Doomsday Elevator

Twenty-nine days remained to prolong his life. An Lan stirred the simmering brine, waiting for evaporation. With no proper filter, he'd washed and repurposed stockings bought from the exchange.

Meanwhile, Ethan stared at the chatroom's plummeting numbers. Thirty billion survivors had dwindled below that threshold within days. The cold accelerated deaths—illness without medicine, frostbite without warmth.

[Ding!] System Alert: Novice period concluded. Floor difficulty increased. Time limit extended to 90 minutes. Elevator doors will seal upon entry—only clearing all threats reopens them.

The synthetic voice triggered chaos:

[Newbie period?? We lost billions already!]

[Staying in my elevator. Got enough rations...]

[2.5 years of combat training! Bring it!]

[Next floor: Sadako from The Ring. Enjoy.]

Ethan sighed, lifting iron weights. Physical threats he could handle—ghosts were another matter.

At 11 AM, acrid smoke snapped his attention to the electromagnetic stove. The system-crafted device survived two days' continuous operation before overheating. He powered it off just as frost began creeping across elevator walls.

[Ding!] Next destination: Wasteland Floor. 20 zombie canines. Alpha carries two immunity serums. Blue container holds HK416 assault rifle (300 rounds, 20 grenades), colored signal flares, 2 claymore mines.

[Ding!] Bounty Mission: 1 gold per kill.

"Upgraded difficulty indeed." Ethan hesitated. Zombie dogs moved faster than regular undead. No elevator retreat meant fighting to the death. He stroked his velociraptor's head—time to field-test this "pet."

Most survivors opted to hide:

[Good luck explorers! I'll observe first.]

[High risk, high reward! Let's go!]

The elevator descended with hydraulic hisses.

————

Rusted factory air stank of decay. Ethan's MP133 Shotgun swept across half-eaten corpses as doors opened.

"GROWL!"

A rotting Doberman pounced from overhead pipes. Stock strike to jaw, shotgun blast—its head exploded like overripe melon.

Darkness stirred. Glowing eyes emerged—19 more.

"ROOOOAR!" The velociraptor's prehistoric cry momentarily stunned the pack.

Ethan's gaze locked with the alpha's intelligent glare. It smirked—if rotting jaws could smirk.

"Need high ground..." He backstepped toward collapsed machinery, counting claymore mines in his satchel. The raptor bristled, ready to prove its worth in this post-apocalyptic colosseum.