First work

The smell hit Sunny first—rotten meat mixed with something chemical and sharp. He fought the urge to gag as he stepped into the locker room at SEM Dungeon Management.

"You get used to it," Garrett said, already pulling on thick protective gear. "Or you quit. Most quit."

Sunny nodded silently and found the locker assigned to him. Inside was a full set of cleanup equipment: reinforced boots, thick gloves, a jumpsuit with "TRAINEE" printed across the back, and a clear face shield.

"That shield won't do shit if an acid slug explodes near you," Garrett commented, watching Sunny examine the gear. "But company policy says we got to wear them."

"Great," Sunny muttered.

The locker room filled with other workers—men and women of various ages, all with the same hollow look in their eyes. Nobody spoke much. Nobody smiled. This wasn't a job people did because they wanted to.

A burly man with a shaved head entered the room, clipboard in hand. The supervisor badge on his chest read "WALSH."

"Listen up, maggots!" His voice boomed through the room. "Today we're cleaning up after a Level 3 dungeon clear. Standard monster nests, slime residue, and corpse disposal. Three teams of five. Alpha team takes point, Beta handles recovery, Gamma on disposal."

He consulted his clipboard.

"Team assignments: Alpha—Garrett, Lee, Rodriguez, Takashi, Nguyen. Beta—Washington, Chad, Petrov, Singh, Diaz. Gamma—Miller, Jackson, Ahmed, Cooper, and..." his eyes landed on Sunny, "our new trainee, Nimbril."

Gammas exchanged glances. Nobody wanted the rookie on their team.

"Lucky us," a woman with short gray hair—Miller, according to her badge—grumbled.

"Equipment check, then transport leaves in fifteen," Walsh continued. "Any questions?"

A hand went up from Beta team. "Payment schedule?"

"Same as always. Half now, half when you come back alive." His grin didn't reach his eyes. "And for our new recruit—assuming you survive, you get paid at the end of the day."

Sunny nodded. Thirty thousand credits was worth the risk.

"Move out!" Walsh barked.

The teams grabbed their gear and headed toward the loading bay. Sunny followed Gamma team, trying to look like he knew what he was doing.

An older man with dark skin—Jackson, according to his badge—fell into step beside him.

"First time, huh?" he asked.

"That obvious?"

Jackson chuckled. "You still look scared. Rest of us are just dead inside."

"Reassuring."

"Stick close to me," Jackson said. "Gamma team handles disposal, which means we pack up monster corpses after Alpha confirms they're dead. Easiest job if you don't mind the smell."

"And if Alpha misses something alive?"

Jackson's expression darkened. "Then we find out the hard way."

Outside, three armored trucks waited. Each team loaded into a separate vehicle. Inside, the truck smelled of bleach and something metallic—blood, probably.

[MENTAL STATUS: CALM] 

[HEART RATE: ELEVATED BUT WITHIN ACCEPTABLE PARAMETERS] 

[ADRENALINE LEVELS: RISING]

"So what's your story, kid?" Miller asked as the truck lurched forward. "Most people don't volunteer for this work unless they're desperate or stupid."

"Desperate," Sunny replied.

"sounds about right," Cooper, a man with a burn scar covering half his face, laughed bitterly. "What happened? Gambling? Drugs?"

"My parents died in the Starfall incident."

The truck fell silent. Everyone knew about the downtown catastrophe.

"Shit, kid," Miller said finally. "That's rough."

Ahmed, a thin man with nervous eyes, spoke up. "The hero? That golden guy on TV?"

Sunny nodded, his jaw clenched tight.

"Heroes," Cooper spat. "They get all the glory, we clean up their messes."

"Not just their monster messes," Sunny muttered.

Nobody had a response to that.

The truck bounced along for another twenty minutes before slowing to a stop. The back doors opened, revealing Walsh standing outside.

"Welcome to your office," he announced, gesturing behind him.

The dungeon entrance loomed ahead—a crack in reality about ten feet tall, with swirling darkness inside. Around it, the earth was scorched and barren, as if the very presence of the dungeon killed everything nearby.

A glowing blue barrier surrounded the entrance, with official government seals indicating a completed clear.

"Level 3 dungeon, codenamed 'Vermin Nest'," Walsh explained. "Cleared yesterday. They eliminated the boss but left the clean-up to us. Standard procedure."

The teams unloaded equipment from the trucks—portable lights, body bags, heavy-duty containers for biological waste, and disinfectant sprayers. Each worker also carried a defensive weapon—a shock baton or a small-caliber pistol.

Sunny received neither.

"Trainees don't get weapons," Walsh said when he noticed Sunny looking. "Company insurance policy."

"So if something attacks me?"

"Run or die." He shrugged. "Preferably toward something valuable so we can recover it from your corpse."

Sunny stared at him, but Walsh had already moved on, barking orders at Alpha team.

[CURRENT SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 67%]

"Those odds aren't terrible," he muttered to himself.

"What?" Jackson asked, handing him a portable light.

"Nothing."

Alpha team approached the barrier, specialized keys in hand. With a series of complex movements, they deactivated the protective shield.

"Alpha team, you have point. Beta, standby for recovery. Gamma, prep disposal units," Walsh commanded through the radio.

Garrett led Alpha team into the dungeon, weapons drawn. Their lights disappeared into the darkness of the entrance.

For ten tense minutes, nothing happened.

Then the radio crackled to life.

"Alpha to Base. First chamber clear. Rat-type monster corpses, approximately two dozen. No survivors detected. Beta team, move in for recovery."

Beta team entered the dungeon, carrying large containers.

"So, we just wait?" Sunny asked.

"Until they bring out the bodies," Miller confirmed. "Then the real fun begins."

Twenty minutes later, Beta team emerged, pushing hovercarts laden with the corpses of car-sized rats. The stench was overwhelming, even through Sunny's face shield.

"Gamma team, you're up," Walsh ordered.

Sunny followed his team toward the carts. Each rat corpse was hideous—matted fur, yellowed teeth the size of kitchen knives, and bulbous red eyes now glazed in death.

"Standard disposal procedure," Miller instructed. "Check for viable parts—teeth, claws, anything the recovery team missed. Then tag and bag for incineration."

"What am I looking for?" Sunny asked.

"Anything that looks valuable," Cooper explained. "Sometimes recovery team misses good stuff. We find it, we get a bonus."

Sunny approached one of the rat corpses cautiously. Up close, it was even more revolting. Thick, dark blood oozed from wounds where the Players had struck it down.

He poked it with a disposal rod, and suddenly—

The rat's eye blinked.

"It's still alive!" He shouted, jumping back.

Too late.