The office was a graveyard of shadows, the faint red glow of the exit sign casting eerie flickers across the wreckage of desks and shattered glass. Jin Yeong sat slumped against a toppled filing cabinet, his body heavy with exhaustion, the steel pipe resting across his knees. His muscles ached from the endless running and fighting, his fingers stiff from gripping the weapon that had saved them. The air was thick with the stench of blood and dust, and every creak of the building felt like a warning. The group had stopped running, barricading themselves in this ruined floor, but safety was an illusion. The growls had faded, but the memory of those monsters lingered, sharp and unrelenting.
No one moved. The survivors sat scattered among the debris, their breaths shallow, their eyes hollow. The woman with the injured ankle leaned against a desk, her face pale but resolute. The man with enhanced strength clutched his fists, his gaze fixed on the barricaded door. The woman with heightened reflexes sat cross-legged, her fingers twitching as if expecting an attack. The healer knelt beside Min Jae-Wo—Echo—her hands glowing faintly as she poured what little energy she had into keeping him alive. Min's chest rose and fell in weak, uneven breaths, his face ashen, blood still crusted beneath his nose.
Jin's eyes flicked to the exit door, its red glow a distant promise. They should leave, should run, but the unknown beyond that door felt heavier than the monsters they'd faced. For the first time since the system awakened, they had a moment to breathe, to think. And that was the worst part.
"We need to secure this place," Jin said, his voice low, steady, but laced with fatigue. He pushed himself upright, ignoring the protest in his legs. "If we're staying here, we need to make it defensible."
No one argued. They were too drained to argue. Slowly, they moved, dragging desks and chairs to block the entrances. The screech of metal against tile grated on Jin's nerves, but he gritted his teeth and pushed a heavy cabinet toward the door, his shoulders burning with the effort. The others followed, their movements sluggish but determined, piling debris into makeshift barricades. It wasn't much, but it was something to keep the world out—for now.
As Jin shoved another desk into place, a quiet voice cut through the silence. "Will this actually hold anything back?"
Jin glanced up. The man with enhanced strength stood beside him, his fists clenched, his eyes fixed on the barricade. His voice was steady, but his hands trembled, betraying the fear beneath his words.
Jin didn't answer. He didn't have one. The monsters they'd faced tore through concrete and steel like paper. A few desks wouldn't stop them. But something was better than nothing so he kept pushing, the scrape of wood against tile filling the silence.
The man's shoulders shook, and then, like a dam breaking, he let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "We're screwed, aren't we?" His voice cracked, raw and unsteady. "I was supposed to go home. My daughter—she's waiting for me. I didn't even…" He pressed his hands to his face, fingers digging into his skin. "I didn't say goodbye this morning. I was late, rushing out the door. God, I didn't even hug her."
His words hit like a fist, heavy and unyielding. The room fell silent, the others pausing in their work, their faces shadowed with their own fears. Jin's throat tightened. He should say something, offer some kind of comfort, but what could he say? They were all teetering on the edge, and the truth was too brutal to voice: they might not make it out.
The woman with the injured ankle looked down, her hands twisting in her lap. "My kids," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "My son, my daughter—they're at home. I don't know if they're safe, if they're…" She choked on the word, her shoulders trembling as she hugged herself, trying to hold the pieces together.
The man with enhanced strength wiped his eyes with his sleeve, his voice raw. "I was supposed to pick my son up from daycare. I didn't even tell him I loved him today." His fists clenched, his knuckles white. "What if I never—"
"Stop," Jin said, his voice low but firm, cutting through the despair. He didn't look at them, focusing on the desk he was shoving into place. "We're not dead yet."
The words landed heavily, not a reassurance but a fact. The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, but no one argued. They resumed their work, the scrape of furniture the only sound, each movement a defiance against the fear clawing at them.
When the barricades were finished, they sank to the floor, backs against desks, exhausted and hollow. Jin leaned against a cabinet, the pipe heavy in his hands, its metal cold and unyielding. He let his head rest against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment, just a moment, to ease the ache in his body. His mind raced, replaying the monsters, the blood, Min's scream. They'd survived, but at what cost?
"This is crazy," the man with enhanced strength muttered, his head tilted back, staring at the cracked ceiling. "It's like some kind of nightmare. You wake up, go to work, everything's normal. Then—boom. Monsters. Powers. The world's falling apart." His voice dropped, barely a whisper. "It doesn't feel real."
The woman with heightened reflexes let out a sharp breath. "Feels real enough to me," she said, her voice tight. "This isn't a game. It's our lives now."
The words hung in the air, heavy with truth. Jin's fingers tightened around the pipe, his jaw clenching. She was right. This was their reality—blood, fear, and a system that had turned their world into a slaughterhouse.
The healer, still kneeling beside Min, spoke softly, her voice trembling. "My kids are out there too," she said, her hands glowing faintly as she worked. "I don't know if they're okay. I don't know if I'll ever…" She trailed off, her eyes fixed on Min's pale face, her hands shaking with the effort of her skill.
The man with enhanced strength looked at her, his expression softening. "We'll get out," he said, though his voice lacked conviction. "We have to."
The room grew quiet again, the weight of their fears settling over them. Jin felt it too—a simmering anger, not at the monsters, not at each other, but at the system itself. It had given them these skills, these powers, but for what? To fight, to die, to lose everything?
"Whoever made this happen," the woman with heightened reflexes muttered, her voice low and venomous, "I want to find them. I want to know why."
"I want to make them pay," the man with enhanced strength added, his fists clenching.
Jin didn't respond. He felt the same rage, a quiet fire burning in his chest, but anger wouldn't help them now. They needed to survive.
"You and that guy," the man with enhanced strength said suddenly, his eyes locking onto Jin. "You and Echo. You're the only ones who've taken those things down."
Jin's breath hitched, his grip on the pipe tightening. The others turned to him, their gazes heavy with expectation. He'd avoided this question before, deflected when they'd asked, but now their eyes pinned him in place.
"Yeah," the woman with the injured ankle said, her voice soft but insistent. "Without you two, we'd be gone. What's your deal? What's your skill?"
Jin hesitated, his throat tight. He didn't want to share, didn't want to be the one they looked to, but the weight of their stares left no room for evasion. He exhaled, summoning his system screen with a thought. A faint blue glow flickered into existence before him.
[ Skill: Limitless Weapon Mastery ]
The words hung in the air, simple but enigmatic. Jin stared at them, feeling their weight, their promise. He didn't fully understand it himself, but he knew what it had done—the way his body moved, the way the pipe became an extension of him, striking with precision he'd never had before.
"It's… what it sounds like," he said, his voice low, reluctant. "I'm good with weapons. Any weapon, I think."
The group was silent for a moment, processing. Then the man with enhanced strength let out a low whistle, his eyes widening. "That's… kind of cool," he said, a faint spark of hope in his voice. "Like, action-movie cool."
The woman with heightened reflexes tilted her head, her gaze sharp. "But how useful is it against those things? They're not exactly standing still for you to swing at them."
Jin's jaw tightened. He didn't have an answer, not really. "It worked before," he said, his tone even, deflecting the doubt. "I killed one. Helped us get here."
The man with enhanced strength nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah, you did. That's enough for me." He glanced at the others, his voice firm. "He's gotten us this far. So has Echo. We trust them."
The woman with the injured ankle nodded, her eyes steady. "You've got my vote," she said quietly. "You and him—you're why we're still breathing."
Jin didn't respond, his gaze dropping to the pipe in his hands. Their trust felt heavy, a burden he wasn't sure he could carry. But he'd fought, he'd survived, and that had to mean something.
His eyes flicked to Min, still unconscious, the healer's hands glowing faintly over his chest. Min's skill had saved them, but it was killing him, tearing him apart with every echo he couldn't control. Jin's chest tightened. They needed him to pull through.
The healer looked up, her face drawn with exhaustion. "He's stable," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "For now. But it's slow. I don't know how much more I can do."
Jin nodded, his throat tight. "Keep going," he said, soft but firm.
She nodded, her hands trembling as she returned to her work. The others sat in silence, their backs against the wreckage, their eyes darting to the barricaded door. The office was quiet, but it wasn't safe. The red exit sign flickered, a fragile promise, but Jin knew better than to believe in promises now.
They weren't running. Not yet. But the nightmare wasn't over, and the weight of their survival pressed down on them, heavy and unyielding.