Doomsday Elevator

Ethan Quinn's breath fogged in the subzero chill as he stared at the holographic trade interface. The spatial backpack's weightlessness mocked him—its five grid slots stuffed with looted antibiotics and the severed velociraptor claw he kept as a morbid trophy. The elevator's new "sanitation module" reeked of chemical lemon, doing little to mask the copper tang of dried blood beneath his boots.

"System," he rasped, throat raw from recycled air. "Show trade logs."

Transaction Completed: 1 Antibiotic → 1 Thermal Undergarment

A lace-trimmed brassiere materialized mid-air. Ethan stared at the garment dangling from his calloused fingers, its ivory fabric still warm from the previous owner. "Christ alive."

The chatroom scrolled with fresh madness:

[User_889]: COLLABORATION WORKS! Merged elevators hit Level 3!

[User_667]: PSA: Cannibalism causes 87% infection rate

Ethan's P229 felt heavier tonight. He'd stopped counting survivors eliminated at fourteen. The blackboard's latest dictum oozed crimson:

Trust No One. Eat Everything.

The Carnival Massacre

Blood crystallized on Ethan's jacket as the game floor's countdown bled to zero. The two hunters—genetic abominations with too many joints—detonated in a shower of bone shrapnel. Chunks of porcelain mask embedded themselves in nearby slot machines, their grinning fragments staring accusingly.

"Fucking biohazard party." Ethan gagged, stomping on a twitching finger. The System's rewards materialized:

Acquired: 2 Nutrient Serums

Acquired: 1 Gold Coin

Acquired: 100kg Steel Plates

The cardboard box survivor emerged from behind a toppled roulette table. "Just us left, huh?" The man's pupils dilated as he eyed Ethan's loot.

"Yep." Ethan thumbed the P229's safety. "Just us."

When the man bolted for his elevator, Ethan's bullet caught him mid-stride. The corpse skidded through confetti and brain matter.

"Should've stayed boxed up."

Inventory Tetris

Back in his metal womb, Ethan played macabre Jenga with the dead men's supplies:

Grid 1: 18kg Rotten Mutton (Expedition Rations)

Grid 2: 7L Contaminated Water

Grid 3: Bloodstained Playing Cards (57% Deck Completeness)

The spatial backpack accepted everything without complaint. Its leather surface now bore claw marks that hadn't been there yesterday.

"System. Upgrade status."

Level 4 Requirements Met

Initiating Structural Reconfiguration

Walls screamed as they tore outward. A stainless steel toilet unit erupted from the floor, its septic tank glowing faintly green. Ethan's mattress of scavenged parkas now floated six inches above a grated drainage system.

"Classy." He kicked the new "bathroom." The blackboard's fresh script dripped:

Defecate Efficiently. Survive Longer.

Morning Rituals

Ethan awoke to the juvenile raptor gnawing his boot. The creature had doubled in size overnight, its serrated teeth leaving grooves in the steel floor.

"Easy there, Chompy." He tossed a putrid goat leg from the spatial backpack. The raptor's feeding frenzy painted the walls in arterial spray.

The infinite water pool shimmered with new gifts—three carp and an eyeless eel. Ethan netted them with practiced ease. "Dinner and a show."

Trading Floor Revelation

The bazaar materialized in a haze of incense and decay. Ethan's boots clicked against cobblestones worn smooth by centuries of desperate feet. A woman in power armor pushed past, her exoskeleton hissing. A samurai hawked katana beside a peddler of plasma rifles.

"Interested?" A merchant in Qing Dynasty robes gestured at Ethan's shotgun. "Two gold."

"Five." A crusader-era knight interrupted, her chainmail clinking. "Plus provisions."

The transaction left Ethan richer by 5 coins and poorer by 30 shells. As he turned to leave, a stall caught his eye—rows of P229 magazines glinted beside a sign:

9mm Rounds - 1 Gold/40

"Motherf—" Ethan's curse died as the vendor—a scarred man cleaning a grenade—tossed him a refund. "Beginner's discount."

Upgrade Gambit

Back in his elevator, Ethan fed gold coins into the upgrade terminal like slot machine tokens. The progress bar pulsed:

Level 5 Requirements:

200kg Wood ■■■■■ 78%

150kg Iron ■■■■■ 92%

5kg Gold ■■■□□ 40%

19 Gold Coins ■■■■■ 63%

The raptor watched him through slit pupils, goat blood dripping from its maw. Somewhere, the blackboard's latest commandment oozed into existence:

Hoard Ruthlessly. Betray First.