Doomsday Elevator

Ethan Quinn stared at the holographic progress bar flickering above the control panel. The numbers taunted him: [12kg Wood / 75kg Iron Remaining]. He kicked a mangled chair leg across the elevator, the clang echoing like a funeral bell. The stench of burnt metal and sweat clung to his clothes—a byproduct of hours spent dismantling every salvageable scrap.

"System," he growled, unwrapping his last caramel-filled chocolate square. The sickly sweetness coated his tongue. "Show me the trade logs."

Snake Carcass Transaction Completed

Reward: 5kg Iron Added

A rusty counterweight materialized mid-air, crashing onto the floor with a thunderous clang. Ethan leapt back as it gouged the steel plating inches from his boots. "Fucking hell! Warn me next time!"

The chatroom buzzed with manic energy:

[User_889]: COLLABORATION WORKS! Me & my partner are 20kg wood from Level 2!

[User_102]: King shit! Post elevator pics!

[User_556]: Bull-fucking-shit. Who shares in the apocalypse?

Ethan's jaw tightened. He'd seen the dark underbelly of "collaborations" firsthand—the muffled screams from adjacent elevators, the bloodstained tools traded at midnight. Trust was a currency only the damned still minted.

——

Three floors away, a woman's choked sobs reverberated through steel walls. Her captor—the same man flaunting partnership in the chat—pinned her against a stack of moldy textbooks.

"Shhh," he crooned, calloused hands ripping fabric. "New world, new rules."

——

Back in his metal coffin, Ethan slammed the last iron beam into place. The System's chime was almost orgasmic:

Elevator Level 2 Unlocked

New Features: Expanded Floor Plan (+200% Space), Basic Sanitation Module Installed

The walls groaned outward, revealing a stainless-steel toilet bolted to the corner. Ethan stared at the gleaming fixture, then burst into jagged laughter. "A fucking latrine? That's your grand upgrade?"

His bladder answered with a vengeful pang.

"Fine. Field test time."

The ordeal lasted eons. When he finally zipped up, the chatroom had devolved into chaos:

[User_44]: Daddy Ethan~ Take your 160cm loli pet! (◕‿◕✿)

[User_5]: 160cm? Or 160kg? LMAOOOO

*[System Alert: Survivor Count -9]

Ethan's new crossbow materialized with a thunk—cold steel etched with fractal patterns. He traced the grooves, adrenaline momentarily overriding exhaustion.

"System. Next objective."

Primary Mission: Elevator Level 3

Reward: Chainsaw + 100L Gasoline

A grin split his grime-caked face. Gasoline meant fire. Fire meant clearing forest floors in minutes. He posted a new trade offer with trembling fingers:

[Ethan_L2]: Trading 20kg Iron/Wood for GOLD COINS. DM offers.

——

The mattress creaked as he collapsed onto eight lashed-together desk panels. Moonlight (artificial? Real?) seeped through the ventilation grates, glinting off the P229 holstered at his hip. His last conscious thought before sleep claimed him:

Should've kept that bastard's Rolex.

——