“Right,” I said, moving off as if I actually knew where I was headed, which I didn’t. “Let’s get this shitshow on the road. Map.”

I brought up the map and expanded it so it filled my whole vision, taken aback slightly by how comfortable I was getting already with this virtual screen shit. That’s the thing about games though, isn’t it? You get ridiculously at ease with them after a while, with the mechanics and the gameplay. Not that I was there yet—nowhere near—but I could feel myself sliding into the role that had been forcefully assigned to me. I suspected the Overseers knew this about humans, that we were born to play games. Shit, maybe that’s why the bastards created us in the first place. We were all just extras in their game.

“Bastard Overseers,” I felt like saying, but didn’t. It occurred to me that my every move, every sound, every tiny little fart was being eavesdropped on, analyzed, studied, and if I said something that painted our lords and masters in a bad light, then maybe I might get punished for it. I already felt more punished than any soul had a right to be, so I didn’t need more of the same from those assholes.

“Alright, map. Show me something useful.”

There was no scale on the map, so it was impossible to tell how big Limbo was. It felt massive, though. But everywhere feels massive when you’re lost. I didn’t really care anyway. All that mattered was that I got to where I had to go, which presumably was the first Trial. Grik didn’t exactly fill me in much before he kicked me out of his bureaucratic den. There was no dot or any other symbol showing where it was on the map. The only dot was me and the symbol for the building not far behind me. Somewhere to the east, there was a yellow circle that I think showed the location of my Safe Circle. There were also several blue dots scattered around, and I assumed those were the other players, or at least the ones within a certain proximity to me. I wondered if enemies showed up as well when they got close enough. It would be helpful if they did. We’d see, I guess.

The majority of the map was grayed out because I hadn’t ventured too far yet. So basically, the map was useless at this point. The only thing to do now was head off until I found something of interest, or until the map revealed some location to me. It was mighty tempting to break out the whiskey and just sit here and get blind drunk, but I didn’t think that would help my situation any. Imagine stumbling around this place drunk. Wait, that actually sounded—no, forget that. Move your ass, Kade, as my father used to say when he thought I was slacking, even though I wasn’t most of the time.

I started trekking across the soft ground, noticing ominous mountain ranges and dark forests in the distance, two places I had no interest in venturing toward. Some of the other players seemed to think differently, however. Maybe they thought those places would provide shelter or safety. I begged to differ. All I saw in those places were hideouts for monsters. Everyone appeared to be heading in their own direction, all of us growing more apart the farther we walked. Eventually, after an hour or so of walking, I couldn’t see anyone. Matters weren’t helped by the fog that had settled around the place. It wasn’t thick, but it was dense enough to kill visibility beyond thirty or forty yards.

Great, I thought. Cover for whatever psycho mobs are out there waiting to pounce.

I held my chain in my hand, just in case. I wasn’t sure how much damage it would do. Probably not much, but it was better than nothing at this point. At least I had Nikes, even though I had no idea how to use them. I’d figure it out when I had to. When some slavering creature was attacking me, probably.

I remember this one time, when I was still on Earth, and I was watching takedown tutorials on YouTube one night. This was at the start of my fight career. I saw this guy on the video do this really cool takedown and so I decided to try it out in my next fight, which happened to be the following night. Halfway through the second round, I try the move, and lo and behold, I pull the damn thing off without having practiced it even once. I was so stunned by it working that I forgot to follow up and my opponent slipped free, going on to knock me out with a kick to the jaw. But still, the move had worked. Total fluke probably, but I was hoping the same thing would happen with the boots when I needed them. Of course, I could play around with them now, but there was an hour cooldown and knowing my luck, some mob would approach right after I used the boots and then they’d be useless to me. Better to wait.

Trudging on for another hour or so, the landscape a seemingly endless wasteland, I was beginning to think I’d strayed into some outer reach of Limbo, someplace where not much existed but miserable fog and an endless expanse of soft, ashy ground.

But then I came upon a mound of large boulders, and on top of the mound, crouching there like it had just been waiting for some poor sap to pass by, was a creature that resembled a chimpanzee... if that chimpanzee had been raised on a steady diet of nightmare fuel and bad life choices.

Its matted fur was a sickly greenish-brown, like moldy cotton candy. One bloodshot eye, comically large, rolled around in its socket, while the other was squeezed shut in what looked like a permanent wink. Its lips were pulled back in a manic grin, revealing a set of teeth that would make a dentist weep.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

But the pièce de résistance? Clutched in one gnarled paw was a wrinkled paper bag, the word GLUE barely legible on its side. The creature’s nostrils flared as it took deep huffs from the bag, its body swaying slightly with each inhalation.

An info box popped up above the creature.

Gluepanzee - Level 3

This simian substance abuser is Limbo’s poster child for “Just Say No.” Part chimp, part cautionary tale, the Gluepanzee’s hobbies include getting high, throwing its own feces, ruining the day of any unfortunate soul that crosses its path, and getting high. Its glue-sniffing habit grants it unpredictable bursts of strength. Also, watch out for those glue balls.

Glue balls?

For a second, I thought about doing the sensible thing, which was activating my Nikes (if I could) and running before the glue monkey jumped down off its perch. But then I remembered that I was put here to fight creatures like this, so I’d better get used to it.

“Fuck it,” I said, mentally snatching my chain from its Quick Access slot in the inventory menu, the chain appearing in my hand almost instantly. As the Gluepanzee jumped off the boulders and landed with a thud on the ground, almost losing its balance, I wrapped the chain around my right fist. I didn’t fancy trying to swing the chain around, and I figured it might do more damage if I just used it to reinforce my fist.

The Gluepanzee’s eye finally focused on me, and it let out a screech that sounded like a rusty kazoo being played through a megaphone. Its paper bag was still clutched firmly in hand, and I realized that my day was about to get a whole lot stickier.

I was already in a fighting stance, muscle memory beginning to take over as my years of training kicked in and I put my full focus on my opponent. I’d fought some strange dudes in my time, especially in the underground fights, but none like this.

Just relax, Kade, I told myself. You got this. It’s just another fight… against a glue sniffing monkey.

“Don’t suppose you could hop on back up to your perch and return to getting high while I pass by, is there?”

The Gluepanzee’s response was to screech again, and then hawk a large ball of… I don’t know what out of its mouth. A glue ball, I was guessing. It was about the size of a Titleist, and it moved so fast I had no chance of dodging it. Instead, I flinched and threw my arm up and the glue ball hit my forearm.

On impact, the ball exploded into a sticky, viscous mess that immediately began to spread across my skin. It was like someone had crossed super glue with The Blob and given it a mission to ruin my day. The substance oozed and pulsated, creeping along my arm with alarming speed.

Within seconds, my entire forearm was encased in a translucent, gooey prison. I tried to move my fingers, but they were locked in place, trapped in a rubbery cocoon. The glue emitted a faint, chemical odor that made my head spin, like a mixture of industrial adhesive and regret.

A notification popped up.

Status Effect: Sticky Situation

You’ve been slimed by the Gluepanzee’s special brew. -50% to arm mobility, +100% to feeling like you’ve stuck your hand in the world’s worst jar of peanut butter.

Well, that’s just great.

As I stared at my newly mummified arm, I couldn’t help but think that if this was the Gluepanzee’s idea of a handshake, I’d hate to see how it hugs. The creature cackled maniacally, clearly pleased with its handiwork, and I realized that this fight was about to get a whole lot messier.

Luckily, the glue had hit my left arm, so my right hand with the chain was still free.

Before the evil monkey could hawk any more disgusting shit at me, I rushed toward it, and as I did, I noticed its Health Bar hovering above it.

Time to put that shit in the red. You don’t know who you’re fucking with glue monkey…

The Gluepanzee’s fried synapses couldn’t keep up with my assault. My chain-wrapped fist connected with a sickening crunch, over and over, each impact sending shockwaves through its skull and chunks of matted fur flying. Its Health Bar plummeted like a stone, dipping below half in seconds.

But even a glue-addled brain has survival instincts. With an unholy screech that set my teeth on edge, it swung its meaty forearm at my chest. The blow hit like a wrecking ball, driving the air from my lungs in an explosive gasp and sending me staggering back. Ribs creaked ominously, and I tasted copper.

Rage flooded my system, and I surged forward again. My boot met the creature’s face in a symphony of crunching cartilage. Blood and teeth sprayed in an arc as its Health Bar flashed an angry red.

The Gluepanzee teetered, one eye swollen shut, but it wasn’t done. With a desperate huff from its precious bag, it entered a frenzy. It charged, all flailing limbs and frothing mouth, its fists raining down like leaden hailstones. Each impact felt like it was rearranging my internal organs.

Just when I thought I’d end up as a smear on the ashen ground, my Transformers shirt hummed to life. A shimmering blue shield materialized, deflecting the monkey’s blows. It howled in frustration and pain as its knuckles sizzled against the energy barrier.

Time to end this freak show.

As the Gluepanzee raised its bag for another hit, I struck. My fist connected with the paper, and it exploded in a shower of caustic adhesive. The creature’s face disappeared under a thick layer of its own poison, its agonized shriek muffled by the gluey mask, making it look like it had just come from a bukkake session with several other monkeys.

Seizing the moment, I unleashed a spinning hook kick. My heel connected with a wet thud, and I felt something give way beneath the impact. The Gluepanzee’s head snapped back at an unnatural angle, its Health Bar blinking out of existence as it crumpled to the ground.

I stood over the twitching corpse, chest heaving, knuckles dripping with blood and glue. “Huff on that, you deranged Curious George,” I spat, then looked skyward at my unseen audience. “Was that ‘80s action hero enough for you sadistic fucks? Or should I drop another one-liner and walk away in slow motion?”