[Current Objective: Retrieve Medical Supplies]

Crouched at the edge of the treeline, I steeled myself for the first step. The outhouse lay about fifty yards away, with the looming hospital another fifty yards beyond that.

The expanse between the structures felt like an endless, exposed wasteland. I imagined myself a tiny mouse ready to dart across an open parking lot, acutely aware of the predators circling above.

I eased out from the cover of the trees, immediately sensing a prickle of paranoia as if invisible eyes were tracking my every move. With each deliberate step, I placed my trust entirely in the Yellow Belly perk, praying that whatever watchful eyes were out there would choose to ignore my intrusion. The sensation of vulnerability surged, building into an overwhelming tide of dread.

In my head, I could almost hear Rolland’s voice, urging me to sprint for the safety of the outhouse. His palpable fear of the Porcs had seeped into me, and now I was about to discover just how justified that fear really was.

When I was twenty feet from the outhouse, a small experience marker flashed in the corner of my vision. The number twenty glowed a ghostly yellow against the encroaching shadows, making me jump.

Against my better judgment, I hastily accessed the notification, a wave of panic churning in my stomach as I read the description. I hadn't gained points for stealth; rather, it was for dodging combat thanks to Yellow Belly. Clearly, at least one enemy had spotted me and chose to let me approach.

I reached the outhouse, pausing to steady my nerves before trying the door. It was locked. I retrieved one of the three lockpicks Rolland had given me—a slender, serrated metal wedge designed to bypass any lock in Apocalypta if my skill was high enough.

Rolland had made it clear, after some brief experimentation in Doc Anderson’s office, that picking locks in Apocalypta was surprisingly straightforward. The lockpick functioned much like a real key—slide it in and turn. According to Rolland, some check was performed between the lock's difficulty and the player's stats. When I asked what happened if I failed, he simply shrugged and suggested I avoid finding out.

I inserted the lockpick and felt the subtle vibrations of internal mechanics scraping against the metal. I braced for the worst, expecting the pick to snap at any moment and leave me stranded. But then, with a satisfying click, the door creaked open, and fifteen experience points flashed in my vision.

I stepped into the dim interior, leaving the pick in the lock to prevent the door from closing behind me. Inside, the outbuilding was a stark contrast to the world outside.

The room was bathed in an eerie red glow from emergency lights, casting a foreboding ambiance over a disarray of neglected equipment and forgotten supplies. Dust hung thick in the air, disturbed only by my entrance. Shelves lined the walls, sagging under the weight of rusted paint cans, cracked buckets, and a jumble of unidentifiable tools. In one corner, a shelf had collapsed, spilling a tangle of twisted metal and shattered glass.

The floor was strewn with debris, crunching underfoot. The air was heavy with the smell of damp decay, mingling with the acrid tang of chemical solvents. Cobwebs draped the corners like sinister decorations, their former inhabitants either long gone or lurking unseen in the shadows.

The generator, large and rectangular, stood about six feet long and four feet high. Its once-red paint was scratched and dirty, smeared with grime. Despite its size, the generator seemed too small to power the sprawling hospital behind it. It could be part of a persistent feature in the simulation, but I had little faith in this virtual wasteland abiding by real-world logic, despite its attempts to mimic reality.

I noticed thick power cables snaking from the generator down through a rusty hatch in the floor. I pried open the hatch, wincing as the hinges screeched in protest. Perhaps I should have oiled them first, but the thought didn’t occur to me until the noise had already echoed off the walls.

The tunnels below were bathed in the same ominous red glow from emergency lights. I descended six feet into a cramped cement passage barely wide enough for a large man. Cables and lights ran along the walls, guiding the way to the basement of the complex. Small puddles sloshed beneath my feet as I moved.

At the end of the tunnel, I approached a door and cautiously opened it. The door squealed as it swung on rusty hinges. From within the dimly lit room, a bulky figure stirred.

Shelves shifted as the creature hurried towards the door. It was a grotesque amalgamation of human and swine, lumbering on two feet and clad in a crude loincloth. The air around it crackled with the static of its bristling, iron-hard hair. Each step echoed with the clatter of hard trotters on the ground, resonating through the dimly lit room.

The creature’s snout protruded twin sets of vicious, curved tusks, and its eyes gleamed with a predatory, sinister intent. Those eyes locked onto me with unsettling clarity, as if it were calculating its next move with a mix of primal instinct and malevolent cunning. In its powerful, fingered hands, it gripped a rugged spear, the tip aimed directly at my throat.

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The creature exuded a raw, animalistic menace, a terrifying fusion of man and beast.

"Who goes there?" the Porc growled, its voice a guttural snort.

"Nobody!" I shouted, throwing my hands up in a universal gesture of surrender.

I was thankful I hadn’t equipped a weapon yet, hoping that the Yellow Belly perk would shield me in this tense encounter.

An experience marker flashed in my vision, and the Porc visibly relaxed.

"Oh, just a runt," it grumbled. "What are you doing here?"

While the immediate threat had eased, I knew I wasn’t entirely out of danger. The Porc continued to scrutinize me with wary intensity, lowering its spear slightly.

"I'm just looking for some medical supplies," I said, hoping the creature would understand.

The Porc shook its head, the gesture more bewildered than dismissive.

"No. Boss wouldn’t like that. He hoards all the medicine, all the supplies. Won’t share with runts like you," it replied with a menacing tone.

"The boss sent me to gather supplies," I pressed on, watching as the Porc’s confusion grew.

The Porc’s eyes narrowed, struggling to piece together my claim. "Boss told a runt to help with his secret project?"

"Exactly! He gave me instructions on where to go and how to come back. How else would I know about this entrance?" I said, gesturing towards the tunnel behind me.

In that moment, I considered drawing the pistol I had holstered, but I quickly dismissed the idea. The weapon wouldn’t deal much damage, and its gunfire would inevitably alert other Porcs in the area. I needed to be sure Rolland’s distraction was working before taking any bold actions.

Duroc, snorted in derision, a cloud of fetid breath washing over me, thick with the stench of old blood and decayed meat. I fought the urge to gag.

"No one tells Duroc anything," Duroc grumbled, lowering his spear. Another flash of experience points confirmed that I had successfully navigated a speech challenge.

"Others put Duroc down here. Told him to watch the door. They treat Duroc like a runt," he continued, the bitterness in his voice evident.

Something Duroc mentioned sparked my curiosity. Although it seemed like just a new quest line, I decided to probe further.

"What do you know about the Boss's secret project?" I asked.

Duroc shook his head with a grunt. "Nothing. No one tells Duroc. The Boss is deeper underground, in his lair. He has special equipment. Needs medicine stuff to make it work. That’s all Duroc knows."

"Damn, Duroc, they really treat you poorly. How about this—would you like to join me in searching for more medicine?" I suggested, my eagerness to explore the boundaries of Apocalypta’s Gameworld overriding caution. I was keen to see if forming a party of companions was possible.

Duroc shook his head firmly.

"No. Duroc told to watch the door, so Duroc watches the door. Until Boss says otherwise."

I nodded, understanding that pressing the issue further might provoke the beast-man.

"I understand. You've done a very good job, Duroc. I'll make sure to tell the Boss about your excellent work," I said, preparing to step around him.

Passing so close to Duroc was unnerving. His flabby exterior belied a powerful physique that made the earlier Raider seem weak by comparison. If Duroc was considered a runt, I dreaded to think of the monstrous adversaries that awaited deeper within the hospital complex.

"Wait," Duroc growled. My heart leapt into my throat as I froze. "Duroc likes you, runt. Take this."

Another flash of experience points signaled a successful interaction. My inventory box appeared as Duroc handed me a scrimshawed boar’s tusk. I thanked him for the token of friendship, though I was more focused on finding the medical supply room and escaping the place. Looking back, investigating the item might have been beneficial, but at the time, my priority was getting out.

Duroc’s room, a maintenance store, was cluttered but useful. I pocketed some handy tools and adhesive tape, hoping they might come in handy later. However, I was dismayed to see how quickly these new additions filled my inventory.

Apocalypta offered virtually unlimited storage space in a virtual limbo, with items summoned when needed and returned when not. However, inventory space was limited by the strength stat and enhanced by gear and perks. With a strength stat of four, I was below average in carrying capacity. My inventory was already at twenty-eight percent capacity, prompting me to avoid further foraging to prevent potential issues with inventory management.

The hospital basement was bathed in a sickly yellow light from dusty fluorescent tubes overhead. The cables from the emergency generator snaked along the wall from Duroc’s room and extended left down the corridor. To the right, the hallway was lined with closed doors, leading to a gated, wide-mouthed service elevator.

I crept down the corridor, carefully following the path of the overhead wires. As I turned a corner, I saw the wires disappear into the wall above a rusty, grime-encrusted stainless steel door. Approaching with caution, I readied a skeleton key, though my hopes were dim. The door presented no keyhole. Instead, it had a card scanner and a keypad mounted on the wall beside it.

Cursing under my breath, my words echoing through the empty hall. This was the room Duroc had indicated as containing medical supplies, but a simple metal key was useless here. It occurred to me that the emergency generator outside must be keeping the door locked as a backup in case the main power failed.

I weighed my options: disable the main generator and return to tackle the emergency one, a plan that was feasible but time-consuming. Rolland was out there fighting off the Porcs with dwindling ammunition. If he was overwhelmed, the situation could become dire quickly.

Determined to find a quicker solution, I decided to explore the upper levels of the hospital, hoping to locate smaller medical supplies in the nurses' stations—items that might be less critical but still valuable. I turned and made my way towards the service elevator, moving with a sense of urgency.