The entrance to the 7th Street Subway Station looked like the throat of a dying beast.
The escalator was frozen, clogged with debris: overturned trash cans, a single high-heeled shoe, and smears of dried blood that led downwards into the darkness. The emergency lights flickered with a sickly yellow buzz, casting long, twitching shadows against the tiled walls.
Arthur stood at the top, staring down.
"Dungeons," Arthur whispered, recalling the gaming terminology that had become reality. "Subways always turn into dungeons."
He checked his phone. No signal, but the time was clear. 7:45 PM.
HP: 115 / 310
His Max HP had broken the 300 barrier. If he were a car, his gas tank was expanding every minute, but he was still running on fumes. He needed rest to fill that bar, but resting out here was suicide.
"ROI Analysis," Arthur muttered, a habit to steady his nerves. "Risk: High. Ventilation is poor, visibility is zero. Reward: Confined spaces limit flank attacks. Likely low-level mobs suitable for grinding."
He gripped the Serrated Thief's Dagger. It felt light, almost toy-like compared to the heavy wrench. He kept the wrench in his belt loop as a backup.
Arthur took the first step.
Crunch.
Broken glass echoed loudly. He winced, freezing for a second. Nothing screamed back.
He continued down. One step. Two steps. The air grew colder, smelling of stale urine and ozone.
At the bottom of the escalator, the turnstiles were bent, as if something massive had charged through them. Beyond them lay the platform.
Arthur didn't have a flashlight. He relied on the sporadic flashes of sparks from a severed cable hanging from the ceiling.
Skitter. Skitter.
The sound was faint. Like dry leaves blowing across concrete.
Arthur stopped. He pressed his back against the ticket booth.
Skitter.
It was coming from the ceiling.
Arthur looked up just as a spark flared.
Clinging to the dirty acoustic tiles above him was a spider. Not a house spider. A thing the size of a golden retriever, covered in oily black fur. It had too many eyes, and all of them were glowing pale green.
[Enemy Identified]Tunnel Weaver (Rank F)Level: 3
"Level 3," Arthur cursed under his breath.
The spider didn't hiss. It dropped.
Arthur threw himself to the side. It was a clumsy roll, more of a flop, but it saved him from being pinned. The spider landed with a heavy thwap where he had been standing.
Arthur scrambled to his feet and slashed with the dagger.
Slash.
-8 Damage.
A shallow cut on the spider's hairy leg. Green ichor oozed out.
The spider screeched—a sound like tearing styrofoam—and lunged. Its fangs, dripping with venom, sank into Arthur's thigh.
[You took 22 Physical Damage!][Poisoned! -2 HP/sec for 5 seconds.]
The pain was electric. It felt like someone had injected boiling acid into his veins.
Arthur didn't scream. He grunted, stabbing the dagger into the spider's cephalothorax.
-12 Damage.
"Die!" Arthur yelled, stabbing again.
-11 Damage.
The spider bit him again.
-20 Damage.
Arthur looked at the spider's health bar. It was barely half empty. It had maybe 80 HP.
Arthur realized the problem instantly. DPS (Damage Per Second).
He was doing maybe 10 damage every two seconds. The spider was doing 20 damage plus poison.
In a normal game, the player would die.
But Arthur wasn't normal.
HP: 55 / 312
"I have more health than you," Arthur snarled, his eyes bloodshot. "I have more blood to bleed."
He stopped trying to dodge. He ignored the burning venom in his veins. He grabbed one of the spider's hairy legs with his left hand to hold it steady, and with his right, he turned into a sewing machine.
Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.
-11. -9. -13. Critical! -22.
The spider panicked. It tried to pull away, but Arthur held on. He was taking damage—bite after bite—but he didn't stop.
HP: 21 / 312
"Just... die!"
With a final, wet crunch, Arthur drove the dagger into the cluster of green eyes.
The spider convulsed, curled its legs inward, and dissolved into ash.
[Combat Ended][Enemy Defeated: Tunnel Weaver (Lvl 3)][Experience Gained: 80 EXP]
Arthur collapsed against the turnstile, gasping for air. His leg was on fire. His HP was deep in the red.
HP: 19 / 313
"That..." Arthur wheezed, staring at the ceiling. "That was inefficient."
He had won, but it was ugly. He had traded nearly 100 HP for one kill. If there were two spiders? He would be dead.
"I need Strength," he whispered. "I need armor. I can't just tank everything with my face."
He looked at the ash pile. A single item lay there. Not a weapon. Not a skill orb.
[Loot: Spider Silk Gland (Material)]
Value: Low. Used for crafting.
"Trash," Arthur spat.
He dragged himself into the ticket booth. It had a lockable door. It was small, cramped, and smelled terrible, but it was a box.
Arthur locked the door. He slumped onto the floor.
"Time to rest," he murmured. "Let the glitch work."
He closed his eyes.
He didn't sleep. He couldn't sleep. He just sat there, listening to the skittering sounds in the dark, watching his HP bar slowly, agonizingly refill.
HP: 20 / 314...HP: 21 / 315...
Two Hours Later.
Arthur opened his eyes.
HP: 140 / 435
He wasn't full, but he was healthy enough. The poison status was gone. The leg wound was a scar.
He had 435 Max HP. That was a boss-level health pool for this area.
"I can take two spiders now," Arthur calculated.
He stood up, ready to unlock the door and resume the grind. He needed 70 more EXP for Level 3.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Arthur froze.
Someone was knocking on the glass of the ticket booth.
Politely.
Arthur slowly turned his head.
Standing outside the booth, illuminated by a high-end tactical flashlight, was a group of three people.
They weren't ragtag survivors. They wore matching grey tactical vests with a red insignia on the chest: A drop of blood inside a gear.
The Ironblood Cartel.
The man in the front tapped the glass again with a baton. He was big, bald, and wore a smirk that didn't reach his eyes.
[Player Identified]ID: BrutusClass: WarriorLevel: 4
Behind him were a Ranger (Level 3) and a Cleric (Level 3).
A full squad. Elite, by current standards.
Arthur gripped his dagger. He was trapped in a glass box.
"Open up, kid," Brutus said. His voice was muffled by the glass but clear enough. "We saw you kill that spider. Nice durability."
Arthur didn't move. "Who are you?"
"We're your new best friends," Brutus grinned. "We're putting together a raid team for the tunnels. We need a frontliner. Someone who can take a bite and keep smiling."
Arthur's mind raced.
They saw the fight? No, they saw the end of the fight. They saw him survive. Why didn't they kill me? Because they need a tank. Tanks are rare. Good tanks are expensive. Free tanks found in a subway station are disposable.
"I'm not interested," Arthur said.
Brutus laughed. He tapped the baton against the glass again, harder this time. A web of cracks appeared.
"I think there's a misunderstanding," Brutus said, his tone dropping an octave. "We're the Ironblood Cartel. We own this sector. You pay the tax, or you do the work."
He leaned in, his face illuminated by the flashlight from below, making him look like a skull.
"And right now, the tax is one dungeon run. You help us clear the Nest, and we let you keep... let's say, 10% of the loot. And your life."
The Ranger behind Brutus raised a crossbow. The bolt was aimed directly at Arthur's chest.
Arthur looked at the crossbow. He looked at Brutus.
HP: 142 / 437
He could fight. But 3 vs 1? Against a Healer and a Ranger? He would die. He had no burst damage. They would kite him and whittle him down.
Rationality Scale: High.Survival Protocol: Compromise.
Arthur unlocked the door.
He pushed it open and stepped out, sheathing his dagger.
"10% is low," Arthur said, his voice steady. "Standard mercenary rate is 20%."
Brutus blinked. He clearly expected fear, or defiance. He didn't expect a negotiation.
Then, Brutus laughed. A loud, barking sound. He slapped Arthur on the shoulder hard enough to bruise a normal man.
"I like you, kid! You got balls." Brutus grinned. "Let's see if you keep them when the goblin king is trying to eat them. 15%. Deal?"
Arthur calculated. Goal: Get stronger. Obstacle: Lack of party/DPS. Solution: Use them to kill mobs, take the EXP, and steal the best loot when they aren't looking.
"Deal," Arthur said.
Brutus handed him a cheap wooden shield.
"Good. Put this on. You're walking point."