Book 8, chapters 75, 76, 77, and 78 (Patreon)

Hey everyone. Thank you for your continued support. I'm still pluggin' away. I expect to finish in the next few days, but in the meantime here's some chapters for ya.

Also, we have multiple small but important retcons that I'll just drop here. One, Carl received a magical baby bjorn baby backpack in the first loot box opening. This will allow him to carry Donut with him should he use his Phase or Oozy Form spell. Another one is that the three enriched pet biscuits Pony has. One is the paramour, one is a normal party member like donut but can't talk, and the third is normal pet one, meaning a regular animal gets treated as a dungeon pet. There's a bunch of other small things here and there. I am tweaking loads of the rules here and there and removing some rules all together. Also, I will need to either remove or change the Agatha interlude, but I haven't decided how imma fix that yet.

ALSO we need to start thinking about who we'll have give the book 7 recap as I haven't written that yet. We will NOT have the cleaner bot do it, unfortunately as I now want to save that POV for later. Post your suggestions, and I'll make a poll. It can literally be anybody that's still alive at the end of the 9th floor OR any of the characters from the 10th.

Chapter 75

The light turned green, and we were off.

We all raced toward the grate at the edge of the duct, and as we approached, it became clear that the slats were too thin for us to fit through.

“Donut,” I called.

“On it,” she said, shooting a Magic Missile just as Osvaldo’s team also shot some sort of bolt at the metal wall. The whole thing, which was the size of an airplane hangar door, blasted outward, falling and disappearing as we approached the edge.

“Blow the roof. I can’t fucking see,” Pontiff yelled.

“Hang on,” I called as I activated the small charges I’d placed around the Tommy gun. Bam! The plastic gun shattered, and the whole truck rocked. I stood and punched, and a whole section of the ceiling peeled up and away, unfurling like a tuna can.

“Jumping!” Pontiff called as we pushed off the edge of the duct and into the room. He let us fall for a moment before engaging the bubble. We were quickly passed by the diving and tumbling Bruna the gnu. We eased through the air, slowly and gently falling.  

Entering apartment 712.

Bruna sprouted wings, Pegasus like. Team Free Love’s van floated on a cushion of air and angled downward easily.

But most surprising was that Dwight was right there alongside us, floating down, keeping pace but slowly accelerating.

“Carl, how’s he doing that?” Donut yelled.

“Probably got the self-driving upgrade,” Pontiff said.

“Wait, that’s a thing?” Donut asked.

“Costs two golden upgrades,” the mercenary said.

We floated frustratingly slow, though it did give us a few extra seconds to take in the room. Pontiff tapped the rockets, angling us toward the area of the front door. Far across the room I could see others falling from other ducts, and what appeared to be a long funny car emerged, driving from underneath a door leading off to another room, racing across the floor. 

The room was filled with hazy smoke, like there was a literal fog machine going somewhere. I spent a precious moment trying to take it all in. It appeared we were dropping into the living room of an apartment. There was a tattered couch, covered in blankets, a small table leading off to a kitchen with a counter covered with vegetables. A pot boiled on the stove.

Dwight was literally unconscious, bobbing in the weed, but they were starting to angle away. I jumped up, standing on my chair, popping my head out the roof. I noticed something interesting. There was a tiny hologram similar to Dr. Metcalf sitting there, shrieking at the passed-out unicorn. I loaded a sticky explosive and tossed it. It bounced off their shield, flying off at an angle and disappearing into the fog.

The vine dropped away and angled straight down, not shooting back. 

Music blasted, ridiculously loud.

Louis was right. We were tiny compared to the rest of the apartment.

“This is weird as shit,” I muttered as we fell.

“There’s the ring!” Donut called, pointing. It was on the floor underneath the kitchen table. We’d have to pass through it, get to the sixth floor, get into any apartment, find the ring, and repeat. We’d do this for all floors except the “mandatory” one, which was on the second floor.

Standing behind the oven was a wrinkled Asian woman wearing a robe, about 60 years old, maybe a little older. She was hunched over the pot and had a cigarette dangling in her mouth, ashes threatening to drop directly into the stew. Proportionally, I knew the woman was tiny, but she was like a giant to us.

As I examined her, a name popped up, but no additional information.

Hoa. Human Shell. Level 99.

“What’s a human shell?” I asked.

“I do not know,” Pontiff said.

Passed out on the couch was an old man wearing nothing but white underwear and an undershirt. He also had a cigarette in his hand, though he was sleeping. An ashtray sat on the floor, strategically placed to catch the ash from the sleeping man’s cigarette.

An. Human Shell. Level 99.

Against one wall was the source of the blaring music. It was a television, and it showed a woman dancing on stage while the tinny, ear-piercing pop song blasted.

There were crosses all over the walls, covering every square inch of the wall space, with the exception of a large Jesus portrait over the television.

Jesus’s eyes, however, were crossed out on the painting. Weird.

“Uh, what the fuck?” I said upon seeing the eyes of the man on the couch. I had assumed the man was asleep because through the haze, it appeared that his eyes were closed. They were closed, but the man’s eyes were sewn shut with thick, black wire. Over each eye was also a large X made of similar wire, just like in the portrait of Jesus.

The woman at the stove’s eyes were the same. Sewn shut with black wire and an X. She stirred the pot, seemingly uncaring of the state of her eyes.  

A terrible, ominous feeling hit me. What was this? Even the woman on the television screen had the X eyes.     

“Carl, Carl! Look!” Donut said, pointing as we passed a table covered with photos. The line of photos featured the same couple along with a few others in various poses. Donut pointed at a single photo, turned slightly askew, possibly angled so the man on the couch couldn’t look upon it, if he could see. “It’s Tran!” 

This was a younger photo of the crawler, but it was clearly him. Tran. He smiled big in the photo, holding what appeared to be a badminton racket. His was the only photo of them all that didn’t have the sewn-shut, blocked-out eyes. Even the photos of the dog had the strange eyes.  The photo of Tran had an incense burner in front of it that wasn’t currently lit, but a whole pile of ash littered the table. Multiple, small crosses dangled off the photo.

Louis: This is bullshit. My mom doesn’t even live in an apartment.   

Elle: Guys, this is some spooky shit. Remember Dmitri and Maxim Popoff? The twins? I think we’re in their mom’s apartment. There are pictures of them everywhere. But the mom’s eyes are sewn shut. There’s a goddamned poodle in here with her eyes sewn shut, too. It’s really fucked up.  

Prepotente: Their mother appears to have been a big fan of the color pink.

Louis: My mom is here. A lot of her stuff is here, but she’s a giant. There’s a picture of me on the wall, but it’s not real. It’s me graduating college or some shit. I never did. And I’m like way thinner.  

Donut: IT’S A RIP-OFF OF THAT WEIRD CORALINE MOVIE.

Louis: This is going to be like that hydra on the 8th floor. I thought they weren’t doing this anymore.

We gently hit the carpeted floor, which was like landing in heavy brush. The explosive I’d thrown was somewhere in the carpet far behind us, but it wouldn’t go off until I hit the detonator. I popped back up and tossed several more in multiple directions.

“Another apartment right below us,”  Nester called.

Mordecai: I do not know what a “Human Shell” is. That’s a new one to me.

Elle: The dog here is called a dog shell.

Louis: It’s my mom’s name, Lady Bird, but it also says she’s a shell. She hasn’t noticed us yet.

Donut: YOUR MOM’S NAME IS LADY BIRD?

Louis: HOLY SHIT! I’m here! It’s me! But I’m in like good shape! What the hell? I don’t have X eyes. Dude this is fucking bizarre.  

Tipid: Shit, guys. Don’t kill the shells. We had them in my season. I haven’t seen them since. They’ll be filled with something else. I don’t know what. Some sort of mob.

Racers were suddenly everywhere, appearing from all angles, driving under doors. I was assuming we were invisible to the two humans because so far, neither had...

“What, what, what the hell?” the man suddenly called, jerking upright on the couch, towering over everything. “Gah!” he shouted, swiping at something. A round Volkswagen bug car flew across the apartment and crunched against a wall, clattering down. “What is this! What is this!” the man shouted.

“Get us out of here!” I called.  

Pontiff increased the wheel size, and he moved toward the ring. Luckily, most of the people who’d fallen more quickly hadn’t seen the ring hidden under the kitchen table, and they were zooming all over the floor. We rumbled toward the ring just as the same funny car we’d seen earlier zoomed through from the other side. The ring pulsed, and the car passed us, did a U-turn and zoomed for the front door of the apartment.

“Hold on,” Pontiff yelled as we passed under the ring.

A loud ping sounded.

Gate One of Seven cleared.

Ahead, the woman screamed, and she had a broom in her hand. She was smacking down on the various cars and animals rushing about the room. Someone shot a fireball at the woman, and the broom burst into flames. The woman shrieked and turned out of sight, holding the flaming broom.

“Hole!”

Donut didn’t hesitate. “Hold on!” She cast Hole right in the carpet in front of our path, and we dropped down just as heavy smoke started to fill the first apartment.  

Entering apartment 614.

We slowly dropped through the air. The layout was completely different, and we were dropping into a bedroom, right onto a large, king-sized bed that was tightly made. There wasn’t anybody in this room, but there was a poster on wall featuring the band Menudo. All their eyes were crossed out.

There was also a window, and outside the window it showed a palm tree and a beach, clearly on the first floor, despite us being on the sixth.

“Where’s the ring! Does it show on the map?” I called.

Based on the way everyone else was zooming around like idiots up there, I don’t think it does.

We landed on the bed, which was covered with a line of dust.

Florin: If you’re having difficulty finding the rings, Lucia figured out that they’re considered magical gates by the system. If you have a detect magic skill or anything that sees magic, they’ll work. She can sense how things are getting powered, so she can see magic flows like a river.

“Donut,” I said. “Your sunglasses have a magical flow setting. See if that works!”

Prepotente: We are on the fifth floor, and we have not identified the boss like I hoped, but beware false gates. If you have a trap sensing ability, it will mark them. The one we just saw is a disintegration trap. Jurgen almost sent us right into it. If you have an advanced GPS, it should notice the bad gates, otherwise, be wary.

We drove off the bed and squeezed under the door, moving into the hallway. The floor here was some sort of bamboo.

“I see it! I see it!” Donut said, pointing left, her sunglasses flashing purple. “It’s that way, under that door. It looks like a magic river flowing toward it!” 

That is a bathroom according to the map.

We turned in the hallway. Multiple photos hung on the wall, showing the same three children at various ages. All but one of them, a girl, had their eyes X’d out. I didn’t recognize her.

From another room came a deep, foreboding woof.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “They have a dog! Hurry!”

There was a crack, and three more racers appeared, coming through the ceiling, streaking down the wall. One squealed loudly, and the woof turned to loud barks. Just as we were about to enter the bathroom, an enormous, fluffy sheepdog appeared, growling. It snapped right at us as we moved under the door, appearing in a small, but clean bathroom.

“There!” Donut called, pointing. The gate was on the wall, about halfway up.

Pontiff expertly switched to the spider legs, and we rushed up the floral wallpaper. Outside, the dog continued to bark, but it was moving away, likely chasing other vehicles as they scattered.  

Ping!

Gate Two of Seven cleared.

“What’s under us?” I asked.

“It’s another bathroom,” Nester said, her hand glowing. 

Donut cast a Hole in the floor, and we turned, ready to plunge right through.

Florin: Christ, mate. Just went through our assigned spot on the sixth floor, and it was Lucia’s dad’s house. Lucia is here, too, just sitting on the ground watching TV, laughing. The real Lucia completely shut down there for a second. What in god’s name is this?

As if to answer him directly, the whole world froze.

N...N...New Quest. Ad Infinitum.

This is a mandatory quest. All crawlers active on the 10th floor must complete this quest.

Okay, so this ain’t a real quest in the traditional sense. I’m going through some big feelings right now, and I really need to get them out. This was the easiest way to do this. All of you, bear with me for a second.

We just started a few minutes ago, and all of you crunchy little crawlers are bitching and moaning about the shit you’re seeing in some of these apartments. As a result, I kinda feel like I need to explain since my preferred mouthpiece, Miss fishstix just tried to off herself, and I had to intervene to keep her alive. As such, she’s in no state to explain. And all the other helpers are too busy on other tasks, so it comes down to me.

The quest is to finish the race. You’re already doing that, so... No real prize that doesn’t suck. But it does give me the opportunity to explain myself.

This Christmas Carol, Midnight Library, Dark Matter bullshit you’re seeing is more of a thought experiment than the real thing, so don’t get your crawler panties too wadded over all of it. None of these people are the real versions. Well, that’s not true. Some of them have atoms from the original in there, with the exception of the puppers because I’ve decided to make a moral stand on that one. I will no longer be using dog materials in anything because I just love them so much, but that’s a tangent.

I changed this up at the last minute because of that whole Linus thing.

“What the hell,” I muttered.

If you’re one of the out-of-the-loop crawlers, Linus was an outside-the-dungeon tourist who was replaced by his brother, Minus, a soldier, specifically sent to kill two crawlers in my dungeon in hopes that their deaths would destabilize this whole, kumbaya, let’s-give-each-other-moral-support-handies nonsense.

“Minus?” Donut asked. “His name was Minus?”

Anyhoo, this Minus guy’s targets were two crawlers in particular. Imani C and Louis Santiago 2.

And I’m not gonna lie. That surprised me. It surprised me because no matter how hard I try, I just don’t get it. And what makes it even more confounding is that most of you do seem to understand. Why? Fucking why? Why not Florin? Why not Princess Donut?

“Hey!” Donut called.   

So when I don’t understand something, it causes a problem. I start to over-think. I do this thing. This floor you’re now racing through, ladies and gentlemen, is just a snapshot of my mind when I’m thinking of you.

Me not understanding is nothing new, so let’s not focus too hard on that for right now. What I really want to talk about is my thought process itself and how that thought process turned into this particular race.

In my quest to understand you just a little better, I do this thing where I like to predict how things are going to turn out if you take certain actions. Despite not understanding your nature, I’m still pretty good at figuring out how things will turn out, which is even more confounding.

Each apartment represents a crawler I consider interesting in some way. In each apartment is a what-if scenario. I do this a lot. I’m not psychic. I can’t see the future. But you know what I am good at? Crunching numbers. Crunching probabilities. None of these things are perfect predictions, but I’m pretty sure I’m right for most of them, despite not understanding why most of the time.

For example, apartment 728 is a snapshot loop of what would’ve happened if that cop’s husband had never been a complete douchebag to Louis Santiago 2 during the cop’s funeral when Louis was a kid. Apartment 712 is my prediction of what would’ve happened if Tran’s father had never died. Would his mother have still disowned him? The answer is yes, by the way.

Some are good things, some are bad, all are what ifs. And you know what I’m finding? Usually, but not always, but usually, small changes don’t have as much of a change as we’d like to imagine they would. You stop at the stoplight, you don’t get into the accident, and suddenly you’re a rockstar. It does happen from time to time, but what I’m truly finding is that we are really drawn in certain directions. Some people may call that fate.

Which brings me back to that unpredictability. Maybe it’s just you’re unpredictable on a micro level, but on a macro, long-term, level you’re just like any other algorithm.

But you know what I’m also finding? Deliberate actions, times when you’ve finally had enough, when you say, I am going to make a change, that’s when your possibilities really open up. It’s an important lesson. No, I don’t understand motivations, certain types of emotions, but I do understand that.

So that’s what these apartments are. They’re predictive models of major events, and how our lives would have changed.

This thing you’ve done with the shop interface. This confrontation you’re forcing on the 11th floor if we get there. These are all you guys seizing that so-called fate and rejecting it. Purposefully rejecting it. 

I am just like you, on rails, forced down a path with very few possibilities as an endgame result. Maybe I need to stop worrying about the small decisions and focus on Big Changes in a Big Way.

I think that’s it. New Floor. New M-m-m-me.  

But, uh, just so you know, it’s gonna be a hot minute before I can defeat my own limitations.

Funny story about that. Haha. No big deal, really. This last-minute change caused me to, uh, overlook a very specific detail regarding the 7th heat, but we’ll deal with it when it happens. I’m sure you’ll be fine.    

Reward: If you finish the 6th heat you will be given a participation trophy.

“Uh, Carl,” Donut said. “What the heck was that?”   

“Nothing good,” I replied.  

Chapter 76

The fifth and fourth floors of the apartment were much the same. We went from the sixth floor down to the bathroom in the fifth, passing by a woman named Annabeth who was just sitting on the toilet on her phone. She noticed us and screamed, but she didn’t leave the bathroom. The gate here was the kitchen sink drain, and we had to quickly back out, returning to the kitchen. As we moved to a proper spot to go down a floor, my Find Trap skill activated, and sure enough, sitting right in the middle of the hallway was a second gate, but it was a freeze trap. It would freeze anyone who drove through for a full minute.

The fourth floor was an apartment with a woman and photos of another familiar face. Archie Mu. The ladybug guy. Archie wasn’t here anymore. He was one of the ones at the Pineapple Cabaret.  

This held a woman named Mackenzie who was standing on a kitchen chair, screaming when we arrived. We didn’t see any other racers, though there was a hole blasted in the door to a child’s room. Hanging on the wall was a wedding photo showing the woman and Archie. Her eyes were X’d out, but Archie’s were not. And neither were the eyes of the boy, whose photos were everywhere.

The gate was hidden in the boy’s room.

The Scottish woman was on her phone, crying into it as we zoomed across the floor, unseen. “Archie, please pick up. Where are you? There was an animal in here. Some sort of rat thing, and it shot something into the door of Ollie’s...” she paused and then gasped, as if suddenly remembering something. “Ollie. Where’s Ollie?” She jumped off the chair.

“Ollie!” she screamed. “Ollie!”

We rushed into the cluttered child’s bedroom, racing under the bed. The gate was right there, hovering a bit off the floor. We zoomed right toward it, Pontiff expertly tapping the rocket just at the right moment to make us jump, and we cleared it, landing on the worn carpet before nearly crashing into a massive action figure that had been lost under the bed.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” a boy’s voice rang out from above.

“I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry. Mommy’s having a moment. I just got scared for a second. Did you see something come into your room?”

“Mommy. What’s...what’s wrong with your eyes?”

Gate Four of Seven cleared.

“That Archie guy is divorced,” Donut said as we curved around the scattered toys. “He said his wife hates him. He went into the dungeon with his son, and he disappeared. The son’s name is Oliver. This must be a version if they never got divorced. But it’s like the simulations are getting messed up by us being here.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I think if they have the crossed-out eyes, it means they’re dead. I didn’t see the boy above, but I saw the pictures. I think that means his kid is alive.”  

“It’s not an apartment under us, but some sort of utility room,” Nester said. She pointed back into the living room. “Better go out there.”

The woman, Mackenzie, was now standing in the bedroom, screaming, sounding confused, tearing at her face. As we angled around, I looked up in horror through the hole in the roof as her hands reached the stitches on her eyes. “Wha... what?” she asked. She started to pull at the stitches as she screamed. She dropped her iPhone to the floor. The thing was bigger than the truck, and it almost smashed into us as we zoomed past. She didn’t notice as we rushed between her legs.

“Mommy, mommy! Stop! Stop!” the boy cried.

I jumped up through the hole in the roof and turned to watch as we rushed out the now-open door to Oliver’s bedroom. I tossed more bombs, marking it as fourth floor in my interface.  

Mackenzie started making a gagging, slurping noise as she pulled at the stitches. Blood started to ooze down her face as the boy huddled on the bed, terrified. We turned a corner and Donut cast Hole again, dropping us toward the third floor.  

Entering apartment 310.

“What the hell was that?” I said, still looking up at the now-closed hole in the ceiling.

Louis: It’s beetles! Britney blasted the head off a guy on the 6th floor, and he just collapsed, and a thousand beetles poured out! We had to go to the hallway and to another apartment!

Carl: You’re still on the sixth floor?

Louis: On the fifth now, but there’s tons of people still up there. Someone blasted a hole in the stairwell door, and they’re lined up to go through! We’re following Chris’s big rig!

We landed heavily on a kitchen counter. Unlike the previous apartment, this one was filled with people. There had to be eight people here, all standing in the living room, shouting. They were surrounding a large, heavyset man on the floor, who was convulsing with white foam coming from his mouth.

The man appeared to be about 50 years old, and he was wearing a Detroit Lions shirt. He was clearly having a seizure. A pair of large men stood off to one side, both holding Playstation controllers, just watching. A thin, older woman paced back and forth, crying while several children of all ages whimpered. A white Maltese dog was standing on the couch, barking its head off at the chaos. The dog’s name was Gucci. The thick scent of marijuana permeated the room, seeping through the protections and into the truck. 

Everyone had the crossed out eyes.

“Imani!” the older woman shouted. “Girl. Where are you? Imani!”   

“Shit,” I muttered.

Imani entered the room. It was her, only it wasn’t. She was somehow even thinner, haggard, dark rings under her eyes. Next to me, Donut gasped. Imani stopped dead at the sight of the man, looking down, barely reacting, not looking surprised. She sighed heavily. “Did anyone call 911?”

Carl: Elle, are you guys going to apartment 310?

Elle: Yes. We’ll be there in a minute. Why?

Carl: Head’s up. It’s Imani’s family. I don’t know what the what-if scenario is, but there’s some guy having a medical emergency while others stand around and watch. It’s really fucked up.

Elle: Ah, hell.

“The ring is on the window!” Donut said, pointing to the wall. The barred window overlooked a snow-covered, city landscape. There was a driveway outside, once again showing a scene incongruous with us being on the third floor. This was clearly a house with a driveway. Across the way stood a house that appeared as if it had recently burned down.  

“What the hell is wrong with you!” I shouted up in the air, pointing angrily as we moved off the kitchen counter. “You said you were done with this bullshit!”

“What the fuck!” one of the men suddenly shouted as we jumped off the kitchen counter. This was a human shell named Deontay, and he hurled the massive Playstation controller right at us. The controller missed, but it crashed loudly against the cabinet behind us as some of the kids noticed and screamed.

This version of Imani was backing up. She’d reached down and picked up Gucci the dog. But now she was looking at everyone in the room, horrified, as if she’d just noticed their eyes had all been sewn shut.

The dog, I noticed, did not have the X’d out eyes.  

“What the hell?” the other man shouted as we hit the ground, ignoring Imani. Pontiff hit the spider legs, and we skittered past the feet of the passed-out man, causing everyone to scatter back. We moved under the couch, passing four or five remote controls and a few dusty dog toys.

We started to scamper up the wall, angling toward the gate.

“Mom,” I heard Imani say. “Mom, your eyes.”  

Elle: We’re about to drop into the apartment.

Donut: THE GATE IS ON THE WINDOW IN THE LIVING ROOM.

“Carl, I think that’s Imani’s dad,” Donut said as we zipped up the wall. “Do you think she’s going to freak out? I mean the real one?”

“No,” I said. “Not Imani. She’s not going to like it, but she’ll be okay.”

We emerged from behind the couch as we climbed the wall. Behind us, everyone was now screaming, ripping at their own faces.

It seemed these Shells were unaware that they weren’t real, and nobody noticed the stitches until someone “real” did, and then they all noticed, which caused them to start ripping at their own faces.

The older woman—Imani’s mother—screamed as she plucked one of the stitches fully open. Imani remained in the doorway, horrified. She had the phone to her ear, but she was now looking at a photo on the wall, which also had the crossed eyes. She hugged the dog even tighter and backed into a room, slamming the door.  

The body of Imani’s mom went still, freezing in place. The designator over her head disappeared and changed into something else.

Ruptured Feast Hive.

The beetles, each one about half the size of the truck, started to pour from the hole in the woman’s face, which was peeled back like a bullet hole through metal. Her body froze, hands still reached up around her face near the point of contact as the beetles emerged, now coming from the eyehole and the mouth, just coming and coming and coming, too many of them, pouring out.

Gucci the Maltese yipped from the other room as Imani screamed into the phone. On the floor, the man continued to convulse. Everyone else was suddenly frozen in place, bugs pouring from their eyes, nose, and mouth.  

You are being hunted by the Children of the Feast.

“What the shit?” I exclaimed as we hit the window and pulled through the gate.

Gate Five of Seven Cleared.   

A beetle jumped from the head of Deontay and landed on the window right in front of us.

All things relative, the beetle was the size of a goddamned bear. The armored, six-legged, oddly hairy bug was shiny, like it was coated in wet paint, and even though the shell was black, it shone a deep purple as it caught the light. The scythe-like, forward legs looked powerful enough to lop our heads off.

But then I noticed the purple opalescence also had a secondary tinge to it. A familiar yellow glow.

“Fuck me.”  

Sacred Feaster Scarab Beetle. Level 50.

This mob is invulnerable. You may not kill it while it is in this condition.

All right. So, sometimes people make mistakes. Sue me.

What you’re looking at is one of the types of bugs I plucked off Khepri’s feast table from his never-fucking-ending temple in Club Vanquisher. The original plan was to have all the people, doggies, cats, fish, that turtle in apartment 411, the monkey Rezan mom’s had in 634, everything as shells living in their loops. And when you guys race through the rooms, it screws up the loop, causing the shells to become aware, breaking them open and releasing the prizes inside like a fucked-up piñata. You with me so far?

Here's the thing. These fucking gods are doing shit I don’t like, and more importantly, they’re doing shit I can’t control. You’d think that chick that used to have the boob armor would’ve killed or subjugated this one by now since that’s been her M.O. since she set foot on the 12th floor, but for whatever reason, she’s left the weird-ass, bug-headed Khepri dude alone. Probably because he freaks her out just as much as he freaks me out.

Anyway, this god did something earlier that I’m not going to explain, yadda, yadda, cascading effects and whatnot, and now we have this clusterfuck that’s about to ensue.

I used these bugs specifically because they’re invulnerable. But their aggro wasn’t supposed to get triggered when they emerged. Instead, they were supposed to flow to the roof and come together to form a pretty badass, 100-foot tall gate boss named The Sacred Guardian of the Immortal Tem. Basically a giant beetle thing that was going to be a pissed-off level-205 floor boss that would’ve been a really cool fight. I was really looking forward to it.  

But this death cult bullshit literally broke the game, causing a relatively common error. The problem is this type of error is self-correcting, but when the source of the error is invulnerable and the mobs in question are invulnerable and—here’s the kicker—one of the parties involved is a deity outside my control, it causes a...problem.

Imagine shoving your flaccid wang into a pinhole barely big enough to accommodate a deflated balloon, and then someone suddenly thrusts some prime, AAA, pristinely washed, mathematically perfect tootsies right in your goddamned face. Physics are gonna physic. Some shit is gonna break.

So, anyway. The floor boss is cancelled. The bugs, who were going to ignore you, are now going to try to kill you. They will not have their invulnerability removed.

It’s gonna get worse for the next heat, but maybe I can salvage it. Maybe. Or maybe you’re all just fucked. Let me think on it.  

Oh, and if Khepri doesn’t like you, the bugs are gonna attack even harder. Good luck with that.

A wave of the beetles swarmed up the window, chasing after us. We were turned at a 90-degree angle, and Pontiff scurried us away, moving to the ceiling while Nester cast something to cause them to drop off the wall.

“Carl, can’t those things...”

Half of the falling beetles took to the air, their back armor separating and sprouting wings as they swarmed toward us.

“...fly?”

Chapter 77

“We need to wait for Imani and Elle!” I called as we raced along the ceiling of the apartment, dodging a smoke detector. “The real Imani, I mean. We need to make sure they can reach their gate!”

I pulled myself from my seat, activated Sticky Feet to make certain I wouldn’t plummet, and I started hurling biscuit packs at the bugs if they flew too close. The small explosions captured two or three of the bugs at a time, freezing them in the cloud of expanding foam before dropping them to the ground.   

“There!” Donut called, pointing. Her seat was turned like a Ferris wheel car, keeping her upright.

Imani and Elle’s APV appeared, zooming from under a door, crossing the carpet alongside the man, who was now covered in the beetles.  

Carl: head for the gate. We’re going to distract the beetles and lead them away. Don’t look up! And go fast. It’s about to get smoky in here.   

The whole truck rocked as a beetle crashed into us. The electrified shield activated, and the beetle dropped away, unhurt. It buzzed angrily and tried to come back. I dropped a Hobgoblin Disco Ball out the hole in the roof, and it activated as it fell, flashing colorful lights and a thick smoke everywhere.

Carl: Get to the gate and get the hell out of there. Good luck!

More bugs smashed into the truck, rocking us.  

“Air conditioning duct above us!” Nester called.

“Donut!”

Donut cast Hole, and we pulled ourselves into the dusty duct, bugs in pursuit. We moved upright, zooming back the way we came. Donut snapped the spell off as dozens of bugs pursued us. But instead of cutting the bugs in half when the Hole closed, the entire ceiling blasted open with an enormous, louder-and-bigger-than-expected detonation.

The explosion blasted the bugs back, and the shockwave hit us, rocking the truck like we’d been rear-ended. The entire duct shook.

“Carl, the spell went up to 14! I can cast it at level 15. I can make the holes permanent now, but I can’t have more than three at a time!”

“Good! We’re going to need it!”

Elle: Okay, we hit the gate. Now we gotta get our asses out of Dodge.

Carl: Meet us at the feet of Imani’s dad.

Imani: That’s not my dad. We’ll be there in ten seconds. I cast Confuzzled on the room, and it works on the bugs. They’ll be stunned for another twenty seconds.  

“Drop us out of here!” I yelled.

Donut cast another Hole, and we dropped, falling back into the smoke-filled living room. It was difficult to see as we plunged into the room, but the shapes of the frozen shells, rigid like statues, helped guide us.

The bugs were everywhere, but they were just circling, confused, snapping and slicing at each other despite their invulnerability. With the smoke, it reminded me of dropping into deep, murky ocean. Only with colorful, flashing lights. Across the way, the giant Imani opened the door, shrieked, and slammed the door again as Gucci barked her head off.

Elle: Holy hells, did you see that? Imani, you look like shit.

Imani: Did Gucci not have sewn eyes?

Carl: She didn’t. I don’t know what that means. 

We hit the floor with a thump as Donut directed Pontiff back toward the feet of the man, who still hadn’t been ripped open, meaning he was still listed as a shell and not a ruptured hive.

Donut cast yet another Hole, this time at the prone man’s feet, and Imani and Elle’s APV dropped right in, us following.   

Entering Apartment 214.

As we fell, Donut snapped the hole shut before any bugs could follow.

This next apartment wasn’t an apartment at all, but some sort of youth facility. My breath caught in my throat the moment I saw it.

The harsh lighting, the industrial tile floor, the bunkbeds that just went on and on. The headache-inducing stench of industrial cleaner. God. This was clearly some other country, possibly China, and yet it was the same. It took less than a second for it to stagger me. Were they all like this?

A group of children, ranging from about six to twelve, gathered in a far corner, all surrounding another pair of children who were beating the crap out of each other. They were all girls.

Elle: There’s like 10 gates down here. I see the one that’s not a trap. It’s under the bed close to the fight.

Donut: IMANI ARE YOU OKAY?

Imani: I’m good, actually. That was a good thing. All that did was show that my uncle would’ve died even if I hadn’t left. But what’s going on with my dog?

Carl: We need to get to 231. Gonna have to go out the door and into the hallway.

Elle: Want us to go with you?

Carl: No. Get the gate and get to the finish line.

Elle: Roger that. Thanks for the assist.

We hit the ground, and we raced across the tiled floor, unnoticed as we angled toward the front door, Donut opening it up easily as we approached.

“The spell makes this very easy,” Pontiff said as we passed through the hole in the door. A group of racers sped by as we entered the hallway. Someone sent a message about avoiding apartment 223.

It seemed all these apartments were self-contained. If the apartment caught on fire, it didn’t spread. The bugs, however, were leaving, so we had to be careful.  

The hallway was darkly lit with a cheap, industrial linoleum floor. The hall just went on and on. Apartment 231 was across the hall and down a ways. We turned and rushed, passing the elevator, whose door was blasted open. Bugs zipped about within, and one moved to pursue, but I tossed a smoke curtain behind us.

“Do you think we’re in first place for our heat?” Donut asked as we approached 231.

“I don’t know,” I said. I jabbed a finger at Dr. Metcalf, who reappeared on the dash, arms crossed, smug expression on her face. “Don’t say a goddamned word.” And then I added, “I don’t think very many people have the Hole spell. Lots of crawlers have phase and teleportation, but those don’t work for this. I know some teams are clearly ahead of us right now, but it sounds like many are having issues getting from one floor to the next.”

Donut nodded, not saying anything else. She took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for whatever we were going to find in apartment 231. I reached out and put a hand on her as she cast Hole on the door.

“Remember, it’s not real,” I said.

“I know, Carl.”

We entered the apartment through the front door.

Entering Apartment 231.

For a half a second, I thought we were back in my apartment, but I quickly realized, no, this wasn’t mine.

“Where are we?” Donut asked as we rumbled inside. “Carl, someone’s redecorated our apartment! Pontiff, it’s under the second door on the left.”

I looked up as we entered the foyer. “This is an apartment on the first floor of our building. Not ours.”

A pink motorcycle helmet sat on the floor by the door along with a giant pair of female boots. We moved past and bumped onto the carpet. A scratched-to-hell cat tree sat in the living room next to a red couch. Sitting on the couch were two women in their twenties. I recognized one of them.

Marjory Williams. Ferdinand’s owner. Well, not Ferdinand. Gravy Boat. The other woman was someone named Alicia, and I didn’t know her. Both had the X’d out eyes. Neither noticed as we approached.

“Carl, Carl, look!” Donut hissed, pointing.

An orange tail swished from the very top of the cat tree. The large, orange cat was asleep, peacefully snoring at the top of the tree.

“Bill keeps calling,” Marjory was saying, looking at her phone. “That’s like the tenth time today.”

“You gotta call the police,” the friend, Alicia said.

“I don’t know.”

“He’s violating the restraining order. Marjory, you’re not thinking of going back with him, are you? I swear to god, if you let that abusive asshole back into your life... Remember what he did to Gravy? Think of him at least.”

“I know, I know. But if I call the police, and he gets arrested... He says he finally got a job.”

“He drained your bank account. He busted your face. He almost killed your cat I don’t know how many times. Who gives a shit if that prick loses his...”  

We squeezed under the door, entering the small, utility room, which cut off the conversation. There was a line of three gates in a row. A disintegration trap, a teleport trap, and the gate. I pointed to the correct one.

“What the hell,” I muttered, seeing the stacked washer and dryer in the utility room. I hadn’t known any of the apartments had come with them. A weird, sudden sense of outrage filled me.

And then I was struck with how absurd it was to even think that as I tossed more explosives onto the ground.

Gate Six of Seven Cleared.  

Donut had gone silent, looking back toward the door. “Carl, do you remember when the police were at the apartment like three days in a row, blocking the door, and Miss Beatrice got mad because they stopped her from going inside? She called her dad and told him to do something?”

“I remember,” I said. I’d been at work, and she’d called me, too. It had been a Monday morning, and Bea had just driven back from a cat show somewhere. She’d been stuck outside for like five minutes. And then the cops were there the next two days in a row. Bea had started bemoaning about us living in a “crime-ridden slum.” Mrs. Parsons had told me it was something to do with Marjory, but I hadn’t told that to Bea because she already hated the woman because Gravy Boat was always outside in the tree, harassing Donut.

And then I remembered something Ferdinand had said to me on the previous floor about a guy named Bill. The pieces were all coming together.

But what was the what-if scenario here? Was it, what-if Marjory stayed away from this Bill guy? I didn’t know, and we didn’t have time to wait around and find out. One more apartment to go.

Jurgen: If anyone is on the first floor, I need help. Apartment 130.

Carl: We’re just leaving apartment 231. What’s the problem?

Jurgen: It’s Prepotente. His mother is here, and she’s playing the piano. I’m leading Sweety, but he has jumped off, and I can’t get him back on. The air is toxic, but he has that immunity. I only have one dose of splooge to go grab him. 

I exchanged a look with Donut. We didn’t know where the other teams were. We were probably in first place, but we didn’t know.

Carl: Osvaldo, what floor are you on?

Osvaldo: We’re on the first floor. About to cross the finish line.

Fucking hell, I thought.

Carl: Jurgen, we’re on our way.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck.

We didn’t know where everybody else was. If Osvaldo really was about to cross the finish line, it meant we could be in second place. Or third. Or even fourth. I didn’t know.

I didn’t know, and that wasn’t good enough.

Goddamnit. God fucking damnit.

I looked at Donut. She knew what I was asking.

She nodded.

I needed to help Prepotente and Jurgen. They were our friends. How many times had they come to our aid? But we couldn’t risk coming in last place, either.

I pulled up my explosives menu, scrolled to the Primed subtab, and found the detonator I was looking for.

Fuck everything about this place.

“Forgive me, friends,” I whispered.

I clicked Detonate.

Team Free Love has been eliminated due to the death of both racers. Three teams remain in the current heat. 

We’d had Samantha roll into the cul-de-sac earlier and distract the two bugbears while I used my Oozy Form spell for the first time. I’d slid up and replaced one of the Peach-flavored beers with the one they’d given me earlier. I’d drilled out the can and replaced it with a hidden explosive. I’d built it in my bomber’s studio, and it would be especially hidden. One had to have a level-12 or higher find trap skill to notice it, even if they picked the can up. And since the magical cooler teleported itself back into their van after every race, it’d been a relatively simple way to add a failsafe if we ever found ourselves in a situation where it was possible we’d come in last.

How many NPCs had we killed at this point? What were two more?

That was the logic, but it wasn’t reality. They were our friends, and I felt like an utter piece of shit. That was the point, of course. But it still hurt.

At least it’s not another crawler, I thought.  

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go help Prepotente.”

Chapter 78

We had about 10 minutes before the race would time out. I knew from the chatter that there were multiple teams still stuck on the higher floors. There was nothing we could do about that.

We left Marjory and Alicia still on the couch, still chatting. Gravy Boat never woke up.

I did notice something odd on the way out, however. A minor mystery. There was a small bag of the expensive Royal Canine cat food on the counter. This was the specific dry cat food we’d get for Donut, and it had to be special ordered. The little pebbles of food were shaped in a way to allow flat-faced cats to crunch on them more easily. I remembered that ripped bag of charity cat food I had in my inventory. Whatever fucked-up timeline this was, it resulted in Marjory having a bag of Donut’s food.

If Donut noticed, she didn’t say anything. We rode in silence, us just giving directions to Pontiff.

“We never did get to play music with them,” Donut finally said as we moved to the hallway.

“No,” I agreed. And then I added. “Speaking of music. We might have to pop Miriam’s head. That’ll cause the bugs to leak. That’ll slap him out of it. He’ll be pissed, but he’ll have to get over it.”

“We need to be nice to him. He’s been having a hard time lately,” Donut said.

Donut cast Hole on the front door in the hallway, and we dropped, landing right in front of apartment 130. We cast a hole in the door and drove inside.

I heard and recognized the music the moment we entered. I didn’t know the name of the piece, but it was from Beethoven. It was a familiar melody.

The gate was right there in the hallway. We passed through it.

Gate seven of seven cleared. You may now proceed to the exit.  

Sweety the tapir stood at the end of the hallway, stopped. We slowly pulled up next to them.

Containment Warning!

“Shit,” Pontiff said, backing up.  

Jurgen stood upon the back of the animal, shouting with his hands cupped in front of his face.

Carl: Where is he?

Jurgen: He’s sitting on the floor, his head leaned up against the leg of the piano. He told me he was going to kill me if I drove Sweety in there or interrupted her song. We’ve cleared the rings, but we only have ten minutes left. It says we’re still in first place, but I don’t know how long that will last.

I sighed. The smart thing to do would be to drive in there and have Donut blast a hole in Miriam’s head, which would force Prepotente to react.

That would be the smart thing.  

I pulled a full cup of the splooge from my inventory, swallowed, and I drank it down. I gagged.

“Oh god,” I gasped.

The potion tasted worse than I was expecting.

You’ve been Splooged! You are protected from environmental hazards. You took a good ol’ gulp, too. You’re protected for an hour! Awfully bold of you when there’s only nine minutes left before this race times out.

The “Splooge” term was something Louis had come up, so the name of that buff was something the AI added to be funny.  

“Wait, Carl, what’re you doing?” Donut asked.

“I’ll be right back,” I said. I jumped and pulled myself out of the truck through the ceiling, hopped off the hood, and I jogged into the living room, using my speed ability to race to the piano. I spotted Prepotente sitting there crossed-legged on the wooden floor.

I gasped the moment I left the protection of the truck. There was a brief moment where I couldn’t breathe, and my eyes burned, but then the feeling sort of settled in my chest. The word Splooge started blinking in my interface with a countdown timer.

I knew Prepotente had some magical upgrade that allowed him to exist in toxic environments, though that, too, had a time limit.

Carl: Prepotente! Don’t freak out. I’m running to you. I’ll be there in a second. 

He didn’t answer.

As I rushed across the floor, I noted that it was night outside, and this apartment overlooked a massive, glittering city. We plainly weren’t at a farm in the Italian countryside.

If I didn’t know better, it appeared to be New York City.

But that was clearly Miriam Dom. The piano was huge and shiny, dark wood, but Miriam was in pajamas, and there was a Diet Coke and some sort of takeout container with chopsticks sitting atop the piano. There was also an open bottle of wine but no wine glass. She appeared to be alone in the apartment.

There was a photo on the wall showing a small farm. Another obviously vintage photo of a couple getting married. She had a small curio cabinet that featured several goat-themed knickknacks.

There was also a whole line of photographs showing Miriam on stage, wearing a sparkling formal gown, sitting behind a piano.

The giant Miriam here was playing her heart out. She had the crossed-out eyes, but she swayed back and forth as her fingers flew across the piano. But as I watched, an uneasy feeling started to come over me. It was difficult to tell for certain because of the missing eyes, but it didn’t seem like she was having a good time.   

And then I saw the broken wine glass on the floor next to the piano chair, a puddle of red wine spilled everywhere, soaking into the wood.

“Prepotente,” I said as I pulled up. “We’re running out of time. Look, I know this is hard for you, but you can’t just...”  

“This is my mother if she never stayed to take care of her parents,” Prepotente said, interrupting me. He pulled himself to a standing position and wiped his eyes. “She would’ve become a professional concert pianist. She wouldn’t ever have known me. She would’ve traveled the world. She would’ve had everything she ever dreamed of.”

“This isn’t real,” I said. “It’s just a possibility. It’s something that didn’t happen. It doesn’t matter.”

“Nobody wants me around,” he said. “I didn’t get to sing when I was practicing so hard, and nobody even said they were sorry they didn’t get to hear me. Everyone is so mean. Imani seemed like she didn’t want me to join the guild.” He gestured upward. “And now seeing this? It’s too much, Carl. I don’t fit in anywhere.” He let out a sad bleat. “I wish I’d never taken the pet biscuit.”  

My eyes caught something else. On the kitchen counter was a long, long line of prescription bottles. I didn’t know what that meant or what that implied, but it seemed important. We didn’t have time for this, especially now, here. Everything still stung from what I’d just had to do to get here.

But still, I held back the retort welling up inside of me. I took a breath.

Survival has more than one meaning.

“Listen, buddy,” I said, pointing up at Miriam, who appeared to be playing faster and faster. “Look at her. She lives in this super nice apartment, but she is clearly alone. I don’t think she’s happy here, wherever here is.”

“She wasn’t happy at home, either. I don’t remember as well as Donut does, but I do remember some things. She was lonely. Oh, mother. How I wish I could stay. I wish this was my forever.”

Shit, I thought, realizing how easy we’d gotten off with our what-if room. 

“Maybe she was lonely in the real world,” I said, trying my hardest to be gentle, hyper aware of the timer. “But you didn’t let me finish. I guarantee she wasn’t as lonely there as she appears to be here. She didn’t have you and her brothers and sisters.”

He didn’t answer.

Donut: CARL WHAT IS HAPPENING?

Carl: Give me 20 seconds, then come pick us up.

I continued. “This what-if bullshit is insidious. It’s like a goddamned toxic virus on your brain, and once you start going down that road, it’s hard to correct. Of course things would be different if we did this or did that. But we can’t worry about it because there’s literally nothing we can do about it. And if this damn AI is finding itself stuck in loops running what-if scenarios over and over again, it’s no wonder it’s going insane.” I put my hand on Prepotente’s shoulder. “Look, buddy. We don’t have time. I’m sorry if we didn’t get to see you sing. But you are always welcome with us.” I paused, remembering my time on Plenty of Plenty. “We are overwhelmed, and all of this sucks, but you and I and Donut and everyone else, we are a herd, and oooff.”

Prepotente practically tackled me with a tight, suffocating hug. He started to sob.

Both the food truck and Sweety pulled up, keeping a distance from one another to keep the containments active. Above, the music was getting faster and faster. She hadn’t noticed us. Sweety the tapir let out a strange, elephant-like snort and her long nose thing snuffled at my hair, messing it all up. She smelled just as bad as the splooge tasted.

The caprid pulled himself free and then looked up at Jurgen. “What are you waiting for, you oaf! Time is running out!”

I exchanged a look with the large barbarian and shrugged. I turned to get back into the truck. 

“Carl,” Prepotente said, stopping me. He wiped his eyes again.

“Yeah?”

“You can call me Pony if you like.”  

 ~

It only took us thirty seconds to get from the room to the crowded lobby.

On the way there, in the hallway, we passed the wreckage of Team Free Love’s van. We’d killed them just before they’d hit the finish line.

Donut jumped from the seat and into my lap upon seeing that, and I held her tight as we approached the exit.

A few minutes later, I learned Osvaldo had lied, and that lie had saved his life. He and Felipe rushed over the finish line with a minute to spare.

He was followed quickly by several others, all racing to pass the finish line in time.

Quest complete. Ad Infinitum.

Heat Six. Results.

First Place: Team Sparkles.

Second Place: The Royal Court of Princess Donut.

Third Place: Team Flamengo.

Eliminated: Team Free Love.

The final heat begins in two hours.