Chapter 11 – Peace, or the Calm Before the Storm?

Glenn Pov

Glenn groaned, coughing as a mouthful of grit settled on his tongue. He flopped onto his side, his sweatpants dragging through the dirt, before rolling onto his back to stare blankly at the rough limestone ceiling. A fresh breeze filtered through the cave mouth, carrying the sharp, minty perfume of pine. For a fleeting, beautiful second, the sheer relief of that cool air made him forget about the waterlogged linoleum of Floor 7, the faceless shadow monsters, and even… his hygiene.

What the hell am I doing?

The thought hit him like an electric shock, dragging him out of his lethargy. Glenn snapped upright, his heart rate spiking with a sudden, localized panic that had nothing to do with goblins. He immediately began rubbing at his face with the hem of his hoodie, his movements frantic and meticulous as he tried to scrape away the layers of mud, ash, and monster grease that had coated his skin during the sprint through the portal.

“What are you doing?” Chloe asked from the side of the recess. She was leaning heavily against her spear, watching him with a mixture of exhaustion and mild amusement.

“So much dirt and filth,” Glenn muttered, his fingers pinching his skin as he checked his jawline for grit. He felt exposed, greasy, and dangerously unpolished. “If I don’t get rid of it now, it’ll clog all of my pores. Breakouts under this kind of stress are a nightmare to clear up.”

Chloe tilted her head, her news-anchor brow knitting together. “And that matters right now… because?”

Glenn grumbled under his breath, turning his back to her so she couldn’t see the flush of embarrassment heating his neck. “You wouldn’t get it.”

After all, how could a girl like Chloe understand?

Chloe didn’t know the reality of the poor areas where he’d crawled from. She’d never stepped foot in a crumbling, sub-basement unit where four families shared a single, leaking pipe for water, and the air constantly smelled of wet rot and cheap, burnt lard. In his world, poverty was a visible stain. If you looked hungry, if your skin was sallow and your clothes were stained with the grease of a blue collar worker, people looked right through you.

You were a background extra, disposable and invisible.

Glenn had spent five brutal years in the entertainment trainee circuit tearing his own body apart to wash that stain off.

He remembered the endless nights in the dance studios, his toes bleeding inside his sneakers, his stomach cramping from a strictly enforced diet of watered-down broth and half an apple a day. The agency managers didn’t care about his talent; they cared about the silhouette.

They drilled into him that a single flaw, a single unpolished blemish on his face, or a momentary slip in his posture would reveal his ‘poor’ roots to the investors and get him dropped from the debut roster.

His face, his symmetry, his practiced, easygoing smile—it was a shield he had painstakingly engineered to trick the world into thinking he belonged among the elite.

Even now, with the world inverted and the System restructuring reality into a literal meat grinder, that psychological trauma was impossible to delete.

To Glenn, letting himself look messy, dirt-streaked, and run-down didn’t just feel gross—it felt dangerous.

It felt like stepping onto a stage with his protective armor missing, letting the entire floor see the hollow, terrified, poor kid hiding behind the idol’s mask.

He took one final, rough swipe at his cheek, ensuring his skin was as clean as the dry fabric would allow, before smoothly rising to his feet. He adjusted the strap of Jonathan’s composite bow over his shoulder, forced his spine into a textbook, confident alignment, and turned back to face the group with a flawlessly practiced, reliable smile.

First, he wandered over to where Susan had curled up into her own knees. She was shivering, most likely from pain.

Glenn grimaced as he glanced at her wounds. “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”

The woman didn’t bother responding. She only gave a small shake of her head, though it was almost impossible to tell if that was an actual answer or just her trembling from the pain.

Not knowing how to help, he stepped to the edge of the cave. Edwin was down below gathering wood. Glenn looked over in the direction that Jake, Sloane, and Lyle had left for.

He didn’t know what to make of these people.

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Susan was bat-shit insane and would most likely get herself killed sooner rather than later. Chloe seemed reliable enough, but it was clear she was not much use in a fight. Still, she was brave enough to join them despite that, which told him enough about her character.

Edwin was all business, a serious leader who did what had to be done.

Arthur… he just didn’t like him. Glenn had met plenty of people like that in the trainee circuits—the types who wore a fake face to stop others from prying beneath the surface. It felt like he was trying too hard to act like a hero. Maybe it was because he reminded him of himself.

Sloane was a mystery, a cool beauty who kept her spirits high no matter how shitty the situation got. For some reason, he thought she would get far in this new world. Lyle was the hero-type, the kind of guy who’d run into a burning building to save a stranger without a second thought for his own life. He was right next to Susan who’d either die first, or somehow against all odds, survive the longest.

Then there was Jake.

Glenn didn’t know how the guy remained as calm as he did. Edwin was an ex-soldier who had obviously seen active combat, but what was Jake’s excuse? Was he just screwed up in the head? Every time Jake scanned him with those tepid eyes of his, it felt like he was looking right through him. Through his insecurities, through his mask. It was honestly terrifying.

Scratch that. If there was someone who would make it to the end of this hell—it was him.

***

Jake Pov.