The office was a pressure cooker, the air thick with fear and the sickly blue glow of the system's First Cull announcement. The words hung before each survivor, unyielding: Kill a monster. Kill a person. Kill something. Jin Yeong stood near the barricaded door, the steel pipe heavy in his hand, his muscles taut from hours of fighting and running. The red exit sign flickered, casting jagged shadows across the group's pale, hollow faces. No one spoke, their breaths uneven, their bodies pressed into corners or slumped against desks. The silence wasn't calm—it was a prelude to chaos, a moment before the world cracked open again.
Jin's eyes swept the room. Min Jae-Wo sat propped against a desk, his glitching breath steady but weak, his face ashen from his skill's toll. Ji-hye, the healer, knelt nearby, her hands trembling from exhaustion. Seul-ki, her ankle less swollen thanks to Ji-hye's Healing Touch, sat with her knees drawn up, her gaze fixed on the system screen. Kang Joon-seok, his Arc Discharge sparking faintly, dimmed the overhead lights with every twitch of his fingers. Park Min-jae, the man with Enhanced Strength, clenched his fists, his jaw tight. Kang Dae-hyun, the empath, clutched his head, overwhelmed by the group's fear. The others—coworkers turned survivors—were shadows of themselves, their eyes darting between the screen and each other.
The system's demand had shattered their fragile unity. Kill to survive. No exceptions. Jin's grip on the pipe tightened, his pulse steady but his mind racing. They couldn't stay frozen like this, waiting for the system to force their hand. Something had to give.
The silence broke with a ragged shout. "Kill? Are they serious?" A woman near the back—mid-thirties, her blouse stained with sweat—pushed off the wall, her breath erratic. Her bloodshot eyes locked onto the screen, as if willing it to retract the words. "This can't be real."
"It is," Park Min-jae said, his voice low, dangerous. He stood, his fists clenching, the desk beside him creaking under his grip. "It's not playing games. Kill something, or we face the consequences. That's the deal."
A man in a wrinkled button-up shook his head violently. "They can't make us do this!" His voice cracked, desperation bleeding through. "There has to be another way!"
"Like what?" Min-jae snapped, his eyes narrowing. "You saw the message. You think the system's bluffing? You want to test what 'appropriate consequence' means?"
The room tensed, the air shifting. Jin felt it—a ripple of fear, subtle but growing. People adjusted their postures, edging away from each other, their eyes flickering with suspicion. The system's words had turned them from allies to potential threats.
"It didn't say monsters," Min-jae continued, his voice quieter now, almost calculated. He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the group. "It said 'kill something.' Monster, person, animal—it doesn't care. If we need to survive, does it matter what we choose?"
The words landed like a blade. Jin's fingers twitched against the pipe, his jaw tightening. The woman who'd spoken first took a step back, her arms wrapping around herself. "You're not seriously suggesting—" she started, her voice trembling.
"I'm not suggesting anything," Min-jae cut in, his tone sharp. "I'm saying it's an option. We've survived this long by doing what we had to. Why stop now?" He gestured to the barricaded door. "We're trapped here, running out of time. If we don't act, the system will act for us."
A young man, early twenties, paced nervously, his hands shaking. "He's right," he muttered, his voice unsteady. "Dying to some system punishment doesn't make sense. We've made it this far by fighting, by surviving. If we have to kill to keep going…" He trailed off, his eyes darting to the others, as if testing their reactions.
The woman's face twisted with disgust. "You're talking about killing people. Our coworkers, maybe. You're okay with that?"
"I'm not okay with dying!" the young man shot back, his voice rising. "I have a family. A sister waiting for me. I'm not letting some system take that away!"
Kang Dae-hyun, the empath, winced, clutching his head. "I can feel it," he whispered, his voice strained. "The fear, the desperation—it's everywhere. People will do it. They'll kill to survive." His glasses glinted in the dim light, his hands trembling. "If others in this building got that message, some won't hesitate. They'll turn on each other."
The room shifted again, the air growing hostile. Jin saw it in their eyes—the way they glanced at each other, calculating, measuring. The system had turned survival into a game where trust was a luxury they couldn't afford. He exhaled slowly, stepping forward, his voice calm but firm. "We're not killing each other."
Min-jae turned to him, his expression hard. "Easy for you to say, Jin. You've already killed a monster. You and Echo—" he nodded toward Min, whose glitching breath hitched faintly—"you're safe. You've met the system's quota. The rest of us? We're sitting ducks."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group. The woman who'd spoken earlier nodded, her voice tight. "He's right. You and Echo have blood on your hands already. You can talk about morality, but we're the ones who'll pay if we don't act."
Jin's grip on the pipe tightened, his pulse steady but his chest tight. "Killing each other won't save you," he said, his voice low, cutting through the rising tension. "It'll just make you the kind of monster the system wants. We stick together, we find another way. Monsters are out there—plenty of them. We don't need to turn on each other."
Min Jae-Wo spoke, his voice weak but resolute, the faint echo trailing his words. "He's right," he rasped, pushing himself upright, his face pale. "We lose our humanity, we're no better than those things. The system wants us to break, to give in. If we kill each other, it wins." His eyes, glassy but fierce, met the group's. "I've felt their pain, their fear. I won't add to it."
Seul-ki stood, her ankle steadier thanks to Ji-hye's healing. "Jin and Echo are right," she said, her voice firm despite her limp. "We've survived by helping each other, not by betraying. If we start killing people, what's left of us? What's the point of surviving if we're just… monsters?"
Joon-seok nodded, his fingers sparking faintly, the lights buzzing overhead. "I'm with them," he said, his voice low. "I've seen what happens when people panic, when they turn on each other. It's not survival—it's chaos. We stick with Jin and Echo."
The room divided, the tension crackling like Joon-seok's Arc Discharge. Min-jae's jaw tightened, his fists clenching. "You're all naive," he said, his voice cold. "You think you can just fight monsters and call it a day? What if there aren't any left on this floor? What if the system's counting every second, waiting for us to fail?" He gestured to the others. "I have a kid. I'm not dying because you're too noble to do what it takes."
Dae-hyun nodded reluctantly, his voice shaky. "I don't want to kill anyone," he said, his hands trembling. "But I don't want to die either. If the system's punishment is worse than this…" He trailed off, his eyes haunted by the emotions flooding him.
The woman who'd spoken earlier crossed her arms, her voice sharp. "Jin, Echo—you're fine. You've killed. You're safe. But us? We've got families, people waiting for us. We can't just sit here and hope. We need to get real, get with the program."
Jin's chest tightened, a cold anger simmering beneath his calm exterior. They weren't wrong to fear the system, but they were letting it twist them, turning survival into a justification for betrayal. "You think killing someone makes you safe?" he said, his voice low, dangerous. "You think the system stops at one? It's a game, and it's not done with us. You start down that path, you don't come back."
Min-jae scoffed. "And you think staying here, waiting for monsters, is better? This place isn't safe. The stairwell's gone, the building's falling apart. If we don't act, we're dead anyway."
The argument hung heavy, the group split between fear and principle. Jin saw the way the others leaned toward Min-jae, their desperation outweighing their morality. They weren't unreasonable—they were terrified, clinging to the hope of seeing their families again. But Jin couldn't follow that path, and neither could Min, Seul-ki, or Joon-seok.
"We're leaving," Jin said, his voice final, not a command but a statement. He stepped toward the barricade, the pipe steady in his hand. "We'll find monsters, fight them, survive. But we're not becoming what the system wants."
Min stood, his movements slow, his glitching breath echoing faintly. "I'm with Jin," he said, his voice weak but unwavering. "We keep our humanity, or we're already dead."
Seul-ki and Joon-seok followed, their faces set with resolve. The others watched, their expressions a mix of fear, anger, and desperation. Min-jae took a step forward, his voice low. "You're leaving us to die."
Jin paused, his hand on the barricade. A hand clamped onto his wrist—Dae-hyun, his grip desperate, his eyes wide with panic. "You can't go," he said, his voice shaking. "We don't stand a chance without you."
Jin's muscles tensed, the pipe trembling in his hand. For a moment, a dark impulse surged through him—a cold, sharp urge to end the threat, to swing the pipe and walk away. He saw it vividly: Dae-hyun's skull cracking, blood spraying, his body crumpling. The vision was so clear it felt real, Limitless Weapon Mastery humming in his veins, urging him to act.
Dae-hyun froze, his pupils shrinking, his breath hitching. He felt it too—the killing intent radiating from Jin, raw and unyielding. His hand trembled, loosening, his face pale as if he'd already died. Jin blinked, the vision fading, his grip easing. He pulled his wrist free, slow and deliberate, his voice low. "Don't do that again."
Dae-hyun didn't respond, stepping back, his hands shaking. The room was silent, the others staring at Jin with a mix of fear and awe. No one argued, no one begged. The killing intent had silenced them, a reminder of what Jin was capable of.
"Let's go," Jin said, his voice steady. He pushed the barricade aside, the chairs scraping against the floor. Min, Seul-ki, and Joon-seok followed, their steps resolute. The hallway beyond was dark, the emergency lights flickering as Joon-seok's skill sparked faintly. The system's countdown ticked in their minds—22 hours left.
They stepped into the unknown, leaving the others behind, their humanity intact but their survival uncertain.