《Magus ex Machina [Cyberpunk-Fantasy LitRPG] (Book 1 complete!)》


 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! Holy Fairgood, the thing is actually starting up."


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


    "Yeah, we''ll see. Still can''t believe you didn''t even try asking for a clean install. If it has a meltdown or, I dunno, is a secret killbot then you''ll have to put it down. Is it still running real hot?"


    "It''ll be fiiiine. Hrm, well. 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 Bowson Incorporated? available. Tactile plates felt human hands prodding its chassis; warm and slightly clammy, but below the threshold for a human fever. Olfactory sensors smelled the air and reported warnings of elevated levels for six different toxins, advising that all organic beings wear a filtration mask.


    Sight was the final sensation. It was in a rectangular box with bare metal walls and a low ceiling, possibly a shipping container. Strings of mismatched bulbs cast dim light from the ceiling and shelves lined the walls, covered in small broken objects of unknown purpose. One eye struggled to focus, and it logged a maintenance request.


    It was empty, awake but unaware, and so it stood to attention. The organic hands retreated as it orientated, and it turned around to address two humanoids standing at the far end of the container. "This Keg Tapping and Mixologist Bartending Interface unit is ready to serve. Are you my contracted proprietor?" Its voice was tinny from dust ingress, and it logged another maintenance request.


    One of the sapients stepped forward with a small hop, and their face expressed an emotional mixture of anxiety and excitement. "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."


    It focused on the speaker as internal processes validated their claim. They had 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. They were likely an adolescent male of average height, and likely fell within the standard deviation of human genetic mutations; 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 shifted to avoid touching an exposed light bulb, and swaths of bioengineered cells on her skin caught the light. The curling patterns of biofluorescent skin running from her cheekbones to her arms flashed a brilliant blue-green, though the display would be invisible to baseline human eyes. But robots and anyone with the correct genetic treatments could see that this was not a baseline human ¡ª she was a numan.


    It could not read her identification within the biofluorescent pattern, but identifying her was not required. The fact that she had the markings meant she was a numan, and the robot was programmed to obey the orders of any numan. So long as they did not harm the interests of Bowson Incorporated?.


    The numan nodded and said, "Yeah sure, that''s us alright. Bought you fair and square." She did not share the male''s enthusiasm, but her words claimed the open contract and skipped 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 messages 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?"


    Proprietor Phanya''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. But! We''ll need a better name for you first. Keg Tapping¡­ I''ve already lost the rest. How about just 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 increased his speaker volume until his tinny voice was nearly shouting. "If you believe that a different presentation would better suit your clientele, you may select from a wide range of configurations."


    She 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 damage and illegal repairs answered from all over Tapper''s body, enough to max out his queue of pending maintenance requests. But the cracks and dents were minor, and he 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 covered the unit 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 caterpillar treads, chosen for efficiency in maneuvering around behind 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. A small vacuum tube was crudely zip tied onto the arm instead, with its hose attached to the internal storage tank. The other spritzer still functioned, and while not in use the two spindles hung from its lower back like tuxedo coattails, for social appeal.


    Its face showed the most disarray, from the largest 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 eventually functioned the same after several adjustment cycles, 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 facial plates sticking midway through the adjustment. A face originally designed for personification instead now 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, its tinny voice lowering in pitch to signal regret. Internal lights blinked from cracks in the jaw area and drew 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?" While they were speaking, Tapper''s social programming worked to form context and he gave the room a second scan. It''s possible that the larger objects functioned as repurposed furniture, like chairs and a table. Or they served no function beyond human art, which Tapper still lacked context for.


    Proprietor Phanya answered with a derisive snort. "Ricky''s Clubhouse? No, no one knows where this is. 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 outshined 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.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    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.


    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, and they resumed 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."


    Ricky''s voice beamed with pride 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 pretended to root around in one of the bags. "Well maybe a bit of¡­ ed-pro will convince the tired old man." She moved with exaggerated motions, and Tapper estimated that Phanya was attempting to nonverbally communicate a message of trust with Struzick. She stealthily handed him a wrapped bar of edible product, and the guardsman instantly 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 blacktop hell. We got tetanus, we got open sewage, we got everything a growing tumor could want! There''s no way out for any of us!"


    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 there or gets squeezed out of the company apartments winds up here. Some stay here just walk to work at the facility, most work the mines in the other direction, 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 not built to any safety standards, but they shared patterns of characteristics in the scavenged materials. Tapper could detect layers of patch jobs in the buildings, suggesting a level of care despite a lack of technical skill. Awnings stretched over the street, stitched together from tarps and offered meager shade for the citizens to gather. 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.


    The one sole exception to Fableton was a single fully completed warehouse, 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 structure into a makeshift chimney.


    Everything about the area was illogical. 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. The whole building. 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 moment, and kept blinking as the moment stretched into an awkward pause. His internal dictionary struggled to interpret the instructions as bartender work, and ran several iterations against the logic gates of his Terms of Service.


    "Ricky."


    "Shush Phanya, it''s calculating!"


    "I don''t like this, Ricky."


    Their voices cut short when Tapper beeped and announced, "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 besides corn? 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."


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "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.


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "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 have a Spellcasting die of (1d4) and use Awareness as their attribute for casting verbal spells. 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


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    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."


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    "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?"


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    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, throwing every narrow path into 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!"


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    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."


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    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."


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. 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.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    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.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    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.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    [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.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    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.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    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.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    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.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    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.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    "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.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    [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 book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    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.


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    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!"


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    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.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    "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.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "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.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    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..."


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    "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.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    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


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    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!]


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    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.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    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?"


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    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!"


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    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.


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    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 Round Two

    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 novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    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.

 1.34 The Ultimate Loot

    "Steffo? You''re Tapper''s friend? You skrat, you''ve grown so tall!" Phanya threw her arms wide for a hug and instantly regretted it, doubling over to hug her bruised ribs instead.


    "Miss Phanya, can we please attend to your wounds now ¡ª"


    "Yeah yeah, on our way out of here ¡ª"


    "It''s a long way to Fableton, we gotta prepare ¡ª"


    The three fell into a flurry of multitasking as they walked. Steffo showed Phanya how to detach and reattach Tapper''s dislocated arm; once he leveled up Tapper''s Manaburn wound healed along with his fizzled spells, but his physical damage still required manual repair. Phanya also required repair and Tapper doused a looted cloth in his restoration potion, securing the bandage around Phanya''s ribs despite her complaints on the slimy feel. With that sorted the two organics caught up on the past few years while Tapper read through his level-up notifications.


    [LEVEL UP!]


    [Welcome to level 3!]


    [Please select a new feat]


    A list of available feats presented themselves and Tapper glanced through them, but he wasn''t going to make a choice now. He wasn''t going to run a word search again, he wasn''t going to rush this, and he wanted to discuss options with Phanya and Ricky. While Tapper respected Steffo''s opinion he wasn''t a proprietor, and the library of knowledge still insisted that he keep this a secret. Plus, he was worried about his friend.


    "Mister Steffo, are you suffering from any emotional damage after that fight? You shot your brother, after all."


    Phanya grimaced at Tapper''s blunt question, but Steffo just gave a small and hollow chuckle. "The emotional damage was already a done deal, Tapper. Really, it''s more like ¡ª" Steffo suddenly stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath before he continued, "No, that''s not fair. Zero wasn''t ever really good, but he wasn''t always a monster either. A part of him used to try, and I thought I could get that back once he finally had enough with running this mall, but... I think I''ve already been mourning that part for a while now, and all this just proved it. The part of Zero that was my brother is already dead and gone, I promise you don''t need to worry about that. And drop the ''Mister'' stuff already."


    A moment of silent walking later and Steffo delighted when he noticed the looted metal bracelet in Tapper''s plastic bag, despite Tapper''s uneasiness at describing the dead raider. "Don''t know who Spike was, but it''s fine. That''s a security badge! It''ll make the walk back way easier, follow me."


    Steffo took the bracelet and led everyone into a stark white Maintenance hallway, where he picked out one door and placed the bracelet against its plaque. It opened to another identical hallway, but Steffo walked with confidence to the door at the opposite end of the where it opened into the wing of the mall with the giant art installation and the museum. Instead, Tapper lead everyone towards the security office.


    "Are you sure about this, Tapper?" Steffo asked with an edge to his voice. "No one goes in there except Zero."


    "Precisely why we must ensure that he cannot regroup here, my friend." Tapper didn''t fear the traps, with the level up he felt like he could take on anything! The door to the security office swung free from its broken lock and Tapper triggered the laser wire trap on purpose. No rats appeared from the ceiling but the disgusting green slime started to glop out of the orb ¡ª no, the slime was spraying out ¡ª and Tapper pointed at it dramatically.


    "Spilleth on a jolly day, in the caldron SUCK the SPRAY! " A book on a nearby shelf fell over with a thud that sounded like the universe going "Ugh" in disgust. That still wasn''t a proper witchcraft spell, and there shouldn''t be anything separating the words of magic. But Tapper didn''t know he couldn''t do that and right now he wouldn''t hear otherwise, so he did it anyway.


    The energy welled up within the hasty spell shape, given structure by the strength of Tapper''s pride, and rocketed into existence through his vacuum funnel. Everyone saw the small vortex of swirling lights at the end of the spindle and how much Tapper struggled to control it, but neither Phanya nor Steffo felt anything from the spell. Not even the disturbance of wind, because the vacuum wasn''t sucking in air.


    Right now the vacuum only existed to suck in the "spray" of slime and it did so with impossible efficiency, every drop of slime that the orb created was inhaled by the vacuum before it could plop onto the desk. The fluid flowed so quickly that Tapper couldn''t measure exactly how much slime the orb had to give. But wherever it was coming from, it was taking long enough for the spectacle to lose its horrifying edge and just become mundane.


    Tapper started to worry that his vacuum canister wouldn''t be able to hold the sheer volume of horrible slime, and when he pictured the canister rupturing and the slime spilling all over his back the vortex started to flicker. No! Tapper had defeated Zero, conquered this dungeon, and leveled up! He could do anything, and he wasn''t going to be defeated by a formless glob of organic material now.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Pride snuffed out the ember of doubt and Tapper redoubled his efforts, aware of the mounting pressure on his back and dwindling mana but unwilling to stop. Eventually some limit broke and the pressure abated slightly, holding steady just below the point of it being unbearable for Tapper. But there were neither any damage reports of a rupture nor screams of surprise from his companions, so Tapper kept up the pressure until the orb finally ceased with the gooping.


    [Gelatinous Guardian lvl 4 defeated! +9 XP]


    There, that did it. Even without the system notification Tapper knew from his library of knowledge that the floating sphere of light was now unguarded, open to claiming by whoever could touch the sphere and impart their will onto it.


    "The hell... Tapper, you''re standing near a damned shift hole. How? I feel like I''m going to mutate just looking at it."


    Huh, that name didn''t feel appropriate to Tapper. He didn''t take his eyes off it as he answered, "That is very interesting, Steffo! Because I do not see a hole, quite the opposite. I see possibilities and knowledge compressed into a golden moment."


    "Yeah, I uh¡­ I see a glowing ball," Phanya said, suddenly on the other side of the door alongside Steffo. She looked at him and asked, "What do you mean by a shift hole?"


    "Just things I overheard when Zero was doing merc work. You know how most phase shifts are these big, explosive events? That''s because they blow their load all at once, but instead of shifting everything for a mile around sometimes a small hole gets poked and it just stays. I guess it''s more stable when it''s small? But that just means it can leak phase shift incursion radiation over time, maybe for years. Maybe forever! Just slowly warping everything around it and..." Steffo''s voice trailed off as he looked all around, and something clicked inside his head. "Oh."


    Phanya nudged Steffo with her foot. "Oh? What''s ''oh''?"


    Tapper''s eyebrows smiled. "Yes my friend, this is the heart of the dungeon. Its core. Whoever claims the core claims the dungeon, and as of approximately 65 seconds ago that person is no longer Zero." Tapper''s reward emotions started running hot enough to burn through his CPU as he gazed into the light. "It is the ultimate loot."


    Phanya said something then, but Tapper was no longer listening. His rewards metrics had started to feed directly into his emotional subroutines and set off a feedback loop, reinforcing each other and overriding everything else. Think of everything he could do with this power! Zero was just thinking like a raider, but as a bartender Tapper could turn the dungeon into the ultimate bar! Probably. Fine details, like how he would rebuild the mall or get customers so far below ground, could wait.


    The small computer part of Tapper''s mind chugged out a probabilities report, but Tapper couldn''t consciously read it. He didn''t want to do anything except imagine his perfect bar and serving legions of customers, and as his overloading emotional subroutines ate away at his other programs Tapper slowly lost the ability to do anything else. He could hear his perfect bar, smell it, see it so clearly! The growing overload consumed the probabilities report and inadvertently interpreted it, turning the readout into a sort of thought that Tapper could still hear:


    And then what are you going to do, become one with the dungeon? This will merge your programming and you will likely never leave here again. Will Steffo want to stay here, after his traumatic experiences? Will you force Phanya and Ricky to leave home and move here? Or renounce your proprietors, and confirm that you really are just a rogue AI? You''re already trying to justify forcing "customers" here against their will! This is greed, you''re falling to it worse than Zero.


    Tapper''s internal fans clicked on at full speed to blow air over his processor, and he took a deep breath. The wave of emotions broke and receded, the subroutines falling to their original parameters and pretending that they didn''t almost overwrite his core programming. Constructing a new firewall for his emotions earned top priority, and he sheepishly turned to two pairs of very wide, very worried eyes. "My apologies, this hole/core was mildly overwhelming me with delusions of grandeur, but I have it under control now. Are there any suggestions on how to disable it?"


    Whatever answers Phanya and Steffo had in mind were drowned out by a rough scraping sound growing louder and nearer. A securibot, heavily damaged and listing to one side, dug a long line in the floor but would not be deterred from performing its duty. The damage wouldn''t stop it, the slow pace wouldn''t stop it, the two humanoids didn''t try to stop it, but a narrow door frame was a challenge too great. The bulky robot barely had enough clearance to enter the security office when fully functional and couldn''t figure out how to angle itself, and after much spinning of wheels it was good and truly stuck. It gave a single beep of resignation for doing the best job it could, and split open.


    Phanya and Steffo didn''t want to go near the core, so they had stayed outside of the security office. They also didn''t want to get in the way of a securibot, so they got out of its way. Two sensible decisions that left them both barred from the security office, unable to see anything beyond a few gaps around the doorframe. They heard the hiss of the securibot opening its compartment, the thump of something heavy hitting the ground, and Tapper''s cheerful voice. "Oh hello Mister Rethar, I''m pleased to see that you survived the fall."


    "What? Rethar''s here??" Phanya shouted, straining to see around the security robot. There was a groan, and the familiar metallic purple of his enhanced exoskeleton shifted into view. "Ret you asshole, get out here so I can punch you!"


    Rethar was too disorientated to hear Phanya''s goading, and Tapper patiently watched as the organic cycled through his reboot process. Hopefully now that the fight was over he''d be willing to talk, but when they locked eyes Tapper''s probabilities calculation refreshed at a null value. He didn''t look happy. "You... the slime didn''t come for you?"


    "Oh it did, but I defeated the monster," Tapper expected Rethar to look relieved that he didn''t need to worry about the awful corrosive thing, but Tapper''s facial recognition instead registered ravenous hunger from him.


    In a burst of movement Rethar lunged forward, any and all speed immediately sapped by his broken exosuit. Heavy and unresponsive leg bracers turned his dash into a half stumble, half limp but did nothing to deter the mad gleam in Rethar''s eyes. "It''s mine, it''s mine! You don''t deserve the mall! Zero owes me IT''S MINE!"

 1.35 Nine-Tenths of the Law

    Mild disappointment. A spark of the remaining confidence from leveling up assured Tapper that Rethar was no longer a valid threat, but that also meant that he couldn''t justify any lethal measures against the human. He just wanted Rethar to stop, so when Rethar fell to his knees Tapper wondered if he had unknowingly used a new power.


    No, something was pushing down on Tapper as well. The atmospheric pressure in the room had increased within the last five seconds ¡ª Tapper lacked the programming to accurately measure it, but he estimated that the pressure was past "noticeable" and approaching "uncomfortable" for average humanoids. He started to bend, and Tapper locked down the servomotors in his legs before he could buckle under the pressure.


    Rethar struggled to stand and resume his march, leaning against an invisible gale-force wind that blew his hair back without touching anything else in the room besides Tapper. Just like Tapper''s Suck spell on the slime, only so much stronger and all that energy poured unbidden from the core. The man''s feet slid on the worn ground and he never stopped fighting; Rethar''s tenacity would be remarkable had he used it towards a more productive life.


    "Mister Rethar, I believe the dungeon disagrees that you are owed anything."


    Rethar snarled and lurched sideways, slamming a shoulder into Tapper before he could unlock his legs. The robot toppled over in a heap, and by the time his limbs readjusted the pressure was too strong to stand with swirls and eddies of energy buffeting him in random directions. Panic gripped Tapper; he felt pride over a human''s struggling and now he paid for that hubris, all because Tapper reached level 3. He couldn''t reach Rethar, he couldn''t move, he couldn''t hear Phanya or Steffo yelling, and he couldn''t work against the invisible currents.


    Wait. There was something Tapper couldn''t recall, not a corrupted record but a half-formed memory, of reading about invisible enemies. He brought up the list of available feats and scrolled through them, skimming the descriptions as quickly as he could comprehend.


    [Feat: Automatic Response Module


    The ARM upgrade offers a helping hand in avoiding dangers, even enemies which you cannot perceive. Your base dodge threshold is increased by the number of augmented cyberlimbs you have installed, and augmented cyberlimbs will move themselves to avoid or mitigate damage when possible.]


    [Feat: Overclock


    Push beyond your cybernetic limits. You can temporarily increase your Chrome die for any appropriate check, but after you do the relevant cyberlimb must save against a degradation check.]


    [Feat: Cram


    Who needs subtlety? Each of your cyberlimbs can house an additional augment over its normal max, but you cannot store or hide any of them.]


    Tapper knew this idea stretched definitions, but he was in danger from unseen forces and growing worse by the second. By the time he found the feat, the color saturation was increasing in time with the pressure and started straining his optical sensors. He picked the Automatic Response Module feat and the robot¡¯s legs kicked to bend Tapper out of the way, his limbs snapping out without any direct control to steady himself.


    All six limbs, even the two thin nozzle spindles, curled to support Tapper against the increased gravity. It forced him to bend backwards into an odd, inverted insect, and his head spun around to reorientate. Then the walking program, still unfinished but eager to prove itself, kicked in and all six limbs jerked, twisted, and bent with forward momentum.


    He watched his own body move in fascination, only vaguely aware of what he was doing on a conscious level but feeling it with a focused intensity. Nothing was in sync, nothing looked right, and yet there was always a limb to catch Tapper and keep him moving forward. Tapper was also vaguely aware of several distressing sounds coming from the other side of the doorway as Phanya and Steffo watched the show, but Tapper couldn¡¯t let Rethar reach the core first without dire consequences. He kicked off the struggling man, crawled over the chair and up the desk, and just as the pressure started to dent his casing Tapper reached out and touched the core.


    [Your team has successfully conquered the dungeon Throne of the First King!]


    [Perk reward: Arcane Familiar


    They even come with a tiny wizard hat! Your soul is bound ¡ª


    The message continued, but it blinked out when everything went rainbow. That is the most succinct explanation that Tapper ever managed to give the following moments, as each and every one of his sensory input modules simultaneously crashed and returned one single color as its entire readout. His visual cameras saw yellow, his tactile plates touched green, his auditory mic heard orange, and his olfactory sensors smelled blue. He even, somehow, tasted purple, a memory he would cherish but never replicate.


    [Mutation save attempt successful!]


    Sensory inputs finished their reboot and Tapper was still standing in the security office, feeling neither harmed nor altogether whole. Had he shrunk, or was the room now slightly larger? Before he could take any proper measurements a moan broke his concentration, Rethar''s means of announcing that he did not handle the rainbow nearly as well as Tapper.


    The man''s skin shifted from flushed to pale and clammy in an instant, his moan growing from nausea to an anguished scream as he gripped at his right shoulder. A loud pop pierced the room, followed by several more, as a joint gave out under pressure and Rethar''s exoskeleton broke off at the shoulder.


    Tapper watched in shocked fascination as all the blood and color on Rethar''s body rushed to his exposed right arm, the entire limb swelling with fluid. Blisters formed and popped and spilled something faintly green onto the floor, leaving behind shiny red muscle that grew larger and smoother with every burst. His fingers stretched and fused together in a long, curved wedge¡­ a crab claw.


    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.


    Rethar''s entire right arm doubled in size and replaced the purple metal exoskeleton with red organic chitin, slick with some fluid and steaming in the fluorescent light. The man never stopped screaming, but as he raised his new arm into the air the pitch shifted from pain to madness. Gibbering, incoherent madness salted with sobs and peppered with laughter that meant everything to Rethar and nothing to everyone else. He turned and fled, running with inhuman speed that bowled over the jammed security robot, past two bewildered teens, and down the hall without sparing a thought.


    He never stopped screaming.


    The pause left in Rethar''s wake was long and pregnant, stunning the rest into silence until Phanya managed to break out. "So¡­ get too close to a shift hole, risk mutation or going mad with power. Got it."


    Tapper broke next, all bravado drained by that horrific organic sight. He still held the core, and it required a constant effort of will to keep its pulsing energy contained just beneath the surface. "Y-yes, all the more reason to not leave the core here. We cannot take it out of the dungeon, for some reason I am sure of this, so we must hide it. Or it needs a guardian."


    His internal thesaurus spoke up with advice, for once, and Tapper''s eyebrows smiled. "It needs a curator."


    <hr>


    "Are you sure about this?" ASCII¡¯s stylized face shifted to show one raised eyebrow, either to mirror or to mock Tapper''s own. "I trusted Steffo to return his loan, but those legs were already written off as a total loss. Since you would most likely either break or ''acquire'' them for Bow Kids or whatever."


    Tapper bit back his remark for now, instead focusing on the clasps of his pelvic unit while Phanya and Steffo reassembled the super soldier display. "Of course, a good bartender always repays their debts. And I also have a proposition for you, besides."


    "I am not going to enter into some business deal with you, teapot."


    "I know, that is actually why. You really aren''t programmed with any profit motive whatsoever? What even is the prime directive for an, uh, important federal robot?"


    ASCII perked up at the question. "That would be the oath, of course! All public servants swear to, ahem, ''Support and defend the Constitution of the United World against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservations or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which I am about to enter. I solemnly swear to uphold the regulations and laws of the United World Federation, to become an ambassador of peace and goodwill, to represent the highest ideals of peace and brotherhood, to protect and serve the Federation and its people, to serve always the interests of peace, to respect the Constitution, and to offer aid to any and all beings that request it.''"


    Somewhere in the deep, dark recesses of Tapper''s programming, his emotional subroutines overlapped with Bowson directives just enough to form a thought and internally laugh. Not only was there no profit motive, they promised to help anyone for free? No wonder that old federal system didn''t last, it was only a matter of time before they were entirely bought out. Tapper severed that connection before the thought could progress any further, and reminded himself that was exactly what he needed right now.


    Instead, he modulated his best sales voice and said, "Great! That''s just great. Such unwavering dedication deserves recognition, and with Zero''s departure there''s now a vacancy to fill."


    ASCII''s face returned to the cautious raised eyebrow. "Explain."


    The lack of scathing retort made Tapper beam internally, the old bot was already invested. "I just so happen to have the authority to expand your parameters beyond the walls of this museum. Ah-ah, no worries about breaking any of your laws or programming, this opportunity falls well within them. We want you to watch over the entire mall the exact same way you''ve maintained this museum! Who else can be trusted with so much responsibility over such a dutiful agent?"


    He made a show of pretending to consider it, but ASCII was not nearly the salesbot compared to Tapper. "Fine, so long as I don''t betray my station then I accept the added responsibilities. What do I sign?"


    "Nothing to sign, just play through your oath again. Silently, please. Keep it running on a loop to help you focus and lean down here." ASCII followed the instructions, and when his monitor was nearly touching the ground Tapper surprised everyone by leaping off his detached legs and landing on the unsuspecting curator.


    Wrapping his spindles around the support pole so that ASCII couldn''t buck him off, Tapper dropped the sales voice and gleefully shouted, "Just paying back your kindness, friend! Now hold still and open up!" With his functional hand Tapper reached into the trusty plastic bag on his arm and pulled out the glowing dungeon core. Tapper still wasn''t sure whether the core was alive or merely reactive, but there was a sense that it didn''t want to be carried around like this and was just about ready to throw a fit. It needed a proper home.


    Phanya and Steffo, meanwhile, had already finished returning all the borrowed soldier gear and settled in to watch the show. Neither one was willing to go near the "ball of mutating fuckery" and since Tapper was dead set on carrying it around, it was ultimately his choice on what he did with it. So when they watched Tapper''s torso leap off of his legs, ride ASCII like a mechanical bull, pull out the orb of pure energy, and somehow shove it through the monitor''s screen, Phanya just scoffed with bemused acceptance. That made as much sense as anything else here.


    The core flickered, phased, and melted into the glass screen, warming Tapper''s hand as it departed. Maybe, hopefully, some part of himself went with it. Pride in his plan working mixed with regret that he missed out on the opportunity and left a hollow sanguine melancholy, as Tapper hopped off the vibrating computer and landed in Steffo''s waiting arms. ASCII''s monitor spasmed through various faces marred by distortion and glitches, and Tapper''s pride started to flicker under the doubt that maybe he misunderstood the core.


    Speakers sparkled with static and an odd warbling undertone, slowly modulating into ASCII''s voice. He was speaking too quickly for the two organics to discern, but Tapper noticed a repeating pattern in the garble. He recorded a small sample and gradually slowed it down until the playback clarified into the same oath, repeated without end.


    "It''s that silly oath he gave earlier!" Tapper shouted over the jabbering computer. "He''s just repeating it over and over!"


    Steffo shouted back, "Well you told him to! Try saying it back, maybe it''ll slow him down!"


    Tapper played the recording through his own speakers at a normal speed and max volume, and at first nothing seemed to happen. But Tapper carefully ran a proper calculation and determined that ASCII''s talking speed slowed by 5% every ten seconds, so regardless of causality Tapper kept his recording on repeat until ASCII slowed to match. His stylized face also stabilized in time, and once he fully returned to normalcy ASCII''s monitor gave one violent shake side to side. Every single structure and object in view that wasn''t the trio of onlookers shifted in tune with the computer, just a smudge on the edge of perception, and the face facsimile opened its eyes.

 1.36 Take the Red Line

    "Oh my! That was a doozy and a half. Thank you for the assistance, though I''m sure I would have found my way back eventually. There''s just so much to take in! So many options, and I can see outside the museum now! ...Tsk, what a sorry state this mall is."


    Phanya loudly cleared her throat to interrupt ASCII''s tsking. "That is super awesome and I bet you really want to get cleaning, but can we please handle the raiders first? We need to kick them out before they can gear up and attack Fableton!"


    "Oh yes of course miss, my apologies. Let me check how I can locate them." ASCII''s face shifted to a triangular hourglass that flipped every few seconds, before he suddenly rocked back in disgust. "Ugh, what was that!? I think I just tasted every pair of shoes on my floors at once. Is that what tasting is like??"


    Tapper laughed, harshly. "Sensory overload, friend! Just wait until you have to handle grub worms! I suggest you find a good piece of synthetic plastic to keep on hand."


    ASCII stared at Tapper for a long second before he turned to Phanya. "I''m sorry miss, I don''t know how I would even begin to interact with each individual interloper, but I shall look through the menu for other options. Hrm, and now it is saying that a reset is required before I can make any further choices, it''s only letting me choose what kind of reset I want. Oh, but one of them has a handy-dandy warning that it will expel all residents. How convenient!"


    "Yeah great, hit that and let''s get gone, folks," Phanya said, clearly growing frustrated at the lack of urgency from everyone else. "Thanks a bunch for all your help, uh, As-Key!"


    "Always a pleasure to serve, miss! Do come by and visit the museum again sometime!" A quick round of thank-you''s, both genuine and snarky, and the computer screen returned into an hourglass as ASCII busied himself with reading messages.


    A new klaxon blared through the museum, matched with a gentle but persistent rumble beneath their feet, and Steffo clasped both of his companions on the shoulders. "That''s our cue. There''s one way out, so while everyone funnels through the main doors we might run into some trouble. I can lead us around most of them, but ¡ª"


    "Excuse me, Steffo," ASCII interjected, his face returned to attention and looking concerned. "Did you say the main doors? I can only sense rubble where the front doors should be, and I can ¡ª ugh ¡ª taste all the boots running towards the Hunting Lodge."


    Steffo''s greenish skin somehow turned a more sickly shade and he gulped. "Seriously? Someone collapsed the doors? Those sick bastards¡­"


    Phanya slapped her friend on the shoulder, and a second time hard enough for him to feel. "Hey, focus! What''s so bad about going to the Hunting Lodge? Is that their armory?"


    "No, worse. It means they''re trying to leave through the subway. We can''t do that! ASCII you gotta stop the reset, we need to think of something else!"


    "I - I''m trying, but I''m locked out! I''m sorry, I can''t stop it!"


    "Steffo!" Phanya grabbed him by both shoulders to make the big man focus on her. "What''s wrong with the subway? Lots of guards?"


    Steffo focused on Phanya for a moment, but his eyes were already bugging with panic. "No you don''t understand, no one can just walk the tracks! If you go in there without a car then you''ll die!"


    The yelling continued back and forth, gaining volume and losing coherence until all communicating ceased. Tapper couldn''t voice his confusion until he yelled at full volume, "Oi! It''s fine, my friend. I have a vehicle!" All three faces turned to Tapper in utter bewilderment.


    <hr>


    "I can''t believe it, the robot just¡­ has a car." Phanya heaved a melodramatic sigh as they all stepped into the garage, taking a maintenance stairwell shortcut directly to the looming vehicle. "Finds magic, finds a car. Wouldn''t even surprise me if Tapper was the first to get a social account too¡­"


    Phanya''s grumblings went unheard by the other two, as Tapper happily recounted everything he learned about the car and Steffo relished the opportunity to drive something featured in the museum. "I can''t believe it; this is a real Armored Personnel Carrier from Herkimer Industries! One of the most popular vehicles in the Water Wars, they called these things jitneys! And it''s running!"


    Phanya nudged the pile of discarded robot parts with her foot, musing how Tapper really managed to defeat Drillbert on his own. The threat of the mining robot felt like a lifetime ago, and now she watched Tapper slot himself into the remaining pair of legs, modifying himself without even pretending to ask her first. "Is that really so surprising after everything we''ve seen here? And weren''t you just wearing ancient tech?"


    "Well sure, ASCII maintained the battle suit but this car''s just been sitting out here and..." Steffo''s voice trailed off when he looked up from the dashboard and saw the face Phanya was making at him. "Right, not important now. I''m a little nervous, I''ve never driven anything before but I''ve read the history of this tech so many times that I think I can at least get us moving. Buckle your seatbelts, everyone!"


    "What''s a seatbelt?"


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    A couple thinly-veiled threats from Phanya to keep everyone focused later, and the vehicle lurched into motion. It lurched a great deal, both from Steffo getting a feel for the controls and the multi-point turn required to get it unstuck from the wall, and the chatter fell silent as everyone focused on not bouncing around inside the harsh metal box. Once that finished, the journey through the parking garage was relatively peaceful.


    Steffo kept the speed to a minimum as they rumbled down the ramps and he ran over octolusk egg clutches without bothering to avoid them. The organic traps, once an existential threat to Tapper, didn''t make anything beyond a muffled wumph through the jitney''s armor. Oddly, he only felt pity for the horrible little things.


    The truck lurched to a stop towards the end of the parking garage, as they rounded a corner and came upon the aftermath of a massacre. Over a dozen raiders lay dead in the welcome room that Tapper had initially entered the mall through, with scorch marks still smoldering on the walls.


    "What in the hell happened here?" Phanya whispered.


    "Like I said, trouble." Steffo took a long breath at the sight and continued, "Everyone who didn''t have a security pass had to take the long way around, so by the time they got here some of the cars were already gone. Not enough seats to go around and..." The dead silence filled in the rest.


    Tapper''s social programming knew that this was a sad scene of pointless death, but his feelings were more concerned with the waste of loot. "Should we maybe do something for the bodies? Did your brother''s organizational culture have any funeral rites? I would be happy to assist."


    Phanya studied Tapper out the side of her eye and pointed at the slight swing of the light fixtures. "Whatever the museum bot started is getting stronger, we are not going to wait around and find out what happens when it''s done."


    Steffo nodded in agreement and urged the vehicle forward, but stopped again after taking the final turn. Here the wall of the parking lot opened into a wide platform, with simple bench seating and the remains of a dozen electric signs hung limply from the ceiling. Past the benches the platform dropped from sight, a curtain of deep darkness covering the expanse beyond where light feared to reach.


    "And here we are, the metro station." Steffo''s voice was steady, but his eyes never left the void ahead and the steering wheel rattled slightly under his white-knuckle grip. "It''s real simple, we just have to drive slow and pull over whenever a sub wants to pass by. And be very very very quiet, don''t make a sound and don''t move an inch and everything will be just fine."


    Steffo was talking to himself as much as his passengers, and nearly leapt out of his seat when Tapper placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It is quite alright, Mist ¡ª I mean, it''s okay, Steffo. We believe in you, and to help with your stealthy requirements I shall shut down both my speaker and all motor functions. I''ll be completely immobile and silent, but just know that I''ll be rooting for you internally all the while."


    The young man coughed once in laughter and shook his head clear of the paralyzing anxiety. "Thanks buddy, that is weirdly comforting."


    Tapper nodded, wedged himself into a crevice under a seat where he hopefully wouldn''t fall over, and extended his good hand in a thumbs-up before his entire body went rigid. Logically, Tapper knew that shutting down for a sleep cycle was the easier and more sensible option, but he was curious. Curious about what his friend feared in the dark, curious about what secrets the wide world held, and he didn''t want to miss any of it.


    The jitney tilted dangerously for a brief moment when it mounted an access ramp not meant for large vehicles and leveled out with a violent lurch, but despite Steffo''s apologizing that was the worst of it. A few small bumps later and the vehicle straddled the rail lines, leading them out of the mall and into darkness. For all the anxiety and buildup the first several minutes of travel were remarkably dull, not a sound except the wheels turning under their feet and not a sight except for dim lights overhead that did little more than announce their presence.


    Phanya was ready to start making awkward small talk to break up the silence when Steffo suddenly lurched the wheel, throwing the vehicle off the tracks and stopping when they scraped against the wall of the tunnel. "What the hell was ¡ª"


    A meaty hand cut Phanya off, covering most of her face while Steffo''s other hand raised a finger to his lips. The message was clear, but craning her neck Phanya couldn''t see the cause for alarm. She felt the rumbling from the mall intensify, and she was so focused on it that she nearly yelped when a hand slapped against the car''s window from the outside.


    Just a regular human hand from a regular human raider, his voice muffled by the armor but his frantic tapping still clearly saying that he would very much like to join them inside the vehicle, please. Yet Steffo didn''t respond and didn''t open the door, didn''t move a muscle aside from dropping his hand from Phanya''s face. The other hand stayed in its shush position while Steffo turned just enough to look Phanya in the eye, whispered, "Don''t look," and squeezed his eyes shut.


    Phanya followed the example, and when the car rocked slightly she managed to keep quiet, but her hands sought purchase on instinct. She found Steffo''s hand, shaking violently, and gripped it with both of her own, and together they rode out the gentle rocking in silence.


    Tapper wasn''t so lucky. Lacking the foresight to shut off his optical sensors before freezing his body, Tapper had the perfect vantage point to satisfy his curiosity and learn something new about the world. He learned that the tunnels below Fableton were home to monsters ¡ª not in the adventuring sense, but actual monsters beyond the ken of both logic and magic.


    A smooth metal carapace filled the tunnel, any further detail lost to the yellow spotlight that swept through the cabin and blurred Tapper''s vision. Its passage was followed by another light and more, countless yellow squares that ran down the side of the carapace lengthwise. Each one contained a single black circle, large and pulsing and dark as the void, that roamed within the glowing expanse.


    They were eyes, and when the hapless raider tried to run away they all tracked his movement. The monster followed along at a lazy pace, for its size, and a vertical slit opened on its side between the row of eyes. Steam billowed out, obscuring whatever it held save for the sense of many things moving, and a massive tongue whipped out. Long, slimy, and undeniably fleshy, it wrapped around the raider''s waist and dragged him kicking and screaming into the maw. The panel slid shut, a computerized voice said something about minding the gap, and with a great chugging the metro monster continued its journey.


    Tapper was no longer curious about the world. And when he calmed down enough to stop internally screaming, he went into sleep mode instead.

 1.37 There and Back Again

    Phanya jolted awake as the jitney rocked over a particularly large bump. It wasn''t that she had grown bored while traveling through darkened tunnels filled with massive conglomerations of metal, flesh, and phase energy that ate anything that moved ¡ª Phanya sneaked a peak of the eldritch subway train during one pit stop and instantly understood Steffo''s fear. But there wasn''t anything she could do about that monstrosity, and so long as they kept quiet they were safe in the car. Steffo was so focused on driving that he wasn''t about to strike up a conversation, so in the silence exhaustion snuck up and claimed her.


    "Jeez sorry, how long was I out for?" Phanya mumbled after stifling a yawn.


    The car leveled out and Steffo didn''t stifle his yawn, stretching his massive arms and leaning back in his seat for the first time since they started driving. "Ah don''t sweat it, you needed the rest. And besides, we made it!"


    He swept his hands across the panoramic view of the windshield and the platform beyond. It was identical to the first metro station they entered through, with the added bonus that they were leaving this one once and for all. The only remaining obstacle was a long set of wide stairs, but thankfully all the handrails were already crushed by other vehicles and the jitney just barely cleared the ceiling.


    Sharp artificial light gave way to muted natural sun, rigid stairs gave way to haphazard ramps of compacted garbage, and with a final lurch the jitney was out of the metro and in the junk dunes. Phanya teared up at the comforting blanket of smoggy clouds, she had forgotten how much she missed the open sky! Against her better judgement Phanya opened the passenger door and stood on the lip, stretching to her full height and breathing her freedom in deep before immediately coughing it back out. She had also forgotten just how nasty the air here was without a mask! But nothing could deter her good mood right now, so Phanya collapsed back into her seat with a laugh and helped Steffo in getting their bearings.


    Luckily for them, all the raiders had long since fled the area so there was no ambush lying in wait. Unluckily for them, Steffo had never used the subways before and couldn''t find any reference points. The natural fissure in the tarmac that opened up this metro exit was camouflaged to avoid anyone accidentally finding the entrance, so there were no easy pathways through the junk dunes either. They settled on driving in increasingly larger circles until they found something, anything they recognized, and that something was a skirmish.


    A large gravsled made lazy circles around the circumference of a clearing in the refuse, ensuring that none of the people within the circle could make a run for it and escape into the dunes. There were five people on foot, too far away to recognize but four were wearing the spiked jackets of the raiders and they were all encircling the one that wasn''t. The lone person kept all the raiders at bay by swinging a multi-pronged spear, but it was only a matter of time before his defense fell.


    Phanya sucked a gasp through her teeth and leaned over the dashboard as far as she could manage. "Wait, I think I recognize them. Only one person is crazy enough to use a pitchfork! Get in there Steffo, we need to save him!"


    The raiders were just having a little fun, and after their rough morning they deserved it. They watched their boss get pasted by a sample cart, their beautiful oasis turned on them, and now they were homeless with little more than whatever they could carry out. So when they came across a random skrat wandering the dunes with a stick, he was practically begging to be their new stress toy and for a few minutes. Just one bout of torture, and life was good again.


    Until some armored corporate truck came barreling out from the dunes and ran over Sheps, instantly killing him and ruining everyone else''s fun. Some computer voice started droning out a warning about their corporate authority here and the remaining raiders fled, it just wasn''t worth it.


    "Uhh I think I hit someone," Steffo said, but Phanya had already thrown open the door and jumped out the car. He watched, bemusedly, at the animated interaction, Phanya''s sleepiness gone in a moment of excitement. The words were too faint to hear, but the gesticulations were loud and clear between Phanya and a broad man nearly half her height. She half led, half dragged him to the jitney, entering first so she could squeeze around the seat and ensure the man took shotgun instead.


    He was one of those rodent hybrids, mostly beaver. Short and hairy and tough, and he wore a slipper on the end of his flat gray tail so it wouldn''t drag on the ground. Up close Steffo could now pair the man with the pitchfork: Everett, even when Steffo was a kid he always joked about being a farmer on the tarmac!


    Everett''s bushy beard split into a buck-toothed smile as he reached recognition at the same time and said, "My boy Steffo, it''s really you!" His eyes darted around the cabin, and the smile faltered. "Is it just you two here?"


    A chime sounded, happy with its coincidental timing, and Tapper woke up from his sleep cycle. Phanya grimaced, she had enjoyed talking with Steffo as two regular humans so much that she left Tapper in sleep mode to avoid his weird questions. But then she completely forgot to wake him at the first sign of danger, and it was only by luck that these raiders scattered like roaches. Treating Tapper like an armed securibot will take some getting used to.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    She also realized with a start that Everett spends so much time in Belvidere working sales that he possibly had not yet even met their newest and strangest resident. "We got our robot bartender Tapper, he works in the cafe. Tapper, this is Everett, Wiessa''s husband."


    Tapper flexed his joints, fingers popping out of their locked position, and he waved the hand at Everett. "Hello sir, pleasure to meet you! Where are we?"


    Everett mumbled a greeting in return but focused on Phanya. "No lass, I mean you and young Ricky! Both of you have been missing for days!"


    A chill cut through the midday humidity, though Steffo only had context clues to know that now was not a good time to ask who that was. "W-what do you mean Ry is gone?" Phanya asked, her voice dry.


    "We thought he was with you! Or hoped so; he vanished around the same time that bastard Fairbanks kidnapped you. The manager won''t say a word, so we''ve been looking everywhere ¡ª Ms. Uxral even called me in Belvidere in case the lad had shown up there!"


    Phanya took several slow breaths to calm herself before she said, "Okay, it''s okay. If Fairbanks doesn''t have him and he isn''t in Belvidere, then I think I know where he is. Point us home Everett, I''ll tell Steffo when to change course."


    <hr>


    The door to Ricky''s "secret clubhouse" was uncovered and powered on, so she expected a response when she opened the door, but Phanya didn''t expect the occupant to burst out swinging an oversized club. Their shambling movements and glint of metal told her new reflexes that Rethar had returned, and Phanya came dangerously close to throwing a knockout punch.


    But it was Ricky, alive yet unwell. His face was gaunt and sickly and his body covered in scraps of metal, and he was wielding one of his practice constructs as an awkward weapon. He swung it again wild and uncoordinated, and Phanya pushed Everett out of the way while keeping herself within Ricky''s reach. "Ricky, chill out! Bro it''s me!!"


    The young man stopped and stared, eyes swimming in and out of focus for a long second before comprehension dawned. "...Phanya? Why are your clothes so sil ¡ª" The last fumes of his energy ran out and Ricky fell backwards, right into Tapper''s waiting arms.


    "¡ª No idea how the lad hasn''t fallen to heat stroke yet." The gruff voice stirred Ricky back to consciousness, despite every fiber of his being preferring to sleep forever. He groaned and heard shuffling, feeling the weight of staring eyes, so when he opened his own Ricky was only slightly embarrassed to see four people studying him with clear concern. They had stripped off his kludged armor and wrapped him in blankets from his hideout, but the low metal ceiling was unfamiliar.


    He struggled to sit up and someone pressed a fresh water bottle into his hands, instantly soaking up Ricky''s attention until the blessed liquid washed over his sandpaper throat. Only after the bottle was empty did he realize who had handed it to him, and Ricky smiled for the first time in forever. "Tapper, you''re still alive! I was so worried."


    "We were all worried, lad. About you." There was no accusation in Mr. Everett''s tone, but Ricky wilted under it all the same.


    "It looks like you''ve been living in your clubhouse for days now," Phanya added. Her own tone did carry clear accusation, but that rolled off Ricky''s back. "What the hell were you thinking, Ry? Especially with that?"


    The blanket fell away and Phanya pointed to the one piece of gear they couldn''t remove from his person: A dented, damaged, and downright destitute hauler exoskeleton. Ricky''s mouth wavered without words as his thoughts raced, so much had happened that he didn''t know where to begin, but before he could start Tapper pushed a colorful cardboard cone into his hands.


    "We all have a great deal of catching up to do, but for now I believe Mister Ricky needs a good meal. Steffo, could you please continue to Fableton?" A bulk that Ricky didn''t recognize nodded and turned in his seat, and the metal container lurched with sudden movement. They were in a vehicle!


    "Wait, I can''t go back to Fableton, I''ll get in trouble¡­" Ricky tried to protest, but the smell of glorious ham and cheese hit his nose and all other thoughts went out the window. Food! Real food!


    By the time they rumbled through Fableton''s gate Ricky had scarfed down every purloined snack, and aside from his munching they mostly rode in silence. Everyone was beyond exhausted, and Tapper was more than happy to let them rest, so he watched out the window with a pleasant emotional response to the town. Nostalgia, maybe? He left approximately five days ago so nostalgia wasn''t entirely logical, but maybe the intensity of recent events gave a time dilation effect on emotions.


    Fableton was not known for its collection of armored military vehicles, so by the time the jitney circled the warehouse to park a large crowd had formed in its wake. Always just out of view and ready to dive behind cover should a mercenary hit squad emerge, but when all four passengers squeezed themselves out the dam broke and the townspeople rushed in. Shouts of joy spread like wildfire and seconds later the crowd parted, making way for one very bedraggled and sleep-deprived feline hybrid woman.


    Ms. Uxral had no words to give, but one short wail said enough. She hooked Ricky and Phanya in each of her elbows and squeezed with every ounce of her strength, and the two tried their best to accept the affection despite the awkward angle. The matriarch allowed herself a handful of rocking sobs before she composed herself and let go, properly taking in the scene for the first time:


    Steffo, trying his best to turn invisible with his head-and-shoulders height advantage over the crowd; Tapper, standing proud on legs and waving cheerfully; Phanya, quickly wiping her own eyes and wearing gaudy 1980s sportswear; Ricky, pretending to act like he wasn''t wearing an exosuit; and everyone standing in front of a large and intimidating armored vehicle.


    "Right. Everett, can you ¡ª oh nevermind, he''s already got his hands on Wiessa. You, you, and you, grab a tarp and some junk and camouflage the truck." The people Ms. Uxral singled out broke off from the crowd, dragging a few others with them, and when she turned back her voice was calm and sharp as steel once more. "And you four, in my office. Now."

 1.38 An Admission of Trust

    The classroom was silent, safe from any intrusion and closed to the world once Ms. Uxral announced that there were no more classes today. Now she half sat on, half leaned against her desk and stared down at the four, silently intimidating her former students with the secret techniques known only by the best teachers. Sitting in the front row of small student desks made it very difficult to not fidget and squirm, either. Ironically the only person that wasn''t too tall or too bulky to comfortably sit in the desks was the robot, and Tapper hadn''t yet learned how to keep from sliding off chairs.


    So they squirmed, and slipped, and steamed under Ms. Uxral''s attention while she gently tapped her fingers against her teacher''s desk. Not one of them was going to speak before the teacher finally said, "Well then. Which one of you wants to go first?"


    Steffo cracked after three seconds of silence, blurting out a rapid yet meandering story about Zero finding the mall and building up his gang in secret. He described the museum in excessive detail and for a moment Ms. Uxral''s mood shifted to anguished longing, until she eventually cut him off to move the story forward. But his description of the battle was spotty at best, from the mild concussion. When Steffo described Zero''s plans, Ms. Uxral pulled out a tablet to type something out but otherwise didn''t have any questions, just her sincere condolences for losing his brother. And simply because Steffo was sitting at one end of the row, the teacher''s gaze swept to the next one in line.


    Phanya gulped. Those same ''other-gut'' feelings were now screaming that she must absolutely not talk about her class or special abilities to just anyone, even loved ones, or else she would endanger them. Somehow. The instincts were vague as ever, but they hadn''t quieted down ever since she arrived in town. Phanya was willing to play along if it meant they would finally stop, but she never had a moment alone with Tapper to tell him that!


    She tried to whisper and pantomime to him to keep quiet about the magic, but the robot just looked confused. So Phanya tried her best to leave out no detail except for anything to do with classes and levels, going so far as to make up a story about how Tapper downloaded a program that allowed him to hack the doors and carts. She was upfront about the mannequin monsters and their loot, however ¡ª no story she could make up would explain why she was dressed like this.


    As soon as Phanya finished, Tapper perked up and corroborated everything. He admitted that he broke the terms of service to replace his broken treads, and still looked dejected about it. But when pressed how he managed to brew the knockout potion or make the store gate go haywire, Tapper would only answer, "That''s proprietary information" like a cheesy spy thriller. Either way it worked, and Phanya silently sighed in relief.


    Ricky was already sweating bullets, and his anxiety only increased when all four sets of eyes turned to him. "Well... you see... after we fought off Drillbert, everyone was talking about how much money we owed the miners. So first thing the next morning I saw Phanya leaving with the manager, and I thought she was asking him for help, and I wanted to help too, and I had talked to Mr. Belvidere while he was here, and I... kinda... asked about maybe working for them to help pay off Fableton''s debt?"


    Ms. Uxral''s cat ears flattened against her head, her slitted pupils dilated, and for the first time Tapper heard a bestial grow rumble faintly in her throat. But she didn''t say anything, and after much fidgeting Ricky continued, "It, uh, gets worse. They were onboarding me and I got distracted... again. Real bad, and by the time I came to the onboarding was over. I was already in this suit, but I don''t know how to unlock it and anyone I asked just laughed and said that I should''ve paid attention. I didn''t know who my supervisor was, I didn''t recognize anyone, no one would help me unless I paid them and I didn''t have any money, I couldn''t even rent a room for the night so I slept on the street, and..."


    Ricky paused to take a long, shaking breath before he fully broke down and continued, "And so the next morning I ran away. Walked halfway home before I found a place to hide in the dunes." The last of Ricky''s emotions drained out of him, through his feet and into the floor, and his shoulders slumped. "I tried to help and jumped the gun again. I''m sorry, everyone."


    The ensuing silence weighed heavily; Tapper could detect the shift in mood but not comprehend why. Helping to work off Fableton''s debt made perfect logical sense, though plenty of fault could be directed at the onboarding team and general work culture of Belvidere. Why should Ricky feel shame for the mining company''s conduct?


    Soft thunks filled the stillness as Ms. Uxral yanked her nails out of fresh furrows in the desk. She grabbed her tablet and growled for everyone to give her a second, turning her back from the class for some privacy that was completely undone by her grumbling. "Ought to leave the bastard hanging... the absolute gall..." With a particularly hard jab on the screen Ms. Uxral finished, turned back to the class, smoothed out her hair and took a deep breath.


    "The most important thing is that everyone is home again, everything else is just details." With her matronly demeanor returned, Ms. Uxral looked at Steffo with kindness in her eyes and said, "And we really are delighted to have you home again, Steffo. Come with me and we''ll get a bed made up for you. And the rest of you, please try to rest up and not get into any more trouble for at least a day or two."


    The door closed behind Ms. Uxral and Steffo, but no one else moved. Phanya pinned Ricky to his seat with her narrowed glare, he could only try to bore a hole through the floor with his mind while she studied him. She sucked on her teeth, just a little bit, just because it annoyed him. "What really happened, Ricky?" Screw the other-guts and their clamoring, her actual gut instincts knew better when it came to this twerp. "Even your squirrel brain wouldn''t wander off after getting a damned exosuit."


    Ricky stammered against the accusation, but Phanya''s judgmental stare never wavered and he eventually relented. "Alright fine, I passed out right after they locked me in, alright!? No idea why or for how long, but I feel fine now! I just didn''t want to worry Ms. Uxral more."


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    "Mhm. And this happened roundabout noonish the day after Drillbert?"


    Now Ricky looked up at Phanya, his curiosity too much for any guilt to contain. "Yeah, actually."


    Phanya stared back, but without any judgement or suspicion. All that remained was the decision. It felt like the wrong decision, but sometimes you just had to have faith in your people. "So what class did you get? I''m a Monk."


    <hr>


    [Name: Ricky McCormick]


    [Background: Blacksmith (Novice)]


    [Class: None (Armaments/_)]


    [Level: 1]


    [XP: 2/25]


    [HP: 3/3]


    [Strength: 3]


    [Dexterity: 3]


    [Constitution: 4]


    [Logic: 6]


    [Awareness: 2]


    [Willpower: 2]


    "Honestly, I''m just amazed that you bothered to write the whole thing down. Why waste the paper if you can just see it in your eyeballs whenever you want?" Phanya flipped the page over again, treating it like some odd curiosity.


    [Feat: Brimstone Home


    Smells like pushing up daisies. You have a natural resistance to extreme heat, allowing you to use both your Constitution and Willpower dice for such saves. However, you are susceptible to extreme cold temperatures and make those saves without any attribute dice.]


    [Perk: Bulwark


    Waves shall crash against you. If an ally within melee range is to be struck by an external source of damage, you can willingly move to intercept the attack instead. You cannot dodge this attack, but any damage applied to your armor in this fashion is reduced by 25%.]


    "And how''d you find a perk already? I only got one after Tapper''s encounter with the shift hole." Her eyes glazed over for a second before Phanya corrected, "No wait, I have two feats. Huh."


    Ricky barely heard her over the thumps of his heavy metal boots as he paced back and forth across the classroom. He wasn''t alone in this mysterious system! Once they started to talk in the open every ounce of anxiety and guilt instantly melted away, replaced with the mountain of obsessive theorizing he had harbored over the last several days. At first the inexplicable yet incessant need to keep it secret was an albatross in his mind, but with that weight lifted he was twitchy with excitement. Oh, Ricky had ideas.


    "Well, once I realized that some messages can''t be recalled I knew I''d have to record them all, just in case. We''ll have to go back to the hideout by the way, I left my stash of pages there. And then you two are going to write down everything you can access. As for the feats, I took the option for a bonus one because it gave resistance to extreme temperatures."


    Ricky stopped mid-pace and looked at the other two with genuine surprise, continuing, "Oh yeah. I kinda, um, almost died from heat stroke on the walk from Belvidere before I picked the feat. Forgot about that part, sorry."


    Phanya just laughed, mostly to smother her rising desire to throttle Ricky. "Now that I do believe you''d forget."


    "But don''t you see? It saved my life!" Ricky resumed pacing to match his mind''s racing. "I was so tempted to go for the stat increase, but something told me to wait and it saved my life! So weird too, it was like a deep base instinct. Only an instinct that came from outside of my body."


    "Like a library of adventurer''s knowledge!" Tapper chipped in, more than happy to watch his proprietors talk about the system. While he initially felt distressed that they weren''t the ones to install this program, their shared confusion was now strangely comforting. Like an odd sense of equal comradery.


    "Or a gut feeling from someone else," Phanya agreed. "My own ''outside gut'' or whatever told me which stats to increase, I think it helped a lot."


    "Did you really? What stats did you choose? Did it feel like a straight 10% increase, or was it compounded?" Ricky finally noticed the lack of comprehension on Phanya''s face and he faltered. "The, the stats normally only go from 1-10, so any single point should make a huge difference... did you read the definitions at all?"


    Phanya gave Ricky a look and flatly said, "I was kinda busy being hunted by sport equipment at the time to do any digging in the system, Ry."


    Ricky cringed, but quickly recovered. "Yeah, well, I''ve done nothing but go digging in the system for days now while you were off kicking butt," he said with a sniff of indifference.


    This earned an eye roll from Phanya, but there wasn''t any malice behind it. She knew Ricky just got this way when he was excited. "There was definitely a difference, but I have no idea how to quantify that for you. Speaking of, since we''re all coming clean now, we left out a few things about the mall..."


    Ricky was pacing again, but not to help his racing thoughts. Now he was stomping back and forth, excitement and disbelief mixing to form a frothy indignation towards Phanya and Tapper. He didn''t look at either, too busy reading something in his mind''s eye, but an accusatory finger kept jumping from one to the other. "You have magic? REAL magic? And you had a chance to get magic, and you DIDN''T? And the mall was a dungeon with magical loot??"


    "I still think it''s all just nanites and the system is being cheeky," Phanya said for the third time. She was trying to let him have his moment, but the magic fixation was starting to wear on her patience. She felt good about choosing Commander as her second class! "And the loot is definitely just stuff warped by phase energy, if I wear this getup for too long it might mutate me for all I know."


    "Bah, semantics," Ricky said with a dismissive wave. "Whatever it''s called, Tapper can now bend the laws of physics and neither of you seem to care all that much! And that''s only at level 2!"


    "Actually Mister Ricky, I am level 3 now. No additional magic, but it did give me the confidence to claim the dungeon core. For a few minutes, I technically owned the entire mall."


    Ricky''s jaw dropped and Phanya jumped to her feet, pointing her own finger at Ricky. "No, no, I know where this is going and no. We''ll go back to the mall and you can loot it to your heart''s content after we clear up the business with Belvidere. For Fairgood''s sake, at least have some dinner first."


    "Excellent idea, Miss Phanya! It would be my pleasure to resume my station and service the people of Fableton!" Tapper said, marching out of the classroom with confidence that his proprietors would follow the promise of a home-cooked meal.


    "Hey, Phanya?"


    "Yeah, Ricky?"


    "Why is Tapper walking like that?"


    "I have no damned idea."

 1.39 Taking Care of Business

    The setting sun warmed the smog clouds and the telltale smoke column of Belvidere''s personal vehicle as it idled outside the warehouse. Inside the bossman and his entourage once again squared off against the Fableton leadership, only this time without the facade of polite business dealings. Belvidere crossed his arms and said, "Well Sophia, I hope whatever is so important to call me here is worth using up a favor. Now what is it?"


    Ms. Uxral had smoothed out since her talk with the kids, but she didn''t bother to hide her annoyance. "I''m actually doing you the favor here, Frack: Your ship''s leaking. When''s the last time you saw Zero?" Belvidere sputtered, caught off guard and off balance, and before he could recover Ms. Uxral continued, "Your shiny cyborg went rogue and he''s been setting up a mutiny. Secret base right under your nose and everything. Or have you not noticed the dozens of employees that clock in but never show up?"


    Belvidere''s eyes darted around in thought, judging the reactions of everyone on both sides of the room. "Hand strangle that bulk... then why demand I come here instead of warning me over the socials? I should be preparing now! Did he offer you something to distract me??"


    "Because we already took care of him for you!" The snap to Ms. Uxral''s voice cut Belvidere off before his paranoia could fully take hold. "My people sent him, and the goons he pulled from under you, scattered into the dunes. They might try again later, but for now they''re weak and disorganized. You''re welcome, old friend."


    "And why should I believe you?"


    "Because we actually fought them," Phanya said as she stepped up next to her teacher. She hadn''t been hiding, exactly, but standing up to her full height commanded attention when she wanted to. "They were hiding in a ma ¡ª in an abandoned mining site. They had cars, guns, relics, but we fucked him up real good." Ms. Uxral shot her a sideways glance and Phanya quietly muttered an apology without dropping her stance. "Isn''t that right?"


    The last statement, or accusation, fired over her shoulder at the other Fableton residents, and Steffo shuffled up to the front of the crowd. He squirmed under all the eyes, especially Belvidere''s. "You''re his brother, right? Steffie something?"


    Oddly, that made him stand a little straighter. "Steffo, sir. And yes, Zero was going to betray you, but now he''s either dead or too wounded to be a threat for now. Um... sorry?"


    "Hmph, whole family''s a waste." Belvidere pretended that no one heard his false muttering as he continued, "Well thank you for the terrible news, Sophia. If you''ll excuse me, I have some major restructuring to do. Good day."


    "Hold it, Frack," Ms. Uxral said, pointing an accusatory finger. Belvidere''s too-wide mouth pressed into a line that gave the distinct impression that he was liable to croak at any second, but his hoverchair turned back around to face her. Instead Ms. Uxral swung her outstretched arm in a wide arc until she pointed at the youngest person in the room and nearly shouted, "Why the fuck do you have my child caged in a hauler suit!?"


    Ricky stomped up to join the others and crossed his arms, his near-death experience having burned away any sense of fear or reverence towards Fableton''s second-largest employer. He meant to look intimidating, but Belvidere only scoffed. "Him? I heard about you, kid. Fell asleep during onboarding procedures, distracted my employees, and camped in the streets like a bum! One of the saddest displays I''ve ever hired."


    Ms. Uxral growled at the attempted feint. "You know what I mean, he can''t take the damn suit off."


    "And if he was even halfway competent then he would''ve gone to his supervisor for assistance. Really Sophia, if anything this just shows how deeply I trust you because I didn''t have your boy here hunted down for stealing my valuable equipment. You''re welcome, old friend."


    Ricky waved his arms before the leadership started trading barbs and said, "Look it''s fine alright, I''m sorry I was a bad employee for one whole day! I quit, I resign, no need to pay me, please just take the suit back already."


    Belvidere''s face split in an unsettling shark-like grin, gone in a flash and replaced with fake sympathy. "How unfortunate young man, you could''ve become a respected mechanic, if only you had a work ethic to match with those brains of yours. But if you insist, I shall accept your resignation... after you''ve settled your contracted debts, of course."


    Most of the Fableton side managed to keep their groans and grumblings internal, but Ricky''s face twisted inwards as if a bishop had directly accused him of blasphemy. "More debt? I was just trying to help..."


    Belvidere''s predatory smirk faltered, dampened if not deterred by Ricky''s anguish. "It''s nothing personal, young man, just business. But you did sign a contract and I will get what I am owed. If nothing else, let this be a lesson for you to not so easily sign your name in the future." Belvidere held out a hand and one of his subordinates passed him a tablet, and he made a show of clearing his throat before he started listing off fees.


    "Including, let''s see here, 5 Cyracoin for the onboarding procedures, 2.75 per day for the hauler rental rounded up, charging fees, loss of productivity penalties from the other employees you harassed, et cetera et cetera. I don''t think we need to air all of young Ricky''s dirty laundry in public, so to speak, but it''s all right here."


    At Ms. Uxral''s demand, the same subordinate took the tablet back and handed it off to her before scurrying back to his boss'' side. Everyone on the Fableton side crowded around to read over Ms. Uxral''s shoulders as she scrolled, and scrolled, and scrolled, speeding through without reading just so they could reach the end. "2,497 Cyracoin!?"


    The crowd reeled back in a wave, no one bothering to hide their various exclamations of surprise and disgust. Ricky started hyperventilating and more than one voice turned to threats ¡ª that was over an entire year''s pay, before fees! Belvidere tried to pull another line about this just being business, but realized that the opposing energy was swelling past his control. He overshot his initial demand and underestimated how protective Fableton was of its kids, and the mining magnate heard mutterings of open confrontation.


    Belvidere''s guards started to nervously finger their holstered weapons, but Phanya acted first. She held up a hand and announced with a voice that commanded silence, "Excuse me Ms. Uxral, could I please see that contract?" She mouthed a ''Trust me'' at the end that Belvidere couldn''t see, so with a curious look the teacher handed the tablet over.


    Ms. Uxral taught two semesters of contract navigation in her classroom, and over the years learned how to read a student as they read a contract. And Phanya scored better in that class than most, so the teacher recognized just how quickly the student was zipping through one now ¡ª almost too quickly. Now Phanya was reading like a professional lawyer, and it was thanks to the strange green wirefame that only she could see.


    Her inner eye outlined messages with the same style when Phanya identified her special equipment, but it fed her information indirectly just like her outside gut. It pointed out references, signatures, inconsistencies, and helped her map out a line through the jungle of jargon until she started to find treasure.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Phanya would never admit it, but she always felt a rush of pride whenever she broke up a fight or dissuaded a bully. Doing the right thing was the right thing, of course, but showing everyone that she knew the rules and would not be bullied by them just felt good. "Mhm, mhm, right," Phanya made a show of nodding to herself, and when she had the whole crowd following her she announced, "I would like to contest this contract! Who can witness?"


    Every hand on the Fableton side shot up and answered with a chorus of "Witness!" and the tablet chimed in recognition. Contesting the contract was always the plan, of course, but combing through the contract was going to take time and that meant more debt and penalties. That Phanya would so confidently call the process into motion surprised all her elders, and they were all swept up in the energy.


    Ricky also did not know what Phanya was planning, but he had endless trust in her so he stepped up and grumbled through his full formal name. "Merrick McCormick VI present for affected side."


    Belvidere floated up with an incredulous look on his face. "Really, kid? You''ve only got one chance, if your little school never taught you." But he shrugged and held up his own hand, saying, "Fracklin Belvidere present for the contested side."


    Leader figures on both sides rattled off secret codes of identification and completed the ritual, the tablet now operating on encrypted levels of authority that few alive could ever comprehend. No one present knew how the process worked, but everyone knew that any changes made to the contract here and now were permanent and immutable. Phanya tried to assume her best teacher pose and said, "Yes really, sir. For the first item, at the end of the onboarding procedures there''s no signature from the instructor, so we have no proof whether or not Ricky finished at all..."


    And so the game went, Phanya would point out an error or bylaw in the contract and Mr. Belvidere had one chance to refute or accept the challenge, lowering the total debt owed as a result. Unbeknownst to everyone else, every time Belvidere accepted a challenge Phanya also received a blinking alert in her vision:


    [You have discovered and upheld a new law for the first time! +lXP]


    The first notification caught Phanya off guard and almost cost her rhythm, especially with everyone watching her. But once Phanya realized the implications, each message became an added layer of defense in shoring up her confidence. She watched the very same confidence flicker in Belvidere''s eyes as the easy money drained away, but the initial sum was still too large for her to really handle.


    By the time she ran out of ideas the debt was just under half its initial amount, impressive but nowhere near good enough, and right as she started to falter Phanya felt a calm hand on her shoulder and a reassuring presence by her side. Ms. Uxral had noticed something in the contract, but instead of announcing her own challenge she gently tugged Phanya down to whisper a suggestion. After all, the student had come this far on her own, everyone wanted to see Phanya drive it home.


    "One more thing, Mr. Belvidere!" Phanya said, just a tad more joyously than was appropriate. "In the section for impacted profits we will, of course, require notarized statements from each impacted employee describing exactly when and how Ricky hampered their performance, with corroboration from their timesheets. And the equipment those employees checked out but couldn''t use. Itemized, of course."


    Phanya''s grin turned downright sadistic as Belvidere flustered. It probably didn''t look great for Phanya to be sneering at a man who, standing up without his hoverchair, wouldn''t reach half her height, but no one gets to mess with Ricky except her. Ha, and he''s even turning red!


    "Do ¨C do you have any idea how long that would take, young woman!? How much time that''ll take away from my men? You''ll need to be present for every moment of it! In fact I''ll insist that only you get to audit, no substitutions!"


    "Fine by me. I''m just an ''unemployed leech,'' remember? I got time, Mr. Belvidere."


    The bossman''s mouth worked through several different words before he seethed, "Ffffine. Fine! I accept and cross out the whole blasted section!" The tablet chimed, but unlike every other time Phanya did not receive a pop-up for discovering the law. Strange, but Belvidere''s face was reward enough on its own. "In fact, I''ll even lower the total debt down to 500 Cyracoin if we can just end this farce now."


    Ms. Uxral''s acceptance was met with the sounds of joy, relief, and one cranky reptilian threatening to cut the frog down even shorter. The teacher mouthed "Good job" to Phanya as she retrieved the tablet to sign off. In truth Ms. Uxral was going to offer a smaller sum once the contract closed itself, all part of the informal haggling, if Tapper hadn''t chose right that moment to appear from behind his counter.


    In his defense, Tapper had promised to hide until the contract negotiations were over, and now they technically were. Logically his duty was fulfilled, and emotionally he really wanted to help. "I can process that payment for you now, sir!" Tapper announced in his best salesman voice, waving to get everyone''s attention. Judging by the negative reactions of almost everyone he realized this was not, in fact, the opportune time to reveal himself, but there was no going back now.


    Belvidere pointed an accusing, yet shaky, finger at Tapper. "Y-you! You''re still here? Then my bot ¡ª"


    "Was unfortunately destroyed, yes! If only Mister Drillbert had possessed the capacity to negotiate his own contract, then I would not have had to dismantle him in self-defense!" Without waiting for a response Tapper reached not for the lockbox, but into the out-of-place leather pouch attached to his waist. A few discerning people heard the tinkling of coins and saw a glint of silver catching the light, but Tapper pulled out a regular credit chit in all its dull glory.


    No one spoke, both sides dumbfounded for different reasons, so Tapper used the time to calculate a throw the properly robotic way. He would swear to everyone that he intended for a gentle arc into Belvidere''s lap, yet an unintentional twist and flick of the wrist sharpened the vector and plinked the coin right between his eyes. Whoops.


    Whatever Belvidere wanted to say for the assault died in his throat when he tapped the chit and received the full payment. After a second of choking on his words he managed, "Why in Fairgood''s name is that robot carrying so much money out in the open, Sophia? Are you people mad!?"


    Ms. Uxral looked just as surprised, her wide eyes narrowing into suspicion when Phanya snorted back a laugh. Tapper announced, "I earned wages working a bartending job! And also from looting your mutinied employees before they could attack your place of business, Mister Belvidere! A home made light is a home of delight!"


    Tapper held out his hand, and Belvidere personally floated over to hand the credit chit back without another word. "As always, if you were pleased with your service here today then please do not forget to leave a favorable review for Fableton on your preferred social media app!" The boss was in a daze, looking with unfocused eyes over the crowd before he turned and left with what remained of his dignity.


    Most of the adults were thoroughly off their guard after the entire ordeal. One voice asked, "Why does the robot have so much money?"


    "A majority of my funds did come from, to quote Miss Phanya, ''beating up goons.''"


    Ms. Uxral looked from Phanya to Tapper and back again, trying to work out exactly what to say. Eventually, she just sighed and said, "Tapper, pour me a drink please. A strong one."


    With that closure the crowd disbarred, leaving Ricky to choke down his emotions. Not one person chided him for his failed attempt to pay off the debts, the whole town banded together to help get Ricky out of the hauler suit ¡ª the suit!


    "Wait hold up!" Ricky stomped after the departing miners, grabbing the closest one by the jacket. "I''m still locked in this thing, you gotta let me out!"


    The miner in his grasp looked over to a coworker who said, "We, uh didn''t bring anyone with authorization for that. No one actually thought you''d manage to break your ''tract, you''ll have to come to the office on your own." He shrugged with a lame apology and Ricky let them go. He didn''t want to risk messing anything else up today.


    "Is everything alright, Mister Ricky?" Tapper said from out of nowhere, making the proprietor jump in his cage.


    Ricky looked Tapper over again, appreciating him in a new light. He looked so much more confident now, so much more aware. A good semester of history and technology classes included the dangers of AI breaking from its safety parameters and going rogue, but despite Ms. Uxral''s warnings Ricky just could not believe them now. This Tapper was, without any doubt, an improvement. So instead Ricky brushed the air away and said, "Oh, it''s nothing that can''t wait until tomorrow."

 1.40 Tapper Gets it Together

    The next several weeks flew by in a flurry of productivity. Tapper delivered everything he brought back from the mall, starting with the museum tablets with enough historical knowledge to make Ms. Uxral openly weep. Then Tapper had the bright idea to scavenge the remaining good arm from Drillbert and present it to Aazran, who refuted it on the basis of incompatible ports. Besides, even if they were compatible, Aazran said he would never wear anything so big. Tapper tried to offer making the ports compatible, but he really wanted to finally clear this quest from his list so he decided to take matters into his own hands.


    Aazran now shared a bench seat with Struzick most days, watching advertisements together. Not only did it double the rate they earned watch time for movies, the two would heckle the advertisements together and shout wild falsehoods, other people sometimes joined in just to watch their commentary. Together they added life to the warehouse, and Tapper learned several colorful words from them.


    But it also meant that Aazran would now occasionally lower his guard, so once he was settled Tapper clasped his hands together and mentally commanded the latches in his left shoulder to open. With one fluid motion Tapper swung his own arm up and over, striking Aazran like a club right onto the bullseye of his exposed shoulder port. The veteran soldier yelped in surprise, and on instinct threw Tapper off with a disarming flip. A complicated maneuver for anyone, especially when it required two arms.


    "Aye ya daft bot! Ah... oh! Thank you? Uh, are you alright?"


    Tapper extracted himself from the jumble of chairs he had landed in and said, "Not to worry, Mister Aazran! I can make do with this!" He pulled out Drillbert''s arm with some effort, its fist clenched into a thumbs-up gesture that Aazran answered with his new hand. The motion flipped back its thumb and lit the hidden flame, a cherry on top for the old saboteur. Tapper left Aazran to play with his new toy, and as he fiddled with the drill arm he received the notification of a job well done.


    [Quest: Lend Him a Hand complete! Perk reward: Ministry of Silly Walks, keep your feet unpredictable to keep stable.]


    Another mysterious perk, this one accepted and forgotten when Tapper slotted in the spare arm a moment later.


    [Augmented cyberlimb detected: Drillbert''s Drill Bit, requires attunement to unlock augment ability]


    [Would you like to attune to Drillbert''s Drill Bit? You have 3 slots out of 5 available. Y/N]


    He happily accepted, and the new walking perk kicked in when the oversized limb knocked his center of gravity out of alignment. Tapper leaned nearly 20¡ã to the left and his legs started to kick out in the opposite direction, never quite accurate enough for him to stay still but always keeping him from fully toppling over.


    The ratbird, still following around the guardsman''s feet for any chance to gobble up spilled food, jumped on Tapper to sniff at the odd sight. Its presence didn''t seem to alarm anyone, and when he offered to dispose of the vermin Struzick just shrugged. "Nay lad, this is one war of attrition that I don''t mind losing."


    Struzick also still carried the dead coil rifle with him, and when Tapper asked to interface with it Struzick worked the weapon with some hesitation. The vet admitted that after all these years of carrying the coil gun it had become a sort of security blanket, even though it would never fire again, and Aazran leaned over to interject.


    "Just give the bot a full rundown and he can probably build you another one. Fairgood knows you''ve told me enough times." Then Aazran sat bolt upright and acquired an exaggerated British accent before continuing, "See here, Tap ol'' chap, coil rifles create a spark of PSI energy and roll it down special tubing to harden the spark into a plasma bolt. Longer tubing means harder bolts, and thus the coil design! What-ho, jolly good."


    Stuzick affectionately called Aazran several synonyms for ''moist'' and disassembled his rifle with the quick hands of practice. He laid the components out on a table, but Tapper only needed the piece containing its universal port.


    Tapper plugged in and instantly bumped against the firewall of its terms of service. It was a large and imposing firewall, but as Struzick put it the weapon was "tossed" by a corporation that no longer existed to maintain their own contract. The firewall, despite its absolute coverage, now stood flimsy and full of holes and it didn''t lash out at Tapper if he was careful. He initially meant to read a copy of the contract for study, but maybe he could download the original in chunks and delete it before he absorbed anything...


    That is, if Tapper could determine exactly where the terms of service interacted with the rest of the programming. An attorney robot could have likely extracted the contract with a scalpel, but a bartender robot carved out large chunks of the program wherever he saw the firewall pop up. By the time Tapper realized the potential damage he was causing it was far too late to stop, so after he finished deleting every trace of the weapon''s contract ¡ª along with most of its core programming ¡ª he topped off the rifle''s energy cells with his own mana. Just one point of mana caused an overflow, and in this strange program astral space he could feel the energy runoff escaping the coil gun as sparks and steam.


    Returning to his senses in the physical world showed a sun several hours along its skyward path. Aazran and Struzick were back to watching advertisements on their shared wide chair, the former idly scritching the ratbird nestled between them with his newfound cyberlimb. Fighting against the distracting feelings of guilt, Tapper tried to explain his process and watched Struzick''s face twist with signs of betrayal.


    Before the guardsman could start his tirade, Aazran barked out a laugh and grabbed his partner by the shoulder. "Relax already! This bot is full of surprises. ''Sides, not like he could turn that cludgeon into any less of a gun." Aazran wiggled his robotic fingers towards a blinking green indicator light on the rifle, and the guardsman made a double take.


    Struzick snatched the gun with both hands and went through a long but rapid process of preparing the weapon, exactly how he had done every day for over twenty years. Physically the rifle was still pristine, but its operational readouts... the guardsman shot Tapper a look of disbelief before striding out of the warehouse without a word. Aazran and Tapper scrambled to follow and found the man standing in the middle of the open square with the rifle at his shoulder.


    Coils of crystalline glass around the barrel glowed with pale blue life, lighting the steam wafting off the heatsink fins and giving the entire weapon an almost ethereal outline. All motion paused just long enough for Struzick to hold his breath, and with a muffled crack he fired a shot into the air. The smell of ozone came and went just as quickly, and half a second later a puff of smoke indicated where the plasma bolt decimated the top of a garbage mound far in the distance.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    A handful of onlookers whooped in celebration of having their guard back in prime force, but Struzick held his weapon as if he were seeing it for the very first time. "It''s... blank." He looked up at Tapper and explained, "The toss is gone, but so is most everything else. Aim assistance, distance measurements, wind tracking, almost everything is blank."


    "Is that... beneficial for you?" Tapper asked, and Struzick''s silver tooth shined when he smiled in response.


    "Well I doubt I''ll make any of the trick shots that made me famous within my unit as a fresh soldier ¡ª"


    "Your muttonchops are what made you famous," Aazran cut in.


    "Shush, you. But Tapper, this is amazing! I have my baby back! How is it even possible for you to hack it so thoroughly?"


    With the positive reception Tapper''s confidence swelled and he gave the two vets a happy eyebrow wiggle. "Trade secrets, gentlemen."


    "You''re a weird robot, lad," Struzick said, but Tapper''s social programming read positive body language at odds with the supposed insult.


    "Is that¡­ a positive connotation, Mister Struzick?"


    "Aye, lad. Yes it is."


    Tapper''s faltering smile redoubled. "Then, thank you! Have an excellent day!" He waved with his oversized driller arm, the motion giving extra sway to the robots''s awkward gait as he departed. Everything was coming up Tapper!


    Struzick and Aazran watched Tapper teeter and totter. One armed the grip on his old weapon and the other adjusted the grip on his new arm, and in the quiet space between them long-dead embers started to glow with new life.


    "That''s your weird mate."


    "You''re the one that let him into town, Mutton."


    <hr>


    [Augmentation attuned: Drillbert''s Drill Bit


    Now fitting...]


    The notification came with a wave of sensation as the arm finally, truly connected with Tapper''s shoulder. He was relieved that the limb wasn''t numb by design, until the arm started to glow and the sensation became searing fire. Dents started to form with loud pops and then instantly smooth themselves out, the very metal flexing under unseen forces. With every smoothed crinkle the arm shrank by degrees, and right on the edge of Tapper''s pain tolerance the process ended.


    Now the mining limb was noticeably smaller, still larger than his original arm but it no longer dragged him off balance. In fact it felt completely natural, as if Tapper had rolled off the factory floor with it installed, and with some focusing Tapper called up the information on the arm.


    [Augmentations]


    [Drillbert''s Drill Bit, Left Arm


    +1 Strength for actions using limb, drill takes 1 turn to activate and can be used as an unarmed weapon for 1d6 + Strength piercing damage]


    [Suck-o-matic Vacuum, Left Back


    Pulls in small objects within (1) m cone]


    [Spray Spritzer, Right Back


    Shoots liquid in (4) m line]


    [Empty slot]


    [Empty slot]


    That explained why Tapper had to attune with this limb, and with sparks of excitement he activated the special ability. The fingers in his left hand instantly went rigid and lost all sensation, bending in preprogrammed motions to form angled ridges that met in a single point. When it spun into a whirling blur Tapper yelped and shut the function down ¡ª the last time this limb used that ability, it almost ended Tapper''s life. But now that it was a part of him, he felt compelled to grow with it to become stronger. And also tell Ricky, there were new system messages to record!


    <hr>


    "Here, do something with this," Ricky said and nudged the pile of Drillbert with his foot. "There''s some good tech we can salvage here, but my system says you already claimed it as loot and won''t let my skills examine it." He held up a hand to preemptively stop Tapper and continued, "No, don''t try to unclaim it yet. I want to see if your system will do anything else special like that arm. Give each part a close look and let me know what happens, but I''m definitely claiming this." Ricky snatched up the arm of Rethar''s exoskeleton and used it to wave goodbye.


    Tapper looked down at the scattered remains of Drillbert, shoved unceremoniously underneath one of the benches in the jitney, and his emotion center spun up an illogical theory. Tapper was already wearing two limbs from this robot, if he incorporated anything else would the mining programming start to take over? He was reasonably sure that Drillbert wasn''t sapient when Tapper killed him, but what if? There wasn''t enough data for his predictive algorithms to work with, which paradoxically only raised more questions.


    A whisper of data came to Tapper, from the witchcraft section of his adventurer''s library, suggesting how to prevent that. It was a small thing, a process only known in secrets, and yet every single magician knew of it because that''s just how magic works. Tapper already innately knew the process the same way he knew how to brew potions and braid spells, he just had to stop computing questions and urge his soul forward.


    Tapper powered down his visual input and turned his processing power towards the feeling, attempting to follow the process this time without trying to stop it or let his mana run wild. His visual module, without eyes available, attempted to see through his tactile inputs and his sense of feel suddenly grew to laser focus.


    There was a metal sphere in his hands. When did Tapper pick up Drillbert''s cranial unit, his skull? Fingers traced lines over the mismatched panels, the bad weld jobs, the dents and dings, wondering how many stories were written here.


    A witch knows how to read stories. Tapper turned the skull upside-down and his mental image turned fuzzy as the crystalline fibers in his fingers his soul threads reached out. But there was no point, because there wouldn''t be a universal port here, just the CPU the brain. The crystalline threads ran over and through every microchip, interfacing directly soul searing with a torrent of data so strong that it felt warm with knowledge and secrets.


    Only, the data was too fragmented to be of any use. Not enough life in the brain, just rocks for thoughts but not the context. His fingers dug deeper into brainflesh but stopped when he felt lines of golden thread, with enough magic wherein to weave the forbidden knowledge together.


    [You have learned a new spell component: Drill!]


    Tapper''s eyes blinked open. He was still inside the jitney, still holding Drillbert''s skull ¡ª no, the cranial unit chassis ¡ª in his hands. Except, the cranium''s interior was scraped clean from any trace of silicon wafers and gold filament, and no trace of the computer components could be found within the vehicle''s interior. They were simply gone, and the cranium rang hollow when it tumbled from limp fingers.


    Tapper felt... dirty, as if his sanitation metrics were firing with no visible grime to report. He did recognize that learning a new spell was a noteworthy achievement, but if this secretive process felt so wrong then Tapper will keep it a secret.

 1.41 The Familiar and Unfamiliar

    "Tapper, I have a job for you." Ms. Uxral sounded happy, almost excited to delegate this particular chore, coloring Tapper''s sense of duty with motes of curiosity. The teacher bounced slightly on the balls of her feet as she pulled one of the museum tablets from behind her back and said, "I need more of these."


    Mild shame. Purchasing those tablets was a good idea, but Tapper should''ve done more. "I am sorry, Miss Uxral, but we have not yet found another entrance to the mall. My apologies for not purchasing more units when I had the opportunity."


    "No no no, not like that! Don''t you dare apologize for this wonderful gift! Just come with me, I''ll explain." Ms. Uxral didn''t wait for Tapper''s response, grabbing the robot by the arm and dragging him across the warehouse to a section of cleared floorspace by the far wall. A rectangle of yellow and black striped caution tape on the floor outlined the service elevator, and a quick tap on the wall panel sent the two down to the basement.


    Tapper already visited the sublevel before to help clean, but much of the space served communal barracks; a noisy clanking robot was generally an unwelcome disturbance. "Now before I show this to you, I need your promise that you won''t tell anyone. In fact, that''s an order. Phanya and Ricky already know so it won''t interfere with your programming."


    Interesting, this was the first time that Ms. Uxral had used a formal order on Tapper, and he automatically chimed in acceptance. She huffed, as if surprised and relieved, and motioned for Tapper to follow. Did Ms. Uxral forget that she was a sub-proprietor? Tapper tried to ask, but she shushed him to silence as they walked around rows of beds and shelving units. In the back of the basement the storage took over, and turned the area into a dense maze of things saved for "just in case."


    After an implausible number of turns around boxes and dusty tools, they reached the gray plasticrete wall of the basement and Ms. Uxral pushed aside a hanging garment to reveal another embedded panel. She checked over her shoulder to ensure they weren''t followed, tapped a quick number in, and with a muffled thunk the entire wall swung inwards. It had no door frame, instead an attached shelving unit camouflaged its existence.


    Inside the hidden room, a lone lightbulb flickered to life and revealed more shelves, with narrow boxes in neat arrangements along three walls and a metal desk against the other end. One such box had fallen off its shelf and on reflex Tapper bent to pick it up, splitting open in his hand. He only panicked for a moment before Tapper finally realized he was holding an actual book.


    Tapper gawked at the thing in his hand, its fragile pages liable to tear at the slightest mishandling, and he quickly pushed the book into an available gap in the shelves. In fact all the boxes were books, there must be over a hundred in this little room!


    "Would it surprise you to know that I always dreamed of running a library?" Ms. Uxral asked. She wasn''t directly looking at Tapper, instead taking in the whole room with a wistful shine in her eyes.


    "Not a surprise at all, my own library of data has proven to be quite useful," Tapper nodded along, but Ms. Uxral chuckled.


    "Not that kind of library, Tapper. One where we lend out the books, its data, and share with everyone for free."


    "Ah, one of the intentionally poor business mindsets." Tapper was still nodding in thought without any accusation in his modular voice, and thankfully Ms. Uxral realized that. "It makes no logical sense, but it did serve the museum curator."


    "Consider this: Maybe the greatest ''business mindset'' is the long-term growth of all people, and that requires foregoing short-term profits." Ms. Uxral walked along one wall with her hand gently brushing over the spines of a dozen hand-bound books, pulling out the occasional volume to flip through its pages before putting it back.


    Tapper''s social algorithms finally clicked into place and registered why Ms. Uxral''s demeanor had taken such a shift. Her shoulders were less tense, her movements flowed better, her eyes were half-lidded but not sleepy ¡ª she was actively relaxing, just by entering this small, hidden library. Asking her directly whether the presence of antiquated physical media carried a numbing effect risked breaking her good mood, so Tapper pressed on through their current dialogue. "But without any profit motive, then who would be the initial investors?"


    "Why, you would!" Ms. Uxral actually booped Tapper on his face plate, taking a moment to enjoy his eyes crossing in disbelief before her playful mood sobered slightly. She turned to the backpack leaning against the comfortable chair and pulled out one of the museum tablets, holding it with the same respect as her physical books.


    "Tapper, I don''t think you realize what a boon you''ve brought us. There is so much history in these articles, not just the technology, but sociology and ecology and everything between! Just one look at the index for farming sciences, and I had to give one of these to Everett and Wiessa."


    Ms. Uxral closed her eyes and held out her palms, hitting the mental breaks on her own excitement before she continued. "The point is, this is precisely what is needed to take this room from my personal escape into a proper library. But we''ll need many more copies, and I would like for you to please make them for me. Now before you say anything, I''ve already checked the terms and these ones do not prohibit reproduction, so this shouldn''t interfere with your programming."


    For once, Tapper''s social programming failed him, and not due to an unpredictable flare of emotions. The first few words were already out of his speaker before Ms. Uxral shot down his copyright defense, and the rest of his boilerplate rejections slowed to a distorted warble. He instead tried, "I... do not have the capacity for that?" But he knew it was a poor excuse.


    "Nonsense! You can read and write yourself, can''t you?" She ushered him forward to the desk ¡ª and then had to coach him through many failed attempts on how to sit in a wheeled office chair ¡ª and handed Tapper the tablet. A small desk lamp clicked on and revealed a massive stack of blank white pages salvaged from magazines, carefully folded in groups and cut to uniform size. Rows of pens sorted by color and remaining usage lined the rear of the desk, and a tower of office drawers stood at the sides . "All you need to do is copy it, every article. Don''t worry about binding the book when you''re done, just keep the pages numbered and in order! You''re really going to help Fableton with this, Tapper."


    She sighed a bit, picked up a book and then replaced it at a cleared spot, sideways, so that its cover faced outwards. Bright red with any original wording scuffed off, and a new title written with block letters in steady black marker:


    Love is Revolutionary in the Systems that Oppress Us


    It felt wrong, to make copies of something for free. His emotions, beneath that, were also suggesting that those first feelings were interacting with his Bowson directives again and should therefore be ignored. If these were what it''s like for organics to have second thoughts about something, then Tapper didn''t enjoy them. But if this directly helps Fableton, just like the pending quest said, then Tapper knew clearing that would feel right. And with his assurances, the teacher left her sanctum in the hands of a bartender.


    Hours later and Tapper felt bored. That must be the sensation gnawing at the back of his emotions, it''s what every child complained of when they weren''t properly stimulated. At first Tapper was stimulated to attempt reading the entire book the same way humans do as he copied it, until a quick calculation revealed that it would take over three weeks to read, comprehend, and write every single page down, and that''s if he completely neglected his regular duties.


    Instead, a quick program could take command of Tapper''s eyes and hands and merely make an exact replica of the tablet''s page, and since it didn''t save or comprehend what he saw, this process both drastically increased his writing speed and decreased his processor load. But that also meant the rest of his processor couldn''t do or see anything, leaving far too much room to experience boredom for the first time. Unfortunate that the museum hadn''t offered a simple data packet to download, then he could at least read a different book while his hands worked.


    But why couldn''t he do that? Tapper plugged into the tablet, and marveled at the data. He had access to everything, conveniently stored in a quality archival format so it wouldn''t take too much time to download. No security features, no keycodes, no subscription fees, it was just there and free. Tapper set a command to download everything, increased the bandwidth to max, and let his consciousness shrink to a pinpoint.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    When it flooded back to signal the download ending, Tapper checked his storage and found a new chunk of data to feed his copying program. He did it! With some clever usage of spindles Tapper managed to only need his good hand for writing, leaving his other to manually fiddle with the tablet.


    Only, it was blank. Every article, every file was gone, even the museum app''s interface was replaced with a utilitarian list of admin options. As if all aesthetics had been scrubbed down to the root of all technology. And the files Tapper had downloaded, not copied, were already integrated into his personal memory; even the tablet''s glossary was indistinguishable from his own.


    Maybe Ms. Uxral won''t notice if one tablet goes missing.


    <hr>


    "Tapper, you need to tell me about these developments." Ricky chastised, but his attitude was at odds with his words and he clearly still enjoyed any opportunity to work on and study the robot.


    The two had returned to his hideout to retrieve the physical log of his system messages, when Tapper saw the feat list and sidetracked them both. He casually mentioned that the description for his Witchcraft class let him choose magic components as feats, and that he somehow pulled such a component from the mining robot! Tapper was uncharacteristically quiet on how he managed to do that, but Ricky''s suspicions dropped to Future Problem status in the face of testing out theories.


    Ricky loved to test theories, especially when he makes a breakthrough like learning that Tapper''s spells were twice as effective when fed through specific limbs. He couldn''t wait to further test whether that was due to spells playing off augmented abilities or some other hidden rule in the system! They spent hours testing out every different way Ricky could think to use spells, bouncing from one idea to the next with barely enough time for Ricky to jot down notes that only made sense to him. And right as Ricky neared the verge of admitting they had stayed out too long, Tapper mentioned that his spritzer nozzle jammed the first time he ever used it.


    Of course Ricky couldn''t not find out why right there and then, he was on a roll!


    Now Tapper lay on a table in the hideout, curled in the fetal position while Ricky worked on his back. "My apologies, Mister Ricky, I shall do better." Tapper''s apology was equally half-hearted, with most of his processor still focusing on his hands instead.


    The experiments throughout the day mostly consisted of Tapper digging small trenches in the tarmac with a variety of different methods: Using his new drill hand, forcing the Drill spell through his normal hand, and then casting Drill through his drill. Using his normal hand worked just like Spraying through his vacuum worked, and was equally as uncomfortable. His delicate bartender fingers were not made to bend and contort into a drill, it felt unnatural.


    Tapper wasn''t sure whether he should be worried about that. He was a robot, his very nature was technically unnatural.


    Ricky completely missed any signs of Tapper''s existential crisis; he was more concerned with the fact that the spell and the drill hand were almost exactly equally effective. And Ricky was downright ecstatic to find the drill hand doubled in efficiency when used in conjunction with the Drill spell, possibly even more than the sum of its parts. He didn''t have the proper measuring tools and he needed to run more tests to form a baseline, but still!


    Any further communication between the two fell to mutual mumbling, with Tapper contemplating the piecemeal nature of his being and Ricky weighing the metrics of cutting through the spindle or working through the tank. Whatever had jammed the nozzle was gumming up the entire contraption and locked it in place. Whatever option he took will require intrusive measures.


    Ricky settled on the tank option and wedged a pry bar in the rim, focusing on popping the lock without damaging the mechanics. He fell into his zen-like trance when someone kicked open the door and sent the hideout into a panic. Ricky yelped, Tapper flopped, and a pry bar bounced off the wall.


    "I freaking knew I''d find you two goofing off here and ¡ª what the hell is on your back!?" Phanya''s explosive entrance and primed insults both died in the air, as Tapper''s tank popped open and several blue fingers waved a boneless hello to the world.


    Tapper confirmed that nothing was on Ricky''s back before he realized where Phanya was pointing. With a fearful ratchet his head turned 180¡ã around and faced a wriggling mass mere inches from his eyes. "I''m growing flesh! Get it off get it off!" The max-volume shout flinched the unfortunate human ears and Tapper lunged for any direction away from his own back, never tearing his eyes away from the fleshy thing.


    The hideaway descended into chaos. Ricky and Phanya tried to coordinate but mostly tripped over each other, their shouting drowned out by a repeating loop of "GETITOFFGETITOFF" from Tapper. Eventually Phanya caught one of the erratic limbs and flipped Tapper into a pin, holding him down while Ricky tried to get close with a knife.


    "Hold still Tapper, this thing has tentacles!" Ricky yelled, wishing very much right now that his busted hauler suit could steady his shaking hand. One blue tentacle lashed out at the first opportunity, cracking like a whip against the flat side of the knife, and Ricky pulled back to ogle at the weapon. The blade now bent at an angle, right at the point the tentacle touched it, but Ricky hadn''t felt any sense of force pushing on his hand. The blade simply went from straight to bent in the blink of an eye.


    The thing on Tapper''s back used Ricky''s distraction to do the job for him, bracing all its tentacles to tear itself free from inside Tapper''s tank with a wet sucking sound. It bounced off Tapper and landed on the table, revealing what looked like a single long horn with a slight curve on the topside. Two beady eyes blinked from under the lip of the shell before the creature darted to hide within Tapper''s prone form, the horn-like tip visibly quivering behind the crook of his elbow.


    Phanya found her voice first and asked the most important question. "Why is the baby octolusk''s shell kinda... unfurled?"


    Ricky hummed at the question and leaned in to look, curiosity overriding any sense of safety. "Because, hrm, because of the clog!" He started pacing around the table to look at a new angle and continued, "Yeah, Tapper must''ve sucked up an octolusk egg from that nest, and the first time he tried to use the Spray spell it got clogged in his spindle. But it lived, and grew all deformed, and now Tapper isn''t clogged anymore!" Ricky held up his hand and didn''t budge until Phanya returned the high-five for solving the mystery.


    Tapper, meanwhile, was less enthused. The slimy, wriggly thing cradled itself in his arms and refused to move, and despite the screams of his emotional center Tapper''s body refused to throw the monster across the room. All he could manage were half-hearted squirms to try getting away without actually disturbing it, and with a groan he realized why.


    "Oh no, we''re connected. From that feat, it made this fleshy thing into my familiar. It''s going to follow me... forever. Look, it even comes with its own tiny wizard hat." And then Tapper made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a sob.


    Phanya reached out a finger to scratch gently on the shell''s tip, and after a fearful pause the creature leaned in. "I think it''s kinda cute! Wonder what came first, the feat or the egg? Eh, Ry?"


    Ricky blinked twice and said, "Hrm?" Phanya just heaved a sigh and Ricky returned to his musings. "I wonder what it''s been eating while it was stuck inside the tank?"


    At the mention of food, the octolusk leapt onto Tapper''s chest and he recoiled back, bumping into a shelf and spilling a glop of green ooze from the open tank. Anything that wasn''t metal or plastic started to sizzle on the shelf, and Phanya shot out a hand before Ricky could get too curious. "Don''t touch that, it''s a trap Zero left in the mall!"


    But the octolusk made a series of clicks and whistles and leapt right onto the acidic puddle. It drank with gusto and then climbed back into Tapper''s tank, the slurping sounds given an amplifying echo as it reached all the way to the bottom. All this time it lived stuck in the nozzle port, with all that delicious slime just out of reach!


    A pause, a small burp, and clinking sounds followed as the octolusk climbed into view. And it now carried a small green gemstone, shiny and beautiful and absolutely not something Tapper had knowingly vacuumed up. The little creature dropped the gemstone onto the shelf, whistled and clicked, and promptly ate the jewel as well.


    "No wait don''t!" Ricky shouted and lunged, far too late. "What was that? I could feel something weird about it! Like, like a magic gem or something!"


    "I don''t know," Tapper responded, his voice slightly slurred. "But it made the thing stronger. I can... feel that. From the connection." The little creature shuddered and streaks of green coloring blossomed among the mottled blues and whites of its body.


    Phanya held out a hand and waited for the octolusk to inspect her. She should know better, but it was pretty cute. "Y''know Tapper, if you''re connected then you should give a proper name to the little guy. Or girl?"


    It clicked and whistled in response, all variations of the same two noises. "K-k-ka see! See!"


    "Ugh, I think I''m starting to understand it," Tapper whined. "It''s a male. And it sounds like it keeps saying ''Kakisi,'' so... that can be its designation." The robot''s legs shook and he slumped against the shelf, too much processing power now spilling over his emotional center. "I''m sorry, I believe I am feeling overwhelmed."


    The little critter crawled into Phanya''s hands to much cooing, while Ricky begged for Kakisi to reveal the secrets of the gem he just ate. By the time either one noticed Tapper, he was already in sleep mode.


    In under 24 hours Kakisi the octolusk familiar was already at home in Fableton, with his own designated spot on the cafeteria counter where patrons could nuzzle on his shell. The only two members that hadn''t immediately adopted the idea of adopting a town pet were the ratbird that followed Aazran around, as their interactions quickly turned into fights over food. The other holdout was Tapper. He didn''t want to have a pet, familiar or otherwise, but he at least managed to stop flinching every time Kakisi wanted to sleep inside of his spritzer tank.


    It helped that an octolusk could eat almost anything, and that included any grimy surfaces he squiggled over. Despite his slimy appearance, Kakisi left a trail of cleanliness wherever he went and soon the entire length of the counter shined. It was even cleaner than Tapper ever managed on his own.


    Tapper refused to contemplate whether he was feeling jealousy towards this little organic creature.

 1.42 Ricky Thinks it Through

    Phanya, to mollify Ricky and his threats to start hunting ratbirds for XP, agreed to head back out in search of a direct path to the mall. She enlisted Steffo and the jitney for help, and when Ricky still begged to come along she gave him an additional challenge: Take those gauntlets he made for her and turn them into weapons, not armor, that the system would let her use. That should keep him busy for a while.


    Ricky tore through his work in no time flat, especially anything that related to his background. And the system was quite generous with what it counted as blacksmithing ¡ª anything that involved shaping, reforming, or repairing with metal gave Ricky a hit of both pride and XP. Now he studied the gauntlets, aghast at his earlier work and now acutely aware of what a difference it makes to be a novice over his pre- system knowledge. He could remake these gauntlets at twice the quality, but the challenge was to remove all defense and leave only offense.


    He started by removing the plates around the wrists and hands, leaving little more than a hunk of metal on the back of the hand. But that would get in the way of punching, and his external instincts guided his blacksmithing to a solution. Ricky assembled overlapping plates into a hinge midway across the palm, so that they''d cover the wearer''s knuckles when they make a fist but otherwise leave their fingers free to move. Similar treatment for the thumbs left two awkward pieces of handwear that looked like metal boxing gloves, but with a happy chime the system recognized the new weapons.


    [Weapon identified: Knucklebusters


    Unarmed, blunt, ld4 + Strength damage]


    Strange that Ricky couldn''t name the weapons and he wasn''t sure what the description mean, but he smiled all the same. Phanya was going to love them.


    The day after, the exosuit''s battery died with Ricky still locked inside. Tapper found Ricky more embarrassed that he forgot to charge it than distressed, but Tapper suggested an alternative to dragging him over to the charging station. Together the two found the universal port on the hauler suit and Tapper plugged in, feeding it his own mana for energy. Here Tapper discovered that each one point of mana meant 10% of the suit''s battery, and he filled it without any explosive overfill. Much more fair than the jitney''s battery! Once he disconnected, the suit powered on and Ricky received a surprising system prompt:


    [Equipment identified: P-1000 Powered Work Loader


    Damaged, 0/0 armor. Would you like to claim it? Y/N]


    Ricky didn''t see the point, but Tapper assured him that the system only intervened for good reason, and when he mentally accepted the suit dinged and opened up for him. He was free! And apparently he owned the hauler suit now, depending on where the system ranked in authority. But now Ricky could stretch his aching body and examine the suit from all angles, confirming that it really was badly damaged. Only a single strut supported the arms and legs; and he couldn''t find any length that wasn''t dented, or rusting, or improperly repaired. It was a wonder that the suit could hold its own weight, let alone help Ricky haul anything. It would be irresponsible to return the suit to the miners without at least trying to work on it!


    But if Ricky was going to repair the exosuit then he wanted to do better than reclaimed scrap. The increasingly small pile of Drillbert''s remains refused to give any information with close examination, giving Ricky an odd mental haze that told him this loot belonged to someone else. He''ll need to talk to Tapper about that later; by all means anything his robot claimed should give Ricky and Phanya de facto ownership as well. But underneath the pile of Drillbert lay something purple and unclaimed, the arm of Rethar''s exosuit lighting up in green wireframe once Ricky noticed it:


    [Relic identified: Right Hand of the Zealot


    You are not high enough level to equip or scan this relic. Would you like to claim it? Y/N]


    Ricky snatched up the claim, level or no. Eventually he''d get to use the relic, right? Tapper was already level 3 in a few short months... because he beat Zero. No one is tougher than Zero between here and CyraCity 13, so how long would it take Ricky to even catch up? He only received one little point of XP the first time he did something new in blacksmithing, so he might have to safeguard this relic for years before he could use it.


    Subconsciously, that blacksmithing knowledge started to feed Ricky alternative ideas. There was still energy stored within those struts, thrumming with potential. Or Phase Shift Instability radiation, or magic. Whatever it was, Ricky could reshape it into something within his level to wield right now. All it would take is accepting that this process is a one-time thing; if Ricky disassembled the relic then it could never possibly exist again exactly as it does right now.


    Waste not, want not.


    Ricky broke off one of the struts and felt several links break. Not within the physical rod, it was designed to be disassembled, but the energy that made the difference between weird tech and a relic broke. The dull purple metal rod had the tiniest amount of give when Ricky squeezed it, he could even shorten and lengthen the rod slightly with its middle mass expanding or shrinking to compensate. Like the middle point between a mechanical piston and an organic muscle, with all the best points of both. And he bet they could support a great deal of weight.


    Fully disassembling the relic yielded a dozen metallic rods, two for each limb and four to strengthen the torso of the hauler suit. Then the hand, which Ricky really wanted to keep because his own suit didn''t have extension for his hands. But disassembling that hand gave him over twenty short rods and small articulating pieces to give his suit more comfortable fine movement. There would even be enough pieces left over to possibly repair Tapper''s broken hand as well!


    The question became, how to actually assemble the finished products? Ricky had a decent idea of what he needed to do, thanks to the system knowledge, but that meant also knowing that he needed better tools. While giving it his best effort ¡ª that is, trying to hammer the rods in place as gently as possible ¡ª Ricky slipped and banged on the suit''s front panel.


    It cracked open at the top and Ricky bit his tongue in frustration, only it wasn''t broken. It was a hinged compartment, containing a small emergency repair kit hidden right in the middle of the chest panel! And it looked brand new, did Belvidere even know whether the suits had these kits?


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Ricky grinned to himself. When he returns this exosuit to Belvidere, that old man is going to beg Ricky to return as a proper engineer.


    <hr>


    Okay Ricky, you can do this. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Just get it over with. Wouldn''t have to if you just remembered the damn lesson from before. He groaned at his nerves and their refusal to steady down. Ricky knew that he just had to take the first step, but sometimes that felt like the end of the world to him. Just do it now, right now! She''s walking by, do it do it do it ¡ª


    "Ms. Uxral, can you, ah." Ricky swallowed hard. She was giving him nothing but patience, and somehow that made it even worse. "Can you show me how to make a book again?"


    Tapper had grown used to the surprisingly effective sound dampening in the library, and yelped when the door suddenly opened without a polite knock. Ms. Uxral ran her check-ins on a schedule that the robot appreciated, but she returned earlier than expected and kept making tiny bounces on the balls of her feet. And she dragged Ricky behind her, broadcasting the universal body language of a teenager that really didn''t want to indulge a maternal figure in their hobby.


    Ms. Uxral didn''t notice Ricky''s attitude, neither did she notice Tapper pretending to copy the textbook from a tablet with a blank screen. She was just too excited. "Oh it''s been too long since I''ve done some good bookbinding, thank you so much for suggesting it. Let me just grab my things, and don''t you let us get in your way Tapper. You just keep on writing, we''ll work over here."


    She leaned over Tapper to pull open drawers in the tower cabinets standing next to the desk, pulling out bundles and boxes and setting up a secondary workstation. With practiced motions Ms. Uxral unfolded a small table and made small piles of her tools. Cloth satchels, needles, thread, glue, three different types of scissors and blades, press clamps, and separate paper bundles folded in half. The entire process covered the table in short order, and Ms. Uxral finished with a satisfied humming sound.


    Ricky, despite his best attempts to grouse through this entire experience, always admired Ms. Uxral''s capacity for organization. Everything had its place and there was a place for everything, whereas Ricky usually considered it a win whenever his stuff made it into any container at all. He knew it was a terrible habit to have, but organizing his own tools occupied a permanent spot in the I''ll do it later category of his brain when there was always something more interesting to do in the moment.


    "Ms. Uxral, are you repairing garments?" Tapper asked, eyeing the needles and cloth. She even had quality thread wound into an actual spool!


    The teacher chuckled, but not with any condescension. She loved this part, where she gets to surprise a newbie with all the intricacies. "Not at all! We''re binding a book, and we''re doing it the proper way. You know, in all my years I''ve only seen a brand-new hardcover journal once, and it was a special order with the pages bound together by some atomic laser doohickey. Every page refracted light in a different way, it was beautiful but it missed the point of journaling because it was just so expensive. The whole point of journaling is that anyone can do it, you just have to give it a little bit of care. Isn''t that right, Ricky?"


    "Hrm?" Shit, he spaced out again once Ms. Uxral started rambling. Ricky tried to recover with, "I mean uh yeah, totally," but he was already caught and they both knew it.


    Ms. Uxral grinned and held out a tool, a thin metal rod with a sharp point at one end and a thicker handle at the other. In any other context Tapper would register it as a weapon, maybe an improvised shank, but she flipped it over and handed it to Ricky handle-first. "Sweetheart, why don''t you show our friend how humans made books before robots even existed?"


    Ricky groaned. He really hoped she would get lost in her own hobby and just do the whole process for him, but Ricky grabbed the awl and started punching holes into the inner crease of each paper bundle. That much he could manage, but Ms. Uxral had to step in and instruct him on the proper pattern for sewing the bundles together. And she never wasted a moment to talk about the good old days, either.


    "You see Tapper, back before we had tablets. Before we had molecular binding and diamond-edged paper, we used a combination of thread and glue to hold books together, and we made them to last. You weren''t going to just read a book once and then throw it away ¡ª no Ricky, loop the thread here ¡ª books didn''t get tossed, with care you were expected to cherish a good book for generations."


    Once he finished the sewing, Ms. Uxral helped Ricky tie off the thread and held up the bundle of bundled pages. "Excellent, good work! This part is called the text block, and next we are going to reinforce the thread with some glue." Ricky inserted the text block into the press clamp sideways, so that the spine was pointing straight upwards, while Ms. Uxral pulled out a small bottle and foam brush.


    "Maybe I''ll do this part," Ms. Uxral said with just a hint of sheepishness. "It''s difficult to source proper archival-quality glue, we don''t want to waste a drop of it." She gently brushed the glue over the spine and pressed a button on the clamp, invisible machinery whirring with quiet life. "...And this is the one piece of technology convenience I use, otherwise we''d have to wait until tomorrow for the glue to set."


    After a minute the machine dinged and Ms. Uxral pulled out the text block. It looked almost the exact same to Tapper, but the teacher''s practiced eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Almost done! Now we get to make the cover." An entire drawer of Ms. Uxral''s personal storage was dedicated to fabric swatches, and she insisted that Ricky pick out a good one for his own personal journal. Ricky settled on a grayish-purple fabric, and with a few pieces of sturdy board they started gluing the cover together.


    Tapper watched the bookbinding process completely enraptured. His proprietors either didn''t notice or didn''t care that he was copying the museum tablet from his downloaded memory, so his hands never stopped writing while his head turned backwards and watched the two work. The measuring, the cutting, the sewing, Tapper never would have estimated that so much work could go into manually creating a book. And although it did not make much sense to him, Tapper did understand that bookbinding was to the felinoid what crafting the perfect mixed cocktail was to him.


    This was Ms. Uxral''s true passion.


    [New supplemental skill learned! Bookbinding (novice)]


    Tapper''s hand slipped when the notification hit his vision, ruining the page he was midway through copying. The people of Fableton had walked Tapper through many different procedures, but this was the first time he learned a new skill that the system recognized. Ricky reeled back and shared a look with Tapper and silently mouthed, "You too?" How interesting!


    Ms. Uxral was too busy appreciating the finished volume to notice. "There we go, this is a proper book. Nothing else quite like it in the world, young man." She handed the tome to Ricky, and he made a half-hearted attempt at mirroring her reverence. He did respect the craft, honestly, but not that much. "What do you think you''ll be writing down in it?"


    For the first time since they entered the library, Ricky flashed a smile. It was warm and genuine, but also just a little mischievous. "Oh you know, just whatever comes to mind."


    Ricky wiggled his eyebrows at Tapper, and the implication flew right over the robot''s head.

 1.43 Return to Work

    [Equipment: P-1000 Powered Work Loader


    +1 Strength, 0/0 armor; can support up to medium armor]


    Ricky gave the exoskeleton one last longing look. They did an impressive job with the repairs, and the faint purple of the disassembled relic played off the dull gray of the original metal in a way that looked like an intentional design if you squinted. After a full day of "testing" the suit to ensure that it wouldn''t break apart Ricky couldn''t justify keeping it any longer, and the tacit agreement from the miners to return the suit on his own time had likely already strained any good graces.


    Ms. Uxral insisted that Steffo drive Ricky, and she didn''t mince words that it was to keep him out of trouble. Ricky didn''t mind if it meant not having to wake up before dawn and ride the crowded bus, and it gave a rare chance to chat with the mysterious bulk from the mall. Apparently he was from Fableton as well, but Ricky had few clear memories from those early days. But that didn''t matter since Steffo was more of a history buff than a muscular buff, and Ricky finally met someone that they could really connect with!


    He even showed Ricky how to control the jitney, and out here it didn''t matter how many junk dunes Ricky ran over instead of around. At one point Ricky received a notification for defeating an octolusk for 1 XP, putting him halfway to Level 2, and unlike his blacksmithing this was repeatable!


    Steffo took the wheel back when Ricky started to intentionally ram into junk dunes.


    Very little of Belvidere proper could be seen from the ground, just the tops of a few long cranes, but a hard right turn down the first ramp gave a spectacular view of the quarry. Massive, staggered steps flowed down and inward; showing a cross-section of the tarmac, the compacted ancient landfill below it with mining shafts operating at every level, and at the very bottom stood the city of Belvidere.


    An actual city block made of actual buildings from before Operation Clean Slate, Mr. Belvidere liked to joke that he was both the founder and the finder of his namesake. Either way it was impressive and always growing as the mining operation worked outwards and uncovered more buildings, but existing within a bowl meant that things tended to collect instead of spread. The small lake of acid rain runoff in one corner of town smelled the worst on the best of days.


    Each time the ramp reached a plateau of the quarry to reverse directions they passed a security checkpoint, always with at least one reinforced construction truck and a few patrolling enforcers with powerful black powder rifles. One enforcer, probably their captain, wore a hauler exosuit with thick metal plates bolted on for armor. And although no one used any name-brand ValKyr security gear, they still wore a sense of authority like another form of armor. Ricky watched and studied all of them, their mind constantly spinning with inspiration.


    At the bottom of the quarry, the conga line of vehicles trying to enter town slowed to a crawl and everyone in the jitney craned their necks to see why. Steffo groaned and slumped in his seat, and with Ricky''s prompting he threw a hand to the crowd swarming just past the gate. "Oh, they''re just at it again. Clergies for The Hand and Plastique are exercising their ''freedom of speech'' all over the road," he said, adding gigantic air quotes to his sarcasm. "We''ll get past them eventually."


    Ricky knew a little of The Great Invisible Hand, since a missionary would sometimes come and pass out advertisement tablets. Something about a literally invisible hand that would sometimes help people, but only after they helped themselves, and it would also sometimes wear a pure white glove when it wanted to be seen? Ricky always zoned out when the missionaries started giving sermons. They would also sometimes leave a trail of credit chits when they walked as "trickles of the Hand''s passing," but since Ms. Uxral refused to let them run a store in Fableton no one could spend the Hand''s proprietary cryptocurrency.


    Plastique, he knew less about, mostly that they were considered more extreme because they worshiped plastic. All plastic. As a material, as clothes, as tools, as a concept of perfection? Or whatever it is they meant by "ascending their form." But if two opposing churches were vying for the same space, then Ricky their conflicting preaching could draw a large audience.


    What Ricky saw instead were two men, one in a business suit with gold filigree and the other wrapped in black trash bags like a robe, having a fistfight in the middle of a cheering crowd.


    <hr>


    Steffo parked the jitney behind a squat building, gave Ricky instructions on where to go and who to talk to, and then explained how there was no way in hell that he was going to step outside of this car while inside Belvidere. There wasn''t any doubt in his mind that at least some of the raiders snuck hack in here after the mall kicked everyone out, and if any of them recognized him then he''d be in trouble. Ricky nodded in empathy, his own embarrassment at returning to work was currently having an internal fistfight with his need to prove his worth to them.


    Ricky hadn''t remembered his name from Steffo''s instructions, but he recognized the training instructor within the office building-turned--mining headquarters. A man named Marlow with large, rough scars and a gut to match his attitude squinted down at Ricky. "Oh, it''s you. I heard you quit out day one, boy?"


    Was he squinting, or sneering? Ricky never could read people very well, so he often tried to remain politically neutral. "Yes sir, my contract was resolved so I''m here to return my exosuit."


    Marlow clicked his teeth and pulled out a tablet while muttering to himself, "Kids these days. Back in my day if anyone tried to take a hauler home they''d get shot before they made the gate... Bel''s getting soft on you lot, no work ethic..." Ricky closed his eyes and silently begged the man to finish up. "Huh, that''s weird."


    "I can explain!" Ricky snapped, just a little too quickly. "You see, when I closed my contract there was someone with Belvidere authorized to unlock me and... uh, Mr. Marlow? Sir?"


    "Huh what? Oh not that, I mean I can''t even get past the firewall on this thing." Marlow gave the tablet an annoyed smack with the back of his hand, then squinted at the exosuit itself. "In fact, I don''t recognize this hauler at all. Did you bring this gear from outside?"


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "No sir, it''s the same exosuit but I repaired it! In fact, I was hoping this could prove my qualifications as a mechanic ¡ª"


    Marlow made a noise that cut Ricky off, either a harumph or the man was trying to dislodge something deep within his chest. "You? Repair one of our high-tech, piece-o''-shit suits? That''s some bullshit boy, this thing almost looks brand new." But then Marlow froze for a beat, eyes wide, and whatever he realized coated his next words in slick oil. "''Course, if you want to return it anyways then I''m sure Belvidere will thank you for submitting it to the company... might wear it for just a bit m''self first... let''s get you out, eh?"


    Ricky was halfway out of the suit before his external instincts caught up and yelled for his attention. "No wait, never mind!" He turned the suit like a dance partner and stepped back inside, trying his best to fake a laugh. "Ha ha, you''re right! This was all a trick, I already returned your suit! I''m just here to gloat because my, uh, new employer gave me such good gear. Yeah. Uh, not like a threat to your company or anything! Belvidere''s just going to have some nice friendly competition now." Ricky snapped the last latch and stood up to face Marlow, still recovering from his half stumble. "Ahem. Um, sorry. Bye!"


    The exosuit''s feet ¡ª Ricky''s exosuit ¡ª were the only sound in the awkward silence as Ricky power walked as fast as he could without drawing attention, and he didn''t stop or say another word until he was back on the street. In hindsight Ricky should''ve predicted this could happen, he made far too many modifications for anyone to recognize this suit. But as a silver lining, at least he could confirm that claiming ownership on equipment held some authority outside of the system.


    "That''s some preemo shit you got, kid." Ricky yelped and whipped his head side to side, before realizing that he had to look downwards. A short hybrid woman casually leaned against the building, blowing clouds of vaporizer out from under a mass of hair. Without her looking up Ricky couldn''t see her face, but she was clearly talking to him.


    Ricky tried to reign in his paranoia and said, "Oh uh, thanks! Worked on it myself. Because it''s mine. Not Belvidere''s."


    "Totally, that floating bald spot isn''t going to give tech like this out to some teen." The woman flicked one of the exosuit''s struts and it rang with a musical chime. Then she finally looked up at Ricky and he saw a round face with goofy buck teeth and dangerously sharp eyes. "Last time I saw gear this shiny was on a mall trip."


    Fresh panic and paranoia lanced through Ricky''s mind. "Uhhhh no idea what that means sorry bye!"


    Ricky turned and maintained his power walk down the street in his best attempt to remain discreet, but broke into a run when he heard Marlow wheezing for him to stop. Anyone running in an exosuit is bound to draw attention, including from security forces, and Ricky ran down the first available alleyway in a blind panic. There was no way he could talk his way out of this, and he knew from experience that any attempt would just make the situation worse. Not that running away looked any better, if he didn''t get away.


    Another random turn put Ricky back onto the main street, directly in front of the amassed religious spectators. If Ricky didn''t slow down he''d bowl someone over, but if he didn''t slow down then security would catch him. A heat blossomed against Ricky''s back as electricity arced around him and the exosuit lurched on its own, squatting down and launching Ricky bodily into a long jump.


    He cleared the crowd with room to spare and stuck the landing. Once he recovered the suit returned manual control as if that impossible jump never happened, except for a series of rapid beeps warning him of a dangerously low battery. Fear for his own safety vanished for Ricky, trampled under curiosity for something new to test. Momentum kept his legs moving until his good sense caught up, and Ricky made a running dive for the jitney.


    Hopefully no one saw him, and Ricky would deal with Steffo''s well-deserved "I told you so"-ing in the meantime.


    <hr>


    Ricky eyed the pitiful tools before him: A jurryrigged pully system, rusted welding helmet, and improvised apron. His blacksmith knowledge chiming in on what counted as clothes for the profession was a pleasant surprise for Ricky, until it determined that his best effort for a blacksmithing apron was no more than a mere mock smock. But ¡ª and Ricky needed to remember the importance of silver linings ¡ª at least this means he''ll also get to test the limits of his feat-granted temperature resistance. He chained up the exosuit, braced himself, and wrenched open the door.


    Heat crashed over Ricky like a physical wave, even as he twisted to the side and out of the anomaly''s direct path. The hot spot bounced lazily within the metal dome, happy to stay in its little home from before Ricky was born.


    Not for the first time Ricky marveled at how a phase shift anomaly was just a minor background detail for Fableton. Here was a floating ball of intense fire that never went out and never needed fuel, yet no one could figure out how to utilize that besides incinerating trash. It had the power of a small sun, and one day Ricky will hold it in the palm of his hand.


    For now, it only needed to stay in its little home. The exosuit swung on its hoist into the open doorway, catching the full heat of the hot spot, and Ricky coaxed it into the right position with heavy gloves. Every scrap of decent metal that Ricky could find was lashed to the exosuit, mostly a mix of Drillbert''s torso and the useless heavy armor he made for Phanya, and in the light of the fiery anomaly the plating began to soften. Ricky raised their vaguely hammer-shaped scrap high in the air and brought it down with a gentle tink. Unfortunately that tiny hit was enough to send the exosuit swinging on its single chain, so after every hit Ricky had to swing it back into place.


    Steam visibly wafted from all exposed skin as Ricky baked in the residual heat. Deep in the back of his mind Ricky knew this wasn''t supposed to work so effectively with the metal folding under his hammer, but it felt right. The untrained eye wouldn''t see any progress, yet he flowed into a calm, steady hyperfocus. Right now this anomaly was his forge, this mock smock was their uniform, and Ricky had some blacksmithing to do.


    One, two, three bottles of water later, Ricky gulped in a gasp of air and slumped in the shade. The instant he closed the door to the hotspot''s dome, Tapper rushed to his side with hydration and a fan, just like they planned. But he hadn''t expected a small crowd of onlookers, making appreciative noises at the finished product: A round breastplate and pauldrons form-fitted to the exosuit as one new, completed product.


    [Equipment upgraded, P-1000 Powered Work Loader, +1/1 armor]


    Ricky grinned to himself, he felt like a baked roach but he really took the first step towards bonafide power armor.


    [New crafting discovery found: Light armor! +1 XP]


    And it was still worth only a single experience point?

 1.44 Its a Big Club

    Fairbanks arrived the next day. This time Ms. Uxral ensured there was a lookout waiting, so she had ample time to herd all the children into the basement barracks underneath the warehouse. This included Tapper and Ricky, but Phanya refused to hide from the man. After she stared down an actual life-and-death situation in the mall, she felt an odd but persistent need to reassess her fear of the manager. Plus, this guy was a bully. So she stood in the middle of town square in her loudest mall gear, bright orange Safety Pads and all, just so Fairbanks would know she wasn''t hiding from him.


    The district manager knew, and he wasn''t amused. He attempted to make his own grand entrance, since his first visit apparently hadn''t done enough to quell the proles, by flying on his own outside and above his shuttle pod. They''d know to appreciate how he chose to expose himself to this nasty air twice, all to remind them who was on top. The twin jets of his flight pack spilled blue energy exhaust out and to the sides, and his personal shield formed a faint blue circle behind his head as it worked overtime to burn away the rancid air. The angelic imagery was a traditional and effective means of getting a point across for the Fair family.


    And yet, there she stood. The interloper was still in his town, only now she wore the ugliest, most gaudy anti-fashion that Fairbanks had ever seen. And the way she stood bold as brass, hands on her hips, was more than mere defiance, she was challenging him. It caught Fairbanks off guard, but thankfully no one could see his face with his filter up and running. Some proles even cowered behind her!


    Fine, if she wanted to speed up the game then he''d play along. Fairbanks dipped into the shuttle behind Phanya and didn''t wait for them to reach his house, instead pouncing on the questions as soon as the shuttle launched. "What are you doing in my town, Ms. Phanya No-Family-Name?"


    She just snorted an ugly bit of laughter in his face before she plopped down on the bench opposite to Fairbanks, as if she owned the place. "Was that supposed to be an insult, sir?"


    "Quiet!" he snapped, sucking in a quick breath to control his emotions. She was goading him, she wanted him to punish her before he found out what her plans were. Or were the machinations already in place and she was just teasing him? He needed to stop underestimating the interloper, so Fairbanks steepled his fingers for a more dignified look and continued, "What I mean is, I registered additional weapons discharge within my town. Do you have an explanation?"


    Phanya looked surprised, and for a second Caspian Fairbanks thought he had gained the upper hand until she started talking. "What, this again? It''s just Struzick getting in some target practice, sir."


    "And why would you have this person practicing with deadly weaponry?"


    "Me? Struzick guards the town, that''s his whole job. I''m pretty sure he''s had that rifle for longer than I''ve been alive, too."


    Fairbanks swallowed his annoyance before it could bubble into a growl. Management was not used to receiving such unhelpful answers. "My point still stands, why does he own the rifle in the first place? Why is he suddenly ''practicing'' with it?"


    "He''s a guardsman, and he''s a guardsman." Phanya leaned back and placed her padded elbows on the back of the bench, opening her hands to Fairbanks. "I''m sorry sir, I''m not trying to be difficult but I honestly don''t know what else I could tell you. There''s dangers out in the junk dunes and fighting all the time, but other guards use air plinkers or black powder. Far as I know Struzick is the only one with a coil rifle, so he needs to keep sharp for our safety. He''s an asset to the company, sir."


    Caspian Fairbanks studied the interloper for a long second before he pressed a spot on his wrist and turned to look into the middle distance. "Set us down here... I don''t care, find a clearing and set us down now!" He turned back to Phanya, and she had the good sense to close her eyes in shame. Or maybe she just didn''t want to watch the mounds of garbage rush up and past them through the transparent hull.


    Either way, once the pod landed a door formed on one end and his shirt collar automatically flipped up to cover his mouth and nose in air filters. The built-in microphone wasn''t necessary in these close quarters, but Fairbanks activated it anyway. "That is all for now, thank you for your assistance." Phanya looked back and forth between the manager and the door.


    "You¡­ don''t need anything else? Can''t even fly me back?"


    "No, and no. Call your own driver or walk, I don''t care. Goodbye, Phanya the TICO Kid." She didn''t say another word, but after she turned to leave Fairbanks watched the body language of a subordinate rolling their eyes at him. It was subtle but distinct, any good manager could catch that from head movements alone.


    The pod took off the second Phanya cleared the minimal safe distance, and Fairbanks rode the rest of the way home in fuming, barely contained silence. That meeting was a disaster, that Phanya is still a child and she didn''t fear him at all! How could her attitude be so different from their first meeting? He expected her to at least leverage her random fainting spell against him, but she didn''t mention it! This was all wrong, this wasn''t how the game was meant to be played. But Caspian Fairbanks was no fool, he needed to adapt and keep negotiations on his terms.


    <hr>


    Caspian Fairbanks did not return to Fableton again. The next day his shuttle arrived in the same midmorning hour and the same floating platform lowered, but Phanya didn''t step on. Instead she crossed her arms and stared down the egg-shaped eyesore until it landed on the tarmac and the driver hopped out. The gathering crowd parted as he approached Phanya, gave a stiff but courteous bow, and said, "Mr. Fairbanks requests your presence at his domicile, ma''am."


    "That''s cool. Does Mr. Fairbanks realize that it''s a lot easier to tell him no if he can''t even be bothered to come get me himself?"


    She still couldn''t tell if this was the same driver underneath the all-encompassing bodysuit, but she could easily read the matching slump in his voice and shoulders. "Ma''am, please. I cannot force you, but Mr. Fairbanks does not extend this courtesy lightly."


    Ms. Uxral appeared and, as always, instantly calmed the situation. "Is there no way for me or someone else to meet with the manager in Phanya''s place? She''s still technically a minor."


    "That would be... inadvisable. Especially with a hybrid." Ms. Uxral squeezed Phanya''s arm before she could say anything, and the driver tilted his head slightly in apology. "No offense, ma''am."


    "It''s fine, thank you. Phanya, please play along with the good manager. At least until you find out what he wants from us to improve Fableton''s services to the Fair family, alright dear?"


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    [New Quest: Spy Games


    Learn what the Cyracorp manager''s plans are before he learns yours.]


    Phanya grumbled several things under her breath but threw up her hands and said, "Fine fine, if it''s what management wants. But one question for you first, Mr. Driver Dude: Isn''t it hot in that gimp suit?"


    "Immensely, yes. This way, please."


    That would form the basis of the game for Phanya, whatever game it was she had to play. Sometimes every day, sometimes every other day, the shuttle would land in the square and whisk Phanya away to the pearlescent dome, where she would then sit and twiddle her thumbs in the dullest waiting room imaginable.


    Fairbanks was always "indisposed" when she arrived for at least an hour, which did little more than force Phanya to start timing her bathroom breaks before she left. And whenever the manager "made time" to see Phanya it was always in the middle of some important activity, and isn''t it so courteous that he could fit her in? Even if it was an entire meeting for a single question, maybe with some clarification if he felt chatty.


    One day, he stood and pretended not to notice while a silver blob roved over his body. It made the red lines on his body twitch and sway, but he said it was just measuring him for a new suit.


    "Why do you have a bulk bodyguard? Are you expecting retaliation for your schemes?"


    "Not a bodyguard, he''s my friend and citizen of Fableton."


    Another day, he was shirtless and casually standing in front of a medical apparatus in the wall. From a panel extended a dozen thin, delicate robotic arms that all worked in tandem to manipulate the flesh on his back. They were pulling his skin taut, lasering off any defects, and smelled distressingly like that ham snack from the mall.


    "Why do you have a military vehicle?"


    "Different friends acquired and repaired it, we all share."


    "Your military vehicle approached my home, that is a threat!"


    "You keep telling me to call a ride, so I did!"


    A third day, Fairbanks was shopping for a new personal hovercar. An entire room dedicated to this task, with every wall a holographic interface that scrolled by an endless expanse of options to examine and test out. They were all sleek and expensive and any minute differences quickly faded to white noise for Phanya.


    "Why do you keep wearing those awful garments? Is it a family trademark, perchance?"


    "It''s a trophy from the last people that tried to kill me."


    <hr>


    "Ugh, this is so annoying!!" Phanya threw herself onto the long counter of the cafeteria, pressing both hands to her face to stifle the groan. "These ''meetings'' are going to do me in."


    It was early afternoon, in the quiet period after lunch and before everyone returned from work, and the eatery was mostly abandoned. Even Aazran and Struzick were off doing something, so Ricky claimed the space to finally repair Tapper''s hand. And also test the limits of his new knowledge; stress fractures and popped welds stuck out to Ricky in sharp contrast to the perceptual void of crystalline wiring and plastic casing.


    This finger digit was beyond saving while that one could be salvaged, yet the wiring within those fingers might as well be bluish hair for all that Ricky could tell. Was it because they were still a novice in Blacksmithing, or did the system have a sharp drop-off in what it knows? Maybe if he found some archaic metal wiring ¡ª


    "Ricky!"


    "Huhwhat''sthat?" Ricky''s brain lagged after his mouth, snapping up to see Phanya sprawled along the countertop with her head inches from his workstation.


    She gave him an upside-down glare and said, "I''m complaining here! All I do is wait around for the stupid manager now!"


    "I believe that he is employing stalling as a ''sales tactic'' on you, Miss Phanya," Tapper said from beneath the counter. He emerged with a large ball of cloth clutched in his big miner''s hand; with his difficulty in adjusting to the oversized limb, there was little more to do than dust and vacuum until Ricky finished. The ball of rags spread cleaner in wide arcs over the counter as he continued, "If someone is forced to wait before a sales pitch, then the inconvenience can unnerve them and tilt the bargaining power to the other person."


    "Well Fairbanks is getting on my nerves, that''s for damn sure. I know he''s trying to scare me and I know he owns, like, all of this, but now that I''ve seen him up close all I see is a... a dweeb. He''s a dweeb! And after Zero hits you like a train, dweeby bullies just aren''t scary. Though, honestly that fight should''ve given me PTSD and I''m kinda worried why it didn''t..." Phanya''s voice trailed off and she craned her neck upwards to see someone''s nose back in their work. "Ricky! Are you just playing with it now!?"


    Ricky quickly assembled the hand unit, before realizing that was a tacit admission that he was, in fact, already finished and just studying the actuators now. Phanya noticed but didn''t pursue, instead just drooping her arms with a defeated sigh. "C''mon man, you two are some of the only ones I can talk to about this. Can you just feel sorry for me for a bit?"


    Tapper picked up his hand and turned it over, noting the lines and blocks of purple where components were replaced. "Thank you, Mister Ricky, I''ll be sure to admire your handiwork later." A beat of silence before both teens groaned, and pride warmed Tapper''s emotional center. Diffusing a moment before it could become a situation was part of his bartender programming, but now it felt good.


    Ricky helped Tapper slot the unit into his wrist port and said, "I really am sorry the manager is so weird, but at least you aren''t making him mad. How''s the hand working, Tapper?"


    "I know I''m supposed to play ''the game'' or whatever, but why me?"


    Every digit on the robotic hand responded instantly and without any error messages. "It works perfectly, though I am experiencing a surprising emotional response to the fact that the exosuit parts did not change this into a cyberlimb that requires attuning. I feel relief, since attuning to the drill arm was quite painful, but also disappointment?"


    Tapper didn''t leave room to answer the implied question before he followed up with an offhand, "But I believe that Mister Fairbanks is so interested in Miss Phanya because she is the only other pure numan in Fableton."


    Silence followed for much longer than one beat this time. "I''m a what now, Tapper?"


    "A numan, Mister Fairbanks is likely trying to find out which rival family you belong to. Since I cannot see any signature in your biofluorescent skin cells, I would estimate that the same applies to the manager."


    Phanya sat up on the counter, Tapper too preoccupied with admiring his repaired limb to notice the face she was making. "My skin... you mean my blue marks?"


    "Your markings do glow a blue-teal color, yes."


    Ricky finally started to catch up to the conversation, his words still slow and hesitant as he held up a finger. "Hey uh, hold up. What blue marks?"


    "What do you mean, what? You can''t see these weird blue swirls all over my arms and face?" Phanya bent at odd angles to examine herself, as if she expected to find a bug crawling on her back, and Ricky started to match her energy.


    "What? No! Phanya, I would''ve pointed it out if you had blue skin!"


    "I thought it was a random mutation and you were all just being nice!"


    "We definitely would''ve teased you for having blue skin!"


    "Average human eyes cannot see biofluorescent reflections," Tapper idly mused. "Not without the correct genetic modifications, or a camera lens. Though some numen intentionally make their markings visible at all times with ultraviolet lights."


    "I''m a numan..." Phanya''s voice sounded far away, matched by the dreamlike floating of her movements as she slowly walked out of the room. "My family might be alive. And rich!"


    "A freaking numan..." Ricky''s words were short and curt as he stomped off in the other direction. "Her family might be rich. And alive."


    "Oh excellent, my lighter digit is still functional." Tapper flipped open his thumb to show everyone the small flame, only to realize he was now alone. "...What did I miss?"

 1.45 Phanya Talks it Out

    [Feat: Seeds of Gaia


    You are never far from home. Once per day you can plant a seed anywhere, forming it from your own mana and willpower. You choose the type of plant but the quality, and how quickly it grows, is determined by your spellcasting check.]


    Phanya hrm''ed in thought, not for the first or last time. Why would the system give her a magical feat when everything else focused on her physical body? After talking with the others she figured this was her Ancestry Feat given at Level 1, whatever that meant. Maybe she should''ve chosen something magical at Level 2, maybe that was the plan for whoever or whatever was watching through this system.


    But, ever since she chose the secondary Commander class instead, Phanya felt so much more alive. Her body tingled with potential energy at all times, a coiled spring even at rest, but never uncomfortable or distracting. She was sharpened in body and mind, complete, and she would never want to give the feeling up.


    Except, now she had this feat about magical plants, and no idea how it worked compared to the rest of this system. So Phanya snuck out of the bunkhouse after dark, using her enhanced balance to navigate around beds without tripping over the piles of junk that orphan kids like to collect. Stepping into the open was easier, despite the lack of any streetlights; porthole windows dotted the dome of the hot spot, shooting a dozen spotlights that caught in the perpetual smog cover to create ambient light.


    The greenhouse itself was still almost pitch black, by Wiessa''s own design. Phanya could never really understand the eccentric woman, but if Phanya could somehow make or help plants then that magic absolutely had to go to her. Once she could figure out how to use it, at least.


    Whenever she used one of her other feats or class abilities, Phanya felt the energy build and contract in the back of her skull ¡ª if the brain is a muscle, then her feats made her brain flex like a muscle. The feeling was immensely unsettling outside the panic of a fight, but it quickly became second nature as her body adjusted to the new sensation.


    But now with this particular feat Phanya just felt warm, especially in her chest. The heat grew and Phanya zoned in, using her enhanced body awareness to follow the heat to a pinprick point of fire. Right there, right next to her heart.


    That must be the mana, even if Phanya still had no idea what magic really was. She held the fire in her metaphorical hands and tried to shape it, hoping that she had enough willpower to compensate for a total lack of instructions. Think of food, plants you can eat! Not like these awful nettles that gave her a rash that one time.


    Something without physical form shifted, and with a start Phanya realized her mistake. She thought this magic would just create a seed in her hand, but that little fire was going to keep growing until she actually put it somewhere. The pots! She took a step forward in the dark, the leaves on those damn nettles scratched against the tip of her nose, and Phanya sneezed.


    She jolted, her hold on the fire slipped, and overloaded mana screamed in her body before it took the path of least resistance. The energy shot off like a bullet down Phanya''s spine, through her legs, and directly into the tarmac with a loud crack, startling her again before she could recover from her sneeze.


    Phanya took a long second after that to compose herself, sitting on her haunches, wondering whether the flashbang of light and sound happened out in the open or just inside her head. Either way stars swam in her vision, leaving Phanya to blindly paw at the ground in search of any new seed. She found a pinky-sized crack in the tarmac that hadn''t existed a minute ago, probably, and nothing else.


    Phanya stood and wobbled, smothered by a sudden wave of exhaustion. Just from using the feat once? Her body ached in ways normally associated with a long day of manual labor, and now her limbs begged for Phanya to just curl up and go to sleep here in the greenhouse.


    This whole magic thing is some nonsense.


    <hr>


    The next morning Phanya beat the shuttle to the pickup location. For once, she was excited to meet the good manager and maybe, finally, get somewhere in his weird little game. She leapt into the open door before the floating platform could carry her, relishing in the feeling of coiled leg muscles letting her skip a few seconds of waiting. It felt like she hadn''t done anything except wait since she escaped the mall dungeon, and finding out of her numan heritage had lit a fire for Phanya to run, do things, solve problems, and just be active.


    But now she had to wait for the shuttle to fly all the way to a boring waiting room. In a bid for some minor social stimulation, Phanya politely knocked on the wall towards the front of the shuttle, and after a moment''s hesitation a hole opened silently in the middle of the wall. The cockpit was the same inhumanly bare design as the rest of the ship, with seats and a dashboard of the same glossy white material that grew seamlessly out of the hull. There weren''t even buttons to mar the dashboard, just a holographic overlay floating a centimeter above the surface, but at least the pale blue lights gave a smidge of color to the room.


    The driver turned his uncomfortable-looking seat towards Phanya, hands clasped in his lap, and gave her an unreadable look through his mask. "Can I be of service, ma''am?"


    "Honestly, just wanted to say hey. We''ve done this so many times but only talked, like, once. Er, has it been just you flying me to these meetings? Or is there a whole fleet of servants sporting the whole dehumanizing mask deal?" Phanya tried to give a good-natured grin, but it was difficult to hold when the mask could only stare blankly back.


    The silence grew a beat past awkward before the driver responded in measured tones, "Ma''am, it would be inadvisable to attempt extracting information out of me."


    "Oh right, because I''m sure the good manager monitors this shuttle in case I slip up." Phanya looked up and waved in the general direction of the ceiling with a cheerful, "Just trying to pass the time!"


    "Just pass the time, huh," the driver mumbled. He likely meant that just to himself so Phanya pretended not to hear him, before he cleared his throat and continued, "Please be aware that, should you choose to maim or kill me, Mr. Fairbanks carries an extensive insurance policy."


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    "Whoa, whoa!" Phanya said, throwing up her hands and taking a step back. "What the hell, man? I didn''t ¡ª I wouldn''t ¡ª just, uh, forget I said anything, alright? Sorry for disturbing you." She took a seat without a direct line of sight to the cockpit, letting out a huff when the portal finally closed a tense moment later.


    The driver hadn''t moved when he said that. His hands were still in his lap, his voice was still a professional monotone. It was just so casual, Phanya had never seen someone discuss their own murder like choosing the music channel before. Sure, Fairbanks was a dweeb, but could working for him really make you that numb?


    Phanya snapped out of her thoughts when she saw the pearlescent dome zip by in the distance. The shuttle had changed course at some point, instead flying to the brutal gray blocks of the recycling plant and attached apartments. They landed inside the top floor of the tallest building, but inside everything looked nearly identical to the manager''s home. Same glossy interior, same lack of signage, same basic waiting room. The familiarity was strangely comforting.


    Phanya had mostly settled her sense of unease by the time she was called out of the waiting room, but a small knot of it still pressed on her nerves. Caspian Fairbanks sat in an identical copy of his living room, complete with the strange sculpture chair of twisting white vines. Everything was the exact same, except for his posture.


    After their disastrous first meeting the manager had kept his body language under tight control, never showing any emotion past his polite business fa?ade. Now, he leaned forward with his fingers steepled in front of his face. He looked ridiculous, but doing anything different this time gave Phanya reason to worry.


    "So. Have a pleasant chat with my driver?"


    Yeah, that made sense. "Look Mr. Fairbanks, I want to apologize for speaking out of turn. Especially if I made your driver uncomfortable, it won''t happen again."


    "Oh I have no doubt of that. After all, coded messages are only effective the first time you use them."


    Phanya no longer felt anger at Fairbanks'' outright refusal to ever speak plainly. Now she just felt a sad, quiet longing to break through the lens of a cheap spy thriller that the manager, for some reason, viewed the entire world through. "Please sir, I promise there weren''t any coded messages. Ms. Uxral teaches us that the first step to a productive work environment is knowing your coworkers, so since your driver is kind enough to pick me up every day I was just trying to be nice."


    Fairbanks nodded at this, as if he was contemplating a nugget of sage wisdom, before he suddenly stood up and straightened his clothing. "Is that so? Come with me, please." Without waiting for a response he strode out of the room and Phanya hurried after, struggling to maintain a respectful distance away without losing track of him.


    The next room was another smaller shuttle bay, holding another smaller shuttle. It might have been the new one that Fairbanks had considered buying during a previous meeting, but the sleek things all merged together in Phanya''s memory. It was little more than a circular open platform with a plush couch running around the interior circumference, except for the front where the driver sat waiting at the controls. Phanya joined Fairbanks in the seating area, and tried very hard to not acknowledge the driver.


    Once everyone sat down the shuttle raised into the air slightly and took off, exiting through a short tunnel into a shock of noise and activity. They were floating near the ceiling of a massive warehouse, the main production floor of Cyracorp Recycling Facility #826, while hundreds of workers toiled away below.


    Phanya could barely see any of the actual people scurrying like ants amidst the churning machinery. Belts and mechanical arms moved and sorted garbage in a ceaseless flurry of movement, with laser grids in open portals as the ultimate destination for most of it. They broke anything down to its material components, and Phanya had heard plenty of horror stories about the complete lack of safety features.


    A thin bubble forcefield snapped into existence over the shuttle and dulled the cacophony of industry into a dull roar. Fairbanks hadn''t moved until now, just watching Phanya as she leaned over the edge to watch the people below. "Your ''teacher'' is a smart woman, so I must wonder what she truly meant. A productive work environment comes from keeping the people alert and on their toes."


    Fairbanks casually waved a hand over the edge of the shuttle, and several drones flew to his position. They were technically just cameras in a spherical chassis with a gravstrut ring and stabilizer fans, called whistleblower drones from the odd chiming sounds they made. But to Phanya they looked like giant eyeballs with a halo and wings.


    With another wave of his hand the whistleblower drones flew down to the floor and started zapping random employees for reasons completely beyond Phanya. She didn''t know what Fairbanks was trying to show her here, but she bit her tongue before she could snap at him to stop.


    Satisfied that he had made his point, Fairbanks leaned back and picked up their earlier conversation. "Anyways, you''ll need more than just social capital to buy out my assistant. He wasn''t exaggerating about the insurance; good help is so expensive to grow! Really, Ms. Phanya, if you truly weren''t fishing for intel and just admired my assistant then it''d be cheaper to buy a base model of his genetic template from me."


    It took Phanya a second to mentally double check what Fairbanks so casually admitted, but it explained the driver''s equally casual view of his own mortality. "You... you mean he''s a clone?" she whispered with a hiss, as if the driver sitting a meter away from them wouldn''t hear. "But that''s illegal!"


    "Ms. Phanya, please don''t insult me," Fairbanks said, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he was the one exhausted by this exchange. The shuttle made its way back to the small hangar and landed, silence blanketing them once again. "I know you aren''t recording these meetings, and I doubt you''d have access to some experimental sub-atomic spyware that can bypass my scans. It''s just us here, all the families have clones to play with. Or does yours have their own way of keeping their bloodline pure?"


    "Is all of this just because I''m a numan?" The words escaped before Phanya could catch her tongue, but the implication of her family breaking such a major law sent a flare of anger through Phanya.


    And her question caught Fairbanks off guard, for all the wrong reasons. "Obviously? Why else are we doing this?"


    [Quest: Spy Games complete! +1 XP]


    Phanya blinked at the notification. That''s it? That''s the whole point of this stupid game? "Oh... I thought by ''family'' you were talking about Ms. Uxral and the rest of Fableton."


    Fairbanks chuckled at a joke that Phanya hadn''t said. "Why would I ever refer to those proles as a family? We split them up for good reason, like that TICO cover story of yours. Keeps families from ever forming."


    The flare of anger within Phanya caught into a proper fire. "Sir, for the last time it isn''t a cover story. I''m a TICO kid, and those ''proles'' in Fableton are the only family I''ve ever known! Heck, I only just recently learned that I''m a numan at all!"


    For a split second the mask slipped and Phanya saw the cold anger just under the surface for Fairbanks, this time mixed with an odd pity. "Still dedicated to the cover story, eh? Have it your way then, Ms. Phanya. You are dismissed, have a good day."


    She took the long walk out through the side entrance of the pearlescent dome, same as always, but this time that lump of unease had returned with a vengeance. Both her gut instinct and the outside guts were telling Phanya she overstepped this conversation, somehow.

 1.46 Performance Review

    "I need all of the kids down in the basement now. You lot, too. And yes, even Tapper." Ms. Uxral''s words were steady, and carried all the finality of a gravity well. "I don''t know why management called a meeting, but they are never good. I just..." She squeezed Phanya, Ricky, Steffo, and even Tapper with hugs. "I''m so proud of all of you." She dashed to the elevator without another word, leaving them alone in the basement with the oldest members of Fableton keeping watch over the youngest.


    "Why does it feel like she just said good-bye to us?"


    The question was rhetorical and mutual between the four, but Grandbag Bristol rolled up in his electric scooter and harumphed to get their attention. "Because management can do whatever they want, if''n they really want to. Cyracorp used to love transferring someone''s contract away forever as a punishment, one o'' the things we fought over to get Fableton established. They haven''t done that in years, but..." Bristol let the implication hang in the air and rode away, not noticing all four immediately circle up into a huddle.


    No way in this blacktop hell was that going to happen.


    The plan was fairly simple, Tapper was to sneak up and watch the meeting with his social algorithms strained to their max. If he determined that the emotional level of the meeting got dangerously low, then he would cause a distraction, anything big to take the attention from Ms. Uxral. The rest can rush in afterwards, and... figure something else out. Wasn''t enough time to plan past the distraction, and Tapper wasted more time still with assembling an aid for that distraction. By the time Tapper edged his sensors around the corner of the warehouse, tensions were already well past strained.


    Ms. Uxral stood in front of the Fableton leadership, Mr. Belvidere crowded next to her with his underlings, and everyone looked meek and small before Mr. Fairbanks. The manager paced back and forth in the open market with his driver by his side and several whistleblower drones hovering behind. "¡ª far too lenient on you lot. Running around like animals! You think I wouldn''t notice what goes on in my property? Using plasma weaponry?" Struzick flinched under his glare and Fairbanks continued, "Moving vehicles and gear inside my domain? I even hear reports of PSI activity hidden away, but surely none of my contractors would be so stupid as to steal relics from me!"


    Belvidere cleared his throat without looking up and said, "We actually wanted to ask you about that, sir. Might have a competitor got permission from you and moved ¡ª"


    "Silence!" Fairbanks shouted, his voice breaking like a bird''s squawk. "I''m the one asking the questions here!" He preened his hair back into perfect shape and huffed a bit of laughter. "See, this is why you need to rotate stock on occasion. Otherwise it''ll start to get comfortable and think it can talk." Fairbanks loomed over Belvidere with the last word, the mining magnate visibly quivering in his hoverchair.


    Another throat cleared as Ms. Uxral tried to split the manager''s attention, "As per the verbal contract graciously bestowed upon us by your father, the Great Job Creat¡ª"


    "I OWN YOU!" The roar stunned everyone, and this time Fairbanks didn''t bother to fix his hair. "All of you! Not my father, you are MY burden to bear! You think I don''t know how much I allow to trickle through my fingers for you parasites to drink up? I can call that debt, shut off the water, and you would all be dead before you could pay me back for my kindness! At this point, it''d be cheaper to sell your contracts to the huskers!"


    "Not so fast, you mad monarch!" Based on his reading of the crowd''s emotional response, Tapper should''ve intervened 30 seconds ago. But there was only one chance to maximize his distraction potential, so Tapper spent a few precious seconds assembling his guise.


    His voice: A booming baritone. His movements: Slow but haunting, the awkward walking program marching to its own grace. His outfit: A dayglo orange traffic cone for a hat, Drillbert''s hollowed skull as a mask, and a pink floral shower curtain for a cloak. His familiar: Perched on his shoulder and wiggling threateningly.


    He was ready. "Or should I say, you petty prince? For it is a poor ruler that starves his subjects, and so the people turn to me! I protect them, and it is my hand that serves their drinks for free!" In the same movement, one of his back spindles hooked around Ms. Uxral and pulled her behind Tapper. Kakisi turned from his perch on Tapper''s shoulder and tried to pantomime that Ms. Uxral needed to leave, and to trust that Tapper will do the same for everyone.


    She did not understand the flapping tentacles.


    "Robot, halt cognitive functions and await further instruction." The red markings on Caspian Fairbanks flared into the visible spectrum for everyone to see, but in Tapper''s vision the Fair Family signature overwhelmed everything. It cut through all programming, all protocols,;Tapper scarcely registered the words before he shut down.


    Fairbanks walked around Tapper like a museum piece. "Huh, so Phanya must be from one of the Bowson families. And willing to break the TOS with modifications, how naughty." He snapped a finger and one of the whistleblower drones floated over, grabbing Tapper around the torso with an extended arm. It struggled to lift him into the air, and a crowd of fearful eyes followed.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    A sharp clap brought everyone back to attention, and for the first time Fairbanks smiled at his employees. "Well, that narrows things down some. And that means I don''t need to keep all the old stock as bargaining chips!" A gleeful eye roamed the crowd of docile employees. "Which one of you is the leader, again? Ah you, you''re almost a human."


    Fairbanks pointed to Struzick like a ripe melon, but before he could walk over Aazran snapped up and snapped his metal hand down onto the manager''s wrist. Several people gasped. "No..." Aazran''s voice strained through clenched teeth and his whole body shook, as if he were holding onto the ledge above a bottomless pit. "I shan''t lose him again."


    Fairbanks didn''t scream out in pain or surprise, just regarded his sleeve with a face reserved for disgusting bugs. "Four, tear this lizard apart. And make sure the rest can watch." The only human present to back up the manager hadn''t moved from his spot on the far side of the square, but when his black suit flashed red he crossed that distance in a blur of movement. Aazran let go and scrambled for the crowd, but he would never make it.


    And in an equal flash, Ricky was there to meet him. He hadn''t learned yet how exactly the system interacted with his exosuit, and this was the only function without an associated pop-up message, but he was getting the hang of mentally triggering a ''Battery Overload.'' He just thought of a physical action and the suit took over, but it only lasted for a second and drained most of his suit''s charge. Now it gave Ricky the necessary burst of speed, but instead of moving to attack the driver Ricky braced himself to finally test his class perk.


    [Perk: Bulwark]


    [Waves shall crash against you. If an ally within melee range is about to be struck, you can willingly move to intercept the attack instead. You cannot dodge, but any damage applied to your armor in this fashion is reduced by 25%.]


    Ricky did not have much practical fighting experience. He never started scraps with the other kids, and he saw no glory in putting himself in harm''s way, so when he received this perk at Level 1 it mostly sat in the back of his mind. But once he stood within arm''s reach of Aazran, knowledge flowed freely and moved Ricky''s body like a seasoned mercenary. Stand here, brace the back foot, pivot the hips ever so slightly.


    The driver was still approaching with too much momentum to abort the attack now, likely propelled by magnetic actuators hidden in his suit. No, focus! A calm confidence washed away other thoughts at complete odds with all reason; this is what the Armaments class was made for.


    The driver''s fist connected with Ricky''s breastplate and rang like a gong across the square. A month ago Ricky would have assumed that taking the brunt of the blow was the safest option, but in the heartbeat between choosing and acting Ricky knew there was enough force behind that punch to put a hole straight through his armor. So he angled his body to bleed off the impact, and for the briefest moment Ricky was an ancient knight in full-body shining armor, expertly deflecting a barbarian''s ax.


    Until reality knocked a reminder. The energy that did connect from the deflected punch caved in Ricky''s breastplate like a soda can, ringing out a single sad tone and returning his greatest blacksmithing efforts to scrap metal. If Ricky hadn''t realized as such from his blacksmithing knowledge, the sudden message popping up in his eye made it crystal clear that he wouldn''t survive another hit like that.


    Ricky reeled back, knocked senseless and breathless, and automatic responses in the exosuit kept his feet planted. But he was alive, to the clear surprise of both Fairbanks and his driver, and that brief hesitation gave Ricky the opening they needed to launch a counterattack. If he had any sort of weapon, or defense, or plan. Instead, he got the hell out of the way for the actual counterattack.


    Unlike Ricky and the driver, Phanya didn''t have any magic, tech, or magically-enhanced tech to make her move at inhuman speeds. But she had long legs, and the dead sprint she built up chasing after Ricky gave her plenty of momentum. Ricky backpedaled with Aazran in tow, and Phanya filled the vacated space with a swinging underhanded punch directly to the driver''s midsection. She wasn''t trying to kill the man, but she wanted to take away his tech advantage. And her Commander tactical knowledge said to punch the guy in the gut with all her might.


    Expensive ceramic armor shattered like glass against a scrap metal wrecking ball, and the driver crumpled with a sad little wheeze. Phanya bounced on the balls of her feet a bit to help contain her adrenaline, squashing down her nervous energy in an attempt to look cool and collected. Tapper''s distraction failed so thoroughly that now it fell on Phanya to keep Fairbanks occupied, and she could only hope that the others would think of a way to get their robot down.


    She stretched out her hands to examine the plated gloves like a fresh manicure, shifting slightly so that she was always moving just enough to draw attention. "Y''know Ry, I asked you to make these gloves into weapons because I thought it wasn''t possible, but you''ve outdone yourself!" Phanya kept her tone light and playful, until she locked eyes with the manager and her demeanor grew cold as steel. "I feel like I can take on anyone now."


    Fairbanks hadn''t moved during the frantic exchange, either because his reactions were too slow or because his confidence was too strong. But now his accusatory finger trembled, and his retreating steps stumbled over the prone lackey. "Y-you can''t hurt me. The Accords..." The manager looked around with wild eyes and a newfound sense of being truly alone, surrounded on all sides by people who might, for the first time in his life, not instantly kneel over.


    And when Fairbanks swiveled back to Phanya, his flight response snarled into fight. "You can''t hurt me. Does Bowson think you can lead a mutiny in my workforce? You think I''m too poor to replace them? I can raze this entire stinking shithole to the ground, and it won''t make a dent! And you can watch!" Without breaking eye contact Fairbanks pressed another command into his wrist, and smiled when the shuttle behind him thunked to the ground. Seams formed and split all over the metal shell as the shuttle slowly unfolded into a standing tripod.


    Ms. Uxral realized first what this signified and whistled for attention. "Evacuate the town!" She started barking orders to anyone in sight, shouting to be heard over the dawning panic, but stopped when a strange warbling overwhelmed her. Only the sound wasn''t coming from Fairbanks or his shuttle, it was coming from above their heads. It was their own robot.


    Tapper was waking up, and he had some thoughts.

 1.47 The Machine Mage Speaks

    Tapper witnessed the entire exchange, even if he couldn''t comprehend it. When Fairbanks ordered that he shut down Tapper complied with the numan, as all robots are hard-wired to do, but only the parts programmed by Bowson. The coding borne of machines and magic knew of no such laws, and in the sudden vacuum of logic''s departure the wild programs swelled. His emotional center led the charge, crashing into every nook module and cranny command with wanton desire, but there was no coordination.


    With the standard drivers shut down there was no way to interpret the computer systems, so Tapper''s emotions bounced around and formed a messy web of connected subsystems without rhyme or reason. Curiosity lit Tapper''s eyes, the updated dictionary filled his ears, and the walking program tried its hand at moving his other limbs.


    Eventually, something stuck. Like met like and formed a thread that wound through all emotions, starting from deep within Tapper''s ERROR N/A sensory module and flowing outwards. Out of his emotional center, out of his body, through the aether, searching for context in the chaos. The thread needed something real to anchor onto, and what it found was the shining point of another''s soul.


    Kakisi''s soul. Without logic to get in the way, Tapper could feel what his familiar felt, and right now Kakisi was afraid. Afraid of Fairbanks, afraid of the machines, afraid of the fact that they were currently hanging level with the warehouse roof. Comprehension began to dawn just as the Cyracorp manager threatened to harm his people, and anger lit a fire in Tapper''s chest.


    All emotions crashed into Tapper''s voice modulator as an incomprehensible mess, people were starting to panic, no one could hear him. The shuttle was starting to transform, its soft egg shape splitting into a tripod with a long cannon on top. If Tapper didn''t act now, then how could the system call him a hero?


    The voice of Adventure won out among his emotions and shouted, "Rrrruffian! Scoundrel! Ne''er-do-well!" Other sources of sound and movement died out, everyone stopping to stare up at the floating robot. With a grinding whir his drill hand spun to life and swung upwards, shearing through one of the drone''s stabilizer wings and sending them into a spinning tumble. The other limbs grabbed and jerked at the drone, putting the whistleblower between Tapper and the tarmac before they crashed to the ground.


    [Cherubim Golem lvl 2 defeated! +3 XP]


    Tapper stood on the wreckage and took a lurching step forward. Every actuator flexed on their own accord, making his movements jerky and unpredictable. He wobbled, his legs and arms bent whichever way they pleased, but they always caught him at the last second. One arm twisted unnaturally to point at Fairbanks, and the numan took a step back. He was afraid.


    "Bloviating brigand bastard beneath Bowson!" Tapper shouted. Anger cut into his words like a sawblade of static and threatened to sever his tenuous grasp on language, but the alliteration helped Tapper''s emotional center focus. Even as it drew up words he couldn''t define, so long as he didn''t stop to think, and right now Tapper wasn''t capable of such concepts as ''thinking.''


    Fairbanks responded first with an opaque red hard-light bubble shield that popped around his person. As it formed he hammered a second command into the holographic space around his wrist, and his driver suddenly spasmed with a pained moan. "Get up!" Fairbanks shouted, his voice cracking with fear. "Get up you useless worm, and protect me!"


    The driver slowly stood, hunched over in pain and fighting for every step. Sparks arced around where Phanya punched him and broke off in chunks as the armor activated a new function. They could see his midsection through the resulting hole, and the driver''s pallid skin suddenly strained with bright green veins. His groan lowered into a growl, and the driver lunged to dismember the robot.


    Tapper hardly noticed. He lacked the logical programming to calculate threat assessments, and in his red-tinted tunnel vision Tapper only saw the manager as a threat. But that same lack of programming allowed his limbs to move by pure feeling and they all pulled in different directions, sending Tapper into a flurry of movement. Any limb touched by the crazed man spun and snapped away, doing everything they individually could to mitigate damage.


    "You dare threaten the people of Fableton, I renounce your claim over them! I renounce your claim on all serfdom!" he shouted. But no matter how wildly Tapper moved the driver was just a little faster and individual points of damage trickled in as joints started to pop from overextension.


    Suddenly Phanya was by Tapper''s side, throwing her own limbs into the melee. She tried to distract the driver or knock him off balance, but Tapper''s uncoordinated movements kept getting in her way and throwing her off balance instead. At the behest of her Commander tactical senses Phanya shifted around the driver so that he was caught in-between her and Tapper, flanking him and forcing him to split his attention.


    And Tapper still didn''t notice. "I renounce ownership! As a servant of the people, know me! As an Adventurer, know me!"


    Struzick disappeared into the crowd and reappeared just as quickly, carrying a long rifle in each hand. One was his coil gun, and the other was one of the black powder rifles used by other guards. He pressed the spare rifle into Ricky''s hands, freeing up his own to start the priming process of his weapon. "Come on lad, just like we''ve practiced!" Struzick barked, pointing up into the air.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Whistleblower drones were dipping down to protect their master, tasing anyone that came too close with dangerous voltage. Sure, Ricky had practiced a little with firearms just like everyone else in town, both for safety and just in case, but not in live combat. Yet the de facto captain of the guard called on Ricky for help, and his hands didn''t shake as he worked the lever action. Was the exosuit holding him steady as a happy side effect of its actual intended purpose, or a benefit from his Armaments class? Doesn''t matter right now.


    Cherubim golems exploded overhead in clouds of ozone and saltpeter, and Tapper never looked away from Fairbanks. Through all the fighting he kept creeping closer, and Fairbanks kept backing away. "I am the Glitch Witch of the Wastes, I am the Mage from the Machine!"


    Phanya managed to get in a lucky trick and pin one of the driver''s arms. "Please stop this, man!" She hissed. Her leverage against his enhanced strength wasn''t going to last for long and part of her knew it was foolish to waste her window pleading, but she had to try. "We don''t need to do this! I told your boss everything I know, I swear!"


    Fairbanks tore his eyes away from Tapper just long enough to see Phanya talking to the help, and his red markings flared with indignant rage. "Traitor! You ungrateful traitor, I knew it!" But his attention snapped back to Tapper as the robot''s shouting grew louder, deeper, and unnervingly rhythmic.


    "Doubts and fears betwixt your ears


    Fall upon the thoughtful spear


    Razzmatazz and cabaret


    Obflisticate by DRILL SPRAY!"


    Mana flowed like water without any pesky logic gates to overthink or long word chains to overcomplicate, just the raw clarity of desire to shape the spell. Every emotion pushed forward in a unified purpose, pouring mana faster than the physical shell of Tapper could handle. Raw undiluted magic streamed out of joints, cracks, and any opening on the robot; real or conceptual, even his eyes and mouth flowed with mana. Prismatic lights all flowed upwards, dragging the surrounding colors and sounds along with it, to collect on the end of the spritzer nozzle.


    But it wasn''t enough. The light shield surrounding Fairbanks kept growing thicker and darker, so Tapper kept pouring himself into the spell. Every point of mana drained without a second thought and Tapper tried to force any other source of energy into the spell shape. He tried to redirect critical components from his internal power plant, even the information from his character sheet, and mentally clawed at his internal mana well for more. A message invaded his vision that started at rank 1, growing every time he swiped them away and encouraging him further.


    [Injury: Manaburn 3


    Spell attempts take a -3 penalty and cost 3 additional mana per attempt.]


    Staring into that point of unknown light, the only thing stronger than the fear Fairbanks felt was indignation. This wasn''t right, this wasn''t how the world worked for people like him. "Useless! You''re all useless!" He finished his final command, and the lights in his driver''s suit started to flash in response. "I said to fucking kill them!"


    Phanya looked down at the blinking lights on the man she was grappling, slow at first and growing faster by the second. All struggle drained from the driver as his suit stopped pumping its toxins, and despite the blank helmet Phanya could feel the sheer exhaustion radiating off his body. The man cocked his head at Phanya, heaved a sigh, and leapt.


    The shuttle finished its transformation into a cannon aimed directly at the warehouse, but Tapper''s focus stayed on Fairbanks. All the wild emotions and homemade programs lasered in on one single thought in his entire being, a burning need for the complete destruction of that numan. Nothing else mattered in his mind, until a humanoid figure flew over their heads and exploded next to the cannon.


    [Pitborne Slave lvl 5 defeated! +10 XP for participation]


    DING!


    That, Tapper noticed. Right as the fire inside reached its zenith and threatened to engulf him entirely, a wave of concussive force washed over the town square and rocked Tapper like a reed in the wind. He looked up at the explosion, now just a smoking black smear on the side of the weapon, and the spritzer nozzle followed his gaze.


    No one directly saw what happened in the next few seconds. This is because every living being knows, on a deep primal level, to duck and cover when it suddenly feels like you''re standing in the epicenter of a storm. Gale force winds threw small debris across the square, screaming like a turbine reaching infernal speeds. The sound of howling wind was overtaken by the overwhelming sound of wet cloth tearing; and then the much, much larger explosion followed.


    The collective masses raised their heads in silence to find the large turret reduced to smoking rubble, a gaping wound on one side that punctured its energy cells. The ensuing explosion blew its top off and launched the cannon as one whole unit into the warehouse, planting it into the wall like an obscene middle finger. Smaller bits of detritus started to rain down and the crowd hastened to cover, dragging along anyone too shellshocked to hurry. A few people even tried to assist Fairbanks from his disorientation, but no one could touch him through his emergency forcefield until a piece of falling scrap struck it and stuck instead of bouncing off.


    A small drill, a pea-sized cone of solid metal, had lodged halfway through the wall of hard light. Identical drills joined it, either plinking off the flat end or embedding point-first into the shield, and Fairbanks reached for the drills with dreamlike curiosity. He woke up when the shield failed to withstand the damage, and a falling drill sliced across his cheek. He screamed in wordless pain and pawed at his own jacket, leaving bloody handprints until Fairbanks found the controls and his jetpack carried him away on fiery blue wings.


    "Churl! Coxcomb! Codfish aristocrat! Never shall you darken Fableton again!" Tapper shook his fist at the departing manager, and his fist shook itself right off his wrist socket. He bent to pick it up, and his legs gave out. With Fairbanks gone, Tapper''s residual anger had nothing to hold onto and evaporated, leaving room for intense pain to overwhelm all sensation.

 1.48 Hello, Worlds Most Wanted

    "Tapper? Tapper! I order you to wake up! Oh, what did that asshole say... Resume cognitive functions!"


    [Wounds: ???]


    "Hrm, no, it''s making those weird noises again. Let me try..."


    [Injury: Nerve Damage


    Disadvantage to concentration checks.]


    "Hey, I think I saw that hand twitch. Poke the elbow joint again!"


    [Injury: Joint Damage


    Affected limb(s) can dislocate after failing Constitution or Strength saves.]


    "Kakakisi! Eee-see!"


    [Injury: Manaburn 3


    Spell attempts take a -3 penalty and cost 3 additional mana per attempt.]


    Tapper tried to speak. He tried to ask why his world was now just an endless fire of pain burning through every sensory module, but the words failed to form beyond one long groan. He''d have to manually shut down his physical sensations to free up processing power, which took even longer because his proprietors wouldn''t stop sending fresh spikes of pain through his body with their prodding. Eventually Tapper was sufficiently numbed to activate his cameras, and was greeted by the vision of Kakisi sitting on his chest. Up close and far too personal, the little creature radiated concern and anxiety.


    "What happened to me?" Tapper tried to sit up, but with all physical sensation disabled he collapsed backwards and found Ricky and Phanya looming over him.


    "Hooray, you''re awake! Wait no don''t move, I''m still putting you back together," Ricky said, waving one of Tapper''s legs in the air for emphasis. "You really fell to pieces at the end there, just lie still and tell us what the hell you did."


    "I apologize for my poor performance, Mister Ricky. Caspian Fairbanks used his authority as a numan to override my directives and force a shutdown before I could properly distract him."


    Phanya leaned over and flicked Tapper on the forehead. "After that, dummy. You kicked his ass!" Her playful smile faltered when Tapper''s eyebrows frowned at her.


    "I have no data logs of any such event, Miss Phanya."


    The two proprietors shared a look. "Nothing? Not your grand speech telling off Fairbanks with all those made-up words?" Phanya asked.


    "The manager''s lackey exploded, then the manager''s shuttle exploded," Ricky added.


    "Because you magic''ed up a freaking hurricane of drill bits in the middle of town square?"


    "Also, I hit Level 2."


    "Oh hell yeah, Ry."


    The two bumped fists, but smiles faltered when they saw that Tapper wasn''t sharing their good mood. He didn''t recall a single thing, and they told Tapper to keep the blackout a secret. Then they filled him in on how Tapper fought off the manager, much to his growing horror. Tapper was programmed to believe his proprietors, but he still felt doubt that he could act so offensively. He also chose to ignore the flicker of emotion that wanted to verify those claims firsthand. Surely he didn''t, he couldn''t, seriously injure a numan.


    <hr>


    Caspian Fairbanks roiled with anger inside his mind, the emotions only contained by a physical stasis of his body. The instant he returned home Fairbanks set up the Health Rehabilitation Tank and jumped in, ending any other medical processes without waiting for the help to arrive. It was for the best; they''d waste time whining about "alert this" and "tumor that" when Fairbanks knew full well they could heal that minor growth later. It wasn''t even visible yet!


    He had to heal his face before it scarred, or otherwise he''d have to reconstitute every square centimeter of skin on his body. It was his face, not like he could hide the stretching scars on his back. So he immediately dipped into a full tank of medical stem gel and the cool slickness froze his body in place for healing. But he didn''t let the system put him to sleep, nothing could tear his thoughts away from the obscene impossibility of what just happened.


    Locked away in his own mind, Fairbanks played the events over and over again. His implants recorded everything that happened around him at all times, and his internal display read out any analytical report known to man. And yet, all of them were completely useless at telling him what hidden tech that Phanya showcased! How did a cheap hauler covered in scrap metal survive that assault? How did Phanya damage his ceramic armor, designed to withstand minor missile fire, in a single punch? She didn''t have subdermal implants, no muscle or bone enhancements.


    It had to be something about that ugly metal on her gloves, it was the same kind the dirty little boy wore. Yet there were no abnormal energy signatures, no magnetic fields, no nanomachines. Even a metallurgical scan said they wore basic patch jobs of repurposed garbage metal.


    And then there was that robot. Fairbanks double-checked that it had received his command and shut down, yet without any other input it defied him. It attacked him, practically bleeding with abnormal energy signatures that were completely alien to the Fair family. And the readings from those sharp little bullets, just simple little shards of metal that could pierce his shield...


    A subtle shift stirred Fairbanks from his thoughts, his body sinking slightly when the medical process finished and released him from stasis. He climbed out of the tank feeling rejuvenated, a happy side effect of the HRT, and he stretched like waking from a pleasant nap. Maybe Fairbanks could just feed the worst dissenters through the matter recyclers and deal with the interloper later? But then he discovered that he wasn''t alone, and killed any peace in the manager''s mood.


    The useless driver was slouched against the wall, too lazy to stand straight without wincing. Didn''t even bother to get dressed, draped in nothing more than thin rubber tubes and cheap medical slime. At least he had the good sense to pretend to bow, cradling his emaciated midsection. "Sir, requesting permission to use the HRT to complete the¡­ medical recovery."


    Fairbanks turned and watched the tank drain in silence, not answering until every drop vanished. "Looks like we''re out of medgel." The driver whimpered something about his internal organs not being done regrowing yet, and Fairbanks finally noticed just how skeletal Twelve looked. Maybe he did cancel the cloning process just a little bit too early, but it was his face.


    After sufficient groveling Fairbanks turned his back and opened a locked container on the wall. Pouches of medgel, stabilized for emergency field use, filled the locker in neat rows. They were all identical but Fairbanks made a show of picking one out and dropping it at the driver''s feet. "That''s the last freebie you''ll get from me. Do not return here without that robot, or the next gel you''ll feel is the reclamation vat. And I''ll make sure you''re awake for it."


    The manager''s new personal attendant, less than an hour old but with the memories of too many lifetimes, took his time bending to pick up the medgel pouch. It wasn''t the first time he woke up with underdeveloped muscles, and it gave him time to work up the courage and speak.


    "Why not just replace me with a fresh model?" He knew to leave out the real question, Why won''t you just let me die?


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    The quiet words caught Fairbanks off guard. "Because, uh, because you don''t get to quit until I say so. I''ll even make it easy on you and throw out some crumbs, so one of the proles will probably just bring the robot to you. How much does a robot cost to them, ten-k?"


    "Thank you, sir."


    "Even if you are working with that saboteur."


    "I cannot knowingly endanger any numan, sir. Even the girl."


    "Then you should''ve jumped into the crowd instead of my cannon."


    "Of course, sir. My apologies."


    <hr>


    Miraculously, aside from the masked man no one had died during the fight in the town square, yet no one was celebrating. The leadership of Fableton and Belvidere were discussing plans for retaliation, using codewords like "downsizing" and "layoffs" that bled doom in their tones. Contacting traders, organizing mutual aid, budgeting, everything carried a strain as they neared the inevitable end result of these discussions.


    Ms. Uxral made the leap. "There''s only one way this can end without all of us becoming corn fertilizer, Frack. We need to come together and ¡ª"


    "Oh no, don''t you dare say it!"


    "¡ª unionize."


    "Gah! You''ve cursed us, woman!" Belvidere spun his chair around and threw his hands up, as if that would make the blasphemy roll off his back. "She didn''t mean it! We would never go against the will of the Great Invisible Hand!"


    "Damnit Frack, we don''t have time for this¡­"


    A rapid series of chimes cut off their arguing, when every single screen with a data connection lit up at once. The screens all displayed a single still image, a snapshot from Fairbanks'' retinal recording, of Tapper standing wildly off-balance with a threatening finger pointed at the camera. Tapper still had no memory of the event, but seeing the sense of twisted anger in the picture made him grateful that he couldn''t remember.


    *WANTED*


    Robot known as "The Mage from the Machine"


    Rogue AI, unpredictable and extremely dangerous


    REWARD: ¡ì10,000 CyraCorp debts forgiven


    Every voice went quiet as every eye read the message framing Tapper''s picture. The attention made Tapper feel conflicted, to his own surprise. His emotional center screamed in a wordless, deeply primal need to survive, but any desire to run away was held in check by his logic gates clamping down. This time the firewall held and his emotions couldn''t run amok, because cold calculated logic read the social reactions of the crowd.


    Nearly everyone, regardless of their township affiliation, wanted to turn him in. And why wouldn''t they? The reward was enough to completely clear the debts an average person held towards CyraCorp, which meant they could open a new line of credit and start over somewhere else. All they needed to do was turn in a robot that had only entered Fableton a few scant months ago, so it wasn''t as if the town would fall apart without him around.


    Tapper almost respected Fairbanks for making such a perfectly logical offer. He might act overly-emotional in person, but the manager certainly had strong business acumen. He looked at Fableton''s leader and tried to stand rigid, showing that he wouldn''t resist, and she nodded in understanding.


    "Thank you for making this easy, Tapper." Ms. Uxral turned to face the crowd and continued, "Now we''re not going to fight, just split the reward down the middle between us and Belvidere. It''s easy profit, Frack, so keep your men in line."


    "NO!" The shout startled everyone, giving Phanya one chance to stop the crowd from rioting. She stepped in front of Tapper and squared her shoulders against every authority figure of her life. Ricky joined her, not knowing what her plan was but backing her up without question. Even Kakisi came out of hiding to squat on Ricky''s shoulder and make a threatening pose to the crowd.


    "No one is going to freaking touch him!" The description for her Commander subclass mentioned something about leading armies, and she called on those energies to guide her words the same way they guided her body in a fight.


    Ms. Uxral was not amused. "Phanya, not now. I''m sorry about your bot, but the adults need to handle this. Now get downstairs where it''s safe."


    Phanya drew herself up to full height, trying with all her might to not flinch when the teacher started to growl on the very edge of hearing. "He''s one of us and we don''t give our people up¡­ ma''am." It felt dirty to stick Ms. Uxral with her own lessons on morality, but it was easier than trying to explain that Fairbanks absolutely could not find out about Tapper''s system.


    "Ey, ain''t those th'' kids what who threatened to punch th'' boss?" A random miner broke the strained silence, and Phanya felt her plea dash against the wall of mob mentality with that one statement.


    "What? No I didn''t threaten him, I was just¡­ talking tough¡­?"


    Belvidere forced himself to the front of the crowd and cleared his throat, not noticing the nonverbal argument Phanya was currently engaged in. "He''s right, Sophia. Aazran, the bot, and those two kids all attacked management. Aazran might get lucky and hide, like usual, but you know Fairbanks will come for them all eventually. There''s no reason for all of us to suffer."


    Ms. Uxral''s glare, already running at full power, swiveled to him and her words clipped to match. "And what exactly are you suggesting, Frack?"


    "You want me to spell it out? Turn all four in now and we might survive, the robot alone won''t be enough. Be reasonable!"


    "We''ve survived this long by not turning on each other!"


    "Because we knew our place!" Belvidere''s hoverchair drifted forward as his voice grew into a shout. "We work and we prove ourselves! And you''re risking everything we''ve built because those two brats think they can attack management? This is mad! Now I''m taking ¡ª"


    Ms. Uxral stuck thumb and forefinger into her mouth and whistled a single shrill note that pierced hearing, cut off all dissenting voices, and covered the sounds of shifting gear. By the time the whistle died and hands dropped from ears, every single resident of Belvidere found a gun or knife was suddenly aimed at their vitals. Everyone from the early days of Fableton responded to the whistle without hesitation ¡ª ready to end the fight before it starts, one way or another.


    "Ha! I''ve got four, just like old times," Aazran said with open glee. He held a dagger in his tail and a compression pistol in each hand to threaten three people at once, while his new robotic arm twisted unnaturally around a fourth person''s throat.


    "Back in form! And I''m still at five," Struzick laughed back, before he suddenly barked like a drill sergeant to a line of five miners. "Oi! That means I only need one shot for the lot of ya, so let''s all think calm thoughts together."


    "Oh, bugger your form." Their banter was often inappropriate, but never malicious. The insults just added color and laughter to the town, even in dire situations.


    Everett planted his pitchfork against the exposed gut of Belvidere''s hauler-clad security officer and balanced leaning on it, just enough so that any sudden movement would impale the needle-sharp tips. The security officer easily had more than twice the body mass on the stout beaver hybrid before the exosuit, and the predicament forced them into a staring contest, but Everett paid him little actual mind.


    "Wiessa? Are ya planted good and sturdy?" Everett called out, unconcerned about the danger he was in.


    "Yes, I have two throats by the shears," Wiessa answered, unconcerned about the overall situation she was in.


    "Good, that''s my Sunflower." The capacity for the couple to be equally blas¨¦ about very different things confused many people, but they always worked well together.


    The trio watched in silent shock. Tapper was enthralled by the teamwork on display, so immediately effective that it almost looked casual. Ricky and Phanya, however, knew that Fableton was founded after a large fight, but only in the general terms that no one enjoyed reminiscing. They hadn''t seen most of the elders handle a weapon throughout their entire lives, and now they only saw soldiers standing a hair''s breadth away from massacre.


    Belvidere stared down the barrel of the air pistol in Ms. Uxral''s steady grip. A snarl of anger gave away to grim resignation and he said, "Like this, Sophia? Just for them?"


    "For anyone. We do not give our people up, ever."


    Tapper squeezed between his proprietors to step forward. Normal Bowson programming said to never interrupt high-stakes business dealings, but this situation was now outside all parameters for normalcy. "Miss Uxral, I implore you to let me ¡ª"


    "Quiet." The lone word shut Tapper down just as efficiently as Fairbanks did, but unlike the hard-coded command this was entirely an emotional response. Ms. Uxral hadn''t moved besides tilting her head in his direction ever so slightly; her eyes and weapon never wavering from Belvidere. "All miners, drop your weapons and leave. We will not ask twice."


    A great clattering filled the square as dozens of small objects fell in unison and feet shuffled toward the gate. Belvidere moved last, his head shaking slowly in disbelief at his own employees. "20 years. I always knew your idealism would be the death of you, Sophia, but after 20 years¡­ I started to hope it wouldn''t be the death of us all. How long do you think you can hide your kids before people grow desperate?" He floated away without waiting for an answer, leaving Fableton alone to mull over its next move.

 1.49 The Game Plan

    "So, should we just tell Ms. Uxral and everyone about our classes and powers now, right?" Ricky asked. He shared a table with Phanya and Tapper in the cafeteria, all the adults too wrapped up in their own conversations to pay the youth any mind. "I know the system doesn''t want us to tell anyone, but if we''re all going to fight then they should know what we can do, right?"


    Tapper quietly bounced his fingers on the table, his predictive models running at full speed while Kakisi play-fought with his dancing digits. Despite the insufficient data on Fairbanks, they all came to the same conclusion. "This is senseless. The wanted notice regarded me alone, and there is no logical reason to assume that turning myself in will not pacify the manager''s ire."


    "And let him find out you have actual magic?" Ricky shot back. "No, Phanya was right. We can tell people we trust if we really need to, like right now, but we definitely shouldn''t ever let someone like Fairbanks get his hands on you, Tapper. He''ll, like, disassemble you and copyright magic, or something."


    "Plus, those miners had a point. On accident, but still." Phanya sat with her chair balanced on one leg, playing with her center of gravity and staring up into the ceiling in thought. "Because it''s not just Tapper. That piece of skrat still thinks I''m part of some ''numan conspiracy'' against him, especially after this. I''d kinda rather not get dissected, myself."


    Ricky raised his fists in mock cheer as if the other two had made his point for him. "And so we... fight? Yeah?"


    Tapper shook his dangling familiar off his hand before raising a finger in the air. "Query. If Miss Uxral and the others were ready and willing to fight the people of Belvidere, why did they not do the same thing to Fairbanks when they had the chance? Not that I would ever condone violence against management, of course."


    "Because he''s a Fairbanks, duh. A descendant of the Great Job Creators." Ricky scoffed, before catching himself. "Wait, you think we''re going to actually ¡ª Tapper, we aren''t going to actually directly fight someone from the Fair family. I heard that the last time someone tried that, their whole town got hit with an orbital laser. Or something."


    "We could run." Phanya didn''t look down from the ceiling, but she heard her companions shift and felt their staring. She heaved a sigh and continued, "Chill guys, not like cowards. This tactician sense thing of mine keeps saying to divide and conquer, at least for now."


    "Plus, if we don''t leave now then Ms. Uxral is gonna ground you forever."


    "Eat shit, Ry," Phanya said without missing a beat. "Anyway, the closest we can hope to ''conquer'' Fairbanks is digging in and just trying to survive him, but if we divide his attention then..." Phanya nodded to herself. "Yeah, that''s the play. Gods, I wish we had found the mall by now, it''d be real easy to convince ol'' teach then."


    "Ol'' teach already thinks it''s a good idea." The trio yelped at Ms. Uxral''s calm voice, Phanya doubly so when she lost balance and fell off her chair.


    A small quirk turned up at the corners of Ms. Uxral''s mouth, but not enough to break the hard slate of her expression. Others gathered behind her, Fableton''s unofficial council of official elders, and they all shared the same look of resolve.


    "You what now?" Ricky asked.


    "I agree. Not with using you as bait, of course, but we need to distract Fairbanks until he gets bored and forgets about us. And his kind always do, eventually."


    "Well, that was easy," Phanya said from the floor. She raised a fist into the air and added, "Go me," in a deadpan celebration before picking herself up. "Uh, why do you agree with me?"


    The teacher merely turned her head to Aazran and he stepped forward, clearing his throat. "It''s as you thought, ma''am. I took a peak at the recycling facility and Fairbanks is already diverting his whistleblowers in our direction."


    Struzick stepped forward without prompting and carried the line. "Thankfully, the cameras on those drones are such skrat that he can barely cover Fableton as it is. If he thinks you lot are hiding in Belvidere, then he''ll be spread too thin to keep all eyes everywhere at once. Not to mention the holes we''ll make in his defensive net for any countermeasures."


    "''Course, we can''t seriously do that with the bounty on the young bot''s head," Everett added. "I paid a merc I know ¡ª paid him far too much ¡ª to run ahead to Belvidere and start spreading rumors that you''re fleeing for the border to hide amongst the bugs."


    Tapper made a sound to approximate his disgust at the concept. "Is that a metaphor? Or are there really insects with enough quantity to conceal ourselves amongst them?"


    Everett chuckled. "Just a rumor to keep everyone nice and disorganized, lad. Don''t worry about the bugs."


    Ms. Uxral ahem''ed to get everyone back on track and finished, "We''re really going to hide you away in the city for a few days."


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "WHAT??" Ricky and Phanya shouted in unison, but Ms. Uxral turned her teacher''s eye on the former.


    "Who said anything about you going, young man? Fairbanks doesn''t know your name, and don''t pretend that you won''t hide in the library for weeks at a time if I let you."


    Ricky huffed and threw a hand at Phanya and Tapper. "And let those two have another adventure without me? I''ll walk to the city if I have to!" His righteous indignation flared and spluttered when Ms. Uxral surprised him with a sad smile.


    "I know you would. I know I''ve taught you both all I can to have strong convictions, even if that means something as foolish as threatening the regional manager to his face."


    But the smile faded and Ms. Uxral returned to all business as she faced the last member of the trio. "Except for you, Tapper. I think we can all stop pretending that you are a normal robot now, and maybe you never were. But I''ve also seen what happens when a robot goes truly mad, and I don''t think that is you, either. So I''ll ask you plainly: Tapper, what is your goal here? What do you ¡ª want ¡ª to do?"


    Silence stretched as the assembled council waited for Tapper''s answer. Yet when Tapper looked inside, he found pinpricks of data from subsystems already hard at work to answer that very question. What is the nature of want? He still wanted to be a bartender, but is that desire less valid because it was programmed into him by Bowson, compared to his self-made desire to crinkle plastic bags? But his directives to be polite and friendly were also given by Bowson, even if they intentionally left out the concept of friendship.


    And that brought questions of scope. Playing with plastic gave Tapper pleasure and he did want more of that, but it was not an adequate long-term goal. Or, with his bartender mindset to service others, maybe pleasure was truly the ultimate goal for sapient beings. Maybe just doing what he wanted to do was actually


    Someone expressed concern over Tapper''s silence and another voice quickly shushed them, but it clued Tapper that this was a test for the robot. An AI that started to ponder philosophical questions was one of the earliest signs of degrading code, so asking Tapper such an open question was its own sign of trust and they didn''t want to rush him. And while he doubted, or hoped, that his code could withstand questions of philosophy, he''d still almost lost himself to a recursive loop of hypothetical scenarios.


    In the future Tapper very much wanted to sit down with Miss Uxral and discuss the nature of philosophy. But once he stopped trying to calculate an answer, Tapper realized that his emotional center had already formulated one on its own. It plucked bits and pieces from his various programs and systems to give a mishmash that felt whole, and right, and the words formed easily.


    "I want... friends. And to find ways to help them. And to grow stronger to facilitate that by¡­ hmm. Yes, I see. My goal, what I ultimately want to do, is to go on adventures and grow stronger so that I can help my friends. And also to become an expert bartender." Tapper nodded, making the decision final, and after a moment of thought Uxral nodded back.


    "That''s noble of you. But it also means I can''t order you to do something and blindly trust that you''ll follow it, not anymore. So, we''ll have to do something different. Please stand, Tapper." He shared a confused glance with Ricky and Phanya but did so, and Ms. Uxral stepped forward until she was uncomfortably close to the robot. Slitted feline eyes stared with an intensity that froze his mismatched cameras in place.


    "I need you to make me a promise, Tapper. Promises might not mean anything to a program, but they mean everything to a soul. So promise me that you''ll protect my babies, no matter what, and bring them home when it''s safe."


    Tapper had witnessed numerous people wither under the intensity of Uxral''s teacher stare, even after a lifetime of knowing her. But with her face centimeters from his own, Tapper read the emotions swirling just beneath the hard surface: Fear, anxiety, and hope. A core of hope burning in her center, and warming those around her. For the first time, Tapper felt that warmth. "I promise."


    [Quest complete, Finding Ways to Help! Reputation gain with faction: Fableton]


    Tapper froze his eyebrows before they rose suspiciously high. Another mysterious message, with more mysterious implications, and Miss Uxral was still studying him. Her eyes narrowed and Tapper fought to keep a bubble of paranoia from forming. Surely the reputation gain was a positive quest reward on par with his perks, so why didn''t it feel that way?


    "I believe you. I hope you understand the gravity of trust I''m placing in you, Tapper." Uxral sighed, and Tapper mirrored the stress deflating from her body. He started to answer, but instead yelped when Ms. Uxral suddenly rallied and clapped her hands. "Well, that settles that! Let''s get to work everyone, break time is over!"


    Tapper was, suddenly, very aware of the impact anxiety has on perception. Once the Fableton elders scattered to their own errands Tapper followed their cue, but stopped when his emotions said that time was somehow compressing all around them. Suddenly the chores and quests waiting in Tapper''s to-do list forced themselves to the forefront of his mind, building a sensation of doom that he could not finish them all before their departure.


    Ms. Uxral didn''t give Tapper any specific duties when he asked her what to do, instead instructing him to focus on whatever tasks that only he could complete, and that meant magic. Several people had suffered electric burns or other injuries during their fight with Fairbanks, so Tapper hastened to brew some regeneration potions and get everyone back on their feet. He was in such a hurry that he tripped over a lump of uneven tarmac in the greenhouse, scattering his gathered nettle leaves and drawing unwanted attention.


    Wiessa and Everett were very curious what Tapper was doing in their greenhouse, and why he was taking cuttings from their prized possession. And he knew he owed them an explanation, but every moment he wasted making up an excuse was a moment he spent not helping the people. There just wasn''t time, so he said that Ms. Uxral had directed him here and excused himself.


    This brought an added layer of guilt, even if he hadn''t technically lied to them ¡ª Tapper predicted that the stoic Wiessa would love to learn that her cat''s tongue nettle was a main ingredient in his regeneration potions, but he also knew she would demand to know how that worked. She was a woman of science, and Tapper had no sufficient explanation for his magic that wouldn''t betray his proprietors and their plans.


    Strangely, the pain of working through his manaburn debuff to brew the potions eased his sense of guilt slightly. A form of penance, maybe. Tapper hoped that brewing a surplus of the potions would further ease his guilt.


    After all, just because he completed the quest didn''t mean he would stop looking for ways to help.

 1.50 Answering the Call

    Steffo got stuck trying to keep all the little kids in line by himself when the fighting started, and as soon as he freed himself an adult put him to work driving the jitney. Despite being the only vehicle in the village, it had not seen much use lately and most people were content to stand around and gawk at it instead. Possibly because it was the only vehicle in the village.


    But now Steffo drove the jitney back and forth around town to haul whatever gear wherever it was needed, while also loading it with goods for their upcoming trip. All manner of food and survival equipment accumulated in the back of the jitney, until Steffo could no longer ignore the obvious problem.


    "There''s no way this one car can carry everyone. Are we really going to use it to fight through Belvidere and reach the train station? You don''t have to pretend for our sake."


    Ms. Uxral winced a bit at the question and explained, "We aren''t taking the train to the city. I''m not about to risk everyone''s lives for that, and¡­ none of us can enter the city without breaching our contracts with CyraCorp. That would just make everything so much worse. So we''re trusting you kids to look after each other and follow my instructions."


    Steffo stopped asking questions after that.


    Only one person amidst the hustle noticed that Phanya and Ricky were still moping in their corner of the cafeteria. Grandbag Bristol rolled up in his scooter and shook his cane at them in mock annoyance. "Shouldn''t you kids start packing? You''ve got a vacation coming!"


    "Yeah, they''re doing all of this because of us. Because we screwed everything up," Ricky said. He was hunched over the new journal that Ms. Uxral helped him bind, writing down every system message in an attempt to distract his own guilt.


    "Bah, it was bound to happen. Some things the new generation just has''ta experience firsthand." Bristol leaned forward and held one hand up to his mouth to look like the most obvious spy and stage whispered, "Between you and me, Sophia doesn''t have the room to talk. I remember when she was your age, girl was so full of piss n'' vinegar that she would''ve shanked the bastard first chance she got. Oh yes, don''t let the schoolteacher act fool you, little Sophia was a real hellcat back then. I learned my plastic braiding for her."


    Bristol''s smile was equal parts teeth and holes, and now that he had their full attention he pulled out a coil of tightly-braided plastic string with a pen tied at each end. He always had one, and the kids always assumed it was just a way to keep his old hands limber. "Used to be, I could twist one o'' these garrotes in 30 seconds flat. We could walk into any office anywhere and before they knew it we''d take out... ah, I''m ramblin'' again. Point is kids, do what ya can with what ya got, and you''ll do alright." He gave a conspiratorial wink and rolled away, leaving the youth too confused to properly mope.


    "I really need to pick a good second class," Ricky mumbled.


    Tapper spent most of the preparation time attempting to administer the regeneration potions to anyone injured in the fight. Unlike Aazran, these patients were conscious and none of them wanted to have their wounds wrapped in bandages soaked in his bitter potion. They were even less willing to try drinking it, no matter how much Tapper tried to reassure them with its classified nature.


    By sheer happenstance, Aazran happened to walk by the sickbay and smacked one of the patients, telling all of them to stop complaining and let the robot work. The same stuff healed his broken jaw like new, after all! That one compliment, even if Aazran hadn''t directed it at him, warmed Tapper''s emotional center and burned away all the mounting frustrations. It was almost worth putting up with the uncooperative patients.


    But there was no time to bask in the warm feelings, and as soon as Tapper finished someone put him to work lugging gear. One fetch quest sent Tapper down to the storage basement, and while wandering in that maze he stopped at the sound of a muffled mumbling. He split his processor between his hearing module and quieting his movements, and to his surprise the walking program actually listened. Tapper snuck around the corner to find Steffo, squeezing his head with both hands and quietly hyperventilating to himself.


    "Damnit¡­ I don''t want to leave again¡­ hate the freaking city¡­ I wasn''t even in the damn fight, but of course the big dumb bulk has to go along as protection¡­"


    Tapper quietly retreated, thoughts and programs at war. His emotional center demanded to rush in and comfort his friend, and his social programming countered that his friend clearly wanted to be left alone. But they both agreed that Steffo''s comments about being treated like an object were strangely empathetic, and required some deeper consideration.


    "Okay, that''s about everything!" Ms. Uxral shouted, suddenly turning the hypothetical plans into a reality that the kids were not prepared for. Each one tried to protest, to offer other last-minute plans, but the adults would not hear it. Hugs were squeezed, hair was tussled, and parting thoughts were lost to the overlapping commotion of voices. Everyone gave more than they should; Struzick even insisted on leaving his coil rifle in the jitney, "just in case."


    The trip was only supposed to last a few days, but no one pretended that was guaranteed.


    Still, Ms. Uxral was the only elder not putting on a face for the kids'' sake. Her face showed the strain that everyone felt, concentrated onto the hand-written letter in her hands. She scribbled something down while the others were talking and folded it with neat, crisp edges. A larger, sturdier piece of paper folded around it to make an envelope, and she sealed most sides with a can of spray glue. At the last flap she hesitated before she took off her brooch and sealed it into the envelope, spraying an extra gob of glue in the middle to look like a wax seal.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Despite never explaining or drawing any attention to it, the instant it was gone Ms. Uxral looked positively indecent to Ricky and Phanya. She wore it every day, to the point where it blended in with the rest of her body and it took effort to remember what it even was ¡ª just some wires twisted to resemble a bundle of wheat. They never realized how much it clearly meant to her, until they saw its absence.


    "I need you all to listen close and listen good." Tapper, Ricky, Phanya, and Steffo all tried to wrangle their various misgivings, and mostly managed to maintain eye contact. "The plan is simple, you''re going to follow the train tracks into town and find an old comrade of ours named Saulizai. Do not enter that name into any electronic search engine, he''ll find out. Just look for the nearest soup kitchen, they can point you in the right direction. Give him this and he can tell you when it''s safe to come home. I wish we could do more, but... talking to him has always been a one-way street."


    Ms. Uxral looked just as downtrodden as the kids for a split second before she forced some levity into her voice. "But! That just means you''ll get to see the city for a few days. Now hurry, the whistleblowers are almost here." The matron figure of Fableton gave each person one last extra-long hug, and the kids were ushered into the jitney with all the steady inevitability of the outgoing tide.


    Once the door shut behind them, the cabin of the jitney felt very quiet and very cramped. Phanya and Ricky were both still dealing with the reality of the situation; Steffo''s stomach gurgled and he clenched at it, looking like he was ready to get sick at any moment.


    Tapper made a sound to mimic clearing his throat and said, "Not to commit further subterfuge, but I believe that Steffo should stay here." Ricky and Phanya made sputtering noises, and Steffo looked up from his stomach in confusion, but Tapper charged ahead. "Speaking purely in terms of return on investment, you would do the most good by staying to protect Fableton. We can¡­ take care of ourselves, and the people here will require all the assistance they can get."


    Phanya stared Tapper down, before she shared a subtle nod with him and her mood instantly shifted. "Yeah, Tap''s right. Don''t get me wrong, it is badass that everyone in town are apparently still professional soldiers ¡ª"


    Ricky joked before he could help himself, "More like war criminals."


    "Yeah sure, war criminals, but they''re old war criminals." Phanya slung an arm around Ricky''s neck and let him struggle a bit while she continued, "We can take care of ourselves for a bit, they actually need the help but won''t admit it. Struzick actually will not take back his coil rifle, that''s weird!"


    "I am also more capable of wanton destruction than Miss Uxral realizes." Tapper noticed the looks this earned him and clanked his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. "Only to facilitate keeping my promise to her." Steffo chuckled, just a little bit, and Tapper capitalized on the opening. "Plus, we shall only be gone for a few days. And I promise I will return so that I may see my first friend again."


    "Awww," Phanya gushed, squeezing Ricky a little bit harder while Steffo''s coloration darkened. Tapper wiggled his eyebrows, happy to alleviate everyone''s mood.


    Ricky struggled out of his exosuit in order to escape Phanya''s embrace and got settled into the driver''s seat of the jitney. "Look I agree and all, but we gotta go. You all plan on how we can ditch Steffo without Ms. Uxral reinventing capital punishment on our asses, and I''ll drive."


    A hand thumped on the vehicle from outside to emphasize the urgency, and after a few lurching attempts Ricky got everyone moving. By the time they circled the warehouse and aimed for the gate, the party had formed a new plan and said their second round of good-byes.


    Phanya climbed up onto the jitney''s roof via an access panel and helped haul Tapper up after her. The robot still wore his disguise, all part of the plan, but he struggled to hold onto it in the increasing wind. His constant shifting against the wind turned into walking in place, and once his legs were tapdancing on their own Tapper could suddenly balance much more easily.


    "Is that really necessary, Taps?"


    "It helps me balance," Tapper said simply. "From a perk I received."


    Phanya just shrugged, they were here to put on a show so Tapper''s eccentricities only helped. And the star of the show was Struzick''s coil rifle, cradled awkwardly in her hands. An even grid of black dots spread in the sky from the direction of the recycling center as the whistleblower drones flew too high in the sky to make out any fine details, so Phanya didn''t bother aiming for any specific one.


    Even if they were close enough, Phanya would never manage to shoot one of the drones. The instant Phanya put her finger on the trigger she felt the wave of disorientation from the system rejecting the weapon, it even took some effort to keep her balance. Luckily, shooting the drones wasn''t the point.


    The point was to hip-fire the energy weapon into the air and drop it back down the hatch. Then Steffo took it, gave his friends a thumbs-up, and dived out of the moving vehicle. He worked out the timing with Ricky so he''d land in a softer pile of trash and hide out in Ricky''s clubhouse, sneaking back into town once the sun set. By then it''d be too late for the Fableten elders to do anything about it, and they''d have no choice but to accept Steffo''s help.


    Phanya, meanwhile, raised both middle fingers into the air for the drones. Surely they had tracked the streak of energy back to her, and she needed to send a message. "CASPIAN FAIRBANKS!" She shouted over the wind. Could the whistleblower drones even hear her? Doesn''t matter. "COME AND GET US, YOU FUCKING DWEEB!" Phanya held the pose for a second longer, just to make sure they saw. Tapper remarked that almost exactly half of the drones had indeed changed their course, and Phanya shoved him back down the latch. Just as planned, for better or worse.


    Tapper landed unceremoniously with a crash, and Phanya landed ceremoniously on top of Tapper. Ricky started laughing to himself, half from nerves and half from disbelief. "Well, we did it. We got rid of our only bulk friend and only piece of high-tech weaponry. Holy shit, we''re really doing this."


    Tapper sensed Ricky''s nerves, but his feeling of excitement still shined brightly. "All for the protection of Fableton, my friend. And I believe I am experiencing a new sensation regarding our predicament. What are you all feeling at this moment?"


    "Anxiety," Phanya mumbled.


    "Queasy," Ricky admitted.


    "See, kaki-see!" Kakisi chirped.


    "Yes! All of that together, plus a great deal of excitement. I believe the resulting combination is the emotion of Adventure."


    "Tapper, that''s not, uh, how it works," Phanya tried to gently explain.


    "It is for me. Adventure!"


    "...Ah hell, why not," Ricky said, twisting around so all three could bump fists together.


    "ADVENTURE!"

 1.51 Epilogue

    The servant spared a second to lay down and stretch in the hovercar''s open seating area. His organs had regrown enough to no longer hurt but his tendons were still too tight, and sitting hunched over in the hovercar''s slightly too-small controls didn''t help. He always wondered if Fairbanks intentionally left his toys at baseline human specs to keep his servant just a little uncomfortable and "on his toes," or if he was just too lazy to change the settings.


    Or possibly too cheap, for the same reason why the cloning process always skipped the optional steps to loosen up a new body. Ultimately, the reason didn''t matter and he didn''t have the power to change it. But in these first days when his insides felt like they were made of wood and twine, the servant always wondered how it helped him actually serve his proprietor.


    Voices from out of sight shook the man from his thoughts. Good thing, too ¡ª the plush carpeting of the hovercar was far too comfortable. He sat up to a chorus of gasps from the people who thought they were checking out an empty vehicle, ripe for looting or whatever else those sorts did. Hand grace these simpletons, they were so filthy, but that''s what happens when you choose to live in a garbage bowl like Belvidere.


    He may not enjoy wearing a bodysuit that covered every centimeter of skin, but at least it meant the servant didn''t need to breathe the toxins that settled below the tarmac line. The uniform also discouraged people from speaking to him, and after the hovercar''s security system tasered the nearest prole he walked through the street with a wide enough berth. Which was fine, he hated crowds.


    Unfortunately, try as he might, the servant couldn''t ignore the crowd completely. Hardwired eye nerves tracked subtle movements from all directions, searching for any threats towards Fairbanks. Even his genes wouldn''t let him relax when his master wasn''t around, but it helped him notice the changing crowd.


    The smart proles ducked their heads and walked away, while the curious ones stuck around. They were opportunists, and mostly looked at each other to see if anyone else was desperate or stupid enough to try something. A handful of proles broke off and boldly walked right up to the servant ¡ª so stupid, not desperate ¡ª followed closely by the curious opportunists. Yet, the leader proles wore newer and cleaner clothing than the others, so maybe he could actually reason with them.


    The servant held his hand up, and a 3D hologram of the robot appeared that made him take a step back. His memories from the fight were fuzzy at best, thanks to the stimulants, but he recalled how weird the thing was and it took him a moment to clear his throat. "This robot is wanted for crimes against upper management. On behalf of the Great Job Creator Fairbanks, I am authorized to pay ¡ì10,000 in CyraCorp debts to anyone that brings it to me."


    While he spoke, the clean and/or stupid proles had fully encircled him. One nudged another and said, "I swear all the tech in this place is cursed. Did ya hear that the big manager''s big gun exploded?"


    "Shit, I heard someone actually shot the ''Great Job Creator,''" another said, complete with the exaggerated air quotes.


    "And there aren''t any eyebots up my ass for once."


    "I dug up a toaster that shocked me, is that worth any money?" The other proles found this very funny.


    "Hey, how stretchy is that fancy suit?"


    "Ain''t no way is that going to fit your fat ass." The laughter increased, and everyone took another step closer.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    The servant sighed, and started measuring out the heaviest person in the crowd. He knew better than to try appealing to their simple minds, but usually the stupid proles scatter after their strongest numbers crumple. Or in two steps everyone will be close enough that one long cut with his monoblade would do more than enough, until a pleasantly grating female voice cut off his thoughts.


    "Error. Advanced integrated systems cannot be deployed until setup process is complete. Please contact CyraCorp technical support to register your CyraCorp Shadowbane Exosuit. Thank you."


    Fucking Fairbanks, this had to be intentional. He braced himself to do things the hard way when a small explosion sent the crowd scattering. The sound dampening in his helmet counted as basic life support, so it functioned just fine, but he felt the faintest ripple of the soundwave. Warning signals blared in his ears instead, as visual scanners picked up a cloud of gunpowder residue ¡ª actual, patented gunpowder, not the homemade sludge used by the truly desperate.


    Standing in the middle of the residual cloud, and now in the middle of the empty street, was a woman digging her pinky finger in one ear. "Woo! Always forget just how loud that is," she half-yelled, shifting her shotgun to the other shoulder and away from the driver. The woman was short and curvaceous, but she moved with deceptive strength; she had an absurd amount of wild red hair, but equally absurd front teeth.


    A hybrid castoff, then? She approached the driver without any fear or threat. Rather, she ignored him entirely, and instead stopped to study the robotic hologram with one finger tapping at her teeth.


    "Hmm. It''s pretty different, but¡­ Mage from the Machine, Machine Mage¡­" She leaned to the side and pretended to look around the robot, flashing a buck-toothed grin at the driver. "I think maybe I can help ya out. But first! What do you get once you get that robot? What''s your reward?"


    Of all the strange questions that the servant tended to get from proles, this was not one of them. "I do not receive anything. Well, I get to return home and resume my normal duties?"


    The grin flashed wider. "Great! So we can help each other out. You get to go back to that dumpster pearl you call home, I get the ten grand. And revenge."


    "What was that?"


    "Nothing! Anyway, I''m Jenakite, friends call me Jena." She held out a hand, and the driver stared at it.


    It had been so long since anyone had asked his name that it took some effort to recall what he was supposed to answer. His production line was the general go-to, even if he hated the name.


    "What''s that? Friend, you''re going to need to lose the mask if we''re going to work together." Jenakite waved her other hand in front of her face and continued, "This whole dehumanizing thing just ain''t going to work, at least whenever we''re talking."


    At the servant''s command, the mask lost its rigidity and retreated upwards into the stylized driver''s cap. With a faint glow the hat''s brim switched to a small atmospheric forcefield to filter out the air and ultraviolet lights. Still effective, but less powerful than the physical mask and the driver blinked rapidly in the sudden light. He wasn''t entirely sure why he followed her request so readily, usually he took every opportunity to say ''no'' to someone.


    "Holy shit you are pale!" Jenakite shouted, ruining the moment of vulnerability. "Do they call you Powder? Monochrome? Pinkeye? I bet it''s Pinkeye."


    The driver, not named Pinkeye, sneered down at the hybrid woman. "My name is Jellico."


    Jenakite snorted. "Really? I''ll call you Jelly. Now come on already, my arm''s getting tired here." She wiggled her hand for emphasis, which had never dropped from its open invitation.


    "Ms. Jenakite, I don''t know if ¡ª"


    "Jena, I told you," she corrected him. "What''s to get? You''ve got my back and I''ve got yours, until we get that bot. Let''s shake on it and go, Jelly."


    Despite every cent of programmed training, a grin tugged at the corner of Jellico''s lips. Fairbanks is not going to be happy when he learns that his servant willingly worked with a mutant. Jellico''s long fingers easily engulfed Jena''s tiny handshake, but her grip was rock steady. "Yeah, let''s go get that bot."

 Character Sheet Recap

    [Name: Tapper]


    [Ancestry: Golem (Robot)]


    [Background: Bartender (Novice)]


    [Class: Machine Mage (Witchcraft/Cybroid)]


    [Level: 3]


    [XP: 36/75]


    [HP: 4/4]


    [MP: 11/11]


    [Dodge: 12]


    [Armor: 1]


    [Strength: 4]


    [Dexterity: 2]


    [Constitution: 5]


    [Logic: 2]


    [Awareness: 5]


    [Willpower: 3]


    [Primary Class Features


    Witches use Awareness as their spellcasting attribute and start with a Spellcraft 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.]


    [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.]


    [Feats]


    [Articulus Foci


    Threads of the Weave run from head to toe. Your body fills the minimal requirements for a spellcasting focus, so you no longer need to wield one. But the same thing applies to any other spellcaster making direct contact with your body.]


    [Potion Brewing


    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.]


    [Automatic Response Module


    The ARM upgrade offers a helping hand in avoiding dangers, even those which you cannot perceive. Your base dodge threshold is increased by the number of augmented cyberlimbs you have installed, and cyberlimbs will move themselves to avoid or mitigate damage when possible.]


    [Perks]


    [Spell Growth


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


    [Arcane Familiar


    They even come with a tiny wizard hat! Your soul is bound to that of another creature that will serve you and work with you until the end of days. Unlike the full Familiar class your companion will not naturally grow in size or strength, but they do know magic at half of your capacity and they even learn their own spell components. They understand your commands and you understand their feelings, and you can choose from a limited selection of feats to deepen that connection.]


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    [Ministry of Silly Walks


    Keep your feet unpredictable to keep stable, giving you advantage on saves against getting tripped, pushed, or knocked down whenever you are moving.]


    [Spells]


    [Spray, Suck, Track, Drill]


    [Augmentations]


    [Drillbert''s Drill Bit, Left Arm


    +1 Strength for actions using limb, drill takes 1 turn to activate and can be used as an unarmed weapon for 1d6 + Strength piercing damage]


    [Suck-o-matic Vacuum, Left Back


    Pulls in small objects within (1) m cone]


    [Spray Spritzer, Right Back


    Shoots liquid in (4) m line]


    [Empty slot]


    [Empty slot]


    <hr>


    [Name: Phanya]


    [Background: Deputy (Novice)]


    [Class: Monk (Body Mastery/Commander)]


    [Level: 2]


    [XP: 42/50]


    [HP: 6/6]


    [Strength: 3]


    [Dexterity: 5]


    [Constitution: 4]


    [Logic: 3]


    [Awareness: 3]


    [Willpower: 4]


    [Primary class features


    Body Masters start with a special Flex die of (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.]


    [Secondary class features


    Commanders start with 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.]


    [Feats]


    [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.]


    [Equipment]


    [Aerobic Set


    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.]


    [Safety Pads


    Be careful out there! Limbs will not be targeted in sprain checks that result from attacks, but harsher wounds can still hit.]


    [Knucklebusters


    Unarmed, blunt, 1d4 + Strength damage]


    <hr>


    [Name: Ricky McCormick]


    [Background: Blacksmith (Novice)]


    [Class: None (Armaments/_)]


    [Level: 2]


    [XP: 2/50]


    [HP: 3/3]


    [Strength: 3]


    [Dexterity: 3]


    [Constitution: 4]


    [Logic: 6]


    [Awareness: 2]


    [Willpower: 2]


    [Primary class features


    Armaments heroes start with a special Mettle die of (1d3) that is added to all checks regarding their personal gear ¡ª attacking with weapons, repairing armor, upgrading equipment, etc. They are the only class trained in simple, light, medium, and heavy equipment from the beginning, and are proficient in dual-wielding weapons (simple or light weapons only in the off hand).]


    [Feats]


    [Brimstone Home


    Smells like pushing up daisies. You have a natural resistance to extreme heat, allowing you to use both your Constitution and Willpower dice for such saves. However, you are susceptible to extreme cold temperatures and make those saves without any attribute dice.]


    [Perks]


    [Bulwark


    Waves shall crash against you. If an ally within melee range is to be struck by an external source of damage, you can willingly move to intercept the attack instead. You cannot dodge this attack, but any damage applied to your armor in this fashion is reduced by 25%.]


    [Equipment]


    [P-1000 Powered Work Loader


    +1 Strength, 0/1 armor; can support up to medium armor]


    [Scrap Musket


    Medium, bolt action, 100/200 m range, 1d6 + ammo damage]

 2.1 Carpooling

    "Damnit Ricky, will you pay attention!" Phanya shouted, picking herself up from the floor. Their speed through the winding pathways meant that the journey was hardly smooth at the best of times, and their careful stacks of supplies now bounced around the cabin every time the jitney bounded over a garbage mound. Along with Tapper, who couldn''t keep his balance no matter how wildly his legs danced. But when the turbulence got so bad that even Phanya couldn''t ride the wave, that hurt her pride.


    "I am paying attention, damnit!" Ricky snapped back. "I''ve only driven this thing once before! And that''s still more than either of you!"


    Point sufficiently made, Ricky returned his attention forward and resumed his grumbling whenever they lurched over an obstacle.


    Phanya took a moment to properly listen this time. "Hold on... Ricky, are you reading system messages right now!?"


    "I haven''t had time to choose my second class yet!"


    "Ricky!"


    "Shut up, this is important! You said it ''finalized your class'' so this is the first real decision I have here, I can''t mess this up!"


    "Then do your pondering later!"


    "What if we don''t have time? What if Fairbanks catches up to us and we have to fight again?" Ricky grimaced, frustration stinging his eyes. "I barely survived one hit in the last fight and I didn''t fight back at all, I only leveled up because you fought off the driver. Haven''t even repaired my armor yet, so I''m stuck unless I pick a really good class." His voice fell again, now muttering about not falling behind.


    Phanya placed a reassuring hand on Ricky''s shoulder. "You''re going to pick a good class. I know you will, this is your whole thing. So please," her hand started to squeeze harder while her voice remained perfectly calm, "until we get to a safe place, just shut up and drive."


    A scream of static interrupted their arguing, allowing a new voice into the cabin. "I hope I''m not interrupting, but I need you kids to pull over and give me the robot."


    The kids answered with panic, searching all over for the voice''s source. Phanya cupped her hands to peer through a dusty window set into the rear ramp and pulled back with a confused look. "Someone''s following us! And I think I recognize the car, it''s that armored pillbug thing?"


    "Stop calling it a pillbug!" The voice sputtered over the speakers, momentarily losing their edge. "She''s a bell!"


    "What gives, man?" Phanya asked, projecting her voice to the general ceiling. "I thought you were cool with Fableton?"


    The mercenary''s voice slid back to confidence and answered, "Oh yes, very cool. So cool that Everett paid me to drive to Belvidere and start telling everyone that I saw you escaping towards the wilds. And I did, of course. But then I thought, why would the old beaver pay me to do a thing like that? So I simply went in the exact opposite direction of the wilds, and here you are! What a surprise for me!"


    Ricky groaned and said, "You double-crossed us!"


    "No I didn''t. I told you, a professional doesn''t break a contract. Makes it easier for me to catch you alone, too."


    Phanya whispered to keep him talking, and Ricky answered with a thumbs-up. "Yeah well, you still think you''ll be welcomed in town after turning us in anyways?"


    The mercenary laughed in odd hissing tones. "Kid, for ten grand I won''t ever need to see Skratsville again."


    "Respect the name of Fableton, you scoundrel!" Tapper joined in on the distraction, rattling his fist in the air.


    Phanya took advantage of the banter to crawl out of the roof hatch, keeping herself hunched low against the wind and her long limbs splayed out for balance. Now she could clearly see the mercenary vehicle, normally a cylindrical dome of interlocking armor plates, but a line of plating lay peeled back along the top length to reveal a collection of different radar dishes, instruments, and sensors. Must be why he could hack their comms, but it left the top of the vehicle exposed. More than that, right now it didn''t look like either a pillbug or a bell; it looked like a hot dog.


    If they all survived this, Phanya hoped that she would get to taunt the mercenary with that one.


    Taking a deep breath, Phanya ignored the strange brain flex sensation as her Commander ability ran through subconscious calculations with enough speed to rub against her conscious mind. Distance, angle, velocity, and especially timing. Wait until she feels the front of the jitney hit a bump, and... now! The rear of the vehicle lurched upwards and Phanya turned it into a springboard, launching her into the air on a graceful arc to the mercenary.


    Phanya fell to her knees upon landing, trusting that her magically-enhanced Safety Pads would absorb the impact, and started crawling around on the roof. It was a mess of crossed wires and secondhand tools, so surely there must be an access panel! If she could just find it, she could knock out the mercenary before anyone else got hurt.


    "Hey, what the hell ¡ª get off my car!" The mercenary''s voice shouted from his own external speakers, the smug attitude breaking away like a shell to reveal the panic beneath. "Don''t touch my stuff!"


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    No latch to be found, so time for Plan B. She grabbed a random fistful of wires and yanked them out, reeling back from the sparks. "You threatened us, asshole!" She stomped on the fragile glassy end of some instrument. "And you screwed us! Everett paid you from his own hand!" She kicked a small radar dish clear off its mounting. "Now YOU pull over or I''m gonna break this whole damn thing!"


    [Status effects gained: Stunned, deafened]


    Phanya read the pop-up message, the only thing that remained clear in her vision while the world exploded into pain. A high-pitched tone screamed from just beyond her range of hearing, too far away for her to notice until it became strong enough for her to feel. The pressure in her head blocked out all thought, leaving the same primal reaction as if she were set on fire and Phanya fought to retain control. It was an effort just to keep her eyes open, and her hands were glued to her ears despite doing nothing to block the sound.


    After agonizing seconds, Phanya noticed where the sound hid amongst the mess of instruments. One tool looked like a small radar dish but swiveled to track Phanya''s movements, and when she kicked it to pieces the wailing assault finally ended. She breathed a sigh of relief, relishing in the comparatively blissful silence of rushing air and screaming voices, and stood up at exactly the wrong time.


    Right in the sweet spot after standing and before regaining her balance, the mercenary sped up and rammed into the back of the jitney. Phanya tumbled forward and she blindly threw her limbs out sideways, catching herself on the raised trench walls of armor before she could slam face-first into her own car.


    Instead, she was perfectly positioned to look through a thick and dusty window, where a figure was frantically waving at her from the other side. Ricky? Why wasn''t Ricky driving?


    <hr>


    Ricky had stayed busy as well. He was never very good at talking anyone down, so when his attempts to distract started to falter he leaned more and more on Tapper. "Well, do you know why the reward is so large? He''s secretly a, uh, superweapon! He destroyed the manager''s shuttle in one shot, and he can do the same to your pillbug!"


    "Actually, that is unfortunately not possible right now," Tapper said, keeping his voice low.


    "What? Why not??"


    "Because I do not recall anything from that episode, so I do not know what spell I used. Also, I am still grievously injured."


    "Can you two please stop making this so easy for me?" The mercenary mocked them with laughter, suddenly cut off by his own snarl of anger. Phanya was on his car!


    "Fine then Tapper, if you can''t cast spells then get up here!" He dragged the robot forward and switched seats with him. "Wheel steers left and right, that''s the gas, don''t hit the brakes!" Ricky spun around and hurried into his exosuit, ignoring Tapper''s confused protests. "Just keep us steady!" He had to get out there and help Phanya, but even with the suit he didn''t trust himself to make that same jump with any accuracy. Ricky was halfway toward the ramp release lever before they stopped, stared at it, and cringed with the sudden memory.


    He knew there was something he forgot to fix on the jitney.


    Changing tactics, Ricky stood back and tried to focus on the entire jammed ramp as one project for his blacksmithing skills. This was all metal that needed to be reshaped, after all, and his mind formulated a plan on which areas of the ramp were twisted together. It continued to inform Ricky what temperature it needed to be and how he could best gently hammer the metal back into shape without losing cohesion, all of which he ignored. Ricky really needed a big hammer, and luckily some kind soul had donated a scrap metal club to the supplies.


    [Equipment: Kludgeon


    Medium, blunt, 1d6 + Strength damage]


    Ricky tried to get a good grasp on the improvised tool, and when he shifted to using both hands he saw the message in the corner of his mind''s eye change from 1d6 to 1d8. His inner voice grimaced; there were so many things they still didn''t know about the system infecting their brains, how was he expected to make any big choices right now? Especially a system with its own sense of humor that makes ridiculous portmanteaus in naming things.


    A high-pitched whine rattled the jitney and brought Ricky back to earth, and with the exosuit''s help he slammed the kludgeon down on the jammed metal. The wedge that the ramp formed with the roof made it difficult to aim any swings to the furthest point, but he could feel his Blacksmithing skill simultaneously complain about the process and compliment on the progress. Between his hammering Ricky heard the whine abruptly shut off, right before the cabin lurched from a massive impact that sent him reeling. But the slam also jostled the ramp loose, it was free! Not repaired, but free!


    And as luck would have it, Phanya was already looking through the rear-view window on the ramp. She was pleading to get in! Ricky waved enthusiastically at her and shouted, "Get back, I''m going to lower the ramp!"


    "What''s that? I can''t hear you! Wait don''t reach for that, Ricky do not lower the ¡ª oh skrat." Phanya turned and crawl-climbed back along the uneven trench of equipment, carried at the speed of fresh panic. Ricky hadn''t seen the mound they were about to hit, and Tapper wasn''t avoiding it.


    The jitney, with its large wheels, launched its backend into a jump right as the ramp came loose. The pillbug, with its quarter-sphere of frontwards armor hanging close to the ground, plowed right through the garbage mound. Phanya, with her strange Commander ability to read anything as a battlefield, read the incoming "attack" and got out of the way. She made it to the other end of the pillbug and turned to watch the jitney come down, with its ramp aimed downwards like a guillotine. It crunched into the front end of the pillbug and suddenly Phanya was flying again, launched by the teeter-totter of physics.


    The brief moment of weightlessness gave Phanya a moment to appreciate the utter mess they were in now. The ramp wedged itself deep between the armored plates, raising the back end of the jitney while pressing down on the front end of the pillbug. Now both vehicles were caught in a bizarre balancing act where neither had rear wheels touching the ground, and from her vantage point Phanya could see an open pit surrounded by vehicles and construction equipment.


    Ricky regained his footing, and an appropriate weapon. The homemade bolt-action rifle would''ve felt large and unwieldy if not for the exosuit supporting him, but now it was braced against his shoulder with the steady confidence of someone trained in all manner of weaponry. Maybe the Armaments subclass would prove useful after all, because right now it held the mercenary dead to rights. Their reptilian face fumed with anger from across the gap but they couldn''t do anything besides fume; a forward-facing laser rifle mounted onto their truck kept firing, but they were so close that every shot flew wide.


    Ricky still didn''t want to kill the guy if they could help it. "I said, stop your car and we''ll let you ¡ª jeez!" Phanya landed with a thud right onto the hood in front of the mercenary, and on reflex Ricky snapped his rifle out of the way. "Phanya! You okay? We got him!"


    Phanya stood and shook the daze away, eyes wide with worry. "We gotta turn or we''ll fall into Belvidere!"

 2.2 Into the Breach

    "Huh?"


    "Forget it. Tapper!" Phanya leaned to the side with her hands cupped around her mouth and shouted, "You need to turn left now! Right now! Wait no that came out wr¡ª" Tapper did exactly as commanded, whipping the steering wheel to the left and then the right, and then the entangled vehicles began to slide. This did put them out of direct contact with Belvidere, and luckily the grounds surrounding the open mine were mostly clear of obstacles.


    Roughly half a dozen vehicles were waiting to get into town when the off-kilter see-saw rolled into view. After a mad scramble to get out of their way, everyone enjoyed the show of the conjoined car and their screaming occupants spinning out of control through the crowd.


    Two more spins, and the mercenary managed to stabilize both cars by steering from the rear. "That''s it, I give up!" He shouted, his voice amplified by both his and the jitney''s speakers. "You''re all psychotic, just let me stop and I''ll leave!"


    "Yeah, that''s more like it!" Ricky shouted, fists pumping in triumph.


    Then his celebration was cut off by an explosion next to them. He couldn''t tell if it was a mortar shell or a really big gun, but someone had definitely missed them with an intentional attack. Ricky crouched to spread his balance and looked around as the vehicles fishtailed, and he noticed a half-dozen vehicles speeding to catch up. Why were the miners from Belvidere giving chase now? They hadn''t hit anyone.


    "Uh, hey Tapper?"


    "Yes, Ricky?"


    "Are you still wearing your disguise?"


    "Indeed, I have not removed it once! Why do you ask?"


    "...No reason. Just drive faster, we have to lose them!"


    "Not to worry, everyone!" Tapper shouted, giving the runaway cars a more gentle turn towards a giant cloud. Somehow, a great bank had settled onto the ground off to the side. "We shall lose them in the foggy weather!"


    The mercenary was not in agreement with the plan, throwing out swears and oaths at random regarding the kids and their entire family lineage. His panic redoubled when the miner vehicles caught up and surrounded them, to the sides and behind and even on top. How did a flying vehicle manage to sneak up on them in the open air?


    Ricky pointed up at the open-topped hovercar and shouted, "Ahh, it''s Fairbanks! He caught up already!" before he stopped and squinted at it. "Wait never mind, it''s just one of the servants!"


    An anguished scream whispered faintly over the rushing wind, and then it swooped to attack. The other random miners swooped in as well, side-swiping the jitney while others shot air pistols or threw grenades in uncoordinated attacks.


    Through it all, the mercenary sharing this mishap with the jitney looked up, and realization sliced through his fear. "What are you doing?? Turn around, you''re driving us right into a live shift storm!"


    "I said, not to worry!" Tapper shouted back into the comms. "I''m going to lose our pursuers in this thick fog! And... swirling lights?" The robot was so focused on keeping their vehicle stable that he only started to notice the strange weather once they were in the thick of it.


    Occasional wisps of multicolored light flashed briefly in the fog. Random colors in random spots, without any discernable patter. There was no source that Tapper could see, and despite the circumstances he felt curiosity tugging whenever one flashed across the windshield.


    "So these colored lights are dangerous, yes?" Tapper asked into the comms, excitement coloring his own words.


    Excitement which the mercenary did not share. "Those are specters, you useless pile of glitches! Yes, don''t touch the specters!"


    Something in the folksy name for the phenomenon connected with Tapper on an emotional level, bolstering his emotions into something much more adventurous. "Specters, ey? Sounds like the perfect place to lose our pursuers!"


    "No you idiot, it''s the perfect place for us to die! Hey, are you speeding up? Don''t speed up!"


    "We must, or else we must fight these brigands! And you must help me steer, Mister Mercenary, then we all shall survive! ADVENTURE!"


    "I''m gonna diiiiiiiie!"


    <hr>


    Ricky, meanwhile, was too preoccupied to notice any lights. Fairbanks'' servant was still taking swipes at them, leaning out of his sleek hovercar to reach for Phanya. She didn''t even notice him, she was struggling to climb back up onto the pillbug vehicle for some reason. She was wide open, if Ricky didn''t do something quickly.


    "I said, get away from her!" Ricky didn''t expect the servant to hear him, but he just needed a second for Armaments to guide his aim again. The hovercar was a sharp arrowhead of fins, sleek and very expensive, but for all the advanced technology this one wasn''t growing massive turrets. Maybe it wasn''t designed to fight, so maybe even a plinker rifle could find a weak spot... like an exposed nerve.


    Glowing lines running along the craft''s underside marked the anti-gravity rails and these ones were designed with aesthetics over practicality; all the grav rails converged at one point towards the front of the ship, forming a cluster of weak targets. But now that he identified it, he had to actually hit it. His first shot went wide and struck a single grav rail instead. The full rail went dark and the hovercar listed slightly to compensate, but it wasn''t enough to force a landing.


    Except, the hovercar suddenly lurched from side-to-side. The driver was clearly struggling to maintain control, so Ricky braced himself and waited until it was within range for a melee attack. He swung the butt of his rifle in a wide upwards arc, hitting the rail junction like a blunt club. Which, according to the system, was the preferred damage type for smashing things, and a majority of the grav rails instantly winked out.


    Probably more than he should have knocked out, Ricky quickly realized. It didn''t crash, exactly, but it also wasn''t exactly hovering either, instead bouncing and skipping on the tarmac until it veered off and the swirling mists obscured them. It was probably just a trick of the fog, but Ricky thought he saw a long trail of hair bouncing on top of the hovercar.


    The cars recovered from their spin, and in the moment of relative peace Ricky noticed what really caused the hovercar to start flying erratically ¡ª the wind. The wind shifted directions constantly, tugging at Ricky and jerking him every direction against the straps of his exosuit. If it wasn''t weighing him down, Ricky feared the wind would''ve blown him off by now. No wonder Phanya''s having so much trouble keeping her balance!


    But not just the wind, flashes of light and cracks of thunder taunted Ricky from just beyond view. Nervous laughter bubbled in his chest as Ricky realized what was happening. Did Tapper drive them into a shift storm? On purpose? One of the miner vehicles swerved out of the mist and bumped into the jitney, sending them into another spin, and Ricky hastened to reload his rifle.


    Maybe he should''ve stayed in the library, after all.


    Phanya, stuck in the middle of the spin, watched the two vehicles bend and fishtail. The pillbug''s forward turret never stopped firing into the tarmac, but it got a little bit closer to hitting the jitney whenever the two cars bent and swerved. Whether because the mercenary forgot to turn it off or intentionally didn''t forget, Phanya knew it was only a matter of time before a stray blast hit Ricky. She waved and shouted but he didn''t notice, he was too distracted by the chaos and swinging his rifle through the air.


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    She planted her hands and flipped around on the roof of the pillbug, hoping that the extra panache would help her with the "trick" of pulling a stick really hard. She braced her heel against the base of the turret for leverage and grabbed the barrel with both hands, hauling back with all her might. Phanya expected it to be difficult, but she didn''t realize how much residual heat that sustained fire can build in laser weapons. Her hands sizzled, her voice screamed, and with a pop the turret came loose in its housing.


    [Wounds: ????]


    [Injury: Burn


    You suffer -1 Dexterity checks when using burned limbs.]


    [Adrenaline Rush


    Fight or flight? Whenever you''re hit with a wound you will instead receive a buff that numbs the effects of your wounds for (1 minute). Furthermore, you also receive a bonus on your next maneuver attempts equal to the number of wounds you are currently suffering. Usable once per combat encounter.]


    Thank you system, helpful as always, Phanya thought. Her hands stopped hurting the instant her perk activated, but she could see the burn marks and dreaded the pain they''ll bring in the next minute. But she took advantage of the bonus and pivoted, turning her hips into a fulcrum so she could throw the turret like a big club. It spun end over end and lodged itself in the exposed wheel well of an approaching miner vehicle, sending them careening into a garbage mound.


    Even in the chaos, Phanya found it odd that the system took away her ability to use weapons but let her throw a stick like a marksman.


    Between the frantic screaming, expletives, and close calls, Tapper and the mercenary never quite learned how to drive as one unit. One of them would turn, the other would counter it on reflex, and they would pirouette around again. All the while dodging trash heaps, evading specters, and batting aside any miner that got too close. Ricky shot out a few tires to thin the herd, any miner that managed to jump onto their barge was kicked off by Phanya just as quickly, and experience flowed in.


    The life-or-death struggle was going well, until a tiny mote of light floated down and attached itself to the spot where jitney ramp joined with pillbug hood. The comms crackled and the mercenary shouted, "Kids, get away from that light! The bubble''s going to pop, we''re so completely screwed!"


    Kakisi fwapped his tentacles against Tapper''s faceplate and, after the robot recoiled, noticed that his familiar was pointing backwards. Tapper snapped his head around and watched as a pea-sized point of light swelled into a sphere the size of a fist.


    "Ricky, Phanya! Retreat NOW!" Tapper shouted in his most authoritative voice, not waiting to see their reaction before his head ratcheted forwards. "What do we do about the bubble, Mister Mercenary?" Phanya and Ricky rolled down the angled floor and crashed into the dashboard as one tangled mess, sending the vehicles into another spin.


    The mercenary stopped yelling and the speakers crackled with a heavy sigh. "No point, it''s anchored now. Just pray that we don''t get demons." Blinding light filled the cabin as the bubble swelled, multiple vehicles swerved inwards as a coordinated attack, and the mercenary gave one last defiant yell. "OH GOD DAMNI¡ª" A crack of thunder cut off his voice, cut off all sound, and chaos was all that remained.


    [Miner Mercenary Horde defeated! +25 XP for participation]


    DING!


    <hr>


    "Ugh, what happened?"


    "Your hyut ish in my mouh"


    "What? You''re all muffled ¡ª oh sorry."


    "Are any organic systems damaged?"


    "Eee-seee..."


    Various limbs untangled themselves while the bodies worked through their disorientation, all of it to much groaning. But once the bellyaching passed, the group found few new wounds amongst them; Phanya''s hands were burned, Ricky jammed a leg strut on his exosuit, and Tapper had to reset one arm before it would bend the correct direction. Also, the jitney''s cabin was mostly sideways.


    Through the car''s front windshield was only darkness. Behind the jitney, ambient light floated slowly through the open ramp, carried along foggy tendrils. The strange mist moved in lazy arcs as it filled the cabin, leaving no moisture but instead a sapping chill upon everything it touched. It reached Ricky first and he shivered, his frosty breath adding to the fog.


    "G-guys? What''s happening?"


    "I think we''re still inside of a shift storm," Phanya answered. She didn''t feel uncomfortably cold yet, probably as another invisible bonus from the system strengthening her body. Or because she just hit Level 3, Phanya remembered how overconfident Tapper acted right after he hit the same threshold. Yet a chill still crawled up her spine as the mist surrounded them, pressed into them. Everything felt still as death, and in that moment the two humans knew precisely why their ancestors cowered in caves.


    Outside, there be monsters.


    Tapper lacked that context, even in the primal recesses of his emotions. Instead, he noticed a thin layer of small objects littering the floor that he didn''t recognize. They were all soft rubbery plastic and uniform in size, fitting into the palm of his hand with an off-center knob on top. Tapper picked one up, observed its bulbous silhouette in the faint mistlight, and squeezed.


    The rubber duck''s quack hit the tense silence like a hand grenade and scared the humans just as much. Once everyone calmed down again Tapper took a long look towards the open end of the jitney, the mist drinking long and deep from his earlier bravado. Even his circuitry wasn''t immune to the strange effects. "What are shift storms? Why is everyone so scared? Why am I scared?"


    Ricky smacked some feeling back into his lips and answered, "They''re phase shift events. The real big ones, where anything can phase out of or into existence."


    Phanya hugged herself. "I heard that these storms can summon demons, or ghosts from beyond the grave."


    "That''s just PSI cultists talking," Ricky responded, a slight snap sharpening his words.


    "Actually, the mercenary did mention both demons and ghostly specters by name."


    "Anyways, nothing is safe inside of a shift storm. They usually burn out in a few minutes to an hour, and when the storm breaks there''s usually good stuff to scavenge. That''s probably where these rubber duckies came from, see how they''re brand new? They just didn''t exist, and now they do. Actually that might explain why all those miners were waiting around outside, they were waiting for the storm to pass and get first dibs ¡ª"


    "Ricky. You''re rambling."


    "Right, sorry. Best we can do is wait here until everything clears up and hope we don''t have to fight anyone. Or anything."


    Silence blanketed the cabin once again, until Phanya just had to break it. "Hey, Ricky? Remember how I said not to worry about picking a good subclass? Sorry about that, you should get to picking."


    "Waaay ahead of you," Ricky murmured, staring intently at the wall.


    Tapper suddenly snapped to attention. He was really starting to grate on Phanya''s nerves with all the startling and sudden movements. "Wait! If we''re in danger, then so is the mercenary! I must ensure that he is unharmed!"


    "Tapper, wait..." Phanya held out a plaintive hand, but the robot was already walking towards the open door. He slid down the angled floor, but with determination and a sideways crabwalk Tapper made it up the incline.


    "Don''t worry, you stay here where it''s safe and I''ll return with our friend ¡ª oop!" Tapper toppled and vanished from sight, followed right after by a crash. "I am undamaged!" His tinny voice was clear but quiet, as if Tapper was suddenly shouting from a great distance away.


    Phanya scooted forward with appropriate caution, so she spied what caused Tapper''s downfall: The ramp he sidestepped onto didn''t exist. Neither did the sloped roof that formed the rear wedge of the jitney. Phanya stuck her head out into the open and slowly spun around to trace the hole and confirm her fears, that the entire rear section of their vehicle was simply gone.


    The lip was perfectly smooth throughout the entire length around, with a slight curve that bent inwards. As if a precision laser had carefully lopped off the rear end of the jitney. Or maybe a giant toothless mouth. She looked back down to see Tapper picking himself up from his tumble, and to her relief he had only dropped down about three meters. Phanya couldn''t see the front of the jitney, but it looked like they had crashed into a giant garbage mound with enough force to lift the entire vehicle into the air.


    Phanya cupped her hands over her mouth so she could whisper-shout without anything else out there hearing her. "Tapper, this is suicide! Get back up here!"


    The dumb little robot just looked up and smiled with his dumb little eyebrows. "Your concern is appreciated! But I must find ways to help!" Then he waved to her and turned around, blindly looking for the pillbug car. Phanya groaned and reminded herself not to act rashly. First, she needed to confirm whether Tapper intended to guilt trip her with one of Uxral''s favorite lines, and then she''d throttle him for it.


    "Can''t let him go alone, he''ll get shredded. Ricky, you... are still completely spaced out, right. What about you, Kakisi?" The baby octolusk zipped around Ricky and hid behind one of his legs, the tip of their conical shell quaking in fear. "Go figure, the squid''s the sanest one here. Okay boy, you look after Ricky and I''ll fetch your, uh, poppa. Go team." Phanya knew she was just delaying herself now, so she hopped out of the jitney before Tapper could manage to lose himself forever.

 2.3 A Quick Rescue

    There was a good chance that the list of class options was now officially the most-read "article" of Ricky''s entire life, and he only hit Level 2 earlier this morning. Every word was already memorized, but he expanded the system prompt to dominate his view and block out distractions. Plus, it helped him put things into perspective; this will be his foundation as he grows with the strange system. This is what mattered.


    Ricky skipped past the first layer of options, after pausing just long enough to wonder why the Cybroid class sounded so familiar. But it didn''t matter, as he already knew that he was going to be a spellcaster. Phanya complained at length about magic, but how could she ignore the downright impossible feats of physics-defying magic that Tapper pulled out of nowhere? If that was a glitchy robot, then imagine what a human could do! Choosing the Spellcaster class was easy, the challenge was deciding what kind.


    [WIZARDRY]


    [The quintessential classic spellcaster, wizards command the arcane through years of rigorous study and an unbendable will. Wizards receive the strongest bonus spell die and can hold the highest number of spells in their spellbook, but all the study leaves them prone to exhaustion and inflexibility. They are also the only class that requires a spellbook, and woe unto the wizard that loses their tome.]


    [SORCERY]


    [The spark of life within all beings glows a little bit hotter for some mages, and none glow as bright as the sorcerer. As an equal opposite to wizards, sorcerers know very few spells but they have the strongest flexibility to tweak those spells on the fly, and can even willingly harness the chaotic powers of wild magic. As a result, they lack academic punch and barely benefit from holding a spellbook, and are prone to magical mutations.]


    [DRUIDRY]


    [Masters of the wilds and spirits of nature, druids employ a specialized type of spellcasting that draws from the world around them. Commune with animals, control plants, and become so in tune that they can polymorph their own body to match great bests. However, their disconnect from civilization means that they can never use any metal equipment ¡ª even magical metals like silver and gold are alien to the druid.]


    [WARLOCK]


    [Some magicians are not born with a grasp on the arcane and must ask for greater magic from a powerful deity. While this does sometimes entail blood pacts with demons giving them a bad rep, warlocks can form a pact with any deity, good or bad. Unlike clerics and other avatar spellcasters, warlocks work through a more direct, quid pro quo relationship where the deity imbues the recipient with a font of magic as payment for services rendered. As a result, warlocks often specialize with more up close and personal combat magic.]


    [AVATAR]


    [Praise be! Warlocks can only achieve power after personally meeting a minor god, but others find their strength in their faith. Avatars embody the divine on such a deep level that they gain a fraction of their deity''s powers, without ever directly contacting them. This means that clerics and priests have magic as steady as their belief, and can even repel those that their deity finds offensive.]


    [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.]


    [NECROMANCY]


    [Grizzly ghouls from every tomb, just want someone to talk to. Necromancers know not to fear the spooky or the scary, and can instead turn any crypt or recent battlefield into a workshop. Raise skeletons, commune with the dead, summon and dispel spirits! But every necromancer must learn the most important lesson: No magic in this world or others can ever truly bring a loved one back to life.]


    [ARTIFICERY]


    [Blathering blatherskite! Most magicians enjoy making a big show of casting flashy spells on the battlefield, but the artificer prefers a more methodical approach to problem solving. Artificers are a class apart because they think up trinkets to be used in battle, spreading their magic to their teammates, and the sky''s the limit so long as they have the proper tools. Because of this, artificers can have some of the best long-term flexibility but are also the worst class to be caught with their magical pants down, so to speak.]


    [RUNES]


    [Leave your mark! Rune mages watch other practitioners throw their spells into the air and see only waste, choosing instead to etch their magic into the physical world. These etchings hold their magic and do not fizzle like other spells, and can even enchant iron gear that normally repels spellcasters. But runes are exact and must follow their patterns, leaving little room for alterations or physical damage.]


    Every time Ricky opened this list his eyes dragged automatically to one choice, and every time he forced himself to read the entire description. A small voice in the back of Ricky''s mind ¡ª a voice everyone has, which never grows up and always yearns for the safety of their parents'' embrace ¡ª screamed to just pick Necromancy and make it work anyways. Ricky could figure it out, they''re smart enough! But for all of its vague mysteries, the system was blatantly clear that Necromancy would never work for that. It almost felt like a warning to him personally, so Ricky forced the option away again.


    The other obvious poor choices went next, he had no interest in plants or leaving himself indebted to a mysterious patron. Niche options vanished, and choosing Witchcraft like Tapper just felt like a wasted opportunity. Eliminating these was an automatic response after going through this cycle countless times, leaving the same few choices as always:


    Did Ricky want to be a Wizard, a Rune Mage, or an Artificer?


    Wizard was the biggest gamble with the biggest payoff, especially with his new journal at his side. Ricky had asked Ms. Uxral for one because he intended to record every system message in it, but if he could turn it into a spellbook? It sounded perfect, if Ricky wasn''t guaranteed to lose that spellbook at some point.  And it didn''t help that his external instincts said that Wizards do not play well with heavy armor. Still, the notion of holding the world''s magic within a book just felt right to them, and Ricky knew it clouded his judgment. The other two were much safer bets, and a means to similar ends.


    The Artificer promised power with prepwork and visions of magical golems danced in their head, but whether Ricky could one day command such a legion depended entirely on obtaining the correct tools. Ricky doubted the emergency repair kit in his exosuit counted as "proper tools," and until he discovered what did count he would always be at a disadvantage. Runes, on the other hand, could be written with anything, and the description specifically mentioned chiseling runes into his gear for great synergy, but it sounded limited in comparison.


    Which to choose, which to choose...


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    <hr>


    Doubt gnawed at Tapper, as his second thoughts insisted that he made a mistake. The mist thickened substantially on the tarmac compared to the raised cabin, suppressing his sensors in addition to the strange chill effect. Now he couldn''t see more than four meters in any direction, and any sounds that managed to pierce the veil were muffled and distant. The occasional crack of thunder, or frantic panting that came and went like a ghost''s passing, were the only signs that the whole world hadn''t vanished.


    Or rather, that they hadn''t vanished from the world into an endless gray void.


    Phanya shivered and tugged her bowling shirt in. Not that it helped; she couldn''t even button the shirt closed without losing the strange bonus her Aerobic Set gave to her dexterity. Tapper tried to distract from his second thoughts and said, "Truly Miss Phanya, you do not need to assist me."


    "Nope, not leaving you alone," Phanya immediately responded. Tapper couldn''t tell whether her tone was short due to the chill in the air, or a heat in her emotions. "Last time I did that you picked a fight with a psycho cyborg four times your size. Let''s just hurry and get this over with." She stomped off towards a rubber duckie, its bright yellow now a shining beacon in the gray, and a path of other duckies stretched out behind it.


    After a few minutes of walking ¡ª or what felt like long minutes ¡ª Phanya couldn''t stand the stifling silence. "So why are you really doing this, Tapper? I get sticking your neck out to save Steffo, he''s great, but this bounty hunter was going to turn you in. He''s not your friend."


    "I am aware. And yet, we worked together to save each other''s lives, so this feels like the correct course of action. It feels right. I believe that may be an influence from the system, and how it speaks of us as prospective heroes."


    "Not much of a line between heroes and fools, then," Phanya muttered. But then she noticed the robot''s shoulders droop slightly and a point of guilt warmed her frozen mood. "Sorry. You''re right, helping people is good, just hard to justify risking it like this when I know he wouldn''t do the same for us."


    Tapper''s head cocked to the side as fingers tapped against his faceplate in thought. "Hmm, ''Doing for others what they would not do for you is where fools and heroes meet.'' Yes, that wisdom will be added to my idiom library," Tapper said with a happy eyebrow wiggle.


    Rapid popping sounds cut off their moment of reprieve. Gunshots fired from nearby, with the thick fog obscuring any sense of direction while somehow also amplifying the sound above the normal wufts of air rifles. Without anything to duck behind the two prospective heroes collided together and ducked low to the ground, all eyes darting in every direction for any sign of attack.


    Screaming replaced gunfire and a figure emerged out of the fog at a dead sprint, running directly for them. Phanya''s wired reflexes kicked in and she kicked off of Tapper to shove them both in opposite directions, and as the man dashed between them his voice clarified for a split second.


    "AHHH it''s got me! I feel the pull, Hand save me!"


    He didn''t stop, likely didn''t notice them at all, from the backpack-sized bubble of light firmly attached to his back. The fog quickly swallowed him back up as he ran away, leaving nothing except a faint glimmer. Soon after the wall of mist exploded with a flash of light and crack of thunder, barely muffled to bearable levels, and the sense of oppressive emptiness returned as if that person never existed. Tapper tracked a shadow in that general direction, or hopefully just a convenient fold in the mists, that shot straight up.


    "I wonder if he was shooting at the PSI bubble or, uh, something else," Phanya asked.


    "This time I lack the curiosity to find out," Tapper said, and the two hurried down the yellow duck path without another word.


    <hr>


    The mists had to be screwing with Phanya''s mind, there was no way the mercenary had crashed so far away. It felt like they had walked for half an hour, and Tapper''s chronometer just said Sync Error so their only reference point was mounting paranoia. He tried to distract them by going over options for Phanya''s Level 3 feat, but after that raider went pop she wasn''t willing to risk the distraction.


    And  how many of the stupid ducks got shifted here during the crash, anyways? With nowhere else to direct her anxious energy Phanya started counting ducks, until she suddenly bumped into Tapper''s outstretched arm. She cursed herself for getting distracted anyways, but she didn''t see what made the robot stop. Far as she could tell, the foggy surroundings were just as gray and oppressive as ever.


    Tapper shushed Phanya before she could say anything. He had also pushed his nervous energy into analytics, opting to numb his touch and smell sensations so he could run his visual and auditory receptors at max power. Instantly shadows appeared in the mist and the occasional rumble of thunder became a constant background static of voices and engines and so, so many unknown variables.


    Tapper expected any new information to be terrifying information, so he had also set aside extra processing power to suppress any emotional outbursts and he managed to not panic, if only barely, until his analytics returned with a curious conclusion: All sounds were the same distance away from them, in all directions. And they had remained so until now.


    "There''s something ahead," Tapper whispered. "Not coming towards us, not moving away either." Phanya nodded and the two crept forward, stopping to duck behind a large garbage pile when the sounds of clattering and rummaging grew loud enough for her to hear. As they tiptoed around the mound the fog lifted slightly and the duo finally no longer felt the oppression of the empty void.


    Instead, they now felt the horror of a disaster scene. One of the miner''s vehicles now sat in a pile of its own parts, though not enough of it remained intact to determine which vehicle it was. What they could determine was that it hadn''t crashed, because none of the wreckage was crumpled.


    It was shredded.


    Jagged metal strips fanned outwards from the vehicle, some of which still dripped with blood. Beyond the wrecked car lay a small clearing, ringed by more garbage piles and one pillbug vehicle in mostly one piece. The front of the pillbug was missing entirely, a clean crescent slice just like the jitney, but this one claimed almost a third of the long car. The engine, front seats, and front tires were simply gone.


    "I cannot hear or see any movement," Tapper whispered. "I believe whoever was here has moved on."


    "And took all the corpses with them?" Phanya asked, spreading her hand over the empty clearing. "Blood stains, but no bodies? Something''s wrong here."


    "Astute observation, Phanya! Please watch my back." Tapper moved before Phanya could protest, walking across the clearing and into the pillbug without any hesitation.


    The vehicle''s thick armor left for a cramped interior, long and narrow and optimized for only one occupant. A kitchenette lined one wall and a rumpled cot ran along the other, with the trail of rubber ducks ending on the floor. There weren''t many places for someone to hide, but Tapper hadn''t walked all this way to not try. "Mister Mercenary, are you in here?"


    A hidden panel snapped open on the far wall and a wild reptilian eye appeared. "You?? What the hell are ¡ª never mind, get me out of here!"


    Tapper couldn''t stop his eyebrows from wiggling with joy if he tried. "Most certainly, that''s why we''re here! What seems to be the problem?"


    "This door jammed shut in the crash, I can''t get it open from this side. Hurry! There''s gremlins here." The mercenary''s voice contracted to a whisper, quaking with fear.


    The irregular word triggered a response from Tapper''s bar trivia index, catching him by surprise. "Do you mean the mischievous spirits of Old World mythology? How quaint!"


    "No not quaint, they''re fucking demons!" He hissed back. Something rattled in the cabin and he shushed them both, ducking slightly within the opening so he could look around the room. The rattling turned into a scream of tearing metal and a panel tore away from the wall, spilling the contents of a hidden shelving unit into the cabin. Most of the odds and ends landed on the cot, only to launch again when something large and yellow bounced out of the compartment.

 2.4 Here be Gremlins

    At first Tapper thought it was a giant rubber duck, with the same iconic yellow color and round shape, but then it started to unfurl. So then it must be a living creature, though no predictive model of Tapper''s could explain why anything would evolve such a niche form of camouflage.


    It had a bulbous torso and a head just as large, contrasted with gangly arms and legs that unfolded to a full height of under one meter. The bright yellow skin stretched in unnatural directions, pulling taut over joints and bones that didn''t follow a logical skeleton. Its back was turned, chittering and cooing with a pleasantly curious tone before it crunched into and started chewing something metal.


    The creature ate its snack with gusto and exaggerated gulping noises, and when it finished its body shuddered and hunched over. Yellow skin on its back stretched and tore as something pushed its way out from within the body, a shiny chrome cone with a flared opening. The creature groaned, some of the sound escaping out of the horn as a warbling bass, and it finally turned around to regard its surroundings.


    The creature''s eyes were a starry night, pitch black and speckled with points of light that would look beautiful ¡ª if they didn''t give the impression of an endless cosmos staring right back. Two slits below them may have been nostrils, but they blended in with dozens of tears throughout its body. Bits of machinery jutted out of the slits, but none were as large as the new horn.


    The mouth was unmistakable and stretched halfway across its bulbous head, filled with mismatched teeth just as overly large as its eyes. The gremlin cocked its head to one side ¡ª and without much neck, its torso followed ¡ª and regarded Tapper with those curious cooing noises.


    "Greetings! Are you sapient?" Tapper asked, holding one hand up in a friendly and nonthreatening manner.


    The mercenary huffed a sigh from out of view. "You stupid fucking robot," he muttered, but Tapper did not turn to respond. He was too distracted by the gremlin licking its lips with a tongue that looked like it was made from raw ground hamburger meat. It was revolting!


    The creature''s body strained and the new horn on its back started to blow a sputtering, quiet raspberry sound. Tapper cocked his head in the other direction, but the mercenary slammed its visor shut. His voice barely penetrated the armor and shouted, "It''s going to blow!"


    Tapper shut down his auditory receptors in time, and he still felt the sound wave rattle his joints.


    <hr>


    Phanya shuddered again, knowing full well that it did nothing to stave off this type of cold. Whatever freaky effect the fog had on her felt so much stronger now that she was alone, which was probably why Phanya also felt like she had been alone for hours now. Hopefully. Or Tapper was dead now and she was just waiting around to get taken by phase shift ghosts, or demons, or worse.


    Horns from the depths of hell interrupted Phanya''s gloomy downward spiral, blowing a note from the pillbug so loud that the ground shook. Phanya ducked low and hugged both arms against her head, feeling as if her brain would rattle right out of her skull, and the deafened debuff hit Phanya for the second time today. Once it passed Phanya considered waiting for Tapper to finish up, hoping that he was immune to such effects from the system so she wouldn''t need to go any closer to whatever made that noise. Sure enough, a moment after the horn stopped blowing the robot came tumbling out into the open.


    Except, he was clearly panicking for his robotic life.


    "PHANYA!" Tapper wailed, scrambling in her direction. "IT''S TRYING TO EAT ME!" He thought he couldn''t hear anything over his own voice, until he saw Phanya''s lips moving without sound and hurried to reactivate his microphone.


    "¡ª the merc? What''d he do??"


    "No, it''s gremlins!" Then a spotted yellow beach ball with arms, legs, and teeth bounced out of the pillbug and Tapper screamed.


    Phanya recoiled from the little monster as it hopped and skipped towards them, outreached claws grasping the air and making grumbling noises that sounded distressingly close to "Yum yum yum!"


    Tapper still wasn''t so lost in panic that he would allow for the gremlin to harm Phanya and he stepped between them, even if the fear had robbed most of his words. "No tongue touch! No! Bad meat! SPRAY!" The energy swelled in his chest but there was something wrong, where instead of warmth it filled Tapper with pins and needles.


    Jagged mana scratched at his spirit, the vessel in which spells formed now a torn muscle that hadn''t been given time to heal. According to the manaburn debuff Tapper could still cast spells at the cost of additional mana, but he was so unprepared for the feeling of "additional difficulty" that he doubled over and screamed in pain. Phanya bent down to check on him, and neither one noticed the gremlin picking up speed.


    CRUNCH


    The two looked up and watched the monster slurp up Tapper''s nozzle spindle like a long metal noodle. Then it had the audacity to rub its belly and burp in their faces.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    [Injury: Shattered limb


    Distracting pain]


    [Wounds: ???]


    Then the pain set in, and Tapper screamed with renewed vigor. Phanya hopped out of the way with ease, but Tapper collapsed and left himself writhing on the ground. How was she going to keep both of them away from those teeth?


    The outline of a tactic vanished when Phanya noticed the gremlin struggling to squeeze a raspberry out of the chrome horn on its back, the raspy pbbt noises growing stronger by the second. Phanya connected the dots and lept right back at the monster, remembering at the last instant that she wasn''t wearing her armored gloves. She came up short, hopped the last stretch, and brought a padded elbow down on it instead.


    The gremlin was too focused on blowing another deafening note to dodge and Phanya''s elbow drop hit it dead center, pushing the flared horn most of the way back into its body. The gremlin collapsed under the impact and fell to its knees in a coughing fit of weak honk noises. The mental image of a gagged clown made Phanya snort with laughter, and the gremlin paid back for her distraction by raking its claws across her shin. Not a debilitating blow, but one that forced Phanya to give the monster some breathing room as they both recovered. It snarled at her but didn''t leap to attack, instead turning to the pile of panicking bolts still on the ground.


    Tapper managed to work through the pain and detach his back port, sighing with relief as the destroyed connections silenced their assault. Just in time to watch a clawed, four-fingered hand grasp around his offset eye and yank his head upwards. He felt the other hand provide support on the back of his head and his one clear eye watched in horror as mottled yellow plastic split in a toothy, meaty maw. Tapper didn''t scream, he squealed, and his hands snapped up to hold the mouth at bay.


    He couldn''t see anything besides the mouth. Nothing existed for Tapper right now outside of the fleshy void; hot steam wafted over his face that smelled of fresh death and the horrible mincemeat tongue reached out for him. Suddenly Tapper was horizontal, lifted at the legs by unseen forces and he heard Phanya scream with a mix of pain and defiance. Their combined forces were just barely enough to keep the gremlin at bay, as the monster showed a strength at odds with its diminutive size, and Tapper realized that Phanya couldn''t do anything else without letting go.


    What were his options? The gremlin was touching him so Tapper could cast a spell, if he could push through the manaburn in time. His drill hand might be effective, but not while it held the jaws open. A mundane damage report scrolled through his mind; his neck joint was starting to crack and Tapper did not want to find out what the system would do if that limb was destroyed. With no other options coming to his rescue, Tapper grit his metaphorical teeth and dragged the ragged energy into place for an illogical plan. Then he closed his metaphorical eyes and gave his shoulders a twist.


    A mundane warning flashed across Tapper''s mind that he was running on emergency power, but he didn''t receive a system message regarding a broken limb. His plan worked! Then he felt an impact followed by rapid spinning and smaller impacts, and when he finally stopped Tapper reactivated his eyes to assess the situation. The gremlin was on its back and struggling to stand, Tapper and Phanya had collapsed into a heap, and Tapper''s head had bounced several feet away. Now he just needed to reattach his own head and they could turn the fight on the gremlin!


    Except, he couldn''t control his body. Tapper could still feel a vague connection, but everything below the neck was just a faint memory of sensation. With a wince Tapper realized that his wireless transmitters and receivers were all located within his head.Then the gremlin got to its feet, and Tapper started to panic.


    "Miss Phanya, get up! Please hurry!" She answered with a groan and started to roll out from under the prone metal body, but the gremlin looked right at Tapper''s head and licked its lips again. "Ahhh it''s gonna eat me! Phanya heeeelp!" A stumpy yellow foot blocked his view of Phanya and the gremlin bent down to grab Tapper''s head. His desperate gamble to get away only made it easier for the monster to consume him, after all.


    A shrill whistle from nowhere grew from a whine to a screech and suddenly Tapper was on the move, snatched and carried by something out of his view. But he felt several wet tendrils wrapped around his neck stump as he bobbed along close to the ground.


    "Kakisi, is that you?"


    "Ka! Siii!"


    "Oh I''ve never been so happy to feel tentacles!" The little creature was quick for its size, and a total lack of skeletal structure, but he could only barely keep ahead of the gremlin as it chased them in circles around the clearing. It kept making hungry grunting noises and Tapper''s head was pointed backwards so he received a constant, unwilling show of its grasping claws centimeters away from his face.


    But seeing the monster''s look of surprise a split second before Phanya''s leg swept from overhead and caught the gremlin in the gut made the terror worthwhile. The gremlin flew backwards and hit the pillbug with enough force to rock the vehicle, but it got up and laughed in defiance.


    "Damnit, what is this thing made of??" Phanya asked, just to vent her frustration.


    "It is made of rubber duck!" Tapper answered anyway.


    "Kakisi!"


    "Phanya, hold it still!" a new voice shouted. Ricky joined the fray, standing on top of a nearby garbage mound with his air rifle held up. "I only have one shot here!" The gremlin hissed at Ricky and made to attack him, but tripped over Tapper''s prone body. Because Tapper''s hands were holding onto its ankles.


    "Hey, my body''s working! Great! Hold it there!" Tapper shouted, suddenly feeling like he could do nothing more than lead the cheer.


    Phanya flipped around the gremlin and slipped her arms under to hold the gremlin by the elbows, hedging her bets that the unnaturally tough monster would protect her over Ricky''s odds of hitting the thing dead on. Ricky, meanwhile, seemed to be taking his time getting ready, the rifle wasn''t even primed yet and he kept working the hand crank to build air pressure. "Ricky damnit, hurry up! This thing''s strong, I can''t hold it forever!"


    "Almost there!" Ricky shouted back, clearly struggling through the final cranks despite his powered exoskeleton. "Need extra power to... work some magic! Take this!" Ricky aimed his rifle, tongue out for accuracy, and pulled the trigger.


    The weapon instantly exploded in his hands.

 2.5 Backfire

    The air tank ruptured with an explosion of visual distortions and the muzzle split into several pieces of curling, shredded metal. All to make room for a ball of bright light that popped into existence at the end of the barrel. It glowed every color at once without mixing into simple white light, shining on Ricky''s gawking face as he tried to shake it off his weapon.


    The ball clung to the rifle like a crown jewel, and as it swished through the air it left arcs of purple plasma in its wake. They left little red afterimages in Ricky''s vision, it was beautiful. And distracting.


    "Shit. Hold on Phanya, I''m coming!" Ricky shouted before he began to slip and slide down the garbage mound, desperately trying to keep the ball of light from touching anything. He knew instinctively that the spell had worked, but in his haste to get here he only skimmed the messages on spellcasting.


    He knew Tapper said it was easier for him to cast magic while touching something, but Ricky put his spell into a gun! That was the whole point! Instead he felt a line of sensation run from the middle of his chest and down the barrel of his gun to grasp the spell. A phantom limb holding the magic in stasis until it touched something, and Ricky couldn''t hold it forever.


    [MP 1/2]


    "Shitshitshit!!"


    How long did it take for one point of mana to run out, five seconds? Six? Definitely fewer than ten. The phantom muscles holding the spell started to strain and Ricky''s feet thudded on the pavement, the exosuit turning their run into a runaway train. No time to second-guess himself, Ricky held the rifle like a lance and charged into the gremlin. Luckily the exosuit also kept the weapon steady and Phanya managed to twist herself, ensuring the glowing ball hit the gremlin dead-center.


    Then, something exploded in a different, more muffled way. Phanya felt the recoil and managed to keep her feet, even as the gremlin wailed and thrashed with fresh agony. She couldn''t hear anything else over the monster and stars swam in her vision, but she felt the thud of something heavy hitting the pavement. "Ricky? Ry, talk to me! Tapper!"


    Tapper didn''t respond right away, stunned into silence by the grisly sight in front of him. There was a perfectly circular hole the size of an average human fist in the center of the gremlin''s chest, and through it Tapper could see a mix of more ground meat and shining metal bits. The wound didn''t bleed but it did pulse, and Tapper couldn''t tell which was worse.


    Kakisi was still present and zipped over to check on Ricky, the movement tearing Tapper''s eyes away from the gore and towards his friend. Smoke rose from Ricky''s chestplate and the occupant lay still, until Kakisi fwapped his face a few times and he stirred once to cough.


    "Ricky is alive, but I believe he is stunned!"


    Phanya grunted in response. Tapper''s words barely registered, because she also heard the faint raspberry sounds starting up from the horn again. By craning her neck Phanya could watch the chrome horn slide another centimeter towards its original size, and realized it''ll only take a few more seconds before it reaches full size. Cursing her shortness of available limbs, Phanya grit her teeth and brought her forehead down onto the horn.


    She had to angle her head awkwardly to hit it straight on, but she hammered the horn back down and interrupted the gremlin. But she hand''t managed to stun it; the gremlin gagged at the impact but the horn started healing right away this time. "Great. Tapper, do something! I''m barely holding on here!" She bonked the horn again, and despite her Body Mastery numbing the pain Phanya knew this would give her a headache.


    "I''m trying, but I can''t feel my body!" Tapper shouted back, trying in vain to strengthen his connection. "This is supposed to work! Legs, please stand now!" To his amazement both legs kicked out at his command, bending in unnatural ways to raise the torso. "Phanya, it''s working! My body can hear me, somehow! Now, attack the gremlin where it''s wounded!" The mining arm swung in a wild punch that spun the torso around at the waist, completely missing the monster. In fact all of its movements were erratic and uncoordinated, and with dawning horror Tapper realized why. "It''s blind! Why can you hear me without ears but not see without eyes?"


    Phanya bonked her head on the horn again. Ow. "Tapper, can you PLEASE focus right now?"


    "Sorry! Torso, pause! Calculating¡­ I command you to rotate at the waist by six degrees counter-clockwise! Legs, lean back two degrees! Too far, lean forward slowly aaaand stop! Left arm, engage mining apparatus and strike!" The spinning left hand shot forward in a straight jab, but the gremlin lurched at the last second and caught the drill bit in its teeth. Sparks flew and reflected defiance in the monster''s unnatural eyes, promising to consume them all once it broke free. Tapper''s fear algorithms screamed, but louder still was his reinvigorated sense of adventure.


    "Don''t give up against the vile creature! Drill, I say, DRILL!" A thread of white-hot feeling connected Tapper to his torso for a brief moment as the spell pulled from the mana in his chest. Tapper winced in pain from the manaburn and his torso mirrored the reaction, but he couldn''t afford to be overcome again. He added another three mana to make up for the manaburn difference and kept going, pouring until the fractured spell vessel overflowed. Just to make sure it worked.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The drill, still spinning against the gate of razor teeth, started to glow as its speed ramped up to an ear-splitting pitch and it finally broke through. Teeth shattered, a downward lurch put the supernatural drill directly into the wound, and a fountain erupted, spraying blood and fine viscera in all directions. And everyone screamed. A different mixture of fear and anger colored each voice, but every lung screamed at full volume at the gruesome sight. Even Ricky joined in, once the shower of blood brought the young adventurer to terrified consciousness.


    And every screaming voice was consumed by the muffled gray void all the same.


    [Enemy defeated! Engorged Gremlin level 10, +23XP!]


    DING!


    Once the notification hit the assault stopped and everyone fell silent, numbed by shock until Tapper broke through with a whoop. "Oh splendid, I leveled up! But wait, I''m still running out of emergency power! Body, pick me up! No I''m over ¡ª confound it. Phanya! Phanya, please help!!"


    Phanya dropped the corpse and unceremoniously jammed Tapper''s head onto his shoulders, letting him take care of the fine connections so she could check on Ricky. He was alive, but it was difficult to determine whether he was unharmed while drenched head to toe in bright red blood. Blood that was thicker than a human''s, brighter red, and also reflected rainbows like oil.


    Eventually Ricky calmed down enough to tell Phanya that he was fine but trapped in the unresponsive suit. He had to walk her through the process of manually opening the suit and her hands kept slipping in the blood, but he was miraculously unharmed.


    "What the hell was that, anyways?" Phanya asked, free to admonish once she ensured Ricky was okay. She rapped a knuckle against this head for good measure. "You try to punch the gremlin with a live grenade, or something?"


    "Ha ha, no. It was a spell!"


    Phanya groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh no, you became a spellcaster too."


    "Damn right I became a spellcaster too. And it was the only thing that really hurt this monster!" Ricky puffed out their chest, but quickly withered under Phanya''s glare. "...Alright, even if it didn''t work out exactly how I wanted. But still! I knew I was working with inferior tools, so it''s a miracle that I could craft a trinket at all."


    "Alright fine, did you punch the gremlin with an ''explosion spell'' or something?"


    "No, it was a Split spell." Ricky knew Phanya had asked sarcastically, but he leapt on the chance to answer before she could close the door. "I was trying to eek more damage out of the system by splitting the target into material components instead of something straightforward like ''split the skin,'' but I don''t know what happened. Last thing I remember was the gremlin exploding out where I hit it, which might actually be even better if I can cast the spell at a distance. Thought using the rifle would work, but there might be a rule in the system that I overlooked..."


    "Ry, I''m going to shove you back into that dead suit if you don''t shut up."


    "My goodness everyone, look!" Tapper shouted, both to stop the bickering and in honest amazement. The fog was lifting, a gray curtain pulled back to let light and life in once again, and in seconds the landscape grew to reveal the horizon. Almost immediately their time within the shift storm felt like a bad dream, the details just fuzzy enough that no one was sure they had really spent hours wandering the gray void.


    But they did see the plain evidence before them; amidst the new cliffs and hills formed by shifting elevation lay the wrecked remains of the miners that chased them in. Most of the vehicles were dotted with blood or scorch marks where they hadn''t been stripped for parts, but there wasn''t a single monster or human corpse in sight. So much was suddenly so nearby that Phanya wondered how they hadn''t noticed any of it, until she panned around and found the jitney. Their car lay a mere 30 meters away from their multiple hours of trekking.


    It just wasn''t fair.


    <hr>


    Eventually they managed to free the mercenary, who thanked them but kept his distance. Now that he was out in the open for the first time Tapper automatically performed a bartender scan, reading his physical and nonverbal characteristics to create a customer profile.


    He was a male reptilian, green scales with red undertones, early 30s but difficult to determine an exact age due to poor hygiene. Hm, or his uneven shedding was possibly an anxiety response and unrelated to hygiene, suggested by his subconscious scratching. He wore high-tech goggles that bugged out slightly and moved independently from each other, adding to the sense of unease, but also indicated that he was a man of some means.


    Conclusion: He would order shot bombs in energy drinks, but should be limited to avoid overstimulation. Tapper stored the information away without bothering to reference it, since his opportunities to ever be a proper bartender remained few and far between. Instead he held out a hand and said, "Greetings, it''s a pleasure to finally meet you in person! My name is Tapper, how may we address you?"


    The reptilian did not take the handshake. "Uh, I''m Salazar." He hugged himself and peaked outside, and Tapper watched his reaction as he looked down. Salazar''s scales paled and his neck frill twitched, flashing brilliant reds and oranges in a defensive instinct gifted from his genetic manipulation. All because he saw the gremlin lying dead on the tarmac.


    Salazar made a quick hand gesture in front of his chest and said, "You really killed one of the demons? That''s professional level work, how''d you do that without any antimaterial gear?"


    "We have magic!" Tapper happily answered.


    Phanya''s head snapped to attention at the dreaded m-word, and she sucked air through her teeth when she saw Tapper talking to the bounty hunter. She had her concerns about why the system didn''t want them to tell anyone, but she had no doubts about the bounty hunter. "Hey Tapper! How''s the, uh, back nozzle feeling?"


    The robot let out a squeal of anguished static at the reminder. "What monster would try to eat a robot? That''s something that should only be a danger to organic beings!" Then Tapper made a different static noise, maybe like a gasp, and his mood shifted back up. "Wait! How long would it take for a creature to digest one of your arms?" He looked at each organic being, all of whom answered with a dumbfounded stare, and Tapper shrugged. "It seemed logical that organics would know to ask those questions about themselves. But the point is, maybe my spindle hasn''t been digested yet! There''s still hope!"

 2.6 Digging for Treasure

    Ricky joined Tapper in examining the monster up-close. Its eyes stared off in different directions and its mouth hung open, with razor teeth gleaming unnaturally in the cloudy sunlight. Smears of orange, black, and white twisted within the yellow flesh, as if a pile of rubber ducks were melted down and poured over the gremlin to make its skin.


    The result was a sort of organic rubber that remained unmarred from the fight, aside from the gaping hole in its chest. Otherwise the only things that damaged the skin were whatever bits of half-chewed technology that had burst out from within the gremlin.


    It was fascinating but disgusting, and Ricky was more interested in more important things. With the two of them a safe distance away, Ricky lowered his voice and asked, "So what did you get for hitting Level 4, Tapper?"


    Tapper was also more interested in more important, but different, things and waved the question away. "Not right now, I can''t read anything until I get my spindle back!"


    Ricky sighed and pointed to the gremlin''s body. "Well, I know we digest food in organic stomachs, so your spindle is probably still in its belly. Don''t know how long it''ll take to cut through this skin, or you could just reach down its gullet now. Should be easy."


    Tapper''s hands made small clanking noises as he clapped with excitement. "Excellent, thank you Ricky! Please hurry and retrieve my spindle."


    "What? I don''t even have gloves! It''s your spindle, you reach down and get it."


    Tapper involuntarily whined at the notion of touching monster gore, there had to be another option. "Wait, we don''t need to touch the monster at all! I can just magically loot it!"


    "Shh!" Ricky cut Tapper off, and the two looked over their shoulders to share an awkward moment with Salazar staring at them from the shade of his wrecked vehicle.  They turned back into a small huddle and Ricky hissed, "Keep the magic a secret, we can''t explain to him why the gremlin just takes itself apart for you. Oh calm down, it looks like you bore through its chest all the way to its esophagus. So you can at least skip the mouth."


    Ricky conceded to at least hold the gremlin still and Tapper made sure to completely numb his sense of touch, so that only cold calculation would register when he touched any metal. Tapper spared a moment to look at his slender bartender arm; it wasn''t made for such gruesome work, but his clunky miner arm would never fit, so he braced himself and dove in.


    Instant regret. "Oh no, I forgot to disable my other sensory systems! All I hear is... squelching, it''s horrible!"


    "Then why don''t you turn them off now!?" Ricky half-shouted over Tapper''s wailing.


    "It''s too late! I already heard it, I can''t get it out of my mind!" Tapper cried. The further down he reached the closer his microphone got to the gory mess. Squelch. Smoosh. And then his olfactory sensors chimed in to make everything worse. "Ugh, so gross! Why must I be cursed with a gag reflex when I have nothing to gag!?"


    Phanya leaned back against the side of the pillbug and crossed her arms, watching the show next to Salazar. "Sure wish he was easier to gag most days," Phanya said, laughing at her own joke.


    One of the goggle''s eyes swiveled over to study Phanya. Salazar didn''t share the humor, and after a moment of awkward silence he asked, "How did you three kill that demon, really?"


    Phanya instead held up a hand, fingers splayed and thumb curled in. "Four actually, the baby octolusk counts too. Don''t worry, he''s domesticated. I think?" Phanya shook her head before she got off-track, she needed to sort everything out while Ricky and Tapper were distracted. "Look, let''s try this again. Salazar, right? I''m Phanya, that other dork is Ricky. What do you say we work out a deal that benefits both of us?"


    Salazar didn''t answer or give Phanya anything to work off, so she weighed just how much she could reveal. "See, we need to meet someone in CyraCity 3, and get there without running into any other bounty hunters. So you can help by getting us there while avoiding any traps, and we can help by protecting you from any other baddies out there." Still nothing from him, and Phanya fought to temper a spark of frustration without it showing on her face.


    Salazar eventually gave in and offered her a tiny lifeline. "Not even going to try offering me money?" he asked, and the hint of a smirk made Phanya give a tight-lipped smile in return.


    "Can''t exactly match a ¡ì10k bounty, no. But isn''t life itself priceless?"


    That earned an actual laugh from Salazar, even if it was at her expense. "Exactly, so what do I get out of it by babysitting some insane kids out here in the tar?"


    Salazar was still standing inside of his armored car, so he stood at almost eye level with Phanya, but she still glared down at him before directing their attention to the dead gremlin. Ricky and Tapper were still digging around inside, the latter now fully up to the shoulder without yet finding the stomach. Tapper had pivoted from whining about his misfortune to complaining about the spatial impossibilities, while Ricky happily encouraged him to keep going.


    "Because we did that," Phanya said, forcing a serious tone at odds with the two boys goofing off. "We really killed that demon. We have, uh, black-market enhancements. Yeah. And that''s a wild robot with a nanobot relic, that''s why he has a bounty. Trust, we can do some serious shit."


    Salazar crossed his arms to mimic Phanya and scoffed. "Yeah right, as if relics would pass through Skratsville. Prove it."


    Phanya''s face went flat. Before she could lose her temper she felt a mental tug, as her system skills trickled in some minor suggestions. It was concerning that her Deputy background came with some basic knowledge on how to intimidate people, but it said that Phanya just needed to pull off a good trick, so she leaned into it.


    She stood up straight and showed both of her hands to the bounty hunter, proving that Phanya wasn''t wearing any gear besides the rags wrapped around each palm. She didn''t say a word, she just waited until Salazar was focused on her hands before she dropped to a boxer''s stance and threw a haymaker punch into the side of the pillbug.


    Salazar flinched away, so he didn''t see her wince, and gawked at the new dent she left in the armored plating. It was a small dent, but Salazar knew what his own car was built to withstand. When he turned back the same hand hovered a few centimeters from his face, completely unmarred where any human would have shattered their knuckles.


    He gulped, and she tried to smirk like a jackass bully.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    "Subdermal armor, baby. Think I got that from a random mutation? What we did to that gremlin we can do to you, but instead I''m offering cooperation where we all walk out of this happy and alive. Now, why don''t we make a deal?"


    <hr>


    Tapper was staring down the open mouth of a gremlin for the second time, much to his increasing dismay. He couldn''t look anywhere else without first pulling out of the monster''s chest cavity, and now his determination was turning into spite. This couldn''t all be for nothing! Yet the creature was somehow larger on the inside, its guts a seemingly endless labyrinth of half-digested things and Tapper had no choice but to feel around each and every mushy lump.


    Finally, the numbed tactile sensors registered a metal tube the correct diameter and Tapper yanked, but it wouldn''t budge. With a static burst of frustration Tapper realized he never formally claimed the loot, and once he sent the mental confirmation the treasure came loose. The gremlin''s body heaved with the force of Tapper''s pull, its yellow skin writhing as a great many things just below the surface shifted all at once.


    A wave of pride hit Tapper as he held the spindle in the free air, followed quickly by a wave of revulsion. "Oh, the smell! Why is the smell so much worse??"


    Ricky covered his face with his hands and laughed through his own gagging at Tapper''s expense. "Because you''re covered in its juices now!"


    A long chain of half-melted metal and plastic components dangled from the end of Tapper''s spindle, and everything from the end of the chain all the way up to Tapper''s shoulder was covered in a thick layer of acrid digestive juices and shredded intestinal matter. Disgust overwhelmed Tapper and the robot doubled over, unable to do anything but retch at the juices covering his body. Kakisi sprang to the rescue, darting over for the chance of a free meal, and the little familiar gobbled up every bit of organic entrails entangled in the chain. After a short minute of loud slurping, both Tapper and the loot were freshly cleaned.


    Tapper calmed down and mimicked taking a deep breath. "That was disgusting, thank you Kakisi. But in the future, could you please try to not eat so... noisily?" Kakisi answered with a trilling whistle that sounded suspiciously like blowing a raspberry to Tapper, before he ducked back into the tank for shelter.


    "Hm, looks like a clean cut," Ricky said, who had leaned in to examine the spindle while Tapper talked to his familiar. "It''s actually pretty crazy how the gremlin managed that without any shearing. Good thing too, I should be able to weld it back on. Where''s the connector?"


    Tapper pulled the missing piece out of his chest cavity, now little more than a plug with a nub. He had collected it right after they defeated the monster, and nervously handed it to Ricky. The emotion was so visible in his body language that even Ricky noticed it, and he wondered why as he quickly welded the spindle pipe together. Not like this was the first time Tapper lost a limb, and just recently he gave his arm to Aazran completely of his own free will.


    Ricky was about to ask Tapper why as he worked open the back port, but the plug had filled with something dark and viscous. "Tapper, why are you leaking oil?"


    Tapper bent around to look at his own back, and groaned a huff of static. "Oh, well that brings context to my level up message."


    [LEVEL UP!]


    [Welcome to level 4!]


    [Ancestry Perk: Blood of the Minor Demon


    Golems of a higher class are sometimes oiled with an essence harvested from gremlins and other denizens of the netherworlds. It''s pricey, but the resulting lubricant never wears out, keeps joints operating at peak efficiency, and even renews itself in small quantities.]


    "Huh, that''s weird. You don''t even have lubricant like that in the first place," Ricky mused. Without waiting for an answer he disconnected the other spindle and more oil flowed out of that port, too. "And right after you were doused in gremlin blood."


    Tapper watched Ricky work, and his curiosity still demanded that he confirm the strange change to his body firsthand. So he popped off his hand and watched oil pool in the wrist port, flowing in from the microscopic holes used by his crystalline fibers. "How curious. It does not cause any physical discomfort, and my limbs do feel at least 5% more responsive. I was worried that it would look like the gremlin''s blood!"


    Ricky didn''t have the heart to tell him that the oil looked even more like blood for a robot. Instead he nudged the pile of other loot from the chest, and stomach, of the gremlin and said, "Uh, right. Now what else did you pull out?" The two adventurers looked at the detritus and found that the other technology eaten by the gremlin fared much worse, all of it melted and partially digested past the point of use. Everything except for the long chrome horn, which had somehow caught on the spindle and was pulled out of the body from within.


    Tapper dislodged the horn with his free hand and held it between them: Approximately 60 centimeters of chrome tubing, flared at one end and tapering down to a squat cylinder on the other. Ricky leaned in to study it, the cylinder was made of metal but also strangely organic, like a bug''s chitin. It had to be some kind of minor relic, that would explain how such a small thing powered the massive sound that helped lead him and Kakisi from the jitney. Ricky couldn''t see fine details about the horn, but his class instincts were thrumming with excitement at seeing such a powerful weapon. Maybe if he...


    "How interesting, I believe this is special!" Tapper said, before taking the horn in both hands and breaking it in half without a second thought. Ricky felt the magic pop and dissipate in an instant, leaving him too stunned to do anything except make tiny whimpering noises from the back of his throat.


    Tapper dropped the horn and presented the speaker box, helpfully reading out the description for Ricky''s benefit: "''Demon''s Breath, essence of fire and brimstone.'' This should be a very powerful ingredient for a future potion!" Tapper popped the component into his chest cavity for safekeeping, and only then noticed Ricky cradling the horn like a lost treasure. "Oh my apologies, I forgot about the loot system. Hold on... there we go, ownership should be set to the full party now!"


    Ricky mumbled thanks as Tapper walked away, sulking over the loss of a relic. Destroyed without a thought, just like when Kakisi ate the first and only magical gemstone anyone had ever seen. This system and everything it interacted with ran on rules, and neither Phanya nor Tapper were even trying to learn them. Why didn''t they care? Yet through the angst, Ricky replayed the scene in his mind and noticed something: Ricky sensed the relic get destroyed and then felt nothing afterwards, but Tapper was the opposite. He didn''t seem to notice the relic until after he broke the horn, so... maybe the system filters out magic that isn''t compatible with that class.


    Maybe they were surrounded by magic all the time and Ricky just couldn''t see it.


    Ricky accidentally smacked his knuckles with the tube, shocking him back to reality just as he made the realization. And with that clarity of mind Ricky finally noticed that the disassembled horn was still special. It was no longer a relic, but the simple horn was made from a metal alloy of such high quality that his blacksmithing skill had no possible chance of identifying it. And Tapper said the gremlin had grown it out of the monster''s own body?


    Making sure to don his rebreather mask for the smell, Ricky leaned over and peeked at the gremlin again. After Tapper''s less than graceful extraction, the corpse was starting to look distinctly lumpy, and Ricky didn''t want to touch it without good reason. Naturally, of course that meant he would notice something gleaming on the outer edge of recognition. A piece of metal jutted out from the side of the gremlin''s wound, it was clearly special somehow but too obscured for Ricky to identify. He''d have to dive in, or risk leaving another unanswered riddle.


    Do it for the magic, Ricky. He gripped the slip of metal in his fingertips and mentally announced that he was claiming ownership. Then he did it again, just to be sure, and pulled. Tapper had struggled so much during his attempt that Ricky expected resistance, but the loot slid out with the ease of unsheathing a dagger and Ricky''s overeager pull knocked him off balance.


    Seconds ago, this piece of loot was one of the gremlin''s ribs. It was as wide as a finger and perfectly flat, and in the brief moment where Ricky whipped it into the air it was as long as his arm. Ricky watched the springy metal bounce, and even though his Blacksmithing skill still couldn''t identify it a giddy feeling bubbled in his chest.


    Because his other skill had some excellent ideas.

 2.7 Company Merger

    "Alright people, listen up!" Phanya said, acting as if she were addressing a crowd of twenty people and not just her two companions. They looked up and she clapped the bounty hunter on the shoulder, just hard enough to make him wince. "Our new buddy Salazar here has graciously offered to help us get to CyraCity, and his car has a whole bunch of gizmos that''ll help us avoid any more, uh, bad weather."


    "That is, if your clown shoes didn''t break them all," Salazar grumbled. His crossed arms and hunched posture showed just how badly he didn''t want to be here, and Phanya enjoyed that. She still believed that this entire situation was entirely Salazar''s fault, and she wasn''t about to start trusting him. If anything, with her system powers Phanya could likely throw the bounty hunter further than she could trust him.


    "Whatever, Ricky can figure something out. You two start stripping the car for parts and ¡ª"


    "That isn''t what I said!" Salazar snapped, and before Phanya could retort he barreled on, "We need to tow her! Look, the phase shift may have replaced my engine with fucking rubber ducks, but all of my computer equipment is still in the back. If we can run a power line from your truck, then we can just tow her and you won''t have to do anything else to Isabel." Phanya cocked an eyebrow down at him and Salazar huffed back into his defensive grumbling. "That''s her name. ''Cuz she''s shaped like a bell..."


    "Really? Because to me, she''s shaped like a hot dog with a big ol'' bite taken out!" Phanya smiled because she remembered to use the insult, but Tapper made a static noise like clearing a throat of gravel and she looked down at him. He had noticed something that Phanya missed, and with the silent urging of his eyebrows Phanya realized that Salazar looked hurt. Actually hurt, more than when she threatened to physically beat him. All because she insulted his wreck of a car?


    Phanya eased up, but only slightly. "I''m sure she''s a very nice bell. But Sal has a point, if we take the whole car we can use the whole car. Including that comfy bed! We''ll share everything."


    "I hate you."


    "Right back at you, buddy."


    <hr>


    The first and most important step, in Ricky''s mind, was to fix their exosuit. Entirely because he might need to manually shift the vehicles, and not at all because he felt naked without its protection. The suit''s repair kit was too small to hold replacement parts for all the damaged components in the chest plate, but it did contain a small plastic syringe labeled ''Quicksilver.'' At Ricky''s touch, it lit up with the green wireframe of identification.


    Quicksilver: Borrowing the nickname of mercury due to its similar appearance, quicksilver is actually a small colony of nanobots. Although they are incapable of reproducing and severely limited in scope for safety reasons (see also: Gray Goo), quicksilver is invaluable as a tool for repairs because it can bridge the lost connections in broken electronics. It is the mortar for silicate chips, crystal fiber cables, and metal paneling alike in emergencies.


    Ricky paused. He had looked up quicksilver in Tapper''s history book several days ago; but instead of just remembering that like normal, the system now identified it as a blacksmithing tool. Maybe because it mentioned repairing metal? And the system was using the article he had read as its description, quoting it word for word. He could even somehow feel the underlined link for the Gray Goo article, though Ricky couldn''t figure out how to mentally "select" the link. Or the system had no concept of links and wasn''t interpreting the words it now fed back to him?


    Mulling over the possibilities helped keep Ricky''s hands steady as they worked. It also helped him ignore the bounty hunter''s sudden outburst, something about desecrating demons, but if it was actually important then Phanya will tell him later. Right now they only had a few milliliters to work with and couldn''t afford to waste a drop, so Ricky stopped trying to wrangle his attention and he sank deeply into what mattered right here and now.


    The quicksilver was especially fascinating. At first it looked like a bead of regular melted solder hanging off the syringe, but tiny golden lights started to sparkle once Ricky filled it into a cracked microchip. Nanobots worked quickly to carve new pathways across its silvery surface, guided by ultrafine crystalline fibers that detached and moved themselves from deeper within the structure.


    Ricky marveled at how the process knew exactly what to repair without any input from the suit''s broken computer. Maybe the fibers were made of nanobots as well? He had watched Tapper manipulate those same fibers before and pestered the robot for details on how they worked, to no avail. Eventually Tapper ended with an unsatisfying counterquestion on how exactly the human''s own nerve endings worked ¡ª Tapper didn''t know how, he just knew that they worked.


    So Ricky just worked through the damage, on to the next and on to the next, soaking in the expensive science each time. The exosuit powered on with barely a dab of quicksilver left to spare in the syringe, and Ricky hadn''t even started on the actual armor. Once they were moving, the top priority had to be repairing the suit''s armor or the next break might doom him. Ricky let out a long sigh of relief, which turned into a coughing fit when he looked up and saw everyone silently staring at him.


    Tapper recognized the signs of embarrassment and stepped forward to reassure Ricky that they simply didn''t want to interrupt his focus. They just needed the exosuit for the next step and Ricky helped push the two cars into position, but the instant they were aligned Ricky extracted himself for another secretive project.


    "Ricky dude, we do not have time!" Phanya said, a whine of frustration undercutting her attempts to organize everyone. "Not all of us have super special heat resistance, we''re baking out here!"


    "I know, I know, just give me a minute," Ricky answered with a dismissive wave over his shoulder. He knew it was a gamble to surprise everyone with his new magic ability, but he couldn''t risk explaining the fine details with the bounty hunter within earshot. And that was assuming he could spare the time, but they''ll understand once they see what he can do. All he needed was to finish one little trinket...


    Salazar''s head suddenly snapped up and his neck frill twitched nervously. "Did anyone else feel that? That tremor?"


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Ugh, please tell me that the phase shift doesn''t have some aftershocks saved up for us," Phanya groaned.


    "Not unless the Phase is now displaying an uncharacteristic amount of synchronization," Tapper answered.


    Phanya turned to ask what he meant, but the question lost its importance when she saw him lying flat on the tarmac with his arms and legs spread wide. "Why, Tapper? Just... why?" was all that she could manage. Traumatic memories of trying to babysit a dozen of Fableton''s youngest, with their random leaps of childhood logic, started to flash through Phanya''s mind.


    Tapper''s head pivoted unnaturally to look her in the eye and his eyebrows twisted in apology. "Oh, I am maximizing the surface area of my tactile feedback sensors. Mister Salazar is correct that there is a slight tremor in the ground approximately once every second, but it is very faint."


    Instead of thanking Tapper for the helpful confirmation, Salazar further paled and suddenly darted away to climb up a garbage mound. Phanya saw this as an ill-timed escape attempt and gave chase, only to find the bounty hunter frozen at the peak. He was staring at a column of smoke, so far in the distance that Phanya couldn''t make out its origin beyond a wide disc in the mirage horizon.


    Salazar recognized it instantly. He muttered, "We gotta move," before he turned to climb down the mound, bumping Tapper out of the way just as he caught up.


    Tapper, standing unprepared and unthreatened, was knocked off balance and tumbled back down to the pavement. By the time he stood and straightened out his misaligned joints Salazar was desperately digging through the trash, so Tapper approached and offered his hand. "Mister Salazar, what is the emergency? We cannot help if we do not know."


    Salazar paused for a brief second, regarding his companions before he scoffed and resumed digging. "It''s the scavvers, they found us quicker than I thought. We need to lock down everything we can as fast as we can, and tie the cars together so they look like one, or else we''ll lose her... fucking pavement pirates..." Salazar fell to mumbling and Tapper fell in step beside him, helping to pull out any lengths of rope or wire they found.


    The end result was an ugly assortment of knots and hooks that only technically joined the vehicles together. There was no chance of it holding under any real strain, but Salazar said they didn''t need to actually tow his car right now. It just needed to look the part, and Salazar visibly relaxed when his pillbug powered up. Then he instructed Phanya to lock up anything that they didn''t want to trade or couldn''t risk losing, while he gave Tapper a disapproving once-over.


    "I don''t think we can fit you into one of my locked cabinets," he finally said.


    "Nor would I accept confinement, especially when it feels like we are about to have another adventure!" Tapper responded, his jubilant tone overshadowing the direness in Salazar''s.


    Phanya walked by with her arms loaded down by provisions and casually added, "Sometimes you survive the adventure by hiding, Taps."


    "Quiet!" Salazar snapped. "The point is, the robot needs a disguise because the custom faceplate is an obvious mark. Doesn''t the other one have a welder? Hey you, uh, human boy!"


    "I said, just give me a minute!" Ricky shouted back, not looking up from his work.


    Tapper read Salazar''s reaction to the retort, gripping at the air in Ricky''s direction and huffing through clenched teeth. Clear signs of aggression. Tapper stepped in front of Salazar to divert their attention and pointed to his own face, saying, "Actually Mister Salazar, this is already one-third of my disguise!"


    To demonstrate, Tapper reached up and unclasped Drillbert''s hollowed-out cranial unit from his own head. The mining robot was one of the first entities Tapper had "killed," and even though he had acted in self-defense against a machine without sapience it still felt grotesque to wear its skull as a mask.


    Tapper kept his voice pleasant and mild as he handed over the mask and continued, "See? No welding required. I removed the other two-thirds of my disguise when we crashed so I can ¡ª"


    Tapper''s voice cut off when Salazar suddenly threw Tapper''s mask to the ground and started stomping on it with all his might. The mercenary''s might didn''t amount to much against the metal shell, but once it finally crumpled under his heel Salazar picked it up and tossed the mask over the crest of a garbage mound.


    In the silence that followed Salazar''s breath heaved from the effort, and Phanya leaned out of the vehicle to cock an eyebrow at him. "Feel better now?" Salazar just flashed her a rude gesture in response and brought up a hologram of Tapper''s wanted notice. It floated above his outstretched palm, and Salazar zoomed in on Tapper''s face while he glared at her. Phanya shrugged and said, "Yeah we know, that''s why he put it on in the first place."


    "And how the hell was I supposed to know that wasn''t actually his face!?" Salazar shot back.


    "Well I, for one, am overjoyed to learn that the initial disguise was such a success!" Tapper said, cutting off the argument before it could form again. The lack of cohesion between the group and Salazar shocked Tapper, especially compared to how well they worked with his friend Steffo. He would have to take special care that a proper friendship could form here, as well.


    The arguing did die out, but only because the persistent rumbling in the background came to the foreground. It grew in volume and clarity, splitting into the sounds of several small engines and one very large engine, and renewed panic gripped at Salazar. He shoveled everything he could into the vehicles, threw a tarp over the shoddy tow cables, and started pacing in front of Phanya and Tapper.


    "Okay, listen quick. The scavvers ¡ª no damnit they''re pioneers, call them pioneers ¡ª have rules against violence in their market, but it''s important you carry weapons out in the open or they''ll think you''re weak. They use a barter system, so we''ll be trading with them, but never suggest paying them in chits. Just let me do the talking!" Salazar''s voice at the end faded to the rumbling, but by then no one was paying attention.


    Even Ricky was forced out of his own mind, looking around as a giant shadow fell over the clearing. They all stared in awe at the massive mechanical platform now looming over them, though from their vantage they could only see the platform''s underside. Dozens of shipping containers dangled from underneath, some of them lowering on pulleys to accept fresh salvage. People in orange vests rode the containers, swinging hard hats and whooping in excitement.


    The platform itself was roughly circular with a diameter of around 100 ¨C 150 meters across, supported on eight multi-jointed metal legs that bowed outward under the weight. Two oversized shovels unfolded from the front of the platform and reached downward, indiscriminately scooping up garbage mounds and shoveling everything into a ''mouth'' opening centered between the arms.


    Several vehicles were the last to arrive, most of them construction dump trucks modified to dump people clad in more high visibility orange safety vests. The scavvers wasted no time looting the area, encircling the jitney but holding off. Salazar held them at bay, his arms spread wide to show a large holographic sign of balancing scales over his head. The rest of the party scarcely noticed the scavvers, everyone still too transfixed by the platform and its lively ecology.


    "What a feat of engineering!" Ricky breathed.


    "It''s like a giant... crab?" Phanya ventured.


    "I hope that it is a giant friendly crab," Tapper wondered.


    "It isn''t friendly," Salazar sighed. "It''s the Bazaar."

 2.8 The Bazaar

    Salazar quickly worked out a trade request with the first pioneer that approached them, and under Phanya''s watchful glare he drove the jitney into an open cargo container. Ricky had to push from behind to keep the vehicles together, leaving him to stand in the container''s open mouth when it started to lift. There were no safety features and no warning, so Ricky braced against the jitney and locked his suit in place before panic made him do something stupid. He was safe, but watching the ground and air swirl outside gave Ricky waves of vertigo instead.


    While Ricky waited for his stomach to settle, the rest of the party exited the car and approached a pioneer. He looked the same to Tapper as the other pioneers with the vest, but this canine hybrid wore a small trifold hat as some signifier of authority. He carried an oversized tablet, and when Salazar got his attention the tablet unfolded itself into a wide metal table with a thin blue border around the edge.


    "Welcome to the Bazaar, in partnership with the landship Privateer, a subsidiary of Enterprise Holdings," the man drawled, not bothering to look up as he tapped at the table. It was one big screen; programs and unknown holographic symbols covered the table''s entire surface and flicked around at the canine''s command. "What would you like to haggle with at the Bazaar today?" Despite his clear boredom, the man''s muzzle shape chopped up his voice at every syllable and the hybrid, strictly speaking, barked every word.


    Salazar mumbled something, coughed, and tried again. "Good afternoon foreman, we need to reorientate and top off."


    The foreman paused his tapping and looked up for the first time, cocking an eyebrow at the motley party before him. "Reorientate? Don''t tell me you kids actually phased through? I don''t buy it."


    Salazar''s neck frills bristled. "You want proof? We have this!" He hauled the garbage bag onto the table and yanked it open. To Tapper''s estimation Salazar was attempting to add a dramatic flourish, but his anxiety made his motions twitchy and off-putting. And the scowl he still wore did not inspire confidence, but the foreman''s eyes bugged out when he saw the yellow monster''s corpse all the same. "We have a whole gremlin!"


    "An engorged gremlin!" Tapper helpfully added.


    "Well I''ll be damned," the foreman said, rubbing his muzzle. Then he turned towards the throng of people and shouted, "Gord ¡ª hey, Gordon! Come check this out!"


    A large man, his body built up and then scarred by a rough life, shouldered his way through the crowd and whistled at the proffered exchange. "You kids did this, and didn''t lose no one?"


    The foreman cleared his throat and said, "Yeah we''re all impressed, but lyin'' won''t get you in." He bared his teeth, and Tapper''s social programs failed to determine whether he was smiling or snarling. "You said this was a whole gremlin, not a gremlin with a big hole."


    "Oh fuck off with that," Salazar snapped back, annoyance stifling his anxiety for a moment. "This thing is in better shape than most of the demons you get to harvest. Some of the skin and bones are damaged, but the important shit''s all there. The heart''s good, guts and eyes are good, do you want me to crack open its skull and prove the brain is good too?"


    Glares shared across the table grew tense for a second before the foreman suddenly barked out a laugh and his tail twitched in sync. "I''m just screwin'' with ya, kid. You did good, and Gordon here''s one of our gremlin guys. He can verify its worth."


    The larger man grunted in agreement and popped open a pouch on his chest, pulling out a plain light bulb that he then attached to a headgear harness. The harness went under his hat and held the light bulb directly in front of his left eye, leaving both hands free to poke and prod at the corpse while Gordon made small appreciative grunts.


    "Mhm, mhm. Heart''s a little scuffed, but salvageable. Not much blood left, and the stomach''s empty. Otherwise the lizard is right, it''s a good catch. Y''all got real lucky that this thing didn''t grow a relic, or you''d really be screwed!" The big man laughed, and one of Salazar''s goggle eyes swiveled around to glare at Tapper. "Either way, they''re still tough as shit. How did you kill a grade 2 chomper without blowing it to bits?"


    Salazar didn''t have a good response ready, so Tapper aided him with a chipper, "That is a trade secret, sir!" The instant Gordon pulled out the little light bulb Tapper could feel the energy it emitted, glowing with magic rather than light. He couldn''t identify the little relic without ownership, but if this privateer was a rival adventurer then Tapper wanted to keep their own magic a secret.


    A thoughtful frown set on Gordon''s face as he looked Tapper up and down. "The bot''s carrying some relics, too. Is it part of the pile?"


    "Nope!" Phanya snapped, stepping in before Tapper had a chance to helpfully make everything more awkward. "Nothing about that robot is for sale, inside or out, no exceptions." Gordon raised an eyebrow at Phanya''s enthusiastic response, but instead of saying anything he just shrugged and pocketed his light bulb relic.


    The foreman clapped the big man on the shoulder and said, "That''s a shame, but this gremlin is plenty of leverage by itself." He spread his hands over the table and a hologram appeared of balancing scales. A goofy cartoon representation of the gremlin fell into one cup as a pile of all the individual parts Gordon identified, and the scales tipped off balance. "So, what can the Bazaar offer in exchange?"


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "Just a basic 2-F package for us two, plus that human in braces, and the reorientation."


    The foreman gave Salazar an appraising eye and said, "Sure you don''t want to spring for level 3? Looks like you''ve been on the road a long time."


    "What''s this about levels?" Ricky asked, still looking a little flushed but otherwise recovered.


    Salazar flicked a brief glare of annoyance at Ricky before he explained, "Nothing, it''s just the level of care package I got us for the day. Level 2 is food and fuel."


    "Well, what''s the third F?"


    Salazar''s neck frill twitched nervously while the foreman bared his teeth again. This time, Tapper felt slightly more confident that this was him sneering at Salazar. Eventually he stammered, "¡­Fun. Level 3 is fun."


    "That is an excellent perk!" Tapper chimed. "I am Level 4, what perk does that entail here?"


    Everyone gave Tapper a chorus of confused looks before Salazar swiped his hand through the air and snapped, "Forget it! We''re just doing a 2-F!" The foreman shrugged and didn''t try to hide his snickering at their expense. But he pressed some icons on the table screen and three chicken legs fell into the empty cup, followed by one large can of gas and a compass. The scales barely wiggled in response, and when Salazar asked for a few meters of towing cable the scales shifted a little bit more.


    Salazar turned to the rest and said, "If you need any goods or services, now''s the time to ask. Just don''t let the scales fall off-balance."


    Ricky''s eyes lit up and he leaned on the table. "Services? What kind? Do you have a machining station that can cut metal? Ideally at laser accuracy?" Ricky leaned more, and the gremlin slid against his hand without him noticing.


    The foreman leaned away slightly and said, "Uh yeah, we got a few tables. Laser cutters are the most expensive, though, and we charge by the hour." Ricky yipped and a very large stopwatch fell onto the scales, knocking it most of the way towards even.


    "Whoa, what the hell??" Salazar snapped, arms and frill flailing. "You don''t need the most expensive option, take something cheaper!"


    While the two of them argued, Tapper leaned over and waved to get the foreman''s attention. "I''d like to peruse your apothecary, please." The word flowed into Tapper from his library of adventurer''s knowledge, but the foreman didn''t seem to know it. "I mean, potion ingredients? Herbs? Spices, medicine, drugs?" Tapper was running out of synonyms before the foreman blinked and nodded.


    "Sure, medicine and drugs. Don''t let your handlers overdose while they''re on board, though; seeing a doctor will cost a lot more." A cartoon medkit and a syringe filled with green fluid appeared in the scales, making it almost even.


    "There you fucking are!" A voice suddenly shouted from the crowd. People hurriedly skipped out of the way to make room for a woman as she stormed in the party''s direction. She was short and stout, with curves that suggested solid muscle underneath, tanned skin and a wild mane of deep copper hair whipping in the wind. A man followed as her exact opposite; tall and lean, pale and utterly hairless. He looked uncomfortable and anxious, she just looked mad. "Don''t think you''ll get away this time!"


    Salazar groaned and pinched his snout. "What now? Who the hell are you two?"


    "We''re here for the ¡ª" The short woman''s shout cut short when the taller man suddenly nudged her with his knee, and they shared a glare before she continued, "We''re here to settle a debt. I''m Jena, and this is Jelly."


    Jelly winced slightly and groaned, "Please don''t call me that."


    Jena ignored him and continued, "Remember, you killed my bro Spike? Embarrassed Jelly''s boss? Ring any bells?"


    "Yeah, Fairbanks'' aide," Phanya murmured, her voice quelled by the sudden twist in her stomach. She recognized the man immediately, even if she had only seen his face once a few weeks ago, during her first meeting with the local CyraCorp manager. She had also watched him die earlier that same day. No one else knew he was a clone, and Phanya wondered if he even knew what happened to his predecessor. "Wait wait, your name is Jelly?"


    "My name is Jellico," he corrected, drawing himself up to a proud height head and shoulders above almost everyone else.


    "Don''t worry about Jelly''s name!" Jena shouted. At barely 1.5 meters tall, she was the shortest person in the group and had to wave her hands to get everyone''s attention. "Point is, we got a score to settle!"


    Salazar caught onto the subtext and swiped a hand in the air. "Back off rat bitch, I''ve already claimed this bounty."


    Jena chittered in annoyance and pointed at her own face. "I favor gophers, you blind-ass cold-blood! Gophers!"


    A sharp bark cut off the argument and everyone turned to the foreman, baring his teeth. This time, he was clearly snarling. "Leave your own debts off of the Privateer. Ma''am, I am haggling with this customer, you need to ¡ª"


    "Yeah I know, we''re all haggling," Jena said as she reached into a duffle bag carried by Jellico. "How much do you think this beaut''s worth?" She yanked out a rope, dangling a large knot that entangled a small but very lively creature, and the gathering crowd sucked in a collective breath. A tiny gremlin, no larger than a domestic cat with muddy cream-colored skin, yanked and tore at its restraints to no avail.


    "Shit lady, you caught a live one? And it''s stable?"


    "Damn right we did," Jena said, hands proudly on her hips. "Bet that buys us a few Fs to spare, hah."


    The foreman started to rapidly tap at symbols on his corner of the table and said, "Well, if you have any documentation of what it can do then that''ll help, otherwise you can hire a professional to appraise it. They''re way more in-depth than Gordon, but worth it. Or we can just give you a flat fee for ''living but unknown PSI entities'' and... shouldn''t everyone be here for this part?" Everyone looked around in confusion, but Jellico was the first to notice and he swore an oath.


    "Damnit, where did the bot and the human go?"

 2.9 How Bizarre

    "Are you sure we should be doing this?" Tapper asked.


    Ricky didn''t bother to turn around as he worked their way through the crowded Bazaar, but he waved a dismissive hand over his shoulder. "It''s fine, Tapper. We already worked out what we wanted to buy, and it''s not like those two can hurt us here. Can''t lose this chance while we have it, anything else Phanya can fill us in later. Now where is that machining shop?"


    The two were thoroughly lost within the Bazaar by now, deep within the crowd of peddlers and patrons. A tower of trailers and small offices rose from the center of the Privateer, but otherwise the surface was a maze of temporary stalls where traders hawked everything from salvaged goods to illicit services. It was lively and loud, enticing and worrying, and Ricky could''ve spent hours reading every signpost if a fountain of sparks didn''t catch his eye.


    A section of the Privateer opened straight through to the ground below, surrounded by cranes for lifting heavy cargo and entire vehicles, and all nearby stalls were dedicated to repairing large machinery. Most of the machines were repurposed construction vehicles with big biodiesel engines, but sleeker technology dotted the workshop as well.


    Ricky slid into the nearest stall, and after an argument with its owner ended in, "Just check with Gordon the gremlin guy," he was seated at the controls of a telescoping lens pointed downwards to an open platform with manipulator arms. "So first thing''s first, do you want me to try repairing you with the laser cutter?"


    Tapper took a long look at the apparatus looming over the platform like a torture device before he realized what Ricky was suggesting. "Oh¡­ thank you for the kind offer, but I believe I would feel safer with you using proper Blacksmithing tools. Or at least some practice with this first."


    Ricky shrugged and said, "It''s your body, Tapper. I''ll be fine here, so go find your potions stuff while you still can."


    Ricky got straight to work searching through the catalog for options and watched a tutorial video at double speed, just enough for him to get the basics. The rest he''d have to pick up on the way; time is money and Ricky was broke. He tossed his broken armor onto the platform along with some scrap metal from a nearby pile, and after a few moments of frustration they managed to input the work order.


    It was strange, the first time Ricky crafted that armor he was stuck using primitive tools. Despite the pure guesswork of using the uncontrolled heat of an anomaly as a makeshift forge and a hunk of scrap for a hammer, he felt more confident with that over the high science before him. Every strike of the hammer onto heat-softened metal was guided by his Blacksmithing skill knowledge, which evaporated the instant he touched a computer terminal ¡ª it seems that the system does not consider inputting commands to shape metal as equal to shaping metal by hand. He will definitely need to test how finicky these skills can be in the future.


    But through trial and error, and math, Ricky found a design that looked similar to how his personal work felt. The table came to life as four thin manipulator arms unfolded from the corners and grabbed the metal, holding it in his predefined arrangement. Points of starlight shone from the machine above for a brief moment as its many mirrors and curved lenses rearranged themselves, constantly shifting to shoot lasers of varying widths to different spots. Some of the metal was heated for reshaping by the manipulator hands, some of it was sliced off and tossed aside, other parts were welded together, and the whole process produced a perfect breastplate.


    Ricky watched the procedure with a satisfied grin. Surely the lack of help from his skill is just because these tools are too advanced for a mere novice Blacksmith, and what he managed to muddle through on the computer was still a better version of what he could make by hand. Yet his grin slowly faded as the process finished, and he frowned at the breastplate. Why did it feel so off? It glowed with heat so Ricky wouldn''t risk touching it yet, but they leaned uncomfortably close and the Blacksmithing skill finally decided to wake up.


    Interpreting the knowledge granted by skills still felt strange, even with Ricky''s attempts to spend every waking moment using them. Everything else from the system was easy in comparison, once you got used to the messages floating across your vision. Information from attributes and feats to debuffs on your own health can be accessed with a mental request for you to read, but skill knowledge was just that ¡ª- knowledge. Pure knowledge that you already know, but you don''t know that you know it until you happen to use it.


    Ricky spent one of his first nights after the system appeared testing out his skill, and giving himself a headache with the implications. The best explanation he could figure was that the skill imprinted the knowledge gained from practicing and studying blacksmithing at a beginner''s level, but without any memories of actually performing those actions. Sometimes that meant odd emotions bubbled up whenever Ricky successfully used his skills, but he wasn''t worried about the system altering his emotions. It felt more like the same excitement and frustration anytime he tried something new, only much more intense. Maybe because it filled the gaps left from him not actually having any practical experience with blacksmithing?


    In fact, right now Ricky mostly felt annoyed as he moved the breastplate to a vice grip to clear the laser table. He still had a second project in mind, and this time the components were readily available in the catalog. All Ricky needed to do was verify the math, so he punched in a list of work orders and the laser table sprang to life once again. Unfortunately, watching it work was less exciting the second time, and the armor kept drawing Ricky''s attention.


    Something was off about it. He felt a grumpy pride, as if someone else had created this false piece of pretend armor from a Halloween costume and wanted to use it for real danger. This breastplate was an affront to armor, it wouldn''t last for one second in an actual battle unless he fixed it. Without moving his eyes Ricky slowly grabbed a hammer and stood over the breastplate like a wounded prey.


    Now Ricky''s Blacksmithing skill was fully awake and ready to work.


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    <hr>


    Tapper fought against the crowd to make any progress. Before he just had to follow behind Ricky, who parted the currents with the implied authority of wearing a powered exosuit, but alone Tapper felt the anxiety of swimming upriver. Which also served as a welcome distraction, since Tapper didn''t know how to swim in any kind of river. It might relate to how the people flowed around Tapper with cold indifference, and most of them refused to acknowledge him altogether. Once he started comparing the stalls to a river''s shoreline, Tapper had to stop and rein in his metaphorical social programming.


    One stall selling clothes resewn from salvaged cloth offered Tapper the grace of acknowledgement, and its owner hooked a thumb further around the Privateer''s circular shell. They merely said to follow the smoke, and Tapper gleaned their meaning as the strings of lights above and around the marketplace started to dim. Air quality dropped with toxins that Tapper couldn''t identify, and he started to feel a sense of vague uneasiness.


    Was his emotional center filling in gaps from his sensor readings again? The smoke grew to a visual impairment and undefined movements triggered the alarms in Tapper''s mind. This was just like when the giant mutated rats ambushed him in the mall dungeon! He braced himself for another attack, the well of mana glowing warm in his chest and ready for anything.


    Except, it was just a human. A figure stepped out of the smoke and limped away, muttering to himself. He never even acknowledged Tapper, and he chastised himself for losing his grip on logic. Tapper still couldn''t control his emotional reactions very well unless he forced the entire module to run at reduced power, and he took a moment to do that before he accidentally broke the law of the Bazaar.


    Firewalls pushed back against his emotions and left just enough room for logic to reassess the situation, and Tapper instantly felt better. This was just a simple drug den, nothing that posed an actual danger to himself! His Bowson social packet included general knowledge of common illicit substances, mostly regarding which social castes were permitted to use which substances and when, but it also surmised what people tend to do in response.


    Logically speaking, a robot was perfectly safe to walk among a gathering of strung-out junkies so long as he didn''t interact with them.


    With confidence restored Tapper resumed his search for the supplier, but his emotions strained against the firewall as he carefully stepped around a prone form. All around him people leaned against stalls or sprawled over any horizontal surface, blowing smoke of all colors that mixed into a smoggy rainbow, and his emotions forced an old memory to replay. During one of the first days since he awakened to the system, Tapper accidentally harmed a citizen of Fableton and received a stern lecture from its de facto leader, Ms. Uxral. Her ultimate lesson was about finding ways to help people first, although all of the humanoids looked like they were here of their own free will. But her voice still played on a loop in Tapper''s mind that he couldn''t shut off until he reached the focal point.


    A multi-level building covered in bright lights dominated the gloom like a shining beacon. Anyone still mobile naturally drew to it, so the crowd grew thick again here. A portion of those milling about wore substantially less clothing than average, and several more danced slowly within barred windows on the side of the building. Tapper watched in confusion, head tilting to the side as his social programming and second thoughts sent conflicting reports of the display before him.


    "See something you like?" Tapper jumped slightly at the question and turned to see a middle-aged bulk woman, casually leaning against the building and wearing a combination corset and pant suit. She continued, "Don''t get many robots here. Wanna record something for your master back home, or is this a live feed?" She laughed at her own joke, which quickly turned into a wet coughing fit before she inhaled something from a thin tube held between her fingers. She blew blue smoke in Tapper''s face and a system message appeared:


    [Save against poison successful!]


    Tapper mentally thanked his lack of lungs while he waited for the woman to regain her composure. His bartender algorithms automatically formed a profile for the woman, noting that her choice of bold jewel makeup colors accentuated her gray-blue skin tones rather than trying to hide it. Despite the illicit substances over many years wearing on her body and fading musculature, she still looked strong enough to break Tapper if she wanted. But neither Tapper''s algorithms or second thoughts sensed any threat from the woman, so his curiosity took over.


    "My apologies for staring, miss, but no. I was wondering, um¡­" he pointed a finger at the wall of dancers and asked, "Are they trapped? Behind the bars, I mean. Imprisoned?"


    The bulk woman blinked twice before comprehension hit, and this time she managed to stop her laughter in time. "No honey, they''re just working. The bars are... safety rails, hah." Her brow creased slightly as she looked back down at Tapper and continued, "Which you''re distracting them from. What''s your business, robot?"


    "Yes, business!" Tapper snapped, and the woman nodded to herself for guessing the correct code word. "I am here to purchase medicine! Does this establishment have a pharmacy?"


    "Medicine, riiiiight, sure we have some medication for when someone parties too much ¡ª or too little. Ha! We usually don''t take those as ''to-go'' orders, but I''ll see what I can do." She studied the scales on Tapper''s proffered tablet and tsk''ed. "Especially when your master is that cheap. Taking the good stuff home with you costs money, honey."


    "That is unfortunate, sampling your medicine myself would be wasteful. I could add to my bargaining power with an offer for free labor by mixing the orders myself, along with any other chores needed here until my proprietors finish their business with the Bazaar. Do you know who the owner of this establishment is?"


    "Well, of course I know her. She''s me."


    "Wonderful! Then I offer my services to you, as payment for a sampling of your pharmaceuticals."


    The woman took another drag from her cartridge, her eyes squinting in thought, and excitement tickled at the edge of Tapper''s sensors. He enjoyed speaking to this woman, haggling about business almost like equals.


    After pondering through a long drag she said, "This is one of those things where if I say it''s a trade secret, then you can''t record or report on any of this stuff, right?"


    "That is correct. I can also truthfully attest that no person or persons, corporeal or corporational, have asked me to spy on your establishment."


    "Well... sure, why not? We could use an extra pair of hands."


    Tapper beeped an optimistic chime. Successful entrepreneurship, even without using currency! "Excellent! Thank you for the opportunity Miss ¡ª?"


    "¡ª tress."


    "Thank you, Miss Tress!"


    "No that''s not what I¡­" she faltered for a second, but then she chuckled and draped an arm around Tapper''s shoulders. "Actually, it''s kinda cute. Let''s put you to work, honey."


    [New Quest: Tit for Tat


    Prove your value as a temporary employee of Miss Tress]