“A 5% Charisma boost as well as four charisma added, I gained boosts in my Preaching, Persuasion and Manipulative Insight skills, and I gained two spells. One offensive, one boosting.” Martin said.

Darryl could only watch the old man putting on the Wicked Priest Robes, just as unable to intervene as when Martin put on a pair of shoes that would make him even faster and nimbler than Ben.

Those were his two Golden Apparel Boxes. His Golden Weapon Boxes gave him a cross hanging from a necklace with several innate spells, and one of those wavy daggers that only fictional cultists ever used. The AI was urging Martin to double down on the theme of self-flagellating preachings, and it wasn’t subtle about it. One Golden Adventure Box had even included a Bible that would allow him to know every passage by heart and open the book on whatever page he searched for, but it gave no real boons so it disappeared into his inventory.

“These are the best boons however, and how the devil has foresight to tempt others through me.” Martin gravely spoke, his robes now making the ruefulness merge with the wistful nihilism more fluently. He held up a ring for the other people to see.

There had been seven people in the room aside from Martin and Darryl when this started. Two of the people retreated to the bedrooms at the beginning, only for another four to come out in their stead. Only one person in the Safe Zone was still completely oblivious to the current situation, or declined getting involved in this before even laying eyes on the old man.

Where two people had left in disgust, part of the audience wasn’t as opposed to Martin’s acts. Of the nine here, two didn’t seem completely opposed to what he was offering while four were getting over their initial shock to now occasionally glance at Martin’s new gear with a glint in their eyes that could be doubt, greed or envy.

“This ring is called the Martyr’s Burden. It does two things, and one of them is an answer to my wicked prayers to safeguard you from my sins.” Martin said, still holding up the platinum ring. “When you’re in a party with me as your leader, I shall take the skull for the kills that you make. You will not be branded for the world to see, when you commit this sin so rewarding.”

That shifted the opinions in the room almost immediately. The two already inclined came to a conclusion, and of the four floating opinions three made up their mind with that new piece of information given. One decided against it, but two had just seen the pragmatic reason against murder go away and now lacked any real reason to decline a means to survive at the expense of another.

“I was still in the party of dregs when I killed Beth, and I am thus in the possession of 63 tickets that will grant three gold and a platinum box to those that kill the name listed.” Martin said.

“There will be rules, unnegotiable rules, which I will enforce if you choose to join me. Obviously, no one will kill a child. They are still our charge to be protected, not to be sacrificed.” Martin continued. “Second, those that have the will to fight without sacrifice, like Darryl here, will not be targets. I grant you a second start to this dungeon, but only at the expense of those who’ve already given up.”

“Martin, stop this. You said it yourself, there is only one sin greater than committing murder yourself.” Darryl said. “You can still keep yourself from crossing that line. Please.”

“I lost all my family when the world collapsed, as I assume most of us have.” Martin softly said. “All of them, save for one. A fate perhaps more cruel than losing them all, for I still have someone to worry over.”

“My stepdaughter, whom I love as if she were my own. She was so good for my boy, I honestly don’t know what he did to deserve her.” Martin continued ruefully. “Yet here I am, trying to protect her and a gaggle of strangers carrying only a cane and a ring, while nightmares made flesh prowl these tunnels.”

“You think she wants this, Martin?” Darryl said. “Will she kill three others as you are asking these people to? Or will your words lead to someone savagely caving in her skull for some loot like you did out there in the hallway?”

“A few days ago, she wouldn’t. Few of us would.” Martin whispered. “But there’s a group here, one that demands ‘special compensation’ for protecting these people. One of them laid his eyes on her recently, and she has always been one to suffer for the sake of others. I could see it in her eyes, though, how it changed her. How that smile of hers died.”

This was bad. As much as it didn’t justify his actions, part of the audience was being swayed by the sentiment.

“To answer your question; no, I won’t allow it. I’ll never give her ticket away, even if she scorns my methods and remains a burden to others.” Martin said. “Feel free to call me a hypocrite, it will be the least of what people will call me.”

“To the rest of you, three tickets. No kids, no one that can survive this place not off the back of others.” Martin continued, once again turning away from Darryl to address the small crowd. “All you need to do is prove that you’re willing and able to fight, and you’ll get gear and weapons even better than the people that have been protecting you thus far.”

“Or you stay inside and he can’t actually make you do anything.” Darryl said.

“About that.” Martin said, taking out what looked to be a small stack of tile-sized stickers. Crooked cubes of white and red alternating made an edge around large black letters in a white square. “These are Dungeon Eviction Notices, the contents of my second platinum box. When I glue one of these on the door, you will have six hours to leave the Safe Room by your own volition. Once the timer reaches zero, you won’t be in a Safe Zone anymore.”

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit! Darryl saw people panic or sway the moment he said that. One man immediately ran into the bedrooms, hopefully to inform the others, while two of the last four abhorred by the notion to kill turned.

That made seven people that Martin managed to convert to his cause, six if the man that just ran into the bedrooms changed his mind. Seven of the twelve, while one had been asleep the entire time. Darryl knew that the situation in the camp was rather dire, in fact he felt like he understood this better than the rest of the team save perhaps Ben, but he had underestimated the situation.

These people were terrified and helpless. They lost everything including their families and daily routine to a mind-boggling event in a matter of seconds, found themselves trapped in pitch black tunnels prowled by literal monsters, and were expected to stand and fight immediately after that happened.

Even worse, Borant expected these civilised and domesticated people to fight and explore as if they were hardened adventurers or warriors, while an announcer gave them berating achievements and monster descriptions in an exaggerated excited tone to drive home that it was all a game.

Many people had been in complete denial or nigh catatonic for the first few days because of the way this place was set up to feel like a game, huddling up in a corner or going around demanding answers of anyone that looked like they knew what they were doing. Those that weren’t terrified had instead turned to the practical reality that they should squabble and even throw punches over what little water and food the group brought in.

Then there were those that got their bearings and guided these people, and they had unintentionally made it worse.

When Darryl found himself in this place he had been presented with a very simple situation: Fend for yourself, or die. But the people around here, they never found themselves in that situation. Not really.

Waiting for someone else to tell them what to do or to take care of them was an option to them, and that option allowed them to numb their mind to all of this. To refuse to acknowledge the impossible scenario that they found themselves in. If they waited long enough, things would resolve themselves and everything would go back to the way it was.

Dave said to form a line and follow, and so they followed without thinking. Martin said to form a line so that ten people could be selected to be escorted to a new Safe Zone, and so people would follow without thinking. People could look at their ‘weapons’ and say that they stand no chance without getting something better first, so they took that excuse to sit down and follow until someone else would take care of the problem for them.

The inaction was a bit like an addiction, at least as far as Darryl knew addiction from hearsay and tv. Before an addict could be rehabilitated and stay clean, they had to hit rock bottom.

Darryl landed on a shallow bottom almost immediately himself, because things were simple and direct. Just him, that first woolf he encountered and the Gecko lady. He could not follow or wait. Either he survived by his own efforts, or he died. Instinct took over in the heat of battle, and his actions led him down a path that the civilized mind could follow and build upon.

Even then hitting the bottom hadn’t been like hitting a switch. He still remembered how he curled up under that cubicle and lost track of time while his mind numbed. He had been there for… an hour? Two, maybe?

He remembered that he eventually came back to his senses because of the thirst. A base biological function that reminded him that he could lie there curled up until he starved to death, or he could get back up.

Getting back up from his hidey hole, where it would’ve been so easy to just sit and wait until that timer ran out and things went back to normal, had been his rebound from rock bottom. The moment he realized and truly acknowledged the situation he found himself in. The moment he chose, truly made a choice, to change.

Ben hit the bottom himself a lot later, but before that the kid found himself in an entirely different scenario that worked. He started with a similar protective mindset of believing that none of this was real, but his had been a more proactive and wishful illusion from the people here.

Something called an Isekai, whatever that was. For a while Ben saw himself as a protagonist bound to get stronger and surviving by plot armour, if not directly then at least subconsciously to cope with all this. Combined with him not being part of a crowd relying on a group of people rather than a single wounded person relying on a single stranger, Ben never gave himself the luxury of believing that others would take care of his issues.

He'd changed, since. More withdrawn, less brash and humorous. His old teenage impulsiveness occasionally peeked out, but Ben had since realized the weight of the situation. Of his own mortality and that he was no longer in a society that would steer and provide even if he messed up.

Darryl assumed that Louis, Ben’s first kill, had been that rock bottom. The moment that Ben completely dismissed the notion that this was a game.

Thomas and Elise hadn’t hit rock bottom yet.

Thomas joined their team bartering for his position and value as if teaming up had been a matter of proving that he was worth tagging along. For all that he had considered it just as natural as the others that they gave Elise a place in the party because she’d be alone otherwise, he treated joining them as a job interview listing the gains.

He drew back not into a denial that his old life had been erased entirely, but fled into an almost mathematical approach of the risk and reward of whatever they did.

It was a game, but a game of chance and figuring out the algorithm rather than an RPG. This dungeon wasn’t a life or death situation, but a series of gambles and actions to go through. The mobs weren’t living monsters, but grinding for skill levelling. Fighting Neighbourhood bosses wasn’t choosing to risk one’s life, but an equation listing advantages and disadvantages with consideration for the future.

Even his choice to become a mage had been a calculated risk for an expected reward and retaining relevance to the group in the long term, and joining others was a prerequisite for taking it.

Darryl didn’t know if Thomas would ever rebound from that, not after his personality had been altered by the dungeon. He seemed to cling onto his pragmatic thinking, for it avoided the need to consider anything with emotion. Mr. Geruet had been struck with the same, perhaps a means of the dungeon to produce more viable adventurers by avoiding mental breakdowns, or perhaps the two of them were just emotional ticking time bombs.

The only time that he’d shown much emotion was with the tiara, and the way he avoided getting agitated at Elise afterwards suggested that he might be afraid to drop the façade and face his own emotions again.

Elise meanwhile started with that oni bat, and the bloodlust that came with it. An addiction in all but name that numbed her emotional realization that she was killing living beings and made her itch for more. She likely floated near the bottom for a few days when she was bedridden, but she never hit it and the bat had kept her from touching ground.

Well, the bat and the rest of them. Darryl had to admit that they shared guilt by grabbing her from a Safe Room and immediately letting her join a party with experience and a plan. She wasn’t a follower, but she never had to be a cautious explorer or patient fighter with others to reel her in.

Many others had not hit it either. Which wasn't strange, the dungeon seemed designed to grant that fantastical escape from reality.

In fact, Darryl wondered whether it was truly necessary to hit rock bottom in here. For his small group, no one truly had to hit rock bottom to strive and prosper. Not like half the people here. And he doubted that the stars of the show like Lucia Mar or that woman with the gatling crossbow ever could hit the bottom after their gains.

Such unrealistic powers gained after small trials and easy challenges, not to mention the fame they were showered with, could lead to stronger and more persistent illusions of grandeur and self-importance than their initial illusion of human law and civil rights carrying over into this place.

Hell, if the dungeon gave you talking goats and some weapons that allow you to swat mobs aside, then it only urged you to cling on to the lie that this wasn’t real. Before you know it you’d believe yourself some rebel who could actually change the system through the screens of the billions that watched your antics like a zoo animal. Or turn your own stubbornness into a mantra. As if this dungeon wasn’t a controlled sandbox that Borant had complete control over, including the ability to expedite one’s crawl if anyone would ever truly cause trouble to them.

Darryl had that realisation, uncomfortable as it was. Shedding the belief that humanity was the apex predator through ingenuity and morals, or even entitled to anything, when there were beings involved who were wholly superior in every regard. Abandoning the notion that his dying and threatened culture, inferior to the behemoth that had absorbed them, was somehow innately important or destined to prevail.

Every small cult or economically and politically irrelevant culture in human history had that collective illusion as a coping mechanism, that their culture was somehow the chosen one or the last pure bastion in a world of degenerates or heretics. And for every zealous religion or warmongering nation that sprung from that lie, hundreds of chosen ones were trampled underfoot with their cries of indignation but a footnote in history.

One did not realise that they were not special, not until they hit rock bottom.

He wasn’t sure if Martin hit the bottom, or struck a false one. The man might appear like he emerged from it completely changed, but the most extreme changes could create a disconnection from reality that were like a whole different plunge. His change had been too extreme, or at least Darryl liked to think so. Like swearing off one addiction by finding another.

He was dangerous whether he hit it or not. If he truly hit rock bottom to reach this result, then Martin would be ready and willing to see this through. One did not make half-baked decisions down there. And if this was a lie for necessity or importance, martyring himself to believe that he was doing something worthwhile, then he was all the more dangerous. Those lies would twist and bend, ever more vicious and desperate to keep their host from hitting rock bottom.

Darryl didn’t know, but he knew what he had to do. Martin was too dangerous to be left alive, to run loose and spread his lie to make it a collective illusion.

Even if the solution demanded a few skulls next to your name.