The Job That Feels Too Real

Maria arrived at the log collection site, expecting something simple—maybe a bunch of workers hauling logs onto carts, shouting orders, and working up a sweat. But what she saw made her stop in her tracks.

Goblins.

Dozens of them, moving with military-like efficiency. But they weren't just the small, sneaky creatures from old fantasy stories. There were all kinds.

Towering hobgoblins, their bulky frames covered in crude work uniforms, handled massive industrial saws, cutting down trees at alarming speeds. The saws roared as sharp blades sliced through thick trunks like butter, sending wood chips flying in every direction. The earth trembled under the force of their swings.

Smaller green-skinned goblins darted between the fallen trees, their tiny hands gripping hand axes as they hacked away at stray branches and stripped the logs of excess foliage. Some worked in pairs, yanking vines free from the wood, tossing them into piles to be discarded.

Then there were the dark goblins, silent and efficient, their expressions unreadable as they hauled heavy logs across the ground. They carried them to enormous wooden crates, each one large enough to fit at least three full-grown trees. These crates were reinforced with metal brackets, their surfaces covered in strange markings.

Maria's gaze flicked to the humans working alongside them. Some hammered the crates shut with thick nails, while others checked ledgers, making sure each shipment was accounted for. The entire operation was smooth, methodical—almost like a well-oiled factory assembly line.

"This… is a game, right?" Maria thought, unease creeping up her spine.

The longer she watched, the harder it became to shake the feeling that this wasn't just some typical NPC-ran environment.

Before she could move closer, a sharp voice cut through the air.

"Papers?"

Maria turned to see a suited man standing before her, his expression unreadable. He was well-dressed, his dark suit crisp and clean, contrasting sharply with the dust-covered workers behind him. His eyes, however, were cold and calculating, scanning her with a kind of scrutiny that made her uneasy.

Maria hesitated, then quickly pulled out the brochure she had picked up earlier. The man barely glanced at it before nodding.

"Alright. Can you handle a forklift?"

Maria blinked. "What?"

The man's expression didn't change. "Do you know how to operate a forklift or not?"

For a moment, Maria felt like she was back on Earth, in some random warehouse job interview.

"What kind of game makes you do this?" she wondered before sighing and nodding. "Yeah. I can drive one."

"Good."

Without another word, he gestured for her to follow.

The forklift he led her to was rusted but functional, its worn-out levers and scratched-up paint telling a story of years of rough use. Larry—the suited man, as she had come to mentally name him—climbed onto the seat beside her, arms crossed.

"Show me."

Maria didn't waste time. She gripped the controls, adjusting to the weight of the machine. The engine rumbled to life beneath her, vibrating slightly as she maneuvered the forks under a wooden crate. The logs inside shifted slightly as she lifted it, but she adjusted smoothly, keeping the balance.

She reversed, turned, and placed the crate where it needed to go, all while Larry observed in complete silence.

When she finished, he simply nodded. "You'll do."

With that, she was put to work.

The hours passed in a blur. Maria moved crate after crate, dodging goblins as they hurried past, adjusting to the oddly realistic physics of the machine. The weight of the logs, the pressure on the tires—it all felt too detailed for a game.

By the time evening rolled around, her arms ached, her back was sore, and for a moment, she almost forgot she was in a different world.

Then Larry returned, holding a cheque in his gloved hand.

"Here," he said, handing it to her. "Take this to the Job Center to get paid."

Maria stared at the paper. The texture, the ink, the official-looking bank seal in the corner—everything about it screamed real-world currency.

Before she could process it, Larry extended a hand.

"Name's Larry. Logistics Manager."

Maria shook it, still slightly dazed. "Maria."

"You need a ride to the Job Center?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, sure."

A Drink That Shouldn't Exist

The steam-powered truck rumbled as they made their way through the dirt roads, passing other work sites. Larry was surprisingly chatty, explaining how goblins made efficient workers, how the logging business worked, and how pay was distributed across different industries.

The more they talked, the more Maria felt like she was talking to a real person—not an NPC running through pre-written dialogue.

When they reached the food street, Larry suddenly asked, "You drink?"

Maria hesitated. "Depends."

Larry smirked. "Not the real world, right? Don't think too much about it."

That somehow made it worse.

Still, curiosity won over. She agreed, and they ended up at a small outdoor tavern, where wooden stalls lined the streets, selling sizzling skewers, steaming dumplings, and freshly baked bread.

Larry ordered a bottle of wine, its gold-trimmed label instantly making Maria's stomach drop.

She knew this brand.

A high-end luxury wine from Earth. One she had tasted before.

"How the hell is this here?"

When she took a sip, her hands trembled. The smoothness, the depth of flavor, the warmth spreading in her chest—it was all exactly as she remembered.

Her breath hitched.

This wasn't game alcohol. This wasn't some randomly generated beverage with generic stats.

It was real.

Larry watched her reaction, smirking slightly. "Something wrong?"

Maria couldn't answer.

Because at that moment, for the first time since entering this world…

She wasn't sure if it really was a game anymore.

A deafening alarm blared through the city, cutting through the evening chatter like a knife.

ALERT! ALERT! 

A mechanical voice echoed across every street, every alley, every speaker system.

"We are under attack! Zone B has been breached! Ghouls detected in the vicinity!

Emergency mission issued to all players!

A standard weapon has been issued to all registered players.

Please collect your weapons from the Job Center immediately!"

Maria barely had time to process what was happening before Larry cursed under his breath and shot to his feet.

"Shit," he muttered, adjusting his suit. "Looks like fun's over."

Maria tensed. "Ghouls?"

Larry gave her a sharp nod. "Yeah. Nasty bastards. Listen—head straight to the Job Center and use that cheque. They'll give you a decent round of ammo with it. Try to rack up some kills. The more you hunt, the better your rewards."

Then, without another word, Larry turned and sprinted toward his steam-powered truck, jumping into the driver's seat and speeding off toward the chaos.

Maria exhaled sharply. So much for a relaxing night.

Weapon Distribution

By the time she reached the Job Center, it was already a madhouse.

Hundreds of players crammed into the lobby, all scrambling to get their weapons. Behind the counters, 300+ personnel in suits had taken over, their movements swift and precise as they handed out gear.

"Next!"

Maria shuffled forward.

"Weapon choice?" the suited man at the counter asked without looking up.

"Crossbow," she said.

A heavy black steel crossbow was slammed onto the counter, along with a quiver of 50 bolts. Then Maria handed over her cheque, and the man nodded, adding another 100 bolts to her stash.

"Move."

Maria grabbed her gear and pushed through the crowd, heart pounding.

The moment she stepped outside, she saw it—

A massive wooden wall, towering over the streets, its thick planks reinforced with metal plating. Hundreds of players were already stationed on top, their weapons trained on the darkness beyond.

Small watchtowers were built at intervals, each one housing long-range fighters. She followed the swarm of players, searching for an open spot, when she noticed a less crowded tower near the edge of the wall.

Perfect.

Maria climbed the ladder two steps at a time.

At the top, she found three men with sniper rifles lined up, scanning the battlefield. One of them glanced at her and shifted aside, making space.

"You any good?" he asked.

Maria hesitated. "Uh… I'll manage."

The guy smirked. "Newbie, huh? Don't worry. You'll learn quick." He gave a nod. "I'm Mark. These two are Max and Stan. Brothers."

Max waved without looking away from his scope. "Yo."

Stan grunted in acknowledgment.

Maria loaded her crossbow. "Maria."

"Alright, Maria," Mark said, "just watch for movement in the shadows. Ghouls are fast, but if you aim for the head, they go down easy."

She swallowed hard and nodded.

A deep, unnatural howl echoed from beyond the walls.

Then they came.

From the darkness, ghouls emerged—dozens of them, their twisted, emaciated bodies barely resembling anything human. Glowing red eyes, elongated claws, and razor-sharp teeth—each one radiated pure bloodlust.

Maria raised her crossbow. Her hands were steady—but her aim wasn't.

She fired.

The bolt whistled through the air—

—and missed.

"Too high," Mark said without looking away from his rifle. "Breathe. Relax your grip. Pull, don't jerk."

Maria exhaled slowly, adjusting her aim.

Another ghoul sprinted toward the wall. 30 meters away.

She focused.

Pulled the trigger.

THUNK!

The bolt slammed into the ghoul's head, piercing straight through its skull.

The creature collapsed instantly.

"Nice shot!" Max called out.

Maria blinked. She actually hit it.

Something inside her clicked.

She smirked. So, I get better the more I fight?

The next ghoul rushed forward.

This time, she didn't hesitate.

THUNK!

Another kill.

Her accuracy was improving.

And the battle was just beginning.