straps, round shoulder pauldrons, hard bracers on my forearms, and hard greaves with articulated knee pads on my legs. A brown leather ring belt held my hand crossbow and bolts. The crossbow holster was over my right hip and the capped bolt quiver was on my left hip.

Basically, I looked like some nerd that got lost on his way to a LARPing convention or Comic-Con. Whatever. What they couldn’t see is that the armor was made from some super tough material, all the pieces were lined with bulletproof padding, and the crossbow was fucking real, thank you very much. As something of an afterthought, I checked my quest objectives.

Primary Objective — Gain loot and levels as you fulfill your contractual obligations.

Primary Objective Extended — Explore the dungeon, venturing at least to the fifth floor.

Personal Objective — Remain unidentified by other Users (excluding Kinsley, Merchant). .

Threat Level: (S-L)

EXP GAIN (M)

Time Limit: One Week.

Reward: Improved access to items at a discount from Kinsley, Merchant

Reward: Progression towards Vocation ???

There was no acknowledgement of my progress, so loitering in the lobby didn’t count as exploring the dungeon. I assumed that the time limit was elastic, dependent on whether Kinsley renewed my contract. But most importantly, my personal objective had not been failed. That meant whoever or whatever was watching me was likely not a User.

So quick to trust words on a screen.

It took effort, but I ignored the mental voice for the moment. seemed to have two modes. Mocking and aloof, or dead serious. The previous comment was one of the former.

I gave the security office a wide berth and circled to the elevators on the left hand side. Like almost any modern office building, there was more than one. Three of them stood side by side, simple metal doors with a call button to the right of each.

Almost mindlessly, I reached out to touch one—and stopped, my finger a millimeter from the up button.

Why are they watching in the lobby?

Hypothetically, this isn’t the only dungeon. If something is watching, it’s for one of two reasons. Business or pleasure. Directly monitoring a lobby seems inefficient. People might change their minds, especially when they discover the dungeon is adaptive. Plus, what do you even do in a lobby, apart from make your way to the dungeon proper? Maybe it’s for logging and records of anyone who enters, but I doubt it. If it’s for entertainment, then that makes sense. Set the scene. Build up tension. Still, that’s shaky logic. It’s a slow start, and if there are other people actively engaging in other dungeons, why would you be watching me?

Feeling more than a little silly, I stepped back and studied the doors. And all doubt faded away. They would be identical to the untrained observer, probably identical to me less than a week ago, but something—likely a combination of my newly enhanced Pperception and —told me they were not the same.

It took a minute to pick out the differences. The elevator on the left was easiest. It looked identical on the surface, but when I bent down to inspect the clear call button, I found a tiny red spot that might be blood. In any other scenario, it could have been chalked up to simple accumulation of grime, but the building was pristine. A trap maybe?

Mentally, I nixed the elevator on the left and moved on. The remaining two were far more difficult. Identical in almost every way. Same doors, same buttons, same frame. Something didn’t feel right about the elevator on the right, but what?

A germaphobe or introvert goes to the farthest elevator. An egocentric chooses the center. And the average person follows the most straightforward path. The elevator on the right is closest to the door. I almost picked it myself. That’s why it feels wrong.

I took a step back, breathing out. Maybe I was overthinking. But this was an adaptive dungeon. And my highest stat was my intelligence by a wide margin. I couldn’t take for granted that it only adapted to level.

This wasn’t a lobby. This was the dungeon. If I was right, I’d come within a hair’s breadth of danger simply by almost selecting the wrong elevator. Which begged a nagging question. Did I really want to do this? Put myself at the mercy of a system that had already screwed me over, and didn’t care if I lived or died?

chuckled in the back of my mind.

Some descend to ruin. Others rise to greatness. Is this really any different?

The most important aspect of test taking was picking a choice and moving on. And it was different. Because I had a choice this time.

I punched the up button on the center elevator.

A low thrum filled the lobby and a digital red number appeared on the overhead display, counting down from fifteen. I retreated a few steps, my crossbow in one hand, dagger held in the other, the top of my wrist supporting my firing arm.

The wait became unbearable. My pulse was racing so fast it was making me nauseous. Quickly, I checked over my shoulder to make sure the dungeon door was still open. I even fidgeted and thought about checking my cell phone for messages, my anxiety desperate for an outlet. Finally, the number stopped at one. I stood ready for anything, my crossbow and dagger braced with hands that were both slick with sweat and shaking.

The door pinged open, a gasp of air escaping as pressure equalized. It was fucking empty.

I stood as still as a statue for a full 10 second count, just in case. Having seen enough horror movies, I made a thorough visual inspection, making extra sure to check the overhead. Still nothing. Cautiously, sweeping my crossbow side-to-side to check the corners, I stepped in. t

There was a whoosh as the doors slammed closed behind me. I jumped straight up with a shriek and spun around, pretty sure I might have lost a few years on my lifespan.

A flurry of notifications popped into view.

Breathing a little easier, I watched with self-satisfied amusement as an unfilled leaderboard populated my listing at the top of an otherwise blank sheet as User: ???, Class: ???, LVL: ???.

“Wait—” I grit my teeth as an artillery shell detonated in my mind, a painful pulse that aligned with the hammering of my heart. Adrenaline pumping, I fought to clear my thoughts and stay alert. Somehow, I managed to keep a grip on my weapons as I slid down the back wall.

A panel of my elevator fell away, revealing nothing but void illuminated by a reddish glow. Then another. And another. Piece by piece, the elevator was rapidly revealed to be an iron cage. It started clanking as it moved upwards, lifted by a link of dark chains thicker than my neck. A medieval style chandelier with the same cast-iron logo in the lobby somehow hung above me now, illuminating the darkness

I heard a howl to my left and scrambled away from it, instinctually. There was a massive albino wolf crammed into a cage identical to mine, its body taking up the majority of the space twelve people could have fit easily. It snapped at me as my cage moved away, teeth snapping at the iron bars. I pressed my back against the bars furthest away, taking in small, panicked breaths as my cage swayed wildly.

Then what I can only describe as a long tendril of shadow curled around my cheek from behind and caressed my face with a burning sensation. I leapt back from the bars, my pulse rising even higher as I saw what was in another cage beside mine.

The other cage contained something. A silhouette of a woman made of shimmering black substance. Her eyes and gaping mouth glowed with an unnerving orange light as she emitted a sound that was a cross between a giggle and a wet moan.

She was trapped in the same type of cage, all three of us hanging above an impenetrable darkness with me stuck in the middle of two monsters. I willed my cage to move up faster and leave them behind.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.”

Thank God I picked this elevator.

My hand crossbow and its anemic bolts would have done next to nothing to the wolf, to say nothing of the knife. And how did you even fight something like the second monster?

The same way space fought the dinosaurs.

Sweating and nursing a lingering migraine from the Intelligence boost, I spent much of the remaining ascent trying to talk myself off the ledge. Telling myself that my justifications up to this point had been perfectly valid. That what had happened to me was no different from jumping across a gap and discovering there were spikes lurking beneath. Reiterating that with so much of my world turned upside down, gaining power was worth the risk.

But the reassurance felt fraudulent.

My inner turmoil was put back on the back burner as the cage pulled up to an incongruous matching set of three elevator doors. They loomed out of the darkness, floating and not appearing to be attached to anything. My cage came in line with the middle set of doors and I was almost knocked off my feet as it jerked to a stop. As if in mockery, the elevator dinged like normal as the doors opened.

Sunlight blinded me. I stepped out from the elevator, eager to leave its confines but disoriented from the last vestiges of a splitting headache and the new setting. At first, I thought the dungeon had simply ended. Spit me out at the impact site and I was fine with that. But the impression faded as a never-ending onslaught of green came into focus in lieu of a wasteland of concrete.

“Wow.” The word escaped all on its own.

It was a pastoral meadow.

Back when things were better, my parents used to drive us up to Colorado Bend for vacation in the early spring. It was a three-hour drive—an eternity to me back then—but it still felt worth it. There were all these hidden alcoves off the main road, places you’d drive right by without realizing they were there. Dad knew them all. He rotated through them, kept the repeat trips interesting.

But the one place we always stopped was Mile Marker 21. I remember a rush of excitement every time the emerald green sign came into focus. We’d leave the car at a nearby parking spot, then forge off the road on foot. It was a grueling trek through a nonstop canopy of brambles and low-hanging leaves. On the last push, you’d break through to a meadow of waist-high grass, a vista of verdant land rolling out all the way to the horizon.

It might be the only place I’ve ever felt truly at peace.

And I felt a murmur of that peace now. Almost everything was the same. The base of a tree where we rolled out a blanket and picnicked. A small lake that glimmered in the distance. The only quantifiable difference was a small batch of tall flowers, swaying in the wind.

There is no wind.

Before the warning could sink in, something feathery touched my hand. I looked down, expecting to find a strand of grass. Instead, I found a large leaf wrapped around my finger. It was attached to a sunflower around waist height.

“Uh.”

The sunflower’s face cracked open, revealing a jagged maw of razor sharp seed teeth. “Meeeeat,” It hissed.

Then before I could react, it bit down on my hand and I screamed.