[Current Objective: Retrieve Medical Supplies]

The service elevator rolled to a stop on the fourth floor, labeled phlebotomy and haematology but conveniently marked with a makeshift sign reading blood tests. It seemed logical that my best chance of finding what I needed lay on this floor.

As the elevator doors slid open, chaos greeted me. Gunfire crackled sporadically from rooms across the wide western side of the floor. Porcs squealed with guttural delight at each salvo directed into the treeline beyond. It was a reassuring sign that Rolland was keeping his end of the bargain, but my concern for his safety lingered.

Silently, I slinked out of the elevator, keeping low and close to the ground for cover.

Above me, a weathered sign pointed right towards the reception area, its once vibrant red line now faded and worn, marking a path through the cluttered hallway. I darted from doorway to doorway, taking refuge behind overturned furniture and broken fixtures scattered haphazardly. The hallway itself was a chaotic tableau of abandonment—broken benches and toppled gurneys strewn about, with a jagged hole in the drywall revealing a disordered pile of rubble and debris.

Locating the reception desk proved surprisingly swift amidst the cacophony of distant gunfire echoing through the halls. Yet every second dragged on, each heartbeat matched by a dry throat and a nagging sense of imminent danger. The pervasive fear gnawed at me, knowing that any misstep could betray my presence to the Porcs lurking nearby. Yellow Belly's frail shield offered little reassurance now, its protection rendered moot by the ferocity of the Raiders earlier that day in a battle where survival demanded more than mere avoidance.

The reception nestled snugly in the corner of the hallway, a humble sanctuary hemmed in by its own clutter. A square enclosure shielded behind a weathered, waist-high desk bore the weight of a sluggish computer terminal, its screen flickering with the irregular rhythm of a dying heartbeat. Around it, the detritus of a bygone era lay in disarray: ageing filing cabinets groaned under the weight of overstuffed folders threatening to spill their secrets, while papers and notes fluttered like confetti in a forgotten celebration of bureaucratic chaos.

I dove into the jumble of notes with hurried intent, seeking morsels of knowledge amidst the disarray. Yet, my eager fingers encountered documents hardened by time, their surfaces coated in mold and grime, their contents fading remnants of a lost civilization's bureaucratic machinations. The world beyond these walls, once brimming with technological marvels and administrative order, now lay buried under layers of neglect and decay.

Suddenly, a hefty Porc exploded out of a nearby room. Porcs, towering at six feet and resembling a grotesque fusion of man and pig, were nothing short of nightmares given flesh. This one had a snout that quivered with every breath and small, cruel eyes that promised pain.

I froze, my heart pounding in my chest, and ducked behind the reception desk. Fear gripped me, a cold, paralyzing sensation that made every second stretch into an eternity. I prayed desperately that the Porc wouldn't notice me. The creature barreled down the corridor, clutching a large bore rifle, its footsteps shaking the ground.

It thundered past without a glance, its focus elsewhere. Moments later, gunfire erupted from the room it had entered, each burst a reminder of how close I had come to a violent end. I exhaled shakily, the tension slowly easing from my body. A subtle increment of experience points acknowledged my successful evasion, but it did little to calm the lingering fear that still gripped me.

My eye caught a swaying lanyard, dangling provocatively before me. Attached was a staff pass securely slotted into the computer terminal nearby. Taking a calculated risk, I cautiously rose from my crouched position and tapped a sequence of keys on the terminal. Miraculously, the screen flickered to life, automatically logging into the profile of Chief Nurse Clara Santiago.

The screen flickered to life, revealing what seemed to be an internal mailing system. Scanning through the sparse contents of each message, I gleaned snippets of the hospital's internal affairs. The first message detailed a moral quandary surrounding an organ replacement research project within the hospital. Another raised concerns over missing controlled substances, prompting new security measures. However, it was the final message that caught my attention—a potential outbreak of an unknown disease on the virology ward, directly above me. With a shudder, I resolved to steer clear of that floor entirely.

Closing the message screen swiftly, I located a search bar and entered keywords related to staff and room allocations. The computer responded by presenting a file labeled 'staff log'. Opening it revealed a labyrinth of tabs and data, overwhelming and largely irrelevant. Yet, amidst the clutter, my eyes fell upon a tab marked 'drugs and store'. Clicking through, I filtered the results by floor and discovered that Chief Nurse Santiago had frequented room fifteen, along with other high-ranking staff. Convinced that room fifteen housed the storeroom I sought, I retrieved Chief Nurse Santiago's key card and stashed it safely in my inventory.

Turning my attention to the desk drawers beneath the computer, I found them locked. Swiftly employing a skeleton key, I gained access and uncovered two cake bars named Brinkies and a stash of Pain-O drugs, both of which I appropriated. It dawned on me that the Pain-O might be linked to the missing drugs mentioned in the computer messages—a setup for a larger illicit operation within the hospital. Perhaps identifying the reception staff responsible and locating their locker would yield a more substantial haul, but I dismissed the notion, deeming it unlikely they'd stashed away mere empty blood packs.

Glancing up, I noted the room opposite labeled as room seven, recalling I had passed room three on my way from the elevator. Room fifteen lay further down the corridor, in the direction the Porc had recently charged from. Stealthily sidestepping the rooms facing Rolland's position, I tried to block out the gleeful squeals of the Porcs. Yet, amidst the chaos of gunfire and the acrid scent of spent gunpowder, it was impossible to ignore the stark reality—I was immersed in peril at every turn.

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As I tiptoed through the hallway, nearly every room I passed harbored one or two Porcs stationed by shattered windows. They wielded a mishmash of firearms, perfectly suited to their meaty, humanoid hands. I paused and wondered how these creatures could fashion such weapons, before recalling the peculiar logic of Apocalypta.

Like me, the Porcs must have been spawned into this world fully armed and equipped, all part of the intricate game's narrative designed to challenge the primary player—myself. Yet, the long-term consequences remained a mystery. Would the Porcs conjure more bullets if they ran dry? Could they resurrect after death, or could they be purged from this place with overwhelming force alone?

Certainly, expelling these porcine adversaries from the hospital would require an overwhelming effort. Judging by their sheer numbers on this floor alone, I surmised there had to be hundreds scattered throughout the complex. The enormity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks, leaving me feeling utterly and hopelessly out of my depth.

Suppressing the surge of fear rising in my throat, I pressed forward. Slipping past room fourteen in a crouch, I witnessed a lone Porc abruptly spin around. One of Rolland’s shots had clearly hit its mark, obliterating half the creature's face. It slumped to the floor with a wet thud, thick blood oozing from the gaping wound in its cheek. The Porc stared at me. I stared back, and in that frantic moment, I realized the monster was still very much alive.

In a frantic burst of adrenaline, I lunged forward. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a desperate plea echoed: Please, Rolland, don't mistake me for one of them!

With a pistol in hand, I pounced on dazed Porc.

It stank. The odor of stale sweat and muck was unignorable as I bore down upon the Porc. Its pinkish skin was iron-hard beneath me. The patch growth of hair was steel sharp and snagged against my clothes. The monster grunted, deep and guttural. I could sense the beast was building to an almighty squeal that would act as a warning cry.

The porc was powerful too. While it was unable to shake me loose with its feeble thrashing, I was under no illusions that this was due to the monster being dazed from the headwound. The Porc's bulk impressed upon me the idea that it could easily hoist me out of the window if it wanted.

Set against the aural soundscape of war in the hospital grounds outside, I jammed the pistol into the wound left by Rolland's shot. Then, I squeezed the trigger repeatedly until the magazine clicked empty.

The skirmish was over in a blur of frantic seconds. The kill unlocked a new perk called Heartless, but my immediate focus was on survival. Hastily, I rifled through the creature's possessions, grabbing whatever ammunition I could find.

Bounding out of room fourteen, I reloaded my pistol with practised efficiency and swiftly used Chief Nurse Santiago's key card. Outside room fifteen, a familiar card reader and keypad awaited me, akin to the one in the basement. Inserting the key card, I held my breath until the red light flashed green and the electromagnetic lock released with a soft click. I pocketed the key card and slipped inside the room, aware of the telltale clatter of Porc trotters echoing behind me.

The door swung shut, but I managed to catch it before it slammed, locking softly behind me as automatic lights flickered to life. My heart sank as I surveyed the scene—the storeroom had been thoroughly ransacked. Shelves lay barren, save for a scattered assortment of leftover items. Recalling Duroc's words about the Boss's demand for medicine, it became clear this sparse offering was part of the hospital's calculated narrative—scant pickings to scavenge, with the true treasures likely secured in the Boss's vault below.

Cursing softly under my breath, I silenced a sudden jolt of panic at the handle's rattle. I readied my pistol, stifling a nervous laugh at the futility of a gunfight against a horde of enraged pig-men. Trapped in this windowless closet of a room, there was nowhere to flee, nowhere to hide. I stood alone, bracing myself for the inevitable confrontation.

"Must've been nothing," grunted one of the Porcs outside, his deep, bestial voice resonating through the door. Gradually, the Porcs dispersed, and I silently thanked their limited pre-programmed intelligence. Their trotters clacked away down the corridor, driven by their unrelenting thirst for battle outside. I counted the echoes of six sets of feet fading into the distance, releasing a sigh of relief I hadn't realized I'd been holding.

Surveying the storeroom, my heart skipped a beat as I spotted three empty blood packs, tubing, and needles. Hastily, I stowed them in my inventory, then stripped the room of its remaining treasures. I gathered five vials of the healing Regeneron, seven packs of the endurance-boosting Pain-O, three syringes of U-Clot for stopping bleeding, and four packs of Throbber, promising resistance to fatigue and other dubious effects. Finally, there were seventeen packs of Bio-Plus, a potent antibiotic, and ten syringes of Bite-be-gone, an anti-venom. It dawned on me that Porcs likely didn't require antibiotics or anti-venom, suggesting some innate resilience to those conditions.

With my inventory now at seventy-two percent capacity, a fleeting thought of scavenging for a larger backpack crossed my mind. Perhaps the psychiatric ward or pharmacy held a wider array of medicines that could aid my journey. But the stark reality of my perilous situation quickly banished such notions.

Pressing the exit button to release the electromagnetic lock, I cautiously cracked open the door and peered around the corner. The coast was clear; all Porcs had returned to their rooms to take potshots at Rolland in the woods. With the same caution that brought me to the phlebotomy floor, I retraced my steps back to the elevator. My mission was halfway accomplished.

I caught the door just before it could slam, easing it shut with a soft click. The lights blinked on, revealing the grim truth: the storeroom had been ransacked. My heart sank. Shelves that should have been stocked were nearly bare, with only a few scattered items left behind. Duroc’s warning about the Boss hoarding supplies echoed in my mind. Clearly, whatever treasures this place once held were now locked away in some vault deep underground.

I cursed under my breath, stifling a rising wave of panic as the door handle rattled. Instinctively, I raised my pistol. The absurdity of trying to fight off a horde of bloodthirsty pig-men in a windowless closet wasn’t lost on me, but at that moment, I had no other options. I braced for the worst, knowing there was no way out.

“Must’ve been nothing,” grunted a Porc from the other side. His voice, thick and guttural, reverberated through the door. Slowly, their heavy footsteps retreated, the clattering of their trotters fading down the corridor. I counted six sets moving away, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Thank the game’s limited AI for small mercies.

Once the tension ebbed, I scanned the room again. My eyes caught a glint of plastic—three empty blood packs, tubing, and needles, just as Duroc had hinted. I stowed them in my inventory with practiced haste and set about stripping the room of anything useful.

Five vials of Regeneron for healing, seven packs of Pain-O for endurance, three syringes of U-Clot to stop bleeding, and four packs of Throbber—who knew what those would do, but they promised resistance to fatigue and something far more dubious. Then I hit the jackpot: seventeen packs of Bio-Plus, a powerful antibiotic, and ten syringes of Bite-be-gone, an anti-venom. The haul was good, better than expected, though it made me wonder—did Porcs need anti-venom or antibiotics? Probably not. Maybe they were immune to human afflictions.

My inventory now sat at seventy-two percent capacity. A larger backpack would’ve been ideal, but thoughts of scavenging one were short-lived. This wasn’t the time to weigh myself down even more. Maybe later, if I survived.

Pressing the exit button, I unlocked the door, opening it just a crack. The hallway was clear. All the Porcs had returned to their windows, taking potshots at Rolland. Moving with the same care that had brought me to this floor, I crept back toward the elevator, my mission halfway done.