"What are you staring at, human?"

A voice, seemingly coming from nowhere in particular, echoed in his mind. Hank Fowler glanced around, his gaze settling on one of three treasure chests that had suddenly materialized nearby. He blinked. Had one of them just... spoken?

He decided to play it cool. "What's it to you?"

"Try staring again," the chest retorted, its tone laced with something akin to menace.

Hank scoffed. "Oh, I'm staring. What are you gonna do about it?"

"Nothing. Stare all you want, knock yourself out," came the nonchalant reply.

Hank frowned. Was this chest just messing with him?

After a moment of bewildered silence, he tried a different approach. "Hey, uh, little chest," he began, "what's inside you?"

"Are you asking me?" the chest inquired.

"Of course," Hank replied, slightly exasperated.

"Who am I asking?"

Hank paused, then exploded, "What the hell do you mean, 'who am I asking?' Don't you know what's inside you?"

The chest chuckled. "What I have inside is none of your business. Why would I tell you?"

"Hoo boy," Hank took a deep breath, trying to rein in his growing anger. "Little chest," he said, his voice dangerously low, "do you have any idea what happens to people who talk to me like that?"

The chest seemed unfazed. "You're probably going to beat me up, aren't you? I have no sense of pain, so beat me all you like. Come on, torture me!"

"You little...!"

Hank was fuming now. He took another deep breath, then turned his attention to the other two chests. "Gentlemen," he said, forcing a smile, "care to tell me what treasures you hold?"

The second chest scoffed. "Don't try to butter us up. We're not friends."

The third chest chimed in, "Someone like you, calling us 'gentlemen'? You've got to be kidding. Go take a look in the mirror. You're not worthy."

Hank was speechless. He was being insulted by... chests. If word got out about this, he'd be a laughingstock.

His shovel, of all things, couldn't take it anymore. "Boss," it piped up, "these chests are out of control! Don't waste your breath. Let's show 'em what we're made of!"

The first chest, ever the instigator, jeered, "Yeah, come on! Actions speak louder than words!"

Hank's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in them. "I'll give you one more chance," he growled. "Tell me what's inside, and I'll let it slide. Otherwise, I'm going to throw you all into a pit of manure."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The first chest's voice wavered, a hint of fear creeping in. "Human, that's just cruel! How could you?"

The second chest trembled. "That's inhumane! I'll curse you for this."

A wicked grin spread across Hank's face. "I hope you two can keep up the tough talk when you're swimming in crap," he said. "And just so you know, that pit isn't just filled with, ahem, 'fertilizer.' It's also teeming with maggots. You'll be spending your days with poop, pee, and maggots..."

The third chest made a gagging sound. "Ugh..."

The first chest, now sounding thoroughly panicked, pleaded, "Boss, I apologize for my earlier rudeness. Can I have a do-over?"

"Serves you right, trying to mess with me," Hank thought smugly. Aloud, he said, "Alright, I'll give you another chance."

"I have ten bottles of Pulse," the first chest admitted quickly.

Hank's eyes lit up. Pulse was an energy drink. Not only would it quench his thirst, but it would also give him a boost. Much better than plain water.

"Not bad," he acknowledged, then turned to the other two chests. "What about you two?"

"I have a frying pan," the second chest said.

"Excellent!" Hank exclaimed. A frying pan was versatile. He could cook with it, and it could even serve as a weapon in a pinch. This was way better than ten bottles of Pulse.

"I have a D-cup bra," the third chest announced.

"A what now?" Hank was dumbfounded. What was he supposed to do with a bra? He was a guy. This was completely useless. Some bread would have been much more practical.

"Ugh," he sighed in disappointment. Then, he commanded, "Open up!"

"We are bound by the System," the first chest explained. "We can't open ourselves. Only a survivor like you can do that."

"Is that so?" Hank muttered, furrowing his brow.

"It's true," the second chest added. "We have no reason to lie."

Hank pondered for a moment. He still wasn't sure if he could trust them. What if a venomous snake popped out? One bite, and it was game over. Safety first. He grabbed his shovel.

"Boss, what are you doing?" the entrenching tool asked, sounding alarmed.

"Opening the chests, obviously," Hank replied.

"But you have hands, don't you?" the entrenching tool protested. "Why use me?"

Hank chuckled. "Because I'm afraid of what might be inside."

The entrenching tool was indignant. "You're scared, so you're making me do it? Have you considered my feelings?"

Hank adopted a serious tone. "If you die, you just won't be able to talk anymore, but you can still be used as a tool. If I die, it's all over. Better you than me, wouldn't you agree?"

The entrenching tool was silent.

Hank tried to reassure it. "Don't worry, little shovel. I don't think the chests are lying. You'll probably be fine."

"But what if I'm not?" the entrenching tool whined.

Hank's expression turned menacing. "Then I'll kill them to avenge you!"

"And what good will that do me?" the entrenching tool grumbled. Then, a thought struck it. "Boss, how about using something else to open the chests? Like, say, a tree branch?"

"Huh, you're pretty smart after all," Hank said, impressed. He tossed the entrenching tool aside and walked over to a nearby tree.

"My life is on the line here," the entrenching tool muttered, relieved. "Of course, I have to be smart."

A moment later, Hank Fowler returned with a sturdy branch. He easily pried open the first chest. A blinding light erupted from within, and as it faded, the chest vanished, leaving behind ten bottles of Pulse.

"Huh?" Hank frowned. "Where'd the chest go?"

The second chest explained, "Once a chest is opened, our mission is complete, and we disappear."

"I see," Hank said, a hint of sadness in his voice. "Farewell, then, you two."

With two swift motions, he opened the remaining chests. Two more flashes of light, and they were gone, leaving behind a frying pan and a brand-new, packaged bra.

Hank picked up the frying pan and swung it a few times. "Not bad," he mused. "This'll make a decent weapon."

"Hey, buddy," the frying pan protested, "I'm a pan, meant for cooking. What's the deal with using me as a weapon?"

Hank scoffed. "Keep quiet! You're my property now. I'll do whatever I want with you. You don't get a say in it."

The frying pan fell silent.