“Hey!” Trevor barked, stepping between them. His mop wavered in his grip like a barrier against Gerald’s sharp words. “Ease up, man. She’s alive, isn’t she?”

“For now,” Gerald said coldly. His gaze slid from Izzy to the glowing loot scattered on the floor. “But let’s be real. People like her won’t last long. Speaking of which, I’m taking this.” He stepped forward, hand reaching for one of the glowing scrolls left by a fallen beetle.

“Stop.” Claire’s voice was quiet but iron-hard, cutting through the tension like a blade. She stepped forward, her fire extinguisher lowered but still held with purpose. Her presence filled the room, commanding attention. “No one is taking anything until we figure out what’s fair.”

“Fair?” Gerald turned, holding the scroll aloft like a trophy. “I killed it. It’s mine.”

“This isn’t about you,” Claire said, her tone sharpening. “This is survival. If we start fighting over scraps now, we’ll be dead before the next Trial.”

For a moment, it looked like Gerald might argue. His jaw tightened, and his fingers clenched the scroll like it was his last lifeline. But as his gaze flicked around the room, landing on each of us in turn, realization settled in. No one was on his side.

With a grunt, Gerald tossed the scroll onto the nearest table. “Fine. But don’t think for a second that I’m sharing next time.”

The tension in the room simmered, unspoken yet heavy as the air between us thickened with unease. I glanced toward the portal, its pulsing glow casting long, fractured shadows. The rhythmic clicking had finally stopped, but the silence was no less oppressive. It wasn’t peace. It was a reprieve—a temporary pause before the next move.

The System’s cold, detached chime interrupted my thoughts.

[System Note: Rest Period Granted. Time Remaining: 01:00:00.]

A faint shimmer appeared before me, a floating holographic panel materializing with a soft hum. Crisp letters blinked into focus, angular and precise as though etched by some futuristic hand. My chest tightened as I reached forward, my fingers hovering over the panel.

[Congratulations. New Ability Unlocked: Enhanced Neural Sensory Threshold – Activation: 25%. Details Available in Skills Panel.]

The words hung in the air, clear and deliberate. My mind buzzed as I read the notification again, the weight of its implications settling in.

“Enhanced what now?” I muttered under my breath, glancing toward the Skills tab on the hologram. The name rang an uncomfortable bell—like a half-remembered dream clawing its way back to the surface. The memory hit like a flash: the earlier overload, the relentless flood of sound and sensation when the world had gone to hell. Every flicker of light, every faint hum, every whisper of air had crashed over me like a tidal wave.

I shook my head, swallowing hard. Please tell me it’s not the same. I barely kept it together last time.

The System, naturally, didn’t wait for me to dwell.

[Reminder: The Enhanced Neural Sensory Threshold skill is Rarity: Uncommon (Evolvable). Initial activation: 25%. Effects will expand with each level gained. Full activation unlocked at Level 5.]

Uncommon—Evolvable? My brows furrowed. Whatever that meant, it didn’t sound comforting. And 25%? It already felt like my senses were teetering on the edge of too much. The air brushing against my skin felt sharper, every creak of the building seemed to echo louder, and the uneven breathing of those around me pressed uncomfortably into my awareness. My head ached faintly, a warning of what might come if this pushed too far.

Locked, of course. My shoulders sagged. This wasn’t a weapon I could wield—it was a time bomb. For now, it was manageable, but what about the next level? Or the one after that? My grip on the chair leg tightened, the rough wood grounding me against the rising swell of unease.

Claire’s voice broke through, cutting through the haze. “Ethan, focus. We need to move. The Rest Period’s already ticking.”

I tore my gaze from the faintly glowing hologram as it flickered out of existence. My grip on the chair leg steadied, but the knot in my stomach refused to loosen. I had no idea what "Evolvable" meant for this skill—or for me. But I didn’t have time to figure it out now. Whatever this thing was, I’d have to handle it as it came.

Survival first. Questions later.

“One hour,” Claire said, rubbing her temple. “We have one hour to rest, regroup, and figure out what the hell we’re doing next.”

I swallowed hard, staring at the glowing copper coin in my palm. Jacob’s blood still smeared the floor—a stark, dark reminder of what this place demanded.

“We survived,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over Izzy’s quiet sobs.

The portal’s low hum refused to let us forget its presence, its rhythmic thrum curling around us like a mocking countdown. The System’s timer floated overhead: Rest Period—Time Remaining: 00: 59:29. Nearly one hour. One hour to pretend we weren’t unraveling. One hour to brace for whatever nightmare came next.

Izzy’s sobs broke the silence, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. She rocked slightly, tears streaking her flushed face as her trembling hands clutched at her sleeves. “I—I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice cracking between sobs. “I didn’t… I couldn’t…”

Trevor knelt beside her, his mop discarded like a forgotten relic. “Hey, hey. Stop that,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard. His usual humor was gone, replaced by exhaustion. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

Izzy shook her head, her words tumbling out, barely coherent. “Jacob isn’t. And it’s my fault. I couldn’t—I didn’t—”

Trevor hesitated, his lips tightening as he searched for words. “This isn’t on you,” he said quietly. “None of us were ready for this. Hell, I’m not sure we ever will be.”

Across the room, Ned sat slumped against the wall, his head buried in his hands. His lanky frame folded into himself, his shoulders shaking in silence. He hadn’t spoken since the Trial ended and his System access remained locked. A faint shudder ran through him, but he stayed quiet, retreating inward.

Barry glanced at Ned briefly, then turned back to the makeshift barricade he was constructing out of broken furniture. Each movement was deliberate, his broad frame steady despite the chaos around him. He worked like he was trying to build something unbreakable—a fortress against everything we couldn’t stop.

Claire stood closest to the portal, staring into its shifting, murky depths. Her grip on the fire extinguisher had loosened, though her knuckles still betrayed her tension. “We need to pull ourselves together,” she said, her tone clipped but uneven. “This is just the start. If we fall apart now...” She trailed off, the weight of her words hanging in the air like a noose.

I tightened my grip on the chair leg, my eyes drifting toward Jacob’s bloodstain again. He was gone. Gone. And I was still standing. Why? What made me special? My fingers clenched around the copper coin in my palm, its faint glow mocking me with its simplicity.

If I’d moved faster, if I’d been stronger... maybe he’d still be alive.

Trevor, apparently deciding he’d had enough of the oppressive mood, leaned back on his hands and muttered, “So… no one’s going to mention that HR is definitely not covering this?”

Barry let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, the sound low and guttural as he set another broken chair leg against the door. “This isn’t over. We need to prepare.”

The calm certainty in his voice sent a chill down my spine. Barry didn’t speak much, but when he did, his words carried the weight of inevitability, like gravity itself had loaned him some authority. I scanned the room, taking in the fractured group that was supposed to keep each other alive.

Izzy was still crying, her quiet sobs jagged and raw. Ned sat hunched against the wall, his head buried in his hands like he wished he could fold himself out of existence. Trevor clung to sarcasm like a life raft, and Claire... Claire was trying to lead, but the tension in her jaw and the way her eyes flicked to the portal told me she was just as close to the edge as the rest of us.

I swallowed hard, forcing the lump in my throat back down where it wouldn’t get in the way. “Barry’s right. We have to keep going. Rest, recover, whatever, but we can’t let this—” I gestured vaguely at the bloodstain and the hovering System timer “—be it. Not yet.”

The portal pulsed again, a faint flicker of its eerie light casting jagged shadows across the room. My gut twisted with the realization that the timer wasn’t just marking time—it was counting down to something worse.

“Alright,” Claire said, her voice steady despite the exhaustion etched into her face. “We need to figure out what we have and what we need.”

Barry straightened from his makeshift barricade, his movements deliberate and steady. “Start with the loot.”

The word “loot” felt surreal coming from Barry’s mouth, like we weren’t standing in a breakroom soaked in black beetle guts and Jacob’s blood. The copper tang of ozone still lingered in the air, sharp and oppressive, and the faint hum of the portal was a constant reminder of how quickly everything could spiral again.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Trevor stepped forward, holding up the items we’d collected like some kind of post-apocalyptic game show host. “So, here’s the haul: three Lumic Flashes, one Precision Strike, two glowy core thingies, and enough copper coins for us all to be broke together.”

With an exaggerated toss, Trevor lobbed one of the Skill Scrolls toward Claire. She caught it effortlessly, her fingers closing around it with a practiced motion. “Before anyone starts foaming at the mouth,” Trevor continued, his grin sharp as his eyes darted to Gerald, “let’s talk distribution. Or do we just dive straight into an auction?”

Claire’s gaze flicked to the scroll in her hand, her expression unreadable. The faint light from the portal caught on her glasses, momentarily obscuring her eyes. “We’ll decide after assessing everyone’s strengths,” she said finally, her tone clipped and precise. “Lumic Flash is crowd control; that’s versatile enough for anyone. Precision Strike…” Her sharp gaze shifted toward Barry, who stood silent and steady against the wall. “...fits Barry.”

Barry inclined his head once, his expression as unyielding as the barricade he’d just built. He didn’t need to say anything. His presence alone filled the silence like an iron anchor.

“Hold up,” Gerald interrupted, stepping forward with his brow furrowed and his arms crossed. “Why does he get the Uncommon skill? Shouldn’t we—”

“Vote?” Trevor cut in, his grin widening to infuriating levels. “Yeah, let’s put it to a vote. Because when the apocalypse rains down flaming beetles, democracy is exactly what saves the day.”

Gerald’s glare could’ve peeled paint off the walls. “I’m serious,” he said, his voice rising, echoing faintly off the barren walls. “We can’t just hand out the best stuff to the guy who looks tough. That’s a great way to—”

“To not die?” Trevor suggested, his tone mock-helpful. “Barry here could snap one of those beetles in half with his eyebrows, so forgive me if I want him doing that with skills to back it up.”

The air grew heavier as the tension built, the faint hum of the portal pulsing in sync with the heated exchange. Shadows flickered across the walls, jagged and restless as if reflecting the room’s mood. Gerald stiffened, his stance defensive, and his voice sharp. “If we only hand out the good stuff to the so-called strong, what happens to the rest of us? Are we supposed to just… hope for the best?”

“Hope’s great,” Trevor said, his grin fading slightly, though the sarcasm stayed. “But so is not dying because Barry gutted something before it gutted us.”

“Enough,” Claire snapped, her tone cutting through the argument like a whip. She stepped forward, placing herself between them with an authority that made both men hesitate. Her gaze was firm, unwavering. “We’ll distribute based on what keeps us alive the longest. Lumic Flash is flexible—anyone can use it. Precision Strike requires strength and precision. Barry fits. Or do you think you’d do better with it, Gerald?”

Gerald’s jaw clenched, his glare shifting to Barry, who met it with his usual calm indifference. After a long, tense moment, Gerald exhaled sharply and stepped back, his arms still crossed. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “But this is going to bite us later.”

[Notification: Decision Deferral Detected. Recommend swift loot distribution to avoid conflict escalation. Or don’t. Chaos builds character.]

A snort escaped me before I could stop it. The System really knows how to read a room. Subtle as a sledgehammer.

Claire cleared her throat, reclaiming everyone’s attention. “We’ll divide the loot this time, but we need a system going forward. If these Trials are going to keep happening, we can’t waste time fighting over scraps.”

Ned, still slumped against the wall, finally broke his silence. His voice was quiet, almost inaudible over the persistent hum of the portal. “What if we don’t survive the next one?”

His words hit the room like a stone dropped into water, rippling through the fragile tension. For a moment, no one answered. The portal pulsed again, its ominous glow spilling eerie shadows that seemed to stretch toward us.

“Then we don’t,” Claire said softly, her voice steady but carrying a faint edge of weariness. Her gaze stayed fixed on the portal, its swirling depths reflecting in her glasses. “But not because we gave up before it started.”

The silence that followed was thick, oppressive. It hung over us, a weight we all felt but couldn’t lift. Trevor finally broke it, his tone forced but still carrying a glimmer of his usual humor. “Well, speaking of scraps…” He reached down, rummaging through the pile of loot before holding up one of the glowing scrolls with a flourish. “Who wants to be flashy?”

My hand shot up before I realized what I was doing. “I’ll take one,” I said quickly, the words tumbling out like a reflex. Claire’s sharp gaze flicked to me, her brow raising in quiet curiosity.

“Not to use,” I added hastily, lowering my hand awkwardly. “Just… in case.”

Claire nodded once, a small, almost imperceptible shift of approval, and tossed me a glowing scroll. The faint light etched the words Lumic Flash across the surface in sharp, angular letters. The energy emanating from it was palpable, a faint hum that vibrated through my fingertips and sent goosebumps rippling up my arm. I turned it over in my hands, marveling at how something so small could pulse with so much power—and so much danger.

Trevor grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim emergency light. “Gotta admit, Flash suits you, Ethan. You’ve got that whole ‘deer in headlights’ vibe down to an art.”

“Thanks, I think,” I muttered, slipping the scroll into my inventory with a mental command. A faint shimmer appeared as it disappeared into the virtual space. Might as well keep it somewhere I can’t drop it.

Trevor handed me a small, glowing shard next, its surface glimmering faintly in his palm. “Here. Bug heart for the man of the hour. No idea what it does, but it’s shiny, so… points for aesthetics.”

As I took it, a soft ding chimed in my head, accompanied by the unmistakable text of a System notification.

[Item Acquired: Lumic Core (Common)]

The name hung in my mind, sharp and clear, as though the System had whispered it directly into my thoughts. The core was warm to the touch, its surface almost hypnotic as it pulsed faintly like a tiny, trapped heartbeat. I slid it into my pocket, where it settled uncomfortably close to my skin, its presence impossible to ignore.

Finally, Trevor dropped two copper coins into my hand. They clinked against each other with a dull metallic sound, their sheen muted and unimpressive compared to the alien artifacts we’d just divided. “For your wallet,” Trevor said, throwing in a mock bow that was so over-the-top it almost made me smile.

“Fantastic,” I deadpanned, holding up the coins briefly before flicking open the glowing interface in my mind. The familiar hum of the System greeted me as the coins vanished with a soft ding, their weight replaced by a notification:

[Wallet: 2 Copper Coins]

Coins. Because obviously, monsters care about capitalism. The thought came unbidden, but I pushed it aside and turned my attention back to the others.

Claire stood at the center of the room, dividing items with clinical precision. Her gaze swept over the group like a commander taking inventory of her troops. Trevor, as usual, punctuated the process with snarky commentary, tossing quips like confetti to lighten the oppressive atmosphere. Barry pocketed his share in silence, his movements methodical and deliberate.

Then there was Gerald. He hovered at the edge of the group, his arms crossed and his face locked in a perpetual scowl. His glare darted between us, simmering with the kind of resentment that felt ready to boil over at the slightest provocation. It was a look I’d seen before, one that warned me to tread lightly—or not at all.

I muttered, “System,” watching as the interface unfolded in my vision. Its faint glow was oddly comforting against the backdrop of flickering emergency lights and the ever-present hum of the portal.

[System Menu: Status | Skills | Inventory | Wallet]

My finger hovered over the Wallet tab, and with a mental nudge, the familiar screen blinked into view.

[Wallet: 2 Copper Coins]

Coins. Cool. If this apocalypse comes with vending machines, I’m ready. I closed the tab with a flick of my hand and shifted to the Inventory tab.

[Inventory (Level 1): 1x Lumic Flash]

The glowing scroll hovered in the virtual space, its sharp angles and luminous surface an almost taunting reminder of how much I didn’t understand about the world I’d been thrown into. I closed the menu with a sigh, shaking off the creeping unease that clung to me like static.

Claire clapped her hands, the sharp sound dragging everyone’s attention away from their respective tasks. “We need to arm ourselves with whatever we can find,” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “Those beetles were bad enough, and I’m guessing Trial Two won’t be a tea party.”

“More like tea with a side of chainsaws,” Trevor quipped, still holding his mop like it was Excalibur. He spun it once in his hand for emphasis, but the usual bravado in his tone rang hollow.

Barry, ever the silent sentinel, gestured toward the nearby desks with a tilt of his head. “Check drawers, cabinets—anything solid or sharp.”

Everyone scattered, scouring the remains of the office for anything remotely useful. Claire disappeared into the storage closet, emerging moments later with a heavy-duty stapler in one hand and a sturdy metal rod in the other. She gave the rod a few experimental swings. “These’ll do for now.”

Trevor appeared next, sauntering in from the copier station with a roll of packing tape and a clipboard. He raised the clipboard with mock reverence. “Not quite Excalibur, but hey, at least I’ll die doing admin.”

From the conference room, Ned staggered out dragging a whiteboard stand. His face was pale, his hands trembling slightly as he yanked the frame apart, snapping the long metal pole free. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll do,” he muttered, his voice hollow.

Meanwhile, Barry had unearthed an adjustable wrench from a maintenance kit tucked under a desk. He tested its weight, giving it a solid swing through the air. The heft of it seemed to ground him, steadying the tension in his shoulders. “This’ll work,” he said, his tone measured. “Piercing Strike burns too much mana to use every time. I’ll save it for when it counts.” His fingers tightened around the wrench as he turned it over, nodding in approval. “Yeah, I’m good with this.”

My eyes landed on a guillotine-style paper cutter near the printer. Its lever arm glinted under the stuttering fluorescent lights. Without thinking, I tore it free, the bolts snapping with an audible crack. The awkward weight of it felt familiar in my hands, the blade sharper than anything in the room had a right to be. Because apparently, I’m starring in Apocalypse Office Wars.

Izzy, still nursing her injured hand on the floor, watched as we returned one by one with makeshift weapons. A faint smile crossed her lips. “Never thought I’d see Claire… you know, sweaty and bloody up close. Kind of surreal.”

Claire froze mid-swing, testing the balance of her metal rod. She turned her gaze on Izzy, her expression caught between irritation and disbelief. “Do I need to remind you that I’m holding a weapon?”

Izzy blushed furiously, stammering, “Sorry.”

Ned leaned casually against his newly acquired pole, a faint smirk on his face after time and a new weapon melted away his nervousness. “You’re all gonna need a shower first. Beetle guts isn’t exactly a great cologne.”

“Beetle guts is trending this season,” Trevor shot back, giving his mop a dramatic twirl. “And if nothing else, the rugged, bloody look works for me.”

Barry’s voice cut through the banter, low and razor-sharp. “Enough.”

The word dropped like a stone into the room, silencing everyone. His usual stoicism was laced with something heavier now, an edge that demanded attention. His gaze moved from Ned to Izzy, then settled on Trevor, who had the decency to look at the ground.

“Jacob just died,” Barry said, his voice steady but taut. “He’s gone. And we’re cracking jokes like this is just another Monday.”

The weight of his words hit hard, the guilt settling over the group like a suffocating cloud. Even Trevor’s usual smirk faltered as his knuckles whitened around the mop’s handle.

Claire stepped in, her tone softer but no less firm. “Barry’s right. We’ve all lost someone today. We owe them—and each other—better than this.”

“I didn’t mean…” Izzy began, but her voice cracked and faltered, her eyes darting to the floor. Ned said nothing, gripping his pole tighter, his expression unreadable.

Claire squared her shoulders, her grip tightening around the rod. “Focus. We prepare, we survive, and we make sure Jacob’s death wasn’t for nothing.”