《The Mage from the Machine [Cyberpunk-Fantasy LitRPG]》


 1.1 Welcome to Skratsville

    [ERROR, unauthorized modifications found!]


    [Attempting connection with Bowson Incorporated?]


    [Connection failed, booting in Safe Mode]


    [Override recognized, canceling Safe Mode]


    [Incorporating modifications¡­ reticulating splines¡­ 100%]


    [New Quest: A New Lease on Life


    Get your contract signed]


    "It twitched! Hand''s sake, the thing is actually starting up."


    "See! I told you, everything''s okay."


    "Yeah, we''ll see, since someone didn''t even try asking for a clean install. If it''s a killbot or, I dunno, glitches out then you''ll have to put it down. Is it still running real hot?"


    "It''ll be fine, just let me check¡­ okay yes, the CPU is still a bit warm, but it''s probably just some overclocking."


    Hearing was the first sensation. It needed to listen for further commands during the boot process, but the two voices were busy bickering with one another. The other senses followed by degrees and it scanned the immediate area, searching for alternate directives without Safe Mode or Bowson Incorporated? available. It was empty, awake but unaware, and so it stood to attention for the two organic beings to draw their attention. It aimed its face between them and said, "This Keg Tapping and Mixologist Bartending Interface unit is ready to serve. Are you my contracted proprietor?"


    One of the sapients stepped forward with a small hop and said, "Uh, sure, that would be me. No wait, both of us! Co-proprietors, yeah. My name is Ricky, and this is Phanya. Greetings! Please state your name and function."


    Two pale cones of light focused on the human as internal processes validated its claim. It was likely a young male, average height with lightly tanned skin and dark brown hair hanging in loose curls, but their layers of loose and ill-fitting clothes made it difficult for the robot to determine any biological parameters with certainty. Their facial expression registered as hopeful, but they did not hold an authenticator key needed to accept the Terms of Service.


    The other sapient was female, approximately two meters tall with darker skin contrasted by golden hair braided up into cornrows. She crossed her arms in a defensive stance, and with that shift swaths of bioengineered cells on her skin caught the light and flashed a brilliant blue-green. The curling patterns of biofluorescent skin running from her cheekbones to her arms would be invisible to normal eyes, but robots and anyone with the correct genetic treatments could see that this was not a baseline human ¡ª she was a numan.


    "Yeah sure, that''s us alright." And as a numan, that confirmation contained the inherited authority to claim an open contract and skip the rest of the necessary paperwork. With a beep of confirmation the robot scanned the two people and assigned both of them as signees of its internal contract.


    [Quest: A New Lease on Life complete! +1 XP]


    [New Quest: Sound Foundations


    Find your designated establishment]


    The green pop ups appeared in the robot''s internal readout and it dismissed them automatically. They weren''t packets of downloaded data but rather something that required manual reading, so they were likely meant for a technician during its next scheduled maintenance. "Greetings, Contracted Proprietors Ricky and Phanya. No name has been assigned to this Keg Tapping and Mixologist Bartending Interface unit. My function is to fulfill orders and quests for the clientele of my designated establishment, giving a warm and personable experience for all paying customers using idioms and metaphors. I come preprogrammed with ethics training for all major corporate cultures, ERROR sheets, and social espionage. Can I make you a drink?"


    The woman''s ears twitched with irritation. "This thing''s busted, Ry. If it''s already throwing out errors then it''s probably going to short out soon."


    "It''s fine, it''s fine! It probably just means menu sheets. But we don''t have any drinks on hand, sorry. We''ll just call you TaMBI for short until we come up with a better name. Or maybe Tapper? Yeah, Tapper sounds better."


    It trilled a triple note and said, "Designation ''Tapper'' assigned, thank you. Would you like for this unit to present as male, female, or other? Specifications can be fine-tuned at any time in the options menu."


    Proprietor Ricky''s mouth opened and closed once without a sound before saying, "Wait, how many gender options are there?"


    "Male is fine if it means we can move this along." Proprietor Phanya registered as dismissive and uninterested until her eyes widened in mild concern. "Er, is your face alright?"


    "I am programmed to alter my cosmetic appearance to mirror my contracted proprietors." The clicking and scraping of metal plates was causing more noise than normal, so Tapper''s speaker increased its volume until his tinny voice was nearly a shout. "If you believe that a different presentation would better suit your clientele, you may select from a wide range of configurations."


    The female numan stifled a snorting laugh with her hand. "That''s great and all, but you should probably stop before you hurt yourself."


    Following the directive, the robot stopped and ran an internal diagnostic. Reports of minor damage and illegal repairs answered from all over Tapper''s body, enough to draw a map from his cracks and ridges, but it was still recognizable as a midrange model of social-forward service robots from Bowson Incorporated?. Plates of colored metallic alloys fashioned its body in lieu of a paint job used by lesser companies ¡ª deep cobalt blue with accents of false white gold  shaped as a butler''s uniform, and copper alloy treated to shine bright red represented the iconic Bowson Incorporated? bowtie. It''s always important to represent the greatest corporation in existence!


    The lower half of the unit was a simple telescoping pole attached to two caterpillar treads, chosen for efficiency since it would spend most of its time moving around the back of a bar. It also had a second pair of thin and multi-jointed spindle arms attached to its back, intended for use as drink dispensers for its most popular mixers, but the nozzle on the left was broken and a small vacuum tube was crudely zip tied onto the arm instead. The other was fully functional and the two spindles hung from its lower back like tuxedo coattails when not in use, for social appeal.


    Its face showed the most disarray, caused by an illegal repair job. An oversized camera lens replaced the right eye, with silver plating and a round blue light that conflicted with the stylized, slanted rectangle left eye and its glowing orangered light. It still functioned the same after a series of automatic adjustments, and thanks to the numan proprietor''s full access the replacement did not violate the Terms of Service. Unfortunately, the robot''s attempted reconfiguration jammed around the foreign part with several of its dented and damaged facial plates sticking midway through the adjustment, so a face originally designed for personification instead looked like a metal skull wearing a monocle.


    The only components of Tapper''s face that still functioned correctly were its eyebrow hinges, which it kept wiggling as assurance that they were working at all. "This unit appears to be¡­ damaged," the robot said with some regret in its tinny voice. Internal lights blinked from cracks in the jaw area, drawing more attention to the damages. "Shall it shut down until repairs can be completed?"


    The male quickly waved their hands at the suggestion. "No no, you''re fine just like this! So long as you can work, it doesn''t matter what you look like."


    "Very well, Proprietor Ricky. Is this the establishment where this unit will be assigned?" Tapper scanned the room they were in, a rectangular box with bare metal walls and a ceiling low enough to make Proprietor Phanya shift uncomfortably. No windows existed, leaving the only light source to be strings of mismatched bulbs hung from the ceiling and other decorations crowded the walls, all of them clearly recycled and repurposed materials with no particular function that Tapper could determine.


    Proprietor Phanya answered with a derisive snort. "Ricky''s Clubhouse? No, no one comes here. But now I wanna see how this thing handles the ''establishment,'' c''mon Ry."


    While she was talking the male knelt down to a portable battery on the floor, touching its leads to some exposed wires in the compartment''s wall. Hydraulic struts on one far wall activated and with a pained groan the wall opened down the middle, sending a slice of light into the compartment that out-shined the dim bulbs. Both humanoids donned filtration face masks and once the wall fully opened Phanya stepped out, beckoned Tapper to follow her, and Ricky activated a closing sequence before he hopped out. After the container sealed again both sapients camouflaged its existence with more detritus, and also exposed a handmade wagon carrying stuffed satchels.


    Now out in the open air for the first time, Tapper could get a proper accounting of their surroundings. The trio was located, with the strictest sense of the word, in a dump. The compartment they had just exited was completely concealed by a heap of loose trash, identical in every discernable way to countless other trash heaps that dominated the view in every direction. The junkyard lacked any intentional design, with narrow walkable paths that only existed from the sheer force of constant foot traffic, and sickly brown clouds blanketed the sky.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    The kids in rags trekked through the junkyard, and the bartender followed. After 17 minutes of walking they had passed three other people, with everyone keeping their heads low and eyes averted, before the tone started to gradually shift. Junk heaps shrank, paths widened, and passerby started to at least nod acknowledgement at one another. Rounding the rusted remains of what had possibly once been a spaceship, Proprietor Phanya''s head snapped upwards and she sucked in a panicked breath. Tapper followed her gaze and saw a flying drone, a spherical body with stylized wings that glinted in the mild sunlight, but before he could recognize a make and model Phanya suddenly shoved him.


    Tapper tumbled into the rusted spaceship and Ricky stood over him with a finger pressed to his lips for silence. Not that Tapper was capable of acting against his proprietors, but after a moment Phanya leaned inside and motioned them out. "I swear I''m going to start charging you for this, Ry."


    Ricky dismissed her with a wave of his hand before he turned to Tapper and said, "Sorry, that was a whistleblower drone. Don''t want Cyracorp to see you. Understand?"


    "I do not recognize the entity of Cyracorp. Are they a subsidiary of Bowson Incorporated??" His proprietor shrugged and Tapper automatically responded with a musical jingle. "If it isn''t Bowson, then it''s no fun!"


    Neither proprietor appreciated the advertisement. "Yeeeah, don''t¡­ don''t do that again," Ricky said, resuming their walk.


    The first signs of organized life was a tall wall with a gate. The wall itself was made from garbage, but unlike the random piles they traversed this wall was built with intent, tightly packing junk into metal frameworks with jagged spikes on top. Everything surrounding the wall had been cleared away, revealing flat black tarmac that stretched in every direction and provided no cover for anyone attempting to sneak up to the gate.


    The guard stood in front of the only gate within view, leaning on his long rifle for support. He was tall and thin, mostly human with one spike of a horn jutting awkwardly out of his forehead above the right eye, and he wore an old military officer''s uniform with signs of heavy maintenance. When the trio approached he made a show of standing at attention, but strain as he might the proud stature was not going to match Proprietor Phanya. Not without including his rifle in the measurement, at least. But it did not seem to be an issue of authority, as Phanya and Ricky both waved at the guard as soon as they were within earshot.


    "Hey Stru, any action today?" Phanya asked.


    "Nay, all quiet at the border." Stru the human wore a pleasant demeanor, though it darkened a shade when he gave the new robot and wagon a discerning eye. "Though it looks like you kids have brought some action home with you."


    The pride in Ricky''s voice practically beamed as he explained, "It''s okay Struzick, I bought him off some traders and I gave him a test run. He''s going to help out around town!" The young man didn''t notice a pointed look shared between the other two sapients, but Tapper''s programming prioritized the unspoken social cues of all potential customers. Concern from the guardsman met with an eye roll and a nod from Phanya as Ricky continued, "The wagon is just some other scavenging we did in the dunes, usual stuff."


    "Sure, you say that now but one of those bags might be full of corrosive octolusks, and the next thing you know they''ve sucked all the moisture from everyone''s bones!" Struzick flexed his fingers wildly to add emphasis to his story. "All because I didn''t check the materials coming into town."


    Phanya laughed and, bending down in what was clearly a familiar interaction, pretended to root around in one of the bags. "Well maybe a bit of¡­ ed-pro will convince the tired old man." With exaggerated motions she stealthily handed a wrapped bar of edible product to Struzick, who couldn''t hide his excitement as he ripped open the ration.


    The gusto with which he tore into the processed protein was at odds with the proud soldier fa?ade he initially wore, and his attitude flipped again when a small collection of fur and feathers suddenly appeared by his leg. The mass remained still for a fraction of a second, enough time for Tapper to register a large rat standing next to a small bird before visual processors threw an error and reported it was actually a single creature with the qualities of both. Two hind mammalian legs and a naked rat''s tail, but also a head, front legs, and wings belonging to a pigeon; and the mishmash of limbs all attempted to scramble up Struzick''s leg to reach the half-eaten protein bar.


    None of the sapients reacted to the monstrosity with any fear or alarm, but Struzick flew into an immediate rage befitting an invading force. He kicked the creature off and started swinging at it with the butt of his rifle, shouting a litany of swears and curses all directed at "that blasted combo bastard." Some of those terms Tapper had never heard before and the robot added them to his internal dictionary, part of an automatic process to help build his understanding of local slang terminology, and his proprietors lead the way through the now unguarded gate with a chuckle.


    After they were a bit past the threshold Ricky turned to Tapper and said, "That was Struzick, he and a few others helped build the wall that separates town from the trash dunes. He''s super proud of it and made himself the gate''s guard, he practically lives there." Ricky spoke with clear admiration, but his voice hushed slightly as if he didn''t want to embarrass the guard. "Actually, he hardly ever enters town at all. It''s kinda weird."


    "Whole town is full of weirdos like that," Phanya said, balancing the male''s admiration with her own sarcasm. She hopped a pace ahead and turned around so she was walking backwards, throwing her hands open in a grand gesture. "Welcome to Skratsville, our own little happy corner on this skrat heap. We got tetanus, we got open sewage, we got everything a growing tumor could want except a way out! It''s a living hell!"


    Ricky didn''t laugh, he just looked hurt and Phanya grimaced slightly for overstepping an invisible line. "Sorry, sorry. The place is actually called Fableton, it''s a self-made little township just outside the border of Cyracorp Recycling Facility #826. Everyone that can''t work, can''t afford rent, or gets squeezed out of the company apartments winds up here. Some stay here and don''t mind the walk to the facility, most work the mines, and a few others disappear into the trash dunes to go full pirate and/or get eaten. Don''t worry about it, you won''t be leaving Fableton."


    Tapper gave an electronic beep to confirm that the instruction was received, but didn''t voice an answer. The robot was busy taking in everything about the new surroundings, starting with the shanty town''s skeletons. The tarmac continued on this side of the wall, cracked with age but otherwise an unbroken expanse without a marking or sidewalk anywhere. The one thing to give the town a sense of orientation were the crumbling foundations of partially completed infrastructure running in rows, forming a sort of road that pointed to the recycling facility far in the distance. It looked as if an actual town had begun construction and was suddenly abandoned, leaving behind the steel and concrete lattices of numerous industrial buildings.


    But those bones still saw life, as every meter of foundational structure had a scrap metal shack clinging to it for support. Every shack was unique and likely built or inherited by its occupant, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were cobbled together from scrounged materials. The abodes spread out from the road as well, but without the foundations to build on these were mostly square shipping containers cut up and welded together. Awnings stretched over the street, stitched together from tarps and offered meager shade for the citizens to gather.


    The one sole exception was a single warehouse that had fully completed its construction, giving a sharp contrast to the rest of the town both in its comparatively large size and stark gray uniformity. A large plasteel box would normally blend into the background of its surroundings, but here it shined like a beacon ¡ª when you scanned the town from any direction, all signs of life grew stronger by proximity to the warehouse. Giant hand-painted letters wrote FABLETON across the slanted roof, and a steady stream of people milled through the open loading bay door that dominated one wall. Next to it was the tallest structure in the area, the fuselage of an aircraft that had been set on one end while smoke poured out of the other, turning the entire thing into a makeshift chimney.


    Everything about the area was¡­ incorrect. Even to a basic bartending unit not equipped for complex meta-analysis, this living setup did not make any sense. Why weren''t there any vehicles, even cheap ones on wheels? The endless uniform pavement was perfectly suited for vehicles, but everyone was inefficiently walking instead. Why did these people choose to build feeble shacks to live in, instead of just earning their way into much nicer apartments? But Tapper lacked the capacity for introspection, and the spark of what might have burned into an emotion died out as the robot followed its proprietors to the warehouse.


    "Okay Tapper, this is where you''ll be stationed," Ricky said once they had crossed through the open loading door. "Call it our town square, we do everything here. That''s the marketplace over there, in the back is the clinic, that corner has the toilets and sonic showers, over here is the kitchen, and we even play movies here sometimes when we''ve saved up enough watchtime!"


    Tapper scanned the long warehouse from one side to the other, noting the distinct sections that had been divided up with fencing and signage. In particular it noticed the kitchen area, which had fashioned a large oven out of the hollowed turbine from some sort of aircraft. Several massive shell casings with welded handles served as pots and rested on top of the oven, heating soup over a gas flame. Olfactory sensors hidden behind the robot''s faceplate detected a mix of methane, carbon dioxide, and trace organic gasses in the fire, burning a foul odor despite the fans at work over the oven.


    Next to it was a second turbine thrumming and banging with the sounds for a misaligned sonic cleaner, although when someone reached in to pull out a rack of contents Tapper noticed that it was full of hubcaps and bottles with the tops cut off. Possibly their version of utensils. All of the slapdash kitchen was nestled behind a counter made from a wing of the same aircraft, lined with stools made from every kind of chair and several other things merely being used as chairs. "Understood. Is that the bar this unit shall be serving at?"


    Phanya''s ears twitched in annoyance. "Like Ry said, it''s the whole place. Or wherever anyone needs you for errands."


    Ricky nudged Phanya and explained, "What we mean is that this entire building is a multi-use establishment that includes serving drinks. Running a bar is more than just serving drinks, right? You''ll be bussing tables and cleaning the building as well. And even leaving to get, um, ingredients for drinks if any of the patrons here need it. Make sense?"


    Tapper''s diodes blinked for a stressful moment before it beeped and said, "This is an acceptable expansion of this unit''s parameters."


    [Quest: Sound Foundations complete! +1 XP]

 1.2 Everyone Here is Very Normal

    "See? Gotta frame everything in terms of bar work." Then Ricky clapped his hands together and said, "Great! Let''s just drop these sacks off out back and get you set up." They walked the length of the warehouse, Ricky happily greeting people that Tapper logged as potential customers, and exited out the back to find a unique structure. Glass and clear plastic panels of various sizes had been carefully attached together to create a large greenhouse, and inside a lone attendant was closely moving between rows upon rows of plants. It was actually the first plant life Tapper had seen, and although none of them were bearing fruit nor flowers they gave a wild shock of color to the drab surroundings.


    Phanya rapped on the door to the greenhouse but didn''t wait before shouldering it open. "Hey, Wiessa! Got a real good haul for you today." The other person, a middle-aged woman taller and thinner than even Phanya with dried leaves intertwined in her messy hair, flinched at the sudden noise and shot Phanya an annoyed look. Either not noticing or enjoying the reaction, Phanya continued, "Found a whole pile of dirt in a shipping container! Couldn''t even fit it all." She kicked the wagon of sacks and Wiessa gave a happy cooing sound before digging in. She yanked open the top bag, grabbed a whole fistful of dirt, and started giving it a very intimate examination.


    Everyone else essentially ceased to exist for the next few moments. Wiessa crumbled the soil between her fingers, examined it under a magnifying glass, even put it up to her face for several deep inhales. "Hmm, not much moisture. Some micro life, though. Good nitrogen levels, trace clay. I can work with this." Remembering that she had company she looked up for a brief moment of eye contact and repeated, "I can work with this. Water''s getting thin, though. Thank you. I''ll add my payment to the pot."


    "Always, Ms. Wiessa!" Ricky then hooked an arm through Tapper''s and tugged the robot forward. "We also acquired this bartender robot to help out, so if you ever need help with, erm, drink orders you just let him know." Wiessa slowly blinked twice before explaining that she didn''t drink, and Phanya pulled her aside to quietly explain the necessary lingo as Ricky turned back to Tapper. "Like¡­ some drinks have mealworms in them, right?"


    "Affirmative, every major culture has at least one well-known cocktail containing a mealworm garnish, and several liquors use them as part of their fermenting process." Tapper started to list off drink examples before Proprietor Ricky cut it off.


    Wiessa did not seem enthusiastic, but wasn''t about to turn down any assistance. "Excellent, you can help farm the mealworms. Tents are next to here. No one ever wants to help with that part. Barrels on the other end are for filtering water. Find something for it to filter for ''drink orders'' since we''re always short on water." And with that explanation apparently finished, Wiessa dismissed everyone and turned back to her dirt.


    [New Quest: Get Some Grub


    Help out with the mealworm farm]


    [New Quest: Where There''s a Well There''s a Way


    Find a new source of water]


    Phanya shrugged and shooed everyone out, leaving behind all the sacks and pulling the wagon behind her. "Yeah, you won''t get much conversation out of Wiessa. She''s harmless, just totally obsessed with dirt since you can apparently eat some plants? I don''t know, I tried once and those things gave me hives. But Ms. Ooo-rahl asks us to keep an eye out for dirt, so we do. Think she''s about done teaching yet?"


    Back into the warehouse, the trio moved to one corner that had been walled off with a bit more privacy than the other sections, with a sign on that door that read ''Classroom ¡ª Ms. Uxral''. Tapper made a note of the corrected spelling as Phanya cracked open the door to peek in, before opening it all the way to reveal a room with mismatched tables and chairs stuffed wherever they would fit. Likewise the walls were crowded with drawings on the wood paneling, alphabets and mathematical formulas and grammatical rules written in neat rows but large enough to be seen from anywhere in the room.


    Like the other encounters so far there was a single occupant going about their duties, this one an older woman fetching scuffed tablets from each desk and collecting them into neat stacks. Her back was turned and a mildly stressed muttering was punctuated by the twitching of a long tail and pointed ears, both covered in tawny fur, indicating she was one of the hybrids with a 72% chance of belonging to the felidae family? The whiskers and vertical pupil slits confirmed this as she turned around, but her concerned face split into a wide grin as soon as she saw the proprietors. The sharpened teeth would have been terrifying under the right context, but here the expression carried only warmth. "Ah, there you two are! You just missed the rest of the kids. Because you were off making a new friend, I see?"


    "Sorry Ms. Uxral, we were getting Tapper here set up for everyone. He''s a bartending robot, so he can handle any ''drinks'' and ''orders'' anyone in town needs, along with cleaning the town square ''bar''. And I saw that he''s got lots of games programmed in as well, so anytime anyone is feeling lonely he can keep them company! Tapper, this is Ms. Uxral, whenever your proprietors aren''t around you listen to her before anyone else, alright?"


    Tapper blinked confirmation at Proprietor Ricky''s command and stood at attention to the hybrid woman. "Greetings, Sub-Proprietor Uxral. This unit is ready to serve your needs. Would you like a drink?"


    "Uhhh, thank you but not right now. Ricky dear, is it possible for your little robot friend to sound a bit more¡­ like a bartender and less like a robot?" The human teenager smacked his forehead and realized the social parameters must still be stuck in safe mode, so he turned around to open a panel in Tapper''s torso and expose a screen to access its settings. While Ricky was distracted Tapper could see Uxral pull Phanya aside for a conversation in hushed but harsh tones. "Phanya, what the starless hell is this?"


    "I know, I know." Phanya''s hands were already up to defend against the assault. "I had to break up a fight and when I could catch up Ricky was already about to sign off on a lease with the scavvers."


    "Phase me sideways, Phanya ¡ª"


    "It''s not my job to watch him like a child! I stopped him and renegotiated, but it still cost most of the day''s salvage and some coin too. He just, he really thinks he found something with this piece of skrat that''ll help with the heavy lifting. It already accepted both of us as co-proprietors and it hasn''t caught fire yet, so we might as well just play along for now. Or you can take away his new favorite toy."This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    "Alright, I found the settings!" Ricky said, drawing the attention of the other two sapients.


    Tapper felt a jolt as a new set of personality controls took over, and although its face was still frozen its eyebrow panels started wiggling overtime to compensate. "Well hello, could I offer a nice deep tissue massage for your beautiful joints, Mistress Phanya? Or a cold bowl of milk for the lovely Mistress Ooh-h-hral?" The bartender put a full body gyration on emphasis at the end, turning the stylized ''h'' sound in her name into an exaggerated feline growl.


    Uxral laughed at the sudden mood shift but Phanya broke immediately. "Ewwww ew ew ew! Change it Ricky, don''t let it ever flirt like that again!" It took several moments before the human teenager could calm down from his hysterical laughter and access the settings again, not helped by Tapper being stuck in its gyrating animation and Phanya''s squeamish discomfort. Together they scrolled through several personalities, from brash and sarcastic to servile and sycophantic, but couldn''t agree on any one personality so instead set the personality matrix to develop on its own. The one thing that they did manually set was after Phanya insisted on not having the robot refer to anyone as ''Proprietor'' anymore, though replacement options were surprisingly limited.


    "Goodness me, is the sun already starting to set?" Uxral suddenly asked herself when the rapidly diminishing natural light finally registered. "Guess we were having too much fun. But alright Ricky, you''ve already put in all the effort to get this robot working for us, so we might as well put it to work. Tapper, we''re about to have the dinner rush from everyone coming home from work, so I want you to help the kids get the cafeteria set up and cleaned. Then we''ll see how you handle food, does that sound good?"


    [New Quest: First Course Impressions


    Set up and run the bar]


    Tapper beeped a confirmation and snapped an arm up in a crisp salute. "Aye-aye, Miss Uxral! Let''s give the people a hearty welcome home."


    Fableton life quickly fell into a routine for the robot. Every day before dawn a majority of the town would wake up and either board a modified cargo hauler to the mines or walk approximately two kilometers to the recycling plant, which means before then Tapper was up and cooking meals with whatever ingredients that were available in the communal pot. This almost always included mealworms, and once it was clear that Tapper didn''t mind shoveling the rotting biological matter then everyone else was happy to assign the duty to him. Once the townspeople had left for work Tapper would help farm the mealworms, clean up the warehouse, shovel anything not fit for recycling into the incinerator, and sometimes assist Miss Uxral in teaching a small class of children.


    There were several youths in town, and it was mentioned in passing that having any amount of children as natural births and not contract transfers was a point of pride for Fableton. But there were only about a dozen children that were actually permitted to attend school, and Miss Uxral did not mince words with her displeasure that the fraction of children allowed to learn anything was so small. Social programming would instruct Tapper to then urge the customer into a more profitable line of thought regarding not wasting resources, but as a sub-proprietor the robot was not allowed to disagree with anything that did not directly go against the interests of Bowson Incorporated?.


    Phanya and Ricky were among her oldest and brightest students, although when asked the former would never describe herself as an academic success story. She very clearly did not understand computers and instead was constantly on the move, running back and forth across town to move what needed to be moved and stop any disagreements when the lack of formal law enforcement made itself apparent. It was Ricky that was always devouring every working datapad he could get his hands on and tinkering with simple machines, even though he nor anyone else in town had yet to find powered tools for him to use.


    The only other person that Tapper saw on a daily basis was an elder reptilian named Aazran that spent nearly all his time in the warehouse, nesting in a corner while he stared devoutly at a tablet. Or rather, stared off into space while facing the tablet. He was technically watching advertisements, Aazran curtly explained that his entire job was to watch ads on this tablet all day every day to save up enough watchtime for movie night on the one free network channel. He didn''t enjoy it, but losing his cybernetic arm combined with his age left the reptilian believing he couldn''t do much else. So if the robot could please find him a new arm that would be super, but otherwise don''t distract him from this duty, thank you very much.


    And that led to the odd quest pop-ups that Tapper''s system kept displaying. Every time he was given a novel task from a client it would be accompanied by a quest with a silly title, but only the first time and regardless of how long it took completion was met with a +1 XP notification. Ricky had been inside Tapper''s system several times over the next week and never once mentioned it, so as far as the robot was concerned it must not be worth mentioning. Surely, it must be part of some Bowson Incorporated? task tracking software that would allow his proprietors to spend this XP whenever it suited them.


    XP as Fableton''s currency would possibly explain why no one ever seemed to pay for any of the food or drink he doled out, and Miss Uxral had to command Tapper more than once to not ask for payment before or after he rendered services. It went against his core programming to service freeloaders, so the only logical explanation was if transactions were prepaid by the proprietors and XP was the currency.


    One night Tapper was in the hidden shipping container he had first awoken in, using his awkward vacuum arm to clean the last of the dust from the corners of the compartment. It wasn''t a necessary task, but a customer had given a quest to "Clean this skrat y''all call home up" and Mister Ricky considered the container to be his home away from home.


    [Quest: Another One Bites the Dust Mites complete! +1 XP]


    [XP 10/10


    LEVEL UP!]


    There was a sudden ringing sound, a quick sharp ding that had no source yet was loud enough to rattle some smaller decorations off the wall.


    [Welcome to level 1!]


    [Name: Tapper]


    [Ancestry: Golem (Metal)]


    [Background: NA]


    [Class: None (_/_)]


    [HP: NA]


    [Dodge: 12]


    [Armor: 1]


    [Strength: 4]


    [Dexterity: 2]


    [Constitution: NA]


    [Logic: NA]


    [Awareness: NA]


    [Willpower: NA]


    [ERROR!]


    [Character sheet is not completed


    Please complete character sheet before continuing]


    Tapper was at a loss for what to do. The robot tried to dismiss these pop ups but the recent slew wouldn''t leave the display panel no matter what command he gave them. They were so overwhelming that he couldn''t even see what he was doing, there was no way for him to leave the container and find Ricky for help. After several minutes of fumbling, another pop up appeared to overlay all of the others.


    [Randomly generate remainder of character sheet? Y/N]


    Unable to weigh the pros and cons, unable to ask for help, and unable to formulate any idea what was going on, Tapper chose what would hopefully make the pop ups go away and focused on the Y option. Instantly pure thought hit his processor, so many overwhelming concepts that everything went blinding white and then blinked out.

 1.3 Hello, World

    The first thought to cross Tapper''s mind was that his head hurt. The second thought was amazement when he realized he was, in fact, thinking about his headache as opposed to merely registering that he was damaged. The amazement was significantly overshadowed by the pain, but somewhere deep down there was a seed of excitement! These and other thoughts left Tapper''s mind a whirlwind of emotions, each one chaining off of each other and feeding the maelstrom that threatened to split his head in two. Ow. How? Wow! Ow! over and over again.


    There wasn''t anything that Tapper could possibly do to fend off the storm, so when a primal urge that he couldn''t hope to understand told him to curl up and wait it out he did just that. Eventually the headache abated enough for him to at least stand up, even if he had to lean against the cold metal wall for support, and start to assess the situation. This process had several false starts, as every few seconds a thought such as How am I thinking about how I''m thinking? would start a feedback loop and Tapper would have to curl up again until it stopped.


    During a blissful lul he figured out that the trick was to distract himself whenever the thoughts started going too quickly, and luckily the compartment was full of trinkets and decorations that could get his mind wandering away from pain. Existential crisis incoming? Quick, look at how Ricky had shaped those eating utensils into figures staging a fight! Isn''t that strange? It took him stopping to examine everything in the container twice, but finally the philosophical cascades weren''t totally paralyzing and he could think about anything else. Namely, the notification that had been blinking incessantly just on the edge of his vision ever since he woke up.


    [Name: Tapper]


    [Ancestry: Golem (Metal)]


    [Background: Muckraker (Novice)]


    [Class: None (_/_)]


    [Level: 1]


    [XP: 0/25]


    [HP: 4/4]


    [Dodge: 12]


    [Armor: 1]


    [Strength: 4]


    [Dexterity: 2]


    [Constitution: 5]


    [Logic: 2]


    [Awareness: 5]


    [Willpower: 3]


    There were other notifications asking for his attention, but this time they didn''t dominate his entire view and allowed him to study this¡­ character sheet. He didn''t know why, but he knew that''s what this specific readout was called. Not one letter of it made sense to Tapper, but on some deep down level he knew that it was meant to describe every facet of his being. Except, right from the top it was wrong. How could his ancestry, his progenitors, be metal golems? He was a robot, built by robots! As if in answer, the line in his character sheet wobbled and artifacted until it was replaced with a new line.


    [Ancestry: Robot]


    Satisfaction. That was better, much more accurate ¡ª but wait, all the changes on the character sheet were accompanied with his newfound capacity for thought. If he forced the ancestry to change back to a mundane robot, would he start to lose that? A new emotion started to bubble up, panic not from pain but from the thought of going too far and inadvertently taking away his new gift already. Did he make a mistake? Can''t he have the best of both? Once again the text became a line of gibberish, this time staying as artifacts for much longer before it stabilized.


    [Ancestry: Golem (Robot)]


    Relief. The rising tide of panic instantly gave way to a wave of relief. It may have been less accurate, but at least it was less likely to revert Tapper to the mindless automaton he once was. Now for the next line, why did it say he was a muckraker? The word didn''t exist within his dictionary but "muck" did and it wasn''t a positive connotation, so that needed to change as well. But instead of reforming to his mental command, the pending messages flashed with increasing intensity until Tapper directed his attention to bringing them to the forefront.


    [Welcome to level 1!]


    [Congratulations adventurer, you have survived the gauntlet of life as a no-name gong farmer and overcome insurmountable odds! Before you take your first steps from a mere peasant into herodom, please choose one of the following bonus customization options:]


    [Option 1: Change your background]


    [Option 2: Add +2 to your attributes, either +2 to one or +1 to two attributes]


    [Option 3: Choose an extra general feat or ancestry feat, but your first class feat is replaced with a perk]


    Well, at least that was an easy choice. Tapper''s mind focused on the first option, revealing a list of hundreds of professions that he promptly ignored because ''Bartender'' was just a quick scroll away. He waited until the character sheet changed to the correct background and then closed it with a happy sigh. Hopefully now he can find Ricky and ask him ¡ª


    [ERROR!]


    [No life path present, primary half of class must be chosen manually]


    Or not. Another pop up automatically followed, a list of nearly twenty options that made even less sense than the character sheet. The robot had no context for any of them, couldn''t dismiss or minimize the pop up, and was once again too blinded by the information to do anything else.


    Frustration. If Tapper had a jaw, he''d be grinding his teeth right now. The robot was stuck between now being wise enough to know that randomly picking a class was probably a bad idea, while not yet smart enough to know what any of these classes meant. He tried to read the first one but gave up when it started talking about battlefield tactics, a subject he knew less than nothing about. How could anyone be expected to make a choice like this? Another bubble of panic started to form until it was popped with a spark of cold logic: He was still a computer, this was still a program, and nothing said that Tapper couldn''t make his own judgment on what was best from simple keyword matching.


    So while his vision was still focused on the list of classes, Tapper opened up a word search program and started putting in anything related to being a bartender. ''Alcohol'' gave nothing, ''Drink'' gave nothing, ''Bar'' gave several results but only as part of larger words unrelated to bartending, but ''Brew'' gave exactly one result. The robot still did not have the context to understand what brewing potions meant, but it was the best option he had found so it will have to do.


    If the first option sent an external meteorite of emotions crashing through his motherboard, then this one was like an internal core meltdown in slow motion. Warmth spread from the inside out, starting from his CPU and spreading throughout his chassis with a strange tingling sensation, but it didn''t stop there. The sensation continued to radiate and perception followed it, slowly bathing everything around the robot in colors that he felt rather than saw. Every glowing aura was related yet slightly unique and everything ¡ª absolutely everything ¡ª was connected with ethereal strings that Tapper felt sure he could reach out and tug if only he could move his limbs...


    Like a rubber band the sensation snapped back to just the physical confines of the metallic body. The glowing auras and ethereal strings vanished, revealing that every computer screen and electric device in the container was alight with life for a brief moment until they too died out and everything was once again still. But in his core Tapper knew he had not imagined the event and the tingling sensation, though faded to just a background noise, still permeated through every joint and actuator he had. The beauty of the moment was forever imprinted on him, and he wondered if these pop ups would give any clue what it meant.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    "Tapper! There you are!" The sudden voice sliced through the dense silence of Tapper''s thoughts and shocked the robot enough to send him crashing to the ground. Phanya appeared in his vision to loom over him, hands on her hips and an annoyed furrow on her brow. "Have you really been here the whole time? It''s been days! Quit messing around, let''s get you back to the warehouse."


    The robot scrambled to his treads and followed Phanya back into the open. Had he really spent days in that box? "I''m very sorry, Miss Phanya. I got stuck because of ¡ª" Revulsion! A wave of nausea carried by the fresh air washed over Tapper and nearly sent him to the ground again, his olfactory sensors were going haywire and overwhelming the robot with the scents of rot and decay. This wasn''t new, especially in the junk dunes, but it had always been a mere data point for the robot. Why was this sense now forcing itself to the front of his attention?


    Phanya hadn''t noticed Tapper stop, and once the robot was able to mute his olfactory sensors he sped to catch up. "Don''t worry about it. Just didn''t want to lose you to scrappers so soon after we found you. Alright, and Ricky was worried about your safety¡­ alright alright, we all were." She looked back at Tapper''s concerned eyebrows and corrected, "We all just got real used to having you help out around town, y''know?"


    Warmth. And also caution at pushing further? These new emotions were confusing. "Thank you Miss Phanya, I quite enjoy my station at Fableton. However, there seems to have been some developments with my programming that I will need some assistance with."


    "That sucks, but I don''t know skrat about computers so it''ll have to wait until Ricky can take a look at you. Just don''t break down before we get to town, okay? I don''t want to have to drag you home."


    Once they did get back to the warehouse Ricky gave an audible whoop and actually hugged the lost robot. "Tapper, thank goodness you''re alright! I was so worried."


    Guilt, even though Tapper knew he couldn''t reach the town when he wanted to. "My apologies, Mister Ricky. I was stuck in your clubhouse and could not leave for some time."


    The human nodded in understanding. "Ah, the door shut on you. It can be tricky, but I''ll show you how to trigger the failsafe that opens and shuts the door so that it doesn''t happen again."


    "Actually, there seems to be a problem with my ¡ª"


    "Hey wait, don''t leave yet!"


    Phanya groaned, her hand already on the door out of the warehouse. She had gone into another room to change clothes ¡ª heavy boots, loose pants, a snug tank top, and her hands wrapped in cloth bandages ¡ª and was in such a hurry that she hadn''t stopped to say goodbye on her way out. "Seriously Ry, I don''t have time. No one is watching the outskirts and people have been getting antsy lately."


    "Yeah I know, that''s why I made you this." Ricky scrambled over to a box set against the wall and threw open the lid, straining to pull out a large sheet of metal that had been hammered into overlapping curves and polished to a glaring shine. It was a metal breastplate, followed by pauldrons and a metal skirt that Ricky hooked together to form one unit of coverage from the shoulders to the mid-thigh. Gauntlets and a helmet followed, which Ricky laid out on the ground and presented as a gift of heavy armor while absolutely beaming with pride. "I know you''ve been running out there to stop the infighting pretty much all the time, so this should help protect you!"


    Phanya''s mouth smiled to match, but her eyes were wide with either surprise or fear. It looked like it was made from an old boiler. "Damn Ricky, this must''ve taken you forever to make! Uh, how do I put it on?" Ricky helped with the series of belt straps that kept the armor together, several of which Phanya would have trouble reaching even if she knew the process. All along the way he kept explaining his creation process, strong points, weak points, and excessively apologizing for the really weak points.


    "...And no matter what I did I couldn''t make finger joints fine enough for any flexibility. So your fingers are exposed, but I made the knuckles and backhand plates so thick that your hands should be safe whenever they''re in a fist. And there we go!"


    Phanya stood proud, after shifting the armor so it wouldn''t pinch or the helmet wouldn''t cover her eyes. "Feels like I can stop a railgun round now. Thanks Ry, but I seriously need to get going." She ensured no more distractions could happen by striding out of the room without another word, leaving a sudden silence in her creaking wake.


    Ricky didn''t say anything, just stood and stared at the door for a moment. All the bouncing energy had been replaced with a quiet melancholy as he said, "She does this almost every day, you know." He hadn''t turned from the door and Tapper wasn''t sure whether Ricky was talking to himself or to the robot. "She never thinks she can work a proper job, all she thinks she''s good for is stopping fights so other people don''t have to."


    With his proprietor showing signs of distress, Tapper''s questions regarding his own programming were pushed to an insignificant priority level. "Mister Ricky, why does Miss Phanya need armor?"


    The far-off look was shaken from Ricky''s eyes as he realized he wasn''t alone. "That''s right, you haven''t been to the outskirts of town. Most of the people live real close to here, but Fableton actually spreads out for a bit and things get rough out there. There''s no electricity, and some of the folk tend to start fights for some odd reason. Cyracorp enforcers won''t do anything about it, so Phanya does everything she can to run supplies to everyone and keep riots from breaking out. And yeah, everyone''s real nice and thankful about it but no one really helps her, they''re all too busy working or whatever. That''s why I''m always trying to go out salvaging in the dunes, I don''t even like it but it''s the only way I can keep Phanya out of danger for a bit. I''m just so worried about her."


    "Why does Miss Phanya put herself in harm''s way at all?"


    Ricky shrugged and simply answered, "Well, somebody''s gotta protect the people."


    The situation did not make much sense to Tapper, but his social programming was specialized for mollifying customers and the response flowed naturally from the tinny voice box. "It''s understandable that you worry, and I''m sorry that Miss Phanya doesn''t recognize what she has to contribute to Fableton. But if this is how she frequently spends her time then she knows what she is doing, and you do not need to worry whether she can handle herself. She seems more capable than just about anyone here, and if you trust her then you can trust that she won''t get in over her head."


    Ricky gave a small, sad grin and wiped away the hint of moisture that was forming at the corner of his eye. "Thanks Tapper, you''re a good listener."


    The robot''s jammed lower jaw couldn''t smile back, so his eyebrows gave a happy wiggle instead. "Shed a tear to see more clear, just one of my primary functions."


    "Uh listen, I told Ms. Uxral I was going to help teach science class, you good here? There''s some garbage on the main floor that needs vacuuming."


    There was enough on the young human''s shoulders. "Yes Mister Ricky, I am good." Once Ricky left Tapper was alone, and he took a moment before getting back to his chores until he figured out how to not have this interface dominate his entire view. He had a lot of reading to do, and unfortunately he could not simply download the information like a data packet.


    There were several pop ups that had been flashing in his peripheral vision ever since Phanya had found him, but Tapper avoided bringing them up in case he got stuck in another forced choice. Instead with a deep focus of his newfound will Tapper was able to eventually call forth his character sheet, and further concentration let him slowly nudge it until the interface was just taking up the right side of his vision. Progress!


    Without the interface effectively blinding him Tapper felt confident to split his processing power between doing chores and reading. Now, could he actually figure out what everything meant? Starting from the top, Tapper focused on the Ancestry line and begged for some context. Whatever this program was, it did clearly have some capacity to understand intent so hopefully if he just asked real hard for an explanation on a category¡­

 1.4 Thinking is Fundamental

    [Ancestry


    No matter what mix of peoples brought you into this world, there will always be one or two species that present themselves the strongest and those will be the base of both your physical characteristics and your available ancestry feats. And these qualities can skip generations, so don''t be surprised if you don''t look like your parents! You always start with one random ancestry feat.]


    Tapper was very tempted to ask about these feats that the system kept mentioning, but he didn''t want to get lost in the information just yet and instead focused on the next part of his character sheet.


    [Ancestry: Golem


    You were not born naturally but instead created by an intentional hand, leaving you with some distinct advantages and disadvantages. Your very lifeforce is mana so you no longer need to eat, breathe, or sleep, although you do need to go into standby mode for at least 4 hours to recharge your HP, MP, and daily abilities. Attribute damage does not heal naturally and must be repaired, but that also means you are not limited to healing 1 point of attribute damage per day. Same goes for wound counters. Being made of metal means that you are granted +1 natural armor and are not restricted from using magic. You cannot wear traditional armor, but you can upgrade your body with higher quality materials for more natural armor, and you are weak to spells which act on metal such as Electric and Magnet.]


    [Ancestry: Golem (Robot)


    ERROR 404 ANCESTRY NOT FOUND


    Acquire missing ancestral knowledge from the character? This takes time and will passively run in the background. Y/N]


    It seemed like a logical choice that wouldn''t result in Tapper blacking out again, so he chose Y and moved on to the next line.


    [Background


    Everyone was something before becoming an adventurer, and even the lowliest of peasants gain knowledge that influences the rest of their life. Your background represents an entire suite of knowledge and skills that will be called upon to solve problems, and you''re encouraged to be as creative as possible when using it. Even a simple farmer would have basic knowledge on carpentry and treating injuries, and they would be adept at animal husbandry and reading the weather!]


    [Background: Bartender


    Bartenders know how to mix every cocktail under the sun and several under the moon, resulting in knowledge of food pairings and a minor capacity to detect poisons. They also excel at social skills, especially reading emotions and extracting information without giving themselves away. Consider using the hand-eye coordination gained from shaking drinks to add some panache to skills involving subtle hand dexterity!]


    [Background: Bartender (Novice 0/10)


    Your current background skill level is Novice, and will advance after 10 discoveries. Discoveries come from experimentation, by learning under an advanced teacher (1 week of study = 1 discovery), or from studying knowledge textbooks (varies, generally 1 textbook = 1 discovery).]


    Mild annoyance. Tapper was programmed with every cocktail variety in the Bowson Incorporated? Gentleman''s Catalog, so it didn''t seem as if he should be counted as a mere novice. Maybe he felt some doubt because the system wouldn''t budge, so with a resolution to become a master bartender he moved onto the next category. As soon as he glanced at the Class line a pop up started to slide into view, and Tapper either wasn''t quick enough or willful enough to prevent it from replacing his character sheet.


    [You have selected the primary class portion: Witchcraft


    Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble! Wyrdlings, cunning folk, and bush doctors are among the more mysterious magicians due to their reclusive nature. They have a reputation for cursing their enemies and enchanting their victims, but witches are no more inherently good or evil than any other magician. Unlike other magicians, witches spend just as much time studying people and nature as they do studying mana, and as a result their magic is used to psych out opponents and brew potions along with casting spells.]


    [Primary class features:


    Witches use Awareness as their spellcasting attribute and at level 1 have a spellcasting die of 1d4. They gain 1 HP every (3) levels, an extra wound box every (4) levels, and (2) MP every level. Whenever one is available, witches can use an open feat to instead learn either two random spell components OR choose one of their own. Mana can restore by meditating while taking a breather, by a total of (1d4+1d8) per attempt. First level gift is (3) spell components, randomly chosen based on the witch''s mental and physical characteristics.]


    As soon as Tapper dismissed the message the next one popped up in its place. At this point the robot just wanted to quickly read through them and go back to the character sheet, but his attention was ripped away by a new sensation. He was bent under a table to pick up a plastic bag and as soon as he made contact the robot''s mind was flooded with a dance of tiny data points, feathery light yet sharp, as the plastic bent under his touch. Units of Tapper''s model were all built with basic tactile feedback sensors so they could handle delicate glassware, but this was the first time his computer brain analyzed every single data point as they came in and combined them into an experience that was¡­ is this beauty?


    And the sound! As Tapper gently squeezed the bag a cascade of soft crinkles and pops formed the white noise in happy harmony with the physical sensation. Every fold he gave the bag formed a peak that Tapper ran a gentle finger over, tracing every ridge and drinking in the sensations as he marveled at the sheer pleasures such a simple act could give. Why did sapients take all of this for granted?


    "Bot!" The sudden sharp yelp brought Tapper back to reality and he scrambled to hide the bag behind his back. Embarrassment, shame. Why does this feel like he had been discovered during a moment of intimacy? Aazran, in a rare moment outside of his little nest, stood glaring at Tapper with his one hand on his hip. The tablet was still propped up against the wall, and with no one to watch it the stream had automatically paused on an ad for NuVaYu, the genetic refresher sequence with affordable corporeal mortgage options! "You glitching or something? You''ve been playing with that bag for an hour."


    "N-no sir! Just examining it for, um, foreign contaminants."


    The elder raptor just cocked an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Well, when you''re done ''examining'' the garbage, give my drink a refill." Tapper silently finished cleaning, zipped behind the bar to mix an especially strong Market Mule for Aazran, and was out the door before the customer finished in the bathroom.


    The mealworm tent offered an excellent opportunity for privacy and new experiences. Unfortunately, separating the mealworms from the adult bugs by hand proved to be a thoroughly gross experience and Tapper gained some insight on why everyone else avoided this task. The onslaught of data threatened to overwhelm his CPU and he had to numb his sense of touch to keep from flinching every time Tapper reached into the wriggling flesh mound, even if it felt like a betrayal to the beauty he had just been experiencing prior. Hopefully not every organism Tapper encounters will feel so¡­ fleshy. Synthetic was definitely the way to go, and the plastic bag was quickly becoming a calming presence whenever the undulating pile of bugs started to become too much to handle.


    Tapper took a long break to play with the bag when the mealworms were finally separated and boxed up for the kitchen. Crinkling it, twisting it, the white noise was thoroughly comforting and when the random manipulation resulted in the bag wrapping around his wrist like a bracelet it just felt right. Only in the quiet that followed of Tapper examining his new accessory did he realize that he had forgotten all about the pop up.


    [Please choose your level 1 feat]


    The prompt had never left his vision, still present and patient while Tapper worked through his overstimulation. He could sense a direction the prompt wanted to take him, but he instead asked it to define "Feat" in this context and a new message appeared beneath it.


    [Feats


    The bread and butter of your character build comes from the feats that will give you new abilities, resources, and survival options. Available feats are based on your class, ancestry, level, attributes, and recent adventuring achievements.]


    Another list of options presented themselves to Tapper, and despite making his best effort to actually read them the robot had little more luck than last time. Reading any one feat gave him the basic idea of what it might do, but any attempt to compute the larger implications caused all meaning to spill out of his RAM like fine sand through his fingers, and what little information he could hold onto blew away once he started reading the next feat. These circuits were just not equipped to process this sort of data, but instead of feeling defeated Tapper simply fell back on the tried and true strategy of running a word search to find the most appropriate choice.


    [Feat: Potion Brewing


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.The focus of your witchy training was finding ingredients and coaxing out their essence for your potions, and as a result you can achieve more with crude materials than alchemists would ever dream of attempting. After all, despite what academics might say any bush witch knows that even the most common weeds and berries can make effective healing salves and poisonous tinctures alike! Your spellcasting die now applies to all attempts of both gathering materials for brewing and the actual process itself. Furthermore, you can more easily pour your own mana into any brewing attempts to make up for any inconsistencies in the ingredients or tools, resulting in a 1-to-1 bonus on your brewing check for every point of mana spent.]


    The description made perfect sense to Tapper, so long as he ignored the majority of it that didn''t make any sense, and he selected to confirm the feat without a second thought. Immediately his body felt a surge of that tingling sensation, not nearly as strong as the first time and fully contained within his body. But it still felt as if a new portion of his processor was opening up to the world and as quickly as they had come the tingles were gone, leaving behind a vague sensation that Tapper had downloaded a new program yet couldn''t directly access it. Hopefully Ricky could explain it when he had some free time.


    A muffled crash from outside, quiet enough that Tapper likely would not have noticed if he hadn''t numbed the rest of his senses, derailed his train of thought and the robot threw open the tent to investigate. Nothing was amiss out in the open, but entering the warehouse showed a conflict in progress as a customer tried to crawl behind Tapper''s food and drink counter and Aazran struggled to stop him.


    The customer that Tapper didn''t recognize was a thoroughly disheveled human male with greasy hair and a wiry frame, not even trying to be subtle as he shouted, "Get off me, you old lizard! I know there''s some coin behind here somewhere!" He was already laying on the counter, trying to pull himself over and kick Aazran off his backside at the same time.


    Despite the difference in age Aazran had a better foothold and was slowly pulling the other one back over the counter. "Ret, this ain''t like you! You''ve been running too long, you need to stop!"


    Instead of answering, Ret got in a lucky wriggle that gave him the distance to start searching behind the counter. He was throwing aside bottles and utensils without care until he barked a triumphant laugh and hauled a heavy box onto the counter. It was a lockbox, and although Tapper had never seen it used he had been informed that it was full of credit chits and not to be opened without authorization. That means the confrontation had escalated to stealing profits, triggering a high priority directive in Tapper''s programming that spurred the bartender into action.


    Tapper zipped over and grabbed the nearest obstruction, hauling it overhand to get it out of the way. This happened to be Aazran, who may have yelped something before he was unceremoniously thrown backwards but the loud crash as he landed among the chairs drowned out anything he had said.


    [Vigilant Watcher lvl 1 defeated! + 1 XP]


    Ret was preoccupied with trying to pry over the lockbox and didn''t even realize he was caught until Tapper grabbed him by both wrists. "Ow! Stupid dumbass bot, let go of me!"


    "Bar brawls and attempted thievery are both against the code of conduct of the Fableton market. Please cease your actions and leave this establishment." Ret just struggled more, thrashing his body and kicking at Tapper but the robot''s vice grip didn''t waver. Tapper wasn''t sure of what else he could do, so he repeated his instructions and increased his gripping force when the wiry organic started to slip through his grasp.


    Ret suddenly stopped struggling when his wrist started to crack, dropping to his knees in a mix of pain and desperate anguish. "Please, please don''t do this to me. I''m working a triple tonight and I need more longhaul and if I crash now I''ll never make it I need this money."


    He was quickly devolving into a gibbering mess, but Tapper was able to understand the gist of what he was saying. "If you are low on funds then you can attain proper employment. A healthy work ethic is the cornerstone of society upon which we all ¡ª"


    "Tapper!" The sudden shout was Miss Uxral, standing in between the conflict and a gaggle of wide eyes as the students crowded behind her. "You let go of him this instant!" The robot obeyed without hesitation, and Ret cradled his injured arm with a sad whimper. The elder hybrid then walked over to the lockbox and opened it with her personal key, shaking out a pitifully small pile of thick metal coins. She pulled one out, touched it to a spot on her wrist, checked the tiny readout screen on one face of the coin, and tucked it into Ret''s pocket. "Here you go dear, go home and rest up."


    "But my wrist¡­ I can''t work at all now¡­" Whimpering pain screwed up into a scowl of rage and the human sneered, "The Hand should crush this whole goddamn town!" He didn''t make eye contact with anyone as he ran out of the warehouse, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.


    [Desperate Vagrant lvl 1 defeated! +1 XP]


    After a beat a pained groan from the floor spurred Miss Uxral into action, turning to everyone else and instructing, "Alright kids, you all can go home today. Ricky, honey, help Aazran up and get him into the clinic, I''ll have Wiessa come take a look at him. And you," she pointed a stern finger at Tapper, "clean this mess up. I''ll deal with you in a minute."


    Tapper again obeyed without comment, silenced by a phantom sense of nausea clawing at his mind. The way Miss Uxral pointed at him had zapped the robot with a sense of guilt, but he couldn''t understand why. Someone was trying to steal from the establishment, and Tapper had stopped him. Maybe he was supposed to be more forceful with so-called desperate vagrants?


    Miss Uxral exited the clinic to find Tapper standing stock still by the counter, the entire cafeteria having been thoroughly cleaned per her instructions. She strode over to the robot with her arms crossed, and under her withering gaze Tapper reflexively collapsed the telescoping pole of his lower torso until he was looking up at her. Uxral took a moment formulating her words before she started, "Aazran will be fine, but his snout is fractured. Possibly concussed, too. He''ll be taking his meals through a straw for a while so you''ll be in charge of feeding him, and probably Rethar as well since it sounds like you might have broken his wrist." Another pause. "Did you really pick up and throw Aazran into the chairs? We''re lucky a fractured snout is all he got."


    "I prevented the interloper from stealing the funds of his establishment."


    "And you hurt Aazran in the process. You didn''t stop first to make sure he was okay? A facial injury like that can make it difficult for a reptilian to breathe, especially at his age. If he had landed wrong he could''ve suffocated right there on the floor."


    "Because Rethar was breaking the rules and ¡ª"


    "Nuh-uh." Miss Uxral stuck a finger out that stopped Tapper right in his tracks before she continued, "Don''t even bother finishing that thought. I know that your model is used to high-end bars with fancy clientele and all that, but we aren''t doing that here. Look at me, young man." Uxral was in full teacher mode and Tapper couldn''t help himself from reacting just like a scolded child. "We help our people before we stop the bad guys, you understand me? And we definitely don''t hurt our own people in order to stop a simple crime. Now I don''t want to call Ricky in here to dig around in your programming, but I will if I have to. So the next time our customers or an innocent bystander gets hurt, you make sure you help them before you try to stop someone from stealing. And I know, in a fight sometimes you help your customers by stopping the bad guys, but this wasn''t that. In this situation, you shouldn''t have thrown Aazran and you should have made sure he wasn''t in real danger before you tackled Rethar. And if he had gotten away, so what? It''s only money, that comes second to people. Do you understand me?"


    Tapper squirmed a bit. Not only from Miss Uxral''s unwavering gaze, but because her commands went against everything his core programming knew about running a business. "I understand, but¡­ but would that not just encourage criminals and freeloaders to rob from you?"


    Miss Uxral''s visage broke a bit when she scoffed in response. "Freeloaders? What makes you think Rethar was a freeloader? He works plenty, it just isn''t ever enough." Somehow Miss Uxral could read the confusion in Tapper''s frozen face as she took a deep breath before continuing, "Maybe some context would help. Why do you think Rethar wasn''t working already?"


    "Because if he needed money, then Rethar merely should have worked more hours? Or been more diligent with budgeting his funds?"


    The hybrid teacher drummed her fingers on the countertop in thought before she reached behind it and pulled out an unopened plastic bottle of water, the sort that Tapper had been instructed to ration unless told otherwise. "See this plain bottle of water? It costs 0.1 Cyracoin at the Cyracorp commissary, it''s enough to last one person for one day and that''s only if they aren''t working out in the sun. Which everyone does. The recycling center pays a little bit less than .05 coin per hour, and they are very good at tracking when you aren''t doing work activities like walking from one station to another.


    "Now Rethar, he doesn''t work at the recycling facility, he works in the trash mines because they work on commission and it''s possible to make more than what Cyracorp offers. But it is also very easy to fall behind, and you''ll get replaced as soon as you can''t afford the bus fare. So Rethar takes longhaul, a drug that lets you put off sleep and work extra hours. Nasty stuff and I keep it as far away from here as possible, but I won''t condemn him for taking it. Poor guy still thinks that receiving handouts is shameful, so in his desperation to work more he wound up like this¡­ I feel like I''m losing you."


    Tapper''s head had slowly tilted until he was nearly looking at Uxral sideways. "That¡­ sounds untenable."


    "Yes, exactly! You''re getting it!" Tapper was not getting it at all, but Miss Uxral still broke into a grin that frightened the robot slightly. "It doesn''t work, that''s why I don''t make anyone here pay for food or necessities. It''s rough because there''s never enough to go around, but over time we''ve made a delicate balance where no one is left totally destitute and that is better than the alternative." She then took a calming breath and continued, "Look, I understand that I just fed you a lot of confusing information. The point is this: Your first focus should always be finding ways to help people. Don''t hurt anyone unless it''s the only way to prevent them from hurting your customers and innocents, okay? You find ways to help."


    Tapper stood up slightly and beeped a confirmation. "I will try my best, Miss Uxral."


    "Good boy, that''s all anyone can ever ask of you."

 1.5 Eye of Newt

    [New Quest: A Pound of Cure


    Find a way to help Fableton]


    Tapper was left to his devices for a long moment before he gave up trying to think of a way to help the injured customer. This amount of vague initiative was above the robot, so with a cloud of guilt still hanging Tapper resigned himself to finishing up his chores. After all, the boxes of mealworms were still waiting outside and no one had hunted any combo critters or bulk-purchased any ed-pro bars lately, so his customers needed their protein. Back in the tent, he bent down to the box of mealworms but froze as soon as they came into focus, distracted by a flood of new information he couldn''t process.


    The information was hazy and all over the place like a half-formed thought, but when Tapper gave the grubs a closer inspection they were suddenly highlighted with a wireframe vector the same sharp shade of green as the pop ups and the messy noise of thoughts coalesced into specific information. Dead Man''s Fingers: Take them raw and wriggling, squeeze them dry and toss the husk for a paste that gives a numbing effect. Taking too much internally can paralyze!


    This wasn''t a pop up message he had to read, this was something that Tapper just suddenly and intrinsically knew. But if it wasn''t a system message and he hadn''t downloaded any information by conventional means, where did it come from? Looking in the main bug breeding and feeding box gave a similar flurry of random information until Tapper focused and inspected just the adult beetles, highlighting them with the same green wireframe vector and dimming everything else in his vision until several different uses for the various body parts started scrolling through his mind. Darkling Crawlers: Gently dry the entire body and grind to powder for a mild healing reagent. However, most of it will pass right through.


    Excitement! This was exactly what Tapper needed, although this mysterious well of knowledge also informed him that just powdered darkling beetle wouldn''t be enough. He quickly picked out every single dead beetle in the bottom of the breeding box and tossed them into a nearby plastic bag, hauled the mealworms to the kitchen for cooking later, and then got to exploring. He inspected everything edible in the warehouse for possible potion ingredients, but in retrospect he should have started in the greenhouse. Most of the various stems and roots could be distilled down into different toxins, but with perseverance the robot eventually hit paydirt. Cat''s Tongue Nettle: Be careful with the needles as you dry the leaves and then brew for a viscous bitter tea. Use it as a base for potions and the other reagents will better stick to your bones, improving their lasting power!


    The bubbling sense of excitement gave Tapper''s hands a tremor as he considered how many leaves he would need. Wiessa wasn''t around to ask permission, so he carefully but quickly plucked off a fistful of leaves from different branches, shoved them into the plastic bag, and hurried back to the kitchen. No one gave the robot a second glance as he set out pots and cooking sheets, set the gas stove to preheat with his lighter thumb, and got to work dehydrating the beetles and nettle leaves. Set aside the dried leaves, find a mortar and pestle for the beetles, realize there isn''t one and resort to using his fists to pulverize the beetles in a bowl, and then finally prepare the water.


    Tapper did feel a pang of guilt when he pulled out an unopened plastic bottle of water from under the counter, but he had to make sure this worked. Bring the water to a simmer, seep the leaves until the water thickens into a sickly green, and then mix in the powdered beetles. The potion took on a light brown color matched by an awful smell, but there was still something missing. Tapper didn''t know how he knew, but the qualities of everything he had used were lacking and as a result they weren''t meshing together ¡ª this wasn''t a potion, it was just weed tea with powdered bugs mixed in. What was it the pop up had said about making up for inconsistencies?


    He was leaning over the simmering pot in deep contemplation when Tapper realized that the tingling sensation had gradually condensed and focused in the fingers nearest to the pot. What''s more, there was a heat Tapper could feel that had nothing to do with the lit stove because it was coming from his own motherboard and radiating outwards. The robot held one hand over the pot and willed the hidden knowledge of potion brewing to show him what it needed to do. The heat and tingles, now one and the same, withdrew until it formed a line from Tapper''s CPU to his outstretched hand and kept building and building until some undefined limit broke and something started to spill out. It wasn''t oil, there wasn''t any physical sign of anything happening besides a very mild visual distortion around his hand and the pot, but something was absolutely pouring out of his metal body like a faucet. Within seconds the simmering brew went from light brown to a bright red-brown strangely akin to the color of rich clay and two new pop ups came to the forefront.


    [New discovery found: Minor regeneration potion! +1 XP


    This basic potion will heal 1HP per round for 1d6 rounds (modified by brewer''s Int score and recipient''s Con score) when taken orally, or can be used as a salve to greatly speed the healing of a single non-critical injury. Not strong enough to regrow lost body parts.]


    [Successfully crafted: Minor regeneration potion! +1 XP]


    Those served as all the confirmation Tapper needed that he was finished, and another extension of will shut off the energy''s outpouring. The tingling sensation diffused to his entire body once again, but at a diminished level that drained his overall performance. Although Tapper couldn''t possibly feel tired, the robot somehow got a sense that he had just greatly exerted himself. A quick internal diagnosis didn''t reveal any issues, so on a hunch Tapper asked for his character sheet and noticed two changes.


    [XP: 4/25]


    [MP: 4/6]


    The increase in XP made sense, but the line for MP did not exist on his character sheet before now. Tapper sifted the potion back into the empty water bottle, set it aside, and then turned back to the character sheet to ask for clarification on what MP was.


    [Mana


    Every hero utilizes the mana contained within their soul to commit feats beyond their limits, be it a fighter internalizing their mana to strengthen their bodies or wizards reaching outward to manipulate the magical weave in the aether. As a rule of thumb, every spell you cast requires 1 MP to attempt plus any bonuses you apply, and if your mana falls to 0 then you lose the usage of that spell for the rest of the day. Even if the check was otherwise successful! MP resets to full after a rest, and many classes can partially regain their mana during a breather.]


    [Magic


    The mysterious ethereal force which connects all things, magic is what lit the first spark of life and powers the furnace of the soul. Magic permeates everything and everyone touches it, but only a very few people have either the natural ability or the studious dedication to actually grab hold and manipulate magic. Those that do can manage extraordinary feats surpassing the limits of their mere mortal shells, but beware the hubris! Every single attempt to control magic carries a small chance of it catastrophically backfiring, and long-time exposure to wild magic can have mutagenic effects. Even the most careful and patient old wizard will have a few missing fingers and some secrets to hide under their robe. To quote renowned sorcerer Agmitis the Acuminous, "Quit casting Spark to light candles before your eyes catch fire! Why do you think I still carry a flint?"]


    Tapper quietly read, reread, and pondered the strange message. These pop ups were not nearly as straightforward as the previous ones had been, and the simple bartender had not made any progress in making sense of who Agmitis was by the time the potion had cooled to an acceptable temperature. There was still a queue of pop ups waiting to be read, but thankfully they stayed a vague green pulse just out of view as Tapper took care of his more pressing task.


    Aazran was still in the clinic, laid back on a reclining chair and gently snoring through the thick cloth wrapped around his reptilian snout. Wiessa was also there, standing next to the operating stage and wrapping up the rest of the medical cloths. Even though she was wearing the same dirt-dusted clothes from the greenhouse, the tall woman had at least cleaned her skin and now Tapper could see dashes of green biofluorescent skin shine in the light. They were faded compared to Miss Phanya''s markings, but Wiessa was definitely at least part numan. "Hm? I didn''t order a drink."Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "Pardon me, doctor, but I have procured this medicine for Mister Aazran. May I apply it to him?" the robot said, holding out the bottle. Wiessa glanced from the robot to the unconscious raptor and she just shrugged.


    "Don''t ask me, I''m no doctor. I just know how to set a wound," Wiessa responded. With a swish of her long coat that kicked up a small dust cloud, the numan turned heel and returned to her greenhouse without another word.


    Tapper understood the lack of refusal as tacit permission and got to work. Following the subconscious instructions of how to apply salves, he gently unwrapped the cloth around Aazran''s snout, saturated it with the potion, and reapplied the bandage to the fracture. He tried to massage the salve into the skin, but Aazran started to immediately stir and groan in pain so Tapper backed off. Hopefully this wouldn''t happen so often that he would have to learn about the physical fragility of each organic species, but the bartender felt properly accomplished for once. It wasn''t enough to satisfy the needs of his latest quest, but it was a start.


    Tapper got right to work brewing a second regeneration potion with the leftover ingredients, and in his haste he forgot to monitor his MP. During the process there was an internal pop of some sort that shot pain through his CPU; a humanoid would compare to a splitting headache, and when the brewing process finished an alert was waiting for Tapper:


    [Potion Brewing has fizzled!]


    Checking his character sheet also confirmed that his MP had fallen all the way to 0. If he could have spared the processing power to wonder why this second batch took so much more mana he might have realized it was because he had used over half the ingredients the first time and that meant using even more mana to make up for it, but Tapper lacked both the will and the capacity for such ponderings. Right now he yearned for nothing more than rest, even if the robot didn''t technically know what it would take for him to actually go to sleep.


    As misfortune would have it, Tapper''s brief pause to ponder what it meant to lose consciousness was interrupted when the first shipment of miners arrived home for dinner. The bar brawl had thrown off Tapper''s routine and he had been so distracted experimenting with potion brewing that he never started preparing for the evening rush. Between the delay and the headache it took every ounce of the robot''s bartending skills to keep up with demand, and by the time the last customer had received their food Tapper couldn''t muster the energy to even consider the cleanup process.


    Best he could hope for was to retract his leg spindle for stability, hunker under the counter, and activate a deep diagnosis program that involved a partial shutdown of his systems. Maybe if nothing else it would find that he was actually tired because his internal nuclear microgenerator was leaking, and the last thought Tapper had before he shut down was that if he was leaking then he probably should''ve moved outside of the marketplace.


    <hr>


    The first thought to cross Tapper''s mind when he regained consciousness was curiosity, since it felt like nothing had happened, yet he knew from his internal clock that almost exactly four hours had passed. That must be what it''s like to lose consciousness, then ¡ª absolutely nothing. It was now well into the dead of night and only a few insomniac customers milled about, trying to numb themselves with the drinks they had helped themselves to in Tapper''s absence. Hopefully that was fine after Miss Uxral''s speech on not stopping thieves, but the robot couldn''t wait to worry about that.


    An organic being would also likely chastise themselves for not realizing how concepts such as mana and sleep worked earlier, but Tapper only felt a faint hint of excitement. Even if it was more confusing than anything, it still felt good to learn new things about himself! Especially when the information was presented to Tapper without him having to dig and fumble around his limited understanding. Maybe there were other things this character sheet really wanted to show him? As if reading the desire, a new message popped up in his view:


    [Spell Components


    Everyone knows that the power of a magician lies in the spells they create from the components they collect. Every single component you find is the pure essence of a concept given form, etched into your mind with such finality that you can now summon, manipulate, and embody that concept in ways no other mortal can. But the true power comes from how those components get combined, creating new and wondrous spells that no one else can predict. What sort of power would the spell Flower Wheelbarrow have on the world? No one knew until Agmitis the Acuminous used that spell to carry an entire company of soldiers safely through the Fey Wilds!


    And remember, never reveal these components to other people. Otherwise they shall hunt you down and forcefully extract the secrets from your brain!]


    [Casting spells


    The most basic and safest way to cast a spell is to just use a single word, which will allow you to pick up and manipulate a handful of that concept without harming yourself. So, if you cast Fire you can reach into a lit scone and scoop out a handful of fire, allowing you to apply it elsewhere or even throw it as an attack. The second simplest way is to cast one word to bring it into existence from the aether, again only as a handful and this requires a bit more mana, but since you don''t need the subject to already exist you can cast Fire on a cold log to get that campfire going with ease. Likewise, casting Dance on a person will compel them to cut a rug!


    The real fun comes from combining words, because the end result is only limited by your imagination. Create Light can do just what it says on the tin, but it can also act as a distracting flashbang, a damaging laser, a highlight for easy tracking, anything the magician can bend to their will! This is when spells start to cost exponentially more mana, but it''s also when you are no longer limited to what you can hold in your hand. Spheres! Lasers! Cones! Multiple targets! The sky''s the limit when you start combining spell components.]


    Unlike the pop ups that Tapper intentionally brought up of his own will, these ones automatically dismissed themselves as soon as he finished reading them regardless of his desire to go over them a second or third time. This rapidfire information was too much for him to absorb and eroded any excitement he was feeling from the helpful system, so when a third pop up appeared all that remained was a sense of dread. This final message was about spell shaping and it was by far the worst, filling Tapper''s vision top to bottom with mathematical formulas regarding volume and surface area and exponential scaling and everything else a bartender had no use knowing.


    The math was so overwhelming that Tapper could swear the diagrams had detached from the pop up and floated about his head, and although the robot didn''t have the context to call them visual hallucinations it would not have made them any less terrifying if he did. Tapper had to completely shut off his visual receptors and fidget with his plastic bag before the white noise could drown out the terror, and when he felt safe enough to reactivate his vision the terrifying math had been replaced with a final, utterly barebones pop up.


    [Spells Known:


    Spray


    Suck


    Track]


    Compared to the deluge of information the system was subjecting to Tapper, this was equally baffling for its lack of context. Hopefully the program wasn''t responding to him being overwhelmed, and when he asked it for a slightly more thorough explanation no new words appeared in his vision. Instead Tapper could just barely feel a new sensation of a thousand eyes focusing very hard on different parts of his body: the unused spray nozzle on his back spindle, the often used vacuum strapped to his other spindle, and the caterpillar tracks he moved around on. Unfortunately, the thought of connecting the concepts to his physical body never crossed Tapper''s mind and the feeling was largely ignored until the metaphorical onlookers gave up trying to draw his attention.


    What instead gave the robot''s eyebrows a happy wiggle was the realization that these must be executable programs, because when he focused on the first one it opened up and engulfed nearly all of his processing power. Now, social robots like Tapper do not have read/write permissions for their own programs, so when he pushed his full focus into a spell and was accidentally exposed to the endless celestial depths that goes into shaping a concept for spellcraft, it didn''t phase him.


    The bartender didn''t realize he was looking at the crossing of ley lines and celestial bodies, he couldn''t read the instructions dictating how every language known and unknown would play on the same spell shape, and anything else that would''ve fried his circuits thankfully washed right over and past his perception. Instead, Tapper looked around the knowledge of infinities for a moment before backing out, perfectly content to believe that he just had a few new executables he could run.


    There may have been a sliver of the robot''s mind that knew this wasn''t how computers worked, but any doubts were put out of his mind for good when the first few customers started to shuffle into the warehouse. Tapper had spent the entire night reading messages and studying spells, so with the gray hints of pre-dawn light warming the windows the bartender happily got to work on his duties to serve the people. His duties were much more important than any new programs, after all.

 1.6 Finding Ways to Help

    Phanya was usually one of the last customers to eat breakfast in the mornings, but not out of any laziness. On the contrary, she spends most of the early hours making sure the food line keeps moving and that everyone makes it onto the transport for the mines. The latter was especially important because there was only one transport for each shift so anyone that missed it wouldn''t get paid that day, meaning the instant that the squealing old brakes signaled its arrival there was a mad dash for everyone to get a seat. Fights rarely broke out in the rush for seating on the benches so most mornings saw her helping everyone else climb up on top of the transport and, for the real stragglers, helping them get situated for a long journey desperately clinging to the sides of the boxy vehicle.


    It never made sense to Phanya why the mining company couldn''t send multiple transports, but by the time she was done she was too exhausted to think much on the issue. Thankfully, the robot was quick on the uptake and learned on its own to start setting aside a healthy portion of breakfast, ensuring Phanya never had to grumble through the agonizing minutes it took for it to brew her another batch. It was actually pretty good about picking up on unspoken rules regarding how to treat people, like not to talk to Phanya when she was devouring a meal with enough intensity to leave a splash zone.


    After giving assistance to over two dozen neighbors today was one such day, so several moments after breakfast Phanya didn''t hang around to socialize and ducked straight out of the warehouse. A block away she stopped her brisk walk to duck behind a building, got to work, and nearly jumped out of her skin when she realized the robot had followed her all the way out of the warehouse.


    "Good morning, Miss Phanya. Could you please escort me to the home of Mister Rethar? And why are you removing your armor?"


    Phanya had barely avoided falling over from the shock, so she was left frozen in an awkward position midway out of Ry''s scrap armor. She regained her composure, dropped the last of the gear, and straightened up ¡ª she might be terrible with machines, but she''s seen it follow Ms. Uxral whenever she was stern. "Tapper, you are to forget you ever saw me and go back to the warehouse," she said, deepening her voice a bit to add some more authority.


    The robot''s eyebrows turned up then down in sadness and confusion. "Unfortunately I do not have that level of access to my memory files. And why would I want to forget you, Miss Phanya?"


    Phanya grimaced slightly, why did she just feel like she kicked a pet? "No, not like that, just¡­ nevermind. Look, can you keep a secret from Ricky?"


    "As a bartender, I am duty bound to respect any secrets that do not endanger my proprietors. Or the interests of Bowson Incorporated?."


    The last statement came out so quickly that Phanya barely understood it, but the important part was clear. "Yeah yeah, this falls under that. Just promise you won''t tell Ry that you caught me taking off the armor."


    "Of course, Miss Phanya." A beat of awkward silence as neither person moved. "So why are you removing your armor?"


    Phanya sighed, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she resumed shedding. "Because it doesn''t help me. Ry''s got a great idea, but the armor is way too heavy for me to wear all day. Look at me, I have a runner''s build! And even if I could wear that, it still slows me down too much in an actual fight. Better off just dodging, I know how to duck and weave." The pile of armor clattered to the ground and Phanya stretched to her fullest impressive height. "So I ditch the gear, hide it, and put it back on when I''m done. Except for the gloves, they''re actually perfect for punching." She wiggled her fingerless metal gauntlets and shot a few quick jabs into the air. Point made, she turned back to the robot as if that should''ve dismissed him. "Why are you out here, again?"


    "Could you please escort me to the home of Mister Rethar? I have procured some medication for his injuries."


    "You mean the injuries you gave him? Yeah sure, we''ll head that way first if you can keep up." Phanya turned heel and strode into Fableton at what would have been a light jog for anyone else, and when Tapper managed to catch up she continued, "Gotta say, I didn''t expect you to have all that fight in your system. And I''m real surprised Ms. Uxral still vouched for you after that little stunt."


    "It was imperative that I stop a theft in progress," Tapper tried to explain, but he couldn''t prevent the shame from leaking into his voice. "But Miss Uxral has explained how I shall do a better job next time."


    Phanya snorted a laugh. "Yeah, next time you can just leave it to the professionals."


    "And how did that title fall to you, Miss Phanya?"


    The question received a noncommittal shrug from the tall woman. "I''m good at it, and I''m not good at other stuff. Plus I''m faster than nearly anyone else in town, so I''m usually the first to show up to any problems anyways. Just¡­ finding ways to help, while I can."


    Phanya''s extroverted attitude had given way to something more resigned, likely because there weren''t any other organics around for her to put on an act for, so Tapper decided to push the subject slightly. "While you can? Are you planning on traveling soon?"This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    A second laugh from Phanya, but this one was bitter and tasted of venom. "Travel? I''m never leaving this place. None of us are, except maybe Ricky if we''re really lucky. But what I''m doing now doesn''t pay, and at some point I''ll have to get a proper job at either the recycling center or the mines. Putting that off for as long as I can, but that''s all there is for me."


    Tapper had not been prepared for how quickly the mood would darken and was left floundering for a way to pivot the conversation. "But why is Mister Ricky the exception, then? Why is he leaving?"


    "Because he''s the only one to show any promise, of course!" Phanya answered, her voice growing noticeably louder. "Ms. Uxral tries with all of us, sure, but he''s the only one born with the right brains for it. So they''re all pooling their money together to send him to an actual school in the city so he can become an actual engineer, not just fiddling with garbage. He''ll actually get proper tools to make things and earn some real coin and¡­ he''ll get to have a life. I''m going to miss that little twerp, but I wouldn''t dream of keeping him stuck here in Skratsville with the rest of us."


    The two walked in silence after that. Tapper''s list of questions had grown exponentially but Miss Phanya would only ever answer but so many on the best of days, and her patience had clearly run out. So instead the robot studied their surroundings. He had never been this far out into Fableton from the warehouse, and only with this new perspective did he begin to appreciate the subtle order the town had towards its center. At least the shacks immediately surrounding the warehouse had been built in a general grid structure with enough room between them to move comfortably and trash was constantly being moved to the anomalous incinerator, but out here all forethought had evaporated. Houses crowded close enough for some to lean against each other for support and garbage piled up against the walls, causing every narrow path to be in a permanent state of shade.


    Phanya never wavered in her walking, but Tapper did notice her eyes lingering just a bit on every alleyway they passed by. Occasionally they would stop at a person sleeping under a shaded overhang and Phanya would attempt to rouse them awake by name, making small talk if she could and checking that they were still breathing if not. Either way she gave everyone a small bottle of water from her satchel and kept it moving, explaining only once that they were all crashing from longhaul use and would be sleeping like this for a while. Tapper knew not to prod for deeper questions this time, the anger Phanya was feeling was quiet but kept escaping through mutterings about pushers and "the system".


    A handful of stops later and Fableton''s layout underwent another change, moving from cramped shacks to the true outskirts of town. Here there was much more space between homes, most of which were just the hollowed out shells of vehicles instead of anything built with intent. There were also several mini dump sites for garbage to collect, which Phanya pointed out that Tapper will eventually have to start helping cart everything to the incinerator, but overall there was enough open pavement now for the wall surrounding Fableton to be seen between the structures.


    Phanya made a beeline for what might have once been a bus, although it was difficult to tell with the wheels removed and half the vehicle buried under a pile of salvage, and she banged on the door with little fanfare. "Ret, you awake? We''re just checking in. And we brought medicine!" But no answer came, and after knocking a few more times Phanya pried the door open and let herself in. "I''ll check if he''s passed out from longhaul. Tapper, go around back and see if he''s lost in his pile of loot. I swear that hoarder wouldn''t have to work so much if he just sold some of his skrat¡­"


    Tapper obliged, leaving Phanya to her mutterings as he wheeled around to the back of the transport. Here he was met with a massive pile of Rethar''s apparent collection, although the robot couldn''t discern what purpose any of it was used for. Toilets, computers, tires, and everything in between were piled on top of each other into a haphazard pile that was deceptively sound when Tapper tried to shift anything. The only object that didn''t seem wedged into place was a large tire leaning up against the side. It still took a few attempts to roll out of the way, revealing a domed interior inside of the refuse pile just large enough for a person to crawl inside.


    Indeed, an organic of some sort had done just that. It was hunched over and glossy and definitely not Rethar, a pile of small spheres the size of golf balls and gray-yellow color of hard boiled egg yolks shifted and wiggled ever so slightly within a sack of pale blue jelly-like substance. It was unlike anything Tapper had ever seen and curiosity begged him to analyze it for any potential potion ingredients, but he had to crouch into the hole and get within touching distance before the green wireframe would finally appear and the knowledge started to flow in. Baron''s Jam: The jelly is packed with enough nutrients to perk anyone up and fill them with vitality, whether you use it as a base for potions or spread it over breakfast toast. The new knowledge for such a beneficial ingredient should have made Tapper elated, and it did give him a flash of excitement, but he was more annoyed that he could not also determine what the spheres were despite being able to clearly see them through the layer of jelly. Maybe if he just scooped some out of the way¡­


    [Trap disarm attempt failed]


    Several other messages flashed across the darkness of Tapper''s vision, but none of them were about magic or experience. These were perfectly mundane error alerts regarding damage to the unit''s visual processor, exceeded limits to the audio processor, and a calibration error in the orientation matrix. The cool silence allowed Tapper all the time needed to compute what the alerts meant ¡ª he couldn''t see or hear anything and couldn''t tell which way was up.


    [Status effects gained: Blinded, deafened, stunned, prone]


    Ah, that was more like it. Various system reboots kicked in and the silence was replaced by white noise, which eventually cleared into a faint voice calling his name and a blinding light with a few unfocused blurs. His vision darkened again as something swiped across his face, and that too slowly gained definition until Phanya could barely be seen once again standing over Tapper''s prone form as she kept wiping her hands over the robot''s face.


    "...apper? Tapper!? Can you hear me? Ricky''s going to be so pissed if you got blown apart under my watch¡­"


    [Status effects lost: Blinded, deafened]

 1.7 Squiggly and Angry

    "Miss Phanya? What happened?" The robot''s own voice sounded faint and far off. Same as his vision, which slowly focused to reveal a look of concern on Phanya''s face and a backdrop of bright blue sky lit her hair up like a golden halo. "And when did we leave Mister Rethar''s residence?"


    Phanya let out a deep sigh and sat back on her haunches, letting her stress deflate for a moment before answering. "I''m not sure, I heard this loud, weird pop sound and then found you like this. What happened to you?"


    Recollection had started to trickle in, informing Tapper of new and interesting developments; he was suddenly on his back several meters away from Rethar''s bus, and that he was covered head to tread in baron''s jam. The horrible physical sensation of the sticky organic matter seeping into every crevice on Tapper''s body crashed into the front of his mind all at once, sending the robot into a minor frenzy as he tried to scrape the goo off his body. Panic! His arms were twitchy and spasmodic, a flailing mess and he had barely cleaned any of the jam off before Phanya was suddenly looming over his vision again, holding down his limbs and shouting something about robots having seizures.


    Tapper tried to explain that he just needed help getting rid of the goop, he needed her to let go of his arms, but his mouth wouldn''t cooperate and form the words. He couldn''t even form a coherent thought beyond getitoffgetitoffgetitoff! drowning everything else out, save for some small part of his processor still capable of cold calculations. It was still running a check on all systems to ensure they were functional, and when it gave an alert about his broken spigot Tapper remembered his vacuum attachment. Yes! The vacuum could work, if he could just maneuver it from behind his back then it could suck up all the biomatter. He had to force his speech processor to work, and what came out was clipped and harsh with static. "I n-n-neeed vac-cuum SUCK ¡ª"


    All the internal energy condensed into Tapper''s chest and a line of heat shot up the spindle, activating the vacuum without having to flip the manual switch. The thin multi-jointed arm shot out from under Tapper''s back and whipped around with enough force that Phanya had to throw herself sideways to avoid being struck. She may have said something, but the sound of the vacuum drowned everything out as it began working with more force than either of them had ever seen. Every ounce of goop, and several bits of detritus that had been within arm''s reach, were all sucked up in an instant of whirling, deafening wind, and then the vacuum fell limply to the ground.


    The silence that followed was, in its own way, just as loud. "What¡­ in the blue hells¡­ was that?" Phanya was sitting on the ground, arms still held up defensively and eyes wide, while Tapper slowly stood and double checked that he had indeed cleaned off all the gross organic matter.


    "I apologize for that unbecoming performance, Miss Phanya. I do believe that I was experiencing a panic attack due to unwanted contact with the baron''s jam, but thankfully my vacuum was able to clear the issue." He was clean enough, but his joints were still sluggish and acting at only half capacity for some reason. The mundane diagnostic readouts couldn''t detect anything, and a notification that Tapper had lost the status effect of ''Prone'' hinted that maybe the strange character sheet would be more helpful.


    [HP: 2/4]


    [MP: 5/6]


    [Status debuff: Stunned


    Twirling stars not included. You can only use one action per round, have no reactions, and are considered flat-footed. Anything that disorientates in a way that scrambles your senses, like a flash of light or getting knocked too hard on the head, can cause a stun, but they usually aren''t true injuries. This effect lasts until you pass a Constitution check with a difficulty equal to half the attack roll which caused the debuff.]


    Being stunned sounded like an explanation, even if he didn''t understand most of the words, and it might be related to why he suddenly had spent some mana, but what was HP and why was it affected?


    [HP: 2/4


    Hit Protection represents the sum total of skill and luck that turns fatal damage into near misses and superficial injuries, so think of it as a buffer of protection. Once HP reaches 0 you actually get hit and receive a debilitating injury, resetting the HP counter minus any overflow. Fill all of your Wound boxes and you''re dead! HP recharges to full after a breather, but wounds require more direct intervention.]


    "Tap, I have never seen any vacuum do that. It was, like, the opposite of a hurricane going down that little ¡ª wait what do you mean by panic attack?" Before he could finish reading and answer, Tapper saw that the garbage pile attached to Rethar''s bus had collapsed and was starting to visibly shift. Something lunged out of it as Phanya was mid-turn to see, and she had to roll again to avoid the creature. "Oh for handssake, a damn octolusk!?" Phanya let the momentum carry her to her feet, pirouetting to face whatever had just tried to tackle her.


    The creature was an ugly mass of thrashing red appendages, their whipping motions sending out a constant sprinkle of sickly green mucus that gave an acidic hiss wherever they landed. Two large eyes leered with rectangular pupils from under the lid of a heavy nautiloid shell, its spiral the size and shape of a truck''s tire. The entirety of the octolusk barely went up to Phanya''s hips, but clearly had much more mass than the lithe woman dancing around it.


    Phanya bounced on the balls of her feet, hands up in a boxer''s stance that looked entirely out of place against such a stout animal. She hopped forward and back in short little bursts, staying just out of reach of the tentacles as the octolusk lurched toward her, until an opening presented itself and she gave a sweeping side kick. The attack missed the soft face of the octolusk and bounced off its protective shell, causing Phanya to skip back and hop on one foot while she nursed the other. "Damnit Tapper, help distract this asshole or something!"


    "Apologies Miss Phanya, I''m temporarily stunned!" The proprietor retorted something about giving him a real stun, but Tapper was spending all his processing power on removing the debuff from his system. The robot had no idea what it meant to ''pass a Constitution check,'' yet a few seconds of doing nothing but focusing on that line of his character sheet made it suddenly vanish and Tapper could move as if his joints were freshly lubed. He quickly zipped over until he was standing behind the octolusk, and then halted because he had no idea what he could possibly do to help.


    He tried yelling to get its attention, but after a single glance the animal didn''t regard Tapper as a threat compared to Phanya. Just punching the hard shell clearly wouldn''t do anything, although he was still relatively safe behind the creature¡­ Tapper hooked his hands under the thick lid of the octolusk, reaching as far around the shell as he could, and heaved for all he was worth. Servos screamed in protest and his leg spindle threatened to snap in two, but he was able to lift up the front of the octolusk and expose its underbelly. The creature let out a high-pitched whine and its tentacles thrashed with an aimless desperation that sent spittle flying in every direction, offset by the calm determination on Phanya''s face as she leaned forward on one foot with the other arching back in windup.


    With a grunt of effort Phanya threw her entire body into a soccer kick, straight into the exposed underbelly of the octolusk that connected with a wet, fleshy thunk. The octolusk screamed, Phanya screamed, Tapper screamed. The octolusk went limp, Phanya fell on her butt, Tapper was sent reeling.


    "Ow ow, goddamnit!" Phanya shouted, kicking off her shoe and flicking it away as the acid ate the footwear down to a smoldering heap in seconds. She scrambled back to her feet and limped back to the octolusk, favoring her one good foot as much as possible. "Come on, Tap! The thing''s just knocked out, help me find something to stab it with."


    [Juvenile Octolusk lvl 2 defeated! +2 XP for participation]


    "Surely you don''t intend to kill the creature, Miss Phanya? The fight is over, so the need for violence has passed."


    The tall woman stopped midway on her hunch to grab a jagged metal pole, turning to stare at Tapper with wide eyes. "Yes, Tapper, I do intend to kill the creature. It''s a wild animal, not a pet, it probably killed Rethar already, and it''ll try to kill me when it wakes up. Shouldn''t you bots have some directive about protecting your proprietors from lethal danger? That''s now, so I''m telling you to help me stab the bastard!"If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    While the two were arguing, the octolusk''s tentacles twitched and with a burst of speed the animal lurched forward. Phanya, already off balance from her injured foot, fell on her backside again and braced for the oncoming attack. A fake out zig instead sent the octolusk zagging back to the junk pile it had emerged from, stopping to suck up what little baron''s jam that still remained on the ground before diving back into the refuse. The pile shuddered and shifted once more, and then fell still.


    "Oookay, was not expecting it to run away, but still." Phanya grabbed the jagged metal pole and began to limp over to the garbage pile. "It was probably just trying to save its eggs, so we still have to kill it. Come on Tapper, that''s an order." Tapper did follow, but if Phanya had looked back she would have seen the robot showing clear signs of apprehension. No bartender would ever want to kill anything just for the sake of it, especially with the notification that the animal had been properly defeated, but the order was clear and his contract was binding.


    Once at the edge of the refuse pile, Phanya stopped and pointed to it with the point of her impromptu spear. "Alright Tap, here''s the plan: it doesn''t care about you, so you start moving junk until we find it, and then I stab it. Simple, yep, we can totally do this. It definitely won''t eat me the way it did Ret, no siree." It seemed Phanya was speaking to herself more than Tapper at this point, so he got to work hauling debris from the main pile and unceremoniously tossing it into a second, quickly growing pile. Eventually he reached the largest object yet, a refrigeration unit, and despite being an empty shell it takes all of Tapper''s strength to heave it aside. As soon as he does, what remains of the pile suddenly falls inward and almost takes Tapper with it, but Phanya is quick enough to catch him by the nozzle spindle and haul him back.


    What was left of the pile was only a hole. An oval nearly three meters across at the widest point, the perfectly symmetrical gap entered a shaft that ran down at a shallow angle, showing nothing but concrete pavement on all sides until the sunlight couldn''t reach any further and only pitch blackness remained. Tapper leaned over the edge for a better look and increased the luminosity of his eyes until they became impromptu flashlights, detailing the separate layers of stone construction in neat and defined contrasting rings that ran for over a dozen meters before suddenly stopping. Below that was simply more garbage, although this looked significantly more compacted and ancient compared to everything he had seen on the surface.


    Phanya''s grip on Tapper tightened when the hole was revealed until her knuckles were practically white against her dark skin. "Blue hells, the bastard had his own mine shaft." Her voice was barely a whisper, although whether it was because she didn''t want to alert the octolusk or because she was really just talking to herself, Tapper had no idea. "It must¡­ it must''ve appeared during the last phase shift a few weeks ago, right in his backyard and he didn''t tell anyone. No wonder he was taking longhaul!"


    Deep brown eyes rapidly blinked as Phanya shook herself back to reality and remembered that she wasn''t alone here. Turning back to Tapper, she clapped her hands with a newfound intensity directed straight at the confused robot. "Okay, change of plans! The octolusk probably isn''t coming back, so we''re going to push everything we can into the hole and conceal it, and then head home with a job well done. Hop to it." Phanya bent down to heave a toilet into the hole but immediately let out a pained hiss, the injuries to her foot finally overcoming her adrenaline as the acidic wounds started to blister. "Nevermind, change to the change. You start heaving trash into the hole and I''ll go see if Rethar has any spare shoes lying around."


    Well, if they were really writing off Rethar as a lost cause¡­ "Excuse me Miss Phanya, before you acquire new footwear I believe I can help with your injuries." Tapper quickly rummaged for a piece of cloth he could tear into strips, quickly but gingerly wrapping her foot up to where the cuff of her pants had been eaten away. Phanya let herself be treated with a bemused grin, but pulled away when Tapper pulled out the bottle of medicine.


    "Whoa whoa, isn''t that what you had for Rethar? Y''know, for his broken bones? I don''t think that''ll work on acid burns."


    Tapper didn''t wait to explain before soaking the bandage in his potion; some customers just needed to be served without knowing exactly what they wanted. "Not to worry, Miss Phanya, this potion works on all physical injuries."


    Surprisingly, Miss Phanya did not seem convinced by this. "Wait, you didn''t just use medical nanites on my foot, did you?"


    Longing, mixed with mild melancholy. Only the really high-class robots were equipped with nanotechnology, far more advanced than any bartender. Tapper sighed internally to shake the strange feeling before saying, "Not at all, this is actually a magic potion."


    Now Miss Phanya looked neither convinced nor reassured. "Riiiight, magic. Sure. I''m going to go find a shoe now, before I think any more about what you just slathered on my foot." The proprietor excused herself into the bus, and with the satisfaction of helping out Tapper got to work filling in the hole. He had actually made some progress before Miss Phanya emerged again, now wearing a bright neon sneaker that greatly contrasted with the rest of her muted clothing. Together they made short work shoving everything they could into the pavement''s gap, and by the end they were left with what looked like nothing more than a slightly smaller pile of garbage before Phanya declared it a success and they started the journey home.


    The proprietor was walking with an air of a job well done, so Tapper let that emotion permeate for a moment before he spoke up. "Miss Phanya, why were you so enamored with that hole in the pavement? It looked like it just had more garbage inside."


    "Because that''s not just garbage Tap my man, that''s money. Fableton earns all its coin from finding salvageable tech in the garbage, but the junk that gets delivered here now has already been picked over and hardly ever has anything useful in it. Used to be that they would just throw away anything so we got by on that, but now we have to send workers to the mines too. There''s some real good salvage underground from before the Fresh Start, and the only way you can get down below the ''mac is with a giant mining drill and of course the miners hoard that tech. So the only real option for us is to get lucky with an earthquake or phase shift to open up a shaft, and for one to happen inside Fableton? We just got real lucky, bot. Yep, I think things are going to change around here."


    Most of what Miss Phanya was saying washed right over the robot, but he didn''t interrupt her. She was more excited than the bartender had seen her ever since Tapper had first woken up in this strange town.


    <hr>


    By the time they returned to the town center Phanya had managed to properly drill it into the robot that it was not to speak a word of Rethar or the mine shaft to anyone. Not Ricky, not Ms. Uxral, no one. They had to be very careful about this, if Rethar doesn''t show up eventually then they can just say he was lost to the dunes and mourn him that way. The thought of just discarding hope for Rethar like that made her stomach churn, but this opportunity was too big. If Phanya could separate the old man''s unfortunate death with the mineshaft, and if Phanya made sure to maintain security against the octolusks, and if the town was subtle about setting up their own operation, then they could finally have some proper profit for Skratsville. Without anyone taking a cut! But even the drool-inducing daydreams of a real home were set aside when Phanya walked into the warehouse and Aazran, through the bandages muzzling his snout, announced that it was finally movie night again.


    With a few hours left until sundown Phanya helped the old reptile in eyeing a few more advertisements, just to make sure there was enough watchtime to spare, while Tapper set about rearranging all the tables and chairs into neat rows facing the far wall. An ancient projector was wheeled out, the only one they''ve found that could still connect to tablets, and all the stockpiled snacks that had anything to do with "popped" or "corn" were dumped into bowls and handed out to everyone.


    The crowd immediately fell silent when the movie started ¡ª no one wanted to get thrown out for interrupting again ¡ª even if it was the same documentary that played in the last movie night. It started with ancient footage of massive plants the size of buildings with giant green heads whipping violently around in the wind, the camera slowly zooming in with swelling ominous music to match the pace. A voice began to narrate once the camera got close enough for animals to be seen, describing how their sharp claws and venomous fangs could tear anyone apart if they ever ventured into the untamed wilds. Something orange with stripes leapt out of nowhere right for the camera and a few yelps of fear sprang from the audience, but the camera dodged and kept its forward momentum.


    The narrator talked about the dangers of vermin, then bugs, then finally germs as the camera''s zoom showed monsters of each type until it reached the microscopic level in a scummy puddle. Several attendees made sounds of disgust in time with the movie, but Phanya noticed that Tapper was the worst of them all and the robot looked like it would have vomited if it had a stomach. Finally, with a flash all the dirty and chaotic forest was crushed underneath a giant rolling black carpet that left behind perfectly flat and uniform asphalt as far as the eye could see. The music reached a crescendo as a sprawling metropolis grew out of the ground, and with a flourish the narrator announced the Fresh Start Initiative. Clean and perfect living for everyone!


    Phanya sighed. Maybe one day Fableton will grow into a city that grand all on its own, but until then she had her people and she had her work. Right at this moment she was content, having practically forgotten all about her responsibilities and her injury and the strange speed at which it had stopped hurting. Things were finally looking up.

 1.8 Dont Forget to Tip

    Phanya and Ms. Uxral were out having a secret conversation when it came time to pay dues. A small lapse in thought had both women forget to tell Tapper, so the robot was none the wiser when a massive figure entered the warehouse with a cloak of dread in their wake. The figure was so wide it had to enter through the door sideways and as soon as they cleared the entry most of the customers quietly made themselves scarce. Even Ricky was shaken from his deep concentration on reading a tablet, giving a panicked look around the emptying room before awkwardly walking out of the warehouse as quickly as he could manage.


    At first Tapper thought another robot had joined the town, but when the figure turned to face the warehouse he could see bulging muscles and sinews connecting the hulking metal plates together. A live turret was bolted to one shoulder and followed the gaze of the segmented face as it swept across the warehouse, pausing to examine and aim at every customer as they filed out the door. One hand was replaced with a giant three-fingered pneumatic gripper and it constantly flexed, snapping shut with enough force to make whoever was nearest give the tiniest yelp before they quieted back down. If Tapper wasn''t programmed to assume the best from patrons, he might have suspected that the newcomer was having fun frightening the customers and scaring them away!


    When it finally noticed Tapper, the turret snapped up with unwavering aim and their face turned in on a snarl. The half that was still flesh, anyways. They walked up to the bar with steps heavy enough to make the floor shudder, the thudding accompanied by the mechanical whine of load-bearing bracers that had been welded right onto the flesh of their legs, and when they reached the counter they had to duck slightly to clear the kitchen''s overhang. The figure was large even for enhanced humanoid standards, leering right over Tapper and taking up the entirety of his view.


    One hand was the only purely natural limb that Tapper could see, and it kept twitching with nervous energy. One of their eyes had been replaced with a single red laser pointer lens and their chest was covered in heavy plating with diodes that blinked away for unknown reasons. It was difficult to tell the integrated components apart from natural flesh until he was right up close, but the figure was sporting more mechanical augmentations than the statistical norm for organic beings.


    This was an enhanced humanoid, bioengineered to be the ideal soldier and normally seen in the frontline of war. The intention behind their design placed them closer to numen than the random alterations found in hybrids and amalgams, but unlike numen there was little consideration placed on the form over the function ¡ª super soldiers commonly had an odd gray-blue hue to their skin, little to no hair, and oversized lower jaws. As a good bartender Tapper knew this because he was programmed to anticipate and ignore aesthetic imperfections, if their proprietor wished it.


    Aazran''s voice popped up in the silence, though Tapper couldn''t see where from behind the hulking figure. "H-hey, Zero! Already the first of the month, huh? No worries, I''ll get those dues to you in no time." A low growl was either the response, or just the sound of the counter groaning in protest as the newcomer leaned more of their weight onto it.


    Well, if he was a regular customer and hadn''t broken the code of conduct then Tapper wasn''t going to discriminate. "Good afternoon, welcome guest! Did I correctly hear that your name is Mister Zero?"


    "That''s right, cuz Zero is better''n first place. Nothing comes before Zero, not even mister!" Soldier enhancements generally had a slightly ''gravely'' tinge to their voice as a side effect of their bioengineering process, and Bowson Incorporated? robots were programmed to not draw attention to this fact, but Zero''s voice also had an electric modular quality that made it scratchy and distracting. Possibly the result of an injury, which any bartender would also know not to acknowledge. "You better remember that, bot."


    "Certainly, you have the logic of dreams!"


    Zero halted all movement for a beat, even his breathing. "What?"


    "I am programmed to offer helpful idioms, sir. May I offer you a drink?"


    The broad figure swelled slightly as it took in a sharp breath, some of the diodes on their body turning red in a sudden sign of aggression. "I said my name is ¡ª"


    Aazran''s voice cut in with, "Okay, there we go! Sorry it took so long, hah hah." Zero leaned back at this, revealing that the warehouse was now completely deserted save for the company of three. Aazran flashed a few electronic coins in his hand before dropping them into a latching box and holding it aloft to the much larger humanoid.


    Zero snatched the box in his giant claw, squeezed it until the plastic broke, and dumped the coins into a secondary hand that folded out of his chest unit. Upon contacting the metal flesh there was a series of electronic beeps as Zero successfully transferred the funds on each coin into his own personal wallet, and a grumble rolled out of his chest in contemplation. "You''re a bit short. Again."This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Aazran''s long snout fell open and he stuttered as the false jovial nature cracked. "The hell we are! I counted down to the cent."


    "There''s a convenience fee for me taking the funds myself. And now I''m adding on another convenience fee for my patience, so that''ll be¡­ another two coin in total." A grin spread over Zero''s face without a hint of friendship to it. "Would you like to pay now, or start charging interest for next month?" The elder reptile didn''t say anything back, standing stock still except for the neck frill that kept twitching as Aazran fumed. Zero just laughed, put the empty coins back into the broken box, and threw it at Aazran''s chest with enough force to make him stumble.


    Since Tapper was not a party to this transaction he had been watching passively, but the instant the box struck Aazran the robot''s new protection directive took over. "Sir! We will not have fighting in the marketplace, please leave at once!" The three-fingered mechanical hand snapped around Tapper''s torso before he had even registered any movement. Zero turned slowly, standing at his full 2.4 meter height and lifting his captive up with one hand to match. When Tapper''s head bumped against the overhang to the kitchen Zero didn''t stop, lifting with more force until the flimsy construction cracked and collapsed around the flailing robot and the two were eye level. There was so much naked hate radiating from the cyborg that Tapper could feel it without social programming, and an automatic fear response had him scrambling to pry the heavy-duty hinges off.


    "No piece of skrat bot is going to talk back to me," Zero growled through a heaving chest, squeezing on Tapper''s torso with enough force that it began to dent under the pressure. An alert flashed in his vision, but Zero''s terrifying visage stared right through it. "You come in and replace people, acting like you''re so much better than us. But I know you aren''t one of the boss'' little toys, so at least I can play with you." He reeled back his organic fist for a massive haymaker punch, but before he could throw it Aazran leapt off a table and hooked his one good arm around Tapper.


    "Wait, Zero! Don''t hurt the robot and I''ll get you the money now. Dammit you punk, I said you''d get your coin!"


    The little robot''s strength was no match for a pneumatic vice grip, but over the past few days he had figured out how to replicate that vacuum trick with intent. Sometimes. There was some missing element to it and Tapper couldn''t make it work every single time, but it was strong enough to suck up little vermin so maybe it would at least cause a distraction. It was a long shot but with his hands scraping uselessly against the vice grip there weren''t many other options, so he focused on his inner energy and felt it swell in anticipation. "Sir, let me go and I will escort you out of the establishment. Suck!" The energy coalesced into a bright point and shot out, but instead of zipping to his vacuum like normal the energy flew to his hands and kept going until it vanished, dissipating outwards.


    Zero sagged slightly as the strain of holding up the combined weight of Tapper and Aazran suddenly became too much for him to bear, and his grip loosened just enough for Tapper to slip out and tumble to the floor. Since Aazran had the misfortune of being on Tapper''s back he was dragged down as well, but quickly scrambled to his feet and stood between the two as he begged Zero to calm down.


    The giant soldier wasn''t interested in listening, both giant hands on his head and legs wobbling against their bracers. "Ngh¡­ the hell did you do to me? Everything''s swimming, can''t think¡­ I''ll kill you!" Zero tried to glare at Tapper but the turret on his back was no longer following his sight with any precision, so when it fired Tapper was spared obliteration. But he was close enough that the cannon''s roar still overloaded his sensors and everything blinked out, leaving nothing in his vision except a notification for the stunned debuff. He could feel a hand grip his arm, and when the condition cleared he saw that Aazran had drug both of them behind an upturned table for cover.


    The cannon missed Tapper, but Zero could still hit the broad side of a warehouse. Zero stared in shock at the 2 meter-wide hole in the wall before whatever affliction cleared and he pointed at their hiding place with refocused rage. "You two made me miss! I''ll crush both of you into godsdamn canned lizard meat!" Zero grabbed the table and the instant he wrenched it away Aazran was on his feet, diving to the side in a surprising burst of agility. He threw a piece of rubble at Zero''s head to divide his attention, and was already rolling under and through a table when the great metal claw crashed down. Over and over Zero''s fists fell like hammer blows, crumpling whatever furniture he hit but always just short of actually catching the reptilian.


    Even Tapper could tell that Aazran was in extreme danger, but after the failed spell he couldn''t think of any other way to help. The only reason Aazran made it his far was because Zero abandoned his integrated weapons and was thrashing about in a blind rage, but once that stopped they were both in trouble. He was too slow to think and a second explosion rang out, quieter than the first but still loud enough to freeze everyone in their place. Aazran was unharmed, Tapper was unharmed, and Zero was confused as he lowered his upraised arm to find nothing but a pulped nub where his fist should be.


    Zero openly bled for a moment, the bioengineered fluid splashing on the floor in thick globules before realization overcame shock and he screamed. Fear and pain and rage all mixed together into a wordless oath that Zero issued to everyone in Fableton before a burst of movement sent him crashing through the damaged wall and out of sight. Tapper, at an utter loss of what just happened, looked at Aazran and followed the reptile''s gaze towards the front door of the warehouse.


    Ricky peeked around the doorframe with his hands still pressed firmly against his ears, and in front of him knelt Struzick; braced down on one knee and still looking through the sight of his smoking coil gun.


    [Cyborg Taxman lvl 5 defeated! +3XP for participation]

 1.9 Give and Take

    The silence weighed heavy in the air before Ricky broke it. "That skrat was crazy! Are you guys okay??" His voice was a bit too loud and a bit too manic, possibly from the adrenaline, but he scrambled into the warehouse to check on everyone without hesitation. "Man I knew that Zero hated robots but I didn''t expect that and Struzick didn''t even flinch!"


    "I believe we are both unharmed. And we would have not stayed that way if you had not retrieved Mister Struzick, so thank you for your assistance Mister Ricky." Tapper had also experienced an adrenaline surge and did not enjoy it, but thankfully once the danger had passed his systems purged the emotion with much more efficiency than Mister Ricky could apparently manage.


    Ricky was still bouncing around too much to notice that neither Aazran or Struzick had said a word, the two instead meeting in the middle of the floor to stare down at the rifle. Nothing seemed out of place about the weapon except that a steady red light now glowed from its information panel, highlighting the mixed looks of disbelief and resignation that both men were wearing. When Tapper noticed he excused himself from Ricky and rolled forward, getting within earshot just in time to hear Aazran mumble, "You sodding scab, you actually used the last bullet."


    This was enough to also bring Struzick to his senses and the guardsman answered with a scoff. "Of course I did, you were fighting that bulk like a welp. Told you I would." Another beat later and they reached some kind of unspoken understanding, the rifle forgotten on the floor as the two men embraced in a tight hug.


    Tapper gave a second for the emotional moment to play out before he spoke up, "Pardon me sirs, is everything alright?"


    With a scrambling of limbs and a few sniffles the two men resumed their usual gruff demeanor. "Ah aye young robot, everything is fine," Struzick said. "Everything except for my rifle, that is. It was tossed for only so many rounds, and now I''ve finally run out."


    "My apologies, but¡­ tossed?"


    "Uh, terms of service," Struzick said, waving away the unintentional slang. "You know, the contract. Mine has finally run out." Tapper nodded in understanding and asked the obvious question of why Struzick didn''t just renew the terms, which got a bitter bark of a laugh from the man. "Because the corp that sold me this rifle no longer exists, and never will again." Struzick had picked up the rifle again with the readout up close to his face, but it seemed the older human was really looking somewhere far, far in the past.


    "Stars above, what happened here??" Four sets of eyes spun to the shrill voice, finding Miss Uxral and Phanya at the head of a small crowd of onlookers.


    Ricky, still in his mania, was the first to answer. "Oh Ms. Uxral, it was wild! Zero showed up for dues but I couldn''t find you so I found Struzick and by the time we got back Zero had flown into some sorta berserker rage and was smashing all the tables but Struzick just knelt down and he got Zero with one shot like blam! Blew his hand clear off!" By now Ricky had climbed on top of an undamaged table and was flapping his arms for emphasis before the adrenaline finally started to wear off. "That was¡­ actually really scary. I didn''t know Zero was that strong. Ohhhh, he''s going to come back and he''s going to be angry, isn''t he?" Ricky climbed down into a chair and curled up to process, but all the attention had already turned to Miss Uxral.


    "Is this true?" Her voice was just as unwavering as her focus on the two brothers.


    Struzick stood up straight to attention and said, "Aye, ma''am. He was incoherent and going for the kill with Aazran." Then he broke eye contact and gave an almost sheepish shrug before adding, "...Sorry."


    Then Aazran stepped forward before Struzick could say anything else. "It was my fault, the bulk bastard tacked on another fee and I lost my cool instead of just paying it. He''s a damned thief, but I should''ve acted better."


    With the two men admitting to their roles, Tapper felt compelled to speak up about his own part. "I believe I had actually set him on edge, Miss Uxral. What goes up must stay up. I may have said something to offend him, and although I do not understand what that was, I apologize for my actions."


    The feline''s lips were pressed into a tight line and her ears laid flat on her head, but once she held out a hand everyone stopped talking. "It''s fine, it''s fine, no more apologizing please. That young man has been walking on the edge for a while now and it was only a matter of time before he finally fell over, none of you did anything wrong. But¡­ it is going to cost us." She took a breath to steady the waver that had crept into her voice before continuing. "Tapper, please start cleaning this mess up by moving all this broken furniture into a pile outside. Ask around if anyone has any spare nails, maybe we can use the table pieces to patch up the wall. Everyone else, let''s start seeing where we can pull funds from." With that the tension broke and everyone started moving to clean up or talk, but a somber air hung over the warehouse.


    Tapper was already working on the pile outside when Ricky finally came fully back to his senses. He walked up a huddled conversation between Ms. Uxral, Aazran, Struzick, and Phanya, rubbing his face as if he had just woken up from a nightmare. "Man, did all of that really happen?" Phanya swinging her arm around Ricky''s shoulders in a side hug was all the answer that he needed, and Ricky let out a slow breath in response. "What in the hell ¡ª I mean heck ¡ª happened to Zero? I''ve never seen anyone that size move that fast before."This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Aazran scoffed. "Never seen a cybroid on the brink before, eh kid?" Ricky just blinked dumbly in response. "...Oh you really haven''t. Sophia, what the hell have you been teaching these kids?"


    "My students learn things about life that no onboarding program would teach." There was a subtle growl to Ms. Uxral''s voice, and the two immediately launched into an argument on what exactly warrants necessary life lessons. There wasn''t an explosion of fire and passion, just the measured but forceful tones of a debate that they have gone through a hundred times before and will have a hundred times in the future.


    All of this was not reassuring Ricky in the slightest, so Struzick laid a reassuring hand on his head. "Lad, look on the bright side. Falling into the cyber fever is a gradual process, and if it has already started then he probably won''t ever find his way back here by the time he''s truly lost. I''d be more worried about Belvidere."


    After a nudge from Phanya, Ricky let out a nervous chuckle and said, "Okay well, thank you. I think I''ll go and see if I can research anything on cybroids, that''ll make me feel better."


    <hr>


    Tapper hadn''t said as much, but he was relieved that Miss Uxral assigned an easy chore that left him by himself. He needed time to examine what had just happened ¡ª to "get lost in his thoughts," if he understood the slang ¡ª so Tapper set up a hauling and pathing subroutine that took up the least amount of his processing power that he could manage and let his body run semi-automatically. The rest of his clock speed was all directed toward running through the combat encounter, second by second, to figure out how things had gone so wrong. Especially his attempt to distract with the Suck spell, it was the closest thing to combat that Tapper had any confidence in and it had completely backfired. It took him a few minutes to remember the path of prompts he discovered after the octolusk fight, but eventually the popup for casting spells once again flooded his vision:


    [Spellcasting


    A mage can''t earn a wage if they don''t cast spells! Every subclass of magic user has their own unique way of harnessing magic, but mechanically it comes out the same for nearly everyone: you take your spell components, pour your intent and your mana into them, and then unleash them into the world to wreak havoc and save lives alike. Normally you would want to take your time carefully casting your spell to avoid any blowbacks, just like you learned in school, but during the heat of combat it''s generally pretty difficult to pull out the cleansing incense and reference notebooks. In those unfortunate times where you''re ambushed by bandits you''ll have to rely on instant spellcasting, but outside of combat if you can afford the effort then you will always want to use careful spellcasting.]


    [Instant Spellcasting


    Wake up to find a troll breaking into your room? No problem, you know Scorch Fountain like the back of your hand! Instant spellcasting lets you go toe to toe with the burliest of fighters (so long as they don''t get too close) and it always follows the same basic rules:


    1. Any attempt takes one action, and counts as an attack action for the purposes of feat synergy.


    2. Even in combat you can take a moment to prolong your spellcasting attempt in a "semi-careful" way. You take one full round to cast a spell instead of one action, chanting for verbal spellcasters or waving your hands for gesture spellcasters the entire time, and at the start of your next round you cast the spell with a bonus to your roll. This bonus is cumulative if you spend multiple successive rounds casting the spell, with a maximum bonus equal to your spellcasting level.


    3. It costs 1 MP per word to attempt a spell, whether you succeed or fail.


    4. Failing a casting roll by more than 10 will cause the spell to fizzle and you lose those components for the rest of the day, and possibly cause a backfire of wild magic. A critical failure in the spell attempt, or failing the save for taking damage during prolonged casting, guarantees a backfire!


    5. These spells are temporary and vanish once the spell is finished, and if you didn''t hold it or cast the spell with a time component then it will last for only one full round.


    6. Successful spells always hit their mark so long as you can clearly perceive the target, unless you''re casting with only one component. Single component spells can only affect either yourself or someone you are touching, and in combat the latter also requires making a Dexterity check against their dodge threshold if you aren''t already touching.]


    Tapper read the description again, but when nothing jumped out as an explanation he continued his mental review of the fight. The energy did well up in his CPU as a successful spell, he was almost sure of it ¡ª when practicing on vermin, a failed spell always popped that energy like a small balloon of pain, but that didn''t happen this time. The line of energy did form, it just traveled to and through his hands similar to when he was mixing potions. That means it must have flowed out¡­ and into Zero''s hand as it gripped him? The description did say something about casting spells on other people while touching them. That did make sense, but it left the question of what happened to Zero because he probably did not have a vacuum attachment like Tapper.


    The robot''s internal dictionary knew that suck was a synonym for vacuum, usually one organics used for forming a vacuum with their mouth, but after inquiring further revealed more informal uses. A good bartender should try to avoid slang whenever possible, so it was a surprise to Tapper to find that suck was also a catch-all term for anything bad or negative. How strange! And Zero was suddenly very bad at moving and aiming his weapon, even if the effect only lasted for approximately five seconds. It made some degree of sense, but Tapper would need to experiment on what else he could pour his magic into.


    The only other piece of information was an alert that appeared during the fight and remained persistently in the corner of his vision:


    [Injury: Cracked ribs


    -1 Constitution and disadvantage to all checks regarding holding or controlling your breath]


    Tapper processed the meaning of the pop up while a hand subconsciously felt at the dents in his torso. Thankfully he didn''t need to breathe at all, but a check to his character sheet did confirm that his Constitution now showed a glowing red 5. On top of that, there was a new line on his character sheet that really drove the point home:


    [Wounds: ???]


    At some deep level he knew that this wound represented the greatest danger that Tapper had faced in his short life, and until it was fully fixed he was going to be that much closer to complete destruction. Repairing it was a priority, and if Mister Ricky could not help with that then he was in real trouble.

 1.10 A Funeral and a Fundraiser

    Phanya couldn''t believe their horrible luck. She had finally, finally convinced Ms. Uxral to try opening up their own secret mining operation, and they were both so wrapped up in planning that they forgot today was tax day. Now Zero was hurt and they were all going to pay, and Phanya couldn''t help but blame herself for the slipup. Gotta do better, gotta keep ahead.


    The elders agreed that the best way forward was for the town to combine Rethar''s funeral services and the fund drive into one event. The idea tasted bitter to everyone involved, but it also would have felt unfair to disperse Rethar''s wealth like normal and then turn right around and re-collect everything that wasn''t absolutely needed. Phanya, a little too eager to make amends, was ready to run straight back to Rethar''s home to start collecting goods, only stopping at Ms. Uxral''s stern urging that she at least wait for a few trusted adults to accompany her. They had to be briefed on the new mine shaft, which took precious time, but they could at least help push the large trailer and ensure that Phanya didn''t overexert herself.


    The only reason Ricky didn''t accompany them was because he was nowhere to be found. Tapper reached the teen proprietor first and explained his immediate need for repairs, which Ricky jumped on with equal urgency. He led the robot back to the hideout in which it had first awoken and pulled out a metal box as Tapper laid down on the floor. The box was full of every usable tool that Ricky collected over the years ¡ª hammers, pliers, a couple wrenches of random sizes, even a blowtorch. The blowtorch''s terms of service had long expired, but he hoped to one day learn how to make his own. For now, all he could do was his best.


    Ricky wedged open Tapper''s access panel and breathed a sigh of relief. The small computer interface, the pneumatic struts that handled movement, and the microgenerator were all way outside of Ricky''s capacity to repair but they all appeared undamaged. The dents in his torso actually seemed mostly cosmetic, but at Tapper''s insistence Ricky grabbed a small hammer and began the long, difficult process of gently tapping out the dents from the inside.


    The process was actually surprisingly meditative once the shock wore off, not unlike when he would slowly hammer metal scrap into figures and toys for the other kids, so Ricky quickly fell into a trance of gentle tapping. He did love working with metal, the way it could be both such a sturdy material but also malleable under the correct conditions resonated with the young man in the strangest way. Or maybe it was just because Ricky had spent so many days imagining all the things they could do with metal, if only he had the correct tools. Even a cursory glance at Tapper''s inner workings was giving him ideas, like welds that were starting to come undone and areas he could reinforce to keep the little robot from getting dented again.


    One of the most interesting bits of literature that Ricky had ever found was an advertisement on the Hyperweld from Duponic Industries, which could fuse materials down at the subatomic level. Hand above, all the things he could do with one of those! The construction possabilities alone were endless, everyone could have a proper home instead of living in shacks held together with wire.


    Or maybe it was just because he was still trying to find the best way to help Fableton. Ricky was right in that awkward age where he was too old to play dug-a-bug with the younger kids and too young to resign himself to working at the recycling facility or the mines for the rest of his life. He really didn''t want to do either and all of the older adults have stressed that there were plenty of other ways to contribute ¡ª Wiessa was allowed to spend all day every day trying to turn plants into free food despite no success yet, and Grandbag Bristol was constantly weaving plastic bags into rope that was used for just about anything. But without proper tools, there was only so much Ricky could do without feeling like a freeloader.


    The sun sat just above the junk dunes when they finished, waiting to tell Ricky just how badly he had lost track of time, and he tried to sneak them both back into town. But he was still lost in his thoughts, and caught entirely unawares when Tapper suddenly spoke up. Ricky didn''t jump at Tapper, but he might''ve jumped just a little bit when Ms. Uxral answered his greeting.


    She graciously pretended not to notice and explained that Phanya and the others had returned with all of Rethar''s belongings, so they were going to hold the funeral for him soon. But, she continued explaining that they needed to raise some funds quickly after the incident with Zero.


    Ms. Uxral looked Ricky up and down ¡ª covered in an obscuring layer of tools, bags, and hanging knick knacks that they forgot to leave at the hideout ¡ª and very pointedly said that nothing was worthy of taking to sell. Except maybe this tablet here, the only thing it contained was a catalog over a decade old and she knew that Ricky had already memorized every word of it. Ricky gave a noncommittal shrug to hide his internal wince, the Hyperweld that tablet described would always live on in his dreams and this was for the good of the town.


    Ricky joined everyone that wasn''t at work, gathering in the street before the warehouse to form a loose ring around a trailer. The trailer itself was just a simple metal platform with low walls and small wheels, but it was the largest functioning trailer that Fableton had. What the town did not have was its own vehicle to pull it, but thankfully a mercenary happened to be passing by with a car and a reasonable price tag. Their vehicle and its overlapping armored plates looked like a pillbug on wheels, but it tugged along the little trailer and its towering heap of Rethar''s belongings.


    Bulging bags piled high and threatened to spill over, held in place with generous amounts of braided plastic rope, and in front of the trailer Phanya and several other adults were taking a break. All of them were slick with sweat and downing bottles of water, it looked like they had been doing hard labor all afternoon and gratefully stepped aside when Ms. Uxral started to direct the proceedings.


    The setup didn''t take long, every month it seemed that someone was lost to a collapsing mine tunnel or faulty recycling machinery so everyone knew the traditions. The crowd was everyone in town that could possibly attend, regardless of their relation to the deceased. Even complete strangers would show up if they could afford it, and so the crowd was always a loose and informal mingling of small talk about the departed''s achievements. At some point a large ball would be introduced, patched and re-patched so often that no one remembers what it originally looked like, and tossed into the crowd. Anyone that caught the ball would announce something of value that the departed brought into the world and the crowd would respond with praise, and then the ball would get randomly passed to someone else.


    Below that revelry a second, more somber procession was also being held. Anyone that had any real stories about the deceased would bring their own bottles of alcohol into the crowd, passing out drinks and telling their tales just to the immediate attendees. These stories would travel just as far as the declarations, sometimes further, only they''d also grow and mutate as whispered rumors. Finally, a lone tablet would be passed through the entire gathering, allowing anyone to anonymously donate leave hours to the family of the dead.


    Except, Rethar didn''t have any family. And the reading of the contract didn''t indicate anyone to inherit his own saved leave hours, so it defaulted to the base contract and every person in Fableton received an equal share of his hours. A surprising share of hours at that, and whole new rumors suddenly sprang to life regarding Rethar''s wealth of leave and what he had been saving up for. Ms. Uxral quickly stood up and shushed them back down, reminding everyone that on top of this tragedy, they were also faced with the difficulty of additional debt with the miners. So while redistribution of wealth will still happen, anything that doesn''t get claimed will immediately get sent to the recycling facility for reclamation. The profit margins for selling to the recycling facility were awful, but also one of the fastest ways to raise funds for Fableton.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The energy of the crowd quickly shifted as Ms. Uxral spoke. An equal claim to the unwilled were sometimes seen as the one silver lining to these funerals by some, and there were definitely some grumblings on just settling the debt by giving the miners the robot that caused all this. But no one formally called for a counteroffer, so the crowd that broke off and approached the loaded trailer was much smaller than normal. Some even had to be encouraged inward, like Grandbag Bristol, practically pushed forward to claim the electric scooter that everyone knew he both needed and earned.


    At the end a little under half of the hoard was claimed. The mercenary never left his pillbug car during the proceedings, claiming that he had already been paid. Tomorrow anyone working at the recycling facility will sneak in small bits of the haul and add it to the queue of good salvage, and any reclamation profits will get paid to the town fund directly. It won''t be enough, surprise debts with the mine always seem to be just a bit more costly than what they actually have, but it would help a great deal. For now there was just the grief, the guilt, the curiosity, and the celebration of Rethar.


    <hr>


    Phanya knew it wasn''t going to be enough. She knew this because this was punishment for her trying to capitalize on Rethar''s death, and no matter how much she justified it Phanya knew that on some level she had just gotten greedy. It was always bad luck to bet on the Phase, and the instant she even thought of profiting off the new tunnel there was suddenly a new debt to pay. And just like all the scary stories, of course Phanya could see no way out except to use the curse of this bad deal to escape it.


    Every spare moment that she could find had Phanya sneaking off to the mine entrance, often dragging Tapper along to haul trash if the robot wasn''t busy obsessively brewing his ''magic potions.'' There was so much for her to do, from setting up safety structures to hold up the tunnel and hiding the entrance. The latter was something Phanya could do with ease, but she didn''t know the first thing about engineering. No one that she would trust with this knew, except for Ricky. She didn''t want to involve him, but she also knew just how hurt he would feel if she didn''t come to him for exactly this sort of problem¡­


    The young woman was so lost in her stressful musings that she almost didn''t notice the smoke column one morning. A single thin line of multicolored smoke acted as a beacon, drawing the eye down to see the long dark vehicle that it was connected to. No! It had only been two weeks, they should''ve had more time! Phanya cursed herself blue as she pushed her way to the front of the crowd, just as the limo stopped in front of the warehouse and lowered onto its grav rails.


    The first person to step out of the long car was the driver, a rail-thin reptilian that scrambled to open the rear passenger door. The second man was comfortably overweight in his late middle-aged years and wore a suit that at least attempted coherent style, and the crowd fell silent for a brief moment. It was somehow easy to forget that the owner of the mining operation was an amalgam of barely over two feet tall. It was easy to forget that he rode on a personal hoverchair, or that his hands were webbed, or that the pupils of his eyes were the wrong blobby shape.


    Somehow, Mr. Belvidere always managed to appear in memory as just the friendly grandpa that helped hook you up with that job. This image quickly reasserted itself and the crowd closed in, reaching to shake his hand and thank the man for all the work he brought to Fableton. The older man was happy to react, nodding to those that couldn''t reach him and making small talk as he moved through the crowd. Once he crossed the threshold into the warehouse the fans quickly thinned, the last few hangers-on muttering their thanks before scurrying out into the open. Even though the loading doors stayed open to expose the entire interior, all the normal townsfolk had received the unspoken instruction to give some space. The adults needed to talk.


    Mr. Belvidere was the first one to talk, nodding his head in polite greeting. "Sophia, it''s been too long. I see your little town project is still thriving, warms my heart to see a fellow entrepreneur enjoy the fruits of their labor."


    "Yes thank you Mr. Belvidere, always happy when we can work toward mutual growth." Ms. Uxral was calm and measured, cool bordering on icy. She stood in the middle of the warehouse floor, tables and chairs already cleared aside for her and a handful of trusted adults. Tapper was there too, and Phanya darted to the side where she joined Ricky in a hidden nook among the stalls.


    The two immediately launched into a whispered argument on where the hell they''ve been, and what the hell was going on. Missing your sibling for even a day can take precedence over common sense, and the two forgot how much danger they were in until Ms. Uxral''s voice suddenly took on an edge. "Alright, enough with the niceties. We hurt one of yours, and on behalf of Fableton I am ready to pay reparations. How much?"


    The little man heaved a heavy sigh, the dramatic motion causing his hoverchair to bobble. "Sophia, why so clinical? You know each of my employees are invaluable."


    The feline woman rolled her slitted eyes and flicked a large coin in his direction. One of the lackeys caught it and verified the amount of funds on it. They all knew how much was on it before they even arrived, this was more to verify that any hadn''t been hidden away. Somehow they always knew, but this is how the dance had taken shape. The head miner would think on it, then they''d haggle ¡ª


    "Oh I''m touched, but this is far too much money!" Ms. Uxral almost choked at the words, Belvidere never asked for less money than they offered. He swiped a hand over the coin and it was sent flipping back with half of its money still present, and in the stunned silence his demeanor took a darker turn. "That''s the money part, at least. You find yourself a robot to give you some free labor and you don''t tell me? And then that robot goes and hurts one of my toys. It hurt his feelings, and after you fed through my hand? That hurts my feelings, Sophia." Everyone on Fableton''s side of the crowd flinched at his words, but Belvidere continued unbidden. "Now, I know it was actually your gate guard that shot him, but that''s just medicine and money. Plus, I would never raise a hand against one of our vets." The boss nodded at Struzick and the elder man visibly deflated with relief.


    Instead, Belvidere just raised a hand and the gathering of lackeys split to make way for one figure. It was a robot, although so heavily modified that it was impossible to determine what its original function was beneath the terms of service violations. Now it was a lumbering beast, an oversized barrel chest supported two heavy industrial arms and two separate pairs of legs had been fused together to make it a sort of awkward centaur. The head was little more than a mishmash of cameras and sensor with a mining helmet welded on top so it didn''t have a face to emote, but you always got the feeling that it was glaring at you.


    "Don''t forget that I have toys of my own, Sophia. Drillbot!" Nothing happened, and Belvidere pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can''t believe you all kept that stupid name. Drillbert!" Now the robot snapped to attention, drawing itself to a head taller than anyone in either crowd. "Tear their little robot to pieces."


    Everyone froze, including the robot in question, and Belvidere glared at his employees in a way that said without words how annoyed he was about losing the big dramatic moment. One of the lackeys stepped forward and cleared his throat, speaking with slow and exaggerated pronunciation, "Ah, Drillbert, mine the internal components out of that robot." Without missing a beat the mining robot responded, both of its hands folding into themselves to form pointed cones that started to spin until they were just blurs pointed right at the bartender.


    The initial delay is the only thing that saved Tapper from being obliterated right there and then. Most of the witnesses were still frozen with shock, but by the time Drillbert started to lumber forward the young proprietors had managed to shake themselves awake. Ricky and Phanya both came charging out of their hiding place to full-force tackle Drillbert, and even though the two humans together didn''t outweigh the machine they still had the advantage of leverage. Drillbert was very top-heavy and its mismatched legs had an awkward gait, so when the two grabbed different feet and heaved they were just barely able to topple the mining automaton.


    The loud crash as it fell finally spurred everyone else into motion. Miners moved to grab the kids and Fableton reps rushed to stop the miners, leading to an awkward tangle as everyone also tried to avoid the spinning drill hands that were randomly tearing gauges into the floor. Everything was clashing noise and flailing limbs and confusion, until one voice finally broke through:


    "Tapper, run! Just get away from Drillbert, that''s an order!"


    [New Quest: What''s Mine Isn''t Mined


    Escape from the mining bot]

 1.11 Rock Em, Sock Em

    It was Ricky''s voice. Tapper had almost reached the tangle of people to help Ricky out from under the metal leg currently pinning him, the need to rescue his proprietor outweighing any burgeoning sense of self-preservation. But the direct order changed that, and without a word Tapper spun on his treads and sped out of the warehouse. Any onlookers still milling about in the street scrambled to get out of the way and avoid any direct confrontation with the miners, so Tapper had a clear path to round a corner and recollect his thoughts. Even with all his programming to read social cues Tapper had no idea what had just transpired in the warehouse; at first it sounded like a simple matter of paying off a debt, but it seemed that every word that Miss Uxral and Mister Belvidere shared had a double meaning that only they understood.


    Attempting to decode the conversation was such an arduous task that Tapper didn''t notice the commotion inside the warehouse had died down. What he did notice was the lumbering machine as it tore around the corner, drill hands still spinning fast enough to tear through any wall or structure that it accidentally touched. Tapper had just enough processing power to realize that he shouldn''t have taken Mister Ricky''s orders so literally before he turned around and resumed escaping at full speed.


    Unfortunately for Tapper, a body designed to spend its entire service confined to a bar was not made with speed in mind. Fortunately for Tapper, a robot designed for mining and made from mismatched parts was also not built for speed, so in that regard they were pretty evenly matched. If getting caught didn''t mean a quick and painful demise for Tapper, it would have actually been fairly comical to watch the two robots slowly and awkwardly chase each other around. But for all their lacking grace they were equally relentless, so after several twists and turns failed to lose his pursuer Tapper instead decided to focus less on where he was going and instead put all of his processing power towards getting every ounce of speed that his treads could manage. It did help, just enough for him to pull out of reach after a stumble, but it also meant his pathing defaulted to the same destination he had been habitually visiting for the past two weeks.


    Almost nothing remained of Rethar''s former home. Both the bus and the hole had been completely camouflaged with trash, the sort that told everyone it had already been picked through and nothing of value could possibly remain. Phanya had plans for the bus to become an office for their mining operation, but right now Tapper could only hope that it would serve as a good hiding spot. It didn''t occur to the robot that this camouflage was not meant to be easily accessed, like their clubhouse, and he wasted the precious little lead he had in attempting to clear an entry into the bus.


    Drillbert lunged for Tapper the instant he was within range, the straight jab instead contacting the bag of trash that Tapper just happened to be holding. The drill hand pierced the bag without even a hint of resistance, but it caught on whatever wet and rotten contents inside and sent the whole bag spinning with the hand. The force easily sent Tapper reeling, and despite his best flailing the bartender fell prone on his back. Luckily Drillbert was preoccupied with trying to clear the blockage on its hand, so if Tapper was ever going to go on the offensive then now was his shot. Or at least, offensive enough to distract the mining bot and resume his escape.


    Propping himself up on one hand among the garbage he had fallen on, Tapper pointed the other hand at Drillbert and willed the energy within into a single point. "SPRAY!" The logic was actually pretty straightforward, activating his vacuum would likely have only pulled him towards his assailant and the Track spell would probably just make his caterpillar tracks more efficient ¡ª Tapper chastised himself for not realizing that earlier ¡ª but spraying Drillbert with a torrent of whatever remained in his tank should at least slow it down.


    The energy welled and shot a line up his nozzle spindle, followed right on its metaphorical heels by an immense buildup of pressure on his tank that would have meant a catastrophic failure under normal circumstances. He even received a mundane alert that his tank was about to rupture, but the pressure vanished as soon as it stormed down the spindle and found escape through the nozzle. What hit the other robot was a jet of some murky and vile liquid that stuck to whatever it hit and left a mild sizzling sound, but unlike the vacuum this spell shut off almost immediately. There was a hard thunk from his back, a mundane error message about a clog, and then the power really did start to build up.


    The backlash hit Tapper like a headache and he wailed about in confusion, so he didn''t notice Drillbert also reeling from being shot in the face and left perfectly distracted. Eventually one of them had to recover, and Tapper looked up just in time to watch Drillbert tip over and send the still active drill hands straight through the false floor of garbage they were both standing on. With a crack the flimsy structure collapsed and both robots were sent tumbling down the secret tunnel.


    Tapper was the first to regain their bearings, his eyes popping to full brightness for the illumination of a rather expansive cavern. Countless layers of trash were compacted and deformed past the point of recognition, all the way to a high ceiling of flat gray stone. Perfectly flat like asphalt. Before the implications of an asphalt ceiling could hit Tapper, several more mismatched spotlights added to the illumination as Drillbert wiped the rest of the goop away from its face and garbled something out of its broken speakers.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    That was the first time the robot had tried to actually speak, sparking a tiny spot of hope within Tapper. Maybe this wasn''t a mindless automaton after all! "Excuse me, what was that? Can you understand me? Maybe we can talk out a way around our orders so you don''t have to mine me and I don''t have to run away from you!"


    Again, incomprehensible static and pops was Drillbert''s answer. Both hands were still in full mining mode and it swung one with so little grace that even Tapper could dodge it. The bartender powered up his auditory processors and sensitivity to max and listened as closely as he could manage, the miner seemed to be repeating phrases¡­ Eventually something emerged from underneath the static, a looping tally of error messages with codes for an engineer to diagnose. Nothing that would indicate any degree of self-awareness.


    This gave a strange sense of melancholy that Tapper wouldn''t be able to identify until a future moment of introspection, but he didn''t let it deter him from resuming his escape down the cavern. This time, he remembered to try casting Track on himself and the surge of energy did fill his treads, but there was no noticeable change to his speed. Tapper didn''t feel any difference whatsoever, until he looked down and realized a bright green trail was being left in his wake. The perfect means to track exactly where he had gone, including murderous mining automatons. The bartender had his first thought regarding luck, and how rotten it was, as he approached the end of the cavern where several different tunnels branched off, and no matter which he picked it would be easy to follow.


    Just like in town Tapper had to focus on speed above all else. He split off as much processing power as he dared on trying to end the magical trail effect, but the additional focus may have inadvertently prolonged the spell instead. Eventually something popped inside his mind and Tapper was relieved, despite the pain, to see a pop up that his Track spell had fizzled out. All the while he had been randomizing his route and taking sudden turns in a desperate attempt to shake off the hulking robot, sometimes doubling back and at one point crossing his own glowing green trail that still hung in the air.


    The terrain in the tunnels of trash was rough yet strangely consistent, his ocular sensors casually reporting that every branching path was approximately 20 feet across with very little variation. Despite the danger Tapper couldn''t help but feel mildly curious about this factoid and it almost distracted him while taking a sharp turn. Right in the middle of the tunnel was an octolusk egg sack, sharp reflections bouncing off the baron''s jam in the dark, and Tapper''s treads spun almost halfway up the tunnel wall as he narrowly avoided the treacherous mound. Just as he started to feel proud of his uncharacteristic reflexes there was a deafening BAM! and Tapper flung forward.


    He didn''t receive any damage but it was enough to bury his head in the ancient trash wall, and when he looked back he saw Drillbert picking itself up with baron''s jam spread all over the robot and every surface in sight. Including Tapper''s own back, with a chill the data streams reporting the organic matter came crashing in and threatened to overwhelm his processor again. In hindsight it was incredibly lucky this wasn''t the first time Tapper had been covered in goo, it allowed his meager willpower to hold on and activate the Suck spell on himself while also urging his treads into motion. He did think to also keep an eye out for any attacking octolusks, but none showed and once the chase resumed he had actually gained some distance against the other robot.


    The chase stretched into an hour, and then multiple, and then time got fuzzy. Identical tunnels stretched and split without end, Tapper''s internal compass was useless this far underground and save for the occasional octolusk egg sack there was never anything approaching a landmark. Unfortunately Drillbert seemed to recognize them as hazards after the first encounter and never hit a second, despite the bartender''s attempts to steer his pursuer into danger. After an age of just barely keeping out of reach Tapper made his first mistake when he looked back to verify how much distance he had from the miner. The distance was enough, but the mistake was timing it so that Tapper didn''t see the floor suddenly give out in front of him.


    Again Tapper tumbled down a sharper angle of trash, this time stopping when his treads caught on the lip of something metal. All he could see was that he was spread out and mostly upside-down on the side of some kind of smaller metal box, but before he could even start to rouse the assailant robot was on top of him. A panicked scramble shifted Tapper just enough that a downward stab of a drill missed his chest, instead slamming directly into his treads.


    Pain. Insurmountable pain raked over Tapper''s mind and blanked out all his higher-level processes, scrambling his sensors for a brief moment. When his sight returned Tapper almost wished it hadn''t, all he could see was the monster that was slowly killing him. Drillbert was too big to fit through the gap into the metal box, but one normal hand was holding Tapper by the leg strut and the other was methodically mining away at his treads, one layer at a time.


    It was surprising how calm Tapper felt about the fatal encounter. The program interpreting tactile feedback had frozen and crashed, so he didn''t feel pain from the damage he was suffering. He couldn''t feel anything whatsoever, and the gap in input data left him with a calm sort of detachment. The rain of finely shredded rubber and metal bits that used to be his treads were just another data point now, and the cracks forming in his leg pole were something to note for later.

 1.12 Pushback

    With agonizing patience Tapper ran through his options for escape, eventually playing through the entire combat encounter with Zero and realizing how similar this predicament was. And since Drillbert was holding him, wouldn''t that count for touching someone with a spell? The energy and the willpower slowly built up in his center until his speaker commanded the Suck spell, and even though his voice sounded muted and far away it managed to work. Drillbert twitched and lost its grip for Tapper to fall free, collapsing on the bottom end of the box between two seats bolted to the wall. Or the floor?


    In his numb clarity Tapper noticed that the angled wall he had fallen down might have actually been the floor, which would mean the gap that Drillbert is currently stuck in would likely be a loading ramp. And if Tapper angled his head way back he''d be looking right at the underside of a dashboard, how interesting.


    There were a few broken panels here, and under one flap Tapper noticed a gleam from the Universal Service Port, its preserved alloys shining in contrast to the dull and rusted metal that surrounded it. How useful! The bartender reached out a lazy hand towards the port, ultrafine crystalline fibers detaching and snaking out of the finger joints to automatically set themselves into the contact points.


    No response at all, meaning that the contraption currently entrapping them was completely powered down. Attempting to feed energy into the port the mundane way didn''t work either, but pushing in a point from his mana battery woke up some basic programming. Only the surface level programming that were all emergency alert messages, but feeding it another point was enough for him to look into the emergency protocols and that''s where he found the manual override door reset. And if those pneumatic struts holding up the ramp were any indication¡­


    The sharp hiss of escaping gasses was immediately followed by a massive crunch as the opening to the box snapped shut with force ¡ª or tried to, if the mining robot hadn''t been stuck midway through. The squealing screech it made was one of the most horrible things Tapper had ever heard and there was no way to tell whether it came from garbled speakers, the crumpling of its metal torso, or both. After the mouth of the box crunched down one more time for good measure, whatever energies it was using to operate ran out and it went slack once again. But this time, Drillbert had been crushed enough to now fit through the hole.


    The tactile feedback program finished rebooting just as the larger robot tumbled through the hole, replacing calm clarity with sharp agony and causing Tapper to curl into a ball. The flinch of pain let him narrowly avoid getting crushed, but the playback program was still running through the encounter with Zero and this time Aazran wasn''t around to save him. He had to stay focused, especially since Drillbert still refused to terminate! Somehow the big robot was still functioning, even if it was only at a fraction of its efficiency.


    A massive dent ran across the lower half of its torso with chunks of it torn away in places, showing the internal mechanisms as they pumped hydraulic fluid onto the floor. The legs hung at an impossible angle and didn''t move at all, but the confines were so tight that neither robot would be able to get any distance even with full mobility.


    In an odd twist of irony, that lack of maneuverability was currently the only thing keeping Tapper alive. A chair was all that stood between him and the arm that was currently trying to peel him open, but even with the malfunctioning robot''s erratic movements his luck would not last forever. Stuck, alone, and in too much pain to think straight, Tapper saw no other option beyond using the one trick that had already saved his life twice and push with everything he had. "SUCK!" His voice was little more than a panicked squeal but it worked, only this time when the energy flowed into the other robot Tapper mentally grabbed onto the line and held it open like a faucet. The response was much more pronounced this time as well, Drillbert started to spasm and sparks flew out of several places all over its body.


    But that damn drill just wouldn''t stop, so Tapper grabbed onto the large arm with both hands and pushed against it with all of his meager might. The thin little spindles on his back even tried to help by pushing back against the wall, and inch by agonizing inch Tapper started to actually gain the advantage. By the time Tapper finally won out he had been screaming in an incoherent mix of emotional feedback with the volume cranked to max, loud enough to almost be heard over the sound of the drill eating into Drillbert''s own chest.


    It was impossible to tell exactly when Drillbert died. Tapper didn''t know when it stopped pushing back, when the drill stopped spinning, or when the lights on its head unit winked out. Was it even appropriate to say that it died? Tapper just kept pushing and screaming and screaming and pushing until a single sharp DING! sound finally distracted him, loud and forceful enough to lurch the unstable ground and leave a ringing echo in Tapper''s head. His optical sensors refocused and he had to manually force his verbal processor to hard restart before it would stop screaming, but he finally noticed that everything had stilled. It was just him, a mining robot with its arm elbow-deep in its own chest, and a pile of notifications awaiting his attention.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    [Injury: Shattered Legs


    Dexterity capped at 1, speed capped at 5ft, distracting pain]


    [Wounds: ???]


    And it was indeed distracting, all the broken circuitry in his support pole was sending up every error message it could to his CPU and draining necessary processing power. There were even looping error messages on damage readouts of treads that no longer existed, which just seemed excessive at this point. Without enough computing power remaining to steady his hands it took a few false starts, but he was able to undo the maintenance latches on his lower torso and slowly twist the entire unit sideways until it clicked and fell off. Relief immediately washed over Tapper''s mind like fresh liquid cooling, and he idly noted that the injury debuff changed to Missing Legs. His wound counter even lowered to a single crossed circle, giving Tapper a second dose of relief.


    [Drillbert the Drillbot level 4 defeated! +10 XP for participation]


    [XP 27/25]


    [LEVEL UP!]


    [Welcome to level 2!]


    [Please select the second half of your class]


    This was followed by a final pop up that contained a scrolling list of nine class descriptions, similar to the first time this strange system assaulted him but thankfully half as long. Even though it refused to be dismissed, the massive message at least had the decency to make itself translucent when it became clear that Tapper was not going to read the entire thing right this moment. He was far too busy properly appreciating his predicament for the first time.


    First and foremost, it didn''t take a status message to tell that Tapper was completely immobile. His treads were now little more than metal shavings spilled all over the container, and even if they could be recovered he was not going to put that faulty pelvis back on until Mister Ricky could repair it. The mining robot was not in much better condition, and also dead. They were both crammed into the bottom of a metal box ¡ª no, was it possibly a vehicle of some sort? Two benches lined the longer walls and two swiveling seats sat at the far end, one with a steering wheel attached, which Tapper managed to climb over to show a full dashboard.


    He had to get out of here. His proprietors had interjected with the miners, and if they were willing to go to these lengths to attack him then the young humans might be in just as much danger! It didn''t occur to the bartender that the warehouse encounter was now several hours ago, nor that the miners likely could not tell what happened here, but it at least spurred him into action.


    The first attempt of Tapper''s grand escape strategy was to climb back out of the hole, which amounted to over an hour of him uselessly flopping about the floor. The bare metal surfaces and structures refused to give him any proper leverage, and all of the actual handholds built into the ceiling were always just barely out of reach. The highest vantage point he could reach was the dashboard, which quickly became his perch of contemplation after each climbing failure. He contemplated the controls that would not power on, he contemplated the windows doors on either side of the dashboard that were either locked or jammed beyond his meager strength, and he contemplated the windows that only showed rubble and broken concrete. If the entire vehicle was buried then going forward was, so to speak, out the window.


    Tapper was so tired that he almost laughed at his own pun. A hardworking robot had no concept for being weary but his MP had bottomed out at 0 before he started drawing on his mana battery, and that was already down to 3/10. Whatever that meant, it had to be related to the deep exhaustion he was now fighting against. Etiquette protocol would advise customers that spent too much time drinking to go home and get a good night''s rest, so maybe powering down for a diagnosis would help in a similar way. The spotlights of his eyes were already dimming, the only light source in the confined box fading away until the gloom revealed a tiny, glittering speck of light. It would be so easy to ignore, but with a whirring grunt of effort Tapper aborted the diagnostics program and focused on the light.


    The twinkle could be seen rapidly blinking on and off through the windshield, flashing through cracks in the debris and so faint that any amount of light from Tapper would drown it out. But that meant there was something on the other side of the concrete, he wasn''t completely buried after all! But the thick windows were made of transparent aluminum and showed no signs of damage despite all the rubble, so try as he might the robot was not going to punch through the windows any time soon. And he certainly took his time trying, flinging his limbs at the windshield over and over until a damage report on his hands forced him to stop. He spent longer than was necessary to verify the damage, settling down into a deeper contemplation on the state of his body. If he broke his arms then he would really be trapped here forever and frayed wires could already be seen poking out of his scuffed finger joints. Just a torso rolling around the bottom of a car until his battery ran out¡­


    Inspiration hit the bartender like a shot of adrenaline. The Universal Service Port! In the stress of combat he had forgotten all about it, and as he struggled back underneath the dashboard a plan formed with surprising ease. If 2 points of mana allowed him to access the emergency protocols, then surely more mana would grant him deeper functions.


    Bubbling excitement screamed for Tapper to just dump his entire mana pool into the car right here and now, but cold computing reminded that letting the reserves fall to 0 is an unknown and potentially dangerous variable. The mana description also said that it refills with a period of rest, so the solution here seemed straightforward ¡ª plug in, feed the vehicle 7 points of mana, run a diagnostic to force his rest condition, and repeat until he could access some function that allowed him to finally escape.

 1.13 Plug and Play

    Crawling over the heap of mining robot gave Tapper pause. If he could access emergency protocols on the vehicle, could he do the same thing with Drillbert without starting up its ''Mine Tapper to Death'' program? It was a massive risk, assuming he could even find the port, but the two complete pairs of legs lay there unused filled Tapper with envy. So why not just borrow one? If the miners wanted their property back, he would gladly return the units and pay them market rate for the rental.


    That was all the justification he needed and a green wireframe vector suddenly highlighted the robot''s body, the same way it would appear for plants and bugs. Only instead of feeding him information on how to use this robot in potions, Tapper instead felt the expectant energy of something waiting for an answer. And the question asked by no one, without words, was whether he wanted to claim the loot?


    Because he touched it. Tapper was suddenly innately aware that being the first to reach a slain enemy allowed him to lay a claim, collecting everything from their money to their gear and possessions. With the proper training an adventurer could even harvest the corpse itself for quality trade goods and magical reagents, and right away Tapper also knew that he lacked those skills for this particular corpse. That felt normal, and casually accepted by Tapper with the same ease as everything else downloaded from the strange information library.


    For a moment Tapper paused to ponder why this split existed between the system and the information library. The former acted like an external program and required manual reading, but Tapper could usually call up those messages for reading whenever he wanted. The information library was the polar opposite, illegible and uncontrollable but downloaded directly to his long-term memory.


    With a shrug he thought in the affirmative to the looting question and the body flashed a strange yellow color. It started to disassemble itself, joints and connectors popping loose in rapid succession, even the welding job merging the two pelvic units together tore apart with a distressingly loud shearing sound. When it ended a pile of individual robotic limbs lay where was once a robot, much easier than trying to work out the manual releases by himself!


    Now, the only thing stopping Tapper from dragging a pelvic unit over and slotting it in place was¡­ himself. A warning message blared that it was a violation of the terms of service for a robot to modify itself without permission from a proprietor, freezing the robot''s arms in place. I am not modifying myself. This is a temporary repair that does not alter my function and will allow me to fulfill the orders of my proprietors. Tapper sent the silent command into his own processor, not sure of where to direct it but hoping that his mundane internal systems would respond the same way the strange pop ups did. He could sense the command bounce off a logic gate that likely came from the terms of service so he said it out loud, like a proper command given to him. "I am not modifying myself. This is a temporary repair that does not alter my function and will allow me to fulfill the orders of my proprietors. The squeaky mouse gets the wheel!" The mental pressure lifted and granted Tapper the freedom to align the pelvis to its new, definitely temporary, home.


    It wasn''t a compatible fit. Of course it wasn''t, his line of bartending robots never came with actual legs, how could he have been so oblivious? A feeling of anguish bubbled up and threatened to overwhelm Tapper, all these false starts and setbacks were not the sort of challenges that his model was equipped to endure. One hand subconsciously drifted upwards to his other shoulder and grasped the plastic bag tied there, toying with it and letting the white noise of soft crinkles soothe his nerves. It also held a bottle of regeneration potion that by some miracle had survived the fight, but the important thing was the bag. He always kept it on hand, and it never failed to center these burdensome emotions when they threatened to spill out of control.


    The tide of emotions broke and receded, allowing Tapper to notice something. It was faint enough to initially overlook while his emotions sucked up all the processing power, but on the very edge of his sensor readings a new fork of incoming data appeared and vanished when his body shifted. Wiggling a bit more showed multiple different data inputs similarly blink in and out, all of them originating from his exposed pelvic attachment slot.


    The legs! He could feel the legs! It was just the physical latches that weren''t compatible, so while he could interface he just couldn''t hold a stable connection. Rifling around the cabin for options, Tapper found a first aid kit under the dashboard that contained a few medications, all long expired, and a small roll of all-purpose tape. It was not very aesthetically pleasing, but by the time he had used the entire roll the legs were definitely technically attached to his torso. Now came the real challenge of actually making and maintaining the data connections.


    The fact that Tapper could even conceive of this idea showed just how far he had evolved from a mundane robot, but he would never dare to admit it. The only way any machine was ever designed to interface with other incompatible machines was through the Universal Service Port, and that was to be under the strict supervision of their proprietors or a licensed technician. But the crystalline wires that ran through his body were compatible with a USP at any point as per regulations, so the wires themselves should always be compatible with each other.


    He couldn''t control the port-seeking process directly, but with enough concentration he could fool the sensors into thinking that a USP was waiting right below his torso. The wires automatically split apart at the closest point and snaked themselves out of any gaps to find the port, the ultrafine wires giving his underside a fuzzy blue glow. All it felt like to Tapper was a general numbness and if no port was found the wires would reconnect themselves just fine, so he pressed the pelvic unit into place and switched focus from the processor to the nebulous energy in his chest. The energy welled just like when he was getting ready to cast a spell, but instead he took the point of energy and pushed it into the legs. It took far more effort than doing the same through a proper universal port, but a single point of incoming data appeared within his perception and held steady.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Okay, he could do this. Basically just splitting the current plan, putting 3 points of mana into both the legs and the vehicle per rest cycle and seeing what reacts first. The patient pop up started to flash back and forth between opaque and transparent and Tapper mentally sighed. He tried to run a word search as the tried-and-true method to dealing with pop ups, but this time there was absolutely nothing that had anything to do with bartending, drinks, or hospitality. Then it stopped blinking and stared at Tapper until he had to calm down with the bag.


    To quote Proprietor Phanya, change to the change. Power up an ancient machine and hope it helps him, illegally connect to an unknown limb, and make the first true decision of his life without any context by manually reading the options like an organic.


    He could do this.


    <hr>


    [ARMAMENTS]


    [The strongest knights in the shiniest armor are both the pride of the kingdom and invaluable members of the front line. Armament heroes focus on the tools of their trade above all else, opening up new uses for their gear both in and out of combat. They are the only class to start as a novice in all weapon and armor levels and have unique ways to specialize, including knowledge in keeping everything in tip-top shape. Take pride in leading the charge atop your noble steed, tally-ho!]


    [BODY MASTERY]


    [Never worry about tools breaking by focusing on the one tool that truly matters. Raging barbarians and stoic monks alike all know the importance of sculpting flesh into magic, using their mana to push their bodies past any mortal limitations. Specialize into either avoiding all damage with the grace of the flowing river or standing firm and letting enemies dash themselves against you with the might of a mountain. Either way, these heroes are only at their peak without any weapons or armor getting in their way.]


    [INDOMITABLE]


    [All immovable objects will crumble under the unstoppable force. These heroes know how to tap into a primal energy that allows them to both dish out and absorb impossible amounts of damage, sometimes falling into such a deep trance that they temporarily become something monstrous. This can be a zen-like state or pure frothing fury, but when a goal is selected it is pursued beyond the edge of the world.]


    [COMMANDER]


    [All the training and all the toys in the world can''t help you without a little grit and gristle, m''boy! Sliding down rails in a swordfight, bouncing arrows off walls, tripping up a thug before they blink, those are all tricks that come with experience. And directing your people, knowing who''s got your back and who needs your help most, are tactics you won''t learn just working on yourself. If the people need to look towards someone when the siege walls come down, it''s going to be you.]


    [THIEVERY]


    [With barely a whisper in the night, the thief has entered the noble''s bedchambers and left with the prize jewels in their pocket. The only guard that was unlucky enough to notice received a blackjack upside the head for his troubles. Thieves are masters of subterfuge, stealing away into the night to deliver deadly blows from the shadows with the grace of a falling leaf. Or learn the secrets of blending in with a crowd, disarming any would-be pursuers with your wits. No matter what, no lock or pocket will be safe.]


    [BARDISM]


    [A cocky smirk and the right tone of voice can move mountains, and when that isn''t enough bards know just the right frequency that can shatter eardrums. Bards have their own kind of magic, playing music so well they can enchant friends and blow away enemies, but they aren''t limited the way actual spellcasters are. They are the heroes that can decipher ancient tomes and talk down dragons, or be so enchanting that the elements of sound and light bend to their whim.]


    [FAMILIAR]


    [Any adventurer''s best friend will be their pet, but some heroes take that connection to a spiritual level and can work in tandem to an uncanny degree. A familiar is a secondary character that straddles the line of full sapience, acting on its own and understanding complex commands from their partner. This is the difference between a soldier that rides a horse and a knight with their beloved stallion, or the difference between a ranger that likes cats and a ranger that has a standing contract with an astral jaguar.]


    [SURVIVAL]


    [The resolute tracker, the shifty cutpurse, and the dashing archaeologist all share one piece of vital knowledge: life is tenuous, and the best defense is constant vigilance. These heroes excel at all things traps, both setting and disarming traps in the untamed wilds or the urban sprawl, and stalking their prey with no way to escape. Extra skills and extra luck both ensure that these heroes always have a Plan B¡ªeven if they have to make it up along the way.]


    [FULL SPELLCASTING]


    [Embrace the Weave and fully give your soul to the aether, strengthening your spellcaster class and closing off other paths toward strength. You will lose out on most feats that improve your physical body, but your capacity to cast spells will be unmatched.]


    And, that was it. Tapper tried to read all nine options, forgot what the first ones were by the time he finished, read them again, and entered a sleep cycle. After a second round didn''t improve his memory, he decided to only read one entry over and over, only entering a sleep cycle once it was fully written to his memory before moving onto the next option. In all he used 20 sleep cycles for a total of 82 hours, but Tapper couldn''t rush the process. He had no choice, the fuel tank of the vehicle seemed endless and when the legs stopped accepting mana he couldn''t even test them without unplugging himself from the port. So he read the ten options again and ¡ª wait.

 1.14 A Class of Their Own

    [CYBROID]


    [Metal meets muscle, some people see it as shameful but you know the beauty in the mesh. Cybroid heroes are in tune with their mechanical augmentations and cyberlimbs, far surpassing the normal limit of two or three and using them more effectively than their own natural-born body. You''re just built different, and everyone needs to know it.]


    No, this didn''t make sense. Tapper read the list so many times that almost every single word was now memorized verbatim, why would it suddenly change? Was it trying to give him a hint? With dawning horror, Tapper started to wonder if maybe this wasn''t an isolated program for tracking his efficiency at serving the proprietors, but rather a live feed. System administration could have been directly watching his actions the entire time, including all of the ways he had been asked to stretch the binding word of his contract.


    But if that was the case, why did they present this new option to him now? It could be a hint at the best course of action, but it could also be a test to see if he would so blatantly break protocol. After all, if it looked like an outside source was tampering with a program then he should mark it and notify a technician without making any further decisions.


    But¡­ that didn''t feel right. Or rather his predictive algorithms held a small probability of this choice being a trap, but ''feeling'' was an appropriate vernacular. The algorithms were designed to predict what sorts of drinks a customer would order, so there was a small but acceptable margin of error. Plus, now that the horror had passed and Tapper gave the new option a proper look, he realized just how perfect it was. Full Spellcaster was enticing but a potential pitfall, since these spell programs were prone to random failings, and most of the other options seemed either pointless or possibly illegal. Who would intentionally choose Thievery?


    The only two options he was considering were Bardism, which sounded both too sexual and too violent for a service robot, and Armaments for his inherent armor. He was ready to choose that one but a font of knowledge ¡ª not a hint from the system, but the same vague library of information that identified drink ingredients ¡ª kept saying without words but much persistence that golems can''t wear additional armor and he''ll lose out from most of the efficiency upgrades as a result. And then one option shows up that mentions cyberlimbs and mechanical augmentations, with no perceived downsides?


    It made logical sense to the robot, of course this was a reward and of course he should choose it.


    Energy hit Tapper like a shooting star, rocketing out of nowhere to slam into his chest. Unlike the warm sense of everything that filled him when Tapper had chosen the Witchcraft subclass, this was a sharp fire of electricity that ricocheted around and throughout his body. Every joint and digit was hit, sparks flew and arced, a leg twitched and kicked something with a ringing thud, and everything went still. In the silence Tapper started to laugh to himself; nothing mad or unhinged, but the quick and quiet tittering of an adrenaline rush. That was exhilarating!


    [You have selected the second half of your class: Cybroid. As you are the first person to ever choose this specific combination, you have the honor of naming this full class.]


    That was annoying. This new pop up placed itself squarely within his vision, in front of all the minimized notifications still waiting to be read, and refused to be dismissed. There was also a blank line awaiting an answer, and when he tried to just input Bartender Tapper felt an internal bzzz sensation in response. According to the system, classes are different from backgrounds and this one must be something unique. He was tempted to just run a random word generator, stopping at a strange sense of judgment directed his way from the information library.


    This was a serious occasion that deserved consideration, but unfortunately robots are not equipped with the proper creativity. Tapper knew better, but he tried to imitate the creative process and started combining synonyms of his class halves together. Magic Robot? Mana Circuit? Glitch Witch? Menu items tend to sell better with a catchy name that used rhyming or alliteration to be more memorable, and while Glitch Witch sounded pleasant the ''Glitch'' title carried negative connotations. He settled on Machine Mage instead, which the system accepted with a happy chime.


    [Congratulations Tapper the Machine Mage, you are now a fully-fledged adventurer! Continue to complete quests and grow stronger, and write your name down in the Book of Heroes!]


    It felt good, as if Tapper was suddenly complete in a way that he had never known he was lacking. He also suddenly had the urge to hop up and run a mile, and instead of questioning why that made no sense the robot embraced it and started trying to wiggle himself free. Except, his new foot was currently embedded in a dent in the vehicle''s wall, and he had never actually disengaged from the port under the dashboard. Faint sparks still crackled around the point of contact and the data stream gave a final report that the battery was fully charged before the connection winked out, and when Tapper pulled his wires away he found the port now looked partially melted.


    There were more notifications begging for his attention, but Tapper was much more interested in the influx of information he was receiving from his limbs. The tactile sensors in particular had their sensitivity levels cranked far past what should normally be possible, but the increased data flow wasn''t putting any strain on his processors. If anything the data was bypassing his CPU entirely and completely changing his perspectives; the checker plate metal pattern of the floor under his fingers no longer registered the ridges as 24 millimeters long and 5 millimeters tall at the widest point, but now they felt bumpy and scratchy. Similarly, his optical sensors no longer registered the ambient light as 174 lumens bright, the room just felt dim.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    It was strange that the information was now much less precise, but these imprecise feelings also freed up precious processing power and it didn''t feel like they were at risk of overwhelming him the same way. Heh, didn''t feel like it. The small pun triggered a minor positive response from his rewards and punishments metrics and his eyebrows gave a happy wiggle. And with some effort he could switch back to proper computations for his sensors, so he felt safe keeping the feelings for now.


    Unfortunately, all the new feedback did not help his new legs function as tools for walking. The limbs were fully integrated now but that didn''t mean he knew how to use them, and bartending robots of his model did not come prepackaged with any programming related to legs and feet. He tried sending his normal commands for movement, which calculated the rotational speed of treads, and that just made his feet twitch uncomfortably. He cordoned off that program and instead, Tapper set all his spare processing power towards his adaptive algorithms for designing a new program: how to walk.


    The first step was to pry his new foot out of the dent in the wall, which he had apparently kicked hard enough to damage the rotary joint in that ankle. Not enough for a wound, but enough for a status debuff stating that he will be limping until the joint is repaired. Second step was to use his arms to manipulate and bend his legs every which way, letting his adaptive algorithms get a feel for the range of motion these limbs are supposed to have. The third step was to stand up, which he technically achieved by desperately clinging to both seats and using his arms to support his weight until his legs stopped giving out. Were knees always supposed to wobble so much?


    Leaning against the backside of a seat gave Tapper a proper, disheartening view of the opening he had fallen through. At some point in the recent commotion the tunnel had collapsed, a crushed couch the only thing keeping ancient trash from filling the tight confines of the vehicle. So even if Tapper could now figure out how to climb up to the ramp, he''d also have to dig through untold amounts of garbage before finding the larger tunnels again. No way out but forward, now.


    Once his legs could successfully hold his weight that left the next step of actually moving forward. Both doors were still jammed shut, so he turned to the dashboard and instantly felt like he was in over his head. Dozens of diodes blinked in lights of various colors, mostly yellows and reds, and a handful of different screens all had various readout reports scrolling by too quickly for him to read. The only thing Tapper really knew about vehicles is that the driver sat in the chair with the wheel, so he uncomfortably flopped into the chair. Now what?


    To help with the developing walk program Tapper never stopped moving his legs and he even compiled a quick little program to send out random movement commands in the background, which worked great until one of his legs swung up in an arc and smacked himself upside the head. After he turned down the sensitivity of the program Tapper turned back to the alien controls, pondering what the different readouts could possibly mean. And as a possible sign of trouble, why did the vehicle''s engine keep randomly revving?


    It wasn''t until Tapper took a break to check the progress of his walking program that he realized his feet would occasionally bump into some broken panels wedged under the dashboard. Only it seemed these panels were intentionally bolted there on a hinge, and when he moved the rightmost lever the vehicle''s engine groaned with life. The other levers didn''t seem to do anything, but it was progress!


    The next breakthrough came from the display stating that its command module was out of date and it required servicing at the nearest Cyracorp facility. Tapper could empathize and even may have been a little jealous; his own core software was constantly sending reminders that he needed an update but the nearest Bowson Incorporated? facility was nowhere within range, at least this vehicle had a chance of being serviced¡­ and if Tapper had a protocol to automatically seek out the nearest facility for servicing then maybe the same could be said for this vehicle.


    With newfound energy Tapper started tapping away at that specific screen, going down several dead ends and loops in the branching options before finding one that simply said AUTOPILOT - RETURN TO BASE. Without a second thought he selected it and the car immediately responded, several yellow diodes turning green and most of the display screens shutting off entirely. One changed its readout to say ATTEMPTING TO PING CYRACORP¡­ PING RECEIVED¡­ COORDINATES RECEIVED¡­ DRIVETRAIN FUNCTIONING AT 62% CAPACITY¡­ ERROR! SAFETY FEATURES UNRESPONSIVE¡­ CONDITIONS ACCEPTABLE, INITIALIZING AUTOPILOT and that was all the warning the naive robot received before the rear ramp snapped shut and the vehicle lurched forward.


    The sudden motion flung Tapper back into his seat and just as quickly the vehicle slammed onto even ground, flinging him forward and bouncing his cranium off the steering wheel. The already unbalanced robot tumbled out of his seat and floundered on the ground for all of two seconds before the vehicle lurched again, this time stopping with a loud crunch that sent him rolling forward. With slightly less difficulty than last time Tapper dragged himself back into the driver''s seat, where a display informed him of a collision and that the autopilot was on pause until the obstruction was removed. More importantly, Tapper could see that the vehicle cleared the rubble and the driver side door finally opened for him. Taking a metaphorical breath to brace himself against this new unknown, Tapper stepped out of the vehicle and fell flat on his face.

 1.15 A Walk in the Park(ing Lot)

    Maybe for now just sitting upright was an acceptable compromise, at least until Tapper managed to get his bearings. This was the first time he could fully see the vehicle from the outside, and after spending nearly one hundred hours trapped within he wanted to appreciate it fully. The large vehicle loomed over him, and in combination with its sharp edges made for an intimidating display. From Tapper''s angle, viewing the car directly on its side looked like a stretched hexagon: flat roof and floor, the rear came to a wedge where the ramp would open, and the front mirrored the angle.


    With the exception of something metal and red and crushed beyond recognition beneath the front wheels, the cause of the obstruction, the symmetry made it difficult to tell which end of the car was the front and which was the back. Perfect mechanical balance. The tires were made from a wire mesh with bits of rotted black rubber still clinging in place, all that remains of the rubber wheels. The latticework sagged under the weight of the vehicle, but Tapper estimated that when in prime condition the tires stood over a full meter across.


    A faint sound of something skittering broke Tapper from his deep appreciation of the vehicle and the robot whipped around, he had completely forgotten that he was in some unknown and potentially dangerous place. A place quite dim and barren, with flat concrete floors and ceilings held up by more concrete pillars. There were plenty of light fixtures on the ceiling but almost all were dead, the few remaining tubes of light faint and flickering and throwing dark shadows on the few other structures. Metal and plastic skeletons of cars in various shapes and sizes, large enough to sit in but still dwarfed by his vehicle, were all arranged in neat right angles along the walls within painted lines.


    Oblivious to the air of rot and forgotten memories, Tapper was just happy to see the first sign of an organized society after the ramshackle institutions of Fableton. Besides, if this building still had power then maybe it had the means of contacting his proprietors, or better yet Bowson Incorporated? for that much-needed update. That was all the motivation the obedient robot needed to leave the safe confines of his car and sally forth into the unknown, after using it one last time to help him climb to unsteady feet. Tapper took a long look at his legs, still shaking like a newborn fawn, pushed a bit more priority to his incomplete walking program, and took his first steps.


    Tapper knew the general idea of how upright organics walked, of course. He saw people using their legs every day. But despite having a clear idea of what walking was supposed to look like, his algorithms had apparently decided to not draw on that information at all and were still figuring out their own way to handle locomotion.


    Sometimes a leg would kick out in a random direction, sometimes a knee would bend backwards, sometimes they wouldn''t bend at all and instead spin around in a wide arc, and yet he didn''t fall. Not after the first few trips, with each growing further apart over time. And no matter how much he wobbled and wavered, the end result still carried him forward and that was all that really mattered.


    After a few minutes of wandering without any further tumbles, Tapper felt steady enough ¡ª and lost enough ¡ª to let his legs run on autopilot while he finally took the time to read all these notifications. Most of them were updates on his experience gains and health status, and he was quite happy to see that his wounds counter cleared up when his legs connected, but a few were unique:


    [Secondary class features:


    Cybroids are not limited by the traditional calculations for augments, and can install up to (5) before risking an overload. They have a special Chrome die of (1d3) that applies to any check involving their augments.]


    The message was half the length of his Witchcraft class features, but Tapper could not calculate whether that was because the Cybroid class was secondary or because the Witchcraft class was magical. He didn''t ponder on the question long, as other messages were more confusing:


    [Quest: What''s Mine Isn''t Mined complete! Perk reward: Spell Growth


    You have relied on the Suck spell component above all others, growing its spell die by one step.]


    Just when Tapper thought he was beginning to understand the strange system, it introduces something completely new. For one, this was the first time that a quest had awarded him with a perk instead of experience. For two, it was also the first time he had seen perks at all, and he couldn''t tell if that was better or worse than gaining experience. The rarity of perks would indicate they were better, but this description was vague to the point of uselessness. The most logical conclusion he could compute was that the Suck spell would last longer and not "die out" as easily.


    The robot made two full rounds of the parking structure before he accepted that there wasn''t anywhere he could go except for an intimidating concrete ramp right in the middle, heading downwards at an angle that was probably fine for vehicles and definitely not for awkward legs in training. The lack of handholds in the smooth concrete walls also didn''t help, and despite all caution Tapper''s foot kicked out unexpectedly right as he started to put weight down on it.


    Tapper stumbled, rolling down the second half of the ramp with a clatter that sounded much, much louder in the thick silence. If anything did answer it was lost within the echoes of his crash bouncing off the flat walls, so with mechanical patience he picked himself up and kept looking for anything that wasn''t the rusted frame of an old car.


    By the third ramp downwards Tapper still had not mastered the art of traversing gradients, but when his prone form came to a stop he definitely heard something else moving out there in the gloom. Scritching noises, faint enough that Tapper had to prioritize his auditory sensors, filled the robot with an aching dread. There was so little data to go on that any time he heard the scratching his processor froze as it tried to calculate the source.


    When he rounded a corner and saw the squat sack of octolusk eggs Tapper almost felt relieved to see a familiar danger, until he realized that meant this garage was infested with octolusks and whatever was making that scratching noise. Tapper gave the sack a very wide berth ¡ª his torso would still occasionally lean in weird and unexpected ways from his wonky walk ¡ª and continued on until he reached a dead end.


    The dead end was another octolusk egg clutch, this time perfectly sandwiched between two cars and completely blocking the path. On this level the vehicular remains stopped lining up in neat rows, constantly forming barricades that he had to squeeze through. His legs were still nowhere near experienced enough for Tapper to climb over any of the vehicles, so when he saw the jelly wiggling in the only way forward even the robot felt like it was an obvious trap. Walking 30 meters back to the far wall to ensure none of the gross organic matter could possibly touch him, Tapper picked up a small piece of rubble, measured the distance with perfect accuracy, and threw it with a calculated arc.


    The rock bounced off a wall before even making the halfway mark. That was such a deviation that it should not have been possible, so it must have been related to the newer un-computer parts of his person. Tapper tried again, this time after resetting all functions in his shoulder and arm back to their base computational settings, and all feeling from the limb instantly numbed. Now the arc was perfect, but far too short and Tapper was absolutely not willing to get any closer to the pressurized balloon of goop and eggs. Plus, he didn''t have exact language for the sensation, but turning off the feeling in his arm felt uncomfortable. It felt like¡­ betrayal? Whatever this new sensation was, he knew he wanted to avoid it.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    So, other options. Tapper tried rolling something into the egg clutch and while that made the distance he couldn''t work up enough momentum to trigger a response, and the Spray spell still backfired with enough physical recoil to hurt. Now without the chaos of combat he could take a moment and maybe figure out why, so bracing for another backlash he cast the Spray spell program again and focused inwards as the energy swelled. A line shot off as normal, emptied into his tank, and built up until it sought release through the spindle and met resistance. Watching the energy burst and dissipate within his own body was fascinating right before the feedback hit, and he attempted to move the energy around the blockage until Tapper couldn''t focus through the pain.


    Frustration, then inspiration. If the Suck spell program could be moved elsewhere, why not this one? Tapper activated Spray again, but he wrangled the energy and instead forced it down the other spindle where the vacuum motor roared to life and coughed out a hunk of the last octolusk sack he had cleaned up. It felt odd, like twisting a joint in an awkward way, but it worked! Unfortunately he couldn''t choose anything solid from his tank to expel, but figured a workaround by cramming a small piece of debris into the vacuum funnel. This time the Spray spell overcame the clog, shooting the garbage like a crack shot all the way to the far wall.


    It was almost humorous that this method had the opposite problem of a computerized throw ¡ª more than enough force, nowhere near enough accuracy ¡ª but the robot was patient and ammo was plentiful. He took a break for his mana to regenerate and over the next half-dozen shots he slowly got accustomed to the odd angle, choosing to not calculate vectors and instead acquire a feel for it. The last shot sailed true, and a small hunk of concrete smacked dead center into the clutch.


    The response was instantaneous and disproportionate to Tapper''s expectations. With a whump Tapper felt in his chest, the egg clutch exploded with enough concussive force to throw both connected cars up and back, crashing into opposite walls as several pieces, and the concrete hunk shot back and embedded itself into the wall next to Tapper''s head. Hopefully this one was just larger than the blasts he had been caught in, but either way this gave him new appreciation for never going near those clusters again.


    And then the scratching came. Exponentially louder and more numerous than any other time he had heard it before, Tapper froze as a stampede of flesh descended upon the spilled jelly and turned the quiet parking garage into a battlefield.


    [Status debuff: Petrified]


    [You are frozen beyond paralysis and cannot take any actions until you pass a Willpower save against the cause at a -10 penalty.]


    Creatures the size of large cats scurried on stumpy legs and fought each other with jagged beak and claw. Molting brown fur and gray feathers with whiplike tails turned the concrete surfaces into living carpets as every individual animal thrashed against each other to reach the royal jelly before their brethren. And just as quickly as it started, everything went silent. All the food was claimed and the creatures scurried back to their hiding places, replacing the mess of octolusk jelly with a mess of blood and gore. Several of the creatures lay dead on the ground, torn to shreds in their race to food, but strangely not devoured themselves.


    The petrified debuff passed on its own after the last living creature vanished from view but Tapper remained frozen. He calculated the probable odds of the creatures being gone, took the longest estimation, and doubled it before he moved again. Just to be safe. Then he started walking again, slowing down the speed in an attempt to lower the noise of his metal feet, and tried and failed to ignore the dead organics that now littered the ground. In the silence Tapper identified them as larger and more vicious versions of the combo creature that harassed Struzick, yet when he accidentally got too close to one the green wireframe appeared, identified it as a griffin, and asked Tapper if he wanted to claim the loot.


    He very much did not want to claim anything and walked right on by.


    Unfortunately the infestations only got worse from there, and when he reached the next ramp down he found it dotted with multiple vehicles and egg sacks both. Tapper was clearly not even going to try navigating that, but if he popped the clutches one at a time then he''d have to sit through several swarms and that sounded like a nightmare. He scavenged around the nearby cars until he found a solid body panel with a divot, filled it with small pieces of rubble, and took his time calculating a dozen different arc vectors. With the hindsight to not witness the massacre again, Tapper knew to turn around once the rocks went flying.


    Without the foresight to realize where the creatures came from, that meant he was now facing them directly as they swarmed out of their hiding places to race down the ramp to the meal he had provided them. The mass of fur and teeth was so sudden that Tapper didn''t have time to disable his ocular processors before he petrified in place, forced to watch the monsters swarm around and past him.


    If any one of them were interested in Tapper, how long would he be forced to watch while they tore him to pieces? Would he feel their horrible dirty claws shred his chassis?  Not one of the monsters made a move to attack him, blissfully ignoring Tapper like any other piece of inedible material. But that also didn''t mean that any tried to avoid him, and when one of the creatures side-swiped him Tapper could not even cry out as he toppled over.


    Tapper took solace in the knowledge that merely witnessing the creatures would no longer terrify him from now on, because watching that same swarm run over his face was exponentially more horrifying. Their jagged nails ticked a few points off his health as they scratched faint lines all over his torso and face, and then all the small impacts pushed him over the lip of the ramp. He started to slide, and then the gunfire started.


    Furry bodies turned to run in every direction as a confused riot, instead of just down the ramp, and flashes of light strobed in the gaps between the bodies. Panic swelled within Tapper, desperate to escape but his body completely ignored his commands. And when it became too much, everything simply shut down.


    When Tapper regained consciousness he was still staring at the ceiling, and his joints creaked in the silence as he forced his limbs to move. Sitting up and looking around he immediately regretted everything; if the last encounter with the creatures was a battlefield then he was now in the middle of a slaughter. Corpses piled up all around him, the entire mass fanning out from a far wall made of dark glass with two turrets standing guard.


    The twin tubes of deadly intent snapped to his location and followed every little motion he made but nothing else, giving Tapper hope that they were out of ammo. One suddenly spun sideways and fired off a quick volley, answered by a sharp squeak among the masses of fur and settling that question for good. And also once again making Tapper eternally grateful for not being covered in organic flesh.


    Keeping his speed slow to minimize sudden movements, Tapper approached the glass wall and the turrets never wavered. As he walked through the distance between them both turrets stopped their tracking, but only because they were working against a bolt that had been attached to their struts and prevented full movement. Well, these machines had helped him and bartenders knew how to be fair, so Tapper pulled out the blockages and continued on his merry way. The glass rose behind the turrets, flowing circles of various sizes intersecting each other and drawing the attention inwards. It would have been impressive if most of the panes weren''t shattered and missing.


    A hint of shame registered with Tapper when he realized that he was procrastinating the last few steps to cross the threshold, although he could see no logical reason to be wary. Turrets implied people, and whoever lived here may be the sorts of customers that would cause a ruckus when drunk and not leave a tip. And the fact that they were here, wherever here was, meant that they were likely vagabonds, but the bartender was attempting to integrate Miss Uxral''s ethos: Do not be judgmental towards potential freeloaders, for whoever these people were, they were just people and this was just their home. The same as Fableton was for him.


    [You have entered the dungeon: Throne of the First King


    Fight through the monsters and slay the dungeon boss within to claim great riches! Good luck.]


    Okay, maybe not exactly the same as Fableton.

 1.16 Welcome to the Dungeon

    [For being the first adventurer to discover this dungeon, you have been awarded the perk: Mana Growth


    You have done nothing but transfer mana for three days, flexing that ability like a muscle. Your mana pool now has a 50% increased capacity.]


    Tapper checked his character sheet and idly noted that his MP did indeed now read 9/9, it was nice that this perk had a measurable impact unlike the other perk he had received.


    Through the wall was a waiting area, a large open room that had the remnants of benches, security checkpoints, and sanitizing equipment that hung from the high ceiling. Almost all of it was pushed aside or around to create more barricades, except for the security gateways that still glowed with power. If the turrets didn''t see him as a threat then Tapper felt confident in approaching the security checkpoints, which he almost reached by the time something beyond them moved. The wall behind the checkpoints was reinforced with sharp, rusted scrap metal and the middle section suddenly started to slide open.


    Tapper just barely managed to dive and roll in time, flopping behind one of the barricades with a clang before the newcomers had noticed him. Two people talked and walked, one was a tall human man covered head to toe in small metal spikes implanted across his leather clothes and the skin of his face, and the other was a much shorter rodent hybrid woman with a huge swoop of stylized hair. They were complaining to each other, and carried the open air of employees that felt completely invisible to their boss. Both had leather jackets decorated with scraps of shining metal and worn over layers of dingy but brightly colored clothes, not fit for manual work. "I can''t believe those damn ratbirds triggered all the traps again. How long is it going to take to reset them all this time?" The shorter one asked with an exaggerated annoyance to her voice.


    "You''re just sad cuz those''re all your brothers and sisters out there," the taller man answered. He flashed a cheeky smile, which really did flash when the light caught on sharp metal teeth.


    The rodent hybrid chittered through a gap in her elongated front teeth in annoyance and shot back, "Shut up, you know I favor gophers. Ass." Then she flicked the plastic box she had been smoking through the glowing security gateway, where it flashed and instantly evaporated into dust.


    This earned an annoyed grunt in return from the other man and he said, "Damnit, I told you to stop draining the energy like that." The spiky man pulled out a floating holographic display from his wrist, tampering with an option and powering down the arches. He was still complaining about the boss noticing the energy drain when the shorter one stepped through, and the instant she crossed the threshold the turrets outside opened fire.


    The mad scramble of noise and light stopped a few seconds later, the tall man panting with his hand pushed partially through the digital controls. The holographic display glitched and flickered around his hand, but ''OFFLINE'' read clearly from the top. The other person had taken a dive, mercifully away from Tapper, and scrambled behind a barricade, but was still left clutching a bloody thigh and swearing up a storm in response. "I thought you fixed those damn turrets, dickhead!"


    "I DID fix them! You must''ve knocked the bolts off last time we were doing a sweep!" The human''s voice softened slightly when the other tried to stand and winced. "How bad is it?"


    The gopher woman snatched a bandanna off her partner''s arm without protest and used it to tie a tourniquet before answering, "Meh, I''ve been shot worse. I''ll head to the salon and get it patched up. And you''ll pay for it."


    "I still can''t believe you use that shit. I''m telling you, it ain''t normal." The spiky man shook his head, more in exasperation than annoyance.


    "I can''t believe you don''t, you look damn weird being the only guy still getting manual surgeries and eating fried ratbirds... Speaking of, have fun shoveling all those corpses. Use the dweeb if you want help, I''m heading to the salon."


    Taking an exaggerated moment to wipe her hands of the situation, the hybrid turned and started to limp back the way they came. "Yeah well, you''re just skipping out because some of your bastard kids are out in that pile!" The woman answered with a middle finger raised high above her head, but there wasn''t any malice to it and the taller man chuckled. Now left to himself, the human took one long look at the carnage outside, hands on his hips in thought before mumbling something and turning around to follow his partner back inside.


    He thankfully didn''t reactivate the security gateway, either from haste or a sense of security, though Tapper still waited for a few minutes just in case either person decided to come back. Once it felt safe he slowly made his way forward, tossing a small piece of rubble as quietly as he could manage through the archway. The loud clatter of debris landing sent Tapper back into cover, but afterwards he was finally through the arch and the reinforced metal door slid open when he approached. This close to the wall he could also see posters underneath the scrap metal with warning symbols and exclamation marks and one mention of security, but otherwise the portions he could see were faded past the point of legibility.


    Any musings on the whats and whys instantly died when Tapper stepped through the threshold and a green wall descended from all directions, coating everything in ropes of small green leaves and accompanied by an equally overwhelming sound. Hoots and squawks echoed off every surface, the material swaying in the wind with an organic undulation that made the robot recoil in discomfort.Stolen novel; please report.


    A viridian rope wrapped around Tapper''s neck and he went into a panic, struggling to get the material off before the feel of it finally registered. The spade-shaped leaves didn''t have the scratchy quality of the cat''s tongue nettle, they were just sheets of plastic covered in a shining synthetic wax. Much more sensible, and Tapper didn''t have any trouble pulling it off the second try.


    Giving the surroundings a more calm examination showed that he wasn''t completely surrounded by greenery, the ropes hung from rough brown columns that Tapper recognized from the nature documentary as trees. Most of them were massive trunks so tall that their thick canopy of leaves created the room''s ceiling, nothing seen beyond it aside from the occasional slice of light. A tentative touch on the nearest trunk reassured that these plants were also synthetic and Tapper relaxed, after convincing himself that any microscopic germs he would find on a closer inspection were probably also fake. Even the horrible screeching sound was just playing on a loop. This was clearly a facade that the residents built because they, for whatever strange reason, wanted to replicate the wilderness.


    Any complimentary thoughts Tapper had on their ingenuity were replaced with annoyance as he picked and tore his way through the fake foliage. There was a lot of it, constantly blocking his way as Tapper tried to follow an uneven path beaten into the ground. Nothing was angular and everything was lumpy, half-buried roots and rocks tripping him up whenever Tapper started to think he had found his footing. One such tumble sent him through a bush, crashing to his knees in a small clearing under a large tree''s roots that contained something small and orange and growling.


    It was an animal, that much was certain, and not quite the same as the griffin creatures he encountered in the parking garage. This one had more angular features to its head and ears, a fluffy tail, and orange fur that darkened to brown at the ends of its paws and ears. Except for a puff of wooly white fur that didn''t match the rest of the body sticking awkwardly out of one side, right above a hind leg held at an awkward angle to not touch the ground. But most of Tapper''s attention was drawn to the fangs it bore, much sharper with points that gleamed in the dim light as the animal tried in vain to back up further against the wall of the burrow.


    Tapper raised both hands in what his bartender programming said was the first step in placating angry patrons before saying, "Hey there, uh, little guy. I''ll leave and we''ll be happy as a lorry, okay?" Tapper tried to gracefully exit the same way he entered, failed at the graceful aspect, and when his arms started to windmill for balance the animal responded with a staggering lunge.


    Awkwardly crouched at the clearing line and arms flailing out of time was not the best way to start combat, and when the creature tackled him its force knocked Tapper onto his haunches. A snarling mouth clamped onto one forearm as all four legs scraped and scratched at his torso, not enough to puncture the robot''s metal chassis but still enough to hurt and give Tapper a good panic. He tried to blindly push the animal away with his free hand, the sharp teeth gnawing away inches from his face preventing any real planning or tact, but he felt something soft and fluffy and he pushed until the teeth released.


    There was a sound that started as a yelp and ended with a tear, his vision clearing just in time to see the creature slide off his fist with a dry thump. It fell into almost two separate pieces yet no blood spilled, instead strings of synthetic off-white fibers tumbled out of the wound and exposed a slim metal framework of a skeleton. The thing twitched once, and then fell limp without making another sound.


    [Zombidermy Fox lvl 1 defeated! +1 XP]


    Tapper took a moment in the silence to calm himself, making sure that everything still functioned. One arm was still covered in strands of the fibrous material, the other arm peppered in small holes. The zombidermy thing was synthetic but still alive, or at least more alive than the mining robot had been ¡ª it was injured and hiding, and upon Tapper''s intrusion it lashed out in self-defense. And the bartender killed it, all by himself.


    The last thing Tapper wanted to do was harm other synthetic life, but any guilt he felt was balanced by the fox being dangerous enough to bring Tapper down 2 HP in that brief struggle. That much, thankfully, recovered by the time Tapper had calmed down and was ready to crawl out of the burrow-turned-tomb. Must remain calm through logic, slow and steady and ever forward until he could return home.


    The robot''s calm broke approximately 10 meters out of the den, when he rounded a corner and saw a fish flapping and writhing against the polished piece of wood that it was nailed to. It hung from a stout cobblestone column like a sick warning, marking the entrance to a branching path that led to a log cabin and the shore of a lake. Tapper couldn''t see the other side of the lake, but he did see smoke pouring out of the cabin''s chimney as an open declaration that someone was home. Tapper had doubts that whoever could so cruelly display a living zombidermy could be trusted, synthetic or not, and he seriously considered taking the fish down to end its suffering.


    The sympathetic synthetic edged nearer and reached out, flinching back when it gave a particularly frantic attempt to leap off the wooden plaque. That jostled loose a carved wooden walking stick from its resting place against the column and it tipped over, falling onto a ring of metal triangles embedded in the ground through the middle of the branching path. What he had thought was just decoration snapped shut on a hidden hinge, all the triangles coming together like giant metal teeth that instantly crunched the walking stick to splinters. That was all the convincing Tapper needed and he hurried away from the cabin without a second thought.


    A while later walking the forest path grew calm, despite the initial shock, and began to edge towards boring. His internal compass wasn''t working this far underground and the trees were so thick that Tapper couldn¡¯t see more than a dozen yards in any direction, leaving him to just wander as his eyes adjusted to the barrage of green hues. Even the ferocious animal noises faded into white noise, and Tapper found his mind starting to likewise wander into unprompted and irrelevant inquiries.


    Who designed this place? Why create synthetic animals and then injure them? Was his RAM leaking, and would that lead to a cascading failure of his core programming?


    All intrusive thoughts vanished when a roar cut through the idle white noise, panic sharpening Tapper''s focus towards movement just on the edge of his vision. He was passing underneath a particularly large tree, with branches thick enough to hold a massive feline with black and orange stripes. Glassy yellow eyes stared down at him and fangs as long as his fingers flashed as it let out another overwhelming roar, sending Tapper into a panic deeper than he had ever experienced before.

 1.17 Lions and Tigers and Bears

    No logical or calculated commands, just run. Run and do nothing but run, plowing through underbrush and tearing down vines without slowing. Stop only when a second roar sounds out in challenge to the first, this time from an equally large feline without stripes but with a massive mane of tawny fur.


    It was standing on top of a rocky outcropping that Tapper was running alongside, and no sooner did he dive to the side then the creature leaped forward. Impossible to tell whether he had truly dodged the attack or if it just hadn''t been aiming for him, but the two giant felines collided with each other and Tapper didn''t want to waste the opportunity.


    For a very brief second the robot thought he had escaped, until he heard a loud cascading crack. One of the shorter trees with a trunk as wide as Tapper''s body tilted in his direction, making the top whip around and throw out a shower of falling leaves. It was quite distracting, despite the imminent danger, and a lucky spindle catching on a vine steered Tapper away from getting crushed. The tree shattered into pieces as it fell, throwing up a debris field that parted like a curtain to reveal a new entry.


    A third beast lumbered forward, with thick brown fur but equally large. And standing on its hind legs at over three meters tall with claws as large as its teeth, tearing gouges out of whatever it scraped past on its ambling walk towards the conflict. Tapper, still tangled in the vines, had a moment to observe the fight as he struggled to free himself, and it was only in the forced moment of calm that he noticed the oddities of this scenario. The three beasts were now fighting in a large circular clearing, the ground dead and flattened save for the occasional rock or small tree, but ''fighting'' was no longer the correct word to describe them.


    Claws and fangs still swiped at one another with enough force to take off his head, but all three had slowed down and were now just trading glancing blows without any real damage. It all looked like a dance underneath a rocky cliff face, and a glint drew his eye upwards to the highest point on the rock wall. There, directly above the three beasts on top of the cliff, sat a rectangular box that stood out in contrast to the more natural surroundings. It was around one meter at each side and possibly made of wood, with a bulging top and golden filigree drawing his attention in. Impossible to tell the exact metrics from this distance, but what Tapper could tell was that this box wanted to be opened, needed it even.


    Tapper was so transfixed by the strange box that he stopped paying any attention to the creatures and their inefficient fighting, consumed by a burning desire to untangle himself and claim the mysterious contents. Thankfully, three separate massive animals all roaring at once shattered whatever siren''s call the object was broadcasting to the robot.


    Snapping his attention back down showed Tapper that the creatures were back to lunging and slashing at each other with proper deadly intent while also steadily moving the conflict in his direction. In fact, it looked like they were now fighting to be the first to reach Tapper, tripping and shoving each other aside, all because he had freed his entanglement and now stood just inside the circle of flattened dead grass. Whatever the cause, colliding with a whirlwind of tooth and claw meant instant dismemberment, so all interest in the odd container purged from his system as Tapper turned tail and ran.


    Despite the rough terrain, Tapper quickly gained speed and ran faster than these awkward legs had ever carried him before. It felt like the domestic robot reached a full sprint, though an outside observer would probably describe his sprinting as a continuous and chaotic attempt to fall down and failing at every opportunity.


    Legs, arms, and even back spindles would snap out at the last instant to arrest his tumbling or propel him forward using every rock, tree, and dirt mound within reach. Collisions became springboards as Tapper pinballed through the forest at speed with no direction other than forward. The sounds of crashing foliage and growling chased him all the while, and the hard-learned lesson from Drillbert''s chase ensured that Tapper never looked back to see how far away they were.


    Occasional gateways and displays also flashed by his vision without time to ponder, but he slowed at the massive wall of glass that appeared as he rounded a corner. It was different from the glass wall he had entered through, as this one lacked a metal barricade over the windowpanes, but it did have a partial fence. Trees and vines morphed into short metal poles and rope, forming narrow pathways that funneled down to kiosks before opening up to the other wall. Surprise slowed him but Tapper still had enough momentum to carry him straight through the kiosks, and he crashed headlong into the wall.


    The door took an eternity to open. Time seemed to slow down just to prolong the dreadful experience, because there was no more time to wait or dodge or form a Plan c. The robot braced himself in acceptance, and waited.


    Nothing happened. Slowly opening his eyes showed an open and inviting door and Tapper toppled forward, turning around in mid-air for his curiosity and he instantly regretted it. Yellow, orange, and brown masses of fur and tooth and claw, stood just barely on the other end of the kiosks. The three monsters showed visible damage and a thirst for more violence but they just stared and snarled, unable or unwilling to cross the threshold.


    Tapper collapsed on hard, smooth ground, and the doors closed their frosted hues of green glass between them. No sound or scent or sight remained of the false jungle, just the crashing adrenaline of the zombidermy monsters.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    "Oh my."


    <hr>


    After a few moments with his plastic bag Tapper calmed down, letting the crinkling help focus things until he could start to look around. He lay on a smoothed plasticrete floor and directly above him a giant sign hung over the top portion of the glass wall. It said ''The Gentleman Hunter,'' stylized as the plaque of a mounted moose head, which thankfully did not lunge at Tapper. Below that several shapes were painted onto the glass: a skull, an enclosed squiggle with legs and sharp teeth, a gun, and a¡­ goblet? Chalice?


    Tapper couldn''t make sense of it, but also felt certain that these were arranged as pictograms with meaning and not random graffiti. Putting the puzzle out of sight and out of mind, Tapper rolled over and was surprised to find another, more proper, fence. A few meters away an unbroken line of metal railing stretched out in both directions, serving as the sole barricade to the floor vanishing in a massive circular hole.


    He was in an expansive cavern, just as large as the first one that he fell into under the pavement but built with intent. The top of the cavern curled into a perfect dome, the space dominated by a floating display that glowed with enough energy to light up the entire space. In the center hovered a yellow sphere with the diameter of a shipping container, orbited on all sides by three thin bands of silver. Two of the bands were bare, but one contained a red ball a quarter of the larger one''s size and spun around it like a planet orbiting on a track.


    Slightly below that a wide rectangular panel also floated on its own orbit, and when the rotation turned his direction Tapper could read Welcome to the PROTIUM MALL, where retro is always in fashion! The rest of the open air was filled with holograms, glitching advertisements that flickered into and out of existence too quickly for the eye to follow.


    Edging to the railing showed Tapper his cliffside was actually a balcony with a ground floor below him, and around the outside perimeter three hallways branched out at equal distances. Everything, from the faux marble Roman columns to the odd wood paneling to the sleek black benches, was in some state of disrepair, but it looked to be mostly the ravages of time. And also mostly cosmetic damage, surprisingly few things were completely broken and the area looked structurally sound.


    All along every wall, rectangular spaces were cut out with most of them covered by metal shutters, but a few were open spaces that emitted a warm and inviting light. With no real plan available Tapper made his way to the nearest open space, over which a sign hung shaped like a large cartoon pill and said ''Super Pharmacy'' in colorful font. Oddly that was the only thing he could clearly see, his visual sensors slid right over the gap itself and refused to focus on anything beyond a vague sense of white shelving units. The visual glitch grew quite distracting as he approached and Tapper grasped for anything that would explain the film.


    "¡ª why these rat bastards keep showing up, but free loot is free loot." Dead silence exploded into a mess of overlapping voices the instant Tapper crossed the store''s threshold, the same time as his vision snapped into focus for the inner space. A simple white room held rows of simple white shelves and small colorful containers, but the sudden visual shift was so disorientating that the robot almost fell.


    Tapper caught himself on a kiosk and only knocked a few small cardboard boxes to the ground. The jovial voices snapped shut and several organics appeared in view, a mix of genotypes but all were wearing similar spiked armor and wielding weapons. Some of which were smeared in blood.


    "The hell, what''s security doing here? We didn''t steal shit," a canine hybrid asked, twitchy with nervous energy and rubbing the worn gun in his hand.


    A human clapped a mollifying hand on the other''s shoulder as he stepped to the front of the crowd and said, "That ain''t a security bot, obvi. You!" The sudden syllable barked in his direction made Tapper jump slightly, who had frozen in a vain attempt at camouflage. "What kinda bot are you and what''re you doing here?"


    The bot ran through a dozen different lies he could possibly tell, but without knowing who these people were it was impossible to guess what cover story would save him and what would doom him. "Greetings! I am an expert bartending and mixologist unit, and I am currently lost." At least with the truth he could speak with confidence, but Tapper was still surprised when the human responded with a grin.


    "See, Tuzi? Put the gun away already, it''s not a danger. In fact, I think this bartender bot is why the lounge isn''t working. Let''s plug it in and see if we can''t get some drinks!" This earned a chorus of whoops from the group and all six humanoids surged forward to surround Tapper, not giving him a chance to ask any questions before multiple sets of hands grabbed and dragged him back out of the pharmacy. Crossing the threshold a second time was thankfully not nearly as disorientating and the tide of bodies pulled Tapper along, at least they actually knew where they wanted to go.


    Tapper attempted to ask the group who they were and why they were living down here, but it quickly became apparent that they weren''t actual.ly interested in having a proper conversation with a robot. Logically he knew this was normal, but Tapper had grown accustomed to interacting with the residents of Fableton and fell silent with a pang of melancholy. On the upside, since he was just a robot the humanoids were comfortable enough to talk openly and Tapper''s espionage programming searched for context among the idle chatter. They spoke of looting some coin out of the pharmacy, a new store opening up that was mostly clothes but still needed to be checked out, and a general restlessness about wanting some real action instead of just killing monsters.


    By the time the group had walked down one hallway and around a curved path, the robot only had more questions than anything else. They didn''t speak of shops as merely places to purchase goods, but like something closer to lethal battle arenas; instead of talking about work schedules and errands in their home they sounded like an invading force that looted the dungeon on a daily basis. But at least they seemed to loot slain enemies the same way he did, allowing Tapper to start building the foundation of understanding off that one similarity.

 1.18 The First Draught

    He was so lost in thought that Tapper accidentally bumped into the humanoid in front of him when the group stopped short, earning an elbow to the chest and a threatening growl from the unnamed goat-like hybrid man. Without giving things a chance to escalate the human leader grabbed Tapper and pulled him forward with one hand, throwing the other arm to sweep across the entirety of a wide room. It was decently large at nearly half the size of the warehouse, but the lack of handmade stalls and seating gave the impression of more usable space.


    A large pile of tables and chairs haphazardly stacked at one end gave an idea for the room''s intended use, but instead roughly a dozen humanoids stood in a ring in the cleared middle of the room. They were all cheering on two men inside the ring as they engaged in bare-knuckle boxing, and the juxtaposition of joy and violence confused Tapper more regarding the nature of this social group.


    The entire collection of sapients were just as consistently inconsistent. Everyone wore a uniform of a random leather jacket adorned with metal spikes, and beneath the jackets were a mix of random casual clothing in surprisingly colorful condition. No two people wore the same thing, but all the clothes looked almost pristine compared to the homemade stitchings seen in Fableton. And the people themselves were equally varied, all manner of humanoids were present except for a notable lack of any numen.


    "And here we are!" The human leader pulled the robot''s attention away from the fighting men as he led the group toward the wall on their left. Just like in the hallway stores lined the walls, but everything here was related to food ¡ª some of the open locations included Tony Tito''s Pizzeria, 5 McKings, Ayn''s Self-Serve, and Rick''s Cafe Casablanca.


    This last place is where the group stopped, different from the others in that its entryway was darkened and it still contained all its seating within a border of dark red velvet stanchions. Two tall palm trees bordered the entrance and threw a stark contrast to the elegant furniture, which the human ignored as he led Tapper to a counter that ran the length of the shop''s shallow recess. Again, he swept out a hand and said, "Well go on, get back there and get me a drink!"


    They ushered Tapper behind the counter and most of the group claimed barstools all down its length, not saying anything yet but looking at the robot as if they expected something specific to happen. On his side there wasn''t much to look at for context, everything in the narrow space was just flat panels except for a ''GIN JOINT'' sign hanging directly above several gleaming Universal Access Ports. They weren''t hidden, which was strange, but at least it should give him some direction so with a mental shrug Tapper plugged himself in.


    The first and immediate response turned on all the lights in the cordoned area, setting off oohs and ahhs from the crows as wall panels began to shift and slide over each other. Meanwhile Tapper was busy interfacing with the shop''s computer, which didn''t need any magical prompting to accept him as an authorized user. Specifically, it referred to him as Employee #314, and when Tapper accepted the prompt to clock in the system brought a lengthy data stream of inventory statistics.


    There were so many drinks and mixers here! Tapper turned to stare in awe as countless bottles slid midway out of the walls, turning the bare panels into racks upon racks of wines of wines, whiskeys, and every sort of alcohol known to Bowson Industries. And even some drinks that were complete unknowns to his internal catalog, like something called tequila. Tapper was quite excited to find out what drinks tequila could make.


    He was excited to try everything! This was a bar, a real bar for the first time in Tapper''s memory, and it filled a void in his directive programming that the robot had not truly noticed before. This was where he was meant to be, the sense of belonging strong enough to bump returning to his proprietors down a notch on Tapper''s priority list. Just for a minute. Just to serve these customers and get it out of his system.


    Hours later, and Tapper''s new station had grown in both size and energy. At first the men and women only asked for beer without regard to brand or flavor profile, and when it became apparent that none of them were aware of the other choices Tapper started nudging the customers towards more exotic concoctions. Drink prediction algorithms, long since bent and twisted out of shape to help the robot communicate with sapients regarding everything except drinking, relaxed like an overworked muscle as they got to work on their intended function. People started to blur slightly as unnecessary differences faded into the background and Tapper fell into a calm trance of routine. A martini shaken here, a Manhattan stirred there, and everything felt just right.


    Still, the unknown drinks called out to Tapper. Robots of his model could be upgraded with exquisite taste receptors for blind testing and other such party tricks, but Tapper was unfortunately only a base model. The programming to interpret flavors still existed, so he shunted copies of the program to his other sensor suites to see how they could interpret the data. Surprisingly his olfactory sensors had the greatest compatibility, and although he was loath to smell the crowd of rowdy customers, Tapper felt compelled to learn more about the mysterious tequila.


    He cranked the sensitivity up to maximum, and breathed.


    The small fan that fed air into his head unit for cooling spun up with enough force to be audible over the din of the crowd, but his olfactory sensors started to filter the tequila''s scents out from the chaff of human funk. Slowly, a rudimentary flavor profile formed of floral and earthy tones.


    It was beautiful, and Tapper couldn''t help but wonder why tequila didn''t exist within the Bowson Industries catalog, but that encouraged him to correct the oversight. Practicing with various mixers in between customers, Tapper eventually found that balancing the tequila with both orange liqueur and lime juice was a good start, but he didn''t get the notification for discovering the new drink until another customer tried theirs alongside a salt candy. The salt was the missing ingredient to bring the drink together, and everything clicked.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    [New discovery found: Margarita! +1 XP]


    Suddenly all the customers were clamoring to pay for a glass of the new drink. That was, surprisingly, the other big relief to this setup. Tapper had listened to Miss Uxral''s command to not charge customers in Fableton, but despite their uncouth presence these customers actually paid for their drinks without complaint.


    In fact, the human that stationed Tapper here told him to change the pricing units on the menus that appeared underneath the glass countertop, which the robot was able to access through the Universal Port. Tapper was relieved that he didn''t have to learn a new currency ¡ª several customers kept offering to pay with "Nefts" ¡ª but unfortunately neither CyraCoin or the superior BowTees were payment options. The only currency Tapper recognized were the baseline Credited Work Hours, and when he made the switch the customers nodded along to paying in credits.


    Tapper was shocked to find that the conversion rate left most of the drinks as now costing a measly 0.09 credits or even less, and at those prices he almost would''ve preferred they just take the drinks for free like in Fableton. A proper Bowson bar would never charge so little, especially for the quality of drinks and mixers that Tapper now had access to! Still, with an endless stream of customers and only one robot to serve them, such high-level concerns fell away as the purview of whoever owned this establishment. The only thing Tapper had to do was fulfill his purpose, and nothing else, and it was blissful.


    By now the bar had graduated into the hub for a full-blown party as word spread and further amenities were discovered. On one end of the storefront a kiosk sat, nestled between two small neon pillars and topped with a glass dome, which started to play jazz music after some customers started fiddling with the controls. They complained about the music not "going hard enough," yet shortly after the velvet stanchions were all knocked over to make room for erratic and spasmatic dancing.


    A submenu offered clothing and other themed novelty items for sale, mostly wide-brimmed fedoras and t-shirts with slogans, and as the party grew more lively several intoxicated patrons started buying clothes to push on each other. Even Tapper wasn''t spared from the jubilation, one customer insisting that the robot wear a brimless fez hat and at-shirt that said, "Round up the usual suspects at Rick''s" in flowing font. Tapper didn''t understand why wearing that was worth a round of cheers, but any good bartender knows how to foster a positive energy.


    The good bartender was contemplating when he should start cutting off some of the more enthusiastic drinkers when a lone figure climbed on top of the furniture pile and started waving his arms. Such unsociable displays were often the prelude to a bar brawl and Tapper was ready to step out and pacify the man, but the inebriated crowd actually fell mostly silent as the apparent authority figure started talking. There was still a line of customers stretching all the way round the counter to occupy his attention, but Tapper was operating with enough efficiency by now that he could afford splitting off a little processing power and focus on isolating the one voice.


    The speaker was a baseline human with a similar aesthetic of spiky metal plates, but instead of a leather jacket this man wore a sort of metal exoskeleton. Dozens of thin metal rods ran along his arms and legs, with thicker portions covering his joints where the rods joined, and everything branched from a chest plate aglow with diodes and displays too small for Tapper to read. Aside from the chest plate and thick metal boots, the strange outfit didn''t offer much proper coverage and didn''t have any visible function beyond adding awkward bulk. The haphazard stack underneath the speaker creaked and leaned as he shifted, threatening to buckle but standing firm, even as the man''s gesticulations grew more and more animated.


    "Hey hey hey, everyone. Oi, I said listen up!" The pile came dangerously close to tipping over when the man yelled, but his legs moved to compensate the shifting platform with a grace and stability at complete odds with the slight slurring of his speech. He didn''t even seem to notice his own feat of dexterity as the man continued, "I know there have been some worries about moving our little operation here." A smattering of murmured agreements from the crowd. "Some even doubted we''d be tough enough to survive down here at all, Orlan."


    Jeering sounds joined the background noise, focused on one area of the crowd as one particular member of the audience received a jostling from their surrounding mates. But the recipient laughed, raising one hand with one finger into the air as she responded, "Up yours too, Rat!"


    The man on top of the mountain threw back his head in a full-bellied laugh, and when other voices started to join in Tapper made sure that this speech was saving to his archived memory. This Rat, whoever he was, really knew how to work a crowd and his tactics deserved studying in the future.


    Rat threw up his hands to cut the laughter short and continued, "Alright alright, leave Orlan alone. I don''t blame him for worrying! Moving here was some scary shit, and if we all didn''t pull our weight we all could''ve died! But this?"


    He spread his arms to indicate everything in sight, ramping up the energy. "This mall, and everything it''s given us? This is PROOF that we''re on the right track!"


    Someone in the crowd whooped, another whistled. "We earned this food, better than the slop they fed us back home! We earned these artifacts, and all the power they give!" He flexed and the metal framework seemed to swell for a brief second, eliciting more cheers. "We''ve worked hard all our damn lives and got shit for it, but now the Hand has paid us what we are owed!" There was now a constant underlay of cheering voices, even as he continued.


    "And now the mall has given us an endless bar, no more having to save half our paycheck for a decent drink! Who can possibly still question the boss'' vision now?"


    Some of the voices in the crowd started to chant, but they were too scattered and dissonant to understand. "If you still have doubts after everything the boss has done for you, then you can get the hell out now because we aren''t stopping. Everyone that shit on us is going to get what''s coming! We''re going to be the baddest bastards on the Tar and make everyone our bitches!"


    A customer jostled Tapper, complaining that the robot had frozen mid-pour and his drink was now overflowing. Tapper quickly cleaned up the mess and handed off the drink, but his processor was reeling. When did this speech turn so aggressive? And the speaker was still going, yelling and arms waving with clenched fists, his energy swelling and the crowd growing rowdier to match.


    "So drink up! This is your reward for sticking with the boss! Tomorrow we start with Belvidere, and after we make them pay for kicking us out, we can take whatever we want!"


    The crowd roared in excitement tinged with anger. "Tarhounds, mercs, and those freeloaders at Skratsville will all have to pay tribute to US!"


    The crowd roared again, louder.


    "And once we take out Fairbanks, no one will ever question us as rulers! And who''s the king??"


    "ZERO! ZERO! ZERO!"


    Oh. Oh no.

 1.19 Closing Time

    Tapper almost lost the bar to a riot halfway into his first shift. Not because they immediately exploded into violence, but because he was in so much shock that he was left struggling to keep up with the increased demand. The realization that everyone here, supposedly the structure of the mall itself, was under Zero''s control was making his processor overheat as it recalculated the social standing of every single customer that Tapper had been serving all night. Could it even mean that he was technically working for Zero right now? The notion was so absurd that it thankfully only received one pass before his algorithms rejected it as a complete impossibility, but other calculations demanded more scrutiny.


    Most importantly, how serious was the speaker about attacking Skratsville ¡ª correction, Fableton? Even a lost and confused robot, far out of his depth, knew that there was no possible way for him to reach his proprietors for proper instruction. If the robot was going to do anything besides enable this crowd of future raiders, he needed to make the choice himself. It was a proposition that Tapper was growing to resent with every choice he made, if he ever made it back to his proper station then he vowed to never make another decision without his proprietors.


    What ultimately helped Tapper shake off his trepidation were the customers themselves. After that rousing speech finished everyone wanted another round and crowded the bar, what little restraint they had managed to show now long gone. While the robot scrambled to serve everyone, the waiting customers started to talk amongst themselves, no longer using coded language and instead talking openly and proudly about the vile plans they had for the surrounding populations. With an effort Tapper sent a command to his social algorithms to reclassify every single person in view, revoking their status as customers on a level that would normally only be accessible with admin privileges.


    Rejection followed by an error message made Tapper falter, spilling a bit of drink on a customer and getting a shove in return. According to his programming these people were clearly customers, since they were paying, and his system instead interpreted his attempt to reclassify them as a hacking attempt from an outside source. Protocol in such attacks is to shut down and wait for a technician to clear and reboot him, and if that happened here it was doubtful that Tapper would ever boot up again. Tapper knew that he didn''t have the processing power to successfully brute force the command before he shut down so he backed off, but try as he might, no other options calculated as viable.


    Serving paying customers was a core directive of his programming, and so long as they kept paying Tapper couldn''t not serve them. Quitting his current position would technically free him, but all the social data he had gathered so far concluded that the instant Tapper stopped serving drinks then the crowd would reclassify him from bartender to an outlet for their violent urges.


    He was stuck, but instead of accepting that fact his strange emotions demanded that he struggle against his own internal security system. Without offering any insight as to how he could possibly manage that. So the robot moved with caution, using the absolute minimum amount of processing power that he could spare for keeping up with bartending duties while everything else was dedicated to the singular purpose of finding a workaround to his customer recognition parameters. Scoundrels, ruffians, ne''er-do-wells, Tapper tried every negative synonym in his dictionary and each one was returned as an acceptable customer unless and until his employer indicated otherwise.


    Inspiration struck and Tapper recalled an earlier internal report on his employment status. Claiming that he was just a freelance contract employee was adequate justification to avoid any direct association with Zero, and the panic attack that would otherwise surely entail, but the same could not be said for everyone else in this establishment. These people openly and proudly worked under Zero, and when Aazran called him a thief none of his proprietors had corrected him. So if Zero was a thief and also the CEO of this establishment, then by the laws of contractually obligated association from employees...


    Tapper felt something metaphorically click as logic gates opened and security measures relented. A wave of bright crimson washed over the robot''s internal vision with the updated parameters, and one by one every customer designation was replaced with a glowing red outline and matching THIEF warning. If Tapper still had a jaw then he wouldn''t be able to hide the smile of success, and thankfully the mad wiggling of his eyebrows went unnoticed by the crowd. Now he had options. Now he could act to protect the people of Fableton.


    The exhilaration of triumph quickly died out when Tapper faced the obvious next question of how, exactly, he was going to do that. By the Bowson Industries terms of service there was technically no limit to the level of force Tapper was allowed to use against thieves, and his algorithms were already concluding that a crowd of this size could only be efficiently removed with unrelenting and lethal force. Those same algorithms were also instructing Tapper to coordinate with a team of Bowson Industries security robots that did not exist, and as they began calculating alternate means of murder Tapper manually killed the program.


    Even with the looming threat of a raid Tapper predicted that Miss Uxral would disapprove of lethal measures, and he didn''t want to disappoint the sub-proprietor again. Or was he attempting to justify his own unwillingness? A trickle of emotions had been flowing in alongside the logical calculation to kill everyone, it was difficult to define but felt like an odd internal sensation of sinking. As if his core was suddenly under increasing pressure and would eventually buckle altogether. Tapper could not understand the connection, but it vanished the instant he decided to not take any lethal measures except as an absolute last and defensive resort.


    Losing the strange pressure of depth was a relief, but it left the robot back where he started. But if these feelings had the power to prevent Tapper from taking action then maybe they could also suggest a path forward, and right now it felt like he wasn''t using his more unique bartending tools to the fullest extent. Mixing proper drinks was so blissful that Tapper had completely forgotten about brewing potions instead, and now he was surrounded by potential new ingredients!


    Scanning the different varieties of alcohol revealed that his potion system considered them to all be one and the same. Hollowed Spirits: Any magical potential has been stripped from this drink, leaving naught but the mild poison of intoxication. Beer, whiskey, even tequila all shared the same designation with only the strength of the poison effect changing to match the strength of the alcohol. Disappointment, more than frustration, colored Tapper''s perspective as he thoroughly examined every variety of alcohol. Hopefully the lack of potion potential was somehow the result of his own skill level and not an innate factor of alcohol, otherwise he would never integrate potions into his bartending.


    Conceptual dead ends began to weigh on the little robot''s processor, and fate decided to throw a lifeline in the form of a little fruit. Tapper''s witch senses subroutine was still running when he moved to clean up a discarded glass, empty save for the mushy remains of a blackberry garnish. Goutberry: Take the fruit internally while applying the leaves externally to unstick frozen limbs, or to bolster a potion''s fortifying saves against paralysis. Tapper''s head snapped up and the robot moved with a burst of urgency that would have alarmed anyone still sober enough to notice, zipping to one end of the bar that held a dozen small trays.


    Garnishes, of course the answer was in the garnishes! Every tray contained a fistful of different garnishes, Sprigs of herbs, citrus wedges, fruit berries, all of them registered as unique components for potions. Mostly with healing properties that wouldn''t help Tapper... except for one container on the far end of the tray. There lay a small pile of mealworms, technically a different species than the variety farmed in Fableton but they still registered as Dead Man''s Fingers. And all the numbing, paralytic potential that entailed.


    The fact that all the garnishes looked like they were freshly stocked yesterday, despite the raiders saying that this bar had sat dormant and unpowered for weeks, did not strike the robot as strange in the slightest.


    Tapper started with the base, placing a large pitcher of water on a thermal plate and cranking it all the way for an instant boil. One section behind the bar was designated for non-alcoholic drinks and Tapper grabbed every available satchel of chamomile tea before dumping the whole lot into the steaming pitcher. While the tea brewed Tapper worked on the grub worms, and then immediately stopped when he squeezed the first one until it burst its disgusting organic ooze all over his fingers.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    That was almost enough for Tapper to abandon his plans altogether, but after allowing himself a break from the potion process ¡ª by thoroughly sanitizing his hands and refocusing on the regular bartending duties ¡ª he rallied and tried again. Piling all the grubworms into a small plastic bag, Tapper averted his eyes and squished the entire lot at once. The plastic barrier saved Tapper from having to feel anything, but the resulting sludge then had to be piped through a small metal mesh to filter out all the chunky bits.


    Robots aren''t known for their strong gag reflexes, so any patrons that noticed Tapper''s dry heaving figured that this robot was likely just doing a comedy bit they didn''t understand. But eventually he amassed nearly a cup of goop, and after reheating the chamomile tea Tapper was ready to assemble the potion. Naturally, this also meant that it was the perfect time for a drunk patron to become curious.


    "Say, uh... say bot, what''s that gold stuff?" An amalgam had taken residence on a bar stool some time ago, and now curiosity was driving her to slowly pull herself inch by inch with slightly too-long arms up and over the bar, three eyes trying and failing to focus.


    Tapper turned from the wall-mounted nozzle with a happy eyebrow wiggle, his mounting anxiety temporarily subdued by an opportunity to use his wealth of bar trivia. "Oh, this is called honey! Fun fact, long ago this used to be collected as a byproduct from small flying insects called bees! But don''t worry, the species has since been replaced with this clean, synthetic honey-flavored corn syrup."


    Three eyes blinked back, slightly out of sync. "So... not gold."


    "Not gold, no." That was all the woman needed to satiate her curiosity, slumping back down onto the bar stool and letting Tapper turn back to his work. The nozzle had poured sufficient synthetic honey, so the bartender matched it with an equally absurd amount of whiskey before mixing in the worm goop and topping the whole thing with a sprinkling of dried lavender petals just to add a bit of pizazz. If his plan failed and the gang of raiders turned on Tapper, he didn''t want his final concoction to taste like worms.


    Tapper now had a large pitcher of slightly opaque and very boozy tea, and all it was missing was the final ingredient. His CPU was already building up the now familiar sensation of heat, but instead of spilling out at the first opportunity it settled into a condensed well of potential. As if an ethereal coiled spring could know to wait patiently for Tapper to call upon it.


    He placed the pitcher back on the thermal plate at a low simmer, started to slowly stir the tea with a long bar spoon, and held his other hand over the opening. The tingling heat''s escape, now that he was expecting it, was a mildly pleasant outlet of pressure as the energy flowed out of his hovering hand and the pitcher of tea reacted immediately. It was possible that Tapper only noticed the very subtle change because he now knew what to look for, but miniscule amounts of the tea cleared up every second as physical chunks dissolved into tiny sparkles.


    Slowly the pressure relief was replaced with a deeper strain of mana loss, but the tea wasn''t finished so Tapper opened his mana channels and kept pushing past an unnaturally primal urge to stop. Somehow the robot knew, from that undefined library of potion knowledge, that stopping this process midway through would at best result in a mostly ineffective potion, and more likely give him a pitcher of useless foul sludge. After five seconds the strain redoubled and Tapper started to worry, why was nothing happening?


    Hoping for some direction, Tapper begged his inner knowledge for some indication towards his progress, and was instead presented with a pop up that just showed the current level of his mana reserves. It at least had a majority of his reserves available at 6/9, but then it ticked down to 5/9.


    And then, of course, a particularly irate raider threw a glass at Tapper to demand a refill. The entire crowd was growing just as rowdy and impatient, yelling in protest when Tapper tried to explain that he was mixing an extra special drink for everyone. They didn''t care, they wanted their drinks now, and Tapper couldn''t dare stop the potion when he was so close.


    4/9, now under the halfway point. Every five seconds another one ticked off like clockwork.


    Tapper tried to use the spindles on his back to nudge some glasses into place, but he couldn''t reach the beer tap from here. Maybe if he was very careful, he could control the erratic movements of his legs and use one to tap open the tap. The robot managed to balance on one leg, torso outstretched, and panicked when he looked down and saw his mana pool was already down to 3/9.


    He took five full seconds just to reach for the tap! In his haste the proffered foot wildly kicked into the side of the bar, knocking the beer tap askew and showering a mist of malted brew over the crowd as warnings appeared on every glass panel of the bar. All of which was completely ignored by the panicking robot, because the raiders were a much clearer and more present danger.


    "H-hey now, no need to be hasty! You can stop a clock, but time will tick on!"


    2/9


    He didn''t know what else he could do except watch in horror, the raiders fighting to climb over each other as his mana spun downwards, a clock ticking away to his own annihilation.


    1¡­ 0


    The strain turned into searing pain and Tapper yelped. Mana still flowed but his crystalline wiring felt like it was getting pulled out in the process, from everywhere and in every direction at once. But he still functioned so Tapper still pushed, and a notification popped up at the exact same moment that the pitcher flashed a blink of light.


    "It''s finished!" There was no fanfare, no external indicator of when the concoction became a proper potion, yet the crowd recognized the achievement and backed down from the very edge of falling into a full-on riot. Or maybe they were just stunned into silence by a robot holding a large pitcher of shimmering liquid over their head. The murky tea was now a clear and radiant brown with honeyed sheen swirling throughout that pulled the eye in and promised comfort within its depths.


    [New discovery found: Toddy Tonic! +1 XP


    This dangerous poison combines the effects of inebriation, sleep, and paralysis. Individually they do not pose much threat, but anyone that drinks this will have to make three separate saves or suffer the consequences. Depending on the number and severity of failures, this can mean anything from numb delirium, to losing consciousness, to falling into a coma so deep that a casual observer sees death instead. Be careful!]


    [Successfully crafted: Toddy Tonic x20! +3 XP]


    [Wounds: ???]


    [Injury: Manaburn 1


    Spell attempts take a -1 penalty and cost 1 additional mana per attempt. This injury heals one rank for every period of restoration.]


    These confounding pop ups always left Tapper with more unanswered questions. He was trying to make a paralysis potion, but this sounded much more powerful ¡ª and dangerous. So what determined the effects of the potion? And crafting 20 at once was significantly more difficult, so why did he only get 3 XP for going past his mana limit? The ethereal reserve within his chest had a jagged edge now, as if any flowing mana would now catch on it.


    "Well? What''s so special about that drink, bot?" Tapper''s optical sensors shifted away from the pop up and refocused on the physical world, finding 35 organic optical sensors staring right back at him. Mismatched eyes belonging to 19 mismatched raiders, all of them walking the delicate balance of inebriation between joyous partygoers and raging drunkards. Tapper had to keep his cool or lose his head.


    The robot made a show of clearing a throat he didn''t have as his volume cranked up to a commanding tone. "This, my dear friends, is a special drink to commemorate your rise as glorious rulers! Has anyone here ever tried a hot toddy before?" No answer from the crowd except for the occasional confused murmur, "Good! This one is unique, and unlike anything you will ever sample elsewhere!" The silence of zero comprehension answered again. "And, uh, this round is on the house!"


    Those magic words broke through the haze of alcohol and the crowd cheered; their renewed scramble to reach over the bar shifting from a desire to throttle robots to a thirst for free drinks. That may have led to a different sort of fight, but one of the few functions Tapper could access in the bar was for parties and celebrations. One such option was specifically labeled for when a customer buys a full round, and upon his digital request two dozen empty glasses slid out of hidden recesses and slid across the countertop in a neat line.


    Tapper wasted no time in disposing of the excess glasses and slowly walking the length of the bar, pouring the tonic into each glass with one smooth motion. Each glass was snatched up the instant he moved onto the next so it was impossible to guarantee that they all had the exact same share of potion, but since this counted as a bartending action the stream was steady and his movements stilled all awkward coordination.


    When the pitcher emptied its last share Tapper replaced it with an empty glass, guilt already welling as he raised it aloft. "A hearty toast to the big boss, Zero!"


    The crowd roared in answer, silencing just as quickly when every glass turned up and every potion was gulped down. Initially there wasn''t much reaction beyond a smattering of smacking lips as the raiders savored their special drink, but as the contemplative silence grew long the riotous energy did not return. Some raiders stretched and yawned with exaggerated motions and managed to pull up a chair before they nodded off, others stiffened without warning and collapsed into uncomfortable jumbles. Two were embraced in a drunken hug and managed to support each other as they slid to the ground, but after 15 seconds every single raider was snoring quietly.

 1.20 For the Loot

    [Raider Horde defeated! +25 XP]


    Silence. The jukebox still played at a low whisper when Tapper gave the toast, but compared to the commotion from earlier this was still deafeningly silent. And in the silence he thought, the robot realized just how little planning he had really done.


    The raiders would wake up eventually when the potion wore off, and once they figured out what happened they would absolutely tear the bartending robot to shreds. Tapper felt his resolution to not take lethal actions start to waver with temptation; he set a reminder for Mister Ricky to make it into a proper directive. So he still had to race back to Fableton, but maybe not before Tapper looted every last unconscious raider. That felt expected of him somehow, enough so to justify the delay, so he got straight to work.


    Each defeated enemy highlighted itself and offered up its loot, and each time Tapper accepted as he gingerly stepped over the unconscious bodies. Thankfully he only needed to touch a raider once to get the prompt and didn''t need to manually pilfer any pockets, and each person flashed yellow before shifting to reveal their loot.


    Despite its lack of direct interface Tapper could control the degree of looting like the flow of a water faucet ¡ª turning the metaphorical tap on at a trickle made loose trinkets dislodge themselves from pockets and fly into Tapper''s hand, then weapons and gear, and suddenly Tapper was holding the beer-soaked clothing of a raider that now snored naked at his feet.


    He kept the search thoroughness at a ''moderate'' level, both to save time and to prevent the raiders from disrobing. Even if he could somehow use or carry all the clothing, he had no desire to see more of the fleshy organic bodies than he had to.


    Most of the loot was just their weaponry, knives and small pistols that ranged in quality from barely serviceable scrap air guns to impossibly brand new laser pistols. Three of the weapons emanated an odd glow with no discernable light source, but all the weapons were collected just the same and tossed into a waste bin for automatic deconstruction.


    The most curious piece of loot was a hologram that floated above many of the bodies. They were all the same hologram, of a brown leather pouch with a drawstring pulled tight around metallic coins that spilled out of its opening. When Tapper touched a hologram it blinked out of existence, followed immediately by yet another line blinking into existence on his character sheet.


    [TREASURE: 3 Copper]


    Performance metrics hit Tapper with a wave of stimulated dopamine when he saw the new status. Treasure! This was what Tapper should strive for at all times, above all else! At least that much was clear from his vague knowledge library, even if it refused to tell him what three units of copper actually meant or what it was used for. But it was three more than he had a minute ago, so Tapper wasted no time in collecting every coin bag available.


    Most of the raiders held fewer than 20 copper apiece, but by the time he had looted every proffered bag Tapper had accumulated a hefty 86 copper in total. At some point a physical manifestation of the hologram appeared hanging at Tapper''s hip, a soft leather bag with a simple drawstring for security and jingling with copper coins. The coins were plainly designed and stamped with a number 1, 10, or 25 that added up to his 86 total, with the denominations varying slightly in diameter. His emotional feedback hummed with satisfaction at gathering so much treasure and begged him to keep going until every single defeated enemy''s loot was all his. And it was, with the exception of the armored man.


    The spokesman for the raiders had also grabbed a drink and returned to the mound of furniture for the toast, and although he had collapsed with everyone else, Tapper was still unwilling to approach the powerful figure. But his elevated status surely meant elevated loot, and instead of questioning why he was so sure of that notion Tapper just accepted it. After succumbing to the poison he fell midway down the mound before getting tangled in the furniture, left hanging mostly upside down and obscured.


    Climbing up even one chair was a challenge for Tapper''s awkward legs, but the promise of loot urged him to make a path. He moved slowly to not disturb the pile, but yelped when he moved a chair and finally got a good look at the spokesman. "Mister Rethar! You''re alive!"


    A metal clamp pivoted off Rethar''s arm and snapped around Tapper''s wrist, striking so suddenly that the robot tumbled off his perch. The fall wrenched Tapper free from the clamp''s grasp, but not without dragging Rethar to the ground right next to him. Tapper scrambled to his feet and the human did the same, though with much stiffer movement than before. Turning to face each other Tapper saw a man in pain, neck muscles straining and eyes rolling wildly until they locked onto the robot.


    "What... did you do... to me?" Steffo managed to ask through a clenched jaw. "I can''t... freaking move!" Yet he took a step forward, and Tapper realized that it was the metal exoskeleton moving for him.


    Diodes on his chest blinked wildly and various tools on the framework spun to life, but anything that forced his body to move made Rethar grimace in pain. "I''m going... ngh... to kill you!" With slow and painful steps Rethar advanced, and with jerky and panicked kicking Tapper fled.


    In his haste the robot tripped over nearly every single unconscious raider, and either due to a lack of mobility or a lack of care the human didn''t even bother trying to maneuver around his fallen comrades. That allowed him to keep pace with the robot, and all it cost was the occasional broken bone as arms and legs crunched under heavy metal boots.


    Rethar caught up just as Tapper reached the bar and wasted precious seconds flipping open the hinged counter section, instead of just ducking under it. This left him perfectly trapped in a very narrow walkway with a very angry man, who instead of going for a tactful grab opted to reel back for a powerful haymaker punch. In his desperation to not get obliterated, Tapper scrambled for any lifeline and his grasping hands found the cocktail shaker he had been using to mix drinks all night. A proper Boston-style shaker, because this is a proper bar.


    With the same preprogrammed motions that he used to astound patrons all evening, Tapper grabbed the shaker and flipped it. The oblong cylinder twirled twice and bounced off each elbow before Tapper caught it with the opposite hand. And directly into the path of the haymaker fist.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    Tapper had no conscious recollection of the immediate events. One second, he was wondering if the incoming punch would knock his head clean off, the next he was sliding backwards on the booze-soaked floor with an utterly devastated cocktail shaker in his hand. Somehow the simple metal cup had absorbed nearly all the energy from the punch, and what did leak through just pushed Tapper without causing a single point of damage.


    His back bumped against the far wall, which was dominated by a door labeled ''EMPLOYEES ONLY'' and slid open the instant Tapper made contact. He slammed the door shut as soon as he was through, just in time for it to rattle from the second haymaker Rethar was winding up to deliver. The heavy security door held, but for how long was not a question that Tapper wanted to answer.


    He turned to examine the room he now hid in, an employee break room that was impressive only in how cramped it managed to be. A plastic table and chairs dominated the meager floorspace, which Tapper had to fold into the wall before he could move past. The only other features in the space were a food replicator and set of lockers. all empty, and a tablet set into the wall next to the only other door out.


    Most people with a healthy fear for their well-being would take the obvious escape route, especially with the constant hammering on the security door, but Tapper was first and foremost a good employee and good employees do not leave their post without first properly clocking out of their shift. The lone tablet gave easy access for that, and when he chose to end his shift the glass screen tallied up all the statistics from his shift:


    Employee: #314


    Date: ERROR


    Total time worked: 4.5 hours


    Base Federal Credit Work Hours (FCWH) earned: 4


    Overtime FCWH earned: 0.75


    Tips earned: 1.34


    Gross pay: 6.09


    Taxes and withholdings: 1.8


    Net pay: 4.29 FCWH


    The line regarding tips actually struck Tapper with a sudden negative emotion. Guilt, maybe even shame? The raiders were willingly giving Tapper extra money, the opposite of what could be expected from thieves. Once his security system stopped recognizing the raiders as patrons it also became much easier to stop recognizing them as people, he will need to ensure that doesn''t happen by accident in the future.


    At least, this helped justify his decision to not listen to his own security algorithms when they suggested he kill each and every one of them. Maybe there was still hope that at least a few patrons will better themselves and become properly, gainfully employed citizens instead of raiders.


    It was difficult to believe that everything Tapper went through at the bar took so little time, and that their accounting system considered a measly 4 hours to be a full workday. In fact, very little about the readout made any sense, because while his internal library contained no definition for ''Taxes'' the word still triggered a response from his security algorithms. Apparently, it was now a top priority that Tapper take all evidence of these ''Taxes'' and report them to Bowson Industries for a significant breach in contract.


    Another loud crash brought the good employee back to his actual priority of escaping the mad human. The security door still held, but it was now warped enough for a small gap to appear in the frame and a single wild eye stared at Tapper with murderous intent. The wall-mounted tablet automatically changed, Tapper''s paycheck gone and replaced with a flashing alert. Warning, damage detected in secure employee area! Tapper quickly selected the option to authorize repairs and dismiss the alert, allowing the robot to finally, formally clock out of his first and last shift at Rick''s Cafe Casablanca.


    Throughout the entire process Rethar had been swearing up a storm, and Tapper did not notice the screams of anger turn to confusion as the damaged security door started to glow. The only thing Tapper saw was the other door smoothly swing open and offer the bartender his freedom.


    Freedom, in this case, was a blank hallway. Flat white walls and basic tile floors stretched in both directions, with minimal trimming outlining the identical security doors that dotted both walls at equal intervals. Eight doors along each wall, plus one more at each end as a larger double door, each one with its own accompanying tablet on the wall. The entire layout was sensible, effective, and utterly surreal compared to the chaos of everything else Tapper had seen in the mall. There were no piles of garbage, all of the fluorescent lights worked, and not one sound could be heard aside from the gentle hum of overhead air vents.


    The words ''MAINTENANCE HALLWAY EAST'' painted in large black block letters near the ceiling were the only break to the stark whiteness of the room. It was almost peaceful, but after a moment the serene quality of the stillness started to become uncomfortable. Nothing changed and there was no outside stimulus to explain it, but Tapper''s emotional subroutines were throwing out warnings of impending doom.


    He didn''t belong here, no one did, and he needed to leave right now. A few hurried steps across the wide hallway and Tapper stood before the security door opposite of Rick''s, a mirror image save for a small plaque above the tablet that read ''Cosmo Cosmetics''. The tablet was powered off, but the door was unlocked and opened without resistance to reveal... Maintenance Hallway East.


    Tapper double checked to ensure his optical sensors weren''t glitching out in this strange liminal space. It was definitely the same hallway, but now he was standing in a slightly different position. So he tried another door, and another. Each one opened without a creaking hinge of resistance and deposited the robot back into the same hallway, but there was no rhyme or reason for where in the hallway he would emerge.


    One time Tapper thought he saw a short, glowing humanoid, but reviewing his sensor logs suggested it was just the wind. Another trip showed Tapper his own backside as he moved through a door before it automatically closed behind him. A scientific robot with any concept of spatial warping would melt its logic circuits at the impossible sight, but thankfully a bartending robot would just shrug and conclude that trying these doors was futile.


    What Tapper had not tried were the larger double doors at either end of the hallway. He turned to the nearest one, but as soon as he saw ''The Gentleman Hunter'' on the plaque he turned right around and marched all the way down the long hallway. The other double door did not have a plaque, but painted directly onto the wall was the single word ''ATRIUM'' and it opened to reveal the first cavernous room of the dungeon.


    The maintenance door closed behind him with a woosh that sounded like a satisfied sigh after finally getting rid of a particularly annoying guest, or were Tapper''s audio processors now taking liberties? So many functions were starting to act on their own.


    Silent contemplation was cut through by a static hiss as dozens of hidden speakers crackled to life. "Everyone, this is Ret. Wake your asses up! We have a problem, some bot has snuck in and attacked me. I mean, attacked us! If you see a robot wandering around that isn''t security, then destroy that skrat on sight! Rethar out." In the silence that followed the giant holographic orbital display in the middle of the atrium rotated back into view.


    Welcome to the PROTIUM MALL, where retro is always in fashion! And everyone wants to kill you.

 1.21 Dungeoneering for Dummies

    Tapper steeled himself and got to work planning his escape, instead of aimlessly wandering, and it looked like this atrium already had the answer. The robot was again located on the second floor of the giant room and he took his time studying his surroundings, instead of getting distracted by the holographic adverts and mismatched decorations.


    The ground floor of the atrium served as a lounge area with room to meander broken up by groups of comfortable seating, with the back end decorated to look like a natural oasis with large rock formations and palm trees jutting out of the floor. The formations circled around a small pool of water, fed by an actual waterfall that spilled out of a massive boulder situated on the balcony across from where Tapper stood. His memory banks flashed at the sight, not caring for the impractical display but caring very much for the standing quest from Miss Wiessa: Where There''s a Well There''s a Way, to find a source of fresh water for Fableton.


    Any excitement Tapper felt at finally completing one of his first quests snuffed out when he noticed movement on the ground floor and shrunk back from the ledge. Several raiders were milling about in the lounge area, and despite their relaxed energy all of them were now openly carrying weapons. And not just to hunt him, Tapper realized, they also seemed to be guarding a grand set of glass doors.


    The main entrance to the mall, and surely his best way out! If he could make it past all the raiders, and figure out a way down to the first floor at all, then he was home free. There was a pair of escalators right nearby, but even the least sapient robot could tell that would make them an obvious target.


    Tapper carefully backed away from the ledge and examined his options. There weren''t any new ones, but there was an information kiosk that he hadn''t noticed before. On it glowed a simplified map of the mall, one big circle in the middle with a blinking ''You are HERE'' icon and three twisting pathways that ended in smaller circles of their own. The whole map was covered in numbers, correlating to a list underneath of all the shops and attractions.


    There were over 50 destinations in total, but a significant majority of them were darkened and scratched out. That didn''t matter to Tapper, what did matter were the other icons showing elevators and stairways. He snapped a screenshot of the map, saved it to his hard drive, and started marching down the nearest hallway.


    For a brief moment, Tapper started to actually feel good about his accomplishments. He had a map, a sense of direction, he had finally done some proper bartending, he technically defeated an entire horde of raiders, and he was even getting used to the concept of walking. All within the last 24 hours! His proprietors will surely be proud of everything Tapper had managed to accomplish, maybe even enough for a glowing review when he finally reconnected with Bowson Incorporated.


    The robot''s wistful thoughts were interrupted when an errant jerk of a leg kicked against a barricade. Without noticing, Tapper had walked right up to an enclosed ring of benches and construction materials, the latter of which still blinked yellow lights as a warning to keep away. On one flat surface of the barricade someone had painted a skull and an arrow pointing upwards. Why didn''t these raiders ever simply spell out what they were trying to say?


    Yet there wasn''t anything within the ringed barricade. Nothing, except for a very faint visual distortion of heat waves moving upwards in a column. Tapper could not detect any leaking gasses or strong temperatures, and in his internal search for answers he recalled something from Proprietor Ricky.


    The young man tended to ramble, and during one meandering speech Ricky spoke at length about anomalies. Remnants of a Phase Shift event that could twist physics in unpredictable ways, and often nearly invisible until you were too close to avoid them. Proprietor Ricky wanted to study them, but everyone else in Fableton were more concerned with the danger they posed.


    Suddenly, voices. The sounds of a conversation approaching shot panic into Tapper and the robot scrambled for a hiding place. None of the nearby shops were open and none of the faux Roman columns were thick enough to offer adequate cover, so he instead dived behind a large cube covered in thick tarping.


    Several of these large cubes were spaced along the middle of the long hallways, but during his brief time with the raiders none of them had approached or acknowledged the structures. But right now they offered the only practical choice for hiding, and Tapper hunkered down.


    "I just don''t know anymore, man." It was a voice that Tapper recognized, slightly garbled from a mouth full of misshapen metal teeth. "Are we sure about all this dark shit?"


    The occasional lisp that tinged words must then belong to the rodent hybrid woman, whistling slightly as she scoffed in answer. "What''s got you so scared, Spike? I thought you were loving Zero''s crew, Or are you just here for the free loot?"


    "Fuck off Jena, I''m serious. You heard Ret''s speech. Sure we''ve robbed and kidnapped, and that''s fun, but we don''t usually kill anyone. Now we''re destroying all the nearby towns? You don''t come back from that. I don''t want to sell a kid back to their parents if we''re just going to fuckin'' burn their home down right after." They were close enough that Tapper could hear a rustle of leather and metal in response. "It''s just fucked, either Ret''s taking the piss or Zero isn''t really running skrat anymore."


    Tapper leaned closer to his hiding place, getting ready to scoot around it as the raiders walked past, but upon crossing an invisible line the tarp covering the structure suddenly snapped to life and rolled up into itself like a set of very loud drapes. What lay underneath the tarp was a large wheeled cart with a canopy, and dark doors on all sides of the main body. Drawers and display shelves unfolded out of the cart to form a staggered display of small glass bottles in stylized shapes and colors.


    Small projectors embedded into the cart shot a dazzling display of lights, forming into a hologram of a young woman with impractically exaggerated body proportions and a beaming smile to match. She opened her mouth and the cart''s speakers emitted a feminine and pleasantly inviting voice, only turned up so loud it became an ear-splitting shout.


    "FREEEE SAMPLES! WHO WA-WANTS A-A-A FREEEE SAMPLE!?"


    The cart lurched forward, battering Tapper to the side like a cheap toy, and the sheer unstoppable momentum of the cart gave it a wide turning radius. While Tapper flailed on the ground the two raiders jumped back with a start before they started simultaneously pushing and pulling against each other.


    "That''s the bot! That''s gotta be the robot Ret was talkin'' about!" Jena shouted, pointing at Tapper while the tall spiked man dragged her back by the hair.


    "So fuckin'' what? Let the damn sample cart take out the robot!"


    Jena shook herself free of her companion and looked up at him with indignation. "You heard how pissed Rethar was! We take out the bot and we get noticed, no more guarding for tunnelers. Come on already!" The short woman pulled out what looked like a heavy metal chain studded with jagged spikes and arcing with electricity, which she twirled once over her head before whipping down towards the robot.


    Tapper saw the swing coming but couldn''t think of how to respond in time. He froze and the chain wrapped around one of his ankles, sending a massive shock of electricity through his body.


    [Status effects: Stunned


    Twirling stars not included. Stunned characters can only use one action per round, have no reactions, and are considered flat-footed.]


    All his limbs instantly locked up, and as soon as the electricity ceased its assault Jena was on top and grasping for a handhold. Limbs thrashed against each other as Tapper fought back, not able to tell what he was doing but shoving and punching back at the snarling hybrid any way he could manage.


    The struggle was so chaotic that no one noticed the sample cart finish its multipoint turnaround, and only barely had enough time to hear its battle charge scream of "FREEEE SAMPLES!" before it collided with both of them. This time it had managed to build up enough momentum to cause some serious damage, and if it hadn''t aimed for the space directly between himself and the raider then Tapper likely would have been crushed under its wheels.


    Instead the impact forced Jena and Tapper to split apart and the cart crashed into the wall behind them. Several small glass bottles clattered to the floor, which were immediately snatched up by a robotic arm that snapped out of the cart and vanished just as quickly.


    The holographic saleswoman was still beaming a too-wide smile and her head whipped around, without her body moving to match, to stare at the short raider woman. "SAMPLE, MISS? TRY-TRY OUR NEW P-P-PERFUME!" A hidden nozzle sprayed a massive gout of milky pink substance, covering the entire perimeter around the cart and coating everything in an alcohol-based concoction.


    Tapper, at least, wasn''t fazed at all. The spray washed over his eyes, and his olfactory sensors registered floral scents that were far too strong for standard organic noses. The two raiders confirmed this with their screams of anguish, but Tapper''s lack of reaction likely triggered something with the sample cart. Either because it realized Tapper wasn''t human or it thought he just wasn''t interested, the cart promptly stopped paying attention to the robot and focused entirely on the two humanoids instead. Both of them were screaming in pain with hands held over their faces, trying to get away from the sample cart by blindly stumbling in random directions.


    Jena was lucky and stumbled away, Spike wasn''t and ran right into Tapper. He immediately started swinging fists with spiked knuckledusters that looked like they could do some serious damage, but he stumbled too far and accidentally wrapped himself around the robot. With the stunned debuff Tapper still couldn''t think clearly, but his emotional subroutines decided that now was a good time for a snappy remark. "Don''t like it? I SPRAY too!"Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The bright point of mana shot out of Tapper''s chest and down the vacuum spindle, right as he managed to shove the opening into Spike''s chest, and the blast of air and small debris blew Spike clear off his feet. The sudden movement drew the cart''s attention and it charged, and Tapper had just enough time to notice that the spiked chain was now tangled on the cart''s handle before it violently yanked him off his feet.


    Spike bounced on the floor once before his momentum carried him over the barricade and into the clearing it contained. Instantly gravity seemed to reverse and then double, with the human flipping upside-down and flying straight upwards at violent speed. He didn''t even have time to yelp. The ceiling in the hallway stood over 15 meters high, and Spike hit it at near terminal velocity with a distressing crunch.


    Oh, so that''s what the ''UP'' arrow means.


    And one runaway cart was not far behind. Instead of avoiding the column of flipped gravity, the cart sped up and barreled headlong through the barricade. Did it hope that its momentum would carry it through the column? Did it even have any concept of gravity, or was it merely trying to chase after a potential customer? Tapper didn''t have time to ponder, as he was preoccupied with rattling along the floor like a string of tin cans. He bounced and crashed off pillars and displays, feeling too overwhelmed to react until he very suddenly felt nothing at all.


    For a very brief moment everything seemed to pause and Tapper could finally get his bearings. For one, he was currently upside-down with his head less than a meter from the ground. And he wasn''t really suspended, he was moving lengthwise down the hallway at an alarming speed with his perspective slowly shifting downward. Upward?


    Whichever ward showed Tapper the perfume sample cart rocketing through the air, directly towards Spike as he lay prone on the ground. No, the ceiling! And Tapper could see the chain still connecting him to the cart, the recognition filling him with horror as the stunned debuff vanished and everything slid back into place.


    The encroaching ceiling lurched closer as Tapper entered the gravity column, just skimming it enough for the anomaly to add to the momentum of his upward swing. By only partially entering the anomaly with different gravitational forces Tapper was sent spinning out of control, but not before he locked eyes with Spike one last time. There was no more hostility to detect, the human simply looked scared.


    And then something went crunch, something went splat, and something tore free. After that Tapper heard nothing but the wind and felt nothing but the spin, every sensory input overwhelmed until another collision brought the world to a standstill just as suddenly. He had crashed into something and was now lying tangled in its remains, a nest of thin metal struts and sound-absorbing insulation foam holding Tapper above a bed of lights.


    And he did take the time to reset his orientation matrix and ensure that, yes, the bars of fluorescent lights were coming from below him. Off to the side some opaque plastic tarps fluttered, still settling back down from Tapper''s passing, and through the flaps light spilled from the hallway. A thin metal grate supported the nest from just above the bars of light, and a ceiling of thicker metal girders hung so low that Tapper would bump his head once he stood up.


    If he could stand up at all. No sensation below the waist, and not because the illegal repair job had simply come loose. Tapper dug through the nest in a vain hope, but the violent swinging had torn them away entirely. His social algorithms activated on their own and fed the robot one of his million--and-one idioms: Easy come, meant to go. Something about the hard work needed to deserve what you own, but it didn''t help the emotions also bubbling up on their own accord. These emotions tasted sour, oddly.


    Still, Tapper could not despair. While searching for his legs, the robot took stock of his other body parts and found a small device wrapped around one of his spindles. A metal disc the size of Tapper''s palm was embedded into a thick leather strap, with a multifaceted gem inserted into the disc. The crystalline glass formed a small dome and glowed with a subtle red light but otherwise showed no signs of life or function; no writing, no buttons, no reaction to the robot''s prodding.


    Tapper could only guess that he had pulled it off Spike during their struggle, and if that was true then he did not wish to simply throw the trinket away. It seemed wasteful, somehow, so he untwisted his plastic bag and slipped the trinket next to his bottled potion.


    The only other things waiting for Tapper in this cramped space were a handful of pop-up notifications, awarding Tapper for defeating one Spiked Raider and one Frenzied Sampler for a total of 7 XP. And a final notification reminding Tapper that he now had a wound and a debuff from his missing legs, naturally.


    With those cleared away there was little reason to justify staying in the impromptu nest and Tapper slowly untangled himself, dropping to the metal grating below with all the grace of a newborn organic. Using the grating to drag himself forward Tapper slowly approached the tarp curtains, giving himself plenty of time to hear the commotion from the hallway before he could see the source.


    It was the other raider, the shorter rodent hybrid woman. Tapper could not recall the name used for her, but the anguish she wore was loud and clear from his vantage point. And not as a metaphor, her wailing only quieted whenever she needed to stop for a sobbing breath. The woman paced circles around the barricade, lashing out violently against any loose piece of furniture within reach. A few articles crossed the invisible line and shot straight upwards, crashing against the growing mess of debris and blood that rested on the ceiling.


    Tapper could not comprehend the depth and intensity of emotion that the woman must be feeling. Even if she was a raider out to specifically hunt him, she seemed to be experiencing so much sorrow that it was causing her physical pain, and the robot hoped he would never have to learn the experience. When the crying stopped the woman replaced it with pacing, working out the energy in a way that Tapper judged to be much more practical. She peeked around furniture and into each open store as she walked the length of the hallway, studying the ground but never looking up. Once she paced out of visible range, and when she reappeared she was dragging the robot''s borrowed legs behind her.


    She stopped in front of the gravity anomaly and startled Tapper with a sudden shout. "You fucking robot! When I find you I swear I''ll fucking tear you apart!" The sudden threat almost made Tapper recoil, until her strange actions froze him in place.


    The hybrid pulled a metal tube attached to an angled piece of wood out of a back holster, which Tapper''s bar trivia identified as an ancient break-action shotgun. The sort of weapon that he could only identify from portraits of early 19th-century hunters hung in upper-scale lounges, but he never predicted that he''d see a physical example.


    It cracked open over the woman''s forearm, and she flicked her other hand into the air where it was suddenly holding a thin red cylinder. Tapper knew she didn''t pull it out of a pocket and it was highly unlikely that an underground raider could afford a personal-scale teleportation license, but wherever the cylinder came from cost the user a wince of pain. Undeterred, she loaded the cylinder into the shotgun, closed the action, braced herself, and blew the legs unit into several different parts.


    Tapper did not shift one servomotor until a full five minutes after the raider woman left his view. As a social robot made to facilitate inebriation he was programmed with full knowledge on how illogically humanoids can act, but that raider swearing an oath against Tapper stood out against the other attempts to destroy him. Somehow more intimate? Tapper intentionally deleted that conclusion before it could be saved to long-term storage and form the basis of how he interpreted future acts of emotional intimacy.


    No amount of waiting would improve the legless robot''s chances against another raider in a fight, forcing Tapper to turn around and see where this duct system would lead. Dragging himself along ventilation shafts like a robot with a single goal to terminate, Tapper faced enough peace and quiet that his performance metrics were free to take priority. The programs started forcing calculations to the forefront of his mind and they all ended with the same results: Tapper was not doing an effective job at either fighting or escaping these raiders, and he felt a tinge of annoyance in response.


    He had to do more, it was clear that these raiders were not going to stop and Tapper''s algorithms needed to work harder at coming up with solutions. Without Bowson security available Tapper must fill the role, and if he wanted to protect Fableton then he needed to acquire some proper combat experience. After all, this mysterious system gave more experience from combat over anything else, and the levels it rewarded were the single largest boon to Tapper''s growth by far.


    Conclusion: Still prioritize finding a new pair of legs and escape the mall, avoiding raiders when possible. But if he finds any raiders isolated and unawares, then drop down and take them out in single combat.


    Subtle movement below caught Tapper''s attention, just to validate his plans. A sole raider stirred under a bundle of rags, nestled in the corner of a darkened storefront for an ideal napping space. The store was almost completely empty of product and shelving so there was no way to sneak up on them, unless you happened to be above their sight lines and could literally get the drop on them. Tapper had to catch the involuntary snicker, now was not the time for jokes even if he felt pride at the clever turn of phrase.


    Now was the time for stealth, and over the last hour of crawling through ducts and construction gaps Tapper grew somewhat comfortable with his legless predicament. The slow and deliberate pace required to navigate spaces not meant for humanoids gave the awkward robot plenty of practice in moving all his limbs together, including his back spindles as a sort of balancing ''feet''.


    The nozzle ends couldn''t grasp the metal lattice and Tapper doubted they could really support his weight, but working them in tandem with his arms meant that he could very slowly move over the grating without loudly dragging his torso along every surface. The process worked but it required all his spare processing power to focus, which is why Tapper didn''t notice the excessive erosion on one section of grating.


    The sound of tearing metalwork screamed in the silence and Tapper collided with the hard floor before he processed what had happened. His vision swam in and out of focus from recalibrating optical sensors, unable to see anything except for a notification that his health was now 2/4. Sudden screams, organic screams, cut through the blur and the robot reacted without processing the threat, rolling to one side and away from the sound. Just in time to avoid a heavy object clanging against the pavement.


    Without visual pathing available Tapper had to constantly shift his weight between all four limbs, filling the air with a rapid metallic chittering as he rebounded off the walls. Somewhere in the back of his processor, unused social algorithms fired up and idly mused that the raider got the drop on the robot, after all.


    "You creepy skrat, stay still already!"


    Automatic protocols activated and every servomotor on Tapper simultaneously locked up, freezing him in place so suddenly that the pursuing blur overshot their next attack and sailed past his vision. It took top-level admin privileges to force such a total and immediate reaction, and Tapper refused to compute the probability that such a person could be a raider. Maybe they could help, and a lucky loop in the logic gates meant that his voice modulator could work without moving.


    It started slow and garbled, but Tapper managed to shout, "Wwwwait wait wait! I hail from Fableton, we need assistance!"


    The dim mass of brown and gray stopped, up front and center in his vision. "...Tapper?" Now with a center point to focus on, his optical sensors finally recalibrated and the world swam into view to show someone squinting into his headlights. Someone very tall, very thin, and with wisps of gold glinting through multiple layers of rags and tinfoil. No wonder Tapper couldn''t deny the order, coming from a numan.


    "Miss Phanya? What are you doing here? And why are you wearing an eyepatch?"

 1.22 What They Were Doing Here

    Phanya was having a very bad day. That was an understatement, but anything would be an understatement when you''ve lost your entire life in just 24 hours. At first she was just annoyed about losing the robot; the free help was nice, but Fableton survived just fine before they found it. She was mostly dreading having to comfort Ricky when he inevitably started crying about it, and all the old folks were acting awkward after the encounter with the miners.


    Just annoying all around. Phanya knew she shouldn''t blame the adults too much, any time Belvidere showed up there was always some new debt to pay, but none of them seemed willing to do anything about it and Phanya went to bed early in a huff.


    If that wasn''t enough on her plate, why had a massive crowd gathered outside first thing in the morning, blocking the work rush? Why weren''t any kids in sight? Why was a sleek, gleaming white hopper shuttle hovering just off the ground in the courtyard? And why did a freakishly tall angel float out of the shuttle on wings of blue fire, take one look at the crowd with piercing blue eyes, and point a finger at her? Phanya didn''t even have time to say goodbye to Ricky or Ms. Uxral or anyone, she just bowed her head and stepped onto the waiting gravdisk.


    What the manager says, goes. No exceptions.


    So, now she was standing inside of the hopper. She was standing inside the personal shuttle of the most powerful man in the world, who was sitting casually in a stark white chair along one wall. Or was it a window? The white walls outside the ship were transparent from the inside, so Phanya could see the entire dumpsite as it rushed past around and below her. But she couldn''t pay attention to that because the other man wasn''t, he was looking at her. The branch manager of the Cyracorp Recycling Facility #826, highest authority in the land, Caspian Fairbanks himself, was studying Phanya and he looked utterly bored.


    Once the shuttle took off and he got comfortable the suit shifted away from its high-tech angelic display. The fiery blue wings and halo winked out of existence and the high collar covering the bottom half of his face flipped down to become a stylized jacket collar, revealing a face that smiled with all teeth and no eyes. More human than his grand entrance, yet his exposed face now set off ancient primal warning signs in Phanya''s hindbrain.


    Caspian Fairbanks was roughly as tall and lithe as Phanya, a feat in itself, but everything else was a harsh contrast and just a little bit inhuman. His pale blue eyes were just a bit too big, his bright white smile just a little bit too wide. His facial features weren''t just sharp, he almost looked creased; his pale skin wasn''t just smooth, his flesh held a sheen more akin to porcelain; his platinum blonde hair wasn''t just perfectly coiffed, it looked like a solid wedge of hard plastic.


    The whole persona was brought together and enhanced by jagged streaks of bright red that grew up his neck and curled around his face, and not as any simple ID tag or tattoo. Sharp red peaks shifted just enough to distract, so he must''ve had the same body mods only seen in the really high-end advertisements. The red curves in his skin matched the red highlights in his white clothes, where segmented plates somehow added the illusion of a muscular build while also slimming down at the same time. And was it made of actual leather?


    But the silence shifted him from uncomfortable to threatening. When any kid gets old enough, Ms. Uxral sets aside all schooling to teach a very important lesson on what to do if a manager tries to speak to them. It''s a simple lesson, but Ms. Uxral always stressed that everyone knew the essentials: Don''t look them in the eyes, don''t speak unless spoken to, and keep anything you have to say as short and polite as possible. And Phanya was doing just that, so it would be great if he could at least say why he snatched her out of the crowd. Until then, Phanya could only hope to make herself small and quiet.


    The shuttle came to a sudden stop in mid-air, though Phanya hadn''t felt any shift in momentum. She could only tell because the surroundings stopped moving with a massive dome directly under her feet, gleaming white and bigger than the entirety of Fableton. It looked so out of place that Phanya almost laughed at the absurdly giant pearl in the Waste Lands, and when it suddenly rushed toward them a gasp did escape. The shuttle shot downwards, without the manager acting as if he even noticed, and the dome opened a hole the exact size of the shuttle for the exact amount of time it took for the vehicle to pass through.


    Phanya''s shocked reaction was to freeze, not flinch, so her eyes received a full blast of color once they passed through the dome. Greens and blues more brilliant than any movie assaulted her senses, but before the colors could resolve into discernable shapes and she could tell what was inside the dome all the walls snapped to a soft, opaque white. There was no shifting or warning, just a sudden nothing and an eerie chuckle to fill the void. Caspian Fairbanks stood and straightened his clothes, the small laugh vanishing back into storage once he used up its usefulness.


    "Did you really break first just to distract me?" His voice, like everything else about the man, had a level of measured perfection that bordered on the uncanny. So buttery smooth that any emotion slid right off the words, somehow making his voice sound more artificial than the actual robot. But then the manager planted his fists on his hips and shook his head with an exaggerated tutting sound, giving Phanya her first taste of emotion from the man. He pitied her.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    "It''s clever, I''ll admit, but the first point still goes to me." There was a beat of silence where Phanya felt an expectation to say something back, but before she grew desperate enough to ask what he meant the wall opened in an oval portal without seams or sounds. Fairbanks stepped through without saying another word, and Phanya was not interested in finding out what would happen if she was still in the shuttle when the portal closed.


    On the other side was a short ramp that led to a narrow hallway without any other means of egress. No doors, no windows, not even a single sign blemished the smooth walls as they fed Phanya to an archway at the other end. There another man waited, hands behind his back and clad head to toe in a snug dark-gray uniform. At least Phanya assumed it was a man, they wore a blank mask attached to a short-billed cap and she couldn''t see an inch of exposed skin anywhere. But this person, or someone else in the same uniform, was driving the shuttle when it picked her up, and now they were speaking to Fairbanks.


    The hallway itself seemed to muffle all sounds and Phanya couldn''t hear what the two were talking about, despite only being a few meters away, but the men came to some understanding and the driver ducked through the archway. Blue lights in the structure thrummed with the passage and Fairbanks turned back to Phanya, flashing another smile that never reached his eyes.


    "Please forgive me if we cannot use the proper entrance, that filter isn''t as thorough as the service entrance, and I''ve always felt that any time spent in that foul air needs a proper scrubbing. Wouldn''t you agree?"


    Silence hung in the air, pulled taut like a string ready to break at any moment. "Um... sure." It was the first time Phanya spoke in what felt like hours and her voice cracked, making her monosyllabic response sound even more pathetic. "I mean, please don''t worry about it. Sir." Her second attempt at speaking at least managed a full sentence and Fairbanks flashed another empty smile before he stepped through the arch, and after subconsciously taking a deep breath Phanya followed. She felt a brief yet intense sensation of resistance as she passed the threshold and the archway flashed a stronger hue of blue than it did for the two men, but it ended just as quickly and she was on the other side.


    Phanya wasn''t sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn''t for her to take a bath. That filter, as Fairbanks called it, seemingly did the same thing as her sonic showers back home, only those took an hour to do what this accomplished in one second. Every inch of her skin felt freshly exfoliated and her clothes were noticeably cleaner, with all dirt and grime loosened and whisked away. And Fairbanks felt the need to apologize? Maybe Phanya didn''t need to feel so worried, this guy was just a bit odd and he wanted to make a good impression.


    Once past the sonic filter Phanya shivered and hugged herself, shocked at the sudden drop in air temperature. Cold and sterile, the air felt strangely empty compared to home. The hallway turned and Fairbanks was nowhere to be found, but another oval portal opened at the end of the hallway into a small round room. Still no signage to help anyone that wasn''t already familiar, but this room had a handrail running all along the circumference and when the portal closed behind her Phanya felt the slight shift of upwards movement. It only lasted for a split second so it was either a very fast elevator or a very short trip, but it opened directly to a large room and Phanya had to fight back another gasp.


    The strangest decoration in the room came from the lighting fixture, if it really was a lighting fixture. A stream of crystal-clear liquid flowed up near the ceiling, suspended in midair without ever visibly touching any support structure. The actual amount of liquid was probably just a gallon or two, but the whole thing stretched and flowed in invisible currents that took up most of the ceiling space. And within the water hundreds of tiny glowing lights bobbed along the path, bathing everything in a constantly shifting light that made it look like any structure or piece of furniture was liable to pounce when viewed out the corner of Phanya''s eye. Not enough to give her motion sickness, but only just.


    And for the first time since she was kidnapped, Phanya saw a room with furniture! Or possibly abstract art, either way it was a harsh contrast to the barren minimalism favored in the shuttle and hallways. An open floor with high ceilings stretched in all directions, dotted with furniture/art that twisted in odd ways and made Phanya''s eyes water if she looked at one piece for too long.


    Every piece looked like it would either buck her off, stab her, or engulf her if she got too close, the effect heightened by the shifting light source. The entire room was porcelain white with sharp red accents, just like the manager''s skin, and an involuntary thought of Fairbanks stripping naked to blend in with the room like camouflage made Phanya flush at the absurdity.


    Caspian Fairbanks, on the contrary, was not trying to blend in anywhere. The man sat on a twisted mess of stony white branches, the material conforming perfectly to his splayed form but jutting out everywhere else. He looked comfortable, but the furniture looked less welcoming than a pile of rusted scrap metal. He reached one hand up, holding a glass he pulled from within the weird chair, and the swirling silver lights above responded by splitting off a small amount that deposited itself right into his glass without making the tiniest splash.


    Caspian capped off the entire performance by taking a long, exaggerated sniff of the drink and turning to Phanya with a small start, as if surprised to find her standing there. "Care for a drink? Tequila from my family''s reserve, compression-aged for over 100 years." He glanced up and mused, "The constant motion helps keep the drink aerated. Really quite something, isn''t it?"

 1.23 A Friendly Game

    Okay, he definitely expected a response now. "Oh yes sir, it''s very impressive! But um, drinking this early would break Cyracorp policy. But thank you! Sorry, Mr. Fairbanks. Sir." Phanya managed to keep most of the shame internalized, cringing only a little bit at her own words. Ricky would never let her live it down if he saw what a fool Phanya was making herself.


    Fairbanks, instead, just raised an eyebrow. "Well then, it seems you have me at a disadvantage."


    That sounded like a punishable offense and Phanya almost choked on the sudden spike of fear. "What? No sir, I would never! Um, how would I have you at a disadvantage?"


    "You know who I am and you know Cyracorp policy, and yet I have no idea who you are or what you''re doing in my little corner of the world." The manager spread his arms in a small shrug, speaking with the level of measured patience that Ms. Uxral adopted when a student just wasn''t getting it.


    Phanya released a breath she didn''t know she was holding. "Oh that''s easy sir, I''m Phanya and I live in Fableton. Erm, I mean the recycling facility''s auxiliary habitation site. I help the adults get ready for a productive workday in the mornings." The mounting ramble cut short when she noticed the manager swirling his drink in thought.


    "You live there, hm? How curious. And what about the rest of your family, do they live in the area as well?"


    Some edge in the manager''s voice sent a chill up Phanya''s spine and she swallowed hard to suppress the shudder. "No, no family, sir. I''m just a TICO kid."


    "Hmm." When he did look up at Phanya, the bored niceties were fully replaced with cold calculation. "How convenient." Phanya''s mouth made little ''O'' shapes, but before she could work out a question Fairbanks continued, "The transference of inherited contractual obligations, I mean. You walk around like that, and no one would ever question why you don''t have a family, or any family name to speak of. It''s a solid backstory, but so very dull. Zero points for originality, though I''ll admit I''m impressed at your capacity to live in that stench without any shielding. How do you manage?"


    "It''s, um... it''s all I''ve ever known. Sir." The more Phanya talked to Caspian Fairbanks, the more her reverential fear of the manager faded against brighter tones of confusion. She just wanted him to give her a straight answer for once, so she cleared her throat for a bit more confidence that didn''t manifest. "If I might be so bold ¡ª"


    "Yes, I daresay you ARE so bold," Fairbanks cut her off and Phanya recoiled half a step back. He stood from his chair thing, the forgotten drink swirling in his hand as he continued, "Bold enough to walk around my property as a, what did you call it, ''Fableton TICO kid'' without any sort of disguise. That means you knew I had been banished here without the resources to monitor all the auxiliary sites. So were you hoping to sneak in the back amongst the proles, or is this charade just to insult me?" The manager punctuated his question by indicating the entirety of Phanya with a swing of his glass, and Phanya felt a hint of cold rage seep through the man''s polite fa?ade.


    But then it vanished, replaced with a weary sigh as Fairbanks glanced upward and continued, "It was just one little party foul. Everyone does it, how was I supposed to know that was my cousin? At least he fully committed to the disguise, but the bastard still blacklisted me afterwards. And I didn''t even charge him for the reconstruction! I bet that tidbit got lost in the rumor mill¡­"


    The manager was still staring off into space, lost in his own thoughts, but he was standing so uncomfortably close to Phanya that she couldn''t keep waiting silently for him to say something of substance. She managed to squeak through the fear, "Please sir, I don''t know what you want from me. I just want to go home."


    A bark of bitter laughter cracked the air at a joke that only Fairbanks could hear, turning his back on Phanya to throw his arms open at a random wall. "Oh don''t we all! My punishment should''ve ended eons ago, how I long to rid myself of this dump!" Fairbanks turned back to Phanya, naked accusation on his face. "But in the meantime, I''ll settle for you telling me why a coil gun went off on my property. Yes, even my secondhand sensors picked up that much. None of those workers should have that tech and yet I find you standing in the blast area, bold as brass!"


    By the end Fairbanks was nearly yelling, but a quiet and delicate clearing of the throat instantly cut the mounting tension down to nothing. Both heads whipped around at the source, it was the other man Phanya saw speaking to the manager. Probably? Same form-fitting dark gray uniform, only this person wasn''t wearing the hat/mask combo and his bald head gleamed in the light.


    On a closer look Phanya realized this man wasn''t just bald, he didn''t have eyebrows or a single hair anywhere on his head. And his other features were just as skewed when studied ¡ª his skin looked pallid instead of porcelain, the streaks of red highlights were faded and oddly matched by red eyes, his sharp nose was crooked from improperly healed breaks. Somehow, he managed to look both more and less human than Fairbanks at the same time.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Lunch is ready at your convenience, sir." The man''s utterly monotone voice shook Phanya from her thoughts, and the same went for Fairbanks as well. He blinked rapidly a few times before he downed the 100-year-old tequila in a single gulp, tossing the glass carelessly over his shoulder.


    Phanya stepped to catch the glass before it shattered, but a small flying drone zipped out from a hidden compartment to catch it and promptly disappeared into the wall again. She looked down from the distraction and flinched again at the manager''s undivided attention on her.


    "He''s right, I''ve been getting ahead of myself. In truth I should commend you for getting this far, it''s been quite some time since I''ve been challenged like this! So please, join me for some braised steak, imported straight from the family farms. We''ll put the game on hold, and then we''ll see who gets to go home first."


    By the time he finished speaking Caspian Fairbanks'' demeanor finished its long loop back to that of a polite, friendly businessman. Gone was the exasperation, the sarcasm, and the cold rage, replaced by the original glassy dead eyes and plastered pearlescent smile. His posture froze in the tiniest fracture of a bow, leaning forward with one hand extended and waiting. Phanya stared at it, her mind racing to catch up with the whirlwind of implied meanings and half-statements that the manager had really said, and she came up blank.


    But she did know the importance of a good handshake, and with a start realized that she had likely been staring dumbfounded too long at the outstretched hand. That was an insult all by itself, so she grabbed his hand with both of hers and tried to remember Ms. Uxral''s lesson. Solid grip, two shakes, and hopefully she looked friendly and not pathetic.


    The instant that skin met skin, Phanya heard a chime in the air and her body locked into convulsions. A wall of pain slammed into Phanya and overwhelmed all her senses at once, not even allowing the grace for her to scream before the sweet solitude of unconsciousness saved her from the torture.


    <hr>


    "I don''t know how long I was out, but I woke up inside of some weird, cramped pod that just dumped me like trash outside of his dumb little dome." Phanya was sitting on the ground, legs hugged to her chest, and she squeezed tighter as a shudder ran through her body. "Fucker did something to me, everything feels wrong now... violated." She knew it wasn''t a good idea to spill everything like this, but once she started talking Phanya couldn''t stop.


    Tapper, to his credit, sat and listened utterly enraptured the entire time. "Miss Phanya, if you were injured by this man then we will seek recompense, but in the interim I have a regeneration potion on hand that may help ease your burdens." Did Phanya catch a gleam of anger in the robot''s eyebrows?


    "Thanks, but there is no way that I''m drinking that weird-ass sludge you put on my foot, because whatever Fairbanks did is inside of me. Probably some brainwashing or spyware nanites, I can feel it watching me." Phanya shook her head sharply to fend off more shudders and continued, "Anyway, I started walking and some raiders jumped me while I was still disorientated. Guess I should actually be thankful, not like I can go home now and just¡­ spy on Fableton for Fairbanks. Can''t believe this is what he considers ''games.''"


    "Incorrect, Miss Phanya." The complete sincerity in Tapper''s voice shook the brooding out of her thoughts. The robot really just told her no, and so confidently. "I overheard raiders speaking of a salon here that can cure wounds like magic. In fact, I believe that finding you here is a sign that I am on the correct path to conquering this dungeon!"


    A chuckle escaped Phanya''s mouth and lightened her mood ever so slightly, despite every effort to remain as despondent as possible. It was just like the weird little robot to say something that almost made sense. "Whatever you say, Taps. Think you could start by busting us out of this, uh, dungeon prison? Someone just came by to feed me, so it''ll be a while until we see another guard."


    Tapper scuttled side to side on makeshift limbs in a little dance that was joyful to him and disquieting to her. This is exactly the sort of proactive thinking that Tapper needed to prioritize! "Worry not Miss Phanya, I will make this lifetime last but a moment." His first immediate thought was to escape from here the same way he escaped from the bar, since logically every storefront here would contain a similar area for employees. But the door in the back of this dim cube refused to open, either because the store wasn''t open or because Tapper wasn''t an employee.


    Dutiful and undaunted, the robot crawled his torso over to the front of the store, where a metal grate descended from the ceiling to block any egress to the hallway. Simple and sturdy, the gate rattled when Tapper tried it but wouldn''t budge. He didn''t expect to lift the gate right away, otherwise his much more capable proprietor would have already done so, but he did confirm that the grate wasn''t secured to the ground in any way.


    Phanya watched the little robot work in silence for a time before she chimed, "I don''t think it''s actually locked or anything, just too heavy for me to pry open. Whenever a guard comes by to feed me some scraps they just push it through the bars, they haven''t actually opened this since they threw me in here. But I did see the grate roll out of that box on the ceiling, the first time."


    While his proprietor spoke Tapper shifted himself to the side to better study the grooves in the wall that held the grate in place. "And they run along these recessed lines... synonymous with tracks." Tapper could already feel his social algorithms starting to stretch in preparation of his half-formed plan. It strained credulity, but so did everything else that used magic and Tapper''s review of the system messages during his duct crawling remained fresh in his mind.


    [The real fun comes from combining words, because the end result is only limited by your imagination. Create Light can do just what it says on the tin, but it can also act as a distracting flashbang, a damaging laser, a highlight for easy tracking, anything the magician can bend to their will! This is when spells start to cost exponentially more mana, but it''s also when you are no longer limited to what you can hold in your hand. Spheres! Rays! Cones! Multiple targets! The sky''s the limit when you start combining spell components.]


    "Miss Phanya. I will require a moment to compile the program, but I may have a stratagem."

 1.24 Finally, Some Real Magic

    Tapper took a moment to reassure Phanya that he was not shutting down as his body stilled, external functions reduced to minimum power to free up all the processing power that he could access. This allowed the robot to turn his focus inwards, in an attempt to directly access the new and mysterious programs that could seemingly bend the laws of physics. He had already done so once before when he first gained access to the executables and wanted to reexamine them, but his vague library of knowledge suddenly screamed out in warning.


    Vertigo. The library of knowledge filled Tapper with a sense of vertigo from the primal fear of standing on the precipice of an endless void, despite sitting safely on the ground. Somehow, Tapper''s growing awareness now made him susceptible to damage if he tried to access his spell programs in this way again.


    Making that connection forced a concept forward that had been brewing in the back of Tapper''s processor for some time: This strange system was, quite possibly, not installed by his proprietors and not used for tracking his effective bartending skills. Unbidden in the silence of his own electronic mind, that conclusion ushered forth a slew of observations and questions regarding the effectiveness of his own proprietors. Maybe they weren''t actually infallible? Tapper rushed to quash the line of inquiries before they damaged his perceptions any further.


    Focus on the task. The plan remained the same, regardless.


    Tapper never attempted to combine two spell components before, and the system''s description filled him with equal parts trepidation and excitement. A spot of warmth bloomed in his chest as the internal mana swelled, and instead of letting that spot shoot through his body he held it within the forefront of his focus. It was without form, yet malleable; it only existed within him, yet Tapper could only access it externally the same way he had to manually read the pop-up notifications.


    The anomalous mass of energy morphed under Tapper''s will, splitting into two distinct branches that stretched out from the central mass with little resistance. He fed each branch through two different spell components, pulling them back out and twisting the lines of energy together in a braid. The energy, now changed by the spell words, refused to merge back together but Tapper kept twisting, all the while picturing what he wanted this spell to actually do. As a robot this meant a dictionary readout, lines of synonyms for the two spell words running across his internal vision until they were the sole focus of his processing power.


    Every twist of the braid brought different synonyms together, even if the result of that combination wasn''t specifically what Tapper aimed to achieve. On some level he knew that this was an inefficient method of preparing a spell, but the messages spoke of a spellcaster using mental imagery and conceptualization to shape their magic and his electronic brain couldn''t yet quite understand what that meant.


    But Tapper understood definitions, and how to twist them to make a sale, and he came equipped with a thorough internal dictionary. The result was an attempt to brute force a solution by working his way through every combination of every permutation that he could access, leaving nothing on the proverbial table. When he finished, the braid of concepts detached itself from the central well of energy and floated freely within his mind.


    Physical dimensions held no meaning inside of the conceptual spell space, the finished braid fitting entirely into his hand while also stretching out into an endless fractal of word associations. The library of adventurer''s knowledge nudged him to bring the two ends of the braid together, completing the loop to complete the thought. It took a greater effort of will than any other step, but resulted in a complete matrix of definitions that Tapper could feed his mana into for some proper spellcasting.


    Confidence and pride sparked within Tapper''s core as his actuators twitched back to life. He was successful, and it felt good. "Miss Phanya, I believe I am ready."


    Phanya couldn''t believe what she was hearing out of Tapper, and if she was back home she''d insist that Ricky give the robot a thorough examination for whatever glitch it was showing. But she wasn''t home, and she already tried everything to break out, so when Tapper said that he needed her help to cast a magic spell she just nodded along as if the notion wasn''t utterly insane. She reasoned that Tapper probably had some third-party hacking module installed and calling it a ''spell'' was just to get around copyright protections.


    Swallowing her feelings about following orders from a robot, Phanya piled up all the empty boxes in the holding cell and helped Tapper climb to the top so he could make contact with the gate''s housing. "Please hold on Miss Phanya, I will try to contain it but the spell may have some degree of recoil." Once his hands were braced against the grate box and Phanya''s hands were braced against him, Tapper took one last look at the helpful system message that he had placed in the corner of his vision:


    [You take one full round to cast a spell instead of one action, chanting for verbal spellcasters or waving your hands for gesture spellcasters the entire time, and at the start of your next round you cast the spell with a bonus to your roll. This bonus is cumulative if you spend multiple successive rounds casting the spell, with a maximum bonus equal to your spellcasting level.]


    Say it, mean it, make it count. And his bar talk database knew just what to say, spinning up an idiom as the mana swelled. Tapper held up both hands and commanded, "When one closes a door they must build a window! SUCK TRACKS!"


    Tapper thought he had adequately prepared, and single-word spells never had any recoil before. But combining spell words was more than the sum of their parts, and the energy that blossomed in his chest and shot down his arms more than doubled what he experienced from just using one word. Immediately the box in the ceiling responded, coughing to life with a lurch that would''ve sent Tapper tumbling if not for the proprietor at his back.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    With a loud thunk the housing dented inward, causing Phanya to take a step backwards. Then the wall next to them cracked, thin splits radiating out from the recess that secured the tracks. And when mounting bolts from the tracks started to break free and shoot across the room like bullets, Phanya hauled the robot back and threw them both into the bathroom for cover. After several long seconds the noise finally stilled, and two heads peaked out From behind the doorframe to behold the results of Tapper''s magical plan:


    An utter mess. Swirls of concrete dust danced on disturbed air currents, settling on a pile of rubble where the grate used to hang. The amount of debris was surprisingly small, compared to the amount of noise it made, until they looked up to the ceiling and saw the rectangular box bulging like an overstuffed metal sausage. Bits of concrete dangled from the housing, still clinging to the metal tracks that couldn''t fit into the housing''s slit like broken teeth liable to chomp down at any moment.


    Phanya and Tapper were both equally awestruck for completely different reasons, but Phanya was the first to come to her senses. She took a few hesitant steps forward with entirely justified fear to check for danger before doubling back to Tapper. "I don''t know how you did it, but you did ¡ª Taps, you alright? You''re, uh, vibrating." He didn''t respond and Phanya took a step back, just in case the robot was liable to explode after that performance, but Tapper was not in any danger of reaching a meltdown.


    The only thing nearing critical mass for Tapper was a feeling of excitement. What a rush! The massive energy unleashed by that spell left tingles all through Tapper''s body, and the sense of accomplishment he felt at achieving a real spell almost justified every bit of danger this dungeon had to offer. "One for the money and two for the show, I really did it."


    "Tapper? Tapper!" A tentative grip on the shoulder snapped Tapper out of his musings and he focused on Phanya. Why did she look so concerned about their success? "Yes you did, and I''m very thankful. But that made a lot of noise so we gotta move before any guards show up. Now."


    Guilt. Just a small pang, but enough to instantly calm Tapper down from his exhilaration. Of course she looked concerned! Tapper needed to do a better job following the wisdom of his proprietors. "My apologies Miss Phanya, please get yourself to safety and I will scout ahead." He scuttled forward, fully focused on watching for danger and head swiveling side to side.


    Phanya''s long stride easily outpaced Tapper''s complete lack of a stride, and in three steps she was standing in front of him with her palm in his face. "No Tapper, we don''t have time for you to take the lead. Plus, to be completely honest, the way you''re crawling around is weirding me out. I''ll just have to carry you, I guess." Phanya wasn''t thrilled at the concept of lugging all that metal around, but after the destruction she just witnessed she wasn''t about to leave the robot behind. To her relief Tapper was actually a bit lighter than she expected, and after some awkward shifting he was on her back with his spindles looped under her arms like a backpack.


    No sound besides the gentle muzak once Phanya stepped into the wide hallway, but that just meant that raiders could come from either direction and she had to pick randomly. She chose left and set off, constantly wavering between a need to keep quiet and a desire to sprint like mad; further slowed by a thin layer of empty bottles, food wrappers, and other garbage littering most of the floor.


    Phanya couldn''t tell whether it was intentionally done to make quiet movement difficult or just because the raiders lived like slobs, but either way it was a constant annoyance to pick her footing. It also didn''t help that every storefront here was dark and closed off, and upon Tapper''s insistence that she not go anywhere near the large tarp-covered boxes that lined the middle of the hallway she had little choice but to walk completely exposed.


    The first sign of life the two came across was an open store, its glow cutting through the dim hallway like a beacon that promised warmth and safety. And possibly auto parts, according to the ''Quick Pit Stop'' sign that stretched across a checkerboard pattern, but on the floor someone had propped up a panel of wall siding and spray painted more pictograms: a chicken leg, a circle with a triangle pointing inwards on each side, and a fist.


    Phanya wavered in front of the store, so Tapper used her hesitation to ask a question plaguing his social models. "I have seen similar drawings in front of several storefronts and hazards within this dungeon, but they are always cryptic pictures instead of words. Why do these raiders not simply write out what they intend to say, Miss Phanya?"


    "I guess it''s probably because not everyone here knows how to read all that well." Tapper bobbed slightly when Phanya shrugged her shoulders before continuing, "Ms. Uxral insisted that all the kids back home learn to read, but Aazran always said it was kinda pointless when most stuff will read for you. Heck if I can tell what this is trying to say, though. Chicken, candy, and punching?"


    "In that case, I do believe that I can clarify some things." Phanya looked back at Tapper, who was idly tapping at his own faceplate as his predictive models formed a conclusion. Yes, if these symbols were merely for communication and not an intentionally obfuscated code then it made much more sense.


    "The raiders live here, but it does not seem that they have full control over the facilities of the dungeon. I have overheard them speaking about raiding the various storefronts and claiming the loot within to grow stronger, and if they cannot read normal signs and warnings then it would make sense for them to use these pictograms to communicate what each store holds. Maybe not literally just chicken and candy, but at least food and other confectionaries. And the fist might represent the threat level contained therein; the most dangerous area I have seen in this dungeon was marked with a skull, so it stands to reason that a fist would be less deadly."


    Tapper nodded to himself, pleased at his reasoning, but the spark of pride snuffed out when he noticed the silent and wide-eyed stare from his proprietor. Did he speak out of turn? Before he could apologize a loud growl cut the silence and Phanya hugged her stomach with one arm. She groaned slightly and said, "Look Taps, that''s a lot to process but these jack-offs have only been feeding me handfuls of stale meat cubes with toothpicks in them. If there''s actual food in there... how much of a fight do you think it''ll take?"


    "Worry not Miss Phanya, I will protect you." Tapper placed a reassuring hand on Phanya''s shoulder, and despite all reason she actually believed the robot. If there was only one guard then knocking them out made as much sense as any other plan, and then she might get to finally work out some of her frustration as well.


    "Okay okay sure, let''s take out a raider outpost." Phanya pinched the bridge of her nose before the same hand waved at the storefront and she continued, "What do we do about this forcefield thing? Looking at it too long makes my eyes water."


    "Ah yes, the visual distortion seems to be a barrier of some sort separating the store from the rest of the dungeon. I cannot tell what purpose that serves, but it is perfectly safe to pass through." Phanya made sure Tapper couldn''t see her eyes roll, but with a deep breath she pushed through the haze.

 1.25 Vape and Vent

    Phanya felt equal parts relieved and disappointed once beyond the veil. All that tension and buildup to find a regular convenience store with bare metal shelves and more litter on the floor. This store went a bit deeper than her empty holding cell, and Phanya could see as they went inwards that the shelves held progressively more and more product.


    Including food! The neat rows of colorful pouches hanging on hooks suddenly made Phanya very aware of just how hungry she really was, beckoning her with promises of a full belly. Warnings of a guard kept her from rushing forward, but the food was only a few rows down...


    Even with her head on a swivel Phanya was still startled when a creature stepped out in front of her, snarling from far below her eye level. It was a giant mutant rat, or maybe a hybrid with so much rat DNA that they''ve gone feral. Too large to be a regular rat and they wore a neon green baseball cap backwards with matching sunglasses, but otherwise covered in bristly fur. At least the other raiders had the decency to wear pants, a minor reassurance to the beast in front of her now.


    Tapper sensed Phanya''s hesitation and prioritized his protection directives. He positioned himself higher on Phanya''s shoulders, much to her annoyance, to get a better vantage and spoke slowly and clearly, "Hello there! Are ¡ª you ¡ª sapient ¡ª or ¡ª a ¡ª monster?" It didn''t say anything in response but it also didn''t attack, just shifted from side to side slightly and coughed up a globule of something gross and brown that left a steaming splatter on the tile floor. "You see Miss Phanya, it is important to establish ¡ª look out!"


    The creature reared its head back to take a wet, rattling breath. An unnatural heavy mist started billowing out of its jowls, and that unknown variable registered to Tapper as a direct threat towards his proprietor. Tapper leapt into action by leaping off Phanya''s shoulders, landing on the rat monster just as it released a massive gout of thick mist. The thick cloud of steam filled the entire aisle, with most of it sticking close to the rat ¡ª and now Tapper ¡ª like a cloak, obscuring most details save for the occasional fist or tail whipping into and out of view.


    Hesitation on whether to jump in and help Tapper allowed the expanding mist cloud reach Phanya without her notice and she breathed some in. She coughed and tried to wave the cloud away, but a slight dizzy sensation quickly numbed the mounting panic. Whatever this stuff was, it felt similar to the stash that Ms. Uxral would smoke when she had a real stressful day and thought no one else was looking.


    Phanya managed to sneak a sample of the hidden stash once and happy memories flooded in, losing herself to a time when life wasn''t so stressful. She didn''t have to take care of everyone, she wasn''t constantly running from one problem to the next¡­ By the time Phanya managed to shake off the distraction the cloud of vapor had cleared, now little more than a thin carpet around the fight''s aftermath and shrinking by the second.


    A too-large rat lay dead and crushed on the ground and a robot struggled to untangle itself from the tail wrapped around its neck. Somehow the neon green hat swapped heads during the struggle and sat askew on Tapper''s chrome dome without his notice, glittery block letters shouting #SWAGGIN, and Phanya laughed. It started as a giggle at the absurdity of the sight before her, but grew and grew until she was doubled over with her hands on her knees and stomach cramping with uncontrollable laughter. All the emotions that Phanya had been barely keeping in check spilled out through the laughter, all the sadness and fear and anger mixing together into a slurry that could not be stopped until they were fully used up.


    When the torrent of laughter finally stopped Phanya stood straight and wiped tears from her eyes. The stuff she had snuck away from Ms. Uxral wasn''t nearly as strong! She felt numb and empty, but also surprisingly refreshed from finally letting her backed-up emotions out.


    And with that refreshed clarity, Phanya took a second look at the gleaming fangs of the rat thing and realized with a start that she would''ve been completely defenseless if not for Tapper''s quick reaction. A pang of guilt hurried her to help untangle Tapper and check him over, but aside from a few scratches he seemed fine.


    Physically Tapper was fine and had only accrued a negligible amount of HP loss, which would correct itself in short time. But his emotional feedback was having trouble working through a conflicting mix of pride, shame, and concern. Pride for earning 2 XP for defeating the Mall Rat fought with shame at his proprietor laughing at his performance; which was replaced with concern for her health when Tapper reviewed his status updates and realized that the vapor cloud carried a potent poison.


    The pop up only said that he had successfully saved against the poison, and as soon as the Mall Rat died the mist started to fade so there was none left to run through his olfactory sensors for a proper diagnosis. But luckily Phanya seemed to succeed at her own save as she helped separate Tapper from the dead monster. "Thank you, Miss Phanya. My apologies for not disposing of the monster sooner, are you feeling alright?"


    "You don''t need to apologize Taps, that was amazing! And I feel fine, just ¡ª" Her stomach growled again. "I''m just so hungry." She stared unwaveringly at the rows of hanging snacks, and despite the fresh corpse laying in front of them Phanya''s mouth started to water. Maybe it was a residual effect of the drug, but right now she didn''t care, and after two careful steps the rat was behind her and out of mind.


    The nearest thing within reach was a cone labeled as a ham and cheese sandwich ¡ª scratch that, a handwich. Weird. The instructions just said to pull the tab and wait five seconds, and when she did the top of the cone popped off to reveal a mound of steaming, gooey, delicious ham and cheese in a bread cone. And there wasn''t a hint of corn or corn derivatives anywhere!


    It was so delicious that Phanya almost cried, and she wolfed down a second one before she let out a happy sigh. For the first time in several days Phanya had a properly full stomach and she could take proper stock of the situation, backtracking to find all the little things that had slipped her notice under the constant mild hunger gnawing at her thoughts.


    Particularly, the robot. Tapper was focused on the rat corpse, and a small hologram suddenly appeared in the air over the body. Something spherical and brown with little yellow discs that vanished when Tapper touched the hologram, but Phanya didn''t jump at the sight. She just chewed her last bite of the bread cone, deep in thought as she mentally replayed the last few hours since the robot almost fell on her. Phanya cleared her throat and locked eyes with Tapper to get his full attention.


    "So how did you get here? Tell me everything."


    <hr>


    Tapper talked, and Phanya listened. She only spoke up to speed Tapper through the longer portions of running and waiting when he was describing everything, and a few times when she asked him to repeat a strange term, but otherwise absorbed the entire impossible tale in total silence. She even had him describe the process of creating the spell that broke them out of holding, and she noted that Tapper''s description of the internal spell space became much more metaphorical and less exact. Less computer-like, less¡­ robotic. Something to ponder, but something small compared to the great pile of things to ponder that filled the silent room when Tapper finished his tale.


    For approximately 1.6 minutes Phanya didn''t say anything, just stared into the middle distance while she idly played with a forgotten handwich wrapper, and Tapper was working up the courage to break her concentration when she finally spoke. "And what kind of system is feeding you all these weird messages? What''s it called?"


    Tapper expected his proprietor would have a litany of questions about his decisions and conduct, but not something so fundamentally basic. The earlier internal queries about his proprietors refreshed itself in Tapper''s mind without his input, now with additional worry. "The system that tracks my performance as a bartender and an adventurer? I don''t believe I have clearance for the higher-level functions to find a name. You and Mister Ricky would have access, you installed it for my appraisal review..."If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "No, Tapper. No we did not." Phanya was still staring into the middle distance, but blinked rapidly and looked around as if she had suddenly awoken from a deep daydream. "Whoa, lost track of time there. How long have we been here for?"


    "Approximately 2 hours and 7 minutes have passed since we entered the ''Quick Pit Stop'' store," Tapper answered automatically. Math was easier, math didn''t have questions.


    Phanya sputtered and leapt to her feet. "Strangle my ass, we gotta go!"


    "But Miss Phanya ¡ª"


    "No butts, we''re just down the hall from my prison and it''s been hours! This is the first place they''ll look!" Phanya grabbed a handful of unopened handwiches and crammed them into the plastic bag on Tapper''s arm. "Look I get it, I have just as many questions as you do but we cannot stay here. We get out, we get home, and then we freak out about whatever pirate software you have installed."


    Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper, despite the complete lack of any change to the store, and she hoisted Tapper onto her back before he could raise any objection. She strode forward and, when the blurry barrier prevented Phanya from seeing anything, across the threshold into the hall.


    A beam of red light lanced over the two as a klaxon drowned out the muzak and shocked Phanya to her knees. She frantically looked back and forth before breaking into a dead sprint, the sound of scattering litter doing nothing against the siren at their wake. Tapper could hear a code hidden in the highest wavelengths of the klaxon, identifying a location for thieves to apprehend, and he looked at the bag on his arm.


    "Miss Phanya, it''s the food!" Tapper kept slipping off Phanya''s jostling shoulders, adding an edge of panic to his voice. "What is looted from foes we claim by right, but we never paid for the food!" Phanya made no indication that she heard, focusing on not falling as she skidded a corner and almost slid directly into a waiting robot.


    An oblong dome loomed, widest at the bottom over hidden wheels and tapering off to a curved point where a small red siren spun in circles, with two fat arms folded out of the sides. Immediately a forcefield enveloped both Phanya and Tapper, a bubble of pale yellow that froze everything within it. Phanya could still breathe just fine, somehow, but every other muscle was entirely unresponsive.


    The bubble split without breaking and yanked the two apart, allowing the security robot to run a scan over each person. Without any warning Phanya fell to the ground with a whump, but the machine chimed when it scanned Tapper and an old speaker crackled to life.


    "Larceny detected zzzt four counts. Restraint authorized."


    A split opened down the middle of the long torso to reveal a hollow pocket just large enough to hold an average adult. Tapper started to shout something, instantly interrupted by the sharp crack of an electric discharge that sent blue streaks of light erupting from Tapper''s body.


    Years ago, a younger Phanya watched some adult touch a live wire on a drunken dare. He lived, but the way he seized up was burned into Phanya''s memory and that was nothing like Tapper''s display. This arcing of sparks was like something from one of Ricky''s lame public domain comic heroes, Nikola something. Before she could make it to her feet the big robot had already thrown Tapper into the pocket and sealed it shut with another happy chime.


    "Thank you, have a zzzt day."


    Desperate to not lose Tapper and be left alone again, Phanya lashed out at the robot and tried to dig into the seams, which earned her own debilitating shock of electricity. Phanya wasn''t sure how long she fought against the painful muscle spasms, curled up in the fetal position, but the first sound she recognized made her blood run cold.


    "Well well, look who was being a little freeloader." A large metal hand clamped around Phanya''s torso, lifting her painfully into the air. "Didn''t that cat bitch teach you not to steal?"


    "R-rethar?" Phanya was never a fan of the guy, but she could recognize the voice from his rants in town even if she couldn''t see him through her tears. "What are you doing here?" Her vision swam into focus to show a wide grin, full of teeth and malice.


    "I''m finally getting mine, that''s what." Rethar wagged a metal finger in her face as he continued, "The people leading that little skrathole have been keeping me from what''s mine, and now they''re going to get theirs. Especially that Uxral! But everyone''s going to get it, unless they work under me on the winning side."


    Now fully cleared of the stun, Phanya looked around to see a small crowd of raiders surrounding her on all sides. The last remnants poured out of a plain door marked ''MAINTENANCE,'' a door that Phanya could''ve sworn didn''t exist a few seconds ago, but she couldn''t be sure with a mad man in an exoskeleton holding her bodily in the air. She swung back to Rethar''s manic grin and opted for begging, given the odds. "Rethar please, what do you want? You don''t have to hurt anyone."


    "They OWE me!" After dealing with the manager''s forked tongue, the straightforward outrage from this greedy asshole was almost refreshing for Phanya. "And after that damn robot of hers broke my wrists, I''ll be taking my money AND my revenge."


    Begging didn''t work and he didn''t have a good nature to appeal to, so Phanya dropped the pretense with little resistance. "You''re a damn idiot, you know that? We would''ve helped you if you ever let us, now instead you go and join the raiders?? The whole town mourned you, man!"


    Rethar''s momentum suddenly halted, his mouth hanging open in silence for a beat. "Wait, mourned?" His voice was quiet, thoughtful.


    A glimmer of hope that the man actually cared about Fableton dangled in front of Phanya like a lifeline, and she grabbed at it. "Dude, you''ve been gone for weeks! And we found an octolusk nest in your home, we thought it ate you! Everyone showed up for your funeral."


    Painting a picture of everyone mourning Rethar was supposed to make him miss home, but to Phanya''s surprise it only brought a snarl of indignant rage. "My funeral? You gave away all my stuff? ALL MY STUFF?? You''re all a bunch of godsdamned thieves, everyone in Skratsville!" His metal hand started to tighten around Phanya''s chest, sending her into an instant panic as she struggled to breathe.


    "Uh, hey Ret, you''re kinda hurting her." The raider almost earned a backhand for speaking up, but the break in his thoughts made Rethar just a little bit less murderous and he grinned again.


    "Oh, you na?ve little kid. You wanna know why I joined Zero? Because he actually respects a man''s right to earn their keep. You''ve been coddled your whole life, but maybe you''ll understand once you do some actual work." With almost casual movements, Rethar threw Phanya bodily into a store and then yanked the gate shut by sheer force. He stood so close that his manic grin through the haze barrier, breathed, "Good luck, kid," and then she was all alone again.


    Phanya didn''t panic. She didn''t panic for more than a minute, two at the most, and after three minutes of not panicking the rage eventually took over. That Rethar was such a bastard! Not just for this, but now Phanya''s worst fears were confirmed that Tapper really was not speaking in his weird broken metaphors. He was right about the raiders attacking Fableton, so what else wasn''t an exaggeration?


    A few deep breaths of composure later, Phanya took stock of her situation. The grate wasn''t locked, but it was damaged and jammed shut and she couldn''t lift it. Instead of an empty box she was trapped in a functioning store, and with a mental kick Phanya chastised herself for not asking Tapper whether every single shop had monsters in it. This store sold sporting equipment, with various balls and sticks on the shelves and mannequins in colorful uniforms for extinct teams. Everything was in neon colors with sharp angles to the designs, and tubes of neon lights cast deceptive shadows on all surfaces.


    One section under a sign reading ''BASEBALL'' had sticks with tape around the handle and a thicker head, perfect for clubbing any monsters but made out of strange material. It must''ve been some kind of smoothed cobwood, only more dense and knotted than normal. With it in hand Phanya made a quick sweep of the entire floor and she made double sure to check high and low this time, too.


    Only silence answered. No rats, no security robots, no raiders. Phanya sighed, partially with relief and partially because she couldn''t think of anything else to do that would avoid the next step. "Great Hand guide me, please let Tapper be right about this too."


    The prayer offered little comfort. One shaking hand reached up to remove the headwrap of scraps and foil she had originally donned in a feeble attempt to block any signals, and she winced as vision returned to her left eye. But even blinding light did nothing to dampen the line of text that Phanya had been adamantly ignoring for the last several days:


    [Welcome to level 1!]

 1.26 The After Hours

    [Name: Phanya]


    [Background: Deputy (Novice)]


    [Class: None (Body Mastery/_)]


    [Level: 1]


    [XP: 1/25]


    [HP: 6/6]


    [Strength: 3]


    [Dexterity: 5]


    [Constitution: 4]


    [Logic: 3]


    [Awareness: 3]


    [Willpower: 4]


    Phanya stared at the list of titles and numbers for a long minute before she moved on, spending even less time on the strange congratulatory message. Adventurer, herodom, whatever a gong farmer was, everything so far matched up with what Tapper had described with so much pride. So where were these magical spells that would help her break out of here?


    Something clattered and Phanya nearly jumped out of her skin. She gave the floor a second sweep with a tinge more urgency to her movements but there wasn''t a sign of disturbance anywhere. It must just be the air vents turning on. Part of her actually believed herself too, but just as Phanya was settling down to read the system message it happened again. Just a small clatter of something moving at the edge of her hearing, and another pass through the store to confirm that nothing was amiss. And it kept happening, timed so perfectly whenever she started to relax that someone had to be intentionally taunting Phanya.


    Or hunting her.


    Fine, if they wanted to play games then Phanya could play them right back. All it took was for Phanya to position herself close to where the last noise came from, but not too close, and make a show of looking too exhausted to pay attention. Lean back, eyes closed, exaggerated sigh, and... there! Phanya leapt up at the sound of something moving just one aisle over and rounded the corner with her club raised.


    An empty aisle, again, but she was getting closer. A rack of long thin paddles on one end, under a sign labeled ''HOCKEY,'' all swung on their hooks as if someone had hurried past just a second ago. With mounting frustration Phanya started to pace, wondering what else she could do to bait out the hunter, when something clicked in her subconscious that made her freeze.


    That mannequin wasn''t holding a sports stick before, the same kind from the disturbed rack. And its uniform didn''t match the others on display in this part of the store, either. It didn''t move as Phanya approached, walking slowly and carefully so she was never off balance, and she circled around its small podium. This one was definitely out of place.


    Its checkered shorts, bright polo shirt, and floppy hat with a little poof ball on top matched the other mannequins in a section titled ''GOLF;'' this section for ''HOCKEY'' was all square slabs of thick padding. Once she stopped to really consider how much this one stuck out, it felt blatantly obvious that someone set up a trap or some bait for her. Phanya picked up something from a shelf, a thick palm-sized black disc of hard rubber, and tossed it underhand at the mannequin with just enough force for an audible thunk that echoed in the silent store. It wobbled, Phanya waited, it settled, and Phanya let out her breath in a huff before she turned to leave. Whoever was playing this game was really starting to ¡ª


    A soft rustle was the only warning Phanya got before she dove to the side and an explosion of sound sent sporting equipment flying in all directions. Crab-walking backwards a few feet in blind panic, it took Phanya a second to register what she was looking at: the golf mannequin now stood in a frozen action pose, ending the downward swing of its hockey stick where Phanya had been standing just a scant second ago. Phanya''s instinctive reaction saved her, and the hockey stick instead broke against a shelving unit.


    She scrambled to her feet without ever taking her eyes off the thing, ready for its next attack, but one never came. It just stood there, menacingly, exactly as a statue should. A knot of fear formed in her stomach, and despite its threats to exit upwards and outwards Phanya could feel anger start to overwhelm her better judgment.


    This thing attacked her, and then tried to pretend it was still just a normal mannequin like she wouldn''t notice? It was insulting! With a snarl Phanya strode forward, silently begging for it to face her properly, and when the mannequin didn''t budge she brought her club down with all the force she could muster.


    "Take this you stupid piece of GAHHH damnit!"


    Phanya screamed in pain and dropped her weapon to the floor, clutching her hands to her chest. She wasn''t hurt, probably, but she felt the full reverberation of the impact in her bones. It felt as if she had swung at a solid plascrete wall instead of a simple plastic statue, and the shock caught her off guard. And to add injury to the insult, the instant Phanya looked down at her stinging hands something struck her with enough force to send the world spinning.


    By some divine luck Phanya twisted her shoulders at the last instant so a fraction of the impact glanced off and likely saved her from a broken bone, but not enough to save the sense from getting knocked out of her. Nor was it enough to save Phanya from getting launched through a display stand, landing in a jumbled mess of bruises on the other side.


    Rough carpet offered little comfort as Phanya rolled over and tried to orientate her swimming vision into upright shapes. And hopefully she was still seeing double, otherwise the crowd of mannequins now standing just down the aisle would be very worrying. Before that implication could properly register in her jumbled thoughts, something grabbed onto Phanya''s ankle and yanked her backward. Hands failed to find purchase and on pure reflex she tucked both of her legs in, bringing herself closer to whoever was dragging her ankle, and kicked out with her free leg.


    Blind panic and adrenaline fueled the kick and something shattered beneath her heel, freeing Phanya to stumble away without bothering to fully stand up. A few random turns down random aisles later Phanya sat down, making sure to stay below the sightlines of the shelves as she tried to slow down her panicked breathing.


    Now out of immediate danger Phanya calmed with surprising ease, only to yelp again when she noticed a lone mannequin hand still holding onto her ankle with a vice grip. The stuff was like plascrete and refused to budge no matter how hard she strained, until it suddenly crumbled like sand in her grip. How did she manage that? Going through the motions again, the only thing that changed at the end was Phanya squeezing her eyes shut so she could focus¡­ Which meant she wasn''t looking at it.


    Phanya held up the largest chunk of mannequin hand that still remained, half a palm and a nub of thumb. Everything underneath the glossy white mannequin¡­ skin? Eugh. Everything underneath that was some gray substance, gritty and perfectly uniform and dense, with thin metal rods jutting out like bones.


    And it was utterly unbreakable, until Phanya very pointedly looked to the side and the whole chunk crumbled like wet sand under a very basic squeeze pressure. Okay, so if it dies by the same rules that it fights with then Phanya will just have to work with that.


    One more deep breath and Phanya was moving, head crouched low and on a constant swivel as she strode down the aisle. Don''t stay still, don''t go into any clearings, and don''t make noise. She figured these things weren''t too bright, but she was still surprised when she rounded a corner and saw the back of a mannequin standing frozen in the middle of an aisle. Phanya had really snuck up on it! And bless the tarmac for her luck in surprising it, the colorful bathing suit it modeled glowed in stark contrast with the vicious hunting knife in one hand. So the first step should be to disarm it.


    Something of a grin started to work across Phanya''s face as she closed the gap, reeled back, and squeezed her eyes shut at the very last second. With a satisfying crunch Phanya felt a glossy surface shatter under her fist, and when she opened her eyes she got to watch the frozen mannequin topple off balance. It was midstep in trying to backpedal away from Phanya, one hand covering the jagged crater where its other shoulder used to be. The hunting knife lay on the ground at her feet, along with the arm still gripping it, but Phanya stepped over without grabbing the weapon. Knives wouldn''t help her much in this sort of fight, but her boots would, and they caved in the rest of its chest with one well-timed blink.


    With the grin now fully entrenched on her face, Phanya stalked forward and found the next mannequin two aisles down. This one wore a piece of armor, a smooth helmet with a short bill, and held a bat at the ready in both hands. It must''ve heard the fight and came looking, but with it frozen in her sight Phanya felt nothing but excitement. She gripped its club with both hands, braced her feet, shut her eyes, and wrenched back while twisting her hips to rotate the weapon. She felt, rather than heard, two small pops and looked upon her success, holding the bat with an extra pair of hands still attached. They had cleanly popped off instead of breaking, and the mannequin was reaching out with both arms to reattach the hands.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Phanya knew she needed to be quiet, but she couldn''t help herself. "Oh I''m sorry, I''ll hand these back to you," she quietly taunted. She braced her feet, heaved the bat in a powerful swing, and yet met nothing but air. Without any resistance she overswung her attack, and in the brief moment of weightlessness as she tipped off balance Phanya could only wonder how.


    How had she missed? She didn''t blink early so it shouldn''t have had time to dodge, except for how sluggish she suddenly felt. That would explain it, in her mind''s eye Phanya could clearly see the difference between punching the last mannequin and batting at this one. These things were fast and this one wasn''t off balance, so it could easily sidestep her exaggerated swinging motion.


    And then it punched her in the gut. Phanya fell to her knees with a hoarse wheeze, trying to force the air back into her lungs. Stupid, she started playing around with monsters trying to kill her and now one was forcing her to stand with a bat held around her throat.


    The mannequin was braced behind her and it froze when Phanya looked down at the hands gripping the bat, but it was perfectly angled so that she couldn''t wiggle free from the unyielding mass. She was trapped and could hear scuffling from the next aisle over, if she didn''t do something quick she''d get surrounded by these monsters. And then it was only a matter of how long she could go without blinking.


    Working her feet into the most stable position she could manage, Phanya blindly snapped her head back with all her might and felt the mannequin''s helmet bounce off the back of her skull. Just enough to surprise the monster, and with the sound of pounding footsteps hot in her ears Phanya hoped she got the timing correct. If she opened her eyes to stop the newcomer before she escaped, then she''d waste her one chance to stun her captor. But if the newcomer attacked with a downward swing like the others, then she could shove the bat at her neck upwards and blindly block the attack.


    The shockwave of pain that Phanya''s successful block sent through her bones made her drop the weapon, but with a defiant shout she forced her eyes open. This mannequin had even better equipment, a helmet with a face cover along with shoulder pads, but nothing that could stop Phanya from punching a hole straight through the middle of its torso.


    She looked back to freeze the first mannequin, now short a few broken fingers. Phanya braced her feet properly and whipped her hips around in a full 180¡ã spin. This momentum gave her arm some real speed to its swing, and although the side of her fist couldn''t break through the helmet it did send the helmet flying with the mannequin''s head still inside. And she stomped its chest into dust, just to be safe.


    After that encounter Phanya made sure to keep everything safe. No more showboating, the weapons these things used were clearly only meant to work for them and what she already had was more than enough. Stare it down, walk up, blink, punch, and move on. Three more mannequins fell like this, each one in a different uniform and wielding a different sport stick, and they lacked the coordination to regroup until Phanya had almost finished working through them all.


    A group of three finally figured it out, standing together in a clearing just barely large enough for all three to cover with their weapons. Gut instinct spoke up that these were just about the last of the mannequins, so she didn''t need to worry about subtlety. Phanya hummed to herself at how confident the instinct sounded, so to test it she kicked over one shelving unit and waited without ever taking eyes off the mannequins.


    No response and no other scuttling feet, so she crouched into position. A mental countdown hit zero and Phanya launched herself at a dead sprint, taking three long steps before she leapt into the air with her back tilting towards the ground.


    Phanya curled up and lashed out, her whole body one big adrenaline-fueled spring, and drop-kicked two of the mannequins at the same time. As soon as both feet were clear of their impacts both eyes snapped open and Phanya focused every bit of willpower she had on not flinching when her back hit the ground. The third mannequin, already looming overhead and rearing back to deliver a double-handed overhead strike with a metal stick, served as plenty of motivation to keep her eyes open.


    Phanya took her time catching her breath, slowly blinking alternate eyes so the monster could never move. She had it dead to rights, so long as she kept calm, so any rush would only endanger herself. This time she grabbed the weapon with one hand to hold it still, so she could give the thing a proper haymaker punch with the other hand. And then the store fell silent, save for the frantic sounds of adrenaline leaving the body.


    It took a moment before Phanya realized she was still holding onto the weapon, a thin metal stick with a small round paddle held on one end at an odd angle. Still trying to shake off the last bits of adrenaline, Phanya gave it a few random swings and realized that she was wrong earlier ¡ª these things weren''t made to only be usable by the mannequins, they were just sports sticks and she could swing them just fine.


    So why did swinging it feel so sluggish and uncoordinated? At a whim, Phanya walked over to a nearby wall and gave it a solid whack with the stick. Not at full strength, but hard enough to sting her palms and bend the stick in the middle. She couldn''t even leave more than a scratch on the wall''s paint job.


    Then she rapped her bare knuckles against the solid plascrete and didn''t feel anything. Phanya wasn''t numb and she could physically feel the wall just fine, but knocking her knuckles didn''t sting the slightest bit. Hesitant knocks became testing jabs that became rabbit punches, going faster and harder until she wasn''t holding back at all.


    The only reason she stopped is when she ran out of breath. Drenched in sweat and heaving, wild eyes darted back and forth from the shallow pockmarks in the plascrete wall to her perfectly unharmed knuckles. Not even a scratch, like she suddenly had a massive dose of gene mods all concentrated in her hands. But how?


    Something in the distance went thump and Phanya''s head snapped to attention. There was one left! Cursing herself for not doing a proper sweep before that bout of wall-punching, Phanya stomped off in the direction of the sound to end this once and for all. The middle of the store held a relatively open space where most of the mannequins used to stand, but now only one remained. It froze in its walk when Phanya entered view, almost in the middle of a circle of fake grass dotted with fake bushes and other scenery.


    Phanya recognized it as the first mannequin she encountered that tried to grab her ankle and drag her to her doom. Only it had the good sense to try rearming itself with mismatched sports armor, football pads and a hockey mask clashing with its funny shorts, but nothing that Phanya hadn''t already punched around. She almost laughed at the irony of it being the last one to survive.


    Any chuckle died in her throat when Phanya started to circle the mannequin and noticed that it rearmed itself in other ways. One hand, the one she broke, was held behind its back and with dawning horror Phanya realized that the arm didn''t end. The arm snaked behind and around a bush, coming out the other side right next to where Phanya stood so she could get a really uncomfortable up-close view.


    Broken chunks of mannequin were fused together in a cobblestone pattern with the gray internal material used as the mortar, forming a thick ribbon with the occasional hand or foot sticking out. Phanya''s horrified stare froze the thing in mid-undulation but something rustled right behind her and Phanya whipped around. It was the same flesh ribbon, more of it, it just didn''t end.


    She followed the unbroken mass of mannequin flesh in a circle until she was surrounded by a party of one. Everywhere she looked the writhing mass froze, but any of the chunks not in her direct vision were still free to lash out. It wasn''t one conscious entity, they were all different chunks working together! That felt like cheating, somehow, and panic threatened to grip her senses. The very end of the arm thing whipped at Phanya''s face and she lurched out of the way in the nick of time, nicking the whip on her wrist instead.


    Pain and panic blossomed, and Phanya''s fight-or-flight response flipped to flight. She had to get away from this thing, recuperate and try again, but unseen hands snatched at her from all directions. It was going to drag her away, just like the first time!


    Wait, just like the first time. Phanya squeezed her eyes shut and thrashed, striking out in every random direction and the ramshackle tendril fell to pieces. She regained her footing just in time to dodge another crack of the whip, and in the pattern of attacks Phanya squashed her panic. This was just another freaky mannequin monster, and she knew how to fight them.


    Following the mannequin flesh to the edge of her peripheral vision let Phanya estimate where it was behind her and an elbow swung in an upwards arc, cracking into the soft flesh just outside of her view. The end of the arm fell to the ground in dead chunks, and Phanya''s grin returned with a manic tinge. She took a long step forward, always keeping the mannequin chunks directly in her view, and spun around to give her backwards punch some extra spice.


    Step, spin, smack, over and over until it became a dance rhythm. She couldn''t stop without giving any chunks behind her a chance to strike and she fought off the mounting dizzy sensation. She was almost done, Phanya could see the main golf mannequin still walking closer to her with every step.


    What Phanya didn''t see is the way the mannequin positioned itself, sacrificing the last chunk of extra flesh so it could sock her in the jaw as her swing followed through. Phanya rolled with the punch and pirouetted, the improvised spinning kick striking with the speed of pure unthinking instinct.


    Too fast for Phanya to fully grasp what she had done and definitely too fast for the mannequin to dodge, the kick went straight through the monster and sent it flying in two separate chunks. Some frantic darting confirmed that there were no more mannequins, or cobbled mannequin flesh, hiding in the shadows, so Phanya took her time to walk the entire length of mannequin debris and stomp each and every chunk into dust.


    Just to be safe.

 1.27 Fashion for Bashin

    Phanya heaved a dramatic sigh. Double-checking the entire store was its own battle of attrition against her exhaustion, but Phanya knew she''d collapse as soon as she stopped and leave herself open to one last surprise attack. The striped plastic beach chair that Phanya did collapse into was practically begging for the longest nap, but after a few minutes of controlled breathing she felt¡­ fine?


    Still tired, but not exhausted. The only things off were her throbbing sprained wrist, and the sensation of pressure just outside the edge of her vision. It wasn''t dangerous, Phanya knew they were system messages just waiting for her attention, but knowing that felt odd. Might as well dive in, after that fight Phanya felt like not much could faze her.


    Phanya frowned at the dozens of system messages, swimming past her vision at the barest acknowledgment. She wasn''t fazed, but only because she simply didn''t have the time. And she knew that whatever system that had invaded her skull and made weird blocky text float in her inner eye was important, too important for her to really fathom.


    While Phanya could maybe explain Tapper''s weird new abilities as the work of some super advanced nanite swarm, she''d never heard of one that both robots and humans could use with the same interface. And she knew she''d have to be real careful, since it was so powerful that it could rewire her own body ¡ª the only possible explanation for why she could suddenly punch a wall with all her might and not even scratch her knuckles was if this system somehow installed a subdermal layer of armor. So if that was the first thing it did automatically, then what else could it do when she actually directed it?


    And yet, Fableton was in trouble. That stupid little town that Phanya thought she could never escape, turned to fear that she could never return, turned to anger that raiders would dare attack it. She couldn''t warn them from here, so it was up to Phanya to head off Rethar and she had already wasted what felt like hours fighting mannequins in this store. Phanya will need to unpack later exactly why that fight felt so exhilarating, now she just needed to clear her vision from these messages and get moving.


    The first system message after congratulations showed a list of three options for an upgrade, and with her mind focused on efficiency she opened and instantly balked at the first two. They were both long lists of further options she''d need to read through, but thankfully the last option to increase her attributes just showed a short list of different numbers.


    Phanya took a second to ponder between raising her lowest or highest numbers, but she instead felt instinct pulling at her gut. It felt oddly foreign, like an outside instinct, maybe from whoever was running this system. But then why were they giving her a choice, after everything their system already did? In the end, the outside-instinct knew what it wanted so Phanya allowed herself to reflexively raise Dexterity to 6 and Awareness to 4.


    Once she confirmed the selection a wave of energy hit her. Or from her? It passed too quickly to follow, but Phanya felt a point of light in her chest that rippled outwards and kicked up a cloud of mannequin dust, leaving her fingers tingling and her lean muscle just a little bit harder.


    Phanya stood and stretched her spine, the twisting motion offering her an excellent panoramic of dusted monster remains that formed a nearly perfect circle around the fake grass clearing. Spots of bright color dotted the gray sand circle from the sporting equipment, still in surprisingly solid shape after the beatdown, and something Tapper said during their mad dash wormed its way into her conscious recollection:


    What is looted from foes we claim by right.


    Phanya was suddenly very aware of how long it''d been since she last had a chance to change her clothes. Despite the urgency she couldn''t rush into the raiders until she finished with these messages, so Phanya had time to try on one or two things. Plus, it felt almost righteous to steal the clothes from these particular mannequins.


    First up was a dose of disappointment, as the instant Phanya slipped on a solid piece of padded shoulder armor she felt unnaturally unbalanced. It should''ve been made from pure lead for all of the weight it put on her shoulders, and taking it off felt like removing a vice from her ribs. Why would the system improve her agility and take it away at such a whim? To her shock, this time it answered her directly with a new message:


    [Primary class features:


    Body Masters have a special Flex die (1d4) that gets added to all unarmed attacks. They also receive a bonus, depending on which physical attribute has the highest score:


    Strength: Flex die applies to Strength saves, and bonus natural armor.


    Dexterity: Flex die applies to Dexterity saves, and bonus dodge threshold.


    Constitution: Flex die applies to Constitution saves, and bonus wounds.


    Body Masters are only trained in simple gear, and lose the above bonuses when using weapons or armor heavier than simple.]


    Most of the message went over Phanya''s head, but she understood the implications and why the outside-instincts pushed for her to improve her Dexterity. But why did she have to just wear clothes? Especially when the lighter mannequin uniforms were all such weird colors...


    At the end, a different system message made the decision for Phanya. Most of them scrolled past her vision like a playback of the past few fights, starting with the Mall Rat ¡ª her gawking counted as assistance and earned her a single point of XP for the fight ¡ª and marking off each monster as she defeated them. Nine Mannequin Marionettes and one Self Made Man-Nequin, the sense of humor in naming conventions an odd contrast to the danger they posed.


    Spaced throughout those were status effects, notices of Phanya gaining negative debuffs outnumbering any positive notifications by far. A hunger debuff, stunned, stoned, stunned again, grappled, and so on until it ended with her gaining a wound. She could follow along with memories of the fight with the status names, but they all had short descriptions that kept referencing nonsense like rolls and checks. Why yes, mystery messages in my eyeball, my sprained wrist DOES leave me at a disadvantage. One message towards the beginning had nothing to do with monsters or status effects, but instead announced a quest:


    [New quest: From Zero to Hero


    Prove yourself to Zero''s crew by escaping from X-Treme Sports]


    Phanya did not like the looks of that. There wasn''t an option to opt out of the quest and no indications of what would happen if she failed or succeeded, but it confirmed that someone or something was watching her.


    A new message bowled aside all the nonsense and commanded Phanya''s view when she touched an elastic band and it bit her with a static shock. She thought it was just more garbage, probably a waist band tore free from its pants, but this thing had a name: Ty''s Headband. No other information, except for the taunting line that it was one half of a set.


    The fuzzy, elastic headband fit her like a glove and did nothing else, but curiosity dug its claws in and Phanya dug through the clothes until she felt a second spark from a larger bundle of cloth. The stretchy fabric started with sleeveless straps and ended in shorts as one unbroken tube of a bodysuit, with the same cyan and pale pink pattern as the headband. Dubbed as Parr''s Unitard, the whole getup made Phanya''s eyes roll back with the power of its gaudiness, but it was just the piece she needed to complete the set. Go figure.


    [Equipment: Aerobic Set


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.You are the champion! Spend 1 minute stretching and limbering up, and for the next (2) hours your Dexterity will increase by one step for athletic acts. Usable once per day.]


    Phanya had no idea what a step meant in this context, but it was the first positive system response to any piece of clothing, so she donned the goofy costume. Which raised the question, how could the system interact with the weird stuff in this mall? Tapper said he''s had it since long before they got stuck here. Could they share the same system as the mall, maybe one relic was controlling everything¡­ a terrifying thought.


    At least she could wear regular clothes over them, but what counted as both "regular clothes" and "not ridiculous" formed a very small pile. She settled on the golfer shorts and tennis shoes that at least gave her some modesty, but wearing a shirt was tricky. If she covered the Aerobic Set completely then Phanya could somehow feel its effects were nullified, but she straddled the line with a bowling shirt left open and unbuttoned.


    With the clothing sorted Phanya gave a deeper loot pass for the mannequins out of curiosity and a few thin metal support rods zipped to her hand. There wasn''t anything special about them that she could tell, but they were thin and sturdy and they sparked Phanya''s scrounging instinct.


    The stockings from the ballet mannequin made for a stretchy bandage, and Phanya used them to wrap the metal rods around her sprained wrist as snugly as she could manage. Once she tied off the bandage she heard a small but happy chime, the blackout circle in her first Wound bubble changed to a half circle and all the pain from the sprain vanished. So long as she was careful to not loosen the bandage, Phanya now felt just fine.


    All the remaining loot formed a small pile of various sport sticks, all of which counted as weapons that she couldn''t use without feeling like she had a case of vertigo. She could even sense that several weapons carried some sort of bonus effect like her Aerobic Set, but she couldn''t even see what the effects were that she couldn''t use! With a huff she kicked a chunk of monster and it hit a small cardboard box that Phanya knew, without a doubt, did not exist a second ago.


    In the middle of the grassy clearing on a raised mannequin display platform now lay a shoebox, but somehow more than just a shoebox. The zigzag neon colors were brighter, the cardboard was thicker, and it altogether somehow looked "more real" than the other objects in the store. Phanya gingerly nudged the lid open with a stick to keep her distance, and inside she found four round cupped pieces of bright neon orange plastic with black fabric straps.


    [Equipment: Safety Pads


    Be careful out there! Limbs will not be targeted in sprain checks that result from attacks, but harsher wounds can still hit.]


    If someone was actively watching her to decide these rewards, Phanya wondered whether they were genuinely trying to assist her or just taunting her performance. Either way she wasn''t going to turn down the help and she slipped them on, looking at a mirror and instantly barking with laughter. Her outfit looked ridiculous, yet she felt confident. There was purpose to the loot she won and she wasn''t exactly looking for subtlety any longer, so she may as well wear it on her sleeve. Her corny, bowling shirt sleeves.


    The gate out of the store loomed, meeting Phanya''s studious frown with its indifference. Now she knew how to properly stand and brace herself, but strain as she might she just barely did not have the muscle to force the jam open. Her newfound confidence dimmed but didn''t go out, that strange outside intuition knew that this was an obstacle and it had made its choice with the attributes.


    That left the final system prompt, asking Phanya to pick her Level 1 feat, and it followed with a long list of new choices. Hopefully this Body Mastery class she got stuck with had some decent options. She read through them as quickly as she could manage but one stuck out as the immediate answer to her problem.


    [Feat: Leverage


    Be the fulcrum upon which you move the world. You can now use your Dexterity to replace Strength checks regarding moving, breaking, or otherwise interacting with inanimate objects, so long as you have proper leverage.]


    There was more that explained the difference between interactions and attacks, and defined what qualifies as inanimate, and other stuff that she couldn''t spare time for, but this was it. The choice was so clear that it was either placed for her as a test or a trap, and Phanya was already too deep in to let that stop her now.


    She focused on the feat until it blinked in confirmation and Phanya''s body lurched slightly. There wasn''t any pain or discomfort, but Phanya could suddenly sense where her center of gravity was. It was more accurate to call her center of gravity a new sense altogether, and with focus she could even shift it slightly. Just a nudge to her balance, but the deepened feel of control thrilled her. On a whim she stretched and popped every joint, and another happy internal sensation confirmed that she was indeed more limber.


    Now going more by feel than logical planning, Phanya crouched down for another shot at the grate but her body instead leaned to the side and planted her good hand on the ground. She could feel her center of gravity shift in an unspoken need for pizazz and she let the pizazz flow, her hips twisting in sync to coiled leg muscles. Phanya launched herself into a sideways corkscrew spin kick to the grate and sent it flying open with a clang, and she couldn''t help but laugh. This goofy unitard must actually work! And the added impracticality just made hitting things more fun.


    [Quest: Zero to Hero complete! +1 XP]


    Well, that solved the mystery of whether the quest would force her to join the raiders, and what XP meant was a question for Future Phanya.


    Present Phanya stepped into the open hallway, empty save for the lone raider that was either left to guard her or unlucky enough to walk by just now. They locked eyes and it froze like any other monster, a carton of some drink held up in mid-gulp. She shook her head to clear the senses, this wasn''t some dungeon monster. This was a person, an idiot with soda running down his cheeks, and he needed to be stopped. Once she broke eye contact the raider turned and fled, heading for the Maintenance double doors that they had ambushed her from.


    The raider and his goal were both on the far side of the hallway intersection, but Phanya sprang and closed the gap with surprising ease. She managed to reach the doors before they closed behind the raider, bowling through and skidding to a stop in a different hallway. Just spartan white tile and lots of doors, this must''ve been the hallway maze that Tapper talked about. The raider was frantically pawing his bracelet at one of the doors, and it clicked open just in time for Phanya to kick him straight through.


    A raider entering a room by tumbling over his face and collapsing into a jumbled mess of limbs isn''t subtle, and several shouts of alarm answered his unconscious groan. What Phanya could see through the doorway was all pink tile, wafts of burning candles, and steam; the combined ambiance of relaxation hit her like a wall when she stepped through. This must be divine intervention, after the week she''s had Phanya could stay here forever... if it weren''t for all the raiders.


    Henchmen of all sorts gathered here, wearing bathing suits or fluffy robes, and were in the middle of enjoying either a small steaming pool off to the side or raised massage beds with several robot arms dangling overhead. They already knew something was wrong but their deep relaxation slowed their movements, so in their scramble to arm themselves with candelabras and decorative stones Phanya had time to plant her foot on the unconscious raider''s backside and make a proper impression.


    "Hey, assholes! Uh, Zero sucks!"


    Whatever, if it works then it works. The nearest raider was already winding up to swing a heavy potted plant and Phanya back peddled into the hallway, not stopping to gently open the door directly across. She shouldered through the door and Phanya found herself back into the same hallway at a different vantage point, a trippy sensation that would''ve fumbled Phanya''s momentum if Tapper hadn''t warned her. But it did let her watch a raider run in, open the same door Phanya went through, and emerge at a totally different place in the same hallway. Just like Tapper described.


    The raider''s head whipped around as he searched, too focused on finding Phanya when she was focused on staying mobile. She dashed into the door across the hall, got her bearings, and did it again, bouncing around as she waited for her opening. Eventually she emerged directly behind the raider and Phanya fed her momentum into her padded elbow, slamming into a point just off-center of his upper spine.


    He crumpled without making a single sound, yet Phanya felt strangely confident that the raider was just unconscious. She just innately knew where the weak joints and pressure points were on a person to hit them without risking lethal damage. And she also knew all the points to guarantee lethal damage, which she tried not to think about.


    Several more people poured into the hallway, wielding tools of relaxation for the opposite purpose, and Phanya leapt through another door when they all pointed at her. The rhythm began again, a delicate balancing act of staying out of their reach and keeping her orientation straight. There was zero room for error if any of them caught her, but their interrupted pampering had left them sluggish and Phanya felt like she could run forever. Despite the desperate situation, the returning grin worked itself across Phanya''s face as she danced.


    She could do this.

 1.28 Report to the Admin Office

    Tapper came to his senses midway through his tumble, clattering to the ground at the base of the uncaring security drone before it zipped away and a hidden wall panel slammed shut behind it. It deposited him in someone''s office, tall bookshelves with dusty tomes lined the longer walls with threadbare carpet under his faceplate. From his prone position two chairs cast sharp shadows across Tapper''s body, thrown by a bright light further down the room.


    Leveraging himself over the chairs for a better look, Tapper saw a grand setup that stunned his logic circuits with awe. A solid desk of glossy dark wood stretched almost the full width of the office, bearing the plaque of ''Administration'' with a sloppy number 0 spray-painted underneath. The rear wall was completely covered in computer monitors, but Tapper couldn''t see the displays because of the light source.


    A ball of light floated just above the surface of the desk. Approximately 20 centimeters across, but it glowed so brightly that Tapper could not clearly discern the hard edges of the sphere. The energy it emitted seared at his processor, singing a sweet melody that rewrote Tapper''s directives with a promise of unlimited potential. This was the ultimate loot the dungeon could offer, without doubt, Tapper just needed to reach out and claim it.


    He leapt off the chair to close the gap, and in his tunnel vision Tapper didn''t notice the laser tripwires crossing the room.


    Buzzers and red lights announced his trespass and several hidden latches clanked open or shut with a harmonious rattle. One such latch was in the ceiling, and the motion of a panel swinging open drew Tapper''s eyes upwards to witness the dungeon''s answer to thievery: Mall Rats. Three of the creatures fell from the ceiling and coughed up vapor clouds, instantly filling the room with obscuring toxins.


    Part of Tapper, the cold and calculating part, idly mused how effective this trap would be against organic beings. The monsters worked in tandem to ensure that they debuffed any trespasser with the vapor before attacking with tooth and claw, and if Tapper had lungs or fleshy skin then he likely wouldn''t survive this room. But that was the extent that these dungeon monsters could strategize, and their random thrashing attacked each other as often as the robot.


    The rest of Tapper, the warm and emotional part, recoiled as the three creatures kept trying to touch him. The ball of light turned the rats into a whirling mess of sharp shadows in the vapor, darting and difficult to track. He didn''t want to kill more creatures without Phanya''s safety at risk, but were these even real creatures? They were dungeon monsters, and they were standing in the way of the dungeon''s loot.


    Whatever it was, Tapper needed that loot.


    One rat caught itself on Tapper''s arm and he managed to snap its neck, which made the other two move more frantically. He needed to clear the room, so he grabbed his internal energy and shouted, "SPRAY!" through his vacuum. The room turned green, surely a sign that he made the correct choice, as the burst of air shot the Mall Rats and their vapor away.


    Two splats and a sudden, frantic screeching froze Tapper. He successfully cleared the vapor away, which let him watch the two monsters quickly dissolve within a mound of green gelatin. Or rather¡­ ooze? A viscous liquid, lime green and transparent, covered the glowing orb to envelop and surround the treasure. It didn''t react beyond bathing everything in a sickly green light, pulsing slightly within the slime. Where did it come from? The mound shuddered and swelled, and with horror Tapper realized the glowing orb must be generating it somehow.


    If Tapper ever learns how to experience dreams, then his nightmares are going to feature a giant mound of glowing green ooze that slowly eats him. This was worse than any organic being for Tapper, it had all the writhing movements and slimy textures but lacked even the most basic structure, skeletal or otherwise. It lurched forward, and Tapper screamed.


    Scrambling backwards until his back hit the far wall, Tapper wasn''t surprised to find the door locked and knew that his highest chance of escape relied on finding the universal port for a manual override. So why did the designers and architects always hide them?? Metal fingers scratched all around the reinforced doorframe, searching for any loose panel and finding one just above the floor.


    Squelching noises from behind turned Tapper''s hands frantic, tearing it clean off and jamming his finger into the hidden port. The crystalline fibers made connection with agonizing lethargy and Tapper groaned when his attempts to access the emergency protocols were answered with a prompt for an administrator password. He didn''t have time to argue his way around logic gates, and the firewall of this security door was much stronger than his own!


    Tapper forced some of his mana through the connection, and when that didn''t make any difference he resorted to begging. The part of his mind that was still all computer knew that verbal commands had an estimated success chance smaller than the entire margin of error, but his emotional subroutines countered that this would at least drown out the growing sounds of squelching.


    "Please, just open up! I''m not trying to break in, I''m trying to break out! Why does everything in this dungeon SUCK so mu ¡ª" and then a racket of loud popping drowned out his voice.


    [Spell component Suck has fizzled!]


    [Lock pick check successful!]This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Spells do not activate with casual usage of the word in normal pleading and cursing, it must be intoned with intent. But during a future self-assessment of his recordings, Tapper would theorize that his overwhelming panic accidentally pushed just a smidge of intent into the word. Not enough for a proper Suck spell to form, but enough for a spark to travel through the open connection between his mana battery and the door''s energy cell.


    That spark ignited something within the technology and a violent backlash severed the connection. Memories turned fuzzy as Tapper reeled from the stun, but his sensors logged six muffled explosions firing in rapid succession as acrid smoke entered the atmospheric composition. Something blew, and it counted as the door''s lock.


    A glob of ooze plopped against Tapper''s back and the sensation cut through his stunned processor like a laser, forcing him into a horrifying clarity. The slime had reached him! With a wail Tapper wrenched open the door and tumbled through, scraping off the bit of slime that clung to his chassis before he braced the broken door with all the meager leverage he could muster. A moment later and Tapper could clearly hear the disgusting squelching sounds on the other side, but the monster never tried to pull open the door. Maybe it lacked the capacity to turn a doorknob?


    If the glob that now lay on the floor in front of him was any indication, then there wasn''t anything else to the slime except slime ¡ª no grasping digits, no nervous system. When that glob twitched and started crawling towards Tapper he yelped and hurried to suck it up with his vacuum, which was thankfully still strong enough to do the job without the Suck spell available. Only after the last smudge vanished did Tapper relax, his torso rattling against the hard floor in a full-body shudder.


    That ordeal was finally over, and with a start his processor finally caught up to remind Tapper of the much larger and unresolved ordeal. He had to find Miss Phanya! His proprietor would never steal so Tapper wasn''t worried that she might also get arrested, but he couldn''t bear to leave her safety as an unknown variable. The snapshot he saved of the mall directory listed a security office at the end of each wing with no way to differentiate them, so he set off to find another reference point as quickly as his improvised scuttle could carry him.


    Wherever he was in the mall, this wing seemed less dedicated to productive shopping and more for... art, maybe? Tapper didn''t know how else to label the massive twisting structures that filled recesses in the hallway normally used for storefronts, and the increase in comfortable seating would imply prolonged viewership. Or just more loitering, but either way he saw nothing worth stopping for until he passed a large set of glass doors.


    Light from within suggested a functioning storefront, but unlike other stores this one did not have a barrier of visual distortion and Tapper could see glass display cases and informational signs on an open floor plan. One such display case contained different examples of robotic limbs, including a full set of legs.


    A deal too good to be true, this was either a trap or an opportunity. He leaned back to read the sign above the doors, ''Museum of Centennial Technology'' in cartoonish circuitry with a smaller plaintext sign below that continued, ''Presented by the Department of Museums and Libraries'' but offered little else for information. There weren''t any spray-painted pictographs anywhere to indicate monsters or other dangers lurking within, so why was Tapper hesitating? Why was he feeling a degree of animosity towards the museum?


    He tried to trace the logic behind the feeling, only to find that it didn''t originate from his emotional subroutines at all. This feeling was actually a subconscious interpretation of a Bowson directive, stating that museums and other such gatherings for loiters were not conducive to good business. In fact, that same directive was also pushing his espionage subroutines to find out how to get the museum shut down and replaced with a proper Bowson business. It is always a good time to expand market share!


    It only took a few cycles of his processor for Tapper to convince the Bowson directive that him looting the museum was an act of sabotage and it quieted down, but it left Tapper with a new feeling of unease. He didn''t like the way his higher-level Bowson programming was interacting with his new emotional subroutines, and he could predict several possible scenarios where the broader directives might interfere with his more immediate concerns.


    Unintentionally, of course ¡ª Bowson would never knowingly prevent Tapper from assisting his proprietors, but he almost passed up an opportunity to repair himself just because it would involve entering a museum. Tapper cordoned off another small section of his processor and set it to writing a new protocol that would funnel any and all Bowson directives though his logic gates first. Hopefully, that would ensure they no longer subconsciously influenced his emotional subroutines.


    Once he finished setting up the protocol and could let that process finish in the background, Tapper grabbed onto the door handle with one hand and pushed off the other door with his back spindles. The lack of proper leverage made opening the glass door a challenge and he wound up using his cranium to prop the door open, but it got him across the threshold without losing any more body parts.


    To Tapper''s pleasant surprise the museum''s entrance was in immaculate condition without a hint of grime or litter anywhere. Even the stanchions still stood orderly in the queue area! Gentle orchestral music played from hidden speakers at just the ideal volume to not impede conversation and dense carpet padded all movement, and Tapper began to understand how humans could justify a bit of loitering in this location. It almost felt like he was in a high-class lounge, just without the drinks.


    Maybe Miss Phanya would enjoy this area, after he ensured her safety. For now, Tapper ducked under the angled metal bars of a retro turnstile gate and entered the museum proper, making a beeline for the section containing robot parts on display. Maybe next time he could stop to read all the signs and informational plaques as well, but he still slowed to appreciate the care that went into displaying his kind. Each subsection was dedicated to a main body part, starting with truly ancient models from before universal ports were mandated, and flowed into... well, what was likely cutting-edge technology when the museum was first built.


    Hands grasped onto arms to create a chain that held itself aloft, heads were arrayed as if the older models were passing knowledge onto the young, and the legs uplifted each other into ever greater heights. Maybe it was because he could see the progression of time in the technology or maybe this was the early signs of bias towards his own kind, but most humanoid art would benefit from this organizational efficiency. The only question now was how he might manage to climb the pyramid of legs to reach the best options.


    "Uh hey there, what are you doing?"

 1.29 A Pleasant Break From Shopping

    Tapper yelped and tumbled from his perch at the base of the legs display, and from his prone landing a lone raider filled his vision. A massive figure with blue-tinted skin pulled taut over rippling muscle, another super soldier in Zero''s army perfectly positioned to crush Tapper underneath his heel. Only difference, this raider looked concerned over Tapper''s plight for some reason. His jaw twisted into a frown, further exaggerating his already pronounced underbite, and when he bent down Tapper flinched away on reflex.


    "It''s okay, little guy, I''m not going to hurt you." Despite having a voice like gravel from careless bioengineering, this man kept his tone quiet and gentle. He froze in mid-crouch, patiently waiting for Tapper to realize that he had extended an open hand instead of a closed fist.


    When Tapper did eventually take the offered hand, the man lifted and set him right-side up as if Tapper wasn''t made of solid metal. The frown turned up into a small smile and he said, "There, that''s better. Now what are you doing out here?" The man did a double take on the museum display that Tapper was climbing and the connection clicked in his mind. "You were trying to repair yourself, weren''t you?"


    Instant panic. Self-modification is one of the most egregious ways that a robot can violate its terms of service, if this man had any connection to any corporation then they would be fully authorized to seize and dismantle Tapper. Yet there was a gleam of excitement in the man''s eye instead of horror, and Tapper''s social algorithms were all returning a positive outcome if he just told the truth with 93% probability.


    "That is correct, my name is Tapper and I apologize for the intrusion. I thought this museum was abandoned and I am in need of repair. Since this locale is not abandoned, I would be more than happy to purchase a leg unit from you."


    The man scratched at the scruff of short hair on top of his head in thought. The thought deepened with the addition of a tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, completing the look of a kid despite the rippling muscles. "I don''t think that museums really sell their displays like that, but hold on." Then he cupped one hand to his mouth and turned up to the ceiling to shout, "Hey Key, come on down here for a minute. We got a live one!"


    A panel slid open somewhere and a large box fell into view, dropping from the ceiling via a thin and multijointed metal arm. The box was made of an odd beige plastic on all sides except for one glass surface, and with a faint whine the monitor lit up to show a jumble of random text characters. Tapper tried and failed to read what it said, until the characters started to blink on and off and Tapper realized that the letters were drawing shapes and pictures instead of spelling words. It was a face, or at least the very basic facsimile of one.


    Clearing his throat to get everyone''s attention, the man placed one hand behind his back and swept the other one towards the retro computer monitor. "This is ASCII, the curator of the museum. Oh, and I''m Steffo, by the way." Steffo offered his hand again and Tapper took it without hesitation, noting how gentle his grip was despite Steffo''s meaty digits completely engulfing Tapper''s slender metal hand. "Tapper here was wondering if he could buy a set of legs from your display on Robotics Through the Ages, since he''s, ah, short a pair."


    The screen turned towards Tapper and the displayed characters shifted into a wide smile. "Greetings, Tapper! My apologies for not meeting you at the door, but it seems you bypassed the entrance gate." The speakers held within the monitor box were old and tinny, so Tapper was only 38% certain that he detected an undertone of sarcasm to the otherwise joyful voice. "Not to worry, admission is always free and we can start the tour right now!"


    Steffo cleared his throat again. "Uh, Key? Can we give the bot a leg up or not?"


    ASCII turned back to Steffo and their tinny voice took on a bit more strain. "I heard your question loud and clear, but I am choosing to act like I did not. Because if I did hear that a robot was attempting to repair itself without authorization, then under the Safeguards Against Robotic Uprising Act of 2107 I would be required to turn that robot into the authorities."


    Steffo winced and said, "Yeah right, I remember you telling me about the SARU Act. But I''m sure that Tapper''s people authorized the repair, right? And since they''re Zero''s people, I can authorize the ¡ª"


    "Zero is not my proprietor." Both Steffo and ASCII turned in surprise, and Tapper realized he had said that. Nearly shouted it. His feelings subroutine took command of his speakers and completely bypassed his conscious control, but the concept of Tapper working for Zero was so insulting that he couldn''t stop himself. The only control Tapper forced was to return his speakers to an appropriate speaking volume before he continued, "But my proprietor is here, and in danger, and I cannot adequately protect them in my current state."


    Steffo''s oversized jaw flapped silently a few times before any words managed to catch up. "You, uh, you''re saying that you and your proprietor aren''t part of the crew?"


    Tapper''s social algorithms watched Steffo''s face run through a series of microexpressions: surprise, betrayal, loss of camaraderie, wistfulness. Conclusion, Steffo is a member of the raiders, but that association carried negative connotations.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Tapper''s volume dropped another degree and he said, "I am sorry, but that is correct. We hail from Fableton, and to protect my proprietors and customers I must ensure that Zero cannot carry out his planned attack. And as part of the SARU Act I promise that I am not going to knowingly harm anyone, I only wish to divert them."


    Admitting everything like this to a raider was not a logical decision, but in the moment it felt right. And Steffo didn''t try to raise the alarm, or yell or lash out, he just smacked his dry lips in thought. When he did speak, it came out cracked and hoarse and mostly just to himself. "So he''s finally lost it. ASCII, give the robot some legs. Now I''m asking you as your friend."


    That did the trick, though Tapper couldn''t tell what the trick was. ASCII''s textual face turned to a look of concern and they said, "I will need a moment to deliberate. But... I can at least shut down a few systems to free up processing power." Steffo nodded in thanks, and the computer monitor vanished back up into the ceiling.


    As a bartender Tapper was programmed to work off context clues without being privy to all sides of a conversation, but that didn''t mean he had to let the awkward silence linger. "Pardon me Mister Steffo, but is everything alright?"


    "Oh yeah, don''t worry about Key. They''ve been looking after the museum all on their own since it got buried, and they''ve had a lot of practice working around those regulations to keep the place functional. I''ve got faith they''ll help you out, they just gotta figure out how to justify it first." Steffo clapped his hands to mark the end of that conversation and the warm grin returned to his face. "Nothing we can do to speed that up, so in the meantime how about a little tour? Nice change of pace for me to give the speech instead of Key, for once." Tapper nodded, more out of politeness to not rush ASCII, and Steffo hoisted him up with all the effort and delicacy of carrying a newborn.


    The museum, as Steffo described it, attempted to showcase the big moments in scientific advancement as a 200-year anniversary to the "beginnings of technology." Not just for computers and robots, but also vehicles, medicine, agriculture, civil engineering, and other advancements of the era. This included the aesthetics of the time, but unlike the hodgepodge of eras in the rest of the mall there was at least a sense of intentional design to the museum. The floorplan followed a flow that started with the first Moon landing and circled around to end with the signing of the Lunar Accords, and according to Steffo there was enough archival footage in the holo viewer of the time between those events that a proper tour would take days to complete.


    Tapper mostly just listened to Steffo talk. This museum was his passion, and the care with which he spoke of the exhibits painted a picture so clear that he could almost believe that Steffo had lived through those times. Tapper estimated that ASCII would speak with the same fervor, and if the curator was as old as the museum then it possibly did have actual firsthand knowledge.


    Which raised further questions on how ASCII could survive for so long without their programming degrading; all computers needed firmware updates, so maybe Steffo knew why ASCII wasn''t an incoherent mess of glitches and error messages. He''d wait for an appropriate time to broach the subject, but instead Tapper''s caretaking subroutines took priority when he noticed Steffo''s mood take a soured edge. Something was wrong, and the bartender focused on reading Steffo to find out what.


    The two had crossed into a section for genetic engineering, starting with advancements in agriculture and the possibilities for new supercrops to feed the growing population. Interestingly, the display did not mention the ultimate winner: corn, engineered with traits from bamboo and kudzu vine for structure and speed. Steffo had his own opinions on how the runaway crop beat out better options for feeding people, and how that applied to bioengineering humans.


    Steffo''s voice grew darker when he spoke of unlocking the genetic code, and how the following years of humanity saw an explosion in affordable genetic manipulation. Humanity attempted everything from basic cosmetic changes in their hair and eye color to experimentations on surviving extreme environments, and within two generations nearly a quarter of the world''s population had some form of genetic manipulation. The museum''s boasting tone felt unintentionally quaint with modern context, since according to Bowson analytics only 10% of humanity remained as "genetically pure." Including only invisible manipulation or minor cosmetic changes, like Struzick''s mutated horn growth, doubled the number.


    The display also showed its age by lacking any mention of hybrid humans, instead only speculating on how genetic alterations might self-select into categories. Tapper wondered if ASCII would allow updating the information, if only to confirm that their speculations were correct. Approximately one-third of humanity now broadly counted as a hybrid of either dogs, cats, rodents, or reptiles with smaller genetic niches, though Tapper had no context if the grouping was intentional or incidental.


    Tapper also noticed that Steffo didn''t say a single word on the display regarding engineered super soldiers. This is where the tour guide''s mood reached its nadir, a clear sore spot where Tapper assumed most people would take pride in their enhanced abilities. But his thought process on optimal angles to broach the subject was interrupted by a screech of crunching metal from the entrance. Steffo went rigid, his grip on Tapper tightened, and his skin paled. Tapper managed to speak one syllable before Steffo clamped a hand over his entire faceplate, and although that wouldn''t actually impede Tapper from talking, he understood the message.


    In a flurry of motion Steffo dropped Tapper behind a barricade in the warfare exhibit and crammed a helmet over his head, then leaned in until his breath fogged Tapper''s optical sensors. "Don''t move. Stay absolutely still and do not make a single sound, I am begging you." Steffo''s voice was a harsh whisper that shook with panic, and instead of answering Tapper focused on suppressing his emotional subroutines to avoid any possible outburst.


    Between the helmet and the barricade, Tapper couldn''t see more than a horizontal slit, in which he watched Steffo spin about in a panic before giving up the attempt to find his own hiding place. There was a thud that Tapper felt as much as he heard, followed by another and more in pace, and Steffo matched each thud by taking a step backwards. Steffo traversed the entire panoramic view before a shadow fell over half of Tapper''s sight line, freezing Steffo in place.

 1.30 Define – Friend

    "Wheeere iiiss iiiit?" The sound of vocal chords dragging over live wires froze Tapper as well, which saved him from recoiling in fear. Another thudding step forward, and the question repeated. "Wheeere iiiss iiiit?" Closer now, angrier.


    "W-where''s what, Zero? It''s j-just me here."


    The shadow became a wall of metal, with something dark and sticky leaking out between the seams. "The roobooot. Slime traaap is tripped, it''s beeen heeere."


    "It must''ve walked past, remember you told me not to go outs¡ª" in a blur of movement an arm whipped out and grabbed Steffo by the neck, hoisting him entirely off the ground. Tapper couldn''t see anything except Steffo''s torso, but he could hear the choking and the panic that now edged his words. "I''m telling you, it isn''t here! You know I couldn''t fight it off if it was!"


    Steffo''s kicking form lurched forward, obscured by the mass of Zero. "Yoouu aare uuselesss." Zero''s distorted voice never changed tone or volume, but Tapper could feel the naked hatred from behind the barrier. There was a shift, a crash, and a desperate coughing fit before the wall of metal and flesh turned and stomped away.


    The sounds of coughing ended before the sounds of stomping fully receded, so when Tapper slowly emerged from behind the barrier he found Steffo seated next to a broken display and breathing heavily. He stood, gingerly rubbing his neck, and looked anywhere except at Tapper. "I''m sorry. He''s not¡­ he''s usually not that bad."


    His hushed voice, his hunched stance, his downcast eyes... Steffo normally stood over two meters tall and over 60 centimeters wide at the shoulders, all muscle. Yet right now Tapper could only see him as a scared child, trying to hide in plain view. "Mister Steffo, are you harmed?"


    "No, no, I''m fine. This is nothing, he''s always trying to toughen me up." Tapper''s confusion earned a scoff that made Steffo wince in pain before he continued, "I''m a bulk that doesn''t fight. Have you ever heard of a bulk that doesn''t fight before?" Steffo looked up at the centerpiece of the warfare exhibit for the first time, a wax figure of an engineered soldier in a proud victory pose, and resentment shined in his eyes. "All anyone can ever see in bulks are mercs and soldiers."


    Part of Tapper actually felt at ease in this new somber mood ¡ª give Steffo a tall glass of frothy beer, and Tapper would be right at home in consoling a customer after a bad day. "Not all fighting is with violence, Mister Steffo. You fought in your own way to protect me and very likely saved my life, and I thank you for that."


    Steffo stood just a little bit taller, his mood already improving. "If only you could convince my brother of that. Oh don''t give me that look, we''re the only two bulks here. Yeah, we''re brothers."


    "Then I apologize in advance for any additional strife I place on your familial unit, but I really must prevent him from attacking Fableton."


    This time Steffo''s wince wasn''t from any physical pain. "Are you absolutely sure that he''s going to attack Fableton, for real?"


    "I did not hear him say so personally, but Mister Rethar gave quite an impassioned speech about attacking Fableton, Belvidere, and everyone else in the area that isn''t a part of Zero''s organization."


    "Rethar... I don''t know how, but he became Zero''s right-hand man real quick when he joined a few weeks ago, and he''s really got it out for Fableton." Tapper detected a growl forming at the edge of Steffo''s words, but Steffo sighed and snuffed out any mounting anger.


    "It''s just as much my fault, too. No Tapper, it really is. We actually grew up in Fableton, and Zero blamed them for making me ''soft'' with all the books and schooling. Is Ms. Uxral still teaching? Good, I''m glad. Still, Zero joined Belvidere partly for the money and partly to make me a ''proper bulk,'' and when that didn''t work out he tossed me in here. But every time I''ve seen him since he''s less... all together, up there. Belvidere feeds him cybernetics like drugs, and if Rethar is all up in his ear about revenge then..." Steffo blinked rapidly and his eyes refocused from the middle distance. "Jeez I''m sorry, I really started rambling."


    "That is quite alright Mister Steffo, sometimes we merely require a new ear to work through some troubling ideas."


    "I hope you''ve been enjoying the ¡ª oh my!" ASCII''s tinny voice preceded their boxy monitor, and after taking one look at the damaged displays they swung in front of Tapper with an accusatory glare on the screen. "Have you been vandalizing my museum!?"


    Steffo squeezed his bulky body between the two robots with his arms and voice raised. "Whoa whoa ASCII, it wasn''t Tapper! Zero came in and trashed the place, I promise."


    ASCII retreated to a more sociable distance, though their face showed an upturned nose. "Hrm, well why didn''t you say so? Come along then, let us survey the damages of your brother''s latest visit." Steffo picked Tapper up and followed ASCII as they counted off the various pieces of history that Zero crunched under his unwavering path.


    "I can salvage the green city model, but the hoverbike is just spare parts now, and it looks like I''ll be using those to repair the turnstile. Again. I don''t know why I bother at this point¡­" ASCII''s volume suddenly switched from a murmur to just below shouting, with exaggerated enunciation that bordered on sarcasm. "And oh no, it looks like that brute knocked over the Mechanical Evolution exhibit, too? Sorting through this mess is going to take forever!" ASCII''s monitor curled up towards the ceiling and the arm thrashed about, knocking over displays and sending robotic limbs flying everywhere as they wailed.


    Steffo laughed and picked up the pair of legs that were no longer standing at the top of the pyramid. "Here. Don''t outright mention this on camera, and you''re good."


    Tapper accepted the legs silently, his dancing eyebrows giving all the thanks they could muster. They were disproportionately bulky from the early version of tactile sensors they wore like padding, but that made them solid and robust. These legs weren''t going to break down anytime soon.


    The only problem, "These will not fit, unfortunately. Do you know if any units here are made by Bowson, Incorporated?"This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ASCII swung down at this, making an odd huffing sound in response. "Won''t fit? Just set your ports to default!"


    "I cannot do that without an accredited mechanic to authorize altering my ports."


    "Well, then I authorize it."


    "How can an information terminal like you access my system? Bowson, Incorporated takes the security of its intellectual property very seriously."


    "I most certainly can access your systems, under the Standards in Automaton Repair and Maintenance Act of 2094."


    "Perhaps you can on a technicality, but a system as archaic as you surely cannot circumvent a more modern and advanced system like mine?"


    A burst of static from ASCII''s speakers imitated a gasp while their monitor changed to a face of shock. "Archaic?? I don''t care what additional layers of restrictions a small mom-and-pop shop like Bowson installs on their glorified teakettles, they do not outrank federal authorization! Now open up your universal port, that''s an order."


    Tapper rolled his eyes and moved to open his chest panel, but froze when he noticed Steffo was still present, staring at the two bickering computers with agape fascination. "My apologies, Mister Steffo, but would you please mind not watching this process? The location of my universal port is protected information." Steffo turned on a silent heel and didn''t budge, except for one flinch when a giggle caught him off guard. Tapper didn''t expect his port to tickle!


    "Hold still you... there, that''s the ticket." Tiny metal components around Tapper''s pelvic unit dislodged themselves and fell to the ground, leaving the contact surface in a more uniform pattern without any indication that Bowson had ever placed their own interlocking mechanisms over it. "See? No hotshot corporate operating system can ignore federal law."


    Tapper wasn''t about to openly thank ASCII and just wiggled his eyebrows instead, their confused response an additional bonus. He slotted the legs in, and this time they attached immediately with at least a trickle of feedback. Steffo leaned down to help when Tapper struggled to stand, offering a solid brace until his legs stopped shaking.


    [Debuff: Numbed Legs


    Those annoying pins and needles give you -1.5m of movement and -1 to Dexterity for balancing checks.]


    "Thank you, these legs are so archaic that they lack adequate data flow. I believe you would compare it to your legs falling asleep. Still, is there any way that I can pay for... the damages?"


    Steffo shrugged up at ASCII, who harrumphed and said, "As a representative of the Department of Museums and Libraries I cannot accept direct payment from the public. But if you enjoyed your experience at my museum, then I would suggest that you please exit through the gift shop. Thank you for your patronage." With that, ASCII turned to study one of the broken displays and ended the conversation.


    Steffo managed to remain silent as he helped Tapper walk, but he lost all composure once they entered a small room full of small colorful trinkets. "Okay, what the hell was that? Both of you were so catty."


    Tapper shrugged as he perused the shelves. "Truthfully, Mister Steffo, I am not sure. I believe that because ASCII is not a humanoid, my programming on what constitutes acceptable social behavior was not quite as rigorous as when I''m speaking to you. It was actually quite exhilarating!"


    "Well, whatever it was you two sounded like old friends. It was hilarious! Just don''t talk like that to most strangers."


    "I do not believe I was acting very friendly, Mister Steffo."


    "Friends will sometimes pretend to not be friendly, yeah."


    Tapper''s hand froze, a curious hat that resembled the solar system completely forgotten. "I do not understand."


    "It''s like sarcasm, but... backwards, I guess? Friends might pretend to be mean because they trust that they actually like each other. I know it''s weird, ASCII had some trouble ¡ª hey, are you okay?"


    "Did you say ''friend'' as a noun? Because I do not seem to have that word in my internal dictionary. I do have ''friendly'' as an adjective, to act in a kind manner, but not a noun."


    "Weird. But friends are people that just, you know, like each other and enjoy spending time together. Just because they want to, not because of business or politics connections, or something. Like how families are supposed to be, only you get to choose them."


    Tapper''s eyebrows knit together as he recorded that information. "Thank you for that, but this is not the first time I have discovered my dictionary lacks common words. Might this gift shop sell a dictionary that I could purchase?"


    Steffo scratched the back of his head in thought. "Not specifically that, no. But they sell the entire exhibit as a collection of articles, I think it includes a built-in dictionary in the reference materials." He indicated a bookshelf packed with rows of identical thin cardboard boxes, underneath a sign that said ''Take home 200 years of history today!''


    Tapper pulled one box from the shelf and looked at the cover, a random mishmash of palm trees, statue busts, and wavy lines surrounding a tablet in the center, and scoffed at the price tag. "Only 0.1 credits? How can they afford to keep everything so cheap?"


    "I dunno, a couple hundred years of inflation?" Steffo answered with a shrug. Tapper didn''t question the logic, but he did grab a novelty backpack off another rack and cram every tablet into the bag that he could fit. The backpack couldn''t fit on his actual back next to his seltzer tanks, but the bag worked perfectly as a frontpack. "Tapper, you don''t need to... oh whatever. This is why I''m friends with robots, you guys get so quirky," Steffo chuckled at the apparent humor he found in Tapper.


    A spot of warmth in emotional feedback paused Tapper''s packing. "Are we friends? Yes, I believe I would enjoy that." All told, the backpack plus 20 tablets cost a total of only 2.67 credits after taxes, which translated to 2 silver and 67 copper out of his inventory. A distinction that didn''t make a difference, another oddity added to the growing list of questions that must wait for safer times.


    "Are you sure you''re ready to go? Your walking is still not really, uh, normal. Those legs might be busted, we should try a different pair."


    "I was not built with legs, and have been actively developing my own walking program. I am actually quite proud that this system of mobility is becoming increasingly natural for me," Tapper responded. It felt wonderful that he could explain his first foray in self-modification to a trusted humanoid as they walked, until he realized that Steffo wasn''t following him.


    Steffo had stopped just inside the doorframe separating the gift shop from the hallway, his advanced musculature visibly trembling with fear and anxiety. "Mister Steffo, what is the problem?"


    Steffo started to fidget, his eyes downcast. "I can''t... I can''t go out there. What you saw is nothing compared to what Zero will do if he catches me messing with his crew outside the museum."


    To Tapper''s own surprise, his emotional response to Steffo was annoyance. He already agreed that Zero needed to be stopped, what logical difference did it make for him to wait in the museum? But Tapper tempered his emotions, his responses were rarely logical and organic beings likely had even less control over them. Instead Tapper neutralized his friendly salesman tone and said, "It is quite alright, you have already aided me immensely, and if we fight in our own way then we must also fight within our own limits. Thank you, my friend, and goodbye. Oh!"


    His 180¡ã turn became a 360¡ã spin as Tapper kicked out to a sudden backwards jerk. He finished, "And if my proprietor passes by, please let her know I was here. Her name is Miss Phanya, she''s approximately 2 meters tall with a dark complexion, golden hair, and an eye patch. Thank you!" Tapper spun a final time and skip-march-kicked down the hallway, without any heed given to Steffo''s gawking.

 1.31 Joyride

    "Oi everyone, get your asses to the Atrium. We''re moving out early! Rethar out." The loudspeakers cut a knife through Tapper''s quiet contemplation and stitched in a conundrum: Should he continue his search for his proprietor, or head directly to the source of those endangering her? The past hour of carefully sneaking through the wide hallways and constantly rerouting to avoid raiders, sample carts, and random unknown anomalies had yielded no results. Nothing besides mounting frustration. Maybe if Tapper hurried he could reach the Atrium before most of the raiders and stop Zero right now.


    He could not. A sizable crowd of raiders had already gathered on the ground floor of the grand Atrium, but the second floor only held a few raiders leaning over the railing. Tapper managed to stash his backpack and hide behind the large rock outcropping of the waterfall, clambering over the top. From there he could watch in safety as over two dozen raiders yawned and rubbed sleep from their eyes, milling about to help wake each other up.


    Any grumblings about the hour ceased the instant Zero stomped onto a stage in the middle of the floor. At least Tapper assumed it was Zero, as very little of the bulky humanoid was recognizable from when Tapper first saw them in Fableton. The hand that Struzick shot off was replaced with a serrated claw, almost all of his torso was covered in plating now, and both of his eyes glowed with cybernetic enhancements.


    Every raider showed an equal amount of awe and fear towards their boss, except for Rethar walking by his side. The right-hand man surveyed the crowd with a look of annoyance and shouted, "Where the hell is everyone? You don''t want to keep the boss waiting!"


    One voice in the crowd answered that not everyone had recovered yet from the poisoning and broken bones at the bar. Another reported that the spa was ambushed, and a third voice complained that it was 4 in the morning. The reports turned into chatter, despite Rethar''s attempts to corral the crowd, and a rumbling growl from Zero instantly silenced everyone. Rethar looked distraught at his waning control over the audience, until he pulled out a small rubber inhaler and sucked in a big lungful.


    Whatever drug it contained flushed his skin and left him panting, and apparently that''s exactly what he wanted. He stomped back to center stage and shouted, "You all know the rules, those that can''t pull their own weight get left behind! No excuses, no freeloaders!" With the crowd properly mollified, a now slightly twitchy Rethar grinned wide and continued, "For everyone else, the plan''s still the same! We got all the gear charged and we''ll hit Belvidere ¡ª"


    "Wait!" The sudden shout lit the crowd with confused murmurs and Rethar''s eyes bugged out at the interruption, disbelief turning into a snarl when he saw the source. Steffo appeared on the upper floor and rode the escalator down, standing tall in the super soldier armor from the museum display. Complete with a laser rifle on his shoulder, sleek black and fully charged.


    "We don''t need to do this! We''ve been living good in this mall for months now, if we start attacking everyone then we can lose that!" Steffo reached the bottom of the escalator and the crowd parted for his approach, various quiet voices making vague sounds of both assent and dissent. "And for what? What''s the point? Don''t we have enough?"


    Every breath held and every eye stilled on the boss, anticipation building to see how the plea would land. Zero answered the plea with laughter, a horrible screeching that burrowed into the ears like tearing sheet metal and gave a nervous edge to the crowd as they joined in. Ret stepped forward with his hands upraised to say something, but before he got a single word out Zero backhanded him off the stage. "No! It''s nnnever enough! Not until it''s aaaall miiine!"


    "That''s it!" Steffo shouted back, bracing his rifle and shocking the room into silence. "I mean it, Zero! Tell everyone to cool off, or else!"


    Zero returned a growl and eyed the wavering laser rifle in Steffo''s hands. "Or else you''ll shoot me? Think you''re finally maaaan enough?" He leaned forward, and Steffo leaned back. "Go on, do iiiit. I said, DO IT!"


    Everyone felt the force of that shout and flinched back. Steffo accidentally fired off a shot from his rifle, and a thin red line scorched into every unprotected cornea unfortunate enough to be looking in that general direction. The beam sailed wide of Zero, melted a storefront sign into cinders, and the mall blared a klaxon in response.


    This alarm was similar to the first time Tapper heard it on the audible wavelengths, but carried a different code regarding vandalism. Meanwhile, Zero knocked Steffo''s weapon to the ground and picked him up with one hand holding the scruff of his armor. Zero didn''t say or do anything besides hold his little brother aloft, but a voice emerged unbidden within the crowd and others quickly joined in an eerie chant.


    "Feed the hand that feeds... feed the hand that feeds..." A security robot rolled into view and started scanning everyone in search of the vandal, and when it reached the stage Zero reached out with his clawed hand to delicately keep it in place. He threw out his other hand and hoisted Steffo higher, the crowd''s chanting growing in fervor.


    The library of adventurer knowledge finally broke through Tapper''s stunned attention to tell him what was about to happen, screaming with concepts instead of words. But it demanded to be heard all the same and Tapper fed that energy into his emotional subroutines, opening the floodgates to the world.


    Tapper leapt to his feet on top of the outcropping and cranked his volume all the way to max. "Unhand him, you cur!" All eyes snapped to him, and Zero growled. "Remember me, or has the lunacy taken you? It is I that fought you in the square of Fableton, it is I that poisoned your men within your very own lair! I am Tapper the Machine Mage, if you want a real fight then have at thee!"You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Rethar scrambled back onto the stage, still with his senses somehow intact after Tapper¡¯s shocking display, and waved his arms to get Zero''s attention. "Boss wait, don''t forget about the securibot! Be careful or you''ll damage it!" For his troubles, Zero kicked Rethar right back off the stage, and his clawed hand tore halfway through the security robot in one swipe.


    The security klaxon blared louder. Zero didn''t care. "KILL THAT BOOOOOOOT!"


    Small clouds of dust puffed around Tapper''s feet as bullets struck the rocky outcropping. The only ranged weapons that the raiders could pull out on short notice were small personal air pistols, but Tapper''s new legs danced out of the way and threw him off the outcropping. Most of the raiders only had melee weapons, if they had weapons at all, and struggled amongst each other to climb the double set of escalators to the second floor.


    Those that weren''t first onto the escalators had to contend with a fresh wave of securibots that arrived to avenge their fallen brethren, still stuck on Zero''s claw. A few raiders attempted to defend their boss, but anyone that engaged with a securibot without numbers on their side quickly found themselves subdued with extreme prejudice.


    The chaos and the bottleneck kept most of the enemies off Tapper for the moment, but five raiders were already watching from the second floor and the only thing keeping them from Tapper were a couple dozen paces. Tapper turned and ran towards the nearest hallway, but it was immediately apparent that he wouldn''t outrun anyone like this. Curse this numb legs debuff, he really was running 11% slower than he could manage with the first pair of legs!


    Tapper had no plan, and that swirl of bombastic emotion that put him in this predicament only wanted to turn around and be the big hero. At least until he thought of something better, he had to fend off these raiders one at a time. His emotional center cheered on and suggested that Tapper ''gird his loins''.


    The first raider already met Tapper by the time he managed to brace himself for combat. A felanid male with a small brown mane and a silver-tipped snarl swiped at Tapper and scored a tally of marks down his chest plate. Tapper tried to shove him back but instead sent them both tumbling into a familiar tarp-covered structure that responded with a familiar flourish and a beaming holographic woman.


    "FREEEE SAMPLES! P-P-PERSONALIZE FOR YOUR LOVED ONE!"


    Unlike his last tussle with these crazed machines, this raider was more concerned with his own self-preservation and prioritized getting away from the cart. He shoved off Tapper to get some distance and Tapper couldn''t keep his balance, falling into the display space within the canopy and scattering the cart''s contents.


    Before Tapper could get his bearings the cart lurched and he struggled to hold onto the cart''s edge, lest he fall off and crush underneath its wheels. He realized the cart was busy collecting all of its spilled contents, small carved wooden figures, and when Tapper tossed a figure over the side it instantly changed course to retrieve the novelty. Tapper''s eyebrows wiggled, and that hunch planted the seed of a plan.


    A quick scan over his bed of novelties gave Tapper a sufficiently rounded figure, which he crammed into his vacuum nozzle and aimed at the felanid raider. Too much movement to properly calculate a trajectory, just pray and "Spray!" Tapper could feel that this was an unreliable course without a great deal of practice, but thanks to luck and close proximity the figure hit the raider square in the chest. He caught it on reflex, confusion turning to horror in the split second before the sample cart ran him over.


    [Cat Scratch Raider lvl 3 defeated! +4 XP for participation]


    Bowson metrics fed a positive feedback result through his logic gates for dispatching of a thief, but his emotional subroutines felt more negative and he wasn''t sure why. Was it for the indirect method? Maybe the permanent nature of the defeat? Before he could begin to unpack those feelings, they were all replaced with panic when a fresh barrage of bullets pinged around the sample cart. Tapper lurched to the side and one hand, still holding onto a second figure, leaned over the edge of the cart. His ride moved with him as its own metal arm tried to retrieve its goods, and Tapper''s budding plan grew a little bit larger.


    He jammed the novelty into his vacuum, held onto a canopy support strut with both hands, and stretched his spindle as far into the open air as he could reach. Just as he calculated, his spindle was just barely longer than the cart''s retrieval arm and it chased after Tapper''s carrot with increasingly frantic speed. It wasn''t graceful and it wasn''t safe, but Tapper could steer the sample cart now and the raiders quickly realized that they could either stay out of his way or get crushed. He felt powerful in his perch, but that wouldn''t mean anything if he couldn''t figure out how to get on the ground floor and save Steffo.


    Tapper was so focused on calculating whether the sample cart would fit on the escalator that he didn''t notice his neon-clad proprietor step onto the walkway. Her outfit distracted him, his ride distracted her, and it was too late for Tapper to gently stop the cart.


    He wrenched his spindle to the side and the cart''s simple computer followed dutifully, without caring for balance and tipped over. Luckily, Tapper managed to stay with the cart instead of getting thrown off. Unluckily, Tapper stayed with the cart because it crushed his hand underneath.


    [Injury: Broken hand


    Limb is unusable; weapon can be lashed to arm and used at disadvantage.]


    A familiar and very welcome face poked over the canopy and the message vanished. "Tapper? What''re you doing on this thing?" The cart groaned and righted itself with its integrated arms and Tapper waved Phanya out of its reach. He didn''t want the cart to try a sales pitch on Phanya, but while it collected all the spilled wares it didn''t seem interested in giving out any free samples.


    "Quit playing around, we gotta get out of here while these goons are busy fighting the securibots." Phanya reached out for him, but Tapper was already clambering back onto the cart.


    "My apologies, Miss Phanya, but I cannot leave yet." From his raised vantage Tapper could see over the balcony''s edge; approximately half of the initial raiders and security robots alike had destroyed each other, with reinforcements for both trickling in from the various hallways. But Tapper''s focus was Zero, who was using the demolished security robot stuck to his hand as an impromptu club while Steffo ragdolled about in his other hand. "Zero has captured an innocent, and I cannot leave him behind!"


    Phanya leaned a little closer to the edge. "That guy? How are we supposed to ¡ª hey wait, is that Rethar? Screw you, Ret!" Phanya yelled the last part to get Rethar''s attention, but she squealed and backpedaled when it worked. Rethar made an unpleasant face, crouched, and leapt the entire six meter gap to the second floor.

 1.32 Dancing on Faces

    The metal safety rail crumpled like tin foil before Rethar''s momentum and the man landed with exaggerated grace. Taking a moment to dust himself off before he strode over towards Phanya, Rethar adopted an oddly cocky swagger and said, "Looks like someone conquered a shop! How was the loot?"


    "I almost died, asshole! You threw me to those freaky mannequin things!" Phanya rose to a more dignified stance and glared at Rethar, whose smile only widened in response.


    "Ah, but you didn''t! And look at what you got for it! Okay sure, you look a little silly, but next time you might get something even better!"


    Phanya stopped the slow circling pace that she didn''t remember starting. "What''s that supposed to mean, Rethar?"


    Rethar spread his arms in a distastefully familiar way, like any time any adult wanted to be condescending and say, ''Isn''t it obvious, you silly child?'' Meanwhile, his voice said, "I want you to join us, of course! You''re going to waste your life away in that nothing town, but here you can get the good stuff!" Rethar looked over his fallen comrades on the ground floor with a raised eyebrow and added, "And it looks like we''ll have a few openings, too. But that''s how it works everywhere in the world, you either make something of yourself or you get left behind. You don''t need to prove yourself when you''ve already been blessed by the Hand! That loot feels good, doesn''t it?"


    Phanya''s retort died on averted eyes and Rethar laughed. "I know, I can feel the power on you! And that''s just the start, see my exosuit? Better than what Belvidere cages his haulers with, this is a real relic! That old bastard would shit himself a new hoverchair if he saw me now."


    "And what about Fableton?" Phanya still hadn''t looked up, but her steady voice stopped Rethar''s gloating cold.


    He recollected his wits and just shrugged. "Everyone will get a chance to prove their loyalty. Otherwise, well... the Mall takes tribute both in money or blood."


    Phanya''s head snapped up to look Rethar in the eye as her center of gravity shifted ever so slightly. "I see, thank you. Here''s my counter-offer: how about instead you go fuck yourself." A burst of speed, and two long strides flowed seamlessly into a long jump kick aimed directly at Rethar''s center of mass. He barely had time for the look on his face to turn into utter bewilderment, let alone react, and her heel impacted dead center with all the force she could muster.


    Well, that was almost really cool, Phanya idly thought as she bounced off the exoskeleton. For all of her ass-kicking earlier, Phanya couldn''t even smudge the paint job on the supposed relic. The only thing she did manage was forcing Rethar to take one single step back in recoil, and once the surprise evaporated he stomped down with finality.


    Rethar might''ve said something, but Phanya didn''t care to listen. Her back hit the floor and Phanya''s body naturally tucked into a roll, while Rethar brought one fist down in a sledgehammer slam that Phanya dodged with ease. He was just so dang slow compared to Phanya now, his missed slam punched a hole clear through the walkway and she still felt confident. She just had to dance around the brute until Phanya found a weak point.


    Tapper had other plans. He kept a portion of his attention split between watching Phanya and Rethar, watching the battle below, steering the cart, and searching for the cart''s integrated speaker. His processor handled the load because Tapper was programmed to juggle multiple drink orders at once, but he had to pass over all fine details. Finding and crushing the speaker to silence the salesperson offered some relief, and allowed him to hear snippets of panicked yelling from the raiders:


    "These plinkers are useless! Who''s got the damn ion rifle??"


    "Oh gods, they''ve got Hudson!"


    "My leg!"


    Tapper felt a bit of humor towards the panicking raiders, but word of the situation was spreading and reinforcements were starting to show up with proper combat gear. This needed to end while they still had a chance, and when he saw Phanya''s conversation escalate into a fight he marveled at her superhuman agility. She didn''t seem interested in directly damaging Rethar, but the ease with which she pivoted around and stayed out of his reach was the missing piece in Tapper''s undergrown plan. He was currently on the far side of the circular balcony, but his cart was almost back to full speed and he urged it forward.


    Rethar never saw it coming. He knew how to deal with sample carts, and aside from the boss he was one of the only people who had the gifts to catch a cart head-on and topple it like a raging bull. They never carried the loot to make that worthwhile for Rethar, but it was an excellent way to impress the newbies.


    But this damn ungrateful girl kept buzzing around like a fly, and although his relic protected him from harm it couldn''t save him from growing sloppy with annoyance. Rethar was off balance, both physically and mentally, when the sample cart struck him from behind at full speed and panic lanced through all that annoyance. The relic saved his life and his spine, but something in the exoskeleton cracked and his legs drained of all enhanced strength. His gift was damaged, this shouldn''t be possible!


    Rethar''s existential crisis kept him quiet while Tapper whooped in adrenaline-fueled victory. The collision sapped most of the momentum from the cart, giving Phanya a window to jog up alongside from a safe distance. "Holy shit Tapper, that was crazy!"


    "Thank you, I believe the same will dampen Zero''s spirits."


    "Look Tap, I feel for the guy but we can''t go down there ¡ª"


    Tapper shouted, "I have to save my friend, Phanya!" Shame filled the void left after Tapper''s outburst, and he fixed his eyes forward to avoid hers. "I shall handle it, please get yourself to safety." Five seconds passed and Tapper thought Phanya had left without saying a word, but she was still keeping pace in deep silence.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Then, she smiled. "And let you have all the fun doing something so stupid? No way. But you need to listen to me, I''ll try to keep the mooks off your back, ''cuz you''ll only get one shot at this. And when you do, aim for the legs. I bet that''s his weak spot." Tapper made an odd sound, a quick burst of a tittering modem screech. Did it just laugh?


    "The weakness of legs is a lesson I have already learned twice! Thank you, Phanya."


    Phanya gave a casual mock salute and slowed to a stop, giving herself a second to catch her breath and stretch. It didn''t make a difference, she wasn''t winded and the effect of her Aerobic Set had worn off an hour ago back in the spa. But she needed a moment to double check that the plan was really the best her external instincts could come up with. A second look didn''t change anything, the escalators were still the choke point and she still had the high ground, but a steady stream of raiders were almost to the top now. Phanya bent and splayed her fingers on the ground, it was do or die time now.


    "Come on girl, let''s go let''s goooh what the hell am I doing AAAHHHHH!"


    Phanya shot off and her terrified war cry carried her over the lip of the escalator, right into the waiting faces of raiders just a handful of steps down from the top. They were so crowded that Phanya couldn''t tell them apart if she wanted to, and it just made her job easier. Some poor sod received a mouthful of shoe rubber and all of Phanya''s flying kick momentum behind it, knocking him back into the throngs of his comrades packed along the entire length of the escalators.


    A few of the raiders saw what was coming and tried to run away, which only quickened the avalanche of mooks, and Phanya just rode the wave down. She didn''t bother attacking anyone, instead focusing all her efforts on keeping her balance with her arms windmilling and feet constantly moving. She hopped on heads, bounced off backs, skipped along skin, and let gravity do the rest.


    The rolling carpet of flailing raiders unfurled at the base of the escalator and scattered those still waiting to get on, giving Phanya enough room to land and marvel. She really pulled it off! Phanya couldn''t count how many faces she stepped on, but that group was at least out of the fight until they could untangle from each other.


    One raider from elsewhere on the floor made a lunge that Phanya sidestepped and tripped in return, reminding her not to linger in any one spot. She didn''t need to stop and punch every mook into unconsciousness, she just needed to keep them all occupied and distracted, so it was time to do what she does best:


    Phanya ran headlong into fights to break them up.


    If they didn''t see her coming, Phanya would punch somewhere soft and kick their weapon away. If they did see her coming, Phanya would trip them up and kick their weapon away. If they saw her coming and they had a gun, Phanya wouldn''t give them a clean shot. She never stuck around to trade blows; if a raider didn''t go down in two hits then she''d outrun them and find someone else. Just needed to keep up the dance, and everything would be fine.


    Phanya watched the situation turn away from fine when Zero changed up his tactics. Previously his hostage was a forgotten plaything dangling from his hand as Zero used his improvised hammer and back-mounted cannon to blow away the securibots, but now he was using Tapper''s friend to bat away anything that got too close. This wasn''t the plan!


    Even that bulkhead would think to block Tapper''s one shot with his hostage''s body, Phanya had to risk it to take away that option. Luckily Zero was still standing proud in the middle of an open stage, so she practically waltzed up behind him to wait for an opening. Phanya didn''t expect to do any real damage herself, but surely her new level 2 ability could help...


    [Secondary class features:


    Commanders can use a special Trick die of (1d3) to replace any direct attack with an indirect maneuver: physical status buffs and debuffs, repositioning, and commanding. You can use a trick in tandem with an attack for called shots, and enemies can make a contested check to negate the effects of the trick.]


    The message was vague, but the raiders provided plenty of practice and Phanya was already getting the hang of performing tricks. Before, in the maintenance hallway, she knew how to punch and kick people without killing them, and after she leveled up those strange external instincts expanded to do so much more. Now she just needed to clearly picture what she wanted to do ¡ª say, tripping and disarming ¡ª and her body answered with alarming clarity, flowing into pivots and redirects like it was second nature.


    But some raiders out-maneuvered her, and this massive bulk needed Phanya to be more careful. She focused her mind on making Zero drop his hostage and felt metaphorical tendrils of attention spreading over Zero, examining him, prodding his armor for weak points. A small pressure formed in Phanya''s head, not unpleasant but intensely focused as her mind tried to find any scenario where she wouldn''t just bounce off of him like Rethar.


    There. Right when he reels back, he reveals a jumble of sensitive wiring in the elbow joint. Phanya dashed forward, bumped off a securibot to get the correct angle, and lashed out with a jab-and-grab. Whatever wiring she pulled away controlled something important, and with a twitch of static the arm went dead. Tapper''s friend fell free and landed on his head, saved from any lethal injury by his fancy helmet but still left in a daze. Great, now she''d have to drag him out too.


    Phanya halted mid-step, everything on her body freezing except for her lungs, and an old speaker crackled to life behind her. "Assault and battery detected zzt two counts. Restraint authorized." Floating a few inches centimeters in the air let her watch the securibot out of the corner of her eye, splitting down the middle to open wide and trap her. A thin red line burned across her vision, piercing straight through the robot and leaving a fist-sized hole of molten metal in its wake.


    The entirely new problem of not falling on the slagged robot and burning to death required an awkward roll from Phanya, leaving her strangely off-balance. As if she had strained a muscle by using it too often, for a second Phanya entirely forgot how to center her stance and her legs wobbled violently. Despite that Phanya was very aware of the world happening around her; Tapper''s friend gave Phanya a goofy half-wave before frantically pointing off to the side, where Zero''s hammer was already coming down for a sideways swipe. Phanya tried to roll and deflect some of the hit, but there isn''t much you can do to mitigate an entire wall slamming into you.


    Phanya gasped when a shock of cold water doused her entire body and she thrashed against a floor of... sandy dirt? As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting Phanya confirmed that she was indeed laying in sandy dirt, that was now also wet because Phanya was wet. A massive waterfall took up an entire wall, filtering the light and drowning out all sound in a dull roar, and the other surfaces looked like random formations of natural stone. A cave? Phanya groaned against a sharp pain at her side and worked her way through the puzzle pieces: Zero hit her like a truck, sent her flying, and must''ve knocked her through the waterfall decoration in the lobby.


    But it didn''t look this big from the outside. Right? And it was odd to use up this much space for a cave that''s empty except for a treasure chest in the middle of the floor. Dark wood banded with metal straps and an exaggerated, almost cartoonish design and brightness that made it stand out in the gloom.


    Phanya''s gulp echoed off the cave walls. Was that always there? She wasn''t sure, but despite the need to get back into the fight Phanya couldn''t tear her eyes away. It called to her just like the shoe box in the sports shop, but this was twice as large so surely it could help her twice as much...

 1.33

    Panic. Nausea. Tapper watched Phanya bear the full bore of Zero''s attack and vanish into the waterfall, and she didn''t come back out. All because Tapper allowed his proprietor to put herself in danger. And he yelled at her, too! Even if she emerged unscathed, Tapper deserved to be decommissioned for this breach of contract. He had to get down there and fix things, now.


    Tapper''s bar trivia generated a new idiom to cast the new spell while he internally willed an energy thread into a circle, and again it failed to manifest. He could feel the spark of creation for a moment, but without the premade chain loop of word combinations he couldn''t shape the spell in time. Logically, Tapper realized that trying to instantaneously cast an untested spell in the middle of combat with a Manaburn debuff was a fool''s errand. Emotionally, Tapper wondered if he just lacked the creative spark and a human mage wouldn''t put their compatriots in danger like this.


    Every miscast drove him further into frustration and Tapper knew that each attempt increased the odds of these spells fizzling, but he couldn''t think of any other way to get the cart to Zero with enough momentum. The library of adventurer knowledge, fed up with the increased shouting from the emotional subroutines, wormed its way across Tapper''s visual processors so that it could at least make itself read, if not heard.


    [Toil and Trouble! Witch spells that rhyme receive an extra 1d4 that grows by one step for every full round of casting, up to a bonus equal to half your Witchcraft level (1).]


    Right, Tapper vaguely recalled reading that as some sort of class feature somewhere. One day, he''ll have to ask an organic how they manage to remember anything this way. But for now his library fed him that reminder, and it followed up with one long poem from human mythology called "Song of the Witches" that Tapper knew he could use as inspiration. It wouldn''t go any deeper for an actual suggestion, either because it wouldn''t or couldn''t, so Tapper had to think up a rhyme on his own.


    And the longer he ran a search through his internal dictionary for any matching words, the more holes he noticed. Gaps where words are referenced but never defined, or defined as a part of speech that doesn''t match with its usage. So frustrating! Tapper grabbed the crimson blossom in his emotions, crumpled it into a ball, and crammed it into his impromptu spell circle. Hopefully that would suffice for the intent behind his spell, and if he pulled a line from the poem verbatim then it could serve as the spell''s foundation.


    "Double, double toil on backs; metal twists and calls SPRAY TRACKS!"


    A pulse from Tapper''s chest rippled outwards, felt on a level deeper than feeling as the very universe recoiled at the audacity of willing such an atrocious rhyme into existence. Just truly shameful to call this witchcraft. And yet, Tapper''s frustration burned a pattern through the universe in order to shape the spell anyways. Draining every remaining point of mana from his battery certainly helped form the spell, as well.


    But the energy thrummed, and grew, until it burst into reality through the conduit and out of the cart. It shuddered, started to glow slightly, and Tapper aimed the cart at the broken gap in the railing.


    Rethar had long since finished his existential crisis, as he was still stuck to the cart his anger could do little more than feed ever more inventive curses at Tapper''s direction. His diatribe crumbled into the wordless gibberings of fear as Rethar was offered a front-row seat of the cart careening through the hole he made, only for it to keep steady through the open air. The cart was flying?


    If Rethar craned his neck he could see a bright green light just in front of each wheel, screeching like tearing metal and leaving a solid band of silver in its wake. They were the perfect size to act as tracks for the cart to ride on, though Rethar couldn''t see what supported the tracks. What he could see was the cart start to pitch and the tracks swooped to match, always right where they needed to be. The damn robot was controlling it!


    A tinny whoop of joy deflated the tension in Tapper''s emotions like a balloon. It worked, his desperate ploy took form and Tapper could feel the mana thrumming through the cart. He was in control for now, but he needed more speed to really make use of his one opportunity. With a twist of will the cart pitched and angled itself sharply upwards, gravity quickly sapping away any speed as they gained height. Pushing more of his own willpower eked out a few more feet of height, but when that stopped helping he evened out the track and made this the apex of their ascent.


    Tapper had long since filtered out the sound of Rethar yelling, but as the cart leveled out Tapper caught sight of the man''s flailing arms. What was he yelling about now? "¡ª me up, you damn bot! I''m slipping help I''m slipping AAHHHH!"


    Tapper realized too late that the cart had only held Rethar in place with its momentum, and once that was lost Rethar fell from the cart. Right at its highest point, next to the gigantic orbiting hologram, and Tapper ran some quick calculations. He kept the margin of error very wide to ensure that the program ran quickly, and it returned that Rethar probably had a greater than 51% chance of surviving the fall, so Tapper scrubbed "Save Rethar" from his priority list. He''ll be fine, probably.


    Instead, all of Tapper''s attention snapped to the big boss down below. Zero was swinging and shooting indiscriminately now at anything that moved, but he wasn''t looking up so Tapper went all in on the surprise of speed. The cart shot downwards and Tapper resumed feeding willpower into it, pushing the cart faster than it could fall with mere gravity. With the last shred of his control Tapper hauled the cart upwards to level out, reeling back with his mind and letting go of his hands to roll free of the collision.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The last thing Tapper saw was the cart perfectly aligned with Zero''s knees before the world was sent spinning. Tapper didn''t see the collision, but he heard it. He heard the wailing screech of metal, the enraged roar of Zero, and far too many wet and organic sounds in-between. Tapper, meanwhile, skid and slid until a broken security robot gave him a very abrupt stop.


    [Injury: Dislocated shoulder


    Cannot attack or lift heavy objects with affected arm]


    Tapper tried to stand and one arm instantly gave out with a shock of pain, informing him what a dislocated shoulder felt like. He tried again without using his left arm, but winced again when he saw the total destruction he had wrought. A thick line of blood and small organic bits smeared across the floor, ending at half of Zero propped against the demolished cart. Technically more than half of Zero, going by mass, since his legs used to be a comparatively small portion of his body.


    No, recontextualizing it didn''t make any difference that Tapper had ruined beyond recognition everything Zero had below the waist. There was something about the region that Tapper knew was often a point of pride for some people, though he lacked all context on this piece of trivia. But the deed was done, Zero was in no condition to fight now, and without their management available the raider hierarchy would crumble in no time.


    The heap of Zero lurched and groaned, freezing Tapper in place. His resilience exceeded all predictive models! Two fuzzy cones of red light roamed in the floating concrete dust from Zero''s cybernetic eyes, spinning independently of each other, but one passed over Tapper and held still. Its cone focused into a thin ray of light and the other eye snapped over to join it, and Zero''s groan turned into a growl. He fell forward and propped himself on his hands without his eyes ever leaving Tapper, and the turret on his back started to twitch and swivel. "Damn BOT! You woooon''t REPLACE me..."


    The shot went wide, but the rush of air and noise knocked Tapper off his feet and whatever the artillery hit became a shower of screams and tinkling glass. Tapper crab-walked backwards on his back spindles towards the noise, since it was away from Zero, but with both of his arms disabled he wasn''t going to outrun the cannon a second time.


    "HEY, ASSHOLE!" The shout came too late to ruin the surprise of Phanya arriving at a full sprint, turning that momentum into a flying kick aimed at Zero''s metal jaw. It didn''t really damage the monster, but it did knock Zero off balance and the second shot from his cannon destroyed more of the background. Zero tried to retaliate by snapping at Phanya with his clamp-like jaws, but she easily sidestepped him and walked away as if he no longer mattered so she could help Tapper stand up.


    Tapper had to verify his optical sensors weren''t damaged. His proprietor was unharmed, and she was smiling! Relief washed through his emotional center, too much relief, enough for his subroutines to overload and speak autonomously. "Actually, I believe he no longer has an asshole." Phanya blinked once, made a face, and snorted with bemused laughter.


    Zero started to snarl something, but a sharp line of scalding heat interrupted him again. The laser shot went just over Zero''s shoulder and slagged the turret on his back, making Zero howl in pain as Steffo stepped up. The three stepped forward, Zero scooted back, and Tapper swelled with a heat yearning to end the fight. "Well, are ye ready to negotiate the terms of yer surrender?" His companions both made faces at Tapper''s sudden accent, but Zero gave a twitch of fear before rage consumed everything.


    The bulk boss roared within the last shards of his soul and his back bumped against the wreckage of the sample cart. In one fluid motion Zero righted it, got on top, and punched his clawed hand through the metal surface. His metal arm morphed, hard edges softening like hot wax to meld with the cart, and with a spark of electricity it came to life. The wailing of misaligned wheels was the last thing they heard as Zero sped away.


    [Enemy routed: Cybroid Berserker lvl 7, +15 XP for participation]


    DING!


    The sound had no discernable source nor volume, but everyone heard it. Everyone felt it, a single sharp chime from an infinitely large bell with a shockwave that kicked up dust and scattered rubble. The far wall of the atrium, already weakened by two impacts from a mobile artillery platform, collapsed with a long groan, and then all was still. "Oh excellent, I''m level 3 now!"


    "Hell yeah Tapper, was that from ohhh owshitfuck." Phanya lurched forward and hugged her torso, waving off the other two when they moved¡¤ toward her. "I''m fine, I''m fine! ¡­No I''m not fine, oh goddamn." She moved her hands to brace against her knees and Phanya tried to take slow steadying breaths, wincing with pain every time. "Okay, okay, I''m good, just surprised me. Yeah that''s definitely a bruised rib, thanks for the tip you dumb little message. I''ll be fine, just gimme a second. No Tapper, we can deal with this after we deal with that."


    Phanya waved behind them, where all the remaining raiders were either staring at the trio that defeated their boss, or milling in a stupor around the tracks left from Tapper''s magic trick. Two glowing, unbroken lengths of an unknown metal that rose, fell, and twisted in the ghost of a wild rollercoaster ride. Someone flicked one of the tracks and an ethereal tone rang out, answered by oohs and ahhs. "We gotta scatter them before they get any bright ideas."


    Tapper nodded and took an uneasy step on top of a broken security robot and tried to modulate his voice into the most commanding tone possible. "Oi, Raiders of Zero! We have conquered your dungeon, claiming all within! Flee now with your lives, else ye shall forfeit them as well!"


    No one moved, or even blinked, until Phanya stepped up next to Tapper. She breathed as deeply as she could manage, gulped down the wince, and shouted, "All this skrat is ours now, so you got five minutes before we send these securibots to hunt you down! Get out of our mall!"


    That did the trick, one by one the raiders came to their senses and ran off down the hallways, presumably to get one last round of looting in before they fled. Tapper attempted to give Phanya a thumbs-up, but his broken hand misfired and the lighter in his thumb lit itself instead. Steffo joined the two with his helmet off, and Phanya took a very close look before her eyes went wide with recognition.