The stench of blood had faded from her skin, but the soreness in Marie's limbs clung stubbornly, each step a stark reminder of the chaos she'd just survived. The world outside the gate felt surreal, as if someone had taken the saturation dial of reality and turned it down. After the brutal silence inside the dungeon, the soft hum of city life—distant voices, buzzing vehicles, the faint trill of announcements—felt almost intrusive.
Marie didn't linger.
She limped past the containment field, one boot half-torn, blood caked to her left arm, and her once white tunic crusted with grime and ash. The guards stationed at the gate exit gave her long, unreadable stares but said nothing. Maybe they saw survivors like her often. Maybe they simply didn't care.
Either way, Marie didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
Every part of her screamed for rest, but the cold practicality of survival overruled all else. She had a single goal now: reach the Association.
The walk back into the inner city was harder than she had expected. Her energy was running dangerously low, and while her system seemed to dull the pain—perhaps a passive effect from her high END stat—the fatigue was very real. Her surroundings felt like a distorted dream. Even the hum of traffic seemed slowed, muffled.
She passed pedestrians, most of whom gave her odd looks. Some glanced at the dried blood, others at her limping form, and a few had the gall to wrinkle their noses as she passed. Her eyes stayed fixed forward, but her ears caught fragments of whispered conversations:
"What happened to her?"
"She come out of a Gate like that? Alone?"
"Is she bleeding? Should we call someone?"
One man even pulled out a phone and began to record, whispering to a friend, "I bet this goes viral. Some newbie got wrecked inside."
Eventually, a woman in her late thirties—well-dressed, probably someone with a stable income—stepped directly into Marie's path. "Hey, are you okay? You look... you really don't look good. There's a clinic not far from here, I can help you get there."
Marie blinked at her, caught between gratitude and bitter embarrassment. She felt her pride warring with the weakness in her knees.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice hoarse but steady.
"You really don't look—"
"I said I'm fine." A bit sharper now. Marie pulled her gaze away, avoiding the woman's eyes. "I can't afford a clinic. But thank you."
The woman hesitated, then nodded slowly and stepped aside. Marie moved on, not daring to look back.
A part of her wanted to scream at the world—to tell them what she had faced, what she had survived. But what would that change?
By the time the towering facade of the Association Headquarters came into view, her vision had started to blur. Her lips were cracked, and her throat ached with dryness. She pushed the heavy doors open and stumbled inside. The air-conditioning blasted her in the face like a blessing.
The marble floor gleamed beneath the artificial light, reflecting her uneven gait like a slow-motion warning. The receptionist at the front desk—a young man with stylish glasses and far too much gel in his hair—looked up from his screen. Then he did a double take.
"Oh my god. Are you...?"
"Marie Williams," she rasped. "Provisional license. Returned from Gate 17-F."
The man's expression shifted from surprised to professionally concerned. "You... you look like hell."
"Thanks. I'm here to report and sell a mana stone."
"Of course. Please, one moment." He gestured to another staff member, a woman in a standard Association vest, who appeared seconds later with a scanner and a neutral expression.
Marie fished the mana stone from her satchel—a dull, crimson-red gem, still pulsing faintly from the residual energy of the D-Rank mutant orc. The woman's eyes widened slightly.
"That's a D-Rank mana stone," she murmured. "Where did you...?"
"The monster spawned during the gate cycle. Mutated. Killed the others. I survived."
A heavy silence followed.
The woman looked at Marie, then at the receptionist, and nodded once. "I'll take it for verification. Payment will be processed shortly."
Marie waited.
Minutes passed. The waiting room was cool and impersonal. A digital display looped messages about safety protocols and upcoming training sessions. She slumped into one of the metal-framed chairs but remained upright, her spine rigid.
Finally, the receptionist turned back to her, tapping something on his screen. "Confirmed. D-Rank mana stone. Market value for a solo recovery is 350 credits. Transferring now."
A small ding confirmed the transaction.
[ +350 c ]
Marie exhaled slowly. That brought her total to 393 credits. A far cry from what she needed to change her life, but better than nothing.
"And you mentioned a report?"
Marie nodded. "There was an unscheduled mutation inside the dungeon. The monster was far beyond F-Rank. It killed four other participants: Jonas Richter, Sophie Lang, Patrick Weiss, and Nico Grenz."
The receptionist winced. He began typing.
"We'll open an incident review. That kind of anomaly... it's rare, but not unheard of. Thank you for the report. There's a standard death confirmation bounty of 100 credits per casualty reported by a verified witness. One moment."
He tapped again.
[ +400 c ]
Now her total read: 793 c.
Another staff member came forward with a pad for her to sign—confirming the report and acknowledging the transfer. Marie scrawled her name without hesitation. It looked like a stranger's signature. Her hand was shaking.
"Do you need medical attention?" the woman with the scanner asked quietly.
Marie looked at her, at the smudge of her own dried blood crusted on her shoulder. Her muscles still trembled. But she shook her head.
"No. I just... want to go home."
The woman didn't argue. Instead, she gave her a slight nod. "Rest. And keep your system interface monitored. If symptoms worsen, return immediately."
Marie nodded absently and turned away. Behind her, someone murmured into a comm, likely starting the incident protocol. She didn't care.
She left without another word.
The sun was starting to dip as she walked home, casting the city in deep orange light. Shadows stretched long across the pavement, and neon lights flickered to life, weak against the coming night. The streets blurred as exhaustion pulled at her mind like a rising tide.
She moved on instinct alone.
She passed familiar landmarks—a broken holo-board, the bus stop with a shattered bench, the alley that always smelled like burned oil. She walked past the corner vendor who sold synthetic rice bowls, though the smell of grease made her stomach twist.
Her legs ached, her shoulder throbbed, and her head felt full of sand. Still, she didn't stop.
Eventually, she reached her apartment building: a tall, decaying structure where even the lights in the hallway flickered like they were trying to die.
She trudged up the stairs, each one harder than the last. By the time she reached her floor, she was almost crawling.
She unlocked her door, stumbled inside, and closed it behind her with a soft click. The silence inside her tiny flat was deafening.
She didn't bother to turn on the lights.
Her satchel dropped to the floor.
She kicked off her boots.
And then she collapsed onto the thin mattress she called a bed. No food. No bath. No change of clothes.
Just sleep.
Deep, dreamless, perfect sleep.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Marie didn't wake up to the weight of worry or pain.
She just slept.
And the city moved on without her.