Beneath Nightmare Dungeon

‘…...and that’s how I ended up here. Without a shirt! I’m likely suffering from dehydration and hunger by now though. An after effect of whatever drugs were used to knock me into unconscious. Twice!’ said Johan as he walked through the darkened office. He should have been thankful that despite a large number of lights simply switching off, a portion of them flickered back into power.

Either the place was experiencing a power cut or this was a deliberate attempt to scare him a little to make sure his meat juices tasted better when the crazy office cannibals broke out of containment to chase him across the empty, dusty cubicles and vacant office units.

With one hand on his makeshift bag, Johan was certain that this place was a set-up for an escape room or a secret cabal of rich people with nothing better to do than hunt people.

He continued to talk nonsense as he paused and tried his best to adjust his eyes to the partial absence of light and spot either a vending machine or a break room. His body needed food and water, even a snack bar in a tight spot and a can of the fizzy stuff would have helped him recover his wits a little.

‘….You think that that the freaks in charge of this space, oh sorry Kris, I mean the rich otaku losers would at least set up new players with a ration pack to keep them active for a little longer.’ said Johan. Although the footsteps of his business shoes was muffled by the same familiar grey dusty carpet he had failed to stop all sounds from the movement of his body.

Occasionally he’d bump into a piece of office furniture and knock it backwards but given the complete lack of personal possessions and the sheer bareness it wasn’t a big deal walking through the shadows. He was either walking under a light which was flickering or one that was turned off. The main issue for him was that there was no signs or any names of either individuals, departments and the office floor stretched onwards. Rows of empty grey cubicles all with the same basic chair and a desk. The occasional private office was the same, he’d only dared to venture in several though as he had no interest in bumping into or finding another person waking up.

In this place he had to assume that everyone was going to be hostile unless he had a better picture. Realistically Johan hoped that he was dreaming or inside a chemically induced coma.

‘And...there’s nothing here. Kris. All you ask for is a taste of my blood but you give me support regardless. Even if you can’t talk back you’re still my only hope in this place. Got any suggestions for finding food and drink before the so-called otaku god sends his goons after me? Or zombies. Cannibal zombies. No, radioactive zombies would be better. Then I’d see the glow before they attacked me. I’m….I’m talking to a knife inside a bag. Heh. I’m a crazy man with no shirt...talking to a knife. Heh.’ said Johan as he stopped walking and sat down heavily, his back resting against a grey-painted wall.

‘Grey. Everything here is grey and dusty. And I’m becoming...’ muttered Johan as he rubbed his hands up and down his face. He left himself collapse a little, as he leaned back and crossed his arms across his bare chest. Cold, old and tired.

He ran through a list mentally in his head for what humans needed for basic survival, food, shelter, clothing and living in a safe environment. He knew what isolation did to a person first hand. Mainly when he’d been left by his parents to take care of himself when he lived in a country when he couldn’t speak the language he’d retreated into his own world.

Talking to himself wasn’t a good sign he knew but it was a coping mechanism. So was anger. He wasn’t going to hurt himself to try and relieve his stress and anxiety. Not just yet, but he needed to vent his frustrations so he cupped both open hands to his mouth and let himself give out a primal shout. The amount of sheer anger coming amount would damage his throat and make it hard to talk but he needed this. Then he could plan a little better.

‘I want to get out of here. I WANT TO GET OUT OF THIS NIGHTMARE! YOU LET ME OUT OF HERE OTAKU FREAK OR I’LL FIND YOU! I’LL FIND YOU AND USE MY BARE TEETH TO RIP THE SKIN FROM YOUR THROAT!’ screamed out Johan.

His throat was raw and painful but having allowed himself to vent, the extremes of emotions which he’d been forced to repress deep within were loosened. Slumping backwards he rubbed his eyes again before forcing himself to stand up.

There was one type of violence which he hadn’t tried yet in this place, throwing around a few office chairs and kicking down a few cubicle walls, even slamming the private office doors had helped but it was burning through far too much energy.

It hadn’t even occurred to him before but he’d give it a go. The last option that he had was the knife that easily cut through flesh but was blunt against anything not organic.

Not an option. Never an option. Ever. Don’t go there.

Standing up, Johan loosened the ties on the makeshift bag on his belt and pulled out the Kris knife. His fingertips tingled as he made sure to grip the handle and withdraw it carefully to avoid any further cuts or blood loss.

His body by now should have given him direct indications of physical exhaustion, at least from minor blood loss and the amount of exercise that he’d experienced throwing chairs around but although physically he was fresh it was his mind that took the burden.

Going to try and avoid talking aloud to myself. Mental note: Talking to a knife is only a good strategy if other people are around.

Being careful not to let the knife touched his exposed skin he tried on a nearby office chair, the edge this time cutting through the fabric without difficulty. The action surprised Johan, as if it was sharp enough to cut through a chair then it didn’t make any sense to carry it inside a makeshift cloth bag.

Even one that he had made with several odd-sized lengths of cut rope-like material which had previously tied him up and a piece of fabric draped over his bare skin when the mysterious crazy person had talked to him.

Great. The knife can cut through non-organic matter. Time to plan ahead.

He’d never tried it personally but he had heard of the concept of carpet armour. Or stuffing layers of newspapers beneath his shirt to give him a degree of protection. The only issue was that he didn’t have a shirt or even a jacket to stuff it under to protect his body.

He could pack it into his office trousers but they were already beginning to show signs of significant wear and tear. After placing the Kris knife down on the floor Johan removed both of his shoes and socks before he realised that despite his apparent lack of desire for food and drink he was indirectly being affected.

‘I’m sitting in an abandoned office thinking about cutting carpet from the floor. And a crazy voice from the speakers told me his friends are on the way. Unless they’re carrying food and drink I need a sign, a place to get anything to eat and a place to recharge a little.’ said Johan to himself aloud.

The effect of the drugs that whomever had kidnapped him and eventually his energy levels would begin to rapidly drop and he’d be unable to put up any sort of fight.

He put his socks back on his feet although this time he tied both shoes together and laced them around his neck. He’d be better served muffling his footsteps inside this place rather than being killed or hunted by crazy office cannibal workers. Or paid security guards wearing costumes and masks.

Johan had several options at this point, he could try and find a security camera or another ceiling mounted intercom and try and interact with the crazy otaku who considered themselves god of this duty, empty office floor.

He could stay put and wait to be found or let himself be captured of worse. Or he could find a place to hole up, take stock of his inventory, find anything that could be useful and then fight back. Not that any of this made sense to him. If this was meant to be a torture situation or he was meant to be harvested for his body parts or as entertainment for a bunch of rich people than they had been pretty relaxed so far.

‘I’m a player...in a game. And they called me an avatar. Pretty sure that was the voice of a man although given that it was electronic they were running it through a machine. This has got to be the laziest form of crazy person torture scenario that I’ve ever seen. Who in the eighteen layers of Chinese hell dumps a person and ignores them? Death through starvation and mental breakdown. Pathetic.’ said Johan as he tested his footsteps on the carpet.

No noise. Not even a single one as he raised his foot and brought it down loudly in a stamp.

‘Sound absorbing materials. Right. Wait…’ said Johan.

After taking a look around to see if there were any noises in the distance Johan took the Kris knife in his hand and cut the carpet and did it slowly to test his theory.

When he’d cut out a squarish piece large enough for his fingers to slip through his was able to rip out a large chunk of it but there still wasn’t a single sound. Dust spread across his fingers and hands as he dropped the piece on the carpet.

The Kris knife cut through the fabric easily enough but the longer that he did it the more the level of resistance increased. Putting a single fingertip on the tip of the blade it cut through the surface of his skin and a tiny light-reddish flame appeared emerging from the hilt.

Almost dropping the knife onto the floor, Johan steadied himself and examined the Kris knife in greater detail. The writing still made little sense to him but he’d only taken time to examine it the one time when he’d been inside the office. Two letters stood out to him, he was certain that it wasn’t any language that he’d seen before but the knowledge of what they meant burned itself into his brain.

PG.

‘Parental guidance? Poppy Grace? You don’t talk do you Mr Kris? Please don’t.’ said Johan.

The flame was nearly transparent to his eyes but it emitted a light glow around him.

Ignoring it he held the blade sideways and sliced it cleanly across the edge of the fabric covered cubicle wall, despite growing resistance and the fact he had to put in more effort to cut the further he went not a single sound appeared to his ears.

Johan realised that he could shout and scream inside this place and throw all the office chairs that he wanted. Even smash in windows, take apart desks and kick down cubicle walls. Even rip the carpets and walls apart but not a single person would hear him.

Nobody. Aside from the crazy person who had trapped him inside his place and then talked nonsense and blamed him. Johan was certain that the mysterious voice was different to the one on the intercom though, they had been a whole lot more unstable. The one in the office floor who was watching him on the camera and who kept the flickering lights on was sane but delusional.

Action...action needs a full stomach.

If this was going to be an entertainment show for rich people, they wouldn’t have thrown him into an abandoned office floor just to starve to death. Then again, it was likely them who had framed him and paid off the HR Director’s Andy Darr who forced him to accept the words on the business card.

Rats in a maze still need cheese.

Realistically the Kris knife had functions or a vital part of the game which he hadn’t been able to work out yet. When he’d cut his fingers on it earlier the dried blood on it had activated the camera and intercom and alerted whomever was watching to his presence when walking around, calling out and throwing a few chairs hadn’t. Even relieving himself inside the corner of the private office had gone entirely unnoticed.

No cameras inside the offices. They can’t track me inside the offices. Blood. The knife needs my blood.

Gathering his thoughts and narrowly avoiding his tied together office shoes kicking him in the face, Johan stood up from the office corridor when he had been crouched. He considered stuffing the piece of carpet back into the floor but managed to narrowly squash it into his makeshift bag attached to his belt.

The flickering lights above his head stabilised for several seconds as the near transparent flame on the bottom hilt of the Kris knife died out but Johan paid them little attention.

He’d read the Monkey’s Paw story before when he’d found an old copy tucked away at home when his parents had been away on one of their business trips and left him cooped alone at home. The blade which had been lodged into his shoulder by Andy Darr could be a similar type of artifact, it took his blood and stopped his hunger and thirst.

The card had read for him for him to enter a place called Beneath Nightmare Dungeon and he’d heard of portal fantasies where the main character ended up in another magical realm different to their own. Transported him to a different place.

Either that or he’d been kidnapped and….he’d run out of clues. Standing around near constantly talking to himself to try and rationalise the situation wasn’t going to work.

Turning the Kris knife around he contemplated giving it another taste of his blood to see if the tiny burst of flame came back again but decided that he’d be better off experimenting with it lightly inside an office. At least then he could block the door with a desk and a chair and take an inventory stock of his items and even grab a bit of sleep.

‘A magical knife. Makes sense given that you’re ceremonial blade and all but the fact that you need my blood to operate gives me the opinion that you’re actually a vampire knife in disguise. Or you were used in rituals to kill a thousand vampires and you’ve inherited a portion of their power. I think...I’m losing my mind. HEY, DO YOU HEAR ME? I’M LOSING MY MIND! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW! DOES THIS ENTERTAIN YOU WHEN I’M LOSING MY MIND! BRING IT ON!’

Johan screamed out the last few sentences as his breathing increased and a warm pressure inside his chest began to build. Getting stressed wasn’t going to solve this situation.

The fact that nobody even responded to him was what made him more upset. Humans were creatures of reason and instinct and right now his instincts were telling him to find a place to secure and hide.

‘Office. Find an office. Any office. There!’ said Johan.

Wearing his socks, shirtless with his business shoes hung around his neck, a makeshift bag tied around his business suit trouser belt and holding a red Kris knife Johan ignored the flickering lights and the claustrophobic environment it was causing and walked into a random vacant office and closed the door before clicking the lock.

The room smelled of urine.