When the stage vanished again, I clapped and said brightly, “Well, I’m gonna get something to drink. I am SO parched right now. Oh, are we still doing your thingy, Darril? I’m guessing probably not, I kinda derailed things before we got to the part where Barnett was supposed to rally people in opposition, thus completing the recipe for chaos.”

Darril just stared at me, looking for all the world (and viewers) that he had absolutely no idea what the flying fuck to make of me anymore. “No, no,” he said, “I don’t think I’m up for any ‘big moves’ anymore. This really threw into sharp relief how many things could’ve gone wrong.”

I made a finger gun at him and clicked my tongue. “Cool beans.” As I walked away, I said to ‘nobody in particular’, “So how’s THAT for a friggin’ show, am I right? I’ll be here all week, but I can’t promise I’ll be able to top the opening act, so do keep it in mind...”

What the actual hell am I on about? I thought once I was safe in my tent. My imagination had run away with me during that whole thing like it never had before. “You dingbat,” I murmured, “you need to check yourself big time or else you’re gonna cross that line you said you’d never ever cross. You’re gonna go from ‘crazy, but with a grip on reality’ to ‘actually insane’ and then where will you be?”

After five glasses of water (which I later noted, the individual glasses used were larger than the disposable cups outside,) supplemented by a very small amount of the special condensed water they’d given me to smuggle into the Floor, and some food, by the time I went to sleep, the answer was “a much better state.” The lack of food for everyone who didn’t at least have a tent was particularly insidious. I mean yeah, a human person, and a Throskart person, can last waaaay longer starving to death than dying of thirst, but a lack of food can seriously affect your strength and energy.

And what activity takes a crap ton of strength and energy? Fighting. Those who were unable to eat wouldn’t need to starve to death. Either the spiders would get them, or they’d stop trying for the lanes and die of thirst or votes instead.

On top of that, soon there were fewer tents offered each night than people who could afford them. Very few players had scored enough merits to rate a house on the very first day. So even if you HAD the merits, if you didn’t get there first come first serve, you were S.O.L. And I knew from my briefings that the number of tents and houses would decrease as the field did, so that wouldn’t change.

Of course, there was the mansion, but in the early stages it was as good as a trap for someone in my position. If I stayed there, I’d never build a commanding enough lead that I’d actually not have to worry about being sniped out of the top 10%--which would shrink by one place every day, so the only acceptable place in my book was 1st.

The next couple of days were fairly difficult. Darril had abandoned his plan, which he had correctly course-corrected that there was way too high a chance that other players would disobey, but he’d still put it in the others’ heads that body-blocking the front runners from the lanes was a thing to try.

It didn’t work so well for them the second day, since the location they rose up from rotated, but by the third, some of them had worked out the pattern. Without Barnett trying to balk me from the center lane I still made it there easily, but Darril only claimed a 10-spider lane, and only just, putting him outside the top 8 players. One way or another, he avoided getting voted off anyway though.

After that, it got relatively easier. The game tried a few times to trip me up (and the others, but I had to figure especially me) with “special events,” but by the 4th day, the have-nots were in such poor condition I expected people would start dropping without being executed soon.

The spider monsters were also getting stronger, and the number of lanes was getting smaller. Barnett and Darril were still keeping up with 50 lanes—Darril had only bowed out early the first day to get people underestimating him or something, I figured. By the 6th day, three players had actually died to the spiders, and several more of thirst. Given that 10 players were meant to survive, it looked like the game would actually end on the 8th or 9th day.

As soon as most players were too weak to effectively band together against him, Darril had started cozying up to me, too. I figured he wanted in the freaking mansion. I accepted, on the basis of keeping him close enough to keep an eye on. On day 7, I told them that I’d go ahead and splurge. I picked two others at random among the front runners who were still keeping up with the spiders well, as well as Darril and Barnett, and checked the place out.

It was obscene how much better the food in that place was than both the rations I’d been buying in the 1st Floor, and the ones I’d been buying here. I had to be careful not to make myself sick. I didn’t let myself get too relaxed, though, even as I went into the opulent renter’s suite.

I hadn’t broken down and paid for the mansion because I wanted to recover and relax, though it was a helpful benefit. It was because of a conversation I’d had with Bruzigan, during the last day of briefings on the second floor.

“There’s one more less known fact about the Floors we should go over. It’s possible for the Floors to have, we usually call them hidden pieces. Meaning, extra reward items that don’t have anything to do with the mission. In fact, most of the time you have to go quite a bit out of your way to even have a chance at finding one, and they’re always extremely difficult to retrieve. But they’re very worth finding. Without exception, a hidden piece on a floor is more valuable and helpful than anything you might get as a mission reward, or even a reward for a hidden mission.

I doubt this will be relevant on the Second Floor—we have no known records of a hidden piece being found there but it’s something to keep in mind.”

This very room, the mansion suite, was hands down the most difficult place for a challenger to reach on the Second Floor. It was still possible to reach within the confines of the game, so I figured it was a long shot. Even so, I gave the place a thorough search.

And when I checked under the bed, I hit paydirt.

From under the bed, I drew out a small, ornate box about the size of a jewelry box that was securely latched. A small screen on the top displayed:

[Congratulations on finding this. However, you can’t take it with you—only what’s inside. It will only open for a challenger in possession of at least 1,000 merits.]

I had that covered—after fighting the center lane for 7 days, today nearly having to resort to Explosive Overclocking, even after renting the mansion I had over 1,100. I trembled with excitement as I undid the latch. It slid open smoothly and easily, as though it had been recently oiled.

What was inside was a strange glowing piece of crystal, small enough to fit into my palm. It looked as though it was a piece that had broken off of a larger one. And when I identified it...

[Life Force Shard]

Silver Grade Consumable (1 use only)

Restores the user to full and perfect health instantly, even from a state of imminent death. Crush to activate.

Ten can be combined by a sufficiently skilled Jeweler to form an [Extra Life Gem].

Holy bejeezus. Bruzigan had not been exaggerating in the slightest. This thing was bar none the most incredible item I’d ever seen in the Tower. Even including the Class Evolver, which may have been super-rare, and had arguably an even better effect, but it was extremely difficult to effectively use.

The Life Force Shard, on the other hand, was easy to see how it was an absolute godsend. I had a feeling I wouldn’t be seeing one more of them by the time I got to probably Area 4, let alone Area 1, so I resolved not to hesitate to use the first effect at need.

After the best night’s sleep I’d had since the Tower had taken me, the game round ended after one more day’s fighting. By then, there were only 14 players left including myself, and only 3 lanes, which Barnett, Darril, and I cleared out. After that there was no voting—the 4 players with the least merits were automatically marked for death.

[Would you like to turn in your mission?]

Yes.