The office was a cage of shadows, the red glow of the exit sign flickering like a dying pulse. Hours had passed since Jin and Joon-seok returned, the duffel bag and Jin's newfound Inventory skill stocked with water, energy drinks, and snacks from the break room. The group had eaten in silence, the crackle of wrappers and sips of water the only sounds breaking the oppressive quiet. Now, they sat scattered among the wreckage—toppled desks, shattered monitors, blood-streaked walls—their faces drawn, their bodies heavy with exhaustion. The barricades still held, but the air was thick with dread, the system's ranking announcement lingering like a storm cloud.
Jin leaned against a filing cabinet, the steel pipe resting across his knees, his fingers tracing its edges. His muscles ached, his body worn from fighting and running, but his mind was sharp, refusing to rest. Kang Joon-seok sat nearby, hunched forward, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles gleamed white in the dim light. His Arc Discharge skill had shorted the overhead lights again, leaving only the emergency glow to illuminate his haunted expression. Min Jae-Wo sat propped against a desk, his breathing steadier but still weak, his eyes half-closed as he fought to stay conscious. The others—Ji-hye, the healer; Seul-ki, with her injured ankle; Kang Dae-hyun, the empath; and the man with enhanced strength—were slumped in their own corners, their gazes distant, their spirits fraying.
No one spoke. The silence wasn't restful—it was a weight, pressing down on them, threatening to crack what little resolve they had left. Jin could see it in their eyes: the mental collapse, the slow unraveling of hope. They'd survived this long, but the cost was piling up, and the system's cryptic rules offered no mercy.
Jin shifted, the pipe's weight grounding him. They couldn't afford to break—not now, not when the system was watching, waiting. He stood, his movements deliberate, his voice low but firm. "We need to talk. Figure out what we're doing next."
A few heads lifted, but no one responded immediately. Their exhaustion was a tangible force, dulling their reactions. Jin's grip tightened on the pipe. "Joon-seok's new here," he said, nodding toward the man, whose eyes flicked up briefly. "He needs to know what we're working with. So do we, if we're going to survive whatever's coming."
Seul-ki, her ankle still swollen, shifted uncomfortably. "You mean our skills?" Her voice was soft, cautious, but she met Jin's gaze. "We've mentioned them before, but… not in detail."
Jin nodded. "Exactly. We need to know what everyone can do. No holding back." He paused, his eyes sweeping the group. "If the system's ranking us, it's not just about surviving—it's about how we survive. We need to be ready."
The man with enhanced strength exhaled sharply, his fists clenching. "Fine. But this better not be a waste of time."
Ji-hye, kneeling beside Min, spoke first, her voice steady despite her exhaustion. "I'm Ji-hye. My skill is Healing Touch. I can mend injuries, but it's slow, and it takes a lot out of me." She glanced at Min, then at Seul-ki's swollen ankle. "I haven't tried anything big since… him." Her hands trembled slightly, but she moved toward Seul-ki. "Let me see your leg."
Seul-ki hesitated, then nodded, extending her injured ankle. Ji-hye placed her hands over the swollen joint, a faint blue glow sparking beneath her palms. The light flickered, weak but steady, and Seul-ki's face relaxed slightly, the pain easing. "It's helping," she murmured, her voice soft with gratitude. "But it's not… fixed."
Ji-hye's shoulders slumped, the glow fading. "I'm drained," she admitted, her voice tight. "I can't do much more right now."
Jin nodded, filing it away. Ji-hye's skill was invaluable, but its limits made her a liability in a prolonged fight. He turned to Min, who was watching with half-lidded eyes. "You're up, Echo."
Min's lips twitched, a faint, tired smile. "Min Jae-Wo. My skill is called Echo," he rasped, his voice glitching faintly, a soft repeat trailing his words. "It… picks up sounds, pain, basically anything around me and amplifies it. I can't control it. It just… happens." He winced, his hand brushing his chest. "It's why I'm like this. Too much, all at once."
Joon-seok's eyes widened slightly, the lights buzzing as his fingers twitched, sparking faintly. "That's… intense," he muttered, his voice low.
Jin glanced at Joon-seok. "Your turn."
Joon-seok exhaled, his hands flexing as the lights flickered again. "Kang Joon-seok. Arc Discharge. I can shoot energy blasts, but it's… unpredictable." He held up a hand, a faint violet spark crackling before fading. The lights dimmed briefly, buzzing. "It shorts out electronics sometimes. Goes off when I'm freaked out. Not much control."
Jin's jaw tightened. Another uncontrolled skill. Powerful, but unreliable. He turned to Seul-ki, who was rubbing her ankle, the swelling slightly reduced. "You're next."
Seul-ki met his gaze, her voice steady but cautious. "Seul-ki. Gravity Manipulation. I can change how heavy things are—myself, objects, maybe people. But I'm not good at it yet." She hesitated, her eyes flicking to the floor. "When I got trapped in the stairwell, it activated by accident. Made me too heavy to move."
Jin nodded, his mind racing. Gravity Manipulation had potential, but like Joon-seok's skill, it was a wildcard without precision. He turned to the man with enhanced strength. "You?"
The man sighed, his fists unclenching. "Park Min-jae. Enhanced Strength. Pretty self-explanatory. I'm stronger than normal, but it's not… superhuman. I can lift heavy stuff, hit harder, but I get tired like anyone else."
Jin's eyes shifted to Kang Dae-hyun, the empath, who was sitting quietly, his glasses glinting in the dim light. "And you?"
Dae-hyun swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Kang Dae-hyun. Empathic Sense. I feel what others feel—fear, pain, anger. It's… overwhelming. Useless in a fight." His hands shook, his gaze dropping. "All I get is everyone's panic. It's like drowning."
Jin exhaled through his nose. Half the group had non-combat skills or abilities they couldn't control. His own Limitless Weapon Mastery felt like their best bet, but even that was vague, untested against the worst the system could throw at them. "Alright," he said, his voice low. "That's what we've got. We work with it."
The group fell silent, the weight of their limitations settling over them. Jin's gaze flicked to the barricaded door, the red exit sign a faint promise. They'd survived this long, but the system's ranking system was cryptic and loomed over them like a guillotine. What did it want from them? And what happened if they failed to deliver?
Before anyone could speak, a chime cut through the air, sharp and mechanical. Blue screens flickered to life before each of them, glowing in the dim light. The words hit like a punch.
[ SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT ]
Survivors Detected: ???
Time Remaining: 22:00:00
Introducing: The First Cull
Objective: Learn how to kill.
Kill a monster. Kill a person. Kill something.
To survive, you must grow. To grow, you must act.
Failure to participate will result in an appropriate consequence.
Rewards will be granted based on performance.
The event starts now.
The room froze, the words sinking in like poison. Jin's grip on the pipe tightened, his pulse steady, but his mind racing. The system wasn't just testing their survival—it was forcing them to kill. Monster or human, it didn't care.
Seul-ki's breath hitched, her hands clenching. "Cull?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Like… we're being weeded out?"
Min-jae slammed his fist into the floor, the impact echoing. "This is insane," he growled. "It's telling us to kill people? Our own coworkers, maybe? What kind of sick game is this?"
Ji-hye's hands shook, her eyes wide. "It doesn't even say how many survivors are left," she said, her voice breaking. "Or what the consequences are. It's just… toying with us."
Joon-seok's fingers sparked, the lights buzzing and dimming. "Humans are bad enough without this," he muttered, his voice raw. "Greedy, selfish, cruel. Now it's telling us to kill each other? People will do it. You know they will."
Dae-hyun clutched his head, his voice a whisper. "I can feel it already," he said, his eyes glassy. "The fear, the desperation. If others are getting this message, they're thinking the same thing. Some won't hesitate."
Jin stayed silent, his jaw tight. Joon-seok was right—human nature was flawed, prone to betrayal and survival at any cost. The system was exploiting that, turning them into pawns in a game where trust was a liability. He thought of their coworkers, the ones who might still be alive on other floors. Would they turn on each other? Would they kill to survive?
"We're not doing that," Jin said, his voice low, cutting through the rising panic. "We stick together. We don't turn on each other." He met their eyes, his gaze steady. "Monsters are enough. We don't need to make more."
Min's voice, weak but clear, broke the silence. "He's right," he rasped, his breath glitching faintly. "The system wants us to break. We don't let it."
The group nodded, some reluctantly, others with conviction. But the fear remained, a shadow in their eyes. The system's First Cull had changed everything, turning survival into a test of morality as much as strength.
Jin stood, the pipe heavy in his hand. "We need to move," he said, his voice firm but not commanding. "Not now, but soon. We can't wait for the system to force our hand."
The others looked at him, their faces a mix of fear and resolve. The lights flickered, Joon-seok's skill casting uneasy shadows, and the red exit sign glowed faintly, a reminder that their time was running out.