Bob had been climbing the Tower of Trials for a while, and he was only on the second floor. The endless Tower had seemed to stretch on forever, each step becoming more treacherous than the last. As he ascended, he encountered numerous traps and obstacles designed to test his mettle, but he persevered, driven by a desire to reach the top and claim the reward at the top. The reward that might just be his ticket back to his own world.

But after spending a few weeks at most, on the second floor of the tower, something began to change within Bob. He had been alone for so long, surrounded only by the cold stone walls of the tower, that he began to doubt his own sanity. He started to question whether anything inside the tower was real, or if it was all just a figment of his imagination. He saw people he thought were real, die, and explode into magical essence, just like his summoned monsters.

At first, Bob tried to ignore these thoughts, dismissing them as the result of exhaustion or lack of sleep, even though he had been getting plenty of rest. But as he continued fighting for the freedom of this city, the feeling grew stronger, until it consumed his every thought. He began to see things that weren't there, and hear voices that whispered in his ear, urging him to acts that are contrary to his nature.

Bob tried to fight the madness, but it was too powerful. He became convinced that he was trapped inside a nightmare and that the Tower of Trials was an endless loop of torment designed to drive him insane. He saw visions of himself falling to his death, or being crushed by the weight of the stones, and he started to wonder if he was already dead and if this was his eternal punishment. It didn't help that he kept hearing that disembodied laughter, and the unintelligible whispers urging him on.

As he cleared more of the city, the tower began to shift and warp around him, as if it were alive. The walls twisted and contorted, forming grotesque shapes that made Bob's skin crawl. He felt as if he were being watched by an unseen force, and he could hear the sound of mocking laughter echoing through the corridors. He didn't know if these were actually happening or if it was all in his head. Who was he supposed to ask? The people who he doubted were actually people? His summoned monsters? The Rolodex itself? How could he even begin to trust anything, when reality itself was in question?

So Bob began to become even more reckless than he already was. He continued to send wave after wave of created troops to clear each city block. Not caring whether they lived or died, and why should he? They were just creations of this floor, magically manifested after he clicked on a button in his system interface, and expended some "food" that he had harvested through other buildings created by the system. Is anything real, anymore?

Block by Block the zombies were slain, the bosses killed, by an endless wave of expendable troops created out of magic. Bob stumbled back down the stairs of his command center, his mind in turmoil. He no longer trusted his own perceptions, and everything around him seemed to shift and morph into grotesque forms. He saw faces in the walls, heard screams in the wind, and felt as if he were being chased by some malevolent presence.

This was all too much for poor Bob to handle. He was just a farmer, all he knew was tending his fields and caring for his cattle. He wasn't some special unique soul. He wasn't one of those legendary heroes from another world, he was just a farmer. A farmer who wanted to go back to his own goddamn world. He missed his farm, he missed his cattle. Hell, he even missed his cantankerous old wife. Wait, was he married? Was he even a farmer? How am I supposed to know what's real, when everything is one big bowl of soup? Oh, I really must be losing it, how would reality even be close to a bowl of soup?

Bob, lost in his own mind, didn't notice that while he was having the created soldiers clear and kill the zombies, the Rolodex was feeding. Every time a creature died, its essence would disperse in a cloud before returning to the ether from which it came. Every time this happened, The Rolodex was there, greedily devouring it all. The Rolodex had even been scanning and adding the different types of zombies into the Roldexs catalog. Bob was unaware of this, but even the Block Bosses that were slain ended up in the Rolodex Roulette.

After some time lost in his own thoughts, his reverie was interrupted by a system notification.

*City Fuller Cleared.*

*Final Boss Approaching*

FINAL BOSS

BEGIN

Bob didn't even really notice, he had just been clicking in his Base Management interface as if guided by some external force. He just kept building food production facilities, and barracks. After they were completed, he just kept spamming the unit creation options in each city block and setting their marker to have them bumrush the Boss immediately after creation. It was a slaughter, again he didn't even notice, his eyes were glued to the interface as he wrestled with his own thoughts.

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Unbeknownst to Bob, The Rolodex was summoning a copy of a random Block Boss, every five minutes. If Bob had been aware of this, he most likely would have raised hell and had a little talk with The Rolodex. He would be very irate if he knew that The Rolodex itself could summon a monster of choice if it wanted to. Only Bob had to suffer the effects of the curse, and only Bob had to deal with the randomness. The Summoners Rolodex, the all-powerful, Legendary Artifact, could do what he pleased when he pleased. To be damned with everyone else. They were just peasants, whereas, I, the Rolodex, am a supreme being.

The units kept marching to their deaths en masse, as Bob forced the city to continuously produce food, and then immediately create troops. It was such a fast process that the food amount never stayed above 0 for more than a second before it was depleted and more troops rushed to die. The City Boss health bar was steadily depleting, but it was also rampaging through the city, destroying city blocks. This would have made Bob concerned if Bob was actually Bob right now. But he was not Bob right now, he was Bob's Madness. Bob's lonely descent into the dark abyss of doubt, his crippling anxiety about reality being real.

The City Boss continued to rampage through the city, slowly but surely, destroying Bob's production facilities one by one. Bob should have noticed his troop counts start to fluctuate wildly, but of course, he didn't. Bob was beyond broken at this point, to where recovery might be questionable at best. If it weren't for the Rolodex summoning Mini-Boss Zombies to combat the City Boss, the city would have already been destroyed, and Bob would have been consumed. Thus ending Bob along with The Rolodex, and the Rolodex wouldn't have that at all.

After most of the city was destroyed by the Final Boss, and Bob's troop production was reduced to nearly 0, the Mini-Boss Zombies finally overcame the Final Boss. The Rolodex cheered, while Bob stood still, blankly staring off into the distance. The Rolodex eagerly absorbed all the essence in the area, including that of the Final Boss. It consumed its essence after scanning it of course. Why would the Rolodex pass up such an interesting, and strong specimen to add to its collection?

As Bob stood there, lost in his own thoughts, the city around him began to crumble, what was left still standing that is. Building by building, the structures that had once stood tall and proud, and those reduced to dust and rubble, began to dissolve into particles that drifted away slowly. The ground shook violently beneath his feet, and the sky above turned a bright, blinding white. Despite the chaos unfolding around him, Bob barely noticed, still lost in his own madness. It was as if the stress and strain of events on the second floor had taken a heavy toll on him, leaving him unable to comprehend the destruction unfolding around him. As the world around him fell apart, Bob remained frozen in place, a silent witness to the crumbling of this reality.

The deafening roar of collapsing buildings and the wailing of desperate people filled the air. It was as if the very fabric of the world was unraveling before Bob's eyes. Suddenly, a blinding flash of light engulfed him, and he felt his body being lifted off the ground. He was enveloped in a swirling vortex of energy, and for a moment, he was suspended in mid-air, weightless and disoriented. As the vortex subsided, Bob found himself standing in the middle of a vast, featureless void.

His madness briefly subsided, for a brief moment of lucidity. He looked around, but there was nothing to see, no landmarks, no signs of life, just an endless expanse of emptiness. He felt a creeping sense of dread wash over him as the bright white emptiness took its toll on his fragile psyche. Just as he was about to succumb to despair, and return to his madness, a faint voice whispered in his ear, and he turned to see a figure standing before him. The figure was shrouded in a cloak of shimmering black, and its face was obscured by a hood. Bob could feel the presence radiating from the figure, a power beyond comprehension.

The mysterious figure glided over to Bob. As it got closer, the figure suddenly lunged forward and gripped Bob's shoulders tightly. Bob struggled to break free, but before he could do anything, the world around him turned pitch black, and he felt a sudden jolt of energy coursing through his body. Then Bob went blank. When he woke up, he couldn't remember a thing about what had happened, but he was lying down in a bed. He felt like he had died, but if he had died, then how had he woken up in this bed?

Confused and disoriented, Bob attempted to sit up. He made it off the bed about two inches before collapsing back down into the warm embrace of the fluffy blanket beneath him. He was too weak, it seemed, so instead, he busied himself with exploring with his hands. His hands slowly traveled up his arms in turn, until he found a tube attached to his arm. Confused Bob tilted his head as far as he could to look at the arm, for a brief moment, before collapsing exhausted back into the bed.

After resting for a few moments, his hands went to his head and he felt all sorts of weird little circles attached to his head with wires connected to them that then ran to some sort of machine by the side of the bed. Bob, was scared, he didn't know what any of this stuff was. The last thing he remembers was fighting zombies in a city, and then he wakes up in this bed, in this all-white room. Bob felt justified in his confusion, he figured anyone who just experienced what he had would be in the same damn boat.

He then remembered the mysterious figure that had gripped him tightly before he woke up here. He looked around, as best he could, but the figure was nowhere to be seen. Bob was all alone in this room, with only the beeps of various machines to keep him company. As his brain tried to combat the confusion, he heard a faint whisper swim through his mind.

*You have done well, Bob. But there is still much to be done. The fate of the world rests on your shoulders. You must be ready for what lies ahead. Rest now, while you can. When you have healed fully, not just your body, but your mind as well, the room will let you out. Until then, you will Slumber!*

When the voice stopped flowing through his head, Bob's mind went blank and he did slumber.