[ 19 ]
Time to Level Collapse: Two days and 18 hours.
NEW ACHIEVEMENT! YOU MONSTER!
You have killed an infant! An infant!
Okay, okay. Unless you’re a complete psychopath, we know you probably didn’t wake up this morning and tell yourself, “Today is the day I’m going to slaughter a child.” Well let us put your mind at ease. All children mobs who die within this dungeon don’t actually perish.
They’re transferred to a holding area where they’re safe and treated nicely and gently until they can be reunited with their loving parents at
the end of the season.
Feel better? Good.
Reward: These past twenty seconds, when your conscience started to ease? That was your reward. It was also a lie. That baby is dead, and it’s dead because of you. You’re totally going to hell.
You’ve also received a Bronze Asshole’s Box.
New achievement! War Criminal.
You have killed more than 20 non-combatants in a single attack!
Question: What’s the only thing standing between an innocent child
and a happy, fulfilling life?
Answer: You. The answer is you.
Reward: You’ve received a Gold Asshole’s Box!
We’d found a safe room halfway through the neighborhood of the rot stickers. The monsters were small and round. They looked like little, black- hued raviolis that ran on the walls and ceilings and suicide bombed themselves against you. All the ones we’d seen so far were only level one and two, but if they managed to stick themselves to your body, they’d explode.
Each blast felt like getting hit with a sledgehammer.
The attacks also inflicted Take Down, an effect that was supposed to knock you on your ass. Once you hit the ground, I guessed, they’d swarm at your head and take you out. The little monsters were everywhere. Thankfully my troll skin shirt negated the Take Down effect.
Donut remained on my shoulder, shooting missiles at the creatures. A single blast took out several at a time. So far none had managed to get to her.
She was quick that way. Despite all that happened, she was still a cat, able to jump out of the way at the last second. But just in case, I made her drink one of my Iron Skin potions, which upped her natural armor for several minutes. I drank one as well.
The rot stickers usually focused on me anyway, the bigger and slower target. One landed directly on my inner thigh and detonated before I could get it, the effect equivalent to being kicked in the nads by a horse. I did fall down that time. If I hadn’t quaffed the potion, my leg and balls might’ve been blown clear off. I was only saved because of a well-timed missile blast from Donut.
Thankfully the raviolis made a loud, chittering noise when they approached, and it took them about three seconds to detonate once they attached to your body. Once we figured out how they worked, it was easy to smash and crush them before they did too much damage. As long as we didn’t get surrounded by a giant group of them, we’d probably be okay.
This safe room was nothing like the last one we’d entered. This was more like a small waiting area at a dingy bus station or maybe a DMV somewhere.
We still had the three screens and the larger bathrooms with showers. Plus a water fountain. A set of five cots with curtains around them lined one long wall. Two empty, curtained areas appeared at the end of the row, and I
wondered on that. Had they run out of cots? Or were they privacy areas for those who didn’t want a cot? There was no attendant, so I couldn’t ask.
My eyes immediately moved to the number flashing on the first screen.
3,594,517.
It had slowed its mad descent toward human extinction, but it hadn’t stopped. It made a low, barely audible noise every time it went down. Clink.
Clink. Clink, clink, clink, like water fast-dripping from a faucet.
I wondered how many of my fellow people had found a place like this and had given up. They were just hunkering down, eating, sleeping, waiting for it all to end. I shuddered.
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.
