Doomsday Elevator

Ethan Quinn stared at the Bovine Hide Satchel's latest mutation—its leather surface now pulsed with faint bioluminescent veins. The elevator's ambient temperature had stabilized at -12°C, but An Lan's desperate messages kept flashing:

[An_Lan]: Boss, I've perfected incendiary bolts! Trade for rations?

[Ethan_L4]: Standby.

He silenced the chat interface. Survival math was simple now: 43% battery left in the electromagnetic stove, 18L potable water, and 5kg of questionable meat labeled "Floor 19 Experimental Product".

The raft materialized on a wine-dark sea. Ethan's boots barely gripped the rotting planks as he scanned the horizon.

Ding! Optional Objective: Eliminate Carcharodon carcharias

The great white struck like a torpedo. Ethan's MP133 roared three times—BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!—each shot strategically placed between the creature's photoreceptive eyes.

"System! Tally the kill!"

[Confirmed: Predator neutralized. Reward: Close Combat Proficiency (Basic)]

Knowledge flooded his synapses: pressure points, disarming techniques, seven new ways to break a human clavicle.

Seawater distillation became a spiteful ritual. Ethan monitored the electromagnetic stove's readouts:

Salinity: 3.5%

Contaminants: Microplastics, radionuclides, unknown proteins

Probability of Success: 8.7%

The resulting crystals glowed faintly blue.

"Jíjí rú lǜ lìng," he muttered, tossing a pinch into the infinite water pool. The liquid recoiled, forming temporary ice fractals.

[User_44]: Trading toes for salt! Frostbite gang rise up!

[User_667]: PSA: Licking walls increases hypothermia risk by 22%

Ethan archived the messages under "Post-Collapse Comedy Gold." Ripley the cyber-raptor gnawed on irradiated shark vertebrae, her thruster-enhanced tail maintaining a precarious thermal balance.

When the salt's aftertaste finally faded, Ethan drafted a new trade offer:

[Ethan_L4]: 500g "Artisanal Sea Salt" → 1 Gold Coin (No returns)

The chatroom's collective despair was almost palpable.