Miles was certain he was going mad.

  The stone walls of his cell seemed to close in more with every passing moment, the flickering torchlight casting strange, distorted shadows that played tricks on his mind. His stomach growled incessantly, his throat was dry, and his muscles ached from sleeping on the damp, unforgiving floor. But the worst part wasn’t the physical discomfort. It was the endless monotony, the creeping despair that threatened to overtake him.

  Elapsed time since capture: 1 day, 4 hours, and 27 minutes.

  Miles groaned and rubbed his temples. “Only a day? Are you serious? It feels like I’ve been here for a month.”

  Your perception of time is being distorted due to heightened stress levels and sensory deprivation. Statistically, this reaction is normal.

  “Great,” he muttered. “I’m losing my mind. Fantastic news.”

  The system had been his only companion since his capture, its cold, unfeeling voice both a lifeline and an annoyance. It was a strange sort of comfort—like having a backseat driver when you were stuck in traffic for eternity.

  Still, it kept him grounded, reminded him of the world beyond the four walls of his prison. Without it, Miles wasn’t sure how much longer he could have held on.

  ______

  Acting insane was, surprisingly, the easiest part of his ordeal. It started with mumbling—soft, incoherent words that seemed to make the guards uneasy. Then he escalated to talking to imaginary friends.

  “Rocky, Sir Flufferton,” he said one day, holding a pebble in one hand and an imaginary something-or-other in the other, “we need to strategize. If we want to take over the world, we’ll need... cookies. Lots of cookies.”

  The guards exchanged wary glances but said nothing.

  By the time he started giggling randomly and pretending to hear voices that weren’t there, the guards began keeping their distance. Meals were tossed into his cell without a word. He overheard whispers about "the lunatic in Cell Four."

  It wasn’t much, but it was progress.

  Your deception roll has achieved a consistent success rate. Guards’ perception of you as a threat has decreased by 72%.

  “Thanks, System,” Miles whispered. “You always know how to compliment me.”

  Observation: Sarcasm detected. Interpretation: You remain mentally coherent.

  “Barely.”

  When the time came to execute his plan, it was almost too easy. The guards, now convinced he was harmless, had become lax. Miles rolled silently in his mind, pleading for good luck, and the dice didn’t let him down.

  The door was left ajar.

  He didn’t question why or how. He acted.

  Miles crept to the door, his heart hammering in his chest. He peered into the corridor, his breathing shallow. The coast was clear. But instead of bolting, as his instincts screamed at him to do, he hesitated.

  He couldn’t just leave the others behind.

  The auction house was a labyrinth of cells, each one housing a different captive: beasts, humanoids, and creatures Miles couldn’t even identify. The air was thick with despair. He couldn’t save them all, but he could at least give them a fighting chance.

  Moving quietly, he approached the nearest cell. A hulking figure with horns and glowing eyes stared at him from within. Miles fumbled with the lock, muttering under his breath. “This better work.”

  Luck roll initiated: Success. Lock disengaged.

  The door clicked open. The creature blinked at him in surprise.

  “You’re free,” Miles whispered. “Go. Cause chaos. Be loud.”

  The creature hesitated, then nodded and slipped out, its massive frame disappearing into the shadows.

  Miles repeated the process with as many cells as he could, freeing captives and urging them to scatter. Some growled in acknowledgment, others hissed, but they all understood the opportunity. Soon, the corridors were alive with the sounds of breaking doors, roars, and panicked shouts from the guards.

  By the time Miles slipped into a side passage, the auction house was in total disarray. Guards were running in every direction, trying to contain the chaos. Monsters and captives alike were rampaging through the halls, their fury unstoppable.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Distraction success rate: 98%. Hostile focus on you has diminished significantly.

  “Good,” Miles whispered, wiping sweat from his brow. “Let’s keep it that way.”

  He kept moving, ducking through shadowed corridors and avoiding the main pathways. Every so often, he’d hear the clanging of weapons or the roar of an enraged beast. But he was lucky—so far, none of it was directed at him.

  Observation: Your luck rolls remain consistently high. Probability of survival has increased by 45%.

  “Don’t jinx it,” Miles hissed.

  He reached what he hoped was an exit—a heavy iron door that looked promisingly like a way out. He rolled again, and when the dice landed on a high number, he couldn’t help but grin.

  Pushing the door open, Miles stepped out into the cool night air. The stars above seemed brighter than he remembered, the crisp breeze like a balm to his frayed nerves.

  He was free.

  Behind him, the sounds of chaos continued. Miles didn’t know how long the distraction would last or how far the captives would get, but he didn’t stick around to find out. He rolled one last time, silently pleading for the luck to guide him to safety.

  Luck roll: Critical success.

  Miles smirked. “For once, things are looking up.”

  ______

  Amelia sat in her lavishly decorated office, her delicate fingers tracing the edge of a golden goblet filled with a deep crimson liquid. Her expression was serene, her pupilless, glowing eyes reflecting the soft light of the room. A Chaou of her stature rarely expressed open joy, but today was a day of exceptions.

  “An excellent haul this time,” she purred, her voice silky and melodic. Her subordinates, a mix of creatures she had charmed or intimidated into loyalty, stood in a row before her, their postures stiff but expectant.

  She gestured lazily toward the ledgers on her desk. “Our auction house has never seen such a diverse collection of goods. Rare beasts, unusual humanoids, and even that curious young man... What was his name again?”

  One of the subordinates—a wiry lizard-like creature—cleared his throat. “He didn’t give us a name, Mistress Amelia. But his strange behavior caught attention. We believe he’s... unusual.”

  Amelia raised a brow, a small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “Unusual sells well. Make sure he’s prepared for the main event.”

  “Yes, Mistress,” the lizard-man said with a bow.

  Leaning back in her intricately carved chair, Amelia allowed herself a rare moment of genuine happiness. “You’ve all done well this time. Truly. Consider this your best season yet. Bonuses will be issued at the end of the week.”

  A ripple of murmurs swept through the room, her subordinates exchanging glances of surprise and delight. A Chaou leader offering bonuses was akin to a dragon sharing its hoard—a momentous occasion.

  “Now go,” she said, waving them off. “Celebrate your success, but don’t get complacent. The auction is only a few days away, and I want everything perfect.”

  The room emptied, leaving Amelia alone with her thoughts. She sipped from her goblet, savoring the sweet, spiced flavor of the drink. Her glowing eyes scanned the ledgers again, mentally calculating the potential profits. It was all so satisfying—the culmination of careful planning, ruthless efficiency, and her unmatched ability to control every moving piece.

  As she basked in her moment of triumph, the door to her office creaked open, breaking the tranquil atmosphere. A nervous-looking subordinate shuffled in, their face pale and their hands trembling.

  Amelia frowned, setting her goblet down. “I thought I made it clear I wasn’t to be disturbed unless it was urgent.”

  The subordinate swallowed hard, their voice barely above a whisper. “It... it’s urgent, Mistress.”

  Her expression darkened. “Speak.”

  The subordinate took a deep breath, their words tumbling out in a rush. “The auction house has been breached, Mistress. The captives—many of them—have escaped.”

  Amelia froze, her serene demeanor shattering like glass. “What?” The single word was sharp enough to make the subordinate flinch.

  “We... we don’t know how it happened,” they stammered. “But the guards reported that several cells were broken open. The creatures fled into the corridors, and the situation quickly spiraled out of control.”

  Amelia rose from her chair, her movements graceful but menacing. “And where were the guards when this occurred? Sleeping? Playing dice? Explain their incompetence.”

  The subordinate’s voice quavered. “They—they were overpowered by the sheer number of escaping creatures. It seems the prisoners were coordinated somehow. And...” They hesitated.

  “And what?” Amelia snapped, her patience thinning.

  “There are rumors, Mistress, that the human—the strange one—was behind it. The guards thought he was... unwell. But now they believe it was a ruse.”

  Amelia’s eyes narrowed, her glowing irises brightening dangerously. “The human. The one I explicitly ordered to be watched closely?”

  The subordinate nodded frantically. “Yes, Mistress. We... we underestimated him.”

  Amelia’s delicate features twisted into a mask of fury. She moved around the desk with the elegance of a predator, her movements silent but radiating danger. The subordinate took an involuntary step back as she approached.

  “Incompetence,” she hissed, her voice cold and cutting. “That is what this is. A single human, a outwitting my entire operation? Unacceptable.”

  The subordinate fell to their knees, trembling. “Please, Mistress! We’ll fix it! We’ll find him and the others!”

  Amelia loomed over them, her glowing eyes boring into their soul. “You had better. I will not suffer embarrassment on this scale.”

  Her voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. “Mobilize the trackers. Double the guards. Sweep the surrounding area. I want every escapee recaptured, starting with that insufferable human. And when you do, bring him to me. Personally.”

  The subordinate nodded rapidly, scrambling to their feet and fleeing the room.

  Amelia returned to her desk, her mind racing. How had she let this happen? She was meticulous, always three steps ahead of her enemies. To have her operation disrupted like this was an insult she would not tolerate.

  She reached for a hidden compartment in her desk, retrieving a small, glowing crystal. It pulsed faintly, a communication device connected to her most loyal enforcers. Holding it close, she whispered, “Begin the search. Leave no stone unturned.”

  The crystal flared briefly before dimming, the message sent.

  Amelia leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming against the armrest. Her anger was tempered only by her resolve. The human might have outsmarted her once, but it would not happen again.

  “No one escapes Amelia’s grasp,” she murmured to herself. “No one.”