Crash.
I skidded across the floor, the impact sending a symphony of pain through my body as I slammed into yet another glass panel. What the hell just happened?
Blinking away the fog clouding my vision, I spotted Eyebags—Mr. Crossbow himself—sprawled beside me, as useless as ever. But the real shocker? A girl stood just a foot away, rocking bright blue hair and an X-shaped mask that looked straight out of some budget Purge cosplay.
Wait. Did she just push us out of the way?
Before I could wrap my head around it, another figure emerged from the smoke—a man. But not just any man. This guy had an actual clock strapped to his chest, as if Big Ben decided to ditch London and start throwing hands.
"Yep," I muttered. "Either I'm high, or this is the worst day ever."
Blue Hair didn't waste a second. "They're mine. I saw them first," she hissed, her voice razor-sharp as her masked gaze locked on me.
Before I could react, she whipped out a shotgun and opened fire on Clock Man. The deafening blasts shook the air, but Clock Man? Barely fazed. He jogged toward her, calm and deliberate, as if dodging shotgun shells was just part of his morning cardio.
Then, with a swift motion, he hurled an axe.
Blue Hair dodged like a pro, the axe missing her by a hair's breadth—only to come hurtling straight at me.
The weapon whooshed past, close enough to stir the air by my face.
"Holy—"
That near-death experience snapped me back to reality. Scrambling to my feet, I yanked Eyebags up by his shirt.
"Move!" I barked, dragging him sideways like dead weight.
We sprinted, putting as much distance as possible between us and the two maniacs: Purge Girl with her shotgun and Clock Man with his arsenal of chaos.
Clock Man wasn't done showing off. He lobbed a grenade at Blue Hair, the explosion ripping through the corridor. A scream followed, sharp and guttural.
Through the smoke, I spotted Purge Girl—still alive but missing a leg, limping as she fired wildly at Clock Man. He wasn't unscathed either, his once-steady gait now a stagger, blood streaking his frame.
And then, as if this situation wasn't catastrophic enough, Clock Man pulled out another grenade.
"We need to get off this floor!" I shouted, yanking Eyebags along like a reluctant toddler at a grocery store.
By the stairwell entrance, my chainsaw lay pathetically on the ground, like a forgotten toy. I snatched it up, my grip tightening on its familiar, shiny handle.
"Where?" Eyebags wheezed, his voice strained.
"Off this floor!," I snapped, rolling my eyes despite the fact he couldn't see it. "Anywhere not about to become a Michael Bay set!"
Behind us, the faint pop-pop-pop of gunfire suggested Purge Girl and Clock Man were still having their adorable little shoot-and-chop date. Great. I was so glad their priorities were in order.
Not that I planned to stick around and offer relationship advice. Nope, I was very firmly on Team Let's-Not-Die, and this floor was way too crowded for my liking.
As I wrenched the door open, I saw it—a fiery explosion roaring toward us like a freight train straight out of hell, its arrival heralded by a thunderous BAM.
Instinct took over. I slammed the steel door shut and twisted the lock, though I knew it wouldn't make a difference. The blast slammed into the door like a wrecking ball, sending it quaking violently before tearing it off its hinges with a shriek of twisted metal.
There was no time to react, no time to think. Before the full weight of impending death could crush me, Eyebags seized my arm. His grip was shockingly strong for someone who looked like a stiff breeze might finish him off.
"Jump!" he barked, his voice sharp and urgent.
We launched ourselves into the stairwell, tumbling down like a pair of ill-prepared stunt doubles. Each jarring impact drove the air from my lungs, and the staircase seemed to stretch on forever.
Finally, we crashed to a stop two floors down, a tangled heap of pain and adrenaline. I groaned, rolling onto my back to face the fractured ceiling above.
"Well, that was... delightful," I managed between ragged breaths, every inch of me throbbing in protest.
Beside me, Eyebags wheezed a laugh—or maybe it was a cough. "You're welcome," he rasped, sounding more like he'd just run a marathon than survived an explosion.
"Yeah, sure," I grumbled, pushing myself up. "Thanks for saving me, Captain Jump-First-Think-Later."
The explosion had definitely taken out the two floors above us. No doubt about it. The staircase shook like it was auditioning for a disaster movie.
"Well," I muttered, dusting myself off and trying to ignore the ache in my spine. "RIP Purge Girl and Clock Man. No way they're walking away from that one."
Eyebags shot me a look, his face pale. "You think he was—"
"A classic suicide bomber? Oh, absolutely," I cut him off. "Clock Man didn't exactly scream 'stable personality.' I mean, who straps an actual clock to themselves and starts chucking axes?"
He swallowed hard, glancing upward as if expecting the two lunatics to somehow emerge from the wreckage.
"Relax," I said, waving him off. "Even if they were somehow invincible, I doubt they're fireproof."
Still, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease. People like that didn't go down without a fight—or a very messy finale.
I looked up at the cracks snaking across the ceiling, dust sprinkling down like the universe's least comforting confetti. Yep, the floor above us was about to crumble. Fantastic. We had to get at least one floor below unless I wanted a very sudden and permanent introduction to the next level.
Dragging Eyebags along, I quickened my pace, my boots echoing against the concrete stairs. As we descended, I did a mental roll call of the maniacs I'd met so far. Two were already toast—Purge Girl and Clock Man—leaving me, Eyebags, and one more psycho unaccounted for.
Of course, that's when the siren went off.
The now-familiar, obnoxious, bird-like squawk blared from the intercoms, followed by the smooth yet utterly unhinged voice of Bird Man.
"Helloooo, folks! Hope you're all still alive! Things are about to get wiiiild! Since I'm your charming host, I've decided to do you all a little favor. Anyone who couldn't make it inside? Well, I'll be taking care of them for you :)))"
The intercom crackled ominously, and then came the unmistakable sound of shattering glass—a million shards crashing down like some twisted symphony.
"What the—" I bolted out of the stairwell, only to be smacked in the face by a gust of wind, sharp and cold.
Screams pierced the air, sharp and chilling. Below, bodies plummeted like ragdolls, the ground below swallowing them whole.
I stumbled forward, realizing with dawning horror what Bird Man had done. The lunatic had blown out all the glass panels on every floor of the skyscraper. People outside—those who hadn't gotten in—were now plummeting to their deaths.
This guy wasn't just unhinged; he was the whole damn door ripped off its frame.
"What the—" I stumbled forward, as I approached the now-empty window frames. The wind whipping at my face made me wonder if BirdMan had control over the weather too. Wouldn't put it past him at this point.
Peering out, I stepped back, stomach twisting. The counter above the fake sky glowed ominously:
Body count: 150/500.
I did a double take. 150?!
"Jesus," I muttered under my breath. If I had to guess, most of those deaths came from Bird Man's impromptu window-clearing stunt. But still—150 in just half a day? This wasn't survival; it was a massacre.
My thoughts were interrupted by the crackle of the intercom. Bird Man's voice, cheerful and deranged as ever, filled the space.
"Sorry, folks! Forgot to mention—you now have free access to the whole building. Soooo... good luck! :)))"
"Free access?" I echoed, the words hanging in the air.
"What does that mean?" Eyebags mumbled, his voice a mix of confusion and unease.
My mind raced through the possibilities. Free access? Whatever it was, it wasn't good.
"We need to move fast," I told Eyebags, my voice low. Time was ticking, and we still hadn't figured out who the fifth companion was and if he was another maniac— one of those who wouldn't hesitate to slit our throats if we let our guard down.
Eyebags nodded, his face pale but determined. "Thanks for saving me," he said, his voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos around us. "I could've ended up like those people." He nodded toward the shattered glass panels, the bodies that had once been human now just part of the wreckage.
I glanced back, hearing the wind howl again as it ripped through the open windows. "You would've been a pancake," I muttered under my breath, not quite looking at him.
Eyebags shot me a quick glance but didn't argue. Instead, he started moving toward the stairwell, more out of instinct than anything else.
We had no time for gratitude, no time for second-guessing. We had to figure out what the hell Bird Man was planning before he turned the whole building into a death trap. The countdown was ticking down slowly, and I had no intention of being part of the body count.
As we descended further, I kept track of the floors—63rd when I broke the glass, so we should be on the 58th now. Five stories down, and already we'd crossed paths with two maniacs. Fantastic.
As we descended three stories further, a new sound reached my ears—footsteps. Heavy, fast, and coming from below. It had to be our fifth companion.
"Run!" I yelled at Eyebags, instinctively starting to sprint toward the next floor. I dove into the living room area, ducking behind a couch in the living room area designed on each floor. Eyebags panicked, darting toward the floor above mine.
"Stick together, genius!" I hissed under my breath. But he was gone.
Unfortunately for him, our fifth companion was a smarter person than eyebags because he assumed we both went up together. Eyebags now had to handle his own fate.
I stayed hidden, heart pounding, as gunshots rang out from above. My heart pounded in my chest. I needed to get back to Eyebags—he couldn't have meant to abandon me. We needed to stick together.
As I ran upstairs, I heard Eyebags coming back down, the shots getting closer. I grabbed him just as he was about to pass, pulling him back to the couch I'd hidden behind earlier. We crouched down, trying to keep quiet, hoping the massive guy wouldn't see us.
The fifth companion rounded the corner then. Big. Huge. Obese, almost. Like a Shrek-sized mountain of muscle and madness. He held an assault rifle like it was a toy, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement.
This was bad. Very bad.