I carefully walk into the large ‘room’. There’s no door, or even walls, only shelves running parallel with zombies going about the ‘business’ of stocking them. Which means they are mindlessly taking boxes off a shelf, putting them on the floor, picking them up, putting them back on the shelf, and starting over.

An occasional one moves a box between zombies, but that too is an action on a loop.

Then there are the five Smileys, standing around a water cooler.

Where ever the system gets its information, it’s picking the most tropish ones to build this place. Supervisors wasting time around the water cooler while the work is done by the peons. Doesn’t get more stereotypical than that.

Maybe those boxes contain stuff I can take. Loot, like Terry calls it. But I don’t want to get close to the zombies, and taking something out of the loop they are playing will cause them to attack me, I’m sure of that.

The zombies don’t seem to notice me, entirely focused on their work. The Smileys… then know I’m here. They look at me here and there, in between their ‘conversation’. More play-acting, since none of them speak.

My “disguise” is working. As the information on the yellow smiley mask said, they don’t consider me aggressive, so they ignore me. I can walk among them, see where everything is, without worrying. For now.

Terry’s warning about getting too close, or what will happen if I take anything, stays with me.

The defense provided by the blue vest and the mask means the zombies can’t hurt me, but there’s no telling about the Smileys. They pack a lot of damage with one hit, and I only have approximations to go with that thirty points of damage reduction I’m getting. Is that more than they do? Less, how much less?

My vision isn’t impaired by the mask, which feels odd. Putting it on I expected to be looking through eye-holes, but it’s like I’m not wearing anything, I don’t even feel it unless I Grab the edge to take it off. Then it’s like pulling off a weak band-aid; resistance, but no pain.

Reminds me of Jim Carey pulling the Mask off, but with none of the visual effects.

Another benefit of wearing it, I’m discovering, is that it highlights boxes with stuff in them. I was partially right. Some of the boxes the zombies are moving are highlighted. Few of them. Without the mask, it’d be a crap-shot if taking one gave you something or not. And you’d have to deal with the fight, regardless.

What I want is something that’ll make the fight worthwhile. I’m not interested in just fighting—my father snickers—for the sake of fighting. I have this timer counting down until some sort of side effect kicks in, and I want to be out of here, out of this place, before that happens.

Just under thirty-five minutes left.

So I need something big. A large glowing box I can just throw in my inventory and run out. A magical chest of some sort or…

A glowing door?

It’s on the wall, further down from the water cooler and the Smileys loitering there. Zombies go about their business as I approach it. Terry said there’d be a trigger radius around loot, so a fight started before I could take it. He also said there would be a guardian of some sort.

Like the spider in the sports-outdoors-automotive part of the dungeon.

I look around as I approach, as well as up. No spiders there, good. I don’t have a flame thrower.

There’s a plaque on the door. ‘Supervisor’s office’.

That would make it a higher-ranked part of the dungeon, right?

Still nothing attacking me.

I hesitate as I reach for the knob. Watch if it isn’t locked, and I get mobbed trying to get in. I grab, turn, and don’t question it when the door opens. I rush in and slam it shut behind me.

The scream, as I put my back to it in anticipation of the mob forcing its way in, startles me.

There’s someone in the room, the office, the very normal-looking office.

He’s tall and thin, with skin construction paper black. His hair is stark white. His face is long, longer than seems normal, as if someone grabbed his chin and hair, pulled and it just stretched. His ears are pointed, like Spock.

And he’s wearing a rumpled brown suit that’s too wide at the shoulders and too short at the cuffs, adding to the idea he was stretched.

And he’s still screaming.

“Calm down.”

Kill it.

I’m not killing some scared guy.

You think that’s a guy? My father asks, and I have trouble pushing down the doubt. There hasn’t been anyone ‘real’ in this place since entering it, so why am I thinking this one, who doesn’t look human, is? And if he was real, well, normal, if that even applies anymore. He should be relieved at seeing someone else. Instead, he’s acting like one of the zombies broke into his office to…

Well, fuck.

I grab the edge of the mask and pull it off. There is no sound, only slight resistance, but I can’t stop my imagination from adding the ripping of my skin as it comes off.

“There, calm down,” I say. “I’m not one of those things.”

He keeps screaming for a few more seconds than I like, but it tapers off.

“What… who are you?” he asks. His voice is deeper than his look hinted at.

“Chuck. You?”

“Steve, Steve Carvel. I’m the shift supervisor. What the fuck is going on?”

“Didn’t you get the system notice when this started?” I don’t feel anything pushing on the door, so I carefully step away. There are large windows on each side. Windows that weren’t there from outside the room, and I see the zombies massing in front of the office.

Yeah, I’m in for a fight to get out of here.

“I slept through it.”

I stare at him.

“Look,” he says, defensively. “Do you have any idea how much work it is being a supervisor here? I’m doing three people’s work, and I don’t get paid for all to overtime I have to put in making sure everything’s in order. When I get home, I barely have time to have dinner, catch a show, maybe drop some stress on an online poker game, then sleep. The first hours of my shift are about the only time when I can shut that door, have some silence, and rest.”

“I wasn’t questioning why you’d be asleep. Just surprised you slept through that system initiation window. It was pretty intrusive.”

Steve shrugs. “I’m a heavy sleeper. I rested my head down on my desk. When I woke up, I looked like this, and that was outside.” He points at the window.

“So you didn’t pick that look,” I said.

“Are you kidding me? Why would I want to look like this?”

“Wait. You’ve been here since this started? That was like two days ago.”

“I basically live in here. I keep my mini-fridge stocked. I’m good for three more days, maybe four. Hopefully, whatever this is will be done by then.”

I shake my head. “I don’t think this is passing.” I look out again. The Smileys have joined the zombies. That’s five that, maybe, can’t do enough damage to hurt me, and a shit tone that can’t do anything.

To me.

I look at Steve.

Who fucking cares, my father says in exasperation and I ignore him.

“How are you at fighting?”

Steve stares at me. His Irises are black. Almost the same as his skin, just with a bit of shine to them. I can’t tell if it’s the color, or the pupil is that large.

“Okay, I have two… teammates just outside. If we can reach them, they’ll provide support.”

“Why did they stay out there?” he asks suspiciously.

I raise the mask. “This makes it those ignore me. The plan was for me to look around, figure out if there’s anything of value and, if not, not bother dealing with them.”

“So once you put that on, I’m on my own?”

I look out again. Are there more of them?

“I doubt that’s possible at this point. Don’t ask me to explain it, but some things are important. Wearing the mask, I can see them. The door was one of them, which is why I came in. Now that I’ve done that. I’m going to have to fight them.” I summon my barbell and Steve startles.

“What have you been doing all this time you’ve been stuck in here?” I ask.

“Look,” he replies defensively again. “I’m not some—” he gestures up and down at me. “—I don’t know what you are.”

“I just asked what you have been doing.” Fuck tone and people misinterpreting what I say.

“Doing my best not to go insane.” The suspicion is loud.

Why is it I can figure out what tone means and no one else seems to be able to do it with me?

Maybe it’s because you have a problem? My father states the obvious.

“So you haven’t checked your tabs or your inventory?”

I see the eye flick up, then back at me.

“That isn’t because you’re going insane. Everyone has them now. One of them is your inventory. You can ask Terry, later. But if there’s anything you need to keep from here, take it and will it there.”

“Look,” he says with a roll of the eyes, picking up a stack of paper. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you can’t just will—” his scream as the papers vanish makes me smile.

“You were saying.”

He glares at me.

I glance at my willpower and it doesn’t change. That’s interesting. Is it because it’s just the two of us or some other factor? The papers reappear in his hand and he drops them like they’re on fire.

“Stick to the most important stuff. You probably don’t have a lot of inventory slots. They’re based on strength.” He just looks at me and I sigh. Great, that costs me some willpower? How does that thing work? “We don’t have the time for explanations. Grab the three or four things you’re willing to die for and let’s get out of here.”

“I’m not willing to die for anything in here,” he replies, offended.

I smile. “Then let’s get out of here. Stay…” I trail off. How the fuck am I going to do this? I can’t protect him from all that. “You know what, on second thought, stay here.”

Tag, you’re it.

His name appears on the sidebar where the members of the group are, but in its own section. ‘Ward’.

I run out of the office, ignoring his protest.

I barrel through the zombie, keeping an eye on the distance readout next to his name. I take some damage from the Smileys, but then I’m past them and the other zombies might as well not be trying.

The rest of the way is clear. Good.

The distance turns yellow and I think I’m at half the limit. I’m not going to make it to the ‘door’, but that’s okay.

And here I thought that you’d do the smart thing for once.

Fuck off.

“John! Terry!”

The two steps in, warily. John’s gun is up and pointed to my left.

Or you know, he’s about to—

Shut the fuck up.

“I need you to protect Steve!” the distance turns orange.

“Who’s—”

Switch.

I’m in the office, and I don’t bother with the relief this worked. Doors could have stopped the ability. I run outside. The zombies are in the process of turning, as if they knew I was back here.

Maybe they did. Who knows?

The Smileys are further back, so I swing through the zombies like a wild man. They go down easily, but they keep coming. Their numbers are the problem. They can pin me down and make the Smileys’ job that much easier.

Switch back, my father orders. He has no problem sacrificing others for his benefit. The fact that the voice is saying what my subconscious wants, and not his desires, makes me uncomfortable enough I drop Steve as my ward. His name vanishes from the list and even if I can still command a switch with someone who isn’t my ward, I need the doubling in distance that grants to reach him.

I grin. Take that dad.

The punch that connects only takes out a sliver of my health, but the kinetic energy in it still staggers me into a group of zombies who grab at me, trying to bite through the vest since their arms are busy.

I shrug some off as the Smiley approach, but not enough so that when I swing my barbell at it, they throw off my aim. Whit a scream I throw myself back and to the ground, then roll off the stunned zombies.

When the Smiley’s facing me again. I block his strike and respond with precise hits from my bar. When it goes down, the other four reach me, but somehow, it feels like their attacks are slower, easier to avoid or deflect. And I have a better sense of where and how to hit them to maximize the damage.

That knowledge doesn’t make me all that good at connecting, but when I do, it’s effective.

The last one drops and I still have three-quarters of my health.

Okay, John was right about being armored.

I turn to face the rest of the zombies as John fires at them. Each bullet sends electricity coursing through half a dozen.

“Come on!” He yells.

“No!” Terry says, flinging jets of water at the zombies. “This is easy XP and we want the loot, right?”

Oh, he’s going to get you killed. I just know it.

Except that with them here, the zombies are splitting their attention and I can hit them in the back before they reach the two of them.

Three. Please don’t tell me you’re okay with team-ups now.

I glance at my willpower going up as I throw myself into the fight. There is something to be said about having someone watch your back so you can just let go and hit stuff.