The clock kept ticking.
And somewhere, unseen, the viewer count ticked upward too.
So he sat.
Crouched on his shelf, legs dangling, fingers drumming against old wood that had probably seen three apocalypses and a quiet divorce. The darkness stretched on. The clock ticked. Shadows learned to give him a wide berth, like animals that had memorized the shape of a trap.
It was… dull. Super boring.
Painfully so.
"…This is it?" he whispered. "This is the thrilling content arc?"
He sighed, resting his chin in his palm.
For someone allegedly being live-broadcast to twelve thousand plus beings, the interface was stingy. No barrage. No scrolling commentary. No little pop-ups telling him his form was mid or his timing was off.
He looked again.
Oooh… it was up to seventeen grand. Must have been there for his charming looks, if he did say so himself.
That did kind of emphasize his pain too. Seventeen thousand, yet still no streamer perks?
Honestly disappointing.
"Maybe it unlocks at a higher level," he mused. "Viewer interaction DLC."
Maybe even tips!
He watched, detached, as others flailed through the dark below. Screams cut short. People scrambling into clusters. Someone shouting orders that dissolved into static panic. He could almost smell a tangy, iron scent.
It was a lot sweeter than the rusty crap from the kitchen. This was fresh, heavy, sinking to the floor and pooling there. At least it kept the cooling bodies rather warm! Everything had uses, just like f— algebra class.
He was hungry.
And bored.
Very bored.
You know what?
He'd done his good deed.
One shadow. Clean kill. No loot, but still. More than most.
He stretched, bones popping softly. "Alright. Altruism quota met."
Since he'd been such a good little bu— uh., person, it meant that he was free to go and explore! Yes, since that was totally how it worked.
That was when he noticed movement that didn't fit the pattern.
Two figures slipping away from the chaos, keeping low, deliberate. Not running. Not panicking. Just… leaving.
His vision snapped to attention.
The way they moved. The cadence. The familiar shorthand of bodies that had trained together, reacted together.
Ah'Ming straightened.
"…No way."
They passed through a side corridor, shadows parting for them like they knew better than to interfere.
Very, very familiar silhouettes.
His breath caught.
They walked a bit further, his eyes tracked them further.
They crept a little further, he watched them go.
When they were far enough, he jumped down and put them to sleep. Forever.
Eh. They'd be fine.
Step. Step. Step.
Very confident steps.
Almost… almost sauntering steps.
Then, suddenly!
Light.
(Almost like some complete pain announced for the world to just make Ah'Ming's day worse.)
All at once, the lamps roared back to life.
Ah'Ming hissed and slapped a hand over his eyes as the world went violently white, his vision collapsing into useless static. Motion still registered, shapes flaring and darting, but detail vanished completely.
"…Ow, ow, ow," he muttered, blinking furiously.
It took a few seconds. Maybe longer. Time was slippery in here.
When his eyes finally adjusted enough for the world to stop screaming at him, he didn't stick around to admire the lighting.
Voices echoed nearby.
Footsteps. Many of them. The sweep. People spreading out now that the shadows were gone, emboldened, hungry for answers. Complete bloodhounds for clues. Seriously, what did a guy have to do for some peace and quiet (and dark) around here?
Ah'Ming slipped sideways between shelves, picked up speed just a little, then a little more. Not running. Running attracted attention. This was a controlled retreat.
He reached the corner.
The glint waited.
What could it be?
....
Up close, it was… disappointing.
A notch in the wall. Faded gold paint. Scratches where something heavy had once rested. A broken torch hanger, snapped clean off long ago.
He stared at it.
"…That's it?"
No glow. No prompt. No helpful arrow. Just an empty mount like a missing tooth.
"Were you supposed to be symbolic?" he asked it. "Because that's rude."
He reached out and touched it.
Nothing.
No vibration. No warmth. No system screen congratulating him for being clever.
He fiddled with it. Pressed. Twisted. Tugged. Checked the edges for hidden switches, secret seams, narrative mercy.
Still nothing.
If it was another puzzle…. With a clear indent to put a torch….
His patience evaporated.
"…You know what," he said, tone flat. "No."
Finding a torch was work.
Waiting for the puzzle to explain itself was work.
He squared his shoulders.
Then punched the wall.
Not a full wind-up. Just a sharp, decisive strike, knuckles driving forward with practiced ease. The impact landed with a wet, splintering crack that absolutely did not sound like stone should. Or maybe, he was just that strong.
Either way, the wall caved.
Plaster, wood, and something fibrous exploded inward as his fist tore straight through, leaving a jagged hole rimmed with dust and torn paper. Books nearby rattled violently. Somewhere behind him, someone shouted. Hehe, suckers.
Ah'Ming pulled his hand back, shook off debris, and leaned in to peer through the opening.
Beyond the wall was darkness again.
"…Huh," he said. He pondered. Like a sage.
Behind him, footsteps were getting closer.
Ah'Ming straightened, brushed his sleeve, and glanced once more at the broken torch hanger.
"Should've worked," he told it mildly.
Then he slipped through the hole he'd made, disappearing into whatever the library had been hiding, just as voices rounded the corner and found the mess he'd left behind.