Terminal Paradise Seamstress

I stood in the vast, empty lobby of a hospital, a cobweb-covered chandelier swinging precariously from the ceiling above.

[Welcome to the S-Rank Instance—Saint Anna Hospital.]

[Objective: Survive for seven days.]

[Initial players: 10. Wishing you… an enjoyable game.]

The system's cold, mocking voice faded from my mind.

Around me, the nine other players' expressions shifted from confusion to fear, then settled into pure despair.

"An S-Rank? A hell-difficulty stage right from the start?" one stammered. "A hospital… this is where the creepiest things happen! We're dead!"

At the same time, my personal livestream screen flickered to life. A handful of sparse comments popped up.

[Another batch of newbies. They won't last the first day.]

[Classic old map, Saint Anna. 99% fatality rate. Can't wait to see the head nurse turn these newbies into pincushions again.]

[What's with the girl in the hospital gown? She's white as a ghost. Is she an NPC?]

The other players instinctively huddled together to discuss strategy, leaving me standing alone. In my hospital gown, with a face as pale as paper, I was dead weight—a obvious liability.

Sure enough, a burly, hostile bald man stomped over, his eyes full of disdain.

"Hey, sick girl," he barked, jerking his chin toward my backpack. "Whatever items you've got in there—hand them over. In a place like this, trash like you is just wasting resources."

Others quickly agreed. "He's right. Look at you… Give us your stuff, and we might protect you for a little while."

I didn't argue. I simply unzipped my backpack.

There was no food, water, or weapons—only rolls of colorful fabric, a wooden sewing kit, and sketchbooks filled with clothing designs.

"These are what I need to finish before I die," I said, pointing. "Do you want to take them, too?"

The bald man faltered, his expression twisting. After muttering a curse, he spat on the floor and walked away.

I zipped my bag back up, hugged it to my chest, and found a corner far from the others. I threaded a needle and began quietly sewing a tiny doll's dress, shutting out the world.

This was my final wish: to open a tailor shop filled with clothes made by my own hands before I completely rotted away. Even in this nightmare, I could at least keep stitching.

The livestream chat stirred briefly at the sight.

[What's with this girl? It's an apocalypse game and she's doing crafts?]

[Her mentality is amazing… Or she's just completely given up.]

[Looked her up. Her name's Cassidy, twenty. Late-stage lymphoma. Her family abandoned her.]

[Makes sense. For her, where and how she dies probably doesn't matter anymore.]

[Why does this suddenly feel so sad…?]