“Why does this hall go on and on? It should’ve ended by now. What are we missing?” Marco raised his staff, shouting his frustration at the endless corridor. “Fireball!”

  This time, he achieved limited success. A burst of heat left a distinct black scorch mark on the wall. Marco smiled triumphantly. “Hey, that worked. At least a little.”

  “Still just some sparks,” Samantha corrected, refusing to let him settle for mediocrity. “Better than before, I guess.”

  “Well, thanks for that response, Sam.” Marco’s enthusiasm waned instantly.

  They pressed forward. More Chubrats emerged, but dispatching them became routine. Marco swung his staff like a club and Samantha slashed with her sword, cutting the creatures down rapidly.

  Five minutes later, dread seized Samantha. She slumped, then froze, pointing a trembling finger at a specific soot-smudged pattern on the stone.

  She gripped Marco’s shoulder, her voice exasperated. “Well, for fuck’s sake. It’s your burn mark.”

  Marco exhaled hard, his jaw tightening. He grunted and slammed his staff against the wall. “Exactly what I feared. We’re stuck in a loop.”

  An endlessly repeating digital corridor trapped them—a programming choice signaling they hadn’t met the criteria for advancement. He raised his staff again, trying to force a real fireball through sheer helpless anger. “Fireball.”

  Only a pathetic spark fizzled at the tip, casting a brief, mocking glow against the ceiling.

  “Well… at least I can use it as a flashlight,” Marco muttered. “Let’s keep walking. I’ll keep sparking the staff so we can see the ceiling. Maybe we’re missing something above us.”

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  But they weren’t. Just stone pressing down, cold and unyielding. They searched the floor and walls, and even tried coaxing a Chubrat instead of killing it to check for hidden digital keys or triggers. Nothing.

  Samantha’s limited patience snapped. The absurdity of their predicament, built by their own hands, became too much. “Marco, what the hell? You built this place. You need to remember how to get out.”

  His face flushed a deep, uncomfortable red. He looked pinned between her fury and his own baffling failure. “I didn’t make this part. I only designed the framework. This… this is beyond me. It’s that damned treatment protocol.” His knuckles turned white against his staff. “And I’m getting really pissed right now. I’m doing my fucking best.”

  Samantha watched the change come over him. It wasn't just irritation anymore; it was genuine rage. She saw the veins in his neck stand out, saw the moment he stopped thinking and started feeling. He was finally grabbing onto the anger he usually suppressed, funneling it down his arm.

  His voice cracked with fury. “Fireball!”

  This time, the spell worked.

  A sphere of flame blazed into life, swelling hot and furious at the staff’s tip. He hurled it forward. It smashed into the wall with an ear-splitting boom, fire licking outward in a wash of smoke. The blast of warmth hit their faces. Even in a digital world, it felt real.

  When the haze cleared, something stood precisely where the flames had struck, materializing from the scorched stone. It was that damned imp. Glitchy grinned from the burn mark, reviewing their chaotic performance.

  “Heyyy, there we go. Took you long enough,” he mocked, hopping closer. “Think, Marco. What’s ALAN’s purpose? Not just to play dungeon crawl, but to rip apart your head and rebuild it into something new. My role? To show you the ropes.”

  Marco scowled, his staff still humming faintly with residual energy.

  Glitchy tilted his head, his voice sliding into cruel, knowing condescension. “But you. You overthink, overbuild, overcomplicate. Always intellectualizing, never feeling. You’re dashing, brilliant, rich enough to keep a harem, but your emotional intelligence? About as lively as a quartz crystal.”

  Samantha barked a laugh before she could stop herself—a sharp, brittle sound of recognition.

  Glitchy spun toward her, his tiny tail twitching. “And you, my dear. Miss Iron Walls. All toughness and barbed edges so no one ever gets close. But cracks run through you too, and if you don’t start learning, you’ll break apart.”

  With a puff of smoke, he vanished, his diagnostic lecture complete.