Time lost meaning. Holmes didn't know how long he'd been out, but he awoke with a violent start, a bone-deep chill seizing him. Pitch blackness enveloped him.
This wasn't a room—it felt like an ice-cold cell.The metallic tang of rust hung heavy in the air.
When his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw a grimy metal table laden with instruments that made his stomach clench—crude, vile-looking things clearly meant for pain.
He tried to move. Thick chains bit into his wrists and ankles.
A glance confirmed the Tank Top guy and the other man were similarly trussed up nearby.
Then he saw the White-Clad Man. He sat cross-legged on the filthy floor, spooning some glutinous slop into his mouth from a bowl.
His eyes, unnervingly calm and disturbingly intense, were fixed on them.
"What the hell is this?" Tank Top guy's voice cracked with outrage, rattling his chains. "We're tenants! This breaches the Apartment Rules! You know the penalties! Get these damn things off us!"
the other man, with a center-parted hairstyle,joined the shouting, his voice thick with confusion and fear. "Where's the task intro?! This isn't how it starts!"
The White-Clad Man said nothing. He just ate, watching their frantic struggles with detached interest like a diner observing unruly pigeons.
Holmes stayed silent, his gaze darting, scanning the room. Shadows clung to the corners. Then he saw them... shapes that weren't debris. Dolls? No.
The realization hit him like a physical blow: Desiccated husks. Not dolls, but corpses. Bodies drained completely of moisture and flesh, reduced to leathery skin stretched taut over brittle skeletons. Lighter than air... discarded.
Emily's warnings were horrifically true. Holmes felt his own blood run cold.
"Finished?" His voice was unnervingly calm.
Tank Top guy took a breath to respond—
The White-Clad Man moved. Smoothly, deliberately, he stood. From a pocket, he produced a set of brass knuckles, sliding them onto his right hand. In one fluid motion, without a word or a flicker of warning, he brought the weapon down—hard—on Tank Top guy's temple.
THUMP-SQUELCH! THUMP-SQUELCH! THUMP—
The brutal knuckle duster tore through flesh and bone. Blood and darker matter sprayed onto the grimy walls, the floor. The guy slumped like a broken puppet, silenced forever in gore.
The White-Clad Man turned to another man, his face spattered crimson. His voice hadn't changed. "Can you be quiet now?"
that guy gagged, trembling violently. He managed a frantic, shallow nod.
Wiping blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, the man gave a cold, humourless chuckle. "That's all it took? Just a little blood turns you timid?"
Holmes stared, reassessing. This wasn't the room's master. This was… something else entirely.
The man answered his unspoken question. "Let's clear the air. My name's Mike. Player. Lives in 101."
The revelation hung heavy. This man—who'd just executed another with detached brutality—claimed to be one of them?
Noticing their stunned disbelief, Mike spread his stained hands in a mockery of supplication. "Don't look at me like I'm the monster. Just a guy doing a shit job." His eyes flicked to the mangled corpse. "Needed some quiet. Also… the thing in there," he jerked his head towards the inner door, "dislikes stringy ones. Poor nutrients. Had to filter out substandard product."
Mike followed the look. A faint, chilling smile touched his lips.
Holmes remained silent.
"To business. Simple rules." Mike pointed a blood-streaked finger towards a heavy door behind him. "Go in. Come out. Task complete."
Holmes spoke for the first time in this hellhole, his voice low and steady, cutting through the fear. "Easy to go in. Coming out… that seems less certain."
Mike didn't flinch. He gestured casually at the corner where the desiccated husks lay. "Fail the exit, and you become interior decoration." A grim flicker in his eyes. "But hey, it's my job to handle the cleanup. If you don't make it... I'll find you a nicer spot. Promise."
He leaned forward slightly. "But satisfy the creature inside? You walk free. And you get your quest item." A predatory gleam. "That's the deal."
As he spoke, the heavy inner door creaked open a mere sliver.
Mike snapped upright, his demeanor instantly shifting. Scrambling towards the opening, he plastered an unnervingly wide, servile grin on his face. "Master? "
A voice drifted from the blackness beyond—liquid, terrifyingly seductive, laced with languid menace: "Subpar." The word slithered out, cold and final. "Keep filtering. Send more… until I am satisfied."
"At once, Master! Understood!" Mike practically bowed. He reached in, grabbed a fresh, horrifically shrunken husk by an ankle, and dragged it out with sickening care before easing the door shut.
He dumped the latest victim onto the grisly pile and turned back, brushing his hands together with a grim practicality. "Exhibit A. Failure." He scanned their faces. "Bad timing. Her appetite today… ravenous. Already gone through five. Still unsated. You're both next. So…" His gaze settled on middle haired guy. "Who volunteers?"
"FUCK THIS!" the man, with a center-parted hairstyle, exploded, rattling his chains with renewed fury. "This isn't a task! It's a slaughterhouse! Let me out! I forfeit! I quit!"
Mike's chilling grin returned. "quit? You stepped into my room. Task accepted. Rules engaged." He picked up a stained rag, wiping gore from his knuckles with meticulous calm.
He met Middle haired man's terrified eyes. "Still, not guaranteed death. One guy made it out… barely. Dry as old parchment, but breathing. There's hope."
Holmes, ignoring Middle haired man's frantic pleas, kept his voice low and focused. "What is the thing inside, Mike?"
Mike shrugged, a casual gesture belied by the darkness in his eyes. "Monster? Don't know the name. Know this: She's got a hunger deeper than the abyss. Men aren't just dinner… they're entertainment." He gave a humourless chuckle. "Endless needs."
"A succubus?" Middle haired man whispered, cold sweat plastering his hair to his forehead.
Mike's smile widened, a grisly thing in the gloom. "Succubus?" He snorted with contempt. "Compared to her?
Getting drained by a succubus just gives you a hangover." His voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "The lady behind that door? Once she starts… she doesn't stop until the bones rattle in the skin."
Mike opened his mouth, perhaps intending to banter some more, perhaps to justify his earlier actions.
A voice sliced through the stifling air before he could speak—cold, hollow, threaded with an unmistakable blade of impatience. It resonated from everywhere and nowhere, filling the dank chamber.
"Mike."
The name echoed, colder than the chains binding them.
"Your efficiency grows... disappointing."
A pause, thick with the threat of unbearable weight. Holmes felt the temperature plummet further.
"I find myself contemplating... replacements."
The words hung, poisonous and absolute.
"Master! I— Apologies! Profound apologies!" The words tumbled out in a breathless, almost incoherent rush. Gone was the lazy menace, replaced by raw, scrambling fear. "Forgive my slowness! I rectify immediately! Immediately!"
He spun, abandoning any pretense of conversation. His eyes locked onto the middle haired player.
He saw Mike's intent. "No! WAIT! PLEASE!" The frantic denial was a ragged shriek, swallowed by the oppressive air.
Mike moved with terrifying efficiency, devoid of hesitation or mercy.
He grabbed his chains like a handler seizing livestock.
The man thrashed, pulling back with desperate, animal strength, screaming curses and pleas. He bucked, twisted, tried to wedge his feet against the floor—pitiable resistance against Mike's driven force. Mike hauled him bodily, ignoring the useless struggle. It was chillingly utilitarian: the victim dragged kicking and shrieking across the filthy concrete towards the heavy inner door like slaughterhouse-bound cattle.
Reaching the threshold, Mike didn't pause.The screams cut off the instant the man vanished into the dark.
The heavy door slammed shut with its familiar, heavy finality.
Silence crashed down.
The frantic, panicked energy bled out of the room, replaced by a stillness thicker than fog.