The transition wasn't smooth. It wasn't a gentle fade or a clean jump cut. It was like being violently shoved through a meat grinder made of static electricity and pure, concentrated brainrot, then spat out the other side onto hard-packed dirt that smelled faintly of sawdust and old marinara.

  Kevin landed awkwardly, stumbling but managing to keep his grip on Gary, preventing the injured man from face-planting directly into whatever passed for the arena floor. The blinding blue light receded, leaving spots dancing in his vision. The roaring faded, replaced by a low, expectant murmur, like the sound of a distant, bloodthirsty crowd.

  He blinked, trying to get his bearings. They were no longer in the office building lobby. They stood in what looked like a vast, circular arena, bathed in the same unnatural, orange-tinged twilight as the sky outside the lobby windows. The ground was dusty earth, stained dark in patches. Rising around them were towering walls constructed not of stone, but of massive, interlocking tubes of dried cannelloni pasta, looking absurdly sturdy. Archways made of giant manicotti shells led out of the arena at cardinal points, currently barred by shimmering force fields that crackled with blue energy. High above, stadium-style lights shaped like giant, glowing pepperonis cast harsh shadows.

  And there was definitely a crowd. Filling unseen stands built into the cannelloni walls, shadowy figures murmured and shifted. Kevin couldn't make out individual shapes, but the collective sound was one of hungry anticipation. Sponsors? Other cosmic entities? Bored observers waiting for the gore?

  “Welcome, Contestants, to the GLORIOUS Colosseum di Cannelloni!”

  A booming, overly enthusiastic voice echoed through the arena, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. It sounded like a game show host crossed with a particularly sadistic ringmaster.

  Sponsored tonight by Gorgnak's Glorious Glorg Juice - Get Your Glorg On!

  Kevin shuddered. Gorgnak. The sponsor mentioned in the alert.

  "Where... where are we?" Gary groaned, clutching his side. His face was pale, beaded with sweat.

  "Pasta hell, Gary," Kevin muttered, scanning the arena floor. "Looks like pasta hell."

  They weren't alone. Scattered across the arena were the other "participants" forcibly teleported from the lobby. The sluggish Spaghetti Servitor oozed near the center, seemingly unfazed by the change in venue. The corpse of the Butcherino lay sprawled not far from them, its massive ass still defying physics. Dave's body was also present, lying limply near one of the barred archways. Even the scattered fragments of the Angel Hair Skirmisher and the Rigatoni Brute seemed to have been teleported, lying in sad little piles of broken pasta.

  Did the System bring the corpses too? Why? For set dressing? Or worse... for recycling? The thought made Kevin’s stomach churn again.

  “Alright, Meat Sacks, let's go over the rules for tonight's MAINCERATION!” the announcer boomed cheerfully. “Rule Number One: Survive! Rule Number Two: Kill anything that isn't you (unless instructed otherwise - we like plot twists!). Rule Number Three: Try to look good doing it! Bonus points awarded for style, brutality, and particularly inventive uses of Brainrot Magic! Remember, the Gorgnak Cam is always watching!”

  A small, floating eyeball drone, unsettlingly organic-looking with a lens iris, detached itself from the shadows near the top of the arena wall and zipped down, hovering near Kevin for a moment before moving on. The Gorgnak Cam. They were literally reality TV contestants in a lethal alien game show sponsored by something called Glorg Juice.

  “Tonight's starting roster includes,” the announcer continued, “our intrepid office survivors, Kevin 'Cleaver Guy' Miller and Gary 'Basically Dead Weight' Johnson! Let's give them a round of disinterested pity!”

  A smattering of polite, unenthusiastic applause echoed from the unseen crowd.

  “Facing them, we have the remnants of the Lobby Lunacy! Including the ever-persistent Butcherino 'Bubble Butt' Corpse! The sluggish but saucy Spaghetti Servitor! And... oh, wait, is that Dave 'Marketing Decoy' Miller's body too? Excellent! Extra obstacles!”

  Another wave of applause, slightly more enthusiastic this time.

  “And let's not forget the crunchy bits left over from Rigatoni Ralph and Angel Antoinette!”

  Kevin gritted his teeth. Cleaver Guy? Bubble Butt Corpse? Marketing Decoy? The System was actively mocking them for its cosmic audience.

  “Now, for the First Round Challenge! We call this one... 'MEATBALL MADNESS'!”

  As the announcer spoke, several sections of the dusty arena floor began to rumble. Circular platforms made of what looked like giant, flat lasagna sheets rose from the ground, creating raised stages at various points. Simultaneously, from hatches opening in the cannelloni walls, creatures began to emerge.

  They were... meatballs. Giant, rolling meatballs, easily four feet in diameter, studded with angry-looking red eyes and propelled by thick, greasy tendrils of what looked suspiciously like sausage casing. They rolled erratically, leaving trails of grease on the dirt floor.

  About a dozen of these Manic Meatball Rollers emerged, immediately beginning to roll haphazardly around the arena, bouncing off the walls and each other with heavy thuds.

  “Objective for Round One is simple, folks! the announcer bellowed. Reach one of the elevated Lasagna Platforms before the Meatball Stampede turns you into delicious, nutritious floor paste! Last one standing on the ground gets a special penalty! GO!”

  A klaxon horn blared, deafeningly loud. The Meatball Rollers immediately picked up speed, their rolling becoming more frantic, more aggressive.

  "Shit!" Kevin grabbed Gary. "We need to get onto one of those platforms!"

  The nearest platform was about fifty feet away. Between them and it were two rolling meatballs and the slowly advancing Spaghetti Servitor, which seemed mildly interested in the new arrivals.

  "Gary, run!" Kevin urged, practically dragging the injured man forward. The espresso bean jitters made Kevin feel twitchy but fast. Gary stumbled, hampered by his injuries, his breathing ragged.

  A Meatball Roller caromed off the arena wall and headed straight for them. Kevin shoved Gary hard towards the platform and spun to face the oncoming sphere of greasy death. He had no Clout. He had the cleaver.

  He braced himself, holding the cleaver defensively. Could he parry a giant meatball? Could he cut it? It looked dense, heavy.

  The meatball closed the distance with surprising speed. Kevin tensed, preparing for impact—

  Suddenly, the Butcherino's corpse, lying nearby, jerked. Its massive leg kicked out spasmatically, tripping the oncoming Meatball Roller. The giant sphere went tumbling end over end, narrowly missing Kevin and crashing into the Spaghetti Servitor with a wet splat. The Servitor gurgled indignantly, flailing saucy tendrils as it absorbed the impact.

  Kevin stared at Butcherino's corpse. Did it... did it just help him? Or was that just random post-mortem twitching triggered by the arena activation?

  Okay, then. Apparently, even death didn't guarantee peace in this fucked-up System. Reanimating corpses for slapstick hazard potential. Dark and stupid.

  He didn't have time to ponder it. Gary had reached the edge of the nearest Lasagna Platform but was struggling to climb the three-foot height with his bad ribs. Another Meatball Roller was bearing down on him.

  Kevin sprinted towards Gary, ignoring the burning in his lungs. He reached the platform just as the Meatball arrived. No time to help Gary up. Kevin turned, planted his feet, and swung the heavy cleaver like a baseball bat at the rolling meat-sphere.

  He put everything into it, his STR 5, [Makeshift Weapon Proficiency], sheer desperation.

  THWACK!

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  The cleaver connected solidly. It didn't cut deep, but the impact, combined with the flat of the blade, was enough to send the Manic Meatball Roller careening off course, smashing into the cannelloni wall with a meaty crunch.

  "Gary! Up!" Kevin yelled, reaching down and hauling the lighter man onto the Lasagna Platform just as another Meatball whizzed past where they'd been standing.

  They collapsed onto the flat, surprisingly rigid pasta surface, breathing heavily. They were safe. For now.

  Kevin looked around the arena from their slightly elevated position. Most of the Meatball Rollers were still careening around wildly. The Spaghetti Servitor was slowly trying to climb onto their platform, its tendrils finding purchase on the edge. The Butcherino's corpse twitched occasionally. Dave's body lay undisturbed.

  But someone else hadn't made it.

  A figure was still on the dusty arena floor, frantically dodging meatballs. It wasn't human. It was small, brown, furry, and looked utterly terrified. It wore a tiny, ill-fitting delivery driver uniform, complete with a miniature cap askew on its head.

  A capybara? In a tiny uniform? Where the hell did that come from? And why was it included in the deathmatch?

  Before Kevin could process the sheer randomness, the announcer's voice boomed again.

  Ooooh, looks like we have a straggler! Capo the Capybara hasn't found a platform! Time for the PENALTY ROUND!

  The klaxon blared again. The Meatball Rollers slowed, rolling towards the edges of the arena. The Spaghetti Servitor paused its climb. Even the Butcherino's corpse lay still. A spotlight snapped on, illuminating the terrified capybara huddling near the center of the arena floor.

  For failing to complete the objective, the announcer crowed, Capo will now face... THE CHEF! Bring him out!

  One of the barred manicotti archways shimmered, the force field dropping. From the darkness within emerged a figure that made the Butcherino look like a friendly neighborhood deli owner.

  He was impossibly tall and skeletally thin, draped in what looked like blood-soaked chef's whites that barely contained his unnatural frame. His head was a gleaming, grinning human skull, empty eye sockets burning with malevolent red pinpricks of light. In one bony hand, he wielded a comically oversized meat tenderizer shaped like a cartoon mallet. In the other, he carried a long, wicked-looking carving fork. He moved with silent, predatory grace.

  The skeletal chef glided towards the terrified capybara, raising his giant mallet. Capo squeaked, frozen in fear.

  Kevin watched, horrified. This wasn't a fair fight; it was an execution. For being slow? For being accidentally teleported? The callous cruelty of the System, the sheer disregard for life played for laughs, hit him harder than any cleaver blow.

  The Chef glided closer, mallet held high, the red pinpricks in his skull sockets fixed on the trembling capybara. Capo whimpered, a low, pathetic sound that tugged at something deep within Kevin’s rapidly hardening, apocalypse-survivor heart. It was just an animal, accidentally caught in this cosmic meat grinder.

  "System!" Kevin yelled impulsively, cupping his hands around his mouth. "This is bullshit! It's not even a contestant!"

  The announcer's voice boomed back instantly, dripping with false sympathy.

  “Oh, is little Kevy feeling protective? How sweet. Unfortunately, rules are rules! Failure means penalty! Besides, think of the ratings! Everyone loves an underdog story... right before the underdog gets tenderized!”

  Laughter echoed from the unseen stands.

  The Chef reached Capo. It didn't even try to run, paralyzed by terror. The mallet began its descent.

  Kevin couldn't just watch. He didn't have Clout, he didn't have a ranged weapon, but he had... indignation? Righteous fury? A sudden, overwhelming urge to not let this sadistic game play out exactly as intended?

  He scanned the arena floor. The cleaver he’d used on the Butcherino was still lying near its corpse. Too far away. His eyes landed on the Spaghetti Servitor, still sluggishly trying to haul its bulk onto their Lasagna Platform. Specifically, they landed on the pulsing, red meatball "eyes" embedded in its mass.

  An idea, born of desperation and the lingering memory of Dave's epic fail, struck him.

  He focused on the Servitor's nearest meatball eye, took a deep breath, and channeled the most potent source of ambient cringe he could think of: every terrible, unsolicited opinion he'd ever heard about how spaghetti should be cooked.

  "Hey! Chef Bonehead!" Kevin shouted, pointing dramatically at the Spaghetti Servitor. "That Servitor's pasta is overcooked! It's mush! And the meatballs? Frozen! Absolutely fucking RAW in the middle! You call yourself a chef?!"

  He poured every ounce of feigned culinary outrage into the words. It wasn't a spell, not technically. It was just… yelling criticism.

  The effect was instantaneous and terrifying.

  The Chef, mallet halfway down, froze. His skull head snapped towards Kevin, the red pinpricks flaring violently. The temperature in the arena seemed to drop several degrees.

  Kevin felt a wave of pure, concentrated disapproval wash over him, so intense it felt like physical heat. Images flashed through his mind: burnt toast, lumpy gravy, undercooked chicken. He felt an overwhelming sense of shame, like he'd personally insulted every Michelin star chef who ever lived. His Wisdom stat (WIS: 8 - Occasionally Sensible) felt woefully inadequate.

  He gritted his teeth, focusing on the absurdity. It's just a skeleton chef meme! It's not real!

  Pain lanced through Kevin’s skull. HP: 100/105. His status flickered: Feeling Judged. But he stayed standing, his desperate gambit having achieved its primary goal.

  The Chef, utterly enraged by the critique, completely forgot about the capybara. It let out a silent, furious shriek, which somehow Kevin felt, and turned its full attention towards Kevin's Lasagna Platform, abandoning Capo mid-execution. It glided towards them with unnatural speed, carving fork held ready like a trident, mallet dragging menacingly behind it.

  "Kevin! What did you DO?!" Gary gasped, clutching his ribs.

  "Bought the giant rat a few seconds!" Kevin snapped back, his head still throbbing. "Now we have bigger problems!"

  The Chef reached the edge of their platform. It didn't try to climb like the Servitor; it simply raised its carving fork.

  "Get back!" Kevin yelled, shoving Gary further onto the platform. He raised the cleaver he’d taken from the Butcherino, bracing himself. He knew he couldn't match the Chef's reach or skill, but maybe he could block, maybe he could—

  Suddenly, Capo the Capybara, freed from its paralysis, acted. It didn't run for the platform. Instead, it zipped towards the Butcherino's corpse. It rummaged frantically for a second near where Kevin had looted the body, then emerged holding something small and round in its mouth.

  It looked like… a single, unspent espresso bean? Had Kevin dropped one?

  Capo didn't hesitate. It popped the bean into its mouth, chewed rapidly, and its eyes immediately went wide with the familiar jittery energy Kevin had felt. It then turned, faced the oncoming Chef, took a deep breath, and let out an ear-splittingly loud, surprisingly high-pitched:

  "SKIBIDI!"

  The sound echoed through the Colosseum. It wasn't a Word of Power activation – Capo wasn't a registered System participant, probably didn't even have Clout. It was just… a noise. A loud, annoying, completely random noise.

  But it was enough.

  The Chef, already enraged and focused on Kevin, flinched at the sudden, bizarre sound from behind him. It broke his concentration for a split second. His [Idiot Sandwich] grapple went slightly wide.

  Kevin seized the fractional opening. He didn't try to attack the Chef directly. Instead, he swung his cleaver downwards, aiming for the edge of the Lasagna Platform right where the Chef's bony fingers were gripping it for leverage.

  CRUNCH!

  The cleaver bit deep into the giant, brittle pasta sheet. Cracks spiderwebbed outwards. With a groan, the section of lasagna the Chef was holding onto broke off, sending the skeletal culinary executioner tumbling back down onto the dusty arena floor.

  Kevin stared, breathing hard. He'd repelled the Chef, thanks to a caffeinated capybara yelling nonsense. This apocalypse was officially off the rails.

  The announcer's voice boomed again, sounding slightly flustered for the first time.

  “Uh... unexpected interference from the non-contestant! Penalty Round protocol violation! System adjusting…”

  The spotlight snapped off Capo and refocused on the Chef, who was already gliding back to his feet, malice radiating from his skull face.

  “Alright, forget the penalty!” the announcer declared. “Round One Timer Resumes! Meatball Madness continues! Everyone off the platforms in... TEN SECONDS! Or the floor becomes lava! Marinara lava! GO!”

  The klaxon blared again. The Meatball Rollers roared back to life, rolling with renewed frenzy.

  "Off the platform? Now?" Gary groaned. "Are you kidding me?"

  Kevin looked down at the swirling meatballs, the slowly recovering Chef, the oozing Servitor, the twitching Butcherino corpse, and the bewildered-looking capybara.

  Ten seconds until the floor turned into boiling marinara sauce. This was fine. Everything was fine.