Playing Dead Past the Checkpoint

At least there was one piece of good news.

This place, the Tower's 7th Floor, somewhat favored solo play.

The monsters here patrolled on fixed routes...

The more people you had, the higher the risk of detection.

Everything else was bad news.

I steadied my pounding heart and set out to find a temporary hideout.

You had to keep your wits about you here, or you'd die.

No rescue team was coming.

I had to escape on my own.

'Over here!'

Luckily, there was an abandoned little theater nearby.

It was on the outskirts of the 7th Floor, and since no items dropped here at all, it wasn't popular.

I decided to use its small storage room.

'I need supplies.'

Having entered completely empty-handed, supplies were my top priority over anything else.

I grabbed backpacks and gear from the corpses in the alley I'd seen earlier—whatever I could find.

There were quite a few usable items.

They seemed to have died shortly after entering the 7th Floor, so the food and drinks were mostly intact.

The monsters hadn't bothered taking them.

Stuff like this didn't fetch any money.

Food and drinks regenerated periodically in the Tower anyway.

Or the monsters ate each other.

I laid out a sleeping bag in the cramped storage room and lit a lantern.

I camouflaged the entrance with a pile of trash, then dusted it over.

It only had cleaning supplies anyway, so no one would bother ransacking it this thoroughly.

Seeing the new message pop up put me at ease.

My game knowledge worked to some extent.

'Then the map should be the same too.'

The buildings weren't exactly as in the game...

But the landmarks matched up pretty well.

This little theater was one of them.

Thanks to that, I could sketch out a basic escape plan.

I'd secured basic supplies, but weapons were the problem.

I gave up cleanly on body armor.

Everyone had died from gunfire, so there wasn't a single intact piece.

In Tower Escape, heavy, high-end armor came with stealth penalties anyway.

You might say that's just the game...

But Tower Escape obsessed over realism down to the tiniest detail.

Having ditched armor, next up were weapons.

And that was a real headache.

I had some ammo left.

Since they were all U.S. military, the gear was standardized.

But any functional guns had been looted early; only broken ones remained.

A good rifle in Tower Escape cost a fortune.

And even those paled compared to weapons the Tower spawned itself.

"Hmm..."

In the end, I disassembled parts from the broken guns and assembled a working one.

Who knew my mandatory military service would pay off like this.

Foreign guns were unfamiliar, but gun assembly and modding were basics in Tower Escape.

I knew what parts were compatible, so I could cobble something together.

Dexterity Skill.

Disarming traps, crafting improvised supplies, cracking safes, etc.

A versatile skill used everywhere.

It leveled slower in the game, I think.

But my level was still low, so maybe that explained it?

My mind changed once I finished assembling the gun.

Definitely fast.

I realized why belatedly.

'It's because I'm on the 7th Floor.'

Skills leveled faster on higher floors.

More danger, more desperation.

Click, ting!

Pulling the trigger produced a solid sound.

I'd even oiled it up, so it seemed to work properly.

At least one shot was guaranteed.

I couldn't promise a second—the parts were in such bad shape.

Probably from being left in the rain in that alley.

'No suppressor, though.'

7th Floor monsters—orcs and goblins—swarmed endlessly at any noise.

Firing without a suppressor would start a party instantly.

If ten goblins and orcs showed up and I took out three, how many would be left?

Seven?

Nah.

Thirty, swarming in at the commotion.

Tower Escape was brutal.

Killing trash mobs gained you nothing, just burned supplies and stamina.

The goal was escape.

Fighting was a last resort.

Reality probably wasn't much different.

Especially solo—I had to avoid damage at all costs.

At least Escape Life's pistol was intact.

Escape Life, my ass—he'd escaped life first.

As I plotted my escape plan, I desperately wanted an easy out like him...

But I couldn't die like that idiot.

I had to try everything I could.

If I'd given up every time, my life would've ended long ago.

Checking remaining ammo, I spotted a magazine caked in blood and dirt.

I carefully unloaded and cleaned each round...

When heavy footsteps echoed from below.

Who was that?

My heart raced wildly as I froze completely, holding my breath.

Thud, thud...

The footsteps were quite hurried.

Not just one or two... Who could it be?

Monsters? Or hunters?

Other hunters weren't exactly welcoming either.

The Tower was insanely dangerous, so people from developed countries avoided becoming hunters.

But in broke places like Africa or Eastern Europe, hunters were common.

They were desperate and rough—I wanted zero involvement.

Crash!

This theater dropped no items.

No loot, so they were smashing random stuff.

The footsteps drew closer but skipped my room—thank god.

Good call on the small storage room.

It barely fit one body, basically a closet.

Skills leveled as fast as my heart pounded.

I kept listening long after the footsteps faded.

Hunkering down here forever wasn't smart.

I'd get spotted eventually.

Finish preps and escape ASAP.

'Time for chow first.'

Mostly MREs, hardtack, cans.

Some chocolate too.

Hunger made it all taste great.

"Phew."

Inspecting gear further...

I pulled an unusual box from the backpack.

The kind for storing valuables.

Tucked at the bottom, overlooked by looters.

Not too big.

Click.

Inside was a small dagger.

An item I'd never seen.

Too fantasy-like for foreign military gear.

I gripped the handle.

No affinity, so effects unknown beyond the name.

No harm keeping it.

I turned off the lantern and lay in the dark; terror hit late.

I fought weakness by recalling my last Tower Escape strategy video script.

It was a pistol-only 7th Floor escape, just like now.

Even in-game, that spot was impossible.

Fully armed orcs swarmed endlessly.

So I needed the descent exit to 6F.

6F was a snow-covered field.

Needed a thermal kit—standard hunter gear.

Problem: Consumable.

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Inter-floor merchants sold them, but I had no cash.

One solution.

7F had bosses galore.

Mine was the weakest.

Hell Dog Handler.

Commanded three hellhounds.

I'd beaten it countless times in-game, but reality wouldn't be easy.

Game bosses were dumb due to AI limits.

Exploiting that was the meta.

It wouldn't be that sloppy for real.

Plotting seriously, I craved Escape Life's quick exit.

Hunters were worse than bosses.

Tower Escape was unfair, dirty, cheap—but fair in its way.

One well-placed bullet to a weak spot dropped any boss.

Worked on any creature, really.

Shaking off the urge, I forced sleep and woke next morning.

Ate hearty, packed light, left the hideout.

7F split east-west.

Theater was west.

Hell Dog Handler, east.

Moving mornings: Night made monsters stronger, fiercer.

No night vision for me.

Sticking to deserted paths, I reached the central zone.

The outpost splitting the ruined city's east and west.

Swarming goblins and orcs.

Could detour, but elsewhere was riskier.

Up close, it looked hopeless.

I'd expected gaps unlike the game...

None. Barbed wire, high walls, frequent patrols.

"Phew."

I wasn't after epic loot or quests.

Just survive and leave.

Why was that so hard?

Obviously, no frontal assault.

I found a spot: Piles of corpses from hunter-monster infighting.

The city was one big dump.

But the outpost got cleaned regularly.

Or they couldn't shoot straight.

Per game patterns, anyway.

'No other way, even racking my brain.'

Swish.

I dove onto the corpse pile during a blind spot.

Military painkillers in my mouth.

Now I was a corpse.

Sure enough, goblins and orcs dragged a huge cart soon after.

That rickety thing? No way it'd hold.

Fine by me. Their problem.

Gulp.

Swallowing the painkillers blurred my mind.

Overdosed a bit—hope I wake up.

"Kieaak..."

Goblins and orcs grumbled, loading corpses.

One goblin kicked my knee; painkillers kept me still.

Consciousness flickered out slowly...

Then I woke to a massive stench.

Sun had set.

'Urk, the smell...'

Checkpoint crossed to east—success.

They dumped bodies in a pit here, their dump/landfill.

I clawed out from under the pile—escape achieved.

Backpack, rifle, pistol: Gone, as expected.

Why leave working guns?

Ammo too precious for mercy kills.

The carefully hidden dagger survived.

Most pocket consumables too—selected low-value stuff.

Skills still leveling like mad.

Not basic skills from first clear, but helpful.

'These bastards dumped me this deep?'

Standing shakily, I sought a new hideout in the dark.

But soon...

A sharp dog bark pierced from somewhere.

Real dog, not politicians.

"Grrr..."

'Fuck.'

At least finding the Hell Dog Handler got easier.