The first thing I did when I stepped out of the 7-Eleven was grab the packet of Camels and a lighter from my inventory. I lit one up and took a deep, long drag.

  God, I needed that.

  For a moment, I just stood there, letting the nicotine calm me as I took everything in. Then I looked around and started laughing, coughing between puffs. I’d wandered out to the designated smoking area at the edge of the neighborhood mall.

  Here I was, at the end of the damn world, still following the rules.

  I was still laughing when Siva placed a hand on my shoulder. I turned and saw he was watching me, worried. He probably thought I’d finally lost it. Maybe I had.

  I took another drag, exhaled slowly, and waved him off.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Just… processing.”

  We stood for a moment, silence broken only by the hum of streetlights and distant cicadas. The air was thick and unmoving.

  “I’m starving,” I finally said, tossing the cigarette into the bin. “I need food. And sleep. It’s… been a long night.”

  Siva nodded toward the mall. “There’s a hawker centre still operating inside. I checked earlier. The stalls… they still serve food.”

  “Still?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s weird. The vendors look… off. Like they’re there, but not really. You order, and they just move. No talking. No expression. Just cook, serve, reset.”

  “And you ate at these places before?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Hungry enough not to care.”

  We made our way in. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, some flickering unevenly. I saw the familiar rows of plastic tables and chairs with menus plastered with faded photos of laksa and chicken rice. The vendors stood unnaturally still. Then, like puppets, they came to life.

  A man behind a chicken rice stall turned toward us, eyes vacant.

  “What you want?” he asked, flat and hollow.

  “Uh… chicken rice,” I said hesitantly.

  He nodded once, moving with precise, mechanical motions as he chopped, scooped, and plated the meal before sliding it toward me. My HUD pinged softly.

  [Chicken Rice — Restores 10% Health and 10% Mana over 30 minutes]

  [Cost: 1 Bronze]

  I stared. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Siva grinned faintly. “Told you. Food’s cheap, and it gives buffs.”

  I picked up the plate, and my HUD flickered again as my meagre gold reserve ticked down, showing silver and bronze denominations. Exchange rates straight out of a tabletop RPG. 100 Bronze to a Silver, 100 Silver to a Gold. Simple enough.

  Siva ordered char kway teow, the soy sauce-based fried noodles and disappeared briefly to grab drinks. I looked around. Few others were scattered across the tables, quietly eating. Some moved too precisely, the NPCs Siva mentioned. But a few looked… real. Tired, haunted, hollow-eyed. Survivors, maybe. Like us.

  I toyed with approaching them but backed off.

  On, I swore tried to reach for a weapon when I looked at him.

  Siva returned with two glasses of lime juice. I took a tentative bite of my chicken rice. It tasted… normal. Familiar. Comforting even. The warmth grounded me for a moment.

  I’d never cared much for Singapore’s so-called national dish. Michelin-starred stalls or Gordon Ramsay beaters, it all tasted the same. But right then, this was the best thing I’d ever eaten.

  We talked as we ate. I asked how he’d survived the past two months. His answers came slow and reluctant. Fighting just enough to get loot and gold, eating, hiding in abandoned flats or shops. He’d been on his way to one of those places when he stumbled across me and saved my life earlier.

  I sensed that wasn’t the whole truth, but didn’t push. Not yet.

  Finally, I set my spoon down. “This is all wrong,” I said quietly. “The system’s wrong. Medieval weapons, modern loot, like the battery I got. Even the mobs ride PMDs.”

  Siva looked up. “Mobs?”

  “Yeah, mobs,” I said, leaning back. “What’s even the point? Forget how we got here, why are we here? Even open-world games have purpose or a storyline. This… feels empty.”

  Siva shook his head. “I don’t know. I pray there’s a way to get back…”

  We sat in silence, the hum of the lights and the quiet clink of cutlery against plates from the other diners filling the space between us. After finishing our meal, we wordlessly left the hawker center and broke into a shuttered shop nearby to bed down for the night.

  The shop was a small clothing outlet. Its shutters were half-bent with mannequins scattered like corpses in the dark. We forced the shutter open just enough to squeeze through, then dragged a display rack across the entrance. Not much, but safer than being out there.

  Siva collapsed almost immediately, his breathing steadying within minutes. I envied that, his ability to shut it all out and sleep.

  I couldn’t.

  I sat against a wall, the dim green glow of an emergency light painting everything in sickly hues. The silence was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the city beyond the walls. My HUD pulsed faintly in the corner, giving me a quiet reminder that nothing was normal anymore.

  Curiosity got the better of me, and I focused on the minimap.

  It expanded instantly, hovering larger in my view. The streets around us shimmered into focus. I focused on my immediate surroundings. The roads, alleys and surrounding blocks were all clearly visible.

  I zoomed out. The northern half of the island revealed itself in faint, ghostly detail. Everything beyond Ang Mo Kio, bordering central Singapore and Jurong, the west of Singapore was covered in fog of war. Can’t see it, I thought. We haven’t crossed the threshold.

  I zoomed back into the north and scanned different regions. Then I saw them, zones outlined in deep, pulsing red scattered across the map. My pulse quickened. One near the western edge caught my eye. I focused on it.

  [Sungei Buloh Nature Reserve — Hazard Tier: Crimson]

  The red outline throbbed, like it was aware I was watching.

  Sungei Buloh. A popular wildlife sanctuary for birdwatchers and crocodile sightings. The usual weekend family spot. Why was it marked as a high-level zone?

  I closed the map, the glow fading from my vision. Exhaustion hit, heavy and insistent. I leaned back against the wall and drifted into uneasy sleep.

  I woke disoriented. It was still dark. I checked my watch and found about nine hours had passed, yet it was still midnight-dark. The sun apparently didn’t rise in this version of the world. Another thing Siva hadn’t mentioned.

  Siva was curled up in his corner, snoring softly. His katana rested loosely in one hand. He rarely kept it in his inventory.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  I pulled up the minimap and found his dot pulsing white. Curiosity struck again and I tried focusing on it, hoping to check his stats. My HUD flashed a warning:

  [Warning: You cannot view the stats of non-party members. To form a party with this PC, access your menu tab.]

  Huh. So I could officially party with him. Did I even want to? He’d saved my life, sure, but he was still just a kid. That Ogammi Itto class description kept haunting me:

  Description:

  …Notable for adopting a child under his care, gaining strength and tactics from protecting another life while navigating deadly situations. Suffers from “constant low-level parental panic,” which oddly keeps reflexes sharp.

  No. We were fine as we were. We could help each other without officially forming a party.

  I expanded the minimap again until Sungei Buloh came into view. The red outline pulsed faintly, invitinh. Something gnawed at me. Curiosity or dread. Maybe both.

  By the time Siva woke, I’d already made up my mind.

  “We’re going to Sungei Buloh,” I said, standing.

  He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “You serious? Why?”

  “Yeah. That place is marked for a reason. I need to know what’s out there.”

  He looked at me long and hard, then sighed. “You’re going to get us killed.”

  “Probably,” I said. “But I’ve done dumber things for worse reasons.”

  Walking all the way to the nature reserve would’ve been insane. We needed transport, something faster, something that wouldn’t leave us exposed for hours.

  The attached multi-storey carpark loomed beside the mall, its concrete frame half-swallowed by creeping vines and the soft hum of flickering lights. The air was thick with rust, petrol, and mildew. Our footsteps echoed across the empty levels, sharp and lonely in the cavernous silence.

  Most of the cars were gone—either driven off or stripped down to bare frames. A few remained, rotting where they stood, tires flat, windows clouded with grime.

  I made straight for the motorcycle bays. And there it was, leaning against a cracked pillar like a relic from another era. An old Honda Phantom 200, half-rusted but intact. Its matte black paint was flaking, its seat torn in places, but the bones were good.

  My HUD flickered to life as I approached, a translucent tag hovering above the bike:

  [Honda Phantom 200cc — Motorcycle]

  [Skill recognized: Riding — Level 10]

  “You think this thing still works?” Siva asked, skeptical, voice low. “And you know how to ride this?”

  I nodded, half-smile in place. “Depends if lady luck’s smiling on us tonight.”

  Lady luck was grinning from ear to ear. The seat popped off easily, revealing a rusted toolkit tucked inside.

  A few sparks and a lot of swearing later, the engine coughed once, then twice and sputtered into a ragged, glorious hum.

  Siva just stared. “How did you?”

  I shrugged, wiping grease from my fingers. “Used to work with engines. Boats, mostly. But as my lecturer used to say, ‘an engine’s an engine.’”

  A soft ping sounded in my inbox. I ignored it. The system was too generous with pointless skill rewards. Probably just [Mechanic Lv. 2].

  Still, as the exhaust echoed through the empty garage and the headlight flared weakly to life, I felt something I hadn’t in ages. Purpose.

  The ride through the northern sectors was eerie. Streets were half-swallowed by vines and shadow and the air was thick with that electric stillness right before a storm.

  We passed mobs wandering aimlessly between wrecked cars and collapsed void decks, some familiar PMD husks, others twisted shapes that might’ve once been animals. None noticed us, and I had no intention of slowing down.

  Siva clung to my waist with a death grip. He’d wanted to search for helmets back at the carpark, but I’d told him we were leaving, with or without him.

  Debate over.

  Once we left the housing blocks behind, the city gave way to the forested stretch toward Sungei Buloh. The deeper we went, the quieter it became. The engine’s low growl was the only sound until the occasional crash of branches somewhere in the trees reminded us, we weren’t alone.

  We stopped several times to push the bike over cracked asphalt and roads half-eaten by vines. Each time, Siva reminded me how spectacularly bad an idea this was. I didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong. But standing still felt worse. Moving meant at least we still had direction.

  We’d already stopped once to deal with a pack of mutated squirrels. At first glance, they looked ordinary until you noticed the burning red eyes, needle-sharp teeth, and claws. Individually, they were a joke. A kick or a solid punch turned one into roadkill. The problem was the numbers. They attacked in swarms.

  We fought as we ran, keeping ahead to avoid being overwhelmed. At one point, I scrambled up a tree for high ground, sniping with my bow while Siva held their attention on the ground. By the time the last one stopped twitching, my [Longbow] skill had jumped several levels. I was covered in scratches.

  We emerged mostly unscathed, breathing hard and scratched up, but the system rewarded us with a handful of gold… and, amusingly, an unexpected haul of nuts and berries. Even mutated squirrels apparently stayed on brand. We healed ourselves with Health potions.

  The forest thickened the deeper we went. Vines hung like veins from the canopy, and the undergrowth had long devoured the asphalt. The air was heavy, damp, and smelled faintly metallic, like something had been bleeding here for a long time.

  We parked the motorbike and continued by foot. Each step felt muffled, swallowed by moss and decay.

  That’s when the ground began to tremble.

  A low vibration underfoot grew into a steady, pulsing rhythm. I froze, hand instinctively going for my bow.

  Siva held up his katana, eyes scanning the tree line. “Something’s coming.”

  Branches cracked as leaves fell like ash.

  Then they emerged.

  Two massive shapes forced their way out of the brush. Boars, but bipedal. Their hides were mottled with patches of scale and fur, tusks curved upward like serrated daggers. They stood taller than a man, balanced disturbingly well on two stout legs. Their snouts glowed faintly red, vapor hissing from their nostrils with every breath.

  They’d been running, straight toward us.

  For half a second, all I could think of was Bebop and Rocksteady. Only these ones weren’t wearing clothes, and they sure as hell weren’t funny.

  “Fuck,” I muttered. “Fucking hell…”

  The system chimed:

  [Mutated Boar — Level 5 — Hostile]

  [Abilities: Charge, Gore, Tremor Stomp]

  “Fan out!” I yelled, diving left as they thundered forward.

  One boar lunged at Siva. He met it head-on, blade flashing into its shoulder as he spun aside to avoid being gored. The beast bellowed, tusks catching a tree trunk and splintering it in half. Siva darted in again, cutting low as its tendons snapped, black ichor spraying across the ferns.

  The second boar charged me. I loosed an arrow mid-roll and it glanced off its hide. The damn thing barely noticed.

  “Right,” I muttered, drawing again. “You fucking pieces of ham.”

  I aimed for the underbelly as it reared to charge. The arrow sank deep. The boar shrieked and staggered back.

  I kept moving, never staying in one spot. Draw, release, pivot, draw again. I bounced shots off a fallen signpost, amazed I could do that. I ducked behind trees and fired through gaps in the branches.

  Siva, meanwhile, was poetry in motion. His katana gleamed in the dim light filtering through the canopy. The first boar lunged again. He sidestepped, planted a foot on its snout, vaulted, and drove his blade across its spine. It collapsed with a wet crunch. I flinched.

  “Down one!” he shouted.

  “Working on it!” I yelled back, nocking three arrows in rapid succession. The second boar lumbered toward me, bleeding heavily. I released all three. Two missed but one embedded in its eye. The beast screamed, stumbled, and fell still.

  Silence returned, broken only by our ragged breathing and the faint hiss of steam from the corpses.

  The system pinged softly:

  [Level Up: +2 Levels Gained]

  [Skill Increased: Longbow (Intermediate)]

  [Skill Increased: Tactics (Basic)]

  Gold and materials blinked in my HUD, but I barely noticed. My hands were shaking.

  Siva flicked the blood off this sword, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re getting better.”

  I looked down at the fallen boars, arrows jutting from one like a pincushion. “Or they’re just really bad at dodging.”

  He gave a short laugh, then scanned the darkened forest ahead. “We’re close.”

  The air had changed to be denser and quieter. Beyond the trees, faint red light pulsed in the fog.

  We trudged on, the forest swallowing the path completely. The air grew heavier, damp with the stink of rot. Twisted black ribs of trees blotted out the little light left.

  The minimap flickered faintly in my HUD, the red outline signaling Sungei Buloh was close.

  When we finally broke through the last line of trees, I almost wished we hadn’t.

  The entrance to the reserve loomed ahead, its rusted gates hanging crooked. The old sign: Sungei Buloh Wetland Reserve, was half-eaten by corrosion. Beneath it, the ground was slick with dark stains.

  Then I saw them.

  Bodies. Half a dozen. Maybe more.

  Some were torn clean in half. Others looked half-dissolved, their skin eaten away like wax left in the sun. One poor bastard still leaned against the gatepost, eyes glassy, mouth frozen mid-scream.

  Siva stopped dead beside me. “...Oh, fuck.” His voice cracked.

  We’d fought monsters before, sure. But this, this was different. These were people. Real people. Adventurers like us.

  He crouched beside one, hands trembling as he touched a shredded chestplate. “These weren’t NPCs,” he said quietly. “They fought back.”

  I forced myself to look away. Bile rose in my throat. Up close, the smell was worse, It was the smell of iron and decay and… something chemical, like battery acid. I’d seen dead men before in drydock accidents back when I worked engines, but never like this. Never this… violent.

  “Then whatever did this,” I managed, “it’s still here.”

  As if on cue, my HUD flickered. A new notification pulsed in crimson letters:

  [Warning: You are about to enter a Crimson Hazard Zone.]

  [Once inside, you cannot leave until the Primary Objective is completed.]

  Siva stood up, face pale. “Chris… maybe we should think this through.”

  I looked at him. He was shaking, just slightly, but still gripping his katana tight. Brave kid. Braver than he should’ve had to be.

  “No,” I said softly. “We can’t turn back now. Not after coming this far.”

  The wind shifted, carrying the stench of blood and something deeper, like wet... animal.

  And then it came.

  A sound ripped through the forest, low at first, then rising into a guttural, bone-deep roar that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. The trees shook as the rusted sign screamed on its hinges.

  Siva stumbled a step back, eyes wide. “What the hell was that?”

  I swallowed hard, forcing a thin, humorless smile. “That’s a boss fight if I’ve ever heard one.”

  My HUD flickered again, the red border pulsing like a heartbeat.

  We stood there one last moment , two idiots staring into the dark maw of the unknown, and then stepped through the gates.

  Sungei Buloh swallowed us whole.