“Cure sometimes, treat often, comfort always.”

Hippocrates of Kos, Greek scientist (460BC – 370BC)

Milly wiped the sweat from her brow, exhausted after spending the past hour in the lobby healing the injured.

The four additional magic attribute points really help, and my magic regenerates faster now. But it’s slow work and there are so many wounded. I can’t help them all. I don’t have much left in me.

She placed her hands on the woman’s broken arm, and felt the bone snap back into place. She averted her eyes, not wanting to vomit for a third time that day. She stared at the stain-glass ceiling, into the eyes of the immense black dragon that weaved its way across the entire mosaic.

And she felt like the dragon stared back at her.

Her magic flickered as she lost focus, and the woman moaned as her pain flooded back.

“S-sorry,” she said apologetically, restoring her magic.

It’s just a mosaic, Milly. Ignore it and pay attention to what you’re doing.

“You learned this out in the wilds?” Ying asked, her short, black hair and tiny frame aglow in Milly’s healing light. With the exception of Ying and her volunteer medical team—who refused to leave their patients—everyone had fled to the safety of the upper floors.

“Kill enough goblins, and you can learn all kinds of things,” she answered absentmindedly. “Even how to heal.”

“You know, I always wanted to be a doctor,” Ying sighed regretfully. “I had the grades, but my family couldn’t afford it.”

“Where do you work now?”

“Agriculture. I’m the receptionist. You’re healing Lucy. She’s our pomologist.”

Milly stared at her blankly.

“She studies apples and oranges and whatnot,” Ying clarified.

“I study fruits and their cultivation,” Lucy corrected with a slight groan. Her long, blond hair was splayed over the marble floor, and her freckles nearly hidden behind dirt smudges on her cheeks. “And my specialty was grapes, not apples and oranges. Love me some good wine.”

“I didn’t even know that profession existed,” she admitted. “It sounds…interesting?”

“Damn right it is,” Lucy said proudly.

“Unfortunately, on top of being a fruit expert, she’s also a fruitcake,” Ying scolded.

She looked at Ying in confusion again, and Ying sighed.

“She’s trying to imply that I’m nuts,” Lucy clarified. “I keep telling her that joke doesn’t work because no one understands what a fruitcake is unless they’re old as dirt.”

“It’s not my fault people don’t appreciate my sense of humor,” Ying huffed. “Anyway, Lucy here likes to get into trouble. She was the first one from the Department to go to the lobby, despite our boss’ advice to stay put until we figure out what happened to us.”

“We need food, Ying,” Lucy countered, her breaths slowly returning to normal. “I didn’t bring lunch today. Nobody did. We were supposed to go out for Samson’s birthday.”

“But instead of food, you found a bunch of carnivorous monkeys, didn’t you? Monkeys who snapped your arm in half,” Ying scolded. “This is why you should’ve followed Alison’s advice.”

“Yeah, well…you came downstairs too, remember?” Lucy pointed out.

“And if I hadn’t, you’d be monkey food right now!”

“Carnivorous monkeys sound terrifying,” Milly said, letting her healing fade. Lucy hissed as the numbing effect disappeared. “Sorry, I’ve only got so much magic to go around.”

“That’s…that’s okay. I think I can manage it,” Lucy grimaced. “My arm feels a lot better than it was before. Thank you, um…”

“Milly,” she answered, as she rose to her feet.

“Milly,” Lucy nodded. “I’ll remember that. Thanks Milly.”

“You’re welcome,” she said with a small smile, as she headed to the elevator.

“Did you see what she did, Ying? The healing, and she took down that monster,” Lucy whispered excitedly. “She’s incredible.”

Incredible? No one’s ever called me incredible before.

Ying studied Lucy’s arm and marveled at Milly’s magical healing. “I could learn this?” she murmured, staring out into the wilds.

“You know what we need to do, right?” Lucy prompted, her eyes flicking to the weapon crates.

Ying headed over to the prairie-exit crate and lifted out a rusty spear. “Not by ourselves. Let’s talk to Alison. And then, tomorrow, we’ll find some monkeys and give them a taste of their own medicine.”

The elevator doors closed, and Milly felt herself smile.

Stay safe, girls.

***

“There. That’s all I have in me right now,” she said as she finished healing Xavier’s cracked ribs and the various bumps that covered his body. “If I heal one more bruise, it’ll push me over the edge and I’ll pass out again.”

“That might not be a bad thing,” he said, annoyed by the whimpers of their grieving coworkers. Sorrow hung thick in the air as the reality of their situation hit home.

He pulled out his phone, his mind whirling as he contemplated the mechanics of the world they’d found themselves in. “All their crying is distracting. And it will get them killed. They’ll feed off each other’s grief and spiral into helplessness. Bunch of idiots.”

“Sometimes, people just need to let themselves grieve, Xavier,” she said simply, repeating the advice Dr. Anthony had given her many times.

The same advice she had never taken.

Two of their Acicenter coworkers had died that afternoon—Amelia from the call centre and Ishaan from accounts payable. Their bodies joined the eight others at the edge of the northern forest. No one knew what to do with them, so they just lay there, stiffening in the dark.

Amelia was fresh out of high school and was hired last month. She was only three cubicles away, but we’d only spoken once. And Ishaan was on the eleventh floor, so our only interaction was when I transferred him calls—extension 4702. Still, their deaths feel…surreal. How long will it be until it is someone I know better who dies?

A wail rang across the office, causing Xavier to wince.

Will they ever return home? See their families again?

An argument broke out across two rows of cubicles away, and angry shouts merged with grief. Xavier gritted his teeth as if the shouts were nails on a chalkboard. “Fuck this. I’m going downstairs to ask Tutoria more questions. You coming?”

She glanced down at her hoodie. “No, I’m going to try to get this thing cleaned and fixed. It’s the only shirt I have.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, marching off to the elevator without another word.

“You’re welcome for the healing by the way,” she sighed after he departed. “Geez, at least Lucy and Ying had some manners.”

She wandered over to the women’s washroom. Paper tower was scattered across the floor, and dirt and blood spackled the sink. There was no toilet paper—even the roll was missing. She knew there was more in the twelfth-floor storage closet but expected the managers had already raided the stock and stashed it in their inventories.

“Great, just great,” she murmured as she stripped off her hoodie and threw it in the sink. With a spurt of hand soap, she absentmindedly scrubbed the fabric to work out the blood, grime, and sweat that had accumulated over the afternoon. Tiny splotches of goblin blood spattered against the white tile wall as she scrubbed harder, working out her anxiety in the fabric.

I almost died today. The goblin. The ogre. And tomorrow, I’ll do it all over again. I could stay hidden in the Castle—so many people stayed hidden today—but if I did, I’d soon join the dead. I doubt we have the option whether or not we want to play this game.

She sighed, thinking back on screens in the lobby that showed the twelve previous God Contests.

“Survivors: zero. Can I really do this? Can I really go out there, day after day?

She pulled the hoodie out of the sink, frowning at its condition. Her favorite thing—her safety blanket against the world—had been torn apart in an afternoon. With great care, she laid it over the empty paper towel dispenser to drip dry.

I bought it for two dollars at the thrift store. Two dollars that the librarian had slipped behind the front page of My Summer at Lac La Ronge when she gave it to me. A small kindness that meant so much. An anchor that kept me going, day after day.

The bathroom suddenly felt small. The air heavy. The walls felt like they were pressing in on her, and her breath grew shallow.

She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin was spattered with blood and dirt, and her long black hair was so tangled that it looked like a bird’s nest. More blisters had formed on her feet, and her fingernails were black. Her face was sunburned, as was her stomach where it had been exposed. Her pants were as filthy as her hoodie and had ripped in half a dozen places, and Milly wondered how long it would be before she had to walk around in only her bra and panties.

I-I can’t do this…

Depression knocked on the door of Milly’s mind, and, this time, she let it in.

She slumped to the floor and rested her head against her knees, allowing her darkness and anxiety to take control.

My life was terrible. I just wanted something to happen. But not this. A video game world that will kill us one-by-one? How did my life get worse than it was before? How can I survive this? Do I even want to survive this? Why does my life suck so much?

Her mind spiraled into darkness as she sat in the corner on the tile floor. She didn’t know how long she sat there, staring at the dirty tiles. She lost track of the time, barely registering her coworkers that came and went. They ignored the shirtless girl curled on the floor, lost in their own grief.

Eventually, a tiny thought broke through the depression in her mind, and she was able to claw her way back from the darkness. It wasn’t a happy thought, but, like a lifeline in a storm, she grasped it and held on.

Then again, I wasn’t exactly living in my old life. Today is the first time in a very long time that I actually feel alive.

“I’m not going to give up,” she muttered as she wiped away her tears. “I’m not going to die in this place. I’m going to fight. I’m going to get stronger. No matter what.”

She stripped off her pants, threw them in the sink, and got to work washing away the filth of the day, watching the blood and grime flow down the drain.

***

It was past midnight when Milly finally emerged from the washroom, dressed in her damp jeans and hoodie. She’d managed to scrub the grime from her skin as well, though she gave up on her tangled hair. There was only so much she could do with just her fingers.

Faint sobs still permeated the office, but they were growing fewer as exhaustion claimed one person after another.

Donald, one of the accountants, paced endlessly back and forth by the water cooler, mumbling to himself. He clutched a photo of his two young children in his hand, unaware his grasp was causing it to crumple.

He’s a single dad, I think. Who will care for his kids with him gone? I know what it’s like to grow up without parents. Will his kids now have to live the same life I did?

She sped away from the water cooler before the thought could find traction in her mind.

Even if we do survive this ordeal, what happens then? Do we just…go home? Back to our old lives? Or is there some grand reward at the end of all of this?

She passed by Mr. Fredrickson’s office. His door was shut, but she could hear grunts and moans from inside as he and his secretary, Mrs. Anand, finally abandoned all pretext and indulged in the affair everyone knew they were having.

At least someone is doing something more than yelling or crying. You go for it, Mr. Fredrickson, you cranky bastard.

She turned a corner and took a deep, calming breath. Until now, she had avoided this place at all costs.

Calista’s cubicle.

Calista said she had a sewing kit. If I can borrow it, I can fix my hoodie and…what’s that sound?

She poked her head over Calista’s cubicle wall…and immediately ducked back down, a massive blush working its way to the tips of her ears.

Calista was sleeping on the floor of her cubicle, snoring like a banshee. Her white blouse and black skirt were haphazardly thrown over the back of her chair to dry. She lay on her back, a tiny pillow under her head, wearing only her lacy black underwear. A thin blanket had been kicked off during her sleep, and she shivered from the cool air conditioning.

She’ll kill me if she knows I saw her like this. I-I should just come back later. But…she looks so cold.

Quietly, she slipped into Calista’s cubicle, picked up the blanket, and gently placed it over the woman. Calista’s shivering stopped, and she fell into a more restful slumber.

She wandered back to her cubicle, the heat of her blush a stark contrast to the air conditioning.

Why am I blushing? But she is really pretty and…no! It’s Calista, Milly. Don’t even go there.

She quickly ducked into her cubicle, hoping no one saw her flushed face. Xavier was back from the lobby, and he was curled up under his desk, sound asleep.

She stripped off her hoodie and pants and threw it over the back of her chair to dry as Calista had done, too exhausted to care about modesty. She crawled under her desk and rested her head against her arm.

Maybe this is all just a nightmare. I’ll wake up tomorrow, back in my old life. My old…autopilot…pointless life, with only my terrible job and my depression to keep me company.

She closed her eyes and wished sleep would take her away from it all.

Only sleep never came.

She tossed and turned under her desk, unable to fall asleep despite her exhaustion. Her mind whirled from the events of the day as Xavier’s seemingly random snores grated her ears.

Remember that day you spent sleeping beneath the railway bridge, Milly? On your sixteenth birthday after you ran away from your foster home? This isn’t as bad as that, right?

He snorted loudly, hacking up phlegm in his sleep. She was tempted to ‘accidently’ kick the man to wake him up.

Nope, I think I’d take that bridge right now. At least I was by myself. Ah, fuck this! I’m not going to fall asleep with him snoring like that.

She abruptly sat up, accidently slamming her head against the underside of her desk.

“Damn it,” she hissed in frustration. The little progress she had made towards sleep had just been obliterated.

She sighed and pressed her palm to her forehead, using a tiny bit of magic to relieve herself of the headache the bump had caused. Now fully awake but still so very tired, her brain became hyperactive, and her thoughts came in a sleepy haze.

We don’t need to be packed on the tenth floor like sardines. There are dozens of empty floors in the other three towers. Sure, there’s a little bit of mildew, and more than a few mice, but we could manage. The managers all get fancy offices to sleep in. Why shouldn’t we?

Who cleans the washrooms now? I left a bit of a mess back there. Shit, I should have cleaned it up. But with what? There’s no toilet paper. No paper towel. There’s probably a mop around here somewhere, unless Xavier stole it to use as a weapon.

She glanced over at the snoring man. She imagined him wielding a mop against a goblin, shouting some kind of anime-style battle cry. She chuckled at the thought.

He’d claim the mop is a traditional video game weapon or something. God, I’m starting to get inside his head. That’s not a pleasant place to be. And speaking of unpleasant…

She opened her inventory and took out Calista’s deodorant. She held it gingerly, as if it were the most valuable object she owned. She remembered what it felt like to have Calista’s arms wrapped around her, and she felt her ears get hot. She popped the lid and took a deep breath. It smelled like Calista, and her face grew hot.

Did…did Calista really blush earlier when she looked at me? Did I blush when I saw her in her cubicle? No, it has to be something else. I saved her life, and she saved mine when she threw me that spear. That’s bound to create emotional turmoil. She still bullied me. A half-assed apology and a stick of deodorant doesn’t change that.

Milly put the deodorant back in her inventory and stared at the underside of her desk.

Right?

The Non-Canonical Aftermath:

“So you want permission to hunt cannibal monkeys?” Alison, the manager of the Department of Agriculture, asks, trying to wrap her mind around Lucy and Ying’s bizarre request.

“Yes, that’s right,” Lucy says with mischievous eyes, her arm resting in a sling. “They’ve got it coming to them.”

“And…killing the monkeys will give you and Ying…magical powers?”

“I want to be a doctor,” Ying confirms. “And this is cheaper than medical school.”

“Right…,” Alison says, resting her head on her palm. “You know how crazy that sounds?”

“I mean, we’re in a story called Leveling up with Coworkers,” Ying shrugs. “Shit’s going to get weird.”

Alison sighs. “Fine. Let me grab a spear.”