The third screen read Limited services at this location. Take an experience cookie. One per Crawler per day. You deserve it.
There was a plate on a table filled with what looked like chocolate chip cookies. Donut jumped up on the counter and picked it up with her mouth. She ate. A +9.8 EXP appeared in the air over her head, rising into the air with an audible ping, 8-bit style. Being partied with her, I received the other .2 experience. She complained about me “stealing” her experience, and she tried to take a second cookie, but her mouth moved right through the plate like it wasn’t even there.
I also ate one of the stale cookies, evening it out.
The 10 experience points were nothing. A single, level two goblin was worth about 50, so this was mostly just a peculiarity of this specific safe room. It seemed every one of these rooms had something different and unique about it, and the weird cookies were this location’s quirk.
Looking at the map, I guessed we had about half a mile to go before we reached the next artery. From there we would pull the chopper out of my inventory and head east in search of a set of stairs.
But first, rest.
We had about six hours before the next episode. We decided to take the opportunity to sleep. Afterward, we would watch episode two, and then we would leave. No more fucking around. We had two and half days.
In addition to the two baby-killing achievements, I received several more including multiple explosive-based achievements, rewarding me with several goblin boxes. We both got another bronze Boss Box. I also got a gold Looter Box for storing more than a ton of weight in my inventory.
I received multiple skill upgrades. All of my combat skills had ticked up thanks to the rot stickers, including my Smush skill. My Explosives Handling, Dangerous Explosives Handling, and Goblin Explosives skills rose to 5. I also received a new one:
IED Skill Level 3.
It’s one thing to take a grenade and toss it. But it takes a set of brass balls the size of basilisk eggs to actually build a bomb. Especially with the unreliable crap you find down here. Every level of this skill increases the damage yield of improvised explosive devices by 10% and decreases the chances of a catastrophic, premature uh-oh by half.
In addition, I received a popup that told me because my Explosives Handling skill was now five, I would receive additional information from all bomb-type devices when I examined them.
An entire new menu appeared in my interface. It was titled Demolitions Workshop. I clicked on it, but I received an error message.
You may only access this menu when you’re standing in front of a Sapper’s Table. You may purchase this workbench from a Safe Room store.
Interesting. That was something I’d explore later if we ever made it that far.
Donut received numerous skills and achievements from charming the goblins. She received something called a silver Beguiler Box.
Donut opened her boxes first. She received the usual pile of biscuits and torches and potions. From the Boss box, she received her first piece of armor. The Beguiler Box contained a tome called Minion Army. She also received the same two Asshole Boxes I’d received. The first contained a tattoo similar to the goblin pass I’d received earlier. The second, silver box contained five potions called Weapon Oil: Weeping Wound.
She was pissed about the tattoo. Absolutely enraged. I hadn’t seen her this upset since Angel the cocker spaniel crunched down and broke one of her jingly balls.
“What gives them the right to just defile me like this? What gives them the right!” she cried. “Oh my god! It’s a disqualifying mark. It’s a disqualifying mark, Carl! I’m damaged!”
The mark appeared on her back, just over her right shoulder blade. She’d screamed and hissed with outrage when it branded itself to her. It was hard to discern what it was. While it glowed through her fur, she had so much hair that it looked like nothing but a gold-colored splotch. I suspected I would get one, too, in a few minutes. I gently touched it, and it let me read the description:
Desperado Pass.
Great. Now you’re running with the type of kids who sit in the back of the bus. What would your mother say?
This pass allows access to the Desperado Club.
Warning: Holding a Desperado Pass negates the ability to obtain a Vanquisher pass.
That was it. It didn’t explain anything about what the hell that meant.
Donut continued to bitch about it for several minutes. Finally, she moved on. With a pop, the silver, scale armor appeared draped over the back half of her body. It reached about halfway down to the floor. I couldn’t tell how it was attached to her, but it seemed to stay put. It was like a skirt, almost, though it didn’t cover her stomach. It had a slot especially for her tail. She started turning in circles, trying to look at it.
“How’s it look? How’s it look? Does it cover the tattoo?”
“It’s fine,” I said as I examined its properties. “It doesn’t cover the tattoo, not even close, but it looks great.”
Enchanted Fae Scale Quadruped Crupper of the Fleet.
Boy is that a fucking mouthful. By the gods.
+2 to Dexterity.
Light and flexible, this scale armor is made from Fae Steel. While not as strong as Elven mail or even good Orcish steel, it’s the strongest alloy that fairy folk can wear. It’s not the best protection, but it’ll make your ass look oh so pretty.
The tome of Minion Army taught a spell that cost 50 spell points to cast. It caused hostile enemies to fight for you instead of against you. It was a great spell, but Donut only currently had 24 spell points, so it was useless for now. She tried reading the book anyway, but it wouldn’t let her. Apparently you couldn’t teach yourself spells you couldn’t cast. She pouted for a good minute straight afterward.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll either trade it in for something better, or you can use it later.”
The last item she’d received was that oil, which was something one could apply to edged weapons to make the wound bleed longer.
It was my turn. I also received a ton of crap. More potions, more dynamite, another lighter, a couple smoke bombs, a couple more scrolls of Confusing Fog. I received no pants or shoes. I got the exact same items from the two Asshole Boxes, though my tattoo appeared on my goddamned neck. I couldn’t even see it, but it burned as it was magically applied.
“It’s a dagger dripping blood,” Donut said, examining it close. “My word is it ghastly. Miss Beatrice is going to absolutely shit when she sees it on me.”
From the boss box I’d received another ring of constitution, this one +2. I put it on my left ring finger, bringing my score up to 12.
From the gold Looter Box I received a single item. A potion.
Skill Potion.
Drinking this adds a single level to the Determine Value skill. Hopefully now you’ll realize all those Magic: The Gathering cards are nothing more than just meaningless pieces of paper, and you should have spent your money on something with actual value, like a treadmill. Or shampoo.
I immediately added it to my hotlist and drank. Nothing seemed to happen, but when I opened up my inventory, I had a new ability. While this first level of the skill didn’t tell me the actual worth of any of the items listed there, it now allowed me to sort them by value, which I did.
The first item on the list was that Tome of Wisp Armor. The second was the Chopper. And after that was the single Hobgoblin Detonator I still had. The next several items were pieces of goblin equipment we’d looted from the workshop, including one of the tables, which was listed as an Engineer’s Table. The list didn’t include the items I currently had equipped. I suspected my troll skin shirt would be the top of the list otherwise.
Finally done with our skills and loot, I decided to take a nap on the uncomfortable cot. Donut, still bitching about the tattoo, curled up with me.
You Monster.
I tried to pry the achievement out of my head. It was just another stupid joke. The game didn’t care that I’
d killed children. It wanted me to kill them. The room was set up for it to happen exactly as it had. We were supposed to kill or otherwise clear out the workshop. We were supposed to either blow up that room or do exactly what we did. It was a trap just as much as the bulldozer had been a trap. And those kids had been placed there, in that room, for that express purpose. They’d existed only to die. I couldn’t blame myself, or feel guilty. Donut was right. This wasn’t my fault. Not at all.
I looked up at the ceiling. Someone had carved their initials in the cheap tile. AMW. I wondered who they were, and when they’d carved it. If they were alive now. This place had no signs, so I couldn’t tell where it had come from. It didn’t feel American, but I wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter anymore. This was a place from my world. A place these aliens had stolen.
“You’re not going to break me,” I said. “You might hurt me, or kill me, but you’re not going to break me.”
I turned on my side to sleep. On my neck, Donut cuddled closer. Her new skirt thing pushed into my skin, but it felt oddly comforting. She purred so loud it vibrated my teeth.
20
I was awakened by the start of the show on the television screen.
“Day two,” the orange, lizard-like announcer was saying. It still spoke in that odd, barely recognizable version of the Syndicate common speech. It was like trying to understand someone speaking with a deep Cajun accent. Sure, they were speaking English, but to my brain, they might as well be speaking Klingon.
“Do you think we’ll be on it this time?” Donut asked, scrambling out of bed to sit on one of the chairs. “We blew up half the dungeon! That’s gotta count for something, don’t you think? My word, I am so excited I could just wee. Actually, I do gotta wee.” She scrambled from her chair and headed toward the women’s room, which would have a litterbox waiting for her.
But she rocketed back from around the corner just a minute later.
“Carl, Carl! He’s here. He’s in the bathroom! The women’s bathroom. The killer! The guy who killed Rebecca W!”
I leaped to my feet. I immediately saw the blue dot on my map, right there.
How? Surely I would’ve noticed it the moment I woke up. I’d gotten used to keeping one eye on the map. I was always looking out for others. I mentally kicked myself as I rushed forward. I focused on the dot.
Crawler Frank Q.
That was him, all right.
“Come on,” I said. I pushed my way toward the side hallway with the bathrooms.
We met in the hall, the man stepping out of the restroom, smiling apologetically. We came to a stop just a few feet away from one another. We just stared for a couple moments, sizing each other up. Donut stood between my legs and started hissing.
He was a tall man, lean, but not quite as tall as me. About forty. I pegged him as either military or a cop based on the way he carried himself. He was a white dude and he hadn’t shaved in a few days. Good looking, but not remarkably so. A Seahawks beanie covered what I guessed to be a bald head. He wore filthy, ripped jeans and a black t-shirt. He was also equipped with what appeared to be football shoulder pads, but they were made of glowing black metal, obviously enchanted. The shoulders were spiked. It wouldn’t let me examine the properties. He wore heavy boots, which I eyed jealously.
I assumed he had a gun hidden away somewhere, but I didn’t see it now. Instead, he carried a massive battle axe over his shoulder. The iron, single-headed weapon looked well-used. He also wore a belt with a line of throwing knives.
I examined his properties as he did the same to me.
Crawler #324,119. “Frank Q.”
Level 8.
Race: Human.
Class: Not yet assigned.
He did not have any stars by his name, which meant he’d never killed a boss. But he had something else.
Three skulls.
I knew exactly what the skulls were going to indicate even before I focused on them.
Crawler Killer X 3.
I suddenly felt very cold.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle your cat,” the man said. He had an authoritative voice. Definitely a cop, or some sort of law enforcement. They taught you to speak that way in training. “That is a cat, right? I thought if I slept in the bathroom, nobody could sneak up on me. I didn’t realize the bathrooms in the safe areas were different than the ones out in the hallways.” He paused. “Where are your pants? And your shoes? Have you been walking barefoot this whole time?” He looked me up and down, alternating between me and the cat, a look of wry amusement. “Also, what’s up with your name? Royal bodyguard?”
“So you were asleep in there, in the women’s room?” I asked, ignoring his questions.
He paused. He tilted his head, as if deciding whether he wanted to answer or not. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours. I found this safe room, dragged one of those cots in there, and I passed out. I must’ve been out for 12 hours straight. Stupid, I know.”
If that was true, then he’d have been asleep when we’d arrived. Hadn’t Donut used the bathroom? I couldn’t remember.
Carl: Donut, did you use the bathroom before we went to sleep?
Donut: I DID NOT I WENT IN THE HALLWAY BATHROOM BEFORE WE FOUND THIS ROOM.
“I never saw your dot on the minimap,” I said.
“You don’t see the icons of sleeping crawlers,” he said. “Have you ever seen someone outside your party sleeping in a safe room? Their bodies become translucent. If you touch them, your hand moves right through them. Are you from Seattle? I’m still pretty close to where I came in, but I haven’t been able to find any staircases down to the second level.”
Donut, who had been hissing and growling this whole time, couldn’t take it anymore. “You killed Rebecca W!” she shouted.
The man just stared at the cat for several moments. “Holy shit,” he finally said. “I thought that’s what I’d heard. A talking cat. This fucking place.”
Donut hissed in response. Behind us, I heard the clash of steel on the television screen. They’d started showing the day’s recap.
“Did you know her?” the man asked. “Rebecca Wong?”
“He admits it! The criminal has confessed!” Donut cried. “I’m gonna hit him with a magic missile.” She jumped up on my shoulder and started to wiggle her butt.
“Wait, wait,” he said. He took a step back and held up his hands. “I didn’t… It’s not what it looks like. I didn’t have a choice.”
“We didn’t know her,” I said. “We just came across her body.”
He seemed to relax. “Look, I can explain,” he said. “It wasn’t just her. There were five of them. My partner got one, I got three, and you would not believe the thing that killed the fifth guy. It’s a long story. Can you, uh, put down your cat?”
“Put me down?”
“That’s not what he meant,” I said. “Donut. Chill.” This was the first living human we’d run across, and I wanted to get his story. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but I wanted to hear what he had to say first.
Donut grumbled something under her breath.
“Where’s your partner?” I asked.
He paused. “She’s dead. Shot.”
After a moment, I nodded. “Let’s go to the other room. We’re missing the show. We can talk in there.”
“Okay,” he said. He eyed Donut warily, who made a spitting noise. Her fur was completely poofed out.
“Did you see the last episode?” I asked.
“Yes,” the man—Frank—said. He took a seat about 10 feet away, near the exit. He draped his left arm over the chair, trying to appear casual, but I could see his entire body was tense. “There’s another rest area about three miles east of here. That one has a restaurant in it. That whole block is now overrun with thorny, creeping plants that will eat you whole. I found this place while looking for the stairs. The rot stickers outside pack a punch.”
On the screen it showed a group of about 40 middle-
eastern men fighting a borough boss. The creature was an armored, elephant-sized, six-legged rhinoceros-like monstrosity with tentacles on its back. The tentacles seemed to have an ability that turned the men into stone. The monster had been hurt badly, but it ended up killing all 40 of the men. Half of them had been turned to stone. A moment later, the creature fell over and died. The display froze, and Match Draw appeared on the screen.
“Tell us your story,” I said, “and then we’ll tell you ours.”
I kept one eye on the screen, which was showing one adventuring disaster after another, and one eye on the man as he recounted his tale. Frank claimed he and his partner, a woman named Maggie, worked for “Customs Enforcement,” which was a nice way of saying he was a fed, and he worked for ICE. They’d been in plain clothes, outside in that ridiculously cold weather doing some sort of surveillance on a warehouse. The place was right on the water, supposedly employing a large group of undocumented Chinese workers. When the collapse came, the warehouse disappeared, revealing a group of about 15 men and women who’d been outside, smoking on a patio. Frank and his partner identified themselves, and everyone just started shooting at each other. The dungeon opened up right in the middle of their firefight. His partner, Maggie, stumbled into the stairwell, and it wouldn’t let go of her. So he went in with her. Five of the others, for reasons he said he couldn’t fathom, followed them in.
He went on to recount a firefight in the hallway. Of a confrontation with their leader—Rebecca W—who’d shot him three times before he got her right in the heart. He’d thought he was going to die, but he’d healed amazingly fast. He’d looted her body and chased down the last one, only to see the man get eaten by a plant monster, a thing that came out of a giant pod. It was called a vine creeper. I’d seen one of them during the show’s premiere. From there Frank found a tutorial guild, his wounds were fully healed, and here he was. He’d been using his gun and the ones he’d looted from the others, but he was now out of ammo.
“That one,” he said. “Rebecca. Rebecca Wong. She was the boss of the operation. A human trafficker. A modern-day slave driver. We were days away from taking down the whole operation.”
Dungeon Crawler Carl Page 14