I woke up in a crypt. No skin, no hair, just a pile of bones and a headache that felt like a family of rats had taken up residence inside my skull. Great way to start a Tuesday.
The last thing I remembered was sitting at my desk, drowning in spreadsheets and existential dread. Now I was a reanimated skeleton, courtesy of a melodramatic goth necromancer who apparently thought casting "Resurrect" was a good idea. Spoiler: it's not.
Gary, the skeleton with half a jaw, was busy loudly complaining. "You know, I used to be a gladiator. Now I'm just… a pile of bones. Great career move, huh?"
Linda, a female skeleton with faintly glowing elf bones, sighed. "I used to be an elf princess. Now I'm just disappointed in everything. Especially this job."
The necromancer strutted in, cloaked in black, hair flowing like he'd just stepped out of a goth music video. "Guard the crypt entrance! No one must breach the sacred—"
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. "Because nothing says 'terrifying' like a bunch of skeletons who look like they're auditioning for a goth band."
We were the low-tier mobs, the kind that heroes trample over on their way to the real loot. Today's invaders? A ragtag party of heroes who mostly ignored us, probably trying to find the boss fight. They barely spared us a glance — just another set of skeletons in the graveyard of their quest.
Gary leaned over, voice booming. "Hey, maybe if we dressed up a bit, they'd notice us. Like, add some flair. You know, maybe a little sparkle in the eye socket?"
Linda rolled her eye sockets. "They're heroes. They don't notice anything unless it's shiny or dangerous. Or both."
The necromancer cackled, raising his staff dramatically. "Fear not! I shall summon the Dark Abyss of Doom to scare them! Or maybe just a fog. I'm not sure yet."
He waved his magic wand—more of a stick with glitter—and a puff of smoke billowed out. The heroes kept walking, unimpressed. Even in our undead state, we could tell we weren't exactly the main event.
I sighed, hollow as my ribcage. "Bone to be wild? More like bone to be mild. Honestly, I'd rather be back in my cubicle. At least there, I was paid."
Gary snorted. "You'd miss the monotony. Trust me, being a skeleton is just a fancy way of saying 'disposable.'"
Linda looked at us, wistful. "Maybe if we had a union or a skeleton rights movement—"
The necromancer returned, waving his staff with theatrical flair. "What's all this? Planning a rebellion? I told you, you're just my minions, not a union!"
We all exchanged glances. It was another day of surviving the undead version of corporate life. I'd say we were bone tired, but honestly, we were just bone.
"Yup," I muttered. "Sigh. Back to being disposable. Or, as I like to put it, back to being the backbone of the Necromancer."