Once familiar, twice adept, Eric smoothly climbed out, resolved to head for the rooftop.
The route Taylor provided was flawless. With agile movements, she ascended to the rooftop, where the helipad came into view.
The rooftop door was locked, bearing clear signs of tampering—likely Taylor's handiwork. Unable to pick the lock herself, Eric waited for Taylor to arrive. As she waited, faint noises echoed from behind the door.
Tap, tap, tap, taptaptap…
Frowning, Eric pressed her ear against the door. The tapping grew clearer, yet the source of the sound remained elusive.
Stepping away from the door, Eric began to survey the surroundings from the rooftop.
Zombies lurked everywhere. The road leading to the hospital entrance was blocked by abandoned vehicles, strewn with dried blood and human remains. Signs of life flickered in other buildings, though it was unclear whether they were NPCs or players.
After a full circle, Taylor still hadn't appeared. Unable to wait any longer, Eric leaned over the edge to look—only to see Taylor halfway out, facing inward, his body language suggesting an argument with someone.
Who could be in that room? What was Dennis doing?
On the thirteenth floor, Taylor's anger flared. He leapt back into the room, delivering a sharp kick that sent Dennis sprawling.
"Now I know what betrayal looks like. I've taken care of you, taught you the basics of navigating this dungeon! That information costs credits at the hub, and even then, it's hard to come by legitimately. And here you are, crying? If you won't stand on your own, who will pull you up? Holding me back like this—what kind of crap is that?"
After his furious tirade, Taylor turned to leave. Dennis, tears streaming down his face, clutched his stomach in pain, waiting for Taylor to disappear before staggering to his feet and calling after him.
"Bro! Don't leave me! Please… I'm scared… Wait for me, bro!"
Taylor swiftly climbed to the rooftop and glanced down. Dennis's desperate figure leaned out, gazing upward from several floors below. Even at this distance, Taylor could sense the pleading in his eyes.
"He's not coming up?" Eric asked.
"He's too scared. That lanky frame of his is wasted—he climbed a couple of meters, panicked, and slithered back. I offered to show him, but he clung to me, afraid I'd abandon him. Drove me up the wall."
Eric decided not to pry further and gestured to Taylor. "Can you open that door again?"
"Of course. Aren't we checking the ninth floor for clues?"
"Before that, let's scout the seventeenth floor."
Taylor considered it. "Fair point. We've come this far. I'll handle the lock."
In the ward, Dennis watched in horror as the door began to warp and buckle. The observation window shattered as a zombie's grotesque face pressed against it, revealing a gaping maw.
The bed barricading the door was on the verge of collapse.
Unable to contain his fear, Dennis sobbed uncontrollably.
Bang!
The door finally gave way.
"Hssss!" The zombies poured in.
Dennis scrambled toward the window.
Perhaps spurred by desperation, he slipped through in an instant, clambering onto the neighboring window ledge just as the zombies reached for him.
"Hss!" The zombies clawed at the glass behind him. Weak with terror, Dennis nearly lost his grip and plummeted below.
"Help… Help me…"
No one heard his cries.
Whatever Taylor's past had been, his lock-picking skills were unparalleled. The door swung open almost before Eric could process it.
She had no intention of prying into his history, asking instead, "Would you teach me in exchange for a medkit?"
Taylor paused. "Why would you want to learn?"
"In a game dungeon like this, skills like these are invaluable," Eric said, meeting his gaze.
Taylor looked away. "Fine. If you're serious, I'll teach you. But one's not enough. Make it five."
Eric shook her head. "Five's too much. Two at most."
"Three."
"Two." Maintaining her stance, Eric had started with one to leave room for negotiation.
Taylor sighed. "Alright, two it is. I'll teach you later."
With that brief exchange, the two began their descent down the stairs.
The moment Eric stepped inside, she halted abruptly. "Fresh blood," she murmured, her eyes scanning the walls marred by a scattering of bullet holes, each rimmed with crimson stains. The tapping sounds she had heard earlier suddenly resonated in her mind.
"This is bad—could the seventeenth floor have fallen as well? There were armed police stationed here! When the zombies besieged the entrance, the people upstairs must have been prepared. Even if the building were to be breached, surely not this swiftly."
"Perhaps," Taylor suggested, "maybe they've run out of ammunition."
Cautiously, the pair descended further. The stairwell walls were streaked with blood, yet no human remains met their eyes. Still, Eric's heart pounded fiercely; clutching her weapon tightly, she realized the volume of blood suggested at least ten fatalities here.
Yet, there were no corpses—no trace of flesh or bone.
Normally, descending from the rooftop to the seventeenth floor only took seconds, but this time Eric and Taylor moved slowly, each step sinking into pools of coagulated blood. A faint "squelch" muffled beneath their boots mingled with the thick, metallic stench that filled the air.
At last, they reached the seventeenth floor. The electronic door, which had barred Taylor the previous night, now hung ajar, swallowed by utter darkness and eerie silence—a silence so profound it stirred retreat in Eric's heart.
"There's something perilous inside," she whispered, stepping back cautiously.
Taylor swallowed nervously. "My heart's racing too. Maybe we should—"
Before he could finish, a long tentacle burst forth from the doorway like a lightning strike!
Swift and aggressive, Eric reacted instantly, raising her stainless steel rod to thrust into the muscular limb.
"Pfft!" The rod sank into resilient, supple flesh.
A harrowing roar erupted beyond the door. The tentacle coiled around the rod and jerked abruptly, pulling Eric along the floor. She quickly released her grip, tumbling forward and sliding two meters before crashing into the electronic door.
Stars burst before her eyes.
Taylor sprinted forward but stopped abruptly, turning back to find Eric struggling to rise against the door. Gritting his teeth, he grasped her hand and dragged her away from the entrance.
"Hurry, get on your feet! We have to run!" he urged urgently.
Reeling from the blow and nauseated, Eric dared not delay; she hastily applied a medkit.
"Let's move!"
Relieved at her recovery, Taylor took the lead, with Eric close behind.
They fled swiftly, and upon reaching the rooftop, Eric closed the door behind them. In that instant, the tentacle lashed out like a bolt of lightning. Eric twisted aside and drew another stainless steel rod from her belt, driving it into the appendage.
She struck true.
But the tentacle split into four sinister tendrils, each thrusting fiercely toward her neck.
Perhaps for the first time so close to death, time seemed to slow for Eric.
Life and death hung in a single breath, yet she remained unnervingly composed. Her consciousness darted swiftly into the sanctuary of a bustling supermarket—the Peaceful Department Store—where she dashed through the entrance to a neatly arranged arsenal.
Among the "weapons" lay cleavers, butcher knives, fruit knives, screwdrivers… broomsticks and mop handles sharpened at both ends, along with barbecue skewers and forks—an assortment of everyday items transformed into tools of survival. Eric had painstakingly gathered these for moments just like this, leaving them scattered on an open space for immediate access.
Her prior preparations proved invaluable. Grasping a sharp cleaver, she tensed her arm and waist muscles, bringing it down with violent force.
Taylor, having ascended the stairs, did not pause. Intent on retreating the way they came, he paid no mind to noises behind him. Inwardly, he told himself he had done all he could, then climbed over the railing without looking back. He was determined to put distance between himself and the horrors of the seventeenth floor.
He descended two stories in one breath and collapsed by a window on the fifteenth floor, locking eyes wide with Dennis beside him.
"Bro! Wuuah!" Dennis, having narrowly escaped death yet trapped on the fifteenth floor, looked upon Taylor as though he were an angel.
Taylor had presumed Dennis was dead—never expecting him to survive. He gazed up, but the girl's figure had yet to appear after several tense seconds, suggesting grim prospects. The weakest Dennis still lived, while the most dependable girl seemed fallen—alas!
"Let's move, follow me. We'll head to the ninth floor," Taylor said.
The rooftop was scattered with severed tentacles. Eric sat beside one, taking deep breaths before wrenching a tentacle embedded in her shoulder. Blood sprayed, foul and thick. Swiftly, she produced hydrogen peroxide and resolutely poured it into the wound.
A sharp sting blurred her vision for several seconds, distorting her sight. After a cursory cleansing, she applied ointment and pressed a towel firmly against the gash to staunch the bleeding.
Turning her gaze toward the rooftop door, now securely locked, she discerned a peculiar roar from within. Unlike the moans of common zombies, this growl hinted at something mutated.
As she rested on the floor, her eyes fixated on the severed appendage. Slowly, chilling realization dawned—it was not a tentacle, but a tongue.
A wave of revulsion surged through her. She reassured herself that this was merely an escape dungeon; given the presence of zombies, mutated tongue monsters were not altogether unprecedented.
Yet something remained unsettling. She had severed the mutated zombie's tongue with a mere cleaver, signifying this foe was not invincible. The carnage and silence on the seventeenth floor, however, spoke volumes—a grim message that it had indeed fallen. What could have transpired?
Eric yearned to investigate further, yet reason urged restraint. It was wiser to leave this hard nut intact and proceed to the ninth floor, where Taylor had mentioned overhearing voices on the rooftop—likely another source of clues.
Examining the wound on her shoulder, she realized one prong of the bifurcated tongue had not been stopped, having pierced deeply. The thought that such supple flesh possessed such formidable, razor-sharp strength was unsettling.
After a brief respite, she resolved to journey to the ninth floor, temporarily abandoning the stubborn challenge of the seventeenth.
No sooner had she approached the railing to descend than a sudden impact rattled the rooftop door. Turning sharply, she witnessed the thick alloy door bulging outward in multiple places, the protrusions soon pierced through as a dozen tentacles burst forth.
Pale with alarm, Eric flipped over the railing and scrambled downward at breakneck speed.