Pain. Every joint in my body was screaming in agony. What the hell just happened? I felt like I'd done 100 somersaults, and each one ended with me landing squarely on my neck. My skull throbbed like a drumline was rehearsing inside it, and my ribs felt like they'd been used as a punching bag by a champion boxer.

I groaned, attempting to sit up, but my body had other plans—it felt like gravity had doubled just to spite me. That's when I felt it: a cold wind slapped me right in the face, sharp enough to snap me out of my daze. Why was it so bright? The sun?

Squinting, I glanced up, only to see a blindingly bright central light overhead, glowing unnaturally like some high-tech approximation of the real thing. A fake sun. Of course. What did I expect? This wasn't reality—this was whatever twisted version of it Bird Man had cooked up.

As I forced myself upright, the ground beneath me felt gritty and uneven. I blinked a few more times, and that's when it hit me. I wasn't just lying anywhere. I was on the roof of a skyscraper.

My heart skipped a beat as I looked around, realizing the edges of the roof were uncomfortably close. One wrong move while waking up, and I could've rolled off to meet my doom hundreds of feet below. Great start. Thanks, Bird Man.

Then, two things immediately caught my attention. First, a small bag sat a few feet away, looking painfully inadequate for whatever hell this was supposed to be. Second, the realization that I wasn't alone. I could see other rooftops in the distance, each with someone sprawled out on them, just as disoriented as I had been.

That's when I heard it: a shrill, blood-curdling scream. Before I could even process the sound, the source made itself clear—someone had just taken an express trip at least 50 stories down, right in front of me. I barely had time to process the horror when laughter echoed through the artificial sky above.

Looking up, I noticed two glowing displays embedded in the fake heavens. One was a timer, already ticking down from 48 hours, and the other? A death count. It read 5/500. What the hell? The game hadn't even officially started, and five people had already kicked the bucket. Apparently, some unlucky contestants really did wake up on the wrong side of the skyscraper.

I steadied myself, my back pressed against the cool glass of the building behind me, and took a deep breath. The narrow rooftop was barely wide enough to stand comfortably, and falling wasn't just a risk—it was practically a promise if I made one wrong move.

After a painstaking ten minutes of squinting at a parallel building, I managed to count the floors. Sixty-two. Sixty-two stories up, with absolutely no chance of surviving if I fell. Great. Just great.

Finally, I reached the small bag of supplies sitting precariously near the edge. Inside was some food and water—barely enough to last half a day, let alone two—and not much else. I sighed, leaning back against the glass window behind me, when something inside the building caught my eye.

There it was, my chosen weapon: the chainsaw. But it wasn't neatly handed to me or lying within easy reach. Nope. It was locked inside the room behind me, taunting me from the other side of the indestructible glass.

"How the hell am I supposed to get to it?" I muttered, already contemplating the worst.

That's when the familiar sound of a siren pierced the air, followed by the voice of everyone's least favorite psychopath: Bird Man.

"Hello, contestants! Hope you didn't miss me!" he bellowed with mock cheer. "Now that you're all awake, let's go over the rules! Each skyscraper is shared by five people. Now, it's up to you whether you want to kill your companions or keep them as allies. Personally, I'd recommend the first option!" He broke into that signature maniacal laughter, like he had just cracked the funniest joke of his life.

"This guy definitely has unresolved issues," I muttered under my breath.

Bird Man's voice continued, still dripping with mockery. "Oh, and in case you were wondering, the food in your bags? Yeah, it's barely enough to last a few hours, so don't even think about waiting out the two days!"

As if that wasn't bad enough, he added, "And about those weapons you 'chose'—let me clarify something. I never said I would give them to you! They're there. They're yours. But good luck breaking into the building to actually get them because, as I told you earlier, the glass is indestructible. You should have been paying attention!"

His voice rose to a crescendo as he laughed maniacally again. "This game is anything but fair! HAHAHAHAHA!"

I clenched my fists, staring at the chainsaw through the glass. Yeah, Bird Man, I've got a weapon alright. And if I survive this, guess who I'm using it on first?

As Bird Man's laughter faded into the distance, replaced by the eerie hum of the wind, I took another glance at the chainsaw behind the glass. It sat there like a twisted joke, clean and gleaming, as if mocking my every attempt at logic.

"Indestructible glass, huh?" I muttered under my breath. "We'll see about that."

I tapped on the glass experimentally—yep, it didn't even so much as vibrate. Great. If this was Bird Man's way of motivating me, he was doing a terrible job.

That's when I saw it—a dish cable. You know, the old, clunky ones your parents swore by for their box TVs back in the day. It was mounted on the floor above mine, and my eyes immediately locked onto the small, pointy antenna sticking out of the feed horn.

Now, in case you didn't know, the easiest way to break indestructible glass is to concentrate force on an incredibly small area. The antenna could be the tool I needed, and the massive feed horn itself? A perfect makeshift hammer. The idea was genius. The execution, however, was a disaster waiting to happen.

The dish cable was on the floor above, and between me and it was a whole lot of open air. Climbing up there meant balancing on a ledge narrower than my patience for Bird Man's theatrics. One wrong move, and I'd plummet to the streets below, making a very messy addition to the "Deaths" counter in the fake sky.

I sighed, glancing down at the bag of supplies by my feet. It barely had enough food to keep me upright, let alone give me the energy to perform rooftop gymnastics. But what choice did I have? The clock was ticking, and my options were as limited as the oxygen in this altitude.

"Alright," I muttered to myself. "No guts, no glory—or, in this case, no chainsaw." With that, I inched toward the ledge, my heart pounding like it was auditioning for a horror movie soundtrack. Every gust of wind felt like a slap in the face, a not-so-gentle reminder of just how high up I was.

I reached the edge and peered up. The dish cable was tantalizingly close, mocking me with its promise of salvation. All I had to do was climb up, grab the antenna, and avoid falling to my untimely death. Easy, right?

Clenching my jaw, I hurled the supply bag upward. Luck was on my side—it landed squarely on the rooftop above. If it hadn't, it would've plummeted 62 stories straight down. Grabbing the ledge, I hoisted myself up, my muscles screaming in defiance. The building's facade was slick, each inch a battle against gravity and my own exhaustion, stretching time into an eternity.

At last, my fingers brushed the edge of the rooftop, and I pulled myself over, collapsing for a moment to catch my breath. My gaze locked onto the dish cable just a few feet away, its bulky shape taunting me.

"Alright, you old piece of junk," I muttered, dragging myself to it. My hands gripped the dish tightly as I gave it a hard tug. With a grunt, I managed to snap off the pointy antenna and detach the heavy feed horn. The weight of the feed horn nearly pulled me off balance, and my arms screamed in protest as I hefted it. "Easy now," I whispered, shuffling back toward the glass panel. Each step felt like a gamble, the wind howling around me, eager to remind me how high up I was.

When I looked down the edge, I hesitated. Climb back down and risk falling? Or break the glass here and take my chances inside? Falling from here was not an option. I decided to destroy the glass of the floor I'd just climbed to. I dropped the feed horn beside the glass panel, its weight landing with a satisfying thud. Wiping the sweat from my face, I whispered, "Time to see if this 'indestructible' glass is all it's cracked up to be."

Raising the feed horn high above my head, I aimed for a small point on the glass where the antenna's tip would concentrate all the force. "Here goes nothing," I muttered, bringing the horn down with every ounce of strength I could muster. The glass cracked instantly, spider webbing in an almost satisfying pattern before shattering completely, sending shards flying in every direction. The sound was deafening, reverberating across the city. If there were people on the moon, they probably turned their heads to see what just happened.

But I didn't have time to celebrate. The sound of shattering glass wasn't just loud—it was practically a beacon. My so-called "companions" in this skyscraper would've heard it, and if they wanted food—which, let's face it, they absolutely did—they'd be on their way here, drawn like moths to a flame.

I didn't wait to find out how quickly they could arrive. Climbing through the broken window with my supply bag, I found myself inside the building. From the outside, it had looked sleek and finished, but the interior told a different story. It was still very much under construction.

I shuffled cautiously through what appeared to be a makeshift office. Paint was peeling from the walls, and the air smelled faintly of damp concrete. None of the rooms had doors, just open thresholds that gave the place an eerie, unfinished feel.

As I explored, I counted five large lobbies and six office spaces on this floor. The place was massive, with two staircases positioned at opposite ends and a single, non-functioning elevator in the center. Of course, the elevator was out of commission—Bird Man wouldn't make things that easy. Walking 64 stories down by the stairs? Yeah, definitely a madman's work.

I made my way toward one of the staircases, my footsteps echoing faintly in the cavernous space. My senses were on high alert, every creak or gust of wind making me flinch. Luckily, no one jumped out to ambush me.

Finally, I spotted it—my trusty chainsaw, sitting on the ground like it had been waiting for me. I hurried toward it, my heart lifting slightly at the sight of something familiar and reliable.

But just as I bent down to grab it, a loud thud echoed from the opposite end of the hallway.