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Chapter 3: Little Italy Welcomes You

  The rattling stopped.

  An unnerving silence followed, broken only by the drip-drip-drip of water from the cooler Gary was leaning against and Brenda’s hitched breathing. Everyone froze, eyes glued to the bullpen door. Kevin held the broken keyboard like a shield he knew wouldn't work. Dave hefted the fire extinguisher again, its white nozzle aimed squarely at the flimsy wood panel.

  Was it listening? Waiting? Or had it just moved on?

  Kevin strained his ears. Nothing. No skittering, no hissing, no guttural bellows. Just the faint, oppressive hum of the emergency lights that had flickered on when the main power presumably died during the initial System announcement chaos.

  He risked a glance at his UI. [Status:

  He decided to try out his partially-passive [Observe]

  Kevin thought sarcastically. At least it confirmed the door wasn't secretly a mimic or something equally horrifying. Probably.

  "What... what do we do?" Brenda whispered, her voice trembling. She had pulled herself partially out from behind the filing cabinet, clutching a stress ball shaped like a cartoon brain. Ironically appropriate.

  "We stay quiet," Dave hissed back, not taking his eyes off the door. "Maybe it'll go away."

  "Or maybe it's waiting for us to come out," Kevin countered quietly. "This thing, this System... it feels like a game. Games usually don't reward hiding forever." He remembered the tutorial quest: . It implied action, not being passive.

  Gary moaned, shifting uncomfortably. Kevin finished wiping the last of the espresso residue from the shallow cuts with a damp paper towel. They looked red and angry but weren't bleeding heavily anymore. "We need to find a real first aid kit for Gary," Kevin said, looking pointedly at Dave. "And maybe something better than a keyboard and a fire extinguisher."

  He felt slightly more confident holding the broken keyboard now, thanks to the [Makeshift Weapon Proficiency]good, exactly, but it felt marginally less like flailing uselessly. He eyed the [Sharp Ceramic Shard]

  Dave frowned. "The main first aid kit is in the HR office. That's... down the hall. Past that door." He gestured with the extinguisher.

  "Maybe we can barricade this door first?" Brenda suggested hopefully, eyeing a heavy metal bookshelf laden with binders.

  "Good idea," Kevin agreed. "Dave, give me a hand?"

  Reluctantly, Dave lowered the extinguisher and helped Kevin shove the heavy bookshelf against the bullpen door. It wasn't exactly Fort Knox, but it made them feel marginally safer. It also effectively trapped them the bullpen.

  [Witnessing Cooperative Action (Barricading):

  Clout: 12/15

  With the immediate external threat possibly deterred (or at least delayed), the reality of their situation settled back in. Four survivors, trapped in a trashed office space, with one minorly injured, armed with office supplies, and possessing magic based on internet stupidity.

  Kevin looked at his companions again, this time focusing his [Observe]

  Everyone was Level 1. Everyone's skills were useless. Brenda's high Cringe Sensitivity might explain her extreme panic, or maybe it meant she'd be good at generating clout for others if things got awkward. Dave's higher Constitution made sense; he seemed sturdier than Gary or Kevin. And everyone seemed Rizz-deficient, which felt depressingly accurate for their department.

  "Okay," Kevin said, taking a deep breath. "New plan. We can't stay here. Gary needs proper medical supplies. We need water bottles, maybe food from the breakroom if... if it's safe." He deliberately didn't look at the hallway where the Roach had come from. "And we need real weapons."

  "And how do we do that?" Brenda asked, hugging the stress ball tightly. "We just blocked the only way out."

  "We unblock it carefully," Kevin said. "Dave, you take point with the extinguisher. I'll back you up with... this." He held up the keyboard. "We check the hall. Then the HR office for the first aid kit, and the breakroom."

  "What if there are more of those... roach things?" Gary mumbled.

  "Then we fight. Or run," Kevin said grimly. "We yell stupid words at them until they die or we do. That seems to be the new reality." He pulled the slightly warm [Sack of Minorly Magical Espresso Beans]

  Dave eyed the beans suspiciously. "Magical espresso beans? From the coffee monster?"

  "Loot drop," Kevin confirmed. "Welcome to the Brainrot Apocalypse."

  Before anyone could decide whether to risk the jitters, a new notification window popped up in everyone's vision simultaneously, bright and impossible to ignore.

  The message blinked out, leaving a stunned silence.

  "Little Italy Calamity Sector?" Dave breathed. "We're on Floor 1?"

  "Increased roaming threats?" Brenda squeaked. "Excessive garlic?"

  "Minor Boss Arena?" Gary groaned. "Mandatory?"

  Kevin felt a cold dread that had nothing to do with the rattling door. Things were escalating. And the System's final note about being "entertaining"... that sounded ominous. Very, very ominous.

  He looked at the barricaded door, then at his terrified colleagues. "Okay," he said, his voice steadier than he felt. "Forget the HR office for now. Priority one: get out of this bullpen and find somewhere more defensible than a bunch of cubicles. And maybe find a weapon that isn't breakfast-themed."

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  "More defensible?" Dave asked, glancing around the bullpen doubtfully. "Like where? The executive washroom? Pretty sure it has marble stalls. Might stop a... whatever comes next."

  "Maybe," Kevin conceded. Better than fabric partitions, anyway. "Point is, staying here feels like waiting to get picked off." He looked at the heavy bookshelf blocking the door. "Alright, let's move this thing. Quietly."

  It took the combined effort of Kevin and Dave, straining and shuffling, to inch the bookshelf away from the door without making too much scraping noise. Brenda hovered uselessly nearby, chewing on her lip, while Gary watched listlessly from his spot near the water cooler.

  With the bookshelf moved aside, the door stood there, innocuous again. Kevin took a deep breath, gripping the remains of his keyboard. Dave held the fire extinguisher at the ready, his knuckles white.

  "Okay," Kevin whispered. "On three. I'll crack it open. You be ready with that foam."

  "Ready," Dave confirmed, his voice tight.

  "One... two... three."

  Kevin slowly, carefully turned the door handle and pulled the door inward just a crack, peering through the narrow opening.

  The hallway outside was eerily silent and dim, lit only by the flickering emergency lights spaced along the ceiling. Papers were scattered across the industrial carpet, likely from fleeing coworkers. A potted fern near the elevator bank was overturned, spilling dirt. Further down the hall, towards the breakroom where the Espresso Roach had originated, a faint, dark stain marked the carpet. Otherwise... nothing. No immediate threats visible.

  "Clear?" Dave whispered.

  "Looks clear... for now," Kevin replied, opening the door wider. "Let's move. Gary, can you walk?"

  Gary nodded slowly, pushing himself up with a grimace. "Yeah. I think so."

  Kevin scanned the hallway signs. Their bullpen was part of the general "Operations" wing. Down the hall to the right was the elevator bank, the reception area, and the main entrance/exit lobby. To the left was the direction of the breakroom, HR, and other departmental offices.

  "Elevators are probably dead," Gary mumbled, echoing Kevin's thoughts. "Stairs might be our best bet for getting off this floor." The ‘Floor 1: Little Italy Calamity Sector’ alert still echoed in Kevin's mind. Getting off Floor 1 seemed like a very good idea.

  "Stairs are usually near the elevator bank, right?" Kevin asked.

  Dave nodded. "Yeah, fire exit stairs."

  "Okay. New plan. We head for the stairs," Kevin decided. "Dave, you still take point. Brenda, stay behind Dave. Gary, lean on me if you need to. We move fast, stay quiet."

  They shuffled out into the hallway, a tight, nervous cluster. Every flicker of the emergency lights, every distant creak of the building settling, made them jump. Kevin kept scanning, using [Observe][Contents: Assorted Office Waste, Potential Minor Trip Hazard][Status: Damaged, Annoying][Analysis: Just a Corner. Probably.]

  They passed the doorway to another department. It was dark inside, the door slightly ajar. Kevin paused, listening. A faint, rhythmic came from within.

  "What's that?" Brenda whispered, eyes wide.

  Kevin focused [Observe]

  "I don't know," Kevin admitted. "And I don't want to find out right now. Keep moving."

  They reached the elevator bank. As expected, the call buttons were dark, the elevator doors resolutely closed. Beside them, a heavy red door marked STAIRWELL stood slightly ajar. Hope surged briefly in Kevin’s chest.

  Then, Dave held up a hand, stopping them. He pointed towards the reception area just beyond the elevators.

  A figure was standing there, silhouetted against the large windows that looked out onto the now-terrifying cityscape. It was humanoid, wearing what looked like a stained apron, and it was unnervingly still. It seemed to be facing away from them, towards the windows.

  Kevin focused [Observe

  "Is that... is that Carl from custodial?" Dave whispered uncertainly.

  "Maybe?" Kevin squinted. The figure was stout, balding... it be Carl. But something felt off. Why was he just standing there? And was that... was that a meat cleaver hanging from his belt?

  Suddenly, the figure's head snapped around, turning a full 180 degrees with an audible of vertebrae that shouldn't have been possible. Its eyes glowed with a faint, greasy yellow light. It grinned, revealing far too many teeth, stained red. It wasn't Carl.

  The Butcherino hefted its meat cleaver, the stained metal glinting horribly in the emergency lights. It took a step towards them, its movements stiff but purposeful.

  "Stairs! Now!" Kevin yelled, shoving Gary towards the stairwell door.

  The Butcherino let out a wet, gurgling laugh and started towards them, surprisingly fast for its bulk. Dave reacted instantly, spraying a blast from the fire extinguisher towards the creature.

  The Butcherino merely grunted, batting the white cloud away with its free hand as if annoyed by a fly. It barely slowed down.

  "It didn't work!" Dave yelled, stumbling back.

  Brenda screamed. Gary stumbled through the stairwell door. Kevin shoved Dave after him.

  "Get down the stairs!" Kevin shouted, turning to face the approaching Butcherino. He only had a second. He needed to slow it down. He needed something potent. That scroll...

  He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the [Word Scroll: Gyatt (Tier F+)

  "GYATT!

  Instead of a simple shove, reality around the Butcherino's backside seemed to warp and swell violently. For one horrifying, jiggling moment, its stained apron strained against an impossible, instantaneous inflation of its rear end, achieving proportions that would make a black hole blush. The sheer, sudden slammed it downwards as if pulled by a personal planetoid located somewhere in its pants. The creature stumbled hard, its forward momentum utterly canceled by the crushing gravity of its own newly-formed badonkadonk. It slammed face-first onto the carpet with a meaty thud and an echoing sound that seemed to defy the laws of acoustics, the cleaver skittering away momentarily.

  It wasn't stopped for long, already pushing itself up with a furious roar, but it bought them precious seconds. Kevin didn't wait to see more. He turned and scrambled through the stairwell door, slamming it shut behind him just as the Butcherino’s meaty fist pounded against it from the other side.

  SLAM!

  The heavy stairwell door shuddered under the impact but held. Kevin fumbled for a lock, finding a heavy-duty panic bar mechanism. He leaned his full weight against it, heart hammering against his ribs. Another SLAM!

  "Is it locked?" Dave gasped, aiming the extinguisher at the door, though they both knew it wouldn't do much good against the Butcherino.

  "Panic bar!" Kevin grunted. "Should hold unless it can rip the door off its hinges!" Which, considering the unnatural neck-snap, felt disturbingly possible.

  Brenda whimpered from further down the first flight of concrete stairs. Gary was slumped against the grimy cinder block wall, breathing heavily. The stairwell was dimly lit by caged emergency bulbs, smelling faintly of dust and desperation. Cold, stale air circulated sluggishly.

  SLAM! SLAM!

  "We can't stay here," Kevin said, his voice tight. "Down. We have to go down." If this was Floor 1, then down was... Floor 0? The ground floor? Or something worse?

  He pushed himself off the door, glancing back at it nervously. The pounding seemed to lessen slightly, replaced by angry, guttural snarls from the other side. Maybe it was giving up? Or maybe it was looking for another way in.

  "Come on," Kevin urged, helping Gary to his feet. "Let's put some distance between us and... that."

  They descended the stairs cautiously. Concrete steps, metal railings coated in grime, the occasional piece of unidentifiable trash in the corners. It felt blessedly normal compared to the killer butcher-thing upstairs.

  His UI helpfully updated: Clout: 7/15

  They reached the landing between Floor 1 and Floor 0. Another heavy red door stood there, presumably leading out onto the ground floor. Kevin hesitated. Out there was the lobby, the main entrance... and likely more chaos. The World Announcement mentioned increased threats on this floor. Was leaving the relative safety of the stairwell smart?

  SCRAPE... THUMP.

  A noise from below them. Down the next flight of stairs.

  Everyone froze again. Kevin peered over the railing, down into the gloom towards Floor 0. He couldn't see anything immediately, but the scraping sound came again, louder this time. Metal on concrete. Followed by a wet, dragging sound.

  "Something's down there," Dave whispered, his voice barely audible.

  Kevin focused [Observe] down the stairwell. The range was limited in the poor light.

  They were caught between floors. A furious Butcherino potentially still trying to get through the door above, and an unknown, unpleasant-sounding threat approaching from below.

  "Okay," Kevin breathed. "New, new plan. Neither up nor down looks good right now." He looked at the landing door leading to Floor 0. "Maybe... maybe the ground floor the better option? We just need to be fast."

  "Fast where?" Gary rasped. "Out the front door? Into ?" He nodded vaguely upwards, indicating the world beyond the office building.

  "Maybe not out," Kevin mused. "But maybe there's a security office on the ground floor? Somewhere with cameras, solid doors? Maybe even actual weapons?" It was a long shot, but better than being cornered in a stairwell.

  Before they could debate further, the scraping from below grew louder, closer. And it was joined by a new sound: a faint, rhythmic , like loose chains, and a low, bubbling moan that didn't sound remotely human.

  Simultaneously, a heavy THUD

  "Decision time," Kevin said grimly, glancing between the door above and the darkness below. "Lobby door. Now. Stick together."

  He pushed open the heavy door leading onto Floor 0. The contrast was immediate. The ground floor lobby was cavernous compared to the office levels, with high ceilings and large, street-facing windows currently showing a terrifying, unnaturally orange-tinged sky. Emergency lights cast long, dancing shadows across the polished marble floor. Overturned couches, scattered luggage from some long-forgotten security checkpoint, and drifts of paper created an obstacle course.

  And standing near the center of the lobby, illuminated by a flickering emergency spotlight, was something that made the Espresso Roach look like a pleasant memory.

  It was a vaguely humanoid pile of... pasta. Mostly spaghetti and linguine, clumped together in a dripping, vaguely cohesive mass about seven feet tall. Soggy strands hung like hair, obscuring whatever might be a face. Embedded within the mass were chunks of what looked disturbingly like meatballs, pulsing faintly with a dull red light. It dragged one "arm" made of congealed lasagna sheets across the floor, producing the scraping sound they'd heard. Loose strands of bucatini dangling from its form created the clinking noise. The bubbling moan emanated from deep within its starchy core.

  Kevin's [Observe

  Kevin scanned the lobby frantically. He saw another one lurking near the reception desk, this one seemingly composed mostly of rigatoni and penne, clutching a giant, stale breadstick like a club. Rigatoni Brute - LVL 3Angel Hair Skirmisher - LVL 2

  Welcome to the Little Italy Calamity Sector, indeed. They had walked out of the frying pan and into the pasta pot. Behind them, the stairwell door shuddered again as the Butcherino renewed its assault. They were well and truly fucked.

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