Dungeon
Crawler Ark

I had just had one of the best dates of my life when the world ended. Which, looking back, felt unnecessarily personal. I pulled my Honda Ridgeline into the driveway of my house in Algonquin, killed the engine, and just sat there for a moment. I wasn't drunk. I'd had drinks with dinner, but we'd been out long enough afterward and I'd paced myself. I was perfectly capable of driving.

What I was apparently incapable of doing was getting out of the truck. I leaned my head against the seat and smiled. Joy. Twenty-four. Beautiful. Funny. Actually interesting. And unless I had completely misread every social interaction of the past several hours—which, admittedly, was not outside the realm of possibility—I thought she'd had a really good time too.

The evening had started along the Chicago Riverwalk. It had been one of those nights when Chicago looked almost offensively photogenic. Glass buildings caught the last of the light, boats drifted beneath the bridges, and the river reflected everything back in broken streaks of gold and blue. Naturally, I had my camera with me. I always had my camera with me.

I had spent years carrying one almost everywhere I went, to the point where being without it felt a little like leaving the house without my phone. Mine was small enough that I could keep it with me without turning every outing into a full production, although that didn't stop my brain from constantly composing images. At one point Joy stopped mid-sentence. I noticed about three seconds later.

"What?" I asked.

She looked over her shoulder, then back at me.

"You're doing the thing."

"What thing?"

"The photographer thing."

"I don't have a photographer thing."

"You absolutely have a photographer thing."

I frowned. She pointed toward the river.

"You stopped listening because you saw something you wanted to take a picture of."

"I was listening."

"What was I talking about?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. She smiled. I pointed at her. "This feels like a trap."

"It isn't."

"Your sister?"

"No."

"Work?"

"No."

"The fall of the Roman Empire?"

That got the laugh. Not the little polite first-date laugh. A real one. I liked that laugh. A lot. We took an architecture boat tour after that. Walked around downtown. Went to the Hello Kitty Cafe, which I had made fun of right up until I walked inside and started looking at everything like I was somehow not the exact target demographic for expensive cute shit. Joy caught me looking at merchandise.

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to."

"No."

"You like it here."

"I tolerate it here."

"You've taken six pictures."

"That's documentation."

She laughed again. We visited the Water Tower museum, wandered around some more, talked about everything and nothing, then ended the night at Lao Sze Chuan with food and drinks. It had just been easy. That's what stuck with me most. Easy. No trying desperately to fill silence. No pretending to be more interesting than I was. No mental checklist of whether or not the date was "working." I dropped her off at her apartment just outside downtown.

There'd been a hug. A good hug. Maybe a little longer than a normal hug. Which led directly to the problem I was having while sitting in my driveway. What was a normal amount of time for a hug? Two seconds? Three? Was five intimate? Was there some kind of chart? I sighed.

"Stop."

The truck offered no response.

"She said she had fun."

My brain immediately replied, People say that.

"She said she wanted to do it again."

People also say that.

"You're being an idiot."

That one, unfortunately, was harder to argue with. I rubbed my face, then looked at the house. I lived alone, which meant there was nobody waiting inside to ask me how the date went. I'd probably go in, change clothes, lie down, check my phone seventeen times, debate how soon was too soon to text Joy, and eventually convince myself I'd somehow ruined the evening despite all available evidence suggesting otherwise.

I was still wearing what I'd worn on the date: khakis, a brown button-up with the sleeves rolled to my forearms, decent shoes. Not exactly apocalypse gear. This detail would become relevant approximately thirty seconds later. At the time, I was mostly thinking about getting my stuff out of the truck. I climbed out and slung my camera strap over my shoulder.

I'd used it throughout the night, and I'd be damned if I was leaving it in the Ridgeline overnight. Then I remembered the camping handaxe. I had been meaning to bring it inside. The hatchet itself was small and practical, the sort of thing you kept around for camping rather than murdering Vikings. It had a second blade—a knife—built into the handle.

There was also a large hunting knife wedged between the driver's seat and the center console. Yes, I understand how that sounds. I wasn't driving around Algonquin preparing for woodland combat. I'd put the stuff in the truck for camping and had simply never taken it back out. I retrieved the hunting knife, then the handaxe. Camera hanging from my shoulder.

Phone in pocket. Knife in one hand. Hatchet in the other. I stood beside the truck in khakis and a brown button-up.

"If somebody sees me right now," I muttered, "I am absolutely getting put on a list."

The universe apparently heard that and decided the joke needed a stronger ending. There was no countdown. No earthquake building slowly beneath my feet. No glowing light in the sky. No sirens. The world just—

WHAM.

Everything disappeared. I don't mean exploded. I mean disappeared. My house slammed downward so violently that my brain couldn't process what I was seeing. The roof, walls, everything inside—my furniture, computers, clothes, kitchen, bed—compressed into the earth as if God had dropped a continent-sized hydraulic press onto Algonquin.

Every neighboring house did the same thing. At the exact same instant. The sound wasn't loud.

"Loud" stopped being an adequate word.

It was the sound of an entire civilization being hit all at once. I went down. One second I was standing beside my Ridgeline. The next I was on the driveway with my palms against the pavement, ears screaming, camera swinging hard against my chest. Something blasted past me. Dust. Debris. Air. Then silence. Not real silence. The high-pitched whine in my ears was so intense I could barely hear anything else.

I lifted my head. My house was gone. For several seconds I just stared at where it had been. There wasn't rubble in the normal sense. There should have been walls piled over furniture, beams, insulation, pieces of roof. Instead there was this crushed, flattened layer where the structure had stood. Like somebody had pancaked the entire building.

"No."

I pushed myself onto my knees.

"No, no, no."

Then I turned around. My Ridgeline was gone too. That took another several seconds to register. I'd been standing beside it. Now there was empty driveway. No wreckage. No crushed truck. Nothing. The knife was still in my hand. The axe too. My camera was still hanging from my shoulder. Anything I'd physically taken outside had survived. Everything else hadn't.

"What the fuck?"

I looked down the street. Cars were gone. Garages were gone. Streetlights. Utility poles. Houses. Sheds. Almost everything people had built had vanished or been crushed into impossible flattened remnants. Trees remained. Grass remained. The road remained beneath my feet. And people— Someone started screaming. A man somewhere nearby was yelling a name.

Another voice joined him. Dogs barked. Somebody cried out, "What happened?" Then another scream. My first coherent thought wasn't about my house. It wasn't about my truck. It wasn't even about Joy. It was Mom. I pulled out my phone. No service. I tried calling anyway. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

"Come on."

Nothing. I opened my messages. Mom, are you okay? Failed. Again. Failed. I stood in what had been my neighborhood, staring at the word Not Delivered.

"Fuck."

My hands were shaking. I tried calling again. Nothing. Then I thought about Joy. Her apartment. Downtown. Chicago. I turned toward where I knew the city should be. The skyline wasn't visible from my driveway in the normal sense, but the glow of the metropolitan area was something you didn't really notice until it wasn't right anymore.

Now the horizon looked wrong. Dark. Patchy. Parts of the distant sky flickered orange. Joy had been awake. That thought hit me immediately. I'd only dropped her off a little while ago. Maybe she hadn't gone inside yet. Maybe she'd taken her time getting upstairs. Maybe she'd gone back out. Maybe— My phone chimed. Not a normal notification.

A tone I'd never heard before. Every remaining sound around me seemed to stop. And then a voice spoke. It wasn't coming from the phone. The voice was everywhere. Above me. Behind me. Inside my head. A pleasant, artificial voice with the emotional warmth of an airline safety video began speaking to every surviving human being on Earth. Attention, surviving inhabitants of Earth. I stared upward.

"What?"

The planetary reclamation process has begun. Your world's surface infrastructure has been collected and processed in accordance with established interstellar resource law. There was a brief pause. The voice remained cheerful. If you are currently receiving this message, congratulations. You survived the initial transformation. Somebody down the street screamed, "Fuck you!" The voice continued as if nothing had happened.

Structures, vehicles, and qualifying manufactured enclosures located upon the planetary surface have been reclaimed. Organic life located within affected spaces at the time of collection has been processed along with them. My stomach dropped. People inside. Everyone inside. Sleeping. Eating. Watching television. Working night shifts indoors.

Families. Children. I looked at my house. Flattened. Mom. I dialed again. Nothing. The voice continued. Surviving members of the dominant indigenous species are hereby eligible to participate in the reclamation challenge. Participation grants contestants an opportunity to reclaim legal ownership rights to their planetary resources. I actually laughed. Just once. A broken little sound.

"You flattened the planet and now we have to win it back?"

The reclamation challenge will take place within the World Dungeon.

"A fucking dungeon."

Apparently the aliens had outsourced the apocalypse to a video game designer. The World Dungeon consists of eighteen primary levels. Contestants will descend through the dungeon while completing survival objectives, meeting advancement requirements, and complying with all applicable rules. There it was. Eighteen levels. Because one nightmare apparently wasn't enough.

Entrances will become visible across the planetary surface following the conclusion of this message. Eligible survivors will have one hour to enter. One hour. Entry is voluntary. A pause. Remaining on the surface is also voluntary. Another pause. This time I could almost hear the smile. We encourage all survivors to carefully consider which option offers the superior long-term survival outcome.

"Assholes."

Please note that once you enter the World Dungeon, exit to the planetary surface will no longer be available through your original entrance. Of course. Successful contestants may earn prizes, upgrades, equipment, social benefits, sponsorship opportunities, and other rewards. Sponsorship opportunities. Billions of people were dead, and someone had just said sponsorship opportunities.

Additional information will be provided after entry. The voice brightened. Thank you for your cooperation, and welcome to the reclamation process. We hope you enjoy the experience. The message ended. I stood there with my mouth open. Then columns of light shot into the sky. One after another. Some distant. Some close. The nearest was only several blocks away.

A bright vertical beam rising out of the middle of Algonquin. Nobody needed to explain what it was.

"That's the dungeon."

I looked at my phone. No signal. Mom. Joy. Nothing. My brain immediately began doing what my brain did. Okay. Options. Stay outside. Find Mom. How? No truck. No infrastructure. No phone. Walk? How far? What if she'd survived somewhere else and entered a different dungeon? What about Joy? Downtown was more than forty miles away. No vehicle. Could I find a bike? Did bikes count as processed? Could I—

"Stop."

I said it aloud. That didn't stop anything. There were too many variables. So my brain started generating more. Could the surface become survivable? Was there food? Most stores had been buildings. Gone. Warehouses. Gone. Homes. Gone. Maybe supplies remained outdoors. How long before winter exposure became an issue? What month was it?

What— Movement caught my eye. Ashley. My neighbor. She was standing on the street with her bulldog. I knew Ashley. Twenty-six. We'd talked plenty of times in that casual neighbor way where you know enough about someone to have conversations but not enough to know whether you'd call yourselves friends. I also knew her dog. Sort of.

I had absolutely no idea what his name was. This had been going on for long enough that admitting it now would have been worse than simply continuing the lie. So I'd started calling him Dogmeat. Ashley knew why. Sort of. The first time I'd called the bulldog Dogmeat, she'd looked at me and said, "Like the dog from Fallout?" I'd brightened.

"Yeah."

"The show?"

I'd paused.

"...Sure."

She'd narrowed her eyes.

"You mean the game."

"Yes."

"I knew it."

So Dogmeat he remained. To me. I'm pretty sure he had an actual name. Probably a perfectly normal name. I could not have told you what it was if somebody had offered me a million dollars. Ashley didn't see me. She was staring toward the beam of light. Dogmeat stood beside her on the leash, snorting and looking around like the destruction of civilization had interrupted an otherwise perfectly acceptable walk.

"Ashley!"

Nothing. My ears were still ringing. Maybe hers were too. She started walking. Not quickly. Just toward the light. I followed. Not because I'd decided to enter. That distinction felt very important at the time. I was simply going to see what she was doing. That was all. Camera against my chest. Handaxe in one hand. Hunting knife awkwardly tucked against my belt because I didn't exactly own a convenient apocalypse sheath.

Khakis. Brown shirt. Good date shoes. I looked like someone headed to an outdoor engagement photo session who had taken a catastrophically wrong turn. The entrance was in the middle of the road. A staircase descended through an opening that had not existed before. Warm yellow light spilled up from below. Actual carved stone steps.

Underground. Everything about it screamed do not go down here. Ashley apparently agreed. She stopped. Dogmeat stopped beside her. For several minutes, neither moved. I stayed back. She stared into the entrance. Then behind her. Then back down. She stepped closer. Stopped. Walked back. I almost called to her again. But I understood what was happening.

She was doing exactly what I was doing. Trying to solve an unsolvable decision. Eventually she crouched beside the bulldog. I couldn't hear what she said. She scratched his head. Dogmeat looked down the stairs. Then at her. Then back at the stairs. He planted his feet.

"Nope," I muttered. "Dogmeat's got the right idea."

Ashley tugged gently on the leash. He refused. She sighed and picked him up. The bulldog looked offended. I almost smiled. Almost. Ashley held him against her chest and stood at the entrance for another few seconds. Then she went down.

"Shit."

I waited. Nothing happened. No screaming. No explosion. No giant monster hand reaching up and dragging her into Hell. That should have been reassuring. It wasn't. I looked behind me. There was nothing there anymore. That was the part my brain kept refusing to accept. I couldn't go home and think about it. Home was gone. I couldn't get into the Ridgeline and drive somewhere safer.

The Ridgeline was gone. I couldn't check the news. I couldn't call Mom. I couldn't message Joy. My entire life had been converted into a flattened patch of earth while I stood outside carrying a camera and two camping tools. I looked down at the camera. Of all the things I'd managed to save. Of course. I lifted it slightly.

"At least you're here."

Then I immediately felt stupid for saying it. The camera had no opinion. Although at this point I wasn't prepared to rule out the possibility that the dungeon would give it one. My phone still showed the undelivered messages. Mom, are you okay? Joy, are you okay? I stared at them. Maybe they were alive. That was the only useful thought.

Not that they were dead. Not that they were gone. Maybe they were alive. Maybe they had entrances too. Maybe this dungeon connected. Maybe there was a way to find people. I didn't know. And that was the problem. I wanted more information. I always wanted more information. Enough information to make the correct decision. Enough information to reduce the risk.

Enough information to know whether I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life. But an hour was an hour. Eventually you could overthink your way into a decision being made for you. I looked down the staircase. Ashley had gone in. Dogmeat had gone in. Maybe Mom was standing at another entrance somewhere doing the exact same thing.

Maybe Joy was too. I checked what I had. Camera. Phone. Wallet. Keys to a nonexistent truck. Camping handaxe. Knife hidden inside the axe handle. Hunting knife. Khakis. Brown button-up. Shoes chosen because they looked decent on a date, not because I expected to spend the evening fighting subterranean monsters for the entertainment of aliens.

Not exactly an elite survival loadout. But I was alive. That wasn't skill. I hadn't predicted anything. I hadn't prepared. I had spent the last few minutes before the end of civilization sitting in my truck wondering whether a hug lasted long enough to mean a woman liked me. Then I'd survived because I'd decided to carry my camera inside and finally stop leaving sharp objects in the truck. Pure dumb luck. I tightened my grip around the axe.

"Okay."

The stairs waited. My heart was pounding.

"Mom's alive."

I didn't know that. I needed to believe it anyway.

"Joy's alive."

Didn't know that either. I took a step closer.

"If they're in there, I'll find them."

That was probably impossible. But it was something. A direction. And right now, I needed one more than I needed certainty. I stood at the top of the stairs and looked down into the impossible warm light beneath Algonquin. Then I took a breath.

"Fuck it."

I entered the dungeon.

The stairs ended in a stone corridor that looked less like an alien megastructure and more like somebody had built a medieval basement under Algonquin while nobody was looking. The entrance sealed behind me before I could decide whether I wanted to test going back. A thin green bar appeared in the corner of my vision along with a timer and a few bare-bones indicators. No character sheet. No inventory screen. No helpful tutorial prompt. Just enough interface to confirm that, yes, I had apparently entered a video game at the end of the world.

I found Ashley less than a minute later. She was standing farther down the corridor with her bulldog planted between her feet, leash wrapped tight around one hand. Relief crossed her face when she saw another human, and I felt the same thing even though, before tonight, most of our relationship had consisted of driveway conversations and me aggressively petting her dog.

The bulldog saw me and immediately forgot the apocalypse. His entire rear end started wagging with his tail. I crouched automatically. “Puppyyyy.” He hauled Ashley toward me and shoved his square head into both my hands, drooling with the same enthusiasm he brought to every normal encounter in the neighborhood. Ashley stared at me. “Seriously?”

“It's good to see him.”

“You don't even remember his name.”

“That is unrelated to how much I love him.”

I scratched both sides of his face. “Dogmeat survived the apocalypse. Good puppy.” Ashley gave me the look. “You know that isn't his name.”

“I know he has another name.”

“That is not the same thing.”

Before she could make me confess how long I had been bluffing, something wet clicked against stone farther down the corridor. The bulldog stopped wagging. Ashley went rigid. I stood and pulled the handaxe free while my other hand went to the hunting knife I had awkwardly tucked at my belt. Two creatures came around the bend. Each had six narrow legs beneath raw pink skin, a long eyeless head, hooked front claws, and a vertical mouth that opened to reveal wet, fingerlike appendages writhing inside. A label appeared over the nearest one after I focused on it.

TRENCH LICKER — LEVEL 1

The AI chose that moment to introduce itself properly, explaining in entirely too much detail that Trench Lickers hunted by vibration, heat, sweat, and other bodily secretions. It sounded delighted by the word secretions. I decided immediately that I hated it. Both creatures lowered themselves. Ashley looked at my axe. Then the knife. Then at me.

“What do we do?”

I didn't think about it. That was probably why I actually did something. I dropped low and slid the hunting knife across the stone.

“Ashley!”

Her eyes followed it.

“Knife!”

The blade skittered across the floor and stopped near her right foot. Then I charged.

“ARK!”

The first Trench Licker's mouth opened. The wet appendage snapped toward me. I saw it coming. Not because I was some kind of trained fighter. The horrible thing had already shown me the attack once. Straight out. Fast. Retract. I threw myself left. The tongue cracked past my shoulder. Something cold and wet brushed the rolled sleeve of my shirt.

Way too fucking close. But it missed. I kept moving. The tongue started retracting, and I saw my chance. Neck. I planted my foot and swung the handaxe as hard as I could. The creature jerked backward.

WHOOSH.

Nothing. The axe blade passed through empty air maybe two inches in front of its throat. I stumbled with the momentum.

“What?”

The Trench Licker clicked backward on its six legs. I stared at the axe. Then at the monster.

“Are you fucking serious?”

The weapon suddenly looked much smaller than it had in my driveway. The AI chimed. Combat observation! Oh, fuck off. Your target appears to be located farther away than your weapon can reach.

“I KNOW!”

Excellent. Spatial awareness is developing nicely. The monster's mouth opened again. Its tongue snapped toward me. I ducked. The appendage sailed over my shoulder and started retracting. Okay. That was the problem. I was trying to hit it from where it wanted me to stand. The axe wasn't long enough. So I needed to get closer. A lot closer.

I charged again. The creature lowered its head. I didn't swing. Not yet. One step. Two. The vertical mouth opened wider as I closed the distance. Every instinct I had screamed at me to stop. I could see the smaller wet appendages writhing inside its mouth. I could smell the thing. Rotten meat. Copper. Something sour.

“Jesus CHRIST.”

Its tongue had almost fully retracted. Now. I stepped inside the range I'd used the first time and kept going. One more step. Too close. Way too close. Then I swung.

THUNK.

The handaxe buried itself in the side of the Trench Licker's neck. The creature screamed. Dark fluid sprayed across my sleeve. A red health bar appeared above it and dropped. Not enough. But this time I'd actually fucking hit it.

“YES!”

The Trench Licker whipped its head sideways. My grip tore loose and the axe ripped free. Then one of its claws slashed across my ribs. Fabric tore. Heat exploded along my side.

“FUCK!”

I stumbled backward. Three cuts had opened through my brown shirt. Blood immediately began soaking into the fabric. A notification flickered. Minor Bleeding The AI spoke again. See? Much better. You solved your inadequate-length problem by simply getting dangerously close to the thing trying to eat you. A pause. I'm sure this coping strategy will never become a recurring theme.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The claw strike hurt enough to make my vision flash white, but the health bar over the Trench Licker was still there. That mattered more. It had already proven that leaving a wounded thing alive was a good way to get clawed again, so I planted my feet, ignored the wet heat spreading under my shirt, and went back in.

The creature snapped its tongue at me. I slipped outside the line of it, stepped farther than felt sane, and chopped into the same damaged side of its neck. The little red bar dropped again. It tried to recoil, and I followed. I wasn't thinking about looking cool or conserving energy. I was watching that bar. As long as there was red left, the problem was still alive.

I hit it again. The blade glanced off something hard, jarred my wrist, and nearly came free. The Trench Licker raked one claw across the stone where my ankle had been a second earlier. I shifted, crowded it, and swung a fourth time. This one landed deep enough that the creature collapsed sideways, legs folding beneath it. The health bar finally emptied. A tone chimed in my head. I barely heard it because Ashley shouted my name.

The second Trench Licker had gone for her. Bruno was barking and lunging at the end of the leash while Ashley backed away with my hunting knife in both hands. I moved toward them automatically, but the situation was different now. Ashley wasn't helpless. She had space, the monster was focused on her, and for the first time since this started I had a second to do something other than panic with an axe.

I circled wide and made myself annoying. Every time the creature tried to square up on Ashley, I moved into its peripheral line and forced it to account for me. When its tongue snapped toward my chest, I jumped back and yelled, and Ashley used the opening to step in with the knife. Her first stab was ugly and shallow, but it landed. The health bar appeared.

After that, I didn't try to steal the fight from her. I kept the creature turning, threatened it whenever it committed too hard, and stayed close enough that if Ashley lost control I could go back in. She adjusted faster than I expected. The next time the tongue shot past her, she caught the creature on the side. The third time, she drove the hunting knife into the soft tissue under its jaw and ripped it free.

The Trench Licker spasmed. Its health bar vanished. For a second Ashley just stood there, breathing hard, staring at the body. Then she looked at the bloody knife in her hand and said, very quietly, “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” I said. My ribs burned when I breathed, but I was grinning anyway. “You killed it.”

Bruno solved the emotional complexity of the moment by immediately trying to eat the corpse.

“Puppy, no!” I lunged for him at the same time Ashley shouted, “BRUNO!” He managed one disgusting mouthful before we hauled him back, tail wagging like he had just won a prize.

A tiny symbol flashed over him and vanished before either of us could make sense of it. Then the dungeon began handing out notifications for the fight, and whatever fragile sense of normalcy I had left disappeared with them. I crouched in front of Dogmeat and grabbed both sides of his face.

“Puppy.”

His jowls squished between my hands. He stared at me with the calm, drooling confidence of an animal who had just eaten something he absolutely should not have eaten. I turned his head left. Then right. Opened his mouth.

“Let me see.”

Dogmeat tried to lick my wrist.

“Did you get a loot box?”

Ashley stared down at me.

“A what?”

“Maybe that symbol meant he got something.”

“He ate part of a monster.”

“I know.”

“You say that like this is normal.”

“I’m trying to work with the information available.”

I checked his eyes. Normal. Tongue. Still enormous. Drool. Excessive, but that was less a medical symptom and more a defining characteristic.

“Do you feel weird, puppy?”

Dogmeat panted.

“Very informative.”

Ashley folded her arms.

“You think the dungeon gave my dog a prize for eating that thing?”

“I got a box for helping you kill yours.”

“You didn’t eat it.”

“That’s a fair distinction.”

Dogmeat sneezed directly into my face. I closed my eyes.

“Thank you.”

Ashley laughed. I wiped my cheek with my sleeve and looked up at her. Then remembered something much more important.

“Wait.”

Her smile disappeared.

“What?”

I stood.

“You’re not getting away with this.”

“With what?”

“The achievement.”

Ashley immediately looked away.

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.”

“It was stupid.”

“That makes me want to know more.”

“No.”

“You spent the last two minutes laughing because the AI called me Short Stack.”

“That was funny.”

“And now we believe in privacy?”

“Yes.”

“Nope.”

Ashley started walking. I followed.

“Tell me.”

“No.”

“What did it call you?”

“Ark.”

“What?”

“That tone isn’t going to work.”

“What tone?”

“The annoying one.”

“I don’t have an annoying tone.”

She looked at me. I thought about that.

“Okay. I probably have several.”

Dogmeat waddled between us. I pointed at Ashley.

“You are telling me.”

She kept walking.

“No.”

“Did it call you Stabby?”

“No.”

“Knife Wife?”

She stopped.

“What?”

“I don’t know. It’s an alien computer.”

“That was terrible.”

“Fitness Murder Barbie?”

Ashley looked offended.

“Why Barbie?”

“You’re wearing workout clothes and you stabbed an alien.”

“That doesn’t make me Barbie.”

“Reality TV Serial Killer?”

“Ark.”

“Cardio Killer?”

She started laughing despite herself. I pointed at her.

“See? We’re getting warmer.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Gym Reaper?”

“Stop.”

“Pilates Punisher?”

“I don’t do Pilates.”

“Okay, important clue.”

“It is not a clue.”

Dogmeat snorted. I looked down.

“Puppy, what did it call her?”

Ashley pointed at him.

“Do not involve Bruno.”

I paused.

“Bruno.”

She stared at me.

“Yes.”

“Right.”

“You forgot again.”

“No.”

“You absolutely forgot.”

“I remembered eventually.”

“You remembered because I just said it.”

“That still counts.”

Ashley shook her head. Then a notification tone chimed. Both of us stopped. A new box appeared in my vision.

SOCIAL TIP!

“Oh, come on.”

The AI sounded delighted. Crawler Ashley has declined to voluntarily disclose her recent achievement title. Ashley’s eyes widened.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Fortunately, confidentiality agreements are for people who can afford lawyers. I looked at Ashley. She looked horrified. The AI continued. Crawler Ashley has earned the achievement: A dramatic pause.

FIRST BLOOD, BESTIE!

I stared at her. Ashley covered her face. I lost it. Not a polite laugh. Not a small one. I bent forward and laughed so hard my ribs immediately reminded me they had been clawed open.

“OW—fuck—”

Ashley pointed at me.

“Good.”

I was still laughing.

“FIRST BLOOD, BESTIE?”

“Shut up.”

The AI continued. You performed your first confirmed kill while wearing coordinated athletic wear and receiving active emotional support from another crawler. Ashley looked at the ceiling.

“I hate you.”

Somewhere, a reality television producer just got an erection. I made a noise that was halfway between a laugh and a cough. Ashley stared at me.

“Do not.”

I held up a hand.

“I’m trying.”

“You are not trying.”

Reward: One Bronze Violence-With-Friends Box!

Ashley froze. Then slowly lowered her hands.

“A box?”

I pointed at her.

“See?”

Her expression changed instantly.

“That sounds better than yours.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Reward access unavailable until completion of crawler orientation. Ashley sighed. Then she looked at Dogmeat.

“Can he actually get boxes?”

I looked down at him. He was sniffing the dead Trench Licker again.

“Puppy.”

His head came up. The little glowing symbol did not return. I frowned.

“Maybe.”

Ashley crouched beside him now.

“Bruno, seriously. Stop eating things.”

Dogmeat wagged his tail. I looked at the corpse. Then at the place where the symbol had appeared over him. Something about it bothered me. Not because it looked dangerous. Because it looked deliberate. The system had noticed him. And if there was one thing I had already learned about this dungeon, it was that being noticed was not necessarily a good thing.

We left the two Trench Licker corpses behind because neither of us knew that corpses could have inventories yet. I would become irritated about that later. At the time, I was more interested in finding somewhere that didn't smell like alien saliva and blood.

The dungeon corridors were all rough stone, yellowish light, and turns that looked identical until the new HUD insisted they weren't. Ashley kept Bruno close. I kept the handaxe ready and tried not to move like my ribs had been opened a few minutes earlier. The cuts still hurt, but something strange was happening underneath the pain: the bleeding had slowed on its own, and the red portion of my health bar was inching back toward full.

“Are you healing?” Ashley asked after catching me checking the wound for the third time.

“I think so.” I touched the torn edge of my shirt. The cuts were still angry and sore, but the Minor Bleeding notice had already faded. “Apparently the dungeon comes with passive regeneration. That is a sentence I did not expect to say tonight.”

Bruno snorted and pulled toward a wall. At first I thought he had smelled another monster. Then I saw the sign. It was carved into the stone in almost the same color as everything around it, the kind of sign somebody could miss while looking directly at it.

TUTORIAL GUILD HALL

The moment I read it, the interface chimed. My minimap sharpened, new icons appeared, and the dungeon congratulated me for accomplishing the heroic task of reading a sign. Ashley stared at the notification, then at the deliberately camouflaged lettering.

“They hid the tutorial?” she asked.

“Of course they hid the tutorial.”

The door beside the sign opened onto a room that looked more like somebody's cramped office than a mystical guild hall. There was a desk, mismatched chairs, shelves, a bed shoved against one wall, and a four-eyed gray-green man sitting behind the desk with the exhausted expression of someone whose shift had started with the end of a planet.

He looked at Ashley, looked at me, looked at Bruno, and then looked at the blood all over us. “Wonderful,” he said. “Fresh crawlers.” That was how we met Vellix.

Crossing the threshold triggered another notice: Tutorial Guild Hall. Safe Zone. Level timer still active. Vellix made us sit down long enough to explain that the sign had upgraded our HUD and that finishing orientation here would unlock the rest of the crawler interface. He also explained, in the tone of a man who had repeated the sentence too many times, that a safe zone was not permission to forget the floor timer existed.

I had questions. A lot of questions. Stats. Experience. Inventory. Classes. Loot. Party mechanics. Whether the dungeon connected to other entrances. Whether there was any way to find specific people. Vellix answered some, refused others, and eventually held up all four hands.

“One thing at a time.”

That was when the subject of forming a party came up, and I gave Ashley the most sophisticated tactical argument available to me.

“Teamwork makes the dream work.”

Ashley stared at me. Vellix stared at me. Dogmeat wagged his tail. I shrugged.

“What?”

Ashley gave me a look. “That's what you're going with?”

“It's true.”

I pointed between us.

“We're better off together than separate. If this works anything like the games I've played, being in a party probably means we share experience somehow, maybe loot too. Or we decide who gets what. Either way, running around alone seems stupid.”

Ashley glanced toward Vellix.

“He actually knows what he's talking about?”

“Parts of it,” Vellix said.

I pointed at him.

“See?”

“Do not become encouraged.”

I ignored him.

“And eventually we get classes, right?”

Vellix nodded.

“Third Floor.”

Ashley frowned. “Classes like what?”

“Basically what you're good at,” I said. “Fighter, rogue, mage, healer. Stuff like that.”

Vellix raised one finger.

“That explanation is both grossly inadequate and, for the next five minutes, sufficient.”

Ashley looked at me again.

“So you're saying we should pick different ones?”

“Not necessarily just different. Complementary.”

She blinked.

“English.”

“If we're both good at exactly the same thing, then anything that counters one of us counters both of us.”

I pointed at her.

“You're already faster than me.”

“You don't know that.”

“I watched you move.”

She raised an eyebrow. I immediately realized how that sounded.

“In the fight.”

“I know.”

“Good.”

Ashley smiled slightly. I continued.

“You're athletic. You moved really well when that thing attacked you. Maybe the dungeon pushes you toward something physical.”

Then I pointed to myself.

“I don't know what I'm doing yet.”

Vellix snorted.

“An unusually accurate self-assessment.”

“But that's kind of the point. We shouldn't decide right now that you're the fighter and I'm whatever. We see what we're actually good at first. Then when classes show up, we choose stuff that lets us cover each other's weaknesses.”

Ashley slowly nodded.

“So, like a team on a reality show.”

I paused.

“...Sure.”

Her expression brightened.

“Oh. Okay.”

I stared at her.

“That made more sense than everything I just said?”

“Yes.”

“You know what? Fine.”

Ashley gestured between us.

“You don't cast everybody who is exactly the same. You need different personalities, different strengths, people who can handle different challenges.”

I blinked.

“That's literally what I was saying.”

“No, you were talking about rogues.”

Vellix leaned back in his chair.

“This partnership is going to be exhausting.”

Dogmeat sat between us, panting happily. I crouched long enough to scratch the top of his head.

“And we have the puppy.”

“Bruno,” Ashley said.

“Right.”

“You hesitated.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

Vellix tapped the desk.

“Since you two are apparently committed to becoming whatever this is, let's correct a few misconceptions before you get yourselves killed.”

He waved a hand. Several translucent windows appeared over the desk.

“Party experience is shared based on participation and proximity. The system tracks contribution.”

I frowned.

“So if Ashley kills something I helped fight—”

“You receive experience.”

“Okay.”

“And if you stand in the corner eating something while she does all the work, you receive substantially less.”

Ashley looked at me.

“Don't.”

“Why are you assuming I'd be eating?”

“You look like a snacker.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

Vellix continued over us.

“Loot is more complicated. Some rewards are personal. Some are assigned. Some drop physically and belong to whoever manages to grab the damned thing without starting a domestic dispute. Quest rewards vary.”

“So we don't just get two copies of everything?” Ashley asked.

“No.”

“That sucks.”

“Welcome to scarcity.”

I nodded toward her.

“That means we share intelligently.”

Ashley looked suspicious.

“What does that mean?”

“If we find something that makes you twenty percent better and me two percent better, you take it.”

She considered that.

“And vice versa?”

“Obviously.”

Vellix watched me for a moment.

“Interesting.”

I looked at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I don't like when you people say that.”

“You people?”

“Alien dungeon people.”

“Technically I'm not—”

“Whatever.”

A faint smile touched his face. Then I remembered something.

“What about Dogmeat?”

Ashley sighed.

“Ark.”

“Bruno.”

“Thank you.”

Vellix looked toward the bulldog.

“Pets complicate party calculations.”

Dogmeat stared back at him.

“Registered pets can contribute to combat, receive certain benefits from their bonded crawler, qualify for equipment, and under some circumstances develop their own advancement paths.”

Both Ashley and I looked down at the dog. Dogmeat scratched his ear.

“What does that mean?” Ashley asked.

“It means,” I said slowly, “your dog might level up.”

Ashley stared.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Vellix folded all four hands together.

“Yes.”

Dogmeat sneezed. Ashley pointed at him.

“He eats socks.”

“Then pray his class options are forgiving.”

I laughed. Ashley did not. Vellix brought up another window.

“Now. Formal party registration.”

A translucent prompt appeared in front of both of us.

PARTY INVITATION

Crawler Ark has proposed forming a party with Crawler Ashley. I looked at Vellix.

“I did?”

“You effectively did.”

“Fair.”

Another line appeared. Accepting will enable shared party communication, proximity-based experience contribution, party status displays, and cooperative mapping functions. Then: WARNING: Being in a party does not legally require members to share loot, food, medical resources, shelter, affection, emotional support, or custody of domesticated animals. I slowly looked down at Dogmeat. Ashley pointed at me.

“Don't.”

The AI's voice slid into the room. We added that last one specifically for this party.

“Fuck you,” Ashley said.

Dogmeat immediately got up and walked over to me. I scratched his cheeks.

“Puppyyyy.”

Ashley closed her eyes. The AI continued. Look at that. The custody battle has already begun.

“I hate this place,” Ashley muttered.

I looked at her. She looked back at me. Then she tapped something only she could see. A tone sounded.

PARTY FORMED.

The HUD changed. Two small health bars appeared beneath mine.

ASHLEY — LEVEL 2

BRUNO — PET

I stared at the second name.

“Ohhh.”

Ashley saw my expression.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“I have his name in my HUD now.”

She pointed at me.

“You have no excuse anymore.”

I looked directly at the display.

BRUNO

Then down at him.

“Dogmeat.”

Ashley threw both hands into the air.

“ARK!”

I laughed. Vellix covered his lower pair of eyes. The AI chimed.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!

Ashley immediately stopped.

“No.”

I grinned.

“Oh, this is going to be good.”

SELECTIVE LITERACY!

I laughed before it even finished. You successfully read your pet-adjacent companion's registered name directly from your heads-up display and immediately chose to ignore it. Dogmeat wagged his tail. Some people overcome their shortcomings. You have elected to preserve yours for comedic consistency. Ashley pointed upward.

“Thank you!”

“Do not side with it.”

Reward: Nothing.

A beat. Bruno deserves better.

“Okay, fuck you.”

Ashley was laughing now. Vellix slammed one palm against the desk.

“Enough.”

The room quieted.

“Party formed. Wonderful. Congratulations. You've discovered cooperation several billion dead humans too late.”

That shut us up. Vellix stood.

“All joking aside, your instinct is correct. The crawlers who survive aren't necessarily the strongest individuals. They are the ones who understand what the people around them can do.”

His upper eyes moved to Ashley.

“Do not assume athleticism makes you a fighter.”

Then to me.

“Do not assume game knowledge makes you clever.”

He looked at Dogmeat.

“And do not assume being adorable makes you useful.”

Dogmeat panted. Vellix stared at him.

“Although statistically, that one has a disturbingly good chance.”

I smiled.

“That's my puppy.”

Ashley made an annoyed noise. Vellix sat again.

“Classes come later. Until then, every action you take matters. How you fight. How you move. How you solve problems. What weapons you use. What risks you accept. The system is watching.”

I thought about the axe. The missed swings. Having to move closer. Vellix noticed.

“Yes,” he said.

“What?”

“You're thinking about something.”

“No.”

“You have a terrible poker face.”

Ashley nodded.

“He really does.”

“Why are we piling on me?”

Vellix ignored that.

“Do not try to manufacture a build. Survive. The dungeon will record the rest.”

That made sense. More than I wanted it to. He reached for the metallic tablets again.

“Now we start orientation.”

Ashley leaned forward.

“Does that mean we get the boxes?”

Vellix smiled.

“All of them.”

My HUD exploded with icons.

BRONZE SUPPORTER'S BOX

SILVER PREFERRED-STRANGER PET BOX

Several others I hadn't noticed yet appeared beneath them. Ashley made a small noise. Her own eyes were scanning something. Then she stopped. Her expression changed.

“What?”

She didn't answer.

“What did you get?”

“I don't know.”

Vellix looked over her list. His eyebrows rose. All four of them.

“Oh.”

Ashley immediately looked worried.

“What does ‘oh’ mean?”

Vellix leaned closer.

“Well.”

He looked down at Bruno. Then at Ashley.

“You weren't merely one of the first crawlers through an entrance with a domesticated animal.”

A gold-edged icon materialized above Ashley's open palm. Dogmeat's tail stopped wagging. Even I could tell this box wasn't like the others. Vellix smiled.

“You did considerably better than that.”

The icon flashed.

LEGENDARY PET BOX

Ashley stared at it. I stared at it. Then another notification appeared in front of me. Not legendary. Not gold. Silver. The AI's voice returned. And it sounded much, much too pleased with itself. Oh, don't worry, Ark. I immediately frowned. We didn't forget about you.

Vellix finally unlocked the reward queue, and the room filled with translucent icons. Ashley's gold-edged Legendary Pet Box hovered among them. Mine was silver and had a title so specific that I immediately knew the AI had been paying attention to the way Bruno acted around me.

SILVER PREFERRED-STRANGER PET BOX

“Preferred stranger?” Ashley read. “You've known him for a year.”

“I still don't know his name.”

“His name is Bruno.”

“Right. Exactly.”

The box opened with an unnecessarily cheerful fanfare. A small tag appeared in my hand, dark metal with a paw-print symbol stamped into the face.

THE OTHER HUMAN TAG — RARE PET ACCESSORY

The description informed us that Bruno had registered an unusually strong secondary social bond with a crawler who was not his owner. If Ashley equipped the tag to him, an ability called COME HERE, PUPPY! would give Bruno a temporary movement bonus when moving toward me. It did not compel obedience, override Ashley's commands, or transfer ownership.

The AI added, with obvious delight, that Ashley remained responsible for food, vet care, and poop while I had apparently secured the prestigious role of fun idiot who scratches his face and refuses to learn his name. Ashley laughed so hard she had to put a hand on the desk. I objected to several parts of the description. Bruno came over and shoved his head against my leg, which damaged my argument considerably.

Then Ashley's Legendary Pet Box opened. The room changed with it. Even Vellix stopped looking bored. A single biscuit appeared in Ashley's hand, larger than an ordinary dog treat and threaded with faint gold light.

LEGENDARY COMPANION ASCENSION BISCUIT

Vellix explained what the system would guarantee and, more importantly, what it would not. The transformation would be permanent. The result could alter Bruno's body, intelligence, communication, dungeon eligibility, and advancement path. The exact physical outcome was not guaranteed. His existing social bonds and personality would normally survive the change, but this was the dungeon, and Vellix refused to promise anything beyond the wording the system itself provided.

Ashley went very still. Bruno did not. He stared at the biscuit with the absolute focus of a creature who had recently tried to eat an alien corpse. After a long moment, Ashley held the biscuit between two fingers and looked at me.

“If this were you,” she said, “would you give it to him?”

I looked at Bruno. He looked at the biscuit. This was not currently an intellectual exchange.

“I wouldn't just give it to him.”

Ashley frowned. “What?”

“I'd let him decide.”

“How?”

I shrugged. “Put it down.” Vellix's four eyes shifted toward me. Ashley stared.

“You realize he's a dog.”

“Yeah.”

“He doesn't understand permanent biological transformation.”

“No.”

“He thinks dryer sheets are food.”

“That's more concerning.”

“Ark.”

I looked at Bruno again. The problem was that I understood exactly what she was worried about. This wasn't some new collar. It wasn't a stat potion. Whatever was inside that biscuit could permanently change him. Maybe he'd become bigger. Smarter. Stronger. Maybe he'd start talking. Maybe he'd grow six legs and a mouth that opened sideways and spend the rest of his life looking like something that should be killed with fire. I pointed at the biscuit.

“The system said the transformation is random, but did it say it changes who he is?”

Ashley looked toward Vellix. The Guild Master shook his head.

“Transformation effects generally alter physiology, cognition, compatibility, and advancement potential. Existing social bonds are normally preserved.”

“Normally?” Ashley asked.

“There are no guarantees in the dungeon.”

I hated that answer. Ashley did too.

“So he could turn into one of those things we just killed?” she asked.

“A Trench Licker,” I said.

She pointed at me. “That.” Vellix considered it.

“Possible? Technically.”

Ashley immediately lowered the biscuit.

“No.”

“But,” Vellix continued, “he would not suddenly decide you were prey merely because his physical form changed. Behavioral changes can occur. Instincts can change. Intelligence can change dramatically. But this is not a mind-erasure item.”

I looked at Ashley.

“So if he became some horrible six-legged tongue monster—”

“Please stop saying it like that.”

“—he'd still be Bruno.”

Vellix nodded.

“Most likely.”

Dogmeat sneezed. I crouched in front of him.

“Puppy.”

His tongue came out. There was something deeply unfair about asking a bulldog to make a life-altering decision when his current decision-making process appeared to consist primarily of Can I eat it? and Will Ark scratch my face? But there was another side to it. I looked at Ashley.

“If we don't do it, he's still going through the dungeon.”

She stopped.

“He's a normal bulldog right now.”

“I know.”

“We've been in here what? Twenty minutes?”

“Something like that.”

“And two monsters already tried to eat us.”

Ashley looked down at him. Bruno was built like a tank if your definition of tank was short, wide, snored loudly, and occasionally struggled with stairs. He was still just a dog. No armor. No weapon. No ability to understand why something wanted to kill him.

“If this place gets worse,” I said, “being normal might be more dangerous than changing.”

Ashley rubbed behind one of his ears. His eyes half closed. I thought about Millie. If she had somehow been here with me, I knew what I'd want to do.

“I'd let my dog choose.”

Ashley looked at me.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Same way.”

I nodded toward Bruno.

“Put it in front of him. Don't tell him to eat it. Don't hide it in anything. Just let him decide whether he wants it.”

Ashley looked skeptical.

“My dog would probably sniff it and walk away.”

“Bruno tried to eat a dead alien ten minutes ago.”

“That's different.”

“How?”

She opened her mouth. Stopped.

“Okay. Fair.”

I held out my hand.

“Want me to do it?”

“No.”

She crouched herself. Bruno immediately focused on the biscuit again. Ashley placed it on the floor. Then she pulled her hand away.

“Okay, Bruno.”

She sat back.

“No commands.”

I crouched beside her.

“No puppy voice.”

Ashley looked at me.

“Especially no puppy voice.”

“I wasn't going to.”

“You absolutely were.”

We both watched. Bruno stared at the biscuit. The biscuit sat there. Bruno looked at Ashley. Then at me. Then back at the biscuit. He sniffed it once. Twice. Ashley held her breath. I genuinely thought he might walk away. Then—

CHOMP.

“Oh, fuck,” Ashley said.

Bruno swallowed the entire thing. No chewing. Nothing. Just gone. I stared.

“You didn't even taste it.”

Ashley grabbed his face.

“BRUNO!”

He licked her hand.

“You idiot!”

The AI chimed. Consumer choice confirmed. Ashley froze. Vellix stood.

“Back up.”

“What?”

“Both of you. Now.”

That was enough for me. I grabbed Ashley by the shoulder and pulled her backward. Dogmeat remained sitting in the middle of the room. His head tilted.

“Puppy?”

Ashley slapped my arm.

“You said no puppy voice!”

“I panicked!”

Bruno's tail wagged once. Then his entire body went rigid. Ashley stopped breathing.

“Bruno?”

A golden line appeared beneath his paws. It traced a circle around him. Then another. Then another. Symbols spread across the floor. His HUD label flickered.

BRUNO — PET

Gone. Back. Gone.

BRUNO — QUALIFYING COMPANION

Gone.

ERROR

“Oh, I don't like that,” I said.

Ashley looked at Vellix.

“What does error mean?”

“I don't know.”

“You're the tutorial guy!”

“I said I don't know!”

Bruno made a noise. Not a bark. A deep, uncomfortable groan. His legs buckled. Ashley lunged forward. The safe room slammed an invisible barrier between them. She hit it with both hands.

“BRUNO!”

“He's protected,” Vellix said.

“LET ME THROUGH!”

“He's transforming. You cannot interfere.”

Bruno's body began changing. His shoulders widened first. Then his front legs. Bones shifted under skin with a series of horrifying pops. I winced.

“Oh, Jesus.”

Ashley turned toward me.

“You said this was a good idea!”

“I said let him choose!”

“He's a DOG!”

“He chose really fast!”

“That doesn't help!”

Bruno grew. Not explosively. Slowly enough to make every second worse. His chest expanded. His front legs lengthened. His paws spread against the floor. His hindquarters shifted underneath him. For one terrifying moment I thought we were actually getting the Trench Licker result. Then he stood. On two legs. Ashley stopped shouting.

I stopped breathing. The creature inside the circle was maybe six and a half feet tall. Broad. Very broad. He still had the unmistakable head of an English bulldog—heavy jowls, short muzzle, wrinkled forehead—but now it sat atop the body of something built like a heavyweight wrestler. Short brown-and-white fur covered most of him.

His hands were enormous, thick-fingered paws that had developed enough articulation to resemble hands without becoming remotely human. His legs remained slightly bowed. His stomach was still a little round. Because apparently some things were sacred. And he was completely naked. I stared. Ashley stared. Vellix stared. I pointed.

“Does he—”

“No,” Ashley said.

“I was just—”

“Don't.”

The golden light intensified. A new label formed above him.

BRUNO

It flickered.

DOGMEAT

Ashley slowly turned toward me.

“No.”

“I didn't do anything.”

The letters scrambled again. The AI began laughing. Actually laughing.

“Oh, come on,” Ashley whispered.

The name finalized. PUPPY Dogmeat There was silence. I stared upward.

“What the fuck is Puppy Dogmeat?”

Companion identity successfully generated from dominant social-language associations, existing nickname data, transformation compatibility, and one crawler's persistent inability to use the animal's real fucking name. Ashley looked at me.

“This is your fault.”

“How is that my fault?”

“You called him Dogmeat!”

“His name says Puppy Dogmeat!”

Yes. The AI sounded extremely pleased. Puppy. Dogmeat. Dogmeat. A pause. Language is beautiful. Ashley covered her face.

“Oh my God.”

The transformation circle vanished. The invisible barrier disappeared. Puppy Dogmeat stood motionless. Then his eyes opened. Same eyes. That was the first thing I noticed. Still Bruno. He looked at Ashley. Then at me. His giant bulldog mouth opened. A voice came out. Deep. Not just deep. Movie-trailer deep. The kind of voice you'd expect from an ancient warrior who had spent three thousand years guarding a mountain.

“Ashley.”

Her hands flew to her mouth.

“Oh my God.”

His eyes widened. He touched his throat.

“I HAVE WORDS.”

I lost it. Ashley was crying and laughing at the same time.

“Bruno?”

He looked at her.

“I AM BRUNO.”

She ran forward and wrapped both arms around him. Puppy Dogmeat stood there stiffly for half a second. Then those enormous arms carefully wrapped around her. His tail started wagging. It was still there. Just significantly larger now. Thump. Thump. Thump. Each hit against the back of his leg sounded like somebody smacking a couch cushion with a baseball bat. Ashley buried her face against his chest.

“You're okay.”

“I AM OKAY.”

“You're really okay?”

“I AM VERY BIG.”

I had to turn away. That sentence delivered in that voice almost killed me. Ashley looked over her shoulder.

“Don't laugh!”

“I'm not!”

“I CAN SEE ARK LAUGHING.”

I froze. Slowly turned. Puppy Dogmeat looked directly at me. His expression changed. His enormous tongue fell out of his mouth. The tail accelerated.

THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP.

“Oh no.”

He released Ashley.

“ARK.”

I backed up.

“Puppy?”

His eyes lit up.

“PUPPY.”

He charged.

“WAIT—”

Six and a half feet of transformed bulldog hit me like a linebacker. I went backward. The safe-zone floor caught me considerably harder than I would've preferred. Puppy Dogmeat landed on top of me.

“JESUS CHRIST!”

He started licking my face. His tongue was enormous.

“PUPPY! STOP! STOP!”

“I LOVE ARK.”

Ashley stood over us. For several seconds she said nothing. Then:

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

I shoved at his massive shoulder. It did absolutely nothing.

“GET OFF!”

“I AM HAPPY.”

“I CAN TELL!”

Vellix was doubled over behind the desk. The AI chimed.

SOCIAL ANALYSIS UPDATE!

Ashley pointed upward.

“Don't.”

Previous Bruno priority rankings have been recalculated following cognitive enhancement.

“No.”

A list appeared. 1. Ashley Ashley smiled.

“Thank you.”

2. Ark I grinned. 1A. Ark using the puppy voice Ashley's smile vanished. I started laughing again. Puppy Dogmeat looked down at me.

“I LIKE THE PUPPY VOICE.”

“See?”

Ashley pointed at me.

“Do not encourage him.”

Puppy Dogmeat finally climbed off. I sat up and wiped half a gallon of drool from my face. My ribs screamed.

“Okay. We need rules.”

“I KNOW RULES.”

I looked at him.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“What are rules?”

Puppy Dogmeat thought very hard. His forehead wrinkled. Then, in the deepest voice imaginable:

“NO EATING SOCKS.”

Ashley stared at him. I stared at her. She slowly nodded.

“That is technically a rule.”

“I KNOW MANY THINGS.”

“Name another.”

He considered this.

“OUTSIDE IS FOR PEE.”

I fell backward laughing.

“I know many things.”

“Name another.”

Puppy Dogmeat thought very hard.

“OUTSIDE IS FOR PEE.”

I fell backward laughing. Ashley covered her face. Vellix made a strangled sound behind the desk. The AI, mercifully, said nothing. For about ten seconds. Then every light in the room flashed gold. A notification slammed into my vision.

SYSTEM CLASSIFICATION UPDATE

I stopped laughing. Ashley looked up.

“What now?”

Puppy Dogmeat froze. A line of text appeared over his head.

PUPPY DOGMEAT — LEVEL 2 COMPANION

It flickered. Disappeared. Reappeared. Then the word COMPANION vanished. Vellix stood so quickly his chair fell backward.

“Oh.”

Ashley immediately looked at him.

“What does oh mean?”

A second line appeared. Sapience threshold confirmed. Then: Independent cognition confirmed. Then: Autonomous advancement eligibility confirmed. Vellix stared. All four eyes widened.

“No fucking way.”

I looked at him.

“That seems bad.”

“No. Not bad.”

The text changed again. Previous classification invalid. Reassigning entity status. Puppy Dogmeat looked up at the floating words.

“I AM AN ENTITY.”

Ashley grabbed his arm.

“You're Bruno.”

“I AM ALSO BRUNO.”

Then the new designation appeared.

PUPPY DOGMEAT

CRAWLER

LEVEL 2

Nobody spoke. Puppy Dogmeat read it. Slowly. Then looked at us.

“I AM A CRAWLER.”

Ashley stared at Vellix.

“He's what?”

Vellix walked around the desk.

“I've seen pets become enhanced. I've seen bonded animals receive advanced companion status. But the biscuit pushed him past the companion threshold.”

I stood.

“So he's one of us now?”

Vellix looked at Puppy Dogmeat.

“Systemically?”

He nodded.

“Yes.”

Ashley looked like she wasn't sure whether to be excited or horrified.

“What does that mean?”

Puppy Dogmeat raised one huge hand.

“I WOULD ALSO LIKE TO KNOW.”

Vellix pointed at him.

“That.”

“What?”

“He can ask.”

Puppy Dogmeat looked proud.

“I ASKED.”

“Yes.”

Vellix gestured in the air.

“Crawler status means he is no longer classified as your pet for dungeon progression.”

Ashley frowned.

“He's still my dog.”

Puppy Dogmeat immediately said, “YES.” Vellix nodded.

“Emotionally, socially, historically? Absolutely.”

Then he pointed toward the HUD label.

“But the dungeon no longer considers him property, equipment, a summoned entity, or a companion-slot creature.”

I looked at Dogmeat. He looked back.

“So he's a party member.”

“Correct.”

Puppy Dogmeat's tail started wagging.

“I AM A PARTY MEMBER.”

I grinned.

“You are.”

“I HAVE BEEN PROMOTED.”

Ashley rubbed her forehead.

“You were a dog twenty minutes ago.”

“I AM STILL DOG.”

“Technically,” Vellix said, “that's now debatable.”

Ashley glared at him.

“Don't.”

Vellix wisely stopped. Another notification appeared.

PARTY CONFIGURATION UPDATED

Our HUD shifted. Previously, beneath my own bar, I'd seen:

ASHLEY — LEVEL 2

BRUNO — PET

Now it read:

ASHLEY — LEVEL 2

PUPPY DOGMEAT — LEVEL 2

Three full health bars. Three crawler icons. Three party members. I looked at Ashley. She was staring at the same thing.

“He has his own health bar.”

Vellix nodded.

“His own inventory too.”

Puppy Dogmeat gasped.

“I HAVE POCKETS?”

“No,” Vellix said.

Puppy Dogmeat looked devastated.

“Virtual inventory.”

“Oh.”

He thought about it.

“BETTER POCKETS.”

Vellix continued.

“Achievements. Skills. Loot eligibility. Personal rewards. Party chat. Quest participation.”

I raised a finger.

“Classes?”

“Eventually.”

Puppy Dogmeat's eyes widened.

“I GET A CLASS.”

“Third Floor.”

“I WANT DOG CLASS.”

Ashley looked at him.

“I don't think that's how it works.”

“I AM DOG.”

“That part is true.”

The AI chimed.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!

Puppy Dogmeat stiffened.

“I GET THESE?”

“Oh no,” I said.

The AI's voice boomed through the safe room.

WHO'S A REAL BOY?

I immediately started laughing. Ashley pointed toward the ceiling.

“Don't you dare.”

You entered the dungeon as a domesticated bulldog and have successfully achieved full crawler recognition without completing a single tax return, standardized test, job interview, or other meaningless ritual humans traditionally require before pretending someone is an adult. Puppy Dogmeat listened intensely. Congratulations, Crawler Puppy Dogmeat. You are now legally recognized by the World Dungeon as an independent sapient contestant. A pause. Please try not to eat any more socks. Puppy Dogmeat looked ashamed.

“I ATE ONE SOCK.”

Ashley folded her arms.

“Last week.”

“I WAS DIFFERENT THEN.”

I lost it again. The AI continued.

Reward: One Silver New Crawler Box.

Puppy Dogmeat raised both fists.

“I GOT A BOX!”

Vellix looked at me.

“Your party has been together for less than an hour.”

“Yeah.”

“And somehow he's already the most enthusiastic crawler.”

“That tracks.”

The menus fully unlocked. Mine opened almost instinctively.

CRAWLER ARK

LEVEL 2

Stats. Skills. Inventory. Achievements. Chat. Map. Equipment. Party. I opened Skills first. A few immediately stood out.

BOXING

I smiled. Ashley noticed.

“What?”

“It recognized boxing.”

“You box?”

“Yeah.”

She looked surprised.

“You never told me that.”

“We mostly talk about your dog.”

Puppy Dogmeat nodded solemnly.

“GOOD TOPIC.”

I kept scrolling.

FOOTWORK

BASIC EVASION

PHOTOGRAPHY

I stopped.

“Oh.”

Ashley leaned closer.

“What?”

“Photography is actually a skill.”

“That makes sense.”

“Does it?”

“You carry that camera everywhere.”

Fair. I opened the description.

PHOTOGRAPHY

A pre-dungeon observational discipline involving composition, timing, movement tracking, light awareness, positioning, and equipment familiarity. Then: At low levels this skill provides no magical effect. Stop getting excited. I stared upward.

“Fuck you.”

The AI immediately replied. You're welcome. Another line appeared. Repeated dungeon use may generate related skills depending on behavior. That part interested me. I looked at my camera. Still just a camera. Good. Ashley opened her own menu.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Endurance.”

“Not surprising.”

“Running.”

“Also not surprising.”

She continued.

“Balance. Fitness conditioning. Basic evasion.”

She frowned.

“No stabbing?”

Vellix looked at her.

“You've used a knife for approximately four minutes.”

Ashley shrugged.

“It went well.”

“Would you like the system to declare you Empress of Knives?”

She considered it.

“That sounds kind of cool.”

“It would also get you killed.”

Puppy Dogmeat was poking invisible windows.

“I HAVE SMELL.”

I looked at him.

“You have what?”

“SMELL.”

Ashley leaned over.

“What does it say?”

He sounded out the words carefully.

“ENHANCED SCENT.”

He puffed out his chest.

“I SMELL BETTER.”

I sniffed.

“I wouldn't say that.”

Ashley laughed. Puppy Dogmeat frowned. Then smelled himself.

“I SMELL LIKE BLOOD.”

“You do.”

“I DO NOT LIKE THAT.”

“Welcome to the dungeon.”

His skills were more substantial than I'd expected. Enhanced Scent Powerful Bite Improved Durability Heavy Body Basic Bipedal Movement Social Bond: Ashley Then: Social Bond: Ark Ashley saw it too. Her eyes narrowed.

“Why is yours so high?”

I grinned.

“Puppy.”

Puppy Dogmeat's tail started hammering the floor. Ashley groaned. Vellix pointed toward him.

“Don't get distracted by the size.”

Puppy Dogmeat looked offended.

“I AM LARGE.”

“Yes.”

“I AM STRONG.”

“You are stronger than you were.”

“I AM VERY STRONG.”

Vellix folded his arms.

“You currently move like a refrigerator falling down stairs.”

Puppy Dogmeat went quiet. I tried not to laugh. Then he threw a punch. It was awful. His whole body twisted. His feet crossed. He almost spun himself into the floor. I grabbed his shoulder.

“Whoa.”

“I PUNCHED.”

“You nearly punched yourself.”

“I AM LEARNING.”

That immediately triggered something in my head. Boxing. Footwork. Big frame. Heavy hands. I started mentally placing his feet. Then stopped. Vellix had already told us not to manufacture builds. Let him become whatever he actually became. I closed my menu. Then noticed my reward list. Bronze Supporter's Box Silver Preferred-Stranger Pet Box — Opened First Kill Reward Several smaller things I hadn't noticed.

Ashley had her own. Puppy Dogmeat had one too now. Silver New Crawler Box He pointed at the icon.

“I WANT OPEN.”

Vellix sighed.

“Everyone does.”

Ashley sat down.

“Can we finally do the boxes?”

“Yes.”

He looked at all three of us.

“And now that Puppy Dogmeat is a crawler, anything he receives belongs to him.”

Ashley immediately looked at him.

“Bruno, don't trade anything without asking me.”

Puppy Dogmeat stared.

“MY STUFF?”

“Yes.”

He looked delighted.

“I HAVE STUFF.”

“You will.”

“I LOVE STUFF.”

Vellix pointed at me.

“And that applies to you two as well. Personal rewards are personal property unless voluntarily transferred.”

Ashley slowly looked toward the hunting knife hanging at her hip. I saw it. She saw me see it.

“No.”

“That is my knife.”

“It came out of my reward.”

“You stabbed a monster with my knife.”

“And then the dungeon gave me a sheath.”

“For my knife.”

Puppy Dogmeat raised one hand.

“ASHLEY STOLE ARK'S KNIFE.”

“Thank you.”

“I DID NOT.”

Vellix rubbed his temples.

“Open the boxes.”

I opened the Bronze Supporter's Box. A smaller fanfare played. Three items appeared. Bandages. A small bottle. And a leather strap. I focused on the bottle. Basic Healing Potion That got my attention. My ribs still burned. My health was mostly full, though. The cuts still burned, but the Minor Bleeding status was already gone. My health had been regenerating steadily since we entered the Guild Hall, so I left the potion untouched. The strap identified itself.

SHORT-WEAPON RETENTION LANYARD

I stared.

“No.”

The AI chimed. Yes. Ashley leaned over.

“What?”

I read the description. Attaches to a qualifying one-handed melee weapon. Reduces the likelihood of dropping or losing the weapon during close combat. Then the flavor text. Since you insist on solving your reach problem by crawling practically inside the enemy's mouth, the least we can do is make sure you don't drop your adorable little axe. Ashley laughed. I looked upward.

“My axe is normal sized.”

For camping.

“Fuck you.”

For combat, it's precious. I equipped the lanyard. Practical was practical. Ashley opened her first-kill reward. A black case appeared. She opened it. Inside was a fitted sheath. For my hunting knife. I stared. She stared at me. Then smiled.

“No.”

“You haven't even heard me.”

“No.”

“That is literally shaped for my knife.”

“It was in my box.”

“You wouldn't have that box without my knife.”

“I also wouldn't have it without me.”

“That logic is bullshit.”

Puppy Dogmeat looked between us.

“I THINK ASHLEY HAS THE KNIFE.”

“Thank you, Puppy.”

“So she wins?”

“No.”

Ashley clipped the sheath to her waistband. My knife slid into it perfectly.

“Looks good.”

“That is theft.”

“You gave it to me.”

“I loaned it to you during a monster attack.”

“You didn't specify terms.”

The AI chimed. Loot lesson! I sighed. Always establish contractual weapon-lending terms before the screaming starts. Puppy Dogmeat nodded.

“GOOD RULE.”

Then he opened his Silver New Crawler Box. The fanfare was significantly louder.

“Oh, come on,” Ashley said.

Three objects appeared. A pair of enormous reinforced shorts. A wide utility belt. And a heavy metal bowl. We all stared at the bowl. Puppy Dogmeat picked it up.

“FOOD BOWL.”

The AI sounded pleased. Correct! Puppy Dogmeat beamed.

“I KNOW THINGS.”

I focused on it.

CRAWLER FEEDING VESSEL

Rare Food or liquid placed inside remains fresh for twelve hours. Contains minor anti-toxin properties when used by the registered owner. I raised an eyebrow.

“That's actually useful.”

Puppy Dogmeat hugged the bowl to his chest.

“MY BOWL.”

Ashley laughed.

“Yes. Your bowl.”

His shorts were basic armor-compatible clothing. Thank God. Vellix pointed at them.

“Put those on.”

Puppy Dogmeat looked down. Then back up.

“WHY?”

Ashley covered her eyes.

“Because you're naked.”

Puppy Dogmeat thought about that.

“I WAS ALWAYS NAKED.”

I had to turn around. Ashley made a sound like she was reconsidering every decision she'd made since entering the dungeon. Eventually Puppy Dogmeat got the shorts on. Backward. We fixed that. Then Vellix resumed the tutorial. He explained currency. Inventory limitations. Safe zones. Chat. Party mapping. The floor timer. And the one rule he repeated twice:

“Do not assume the safe zone means you have unlimited time.”

The countdown still floated in my vision.

4 DAYS : 23 HOURS : 31 MINUTES

Ashley noticed me looking.

“Four days.”

“Until the floor collapses.”

Puppy Dogmeat frowned.

“COLLAPSE BAD.”

“Very.”

Vellix nodded.

“You need to descend before the timer expires.”

Ashley crossed her arms.

“How?”

“Stairwells.”

“Where?”

“Find them.”

“That's the tutorial?”

“That's the dungeon.”

She sighed. Then a scream echoed from the corridor outside. All three of us stopped. Human. Distant. Another followed. Closer. Then shouting. I couldn't make out the words at first. Vellix didn't react. Ashley stood.

“What was that?”

“Other crawlers.”

Another scream. Then, clearly:

“HELP!”

Puppy Dogmeat's ears snapped forward. Ashley grabbed the knife. I picked up the handaxe. The safe-room door stood open. Somewhere beyond it, people were running. The unfinished tutorial remained behind us. So did unopened minor rewards. My ribs still hurt. We were safe where we stood. The people outside weren't. Ashley looked at me. Puppy Dogmeat looked at both of us.

“ARK?”

Vellix said nothing. He didn't need to. This one belonged to us. The axe came down.

THUNK.

The last sliver of red disappeared. The Gutter Jack went limp. Puppy Dogmeat was still holding it upright.

“I HOLD.”

“It's dead!”

“I HOLD DEAD.”

“Yes! Drop it!”

He released the creature.

THUD.

A translucent window immediately appeared over the corpse.

GUTTER JACK — CORPSE INVENTORY

I stopped.

“Oh.”

Ashley shouted from down the corridor.

“ARK!”

“I know!”

Three more Gutter Jacks were coming. Fast. But the corpse inventory was right there.

Current Loot Rights: Crawler Ark

13 Gold Gutter Jack Talon ×4 Torn Scavenger Wrap Unidentified Organ I mentally grabbed everything except the organ. The items vanished into inventory. The AI chimed. Congratulations! You have discovered looting. Humanity's second-oldest profession.

“What's the first?”

Your mother knows. I stared upward.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“ARK!”

“RIGHT!”

Puppy Dogmeat and I ran. Ashley was already at the Tutorial Guild Hall. The three rescued crawlers had made it inside. Puppy Dogmeat thundered alongside me, his new body somehow simultaneously powerful and completely uncoordinated.

“I AM RUNNING!”

“Yes!”

“I AM FAST!”

“KEEP BEING FAST!”

The first Gutter Jack rounded the corner behind us. Then the other two. We reached the open Guild Hall door. Ashley went through. Puppy Dogmeat followed. I crossed the threshold last.

“Close it!”

Vellix didn't. The lead Gutter Jack barreled through the doorway. I spun around with the axe raised.

“SHIT!”

“Don't,” Vellix said.

The monster lunged at me.

POP.

It vanished. I froze.

“What the—”

The second one ran in after it. It spotted Ashley. Charged.

POP.

Gone. Puppy Dogmeat's eyes widened.

“I DID NOT DO THAT.”

“Nope.”

The third Gutter Jack entered more cautiously. It stopped just inside the room. The creature looked around. At us. At Vellix. At the places where the other two had disappeared. It hissed. Vellix slowly stood from behind his desk.

“Oh, for fuck's sake.”

The Gutter Jack backed away from him. Vellix walked around the desk. The monster hissed again. He pointed toward the doorway.

“Out.”

The Gutter Jack didn't move. Vellix sighed. Then he grabbed it. I wasn't even entirely sure how. One second the monster was crouched beside the wall. The next Vellix had one of its upper limbs twisted behind its back and was physically marching the Level 3 creature toward the door like a bouncer removing a drunk from a nightclub. The Gutter Jack shrieked. Vellix shoved it through the doorway.

“Go bother somebody else's tutorial.”

The creature spun around outside. Vellix snapped his fingers.

POP.

The Gutter Jack disappeared. I stared. Ashley stared. Puppy Dogmeat stared. Vellix calmly reached for the door. I pointed at him.

“You can do that?”

“It's my room.”

He slammed the door shut.

BANG.

Then he turned around.

“Now.”

He brushed his hands together.

“Where were we?”

Nobody answered. Puppy Dogmeat raised one hand.

“I LIKED THAT.”

Vellix pointed at him.

“Thank you.”

“I WANT TO LEARN SNAP.”

“No.”

Puppy Dogmeat lowered his hand.

“I STILL LIKED IT.”

I looked toward the closed door.

“So those monsters are gone?”

“Relocated.”

“All three?”

“The first two were automatically ejected when they attacked. I relocated the third.”

“How far?”

“Random location nearby.”

“So they're still alive.”

“Yes.”

“Good to know.”

Vellix looked at me.

“That information would've been included in the tutorial you abandoned.”

I glanced at the rescued crawlers. One was crying. Another was still trying to catch his breath.

“Worth it.”

Vellix studied me for a second. Then nodded once.

“Fair.”

The AI chimed. My vision filled with notifications.

COMBAT ENCOUNTER COMPLETE

Then:

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!

NO KILL LEFT BEHIND!

You chose to finish an active hostile before retreating despite three more enemies rapidly closing on your position. A pause. Was this brave? Yes. Was it smart? Debatable. Another pause. Did watching that health bar finally hit zero feel really fucking good? I said nothing. The AI laughed. We noticed.

Reward: Bronze Threat Management Box.

Another notification replaced it.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!

LOOT GOBLIN!

Ashley immediately started laughing.

“Oh, come on.”

You stopped to loot a corpse while three hostile mobs were actively pursuing you.

“Only for like two seconds.”

Thirteen gold pieces nearly became your cause of death.

“It was thirteen gold.”

Exactly.

Reward: Nothing. You already got paid.

Puppy Dogmeat nodded solemnly.

“ARK LIKES STUFF.”

“Everyone likes stuff.”

“I LOVE MY BOWL.”

“Thank you.”

Then another notification appeared.

FIRST CORPSE LOOT COMPLETE

Mob inventory and protected loot rights have now been demonstrated. Additional details are available in your tutorial interface. I looked toward Vellix. He gestured to the chairs.

“Sit down.”

Ashley sat. The rescued crawlers followed. Puppy Dogmeat lowered himself into a chair. It creaked dangerously. I remained standing for another second. Vellix pointed.

“Sit.”

I sat. He looked around the room.

“Let's try this again.”

Then he pointed toward the closed door.

“And this time, unless somebody is actively dying, perhaps allow me to finish explaining how the goddamn dungeon works.”

I looked at the door. Then at the three people we'd just dragged back in here. One of them was still crying.

“Okay.”

Vellix stared at me.

“What?”

“I said okay.”

“You said it like someone who intends to immediately violate the agreement.”

“I don't know what you want from me.”

“Conviction.”

“If somebody screams for help again, I'm going.”

Ashley leaned back in her chair.

“There it is.”

Vellix closed all four eyes.

“Fine. Unless somebody is actively dying, we finish the tutorial.”

“Deal.”

Puppy Dogmeat raised one enormous hand.

“I ALSO HELP DYING PEOPLE.”

Vellix opened his eyes.

“Wonderful.”

“I AM HELPER.”

“You certainly are.”

Puppy Dogmeat smiled. At least, I assumed it was a smile. On a six-and-a-half-foot anthropomorphic English bulldog, the distinction between happy and I could bite through a human femur required context. Ashley scratched his arm.

“Good boy.”

His tail immediately started hammering the back of his chair.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Vellix waited. The tail kept going.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

“Can he stop doing that?”

“No,” Ashley and I said simultaneously.

Puppy Dogmeat looked delighted.

“I CANNOT.”

Vellix sighed.

“Stats.”

That got me. I sat forward. Ashley noticed immediately.

“Oh, God.”

“What?”

“You just got excited.”

“I didn't get excited.”

“You absolutely got excited.”

Vellix waved one of his hands. Five translucent bars appeared in front of me. Not bars. Numbers. My numbers. My entire body reduced to a character sheet. For about three seconds, I forgot that billions of people were probably dead. Because there were stats. Actual fucking stats.

CRAWLER ARK

Level: 2

Strength: 5

Intelligence: 6

Constitution: 5

Dexterity: 6

Charisma: 5

Stat Point Allocation: Locked until Third Floor race and class selection.

I stared at it. Then I stared some more. Ashley leaned toward me.

“What?”

“Six Intelligence.”

“That means something to you?”

“I don't know yet.”

Vellix pointed at the numbers.

“Four is approximately average for an adult human,” Vellix said. “Three to five is common. Six is well above average. Natural scores of nine or ten are exceptional.”

I nodded slowly.

“So I'm smart.”

Ashley snorted. I turned toward her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was definitely something.”

“You walked toward an alien monster because your axe was too short.”

“That has nothing to do with intelligence.”

The AI chimed. Counterpoint.

“Oh, fuck off.”

Ashley immediately started laughing. The AI continued. Crawler Ark possesses an Intelligence score of six.

“Thank you.”

This proves that possessing information and utilizing information are separate skills. Ashley bent forward. I pointed toward the ceiling.

“I knew the axe was short after the first miss.”

And your solution was to move your face closer to the mouth.

“It worked.”

The monster also opened your ribs.

“I killed it.”

Eventually. Puppy Dogmeat raised his hand.

“ARK HAS LITTLE AXE.”

I turned toward him.

“Whose side are you on?”

He thought about that.

“ARK.”

“Thank you.”

“ARK HAS LITTLE AXE.”

Ashley completely lost it. I rubbed my face.

“This fucking place.”

Vellix waited until Ashley stopped laughing. Mostly. Then he pointed at Strength.

“Five. Normal-to-capable human strength. The system appears to recognize some physical training.”

A smaller line expanded beneath it. Relevant contributing history detected: general resistance training, boxing-related conditioning.

“Oh.”

Ashley looked at me.

“You box?”

“Yeah.”

“You've never told me that.”

“We mostly talk about your dog.”

Puppy Dogmeat nodded solemnly.

“GOOD TOPIC.”

I pointed at him.

“Exactly.”

Vellix moved on.

“Constitution. Five. General durability, stamina, health capacity, recovery, resistance to certain physical effects.”

I looked at the three bloody lines across my shirt.

“Could be better.”

“Everything could be better.”

“That's inspirational.”

“I am not here to inspire you.”

Then Dexterity. Six. That interested me more.

“Reflexes,” Vellix said. “Coordination. Fine motor control. Balance. Accuracy. Certain forms of movement.”

A list of detected contributing factors appeared. Photography-related fine motor control. Hand-eye coordination. Boxing footwork. Long-term interactive simulation exposure. I frowned.

“Interactive simulation?”

The AI answered. Video games, dipshit.

“Oh.”

Ashley laughed.

“Why didn't it just say video games?”

Because I wanted to see if he'd figure it out.

“Six Intelligence,” Ashley said.

“Shut up.”

Then Charisma. Five. I stared at it. Vellix stared at me. Ashley stared at me.

“What?”

“Nobody said anything,” Ashley said.

“You both looked at me.”

Puppy Dogmeat leaned closer.

“I LIKE ARK.”

“Thank you, Puppy.”

His tail started again. Ashley pointed at him.

“Apparently that's worth at least one point.”

Vellix moved on before this became a custody argument.

“Your Intelligence score directly influences your mana capacity and regeneration. Constitution affects your health pool and several recovery functions. Strength influences physical power and melee damage. Dexterity influences accuracy, movement, reflexes, and related functions. Charisma affects social interactions and a great many systems you haven't encountered yet.”

I was already looking through the interface. Five stats. Just five? Something bothered me.

“Where's Wisdom?”

Vellix stopped. His expression didn't change much. But it changed. Just enough.

“What?”

“Strength, Dexterity, Constitution, Intelligence, Charisma.”

I counted them off.

“That's basically the standard RPG setup except Wisdom is missing.”

Ashley looked between us.

“There's supposed to be another one?”

“Usually.”

Vellix folded his upper pair of arms.

“There are statistics you cannot see.”

I paused.

“So Wisdom exists.”

“I did not say that.”

“You basically just did.”

“No.”

“You absolutely did.”

The AI made a tiny notification noise. Not an achievement. More like a cough. Vellix looked upward. Then back at me.

“I would strongly recommend that you stop assuming the dungeon is obligated to display every piece of information it collects about you.”

That was considerably less funny. I looked at my numbers again.

“What else does it track?”

Vellix smiled.

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean I'm not answering that question.”

“Why?”

“Because if I tell crawlers every behavioral variable being monitored, they immediately begin attempting to manipulate them.”

I opened my mouth. Then closed it. Because that was exactly what I would've done. Ashley saw it happen.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You were going to do that.”

“No.”

“You absolutely were.”

“I was going to understand the system.”

“So you could manipulate it.”

“That is what understanding systems is for.”

Vellix pointed at Ashley.

“You see?”

She nodded.

“I do.”

“Good.”

I looked back at the interface. The allocation field beneath my stats was locked. I focused on it.

“So leveling up down here doesn’t automatically raise these numbers.”

“Correct,” Vellix said. “Not yet.”

“And I can’t manually increase them until the Third Floor.”

“After race and class selection, yes.”

“When we choose classes.”

“And races.”

I stopped. Ashley stopped too.

“Races?” she asked.

Puppy Dogmeat looked between us.

“I HAVE RACE.”

Vellix glanced at him.

“That's going to become complicated.”

Puppy Dogmeat looked concerned.

“I AM DOG.”

“Yes.”

“I WANT STAY DOG.”

Ashley immediately put a hand on his arm.

“You're staying Bruno.”

“I AM ALSO PUPPY DOGMEAT.”

I smiled.

“Yes, you are.”

Vellix continued.

“When you reach the Third Floor—and I emphasize when, because statistically most of you won't—you'll be given a selection of races and classes for which you qualify.”

There it was. My brain switched gears instantly.

“What determines qualification?”

Vellix looked at me.

“Everything.”

That answer hit differently now.

“What you've done. How you've fought. Skills you've developed. Achievements. Stats. Equipment. Hidden qualifications. Previous decisions. Behavioral patterns. Sometimes quests. Sometimes things that seem completely unrelated.”

My eyes dropped toward the handaxe. Vellix followed them. A smile slowly appeared.

“No.”

I pointed at him.

“You don't know what I was thinking.”

“You were wondering whether repeatedly using the ridiculous little axe could unlock a class.”

“It is not ridiculous.”

The AI chimed. Recorded. I looked upward.

“What does that mean?”

Nothing.

“Hey.”

Silence.

“Recorded for what?”

Still nothing. Ashley smiled.

“You've made it worse.”

“I haven't done anything.”

“You argued with it.”

“It insulted my axe.”

Puppy Dogmeat nodded.

“LITTLE AXE.”

“Stop calling it that.”

Then I noticed something else. A menu option beneath Stats.

SKILLS

That was dangerous. I knew it immediately. Because stats were numbers. But skills? Skills were specific. And if this thing had really gone through my entire pre-dungeon life and translated what I knew how to do into actual game mechanics... I wanted to see. Badly. I opened it. The list appeared. And kept appearing. And kept appearing.

“Oh.”

Ashley leaned over.

“What?”

“There are a lot.”

Vellix gave me a tired look.

“You've been alive for decades. Did you expect five?”

I started scrolling. Most were low. Breathing — Level 3 I stopped.

“What the fuck?”

Ashley looked. Then started laughing.

“Breathing?”

“I've been doing that my whole life!”

The AI chimed. And yet you've never once bothered to train competitively.

“How do you train breathing?”

Vellix said, “You'd be surprised.” I kept scrolling. Running — Level 2 Basic Cooking — Level 2 Driving — Level 5 Computer Operation — Level 6 Boxing — Level 3 Footwork — Level 3 Basic Image Editing — Level 6 Then I stopped. Right there. Photography — Level 8 The room seemed to get slightly quieter. Not actually quieter. My brain did that. I selected it.

PHOTOGRAPHY — LEVEL 8

A pre-dungeon observational discipline involving composition, timing, movement tracking, light awareness, positioning, equipment familiarity, environmental awareness, and visual prediction. Professional-level pre-dungeon proficiency detected. Current dungeon effects: Minimal. Additional applications may become available through continued use.

I read it twice.

“Minimal?”

The AI immediately answered. Don't get excited.

“I wasn't.”

You absolutely were. Ashley leaned over my shoulder.

“Level eight?”

“Yeah.”

“Is that high?”

Vellix answered before I could.

“For an imported pre-dungeon skill? Very.”

I looked down at the camera hanging against my chest. Still there. Lens cap still in my pocket. A little dusty now. There were tiny spots of dark Gutter Jack blood across the strap. I wiped one away with my thumb. The System said nothing. No achievement. No insult. Nothing. For some reason, that made me pay more attention to it. Then another menu opened. Not mine. Ashley's. She'd found her own Stats screen.

“Oh.”

I looked over.

“What'd you get?”

She stared at her numbers. Then at me. Then back at them. A slow smile started spreading across her face.

“What?”

She turned the display toward me.

“You're going to be annoying about this.”

“About what?”

Then I saw the numbers.

CRAWLER ASHLEY

Level: 2

Strength: 5

Intelligence: 5

Constitution: 6

Dexterity: 7

Charisma: 6

Stat Point Allocation: Locked until Third Floor race and class selection.

I leaned closer. Ashley immediately pulled the display back.

“Personal space.”

“Seven Dexterity?”

“There it is.”

“You have seven Dexterity.”

“I can read.”

“That's really good.”

“I assumed seven was more than six.”

“No, I mean—”

I looked at Vellix.

“How rare is seven?”

“For an unmodified human entering the dungeon?”

“Yes.”

“Uncommon.”

I looked back at Ashley. She smiled.

“Still want to talk about your six Intelligence?”

“That isn't the same thing.”

“It sounds exactly the same.”

“It is mechanically different.”

“Of course it is.”

I was already thinking about the fight. The Trench Licker. How quickly she'd moved. The knife. How naturally she'd changed direction.

“That explains the dodge.”

Ashley frowned.

“What dodge?”

“When the thing attacked you.”

“You remember exactly how I moved?”

“Yes.”

She stared at me. I realized how that sounded.

“In combat.”

“That somehow made it worse.”

“No, I mean I'm thinking about the stat.”

“Sure.”

I pointed at her Constitution.

“Six there too. That's useful.”

“What does that mean?”

“Probably better stamina. Health. Resistance. You're harder to kill.”

Vellix nodded.

“Broadly.”

“And Charisma six.”

Ashley looked pleased with that one. I nodded slowly.

“That makes sense.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“What does that mean?”

“You're good with people.”

“Okay.”

“And you watch enough reality TV that you're probably going to understand the social side of this place before I do.”

She looked at me for a second. Then at Vellix.

“Can Charisma affect how viewers see you?”

Vellix shook his head.

“Not directly.”

“But it matters socially.”

“Yes.”

“Interviews?”

“Yes.”

“NPCs?”

“Yes.”

“Negotiating?”

“Often.”

“Hosts?”

“Potentially.”

Ashley nodded. I could practically see her filing that away. I was doing the same thing. Just with different information. Then I looked at Puppy Dogmeat. He was sitting beside us, enormous hands resting on his knees. Waiting. I pointed.

“Your turn.”

His ears went up.

“MY NUMBERS?”

“Yes.”

He opened his menu. Nothing happened. He poked the air again.

“I CANNOT.”

Ashley stood.

“Here.”

“I DO IT.”

“Okay.”

He poked another invisible button. A menu opened sideways. I stared. Puppy Dogmeat stared. Ashley covered her mouth.

“It is sideways.”

“I KNOW.”

“Turn it.”

He physically tilted his head ninety degrees. I laughed.

“Not your head.”

“I AM READING.”

“You know what? Keep going.”

Eventually Ashley helped him rotate the window. His stats appeared.

CRAWLER PUPPY DOGMEAT

Level: 2

Strength: 9

Intelligence: 4

Constitution: 9

Dexterity: 3

Charisma: 7

Stat Point Allocation: Locked until Third Floor race and class selection.

I stopped breathing. Puppy Dogmeat read the first number.

“NINE.”

“Yes.”

“NINE STRONG.”

“Yes.”

He flexed. The chair creaked.

“Do not do that,” Vellix said.

“I AM NINE STRONG.”

“You are also three Dexterity.”

Puppy Dogmeat stopped flexing.

“What is three?”

Ashley smiled.

“That's the refrigerator-falling-down-stairs part.”

He looked wounded.

“I WALK GOOD.”

“You almost punched yourself earlier.”

“I AM LEARNING.”

I wasn't laughing anymore. I was looking at the numbers. Nine Strength. Nine Constitution. Seven Charisma.

“What the fuck?”

Vellix looked at me.

“Transformation.”

“He's Level 2.”

“Yes.”

“And he already has two nines?”

“Yes.”

“Is that insane?”

“It's substantial.”

“Substantial?”

“For a newly transformed crawler, yes.”

I looked at Puppy Dogmeat again. He was sniffing his own stat window.

“Can you smell menus?”

“NO.”

“Good to know.”

Then I saw the Intelligence. Four. I frowned.

“Wait.”

Ashley noticed.

“What?”

“Four Intelligence.”

Puppy Dogmeat looked at me.

“I HAVE FOUR SMART.”

Vellix nodded.

“For context, three is functional sapience territory for most dungeon-recognized humanoid species. Four is perfectly capable.”

“So he isn't dumb.”

Puppy Dogmeat immediately pointed at me.

“I AM NOT DUMB.”

“No, puppy. You're not.”

His tail started wagging. The AI chimed.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!

Ashley groaned.

“Here we go.”

STATISTICAL VALIDATION!

Puppy Dogmeat leaned forward. You have received numerical confirmation that you are not, technically speaking, an idiot. Puppy Dogmeat raised both arms.

“I KNEW.”

Reward: Nothing. Confidence was apparently already maxed.

I laughed. Then my brain circled back. Something had been bothering me since the fight. Actually, since the first fight. I raised my hand. Vellix looked at me.

“No.”

“I haven't even asked yet.”

“You have the expression.”

“What expression?”

“The one that precedes twelve questions.”

Ashley nodded.

“He does.”

“I have one question.”

Vellix sighed.

“Go.”

“Where's my experience bar?”

He paused. Ashley looked at me. I pointed at my HUD.

“We killed monsters.”

“Yes.”

“I leveled up.”

“Yes.”

“So where is the progression indicator?”

Vellix gestured. A new piece of my interface expanded. I felt ridiculous excitement.

LEVEL PROGRESS

A thin horizontal bar appeared.

LEVEL 2 → LEVEL 3

Current Progress: 41%

“Oh.”

Ashley sighed.

“There it is.”

I leaned closer.

“Forty-one percent.”

“Yes.”

“How much did the Gutter Jack give me?”

“You can open the combat log.”

I froze.

“There is a combat log?”

Vellix immediately regretted speaking.

“You didn't tell me there was a combat log.”

“You did not ask.”

“Why would you hide that?”

“I didn't hide it.”

I opened it. Lines of information flooded my vision. Damage. Participation. Kills. Assists. Experience. Contribution weighting. I actually smiled. Ashley saw it.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You're happy.”

“This is useful.”

“You weren't this happy about being alive.”

“That was an emotional event. This is data.”

She stared at me.

“That might be the most Ark sentence you've said all night.”

I ignored her. The Trench Licker encounter showed shared participation. My kill contribution. Ashley's. A small entry for Bruno— I stopped.

“Wait.”

The entry read:

BRUNO — NON-CRAWLER COMBAT PARTICIPATION RECORDED

“Did he get experience before he became a crawler?”

Vellix nodded.

“Not conventional crawler experience. The System recorded his participation. Some of that behavioral history carried into his transformation and classification.”

I looked at Puppy Dogmeat.

“So eating the monster mattered.”

Vellix's expression tightened.

“Potentially.”

The AI said nothing. That immediately made me suspicious.

“What does potentially mean?”

“Exactly what it means.”

“Did it affect his race?”

“Not answering.”

“Transformation?”

“Not answering.”

“Stats?”

“Ark.”

“Class qualifications?”

“Third Floor.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Something happened.”

Vellix pointed at me.

“And this is why we don't explain every hidden variable.”

I went back to the log.

“How is experience divided?”

“Contribution and proximity.”

“So not equal split.”

“No.”

“Damage weighted?”

“Partially.”

“Support actions?”

“Yes.”

“Rescues?”

“Depends.”

“Threat generation?”

“Yes.”

“Tank damage?”

“Potentially.”

“Healing?”

“Yes.”

“Debuffs?”

“Yes.”

“Environmental assists?”

“Yes.”

“Can you power-level somebody?”

Vellix stopped.

“To an extent.”

“Level penalties?”

“Yes.”

“How severe?”

“Variable.”

“Can I see exact XP numbers instead of percentage?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“The System does not provide raw experience totals.”

“That is terrible UI.”

The lights flickered.

“Constructive criticism,” I added.

Ashley laughed. I stared at my forty-one percent bar.

“How much did I gain from the Gutter Jack?”

“Check the log.”

I did. Encounter progression gained: 11%

“Oh, nice.”

Ashley opened hers.

“Mine says eight.”

“That tracks. Puppy and I did more damage to that one.”

Puppy Dogmeat squinted at his.

“I HAVE...”

He leaned closer.

“TWELVE.”

I turned.

“Twelve percent?”

“Yes.”

Ashley blinked.

“How did he get more than you?”

“He held the thing still while I hit it.”

Vellix nodded.

“Control contribution.”

I pointed at Puppy Dogmeat.

“See? Tank.”

“I AM TANK?”

“No. Maybe. Don't decide that yet.”

“I WANT BE TANK.”

Ashley shook her head.

“You don't even know what that means.”

“It sounds strong.”

“That's actually fair.”

I was already thinking ahead.

“How fast does leveling slow down?”

“Significantly.”

“Expected Level for leaving Floor 1?”

“No fixed expectation.”

“Average?”

“No.”

“Recommended?”

“No.”

“Come on.”

“The dungeon is intentionally variable.”

“Are there bosses?”

Vellix stared at me. Ashley slowly turned toward me.

“What?”

“What?”

“You just jumped straight to bosses.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because there are obviously bosses.”

Vellix sighed.

“Yes.”

I leaned forward.

“Floor boss?”

“Potentially several major boss encounters depending on region.”

“Minibosses?”

“Yes.”

“Elites?”

“Yes.”

“Named mobs?”

“Yes.”

“World bosses?”

Vellix paused.

“That term is not completely inaccurate.”

I pointed at him.

“So yes.”

“Do not fight one.”

“I didn't say I was going to.”

“You sounded interested.”

“I am interested.”

“Interest kills crawlers.”

“Lack of information kills them faster.”

Vellix stared at me. Then nodded slightly.

“Fair.”

I continued.

“Do bosses guard stairwells?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you need to kill a boss to descend?”

“Not universally.”

“Unique loot?”

“Yes.”

“Better loot boxes?”

“Often.”

“Achievements?”

“Almost certainly.”

“Can multiple parties fight one boss?”

“Yes.”

“Does loot contribution get messy?”

“Extremely.”

“Can bosses leave their encounter areas?”

“Some can.”

“Can they chase you into safe rooms?”

“They cannot attack you inside a functioning protected safe room.”

“That wasn't exactly what I asked.”

“Some can follow you to one.”

I sat back.

“Okay. That's important.”

Ashley looked at me.

“You're thinking about fighting one.”

“No.”

“You are.”

“I'm thinking about whether we should know where one is so we don't accidentally walk into it.”

Vellix pointed at me.

“That is the correct attitude.”

I nodded.

“Good.”

Then he added:

“For now.”

I frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“It means crawlers who survive long enough tend to become significantly less reasonable about bosses once loot is involved.”

The AI chimed. Historical data strongly supports this statement. I looked at my inventory. Thirteen gold. The Threat Management Box. The axe. Then at my level bar. Forty-one percent. I understood exactly what Vellix meant. And I didn't like that I understood it. Ashley crossed her arms.

“So what do I need to know?”

Vellix looked at her.

“About?”

“The show.”

I glanced over. There it was. Her version of the experience bar. Vellix sat back.

“On the First Floor, your activity is being recorded and evaluated. The public audience systems you are imagining are not fully active for you yet.”

Ashley frowned.

“Yet.”

“Reach the Second Floor.”

“And then?”

Vellix smiled.

“Then people start choosing who they want to watch.”

Ashley went completely still. I looked at her. She understood the significance of that sentence before I did.

“You mean individual feeds,” she said.

“Yes.”

“Every crawler?”

“Qualifying crawlers, yes.”

“Followers?”

“Yes.”

“Favorites?”

“Yes.”

“Ratings?”

“Yes.”

“People can choose to watch one person specifically?”

“Yes.”

Ashley leaned back.

“Oh.”

I knew that tone. It was the same one I'd made when I found the combat log. I smiled.

“Now who's excited?”

“I'm not excited.”

“You did the face.”

“What face?”

“The thinking face.”

She glared at me. I felt vindicated. Vellix looked between us.

“One of you sees the dungeon as a game.”

He pointed at me.

“The other sees it as television.”

He pointed at Ashley. Then Puppy Dogmeat raised his hand.

“I SEE FOOD.”

Vellix stared at him.

“Yes.”

Puppy Dogmeat lowered his hand.

“I HELP.”

Vellix sighed.

“Unfortunately, you probably will.”

Then the Tutorial Guild Hall door shook. Not opened. Shook. A heavy impact hit it from outside.

BOOM.

Everyone went silent. Another hit.

BOOM.

Dennis stood. Marisol grabbed her spatula. Evan looked toward the door. Puppy Dogmeat rose slowly from his chair. Vellix's expression changed.

“That's unusual.”

I stood.

“What is it?”

He opened a small interface. His eyebrows rose. All four of them.

“Oh.”

I hated when he did that.

“What?”

He looked at me.

“There is a named enemy outside.”

My brain immediately lit up. Ashley saw it.

“No.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You absolutely did with your face.”

Vellix continued.

“Level Four.”

The room got quieter. I looked at my level. Two. Ashley. Two. Puppy Dogmeat. Two. Another impact hit the door.

BOOM.

A deep voice came from the corridor. Not human.

“SMELL BLOOD.”

Puppy Dogmeat sniffed.

“I ALSO SMELL BLOOD.”

“Not helping, Puppy.”

A red identifier appeared briefly through the protected door.

MORGUL THE GNAWER

LEVEL 4

NAMED GUTTER JACK

Then underneath it: Known Behavior: Territorial Scavenger Threat Assessment: HIGH And one more line appeared. First Kill Bonus Available My eyes locked onto it. Ashley followed my gaze.

“No.”

“I still haven't said anything.”

“You don't need to.”

Vellix looked at me.

“You may remain inside.”

Another BOOM shook the door.

“The creature cannot attack you here.”

I looked at the Level 4 nameplate. First Kill Bonus. Named enemy. Likely better XP. Probably better loot. Also twice our level. And we had three rescued crawlers behind us who barely knew how their menus worked. Puppy Dogmeat cracked his enormous knuckles.

“I CAN HOLD.”

Ashley put one hand on her knife. Then looked at me. This time Vellix didn't say anything. Neither did the AI. Because now the information was available. And the decision belonged to us. I looked at the red nameplate remaining visible through the door.

MORGUL THE GNAWER

LEVEL 4

NAMED GUTTER JACK

First Kill Bonus Available Another impact shook the room.

BOOM.

Ashley looked at me.

“No.”

I ignored her.

“Before we do anything, boxes.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“Everybody opens everything.”

Vellix's eyebrows rose. I pointed around the room.

“We're not walking out there with unopened loot.”

Another hit.

BOOM.

“Especially if there's a chance one of those boxes contains something useful.”

Ashley looked toward the door. Then at her inventory.

“Okay, that's actually fair.”

I turned toward Dennis, Evan, and Marisol.

“You guys too.”

Evan looked confused.

“Us?”

“You got achievements before we got here?”

“I think.”

“Anything that says box, reward, starter, first mob, first dungeon—open it.”

Marisol immediately started navigating her menu. Dennis frowned.

“I don't know how.”

Vellix made a frustrated noise.

“Because they haven't completed their tutorial.”

I pointed at him.

“Can you get them far enough to access their inventory?”

“I can expedite the essential portions.”

“Do that.”

Vellix stared at me.

“What?”

“You've known me for approximately forty minutes and you're already issuing administrative requests.”

“There's a Level Four boss outside.”

“Named enemy.”

“Named boss-adjacent enemy.”

“Those are not the same thing.”

“Better loot?”

Vellix paused.

“Usually.”

“Then we're wasting time.”

Ashley covered her mouth.

“You heard the word loot and completely changed.”

“No, I didn't.”

Puppy Dogmeat raised one hand.

“ARK LIKES STUFF.”

“Everyone likes stuff.”

“I LOVE MY BOWL.”

“Yes, Puppy.”

He hugged the magical feeding bowl against his chest.

“I LOVE STUFF.”

“Thank you.”

Vellix pointed toward the three newcomers.

“Sit. All of you.”

They sat. His hands started moving through menus. Tutorial prompts flashed into existence.

“I'm skipping nonessential demonstrations. You will come back and finish this if you survive.”

Evan stared at him.

“If?”

Vellix looked toward the door.

BOOM.

“If.”

“Encouraging,” Dennis muttered.

While Vellix worked, I opened my own reward list. I'd forgotten how much shit had accumulated. Bronze Threat Management Box First Kill Reward A smaller achievement box. And several unopened notifications I'd dismissed during the fighting. I selected the First Kill Reward. A bronze cube materialized. The AI's voice changed immediately. More theatrical. Crawler Ark!

“Oh boy.”

You have killed your first dungeon mob! A little fanfare played. This officially unlocks your ability to earn experience through violence! I stopped.

“Wait.”

Ashley looked at me.

“What?”

I looked upward.

“So before my first kill, I couldn't earn XP?”

Vellix answered without looking away from Evan's tutorial interface.

“Correct.”

“That would've been nice to know.”

“You abandoned the tutorial.”

Someone had screamed for help. I wasn't arguing that again. The box opened. Three items appeared. A bundle of wrapped food. A small potion. And— I stared. A wooden handle. Just a handle. I pulled it out. It extended.

CLICK.

Another section unfolded.

CLICK.

Then another. I was holding a collapsible wooden shaft maybe three feet long. Ashley slowly looked at my axe. Then at the shaft. Then at me.

“No.”

I focused on the description.

BEGINNER'S ADJUSTABLE WEAPON HAFT

Common A modular extension shaft compatible with select short-handled axes, hammers, picks, and similar tools. I didn't breathe. The AI continued. Sometimes the problem isn't you. I waited. Sometimes it really is length. Ashley folded over.

“Goddammit.”

Attach your adorable little camping axe and enjoy approximately thirty-six additional inches of not having to french-kiss everything you fight. Puppy Dogmeat gasped.

“BIG AXE.”

I pointed at him.

“Exactly.”

Correction: moderately sized axe.

“Fuck you.”

But I was already attaching it. The head locked onto the modular haft. Suddenly my little camping axe looked less like something meant for splitting kindling and more like—

“Okay.”

I gave it a careful test swing. Vellix ducked.

“DON'T SWING WEAPONS IN MY GUILD HALL.”

“Sorry.”

I looked at it again. The weight distribution wasn't perfect. But the reach? Much better. Much. Better. I smiled. Ashley saw it.

“Oh, you're never taking that thing off.”

“Nope.”

The AI chimed. Behavioral prediction confirmed. I ignored it. The food identified as three basic dungeon ration bars. The potion—

STANDARD HEALING POTION

By then the claw wounds across my ribs had already knitted closed along with the health I had regenerated. The memory of how much they had hurt was still fresh, but the injury itself was gone. I looked instead at the unopened Basic Healing Potion I'd already received. Two healing potions in inventory now. Emergency resources, not something to waste because I was sore. I opened the Threat Management Box. This one produced a heavier fanfare. Inside: a pair of reinforced forearm guards, a small glass sphere, and a folded strip of cloth. The guards identified first.

GUTTER-CLASS BRACERS

Uncommon +Minor protection against slashing attacks to forearms and wrists. Useful. Equipped. The glass sphere:

FLASH MARBLE

Single Use On impact, generates an intense burst of light affecting creatures with functional vision within approximately fifteen feet. User not excluded. Don't stare at it, genius.

“Oh.”

I held it up. Ashley leaned closer.

“That could help.”

“Yes.”

“Boss?”

“Maybe.”

Vellix heard us.

“Morgul has eyes.”

I looked at him.

“Light sensitivity?”

“Unknown.”

“Can you check?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you're asking me to provide encounter data you haven't earned.”

I sighed.

“Fine.”

The cloth turned out to be a simple pressure wrap that improved bleeding control. Not exciting. Very useful. Ashley opened her Bronze Violence-With-Friends Box. The AI immediately started music. Bad music. Like a fake reality-show elimination track. Ashley closed her eyes.

“I hate it already.”

The box opened. A fitted athletic jacket appeared. Black. Reinforced elbows. Several hidden pockets. Ashley picked it up.

“Oh.”

I immediately checked the description. She slapped my hand away.

“Mine.”

“I can inspect it.”

“You were reaching.”

“I was pointing.”

“You were reaching.”

She focused on it.

SOCIAL COMBAT TRACK JACKET

Uncommon Light armor-compatible garment. Minor bonus to freedom of movement. Contains four secure item pockets. Then the flavor text appeared. For when you need to stab a monster, survive an elimination ceremony, and still look good during the recap package. Ashley smiled despite herself.

“Okay.”

I stared.

“You like it.”

“No.”

“You absolutely like it.”

She put it on. It fit perfectly.

“I hate that I like it.”

The next item was a pair of fingerless grip gloves. The third:

FRIENDSHIP KNIFE SHARPENER

I stared. Ashley stared. Then she slowly pulled my hunting knife from her sheath.

“No.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

The AI sounded delighted. Relationships require maintenance. So do stolen knives.

“It isn't stolen,” Ashley said.

“It is absolutely stolen.”

She began sharpening it. I looked at Puppy Dogmeat.

“Open yours.”

“I HAVE BOX.”

His enormous finger selected the Silver New Crawler reward he'd already received. Then another icon I hadn't noticed. Bronze First Combat Participation Box

“Wait.”

I leaned closer.

“You got a combat box?”

“I HELP.”

“Yes, you did.”

He opened it. A heavy pair of knuckle guards materialized. Except they weren't really knuckle guards. They were enormous reinforced hand wraps with metal plates.

CRAWLER BRAWLER WRAPS

Uncommon Designed for oversized hands, paws, claws, manipulators, and other appendages belonging to creatures who have recently discovered punching. Puppy Dogmeat gasped.

“I GET PUNCH CLOTHES.”

“Yes.”

Provides minor hand protection and minor impact reinforcement. Does not correct terrible technique. Puppy Dogmeat's face fell. I pointed at him.

“I can help you with that.”

His ears went straight up.

“ARK TEACH PUNCH?”

“Yeah.”

“I WANT PUNCH.”

Ashley immediately pointed at me.

“Later.”

“Obviously later.”

Puppy Dogmeat put the wraps on. He punched one palm.

THOOM.

Everyone stared. He looked delighted.

“I LIKE.”

“Do not punch walls,” Ashley said.

“I KNOW RULES.”

“What rule?”

He thought.

“NO EATING SOCKS.”

“Different rule.”

“Oh.”

His second item was food. Of course. Enhanced Meat Ration ×4 The third was— A collar. Puppy Dogmeat stared at it. Ashley stared at it. I stared at it.

“Are you going to make him wear a collar?”

“He had a collar before.”

“He's six-foot-five now.”

“I AM STILL DOG.”

Ashley picked it up.

CRAWLER IDENTIFICATION COLLAR

Rare Provides +1 resistance to forced separation effects while within party range of a bonded ally. My expression changed.

“That's actually really good.”

Ashley nodded. Puppy Dogmeat crouched so she could put it around his neck. He immediately looked proud.

“I HAVE COLLAR.”

I scratched under it.

“Who's a puppy?”

His entire body vibrated.

“I AM PUPPY.”

Ashley sighed.

“Can we please focus on the murder monster?”

Right. Dennis finally got his inventory open. One box. Bronze First Contact Box. Inside came: A short metal club. Two bandages. One healing potion. Evan had two boxes. One contained boots. Actual boots. He stared at them. Then at his single remaining shoe. The AI chimed.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!

Evan froze.

“No.”

CINDERFELLA!

I lost it. Evan looked horrified. You entered the dungeon with two shoes and managed to lose fifty percent of your footwear before completing the tutorial. Ashley was already laughing.

Reward: One Pair of Reinforced Dungeon Boots.

Evan looked down.

“Honestly?”

He put them on.

“I'll take it.”

His second box gave him a simple wooden shield. Marisol opened her Improvised Weapons Box. The spatula began glowing. I stopped.

“No fucking way.”

She held it up. The handle had lengthened. The metal head had broadened. The edge wasn't sharp, exactly. But it was reinforced.

THE GRIDDLE WARDEN

Uncommon Improvised Weapon Formerly a stainless-steel barbecue spatula. +Minor blunt damage. +Minor heat resistance. Deals additional humiliation damage when used against intelligent targets. Marisol stared at it.

“Humiliation damage?”

The AI replied: Emotional damage is still damage. I looked at her.

“That might be my favorite weapon here.”

She smiled for the first time. Dennis opened his remaining reward. A crude spear. That changed things. Now we had: Me. Longer axe. Flash marble. Two healing potions. Ashley. Knife. High Dexterity. Puppy Dogmeat. Nine Strength. Nine Constitution. Brawler wraps. Dennis with a spear. Evan with a shield. Marisol with a weaponized fucking spatula. I looked at Vellix.

“Okay.”

“No.”

“I haven't asked anything.”

“You're about to.”

“Yes.”

I pointed at him.

“What can you give us?”

“Information.”

“Gear?”

“No.”

“Potion?”

“No.”

“Buff?”

“No.”

“Spell?”

Vellix paused. I caught it immediately.

“Spell.”

“You haven't completed that portion of the tutorial.”

“Then complete it.”

He stared. I pointed toward the door.

BOOM.

“Morgul seems patient.”

Vellix muttered something in a language my translation software apparently decided I didn't deserve. Then he stood.

“Fine.”

A new menu opened.

MAGIC

I froze.

“Oh.”

Ashley looked at me.

“There's the face again.”

“Magic.”

“Yes, Ark.”

“Actual magic.”

“We already have a talking six-foot bulldog.”

“That isn't the same.”

“I AM MAGIC DOG.”

Puppy Dogmeat looked extremely proud. Vellix held up one glowing hand.

“All qualifying crawlers receive access to a basic healing spell during the tutorial.”

A new notification appeared.

NEW SPELL ACQUIRED

BASIC HEAL

I opened it instantly. The entry showed a two-mana cost, self-target only, an instantaneous twenty-percent restoration of maximum health, and one line I disliked on sight: Maximum Spell Level: 1. I stared at it.

“I have mana.”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Ark.”

“How fast does it regenerate?”

“Later.”

“Does Intelligence—”

“LATER.”

“Fine.”

Everyone who qualified received Basic Heal. Puppy Dogmeat tried to cast it immediately. On himself. At full health. Nothing happened.

“I HEAL.”

“You don't need healing.”

“I PRACTICE.”

Vellix rubbed his face. Then I remembered something.

“Wait.”

Vellix stiffened.

“No.”

“Experience food.”

He slowly lowered his hands.

“What?”

“Games do this sometimes. Consumables that grant XP. Does the dungeon have anything like that?”

Vellix studied me.

“Yes.”

I snapped my fingers.

“There it is.”

“Experience Cookies.”

Ashley blinked.

“Cookies give experience?”

“In certain limited-service safe rooms,” Vellix said. “Ten experience. One per crawler per day.”

Puppy Dogmeat went completely still.

“COOKIE.”

“No,” Vellix said.

“COOKIE.”

“Not here.”

“WHERE COOKIE?”

Puppy Dogmeat had never been more focused. Vellix pointed toward the dungeon.

“Other safe rooms.”

Puppy Dogmeat looked at me.

“ARK.”

“I know.”

“WE FIND COOKIE.”

“We will.”

Ashley stared at both of us.

“We're going to get killed because the two of you are hunting magic cookies.”

“Ten experience is ten experience.”

Vellix nodded.

“Shared among party members.”

I stopped.

“Shared?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Vellix's expression changed. I raised a finger.

“No. You're explaining that later.”

“Good.”

“But there's no cookie here?”

“No.”

“Anything else that gives experience without fighting?”

“Many things.”

“Quests?”

“Yes.”

“Achievements?”

“Sometimes.”

“Exploration?”

“Sometimes.”

“Crafting?”

“Potentially.”

“Social encounters?”

“Potentially.”

Ashley looked interested.

“Interviews?”

Vellix looked at her.

“Potentially.”

We both went quiet. Different reasons. Same reaction. Information. I loved this place. I hated this place. I wanted to know everything about it. Another impact shook the door. Harder this time.

BOOM.

Morgul snarled from outside.

“COME OUT.”

I looked around our group. Nobody was unarmed anymore. Nobody was fully prepared either. But prepared enough was probably a phrase I'd be learning to hate. I opened Morgul's information again.

MORGUL THE GNAWER

Level 4 Named Gutter Jack

Health: ???

Abilities: Unknown

Resistances: Unknown

Weaknesses: Unknown

“Can you tell us anything useful about him?”

Vellix studied the nameplate.

“As your Game Guide, there are limits to what I may tell you before you've engaged an enemy.”

“Anything within those limits.”

“He is physically stronger than ordinary Gutter Jacks.”

“Obviously.”

“He is intelligent.”

Ashley stopped sharpening the knife.

“How intelligent?”

“Enough to speak.”

That mattered.

“He will recognize tactics,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Targets?”

“Probably.”

“He'll know Puppy is strongest.”

“Perhaps.”

“Or he'll target whoever looks weakest.”

“Perhaps.”

“Does he have ranged attacks?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“Status effects?”

“No.”

“Adds?”

“No.”

“Can you tell me whether he's alone?”

Vellix paused. Then:

“Yes.”

I waited.

“He's alone.”

Good. One boss. Six crawlers. Well. Five crawlers and Puppy Dogmeat. Three of whom had almost no experience. Still. Numbers mattered.

“Party,” I said.

Ashley looked at me.

“What?”

“We need everybody in one party.”

Vellix raised a hand.

“Party experience and contribution tracking will work significantly more cleanly that way.”

“Exactly.”

I sent invitations. Ashley. Puppy Dogmeat. Dennis. Evan. Marisol. Notifications sounded around the room. One after another.

PARTY FORMED

Six health bars appeared. I stared at them. Useful. Very useful. I looked at everyone.

“Okay.”

Dennis gripped the spear. Evan adjusted his new shield. Marisol held the Griddle Warden. Ashley slid the hunting knife into its sheath. Puppy Dogmeat punched his palms together.

THOOM.

“PUPPY READY.”

I tightened my grip around the extended axe. Then a notification appeared. Not an achievement. Not a warning. A System message.

PARTY SIZE: 6

ENCOUNTER SCALING CONDITIONS SATISFIED

I froze.

“What?”

Vellix's face changed.

“Oh, shit.”

Ashley looked at him.

“What does that mean?”

Before he could answer, Morgul stopped hitting the door. Silence. Then we heard something outside. A wet tearing sound. Then another. Then— A second roar. Not Morgul. My HUD updated.

ENCOUNTER MODIFIED

Named Encounter: Morgul the Gnawer Party Scaling Applied Additional Enemy Added A second red name appeared beneath his.

BITCHMOUTH

LEVEL 3

I stared. Ashley stared. Vellix stared. Puppy Dogmeat leaned toward me.

“MORE BOSS?”

The AI finally spoke. And it sounded delighted.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!

“Oh, fuck.”

THE MORE THE MERRIER!

You assembled a six-member party specifically to make a dangerous fight safer. A pause. The dungeon appreciates your commitment to balance. I closed my eyes.

Reward: The fight is now balanced.

Ashley whispered:

“I hate this place.”

Outside the door, Morgul laughed. Then Bitchmouth laughed with him. I looked at the six health bars. Then at the two enemy names. And for the first time since deciding to fight, our numerical advantage didn't look nearly as comforting. I looked at the six health bars again. Then at the two red names outside the door. This wasn't complicated. At least, not in principle.

“Okay. We don't split damage.”

Dennis looked at me.

“What?”

“We kill the weaker one first.”

Ashley nodded immediately.

“Makes sense.”

I pointed at the second name.

“Bitchmouth. Level Three. Everybody hits that thing until it's dead.”

Evan tightened his grip on the shield.

“Why not the bigger one?”

“Because two enemies means two sources of damage.”

I pointed between the nameplates.

“If we spread out, both stay alive longer. That means both keep attacking longer.”

Dennis slowly nodded.

“So remove one first.”

“Exactly.”

I looked at all of them.

“Damage matters, but survival matters more. There is no respawn.”

Nobody laughed. Good.

“If somebody goes down here, that's not a bad run.”

I pointed toward the floor.

“They die.”

Marisol's expression hardened. Ashley glanced toward Vellix. He didn't correct me. That told everyone enough. I pointed at Evan.

“Shield.”

He looked down.

“Yeah.”

“You're front line.”

His eyes widened.

“I'm what?”

“You don't need to kill anything.”

“That wasn't what I—”

“Your job is to make it difficult for them to get past you.”

I moved closer and tapped the face of the wooden shield.

“Keep this between you and whatever's trying to kill you. Don't chase damage. Don't overextend.”

Evan looked toward the door.

“What if it hits hard?”

“It probably will.”

“Great.”

“That's why you're not alone.”

I pointed at Puppy Dogmeat.

“Puppy.”

He stood straighter.

“YES.”

“You're with Evan.”

“I TANK.”

I stopped. Ashley slowly turned toward him. I looked at her.

“You taught him that?”

“No.”

Puppy Dogmeat pointed proudly at himself.

“I AM TANK.”

The AI chimed. Terminology retention confirmed.

“Great.”

I pointed at him.

“You and Evan keep their attention.”

Puppy Dogmeat nodded.

“I HOLD.”

“Yes. You hold, grab, shove, block—whatever works. But don't just stand there getting hit.”

“I HIT TOO.”

“You absolutely hit too.”

His tail started going. I looked at Evan.

“If Puppy grabs something, use the shield to control where it can go.”

He swallowed.

“Okay.”

Dennis next.

“Spear.”

He lifted it.

“You have reach.”

That word physically hurt me now. The AI made a tiny chime. I looked upward.

“Don't.”

Nothing happened. Ashley smiled. I continued.

“You stay behind Evan and Puppy. Stab past them.”

Dennis tested the distance.

“Like this?”

“Yeah. And if something tries to push through, use the spear to keep it away.”

“I'm not exactly trained with one.”

“You don't need to fence. Pointy end toward monster.”

Dennis gave me a look.

“That your expert advice?”

“Yes.”

Vellix muttered, “Disturbingly sufficient.” I pointed at Marisol.

“You're mobile.”

She raised the weaponized spatula.

“With this?”

“Especially with that.”

She smiled.

“You don't stand directly in front of either enemy.”

“Good plan.”

“Circle. Hit from the side. Hit from behind if you can.”

Her expression changed.

“Why?”

“Games reward positioning.”

Vellix looked at me.

“Not universally.”

“Does this dungeon?”

Vellix paused.

“Sometimes.”

I pointed at him.

“See?”

Marisol nodded.

“Blind spots.”

“Exactly. If they're focused on Puppy or Evan, you're looking for openings.”

Ashley immediately said, “I'm doing that too.” I looked at her.

“With seven Dexterity? Yeah.”

She smiled.

“Thank you.”

“You and Marisol flank.”

“Got it.”

Then I stopped on the part of the plan I liked least: healing. Everybody had the tutorial Heal spell, but that didn't make any of us a healer. The spell was self-only. If Evan got mauled, I couldn't click his health bar and fix him. If Puppy got hurt while holding something down, the only person who could cast Heal on Puppy was Puppy.

“I need one person watching health anyway.”

Everyone looked at everyone else. Ashley pointed at me.

“You're already watching the bars.”

I frowned. She wasn't wrong. The Party Status Token made every dip impossible to ignore, and I was already checking them without meaning to.

“Fine. I'll watch them. But if somebody drops, I can't heal you. I can only tell you when you have a window to heal yourself.”

Vellix nodded once.

“Better.”

“Better than what?”

“Pretending possession of a spell means you will have the time, concentration, or physical freedom to use it while something is actively eating you.”

That landed harder than I wanted. I looked at Evan's shield, Dennis's two-handed spear grip, and Puppy Dogmeat's enormous hands. In the middle of a fight, those hands might already be occupied doing the thing keeping everyone alive.

“So if I tell you to heal, that means I think you have a second to do it. If you don't have the second, say so. Don't drop a block, let go of a monster, or stop defending yourself just because your bar is red.”

Dennis gave me a humorless smile.

“I don't think bravery is going to be the problem.”

“Good. I don't want brave. I want alive.”

Puppy Dogmeat raised one hand.

“IF I AM HOLDING, I SAY I HOLD.”

“Exactly.”

“AND I KEEP HOLD?”

“If letting go makes things worse, yes. We'll make you a window.”

He nodded with complete seriousness.

“I UNDERSTAND WINDOW.”

I looked around the group again. Evan and Puppy held the front. Dennis worked behind them with reach. Ashley and Marisol attacked blind spots. I watched the whole mess, called priorities, and used the axe whenever I had an opening. It wasn't a real composition. It was six people trying to create enough seconds for one another to survive.

“Puppy and Evan take the front.”

I pointed to Dennis.

“Dennis attacks through them and pushes anything back that gets too close.”

Marisol.

“Marisol attacks blind spots.”

Ashley.

“You do the same, but you're faster, so if something gets loose—”

“I intercept.”

“Exactly.”

Then I pointed at Bitchmouth's name.

“Everybody focuses Level Three until it's dead.”

Ashley nodded.

“Then Morgul.”

“Yes.”

“Even if Morgul looks scarier?”

“Especially then.”

I could already imagine the mistake. A bigger red name appears, everyone panics, and everybody attacks the scarier thing while the weaker enemy spends thirty seconds eating someone's spine.

“No hero shit.”

Ashley stared at me. I paused.

“From anyone.”

She smiled.

“Thought so.”

“I mean it. Don't chase kills. Don't get greedy.”

The AI chimed. LOOT GOBLIN has entered the chat. I ignored it.

“Once Bitchmouth dies, we collapse onto Morgul.”

Dennis gestured toward my new axe.

“And you?”

I looked at the extended haft.

“I stay just behind Puppy and Evan unless there's a clean opening.”

Ashley laughed.

“What?”

“That lasted twenty minutes.”

“What did?”

“You finally discovered reach.”

“I always understood reach.”

Every single person in the room looked at me. Even Vellix. Puppy Dogmeat slowly shook his head.

“LITTLE AXE.”

“Moving on.”

I opened the combat interface. Party bars on one side. Enemy names where the HUD predicted they'd appear. I mentally arranged everybody. Evan. Puppy. Dennis. Ashley. Marisol. Me. It wasn't optimal. We didn't have a real healer. No armor worth mentioning. No proper ranged damage. No crowd control except whatever Puppy Dogmeat could physically grab.

But it was a plan. And a plan was better than six people swinging randomly. I looked at Vellix.

“One more thing.”

He sighed.

“What?”

“If this goes bad, we retreat back through the door?”

“Yes.”

“And they'll get ejected if they attack inside.”

“Yes.”

“So this is our emergency exit.”

“Correct.”

I pointed toward everyone.

“Then nobody dies trying to finish a kill.”

The AI made a quiet noise. I looked up.

“What?”

Nothing. I didn't like that. I continued.

“If I call retreat, we retreat. No argument.”

Ashley nodded first.

“Agreed.”

Dennis next. Then Marisol. Evan. Puppy Dogmeat raised his fist.

“RETREAT MEANS RUN.”

“Yes.”

“I KNOW RUN.”

“You're getting really good at this.”

“I AM FAST.”

“You are not fast.”

“I AM FAST FOR ME.”

That was technically true. I looked at Vellix.

“Anything else I'm missing?”

He studied the formation. Then us. Then the door.

“For a group of freshly inducted crawlers?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

I waited.

“You're about to discover why knowing game mechanics and fighting something that wants to eat you are not the same skill.”

I stared at him.

“That wasn't helpful.”

“It wasn't supposed to be.”

Ashley rolled her shoulders. Marisol adjusted her grip. Dennis lowered the spear. Evan brought his shield up. Puppy Dogmeat stepped beside him. Then Puppy looked at me.

“ARK.”

“What?”

“I HOLD BITCHMOUTH.”

I smiled.

“If you can.”

“I CAN.”

“Don't underestimate it.”

“I AM NINE STRONG.”

The AI chimed.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!

Everyone froze. Puppy Dogmeat looked delighted.

“ME?”

PARTY PLANNER!

I blinked. Oh. Mine. You have successfully created your first formal combat strategy involving front-line roles, damage prioritization, flanking, reach management, emergency self-healing windows, and a retreat condition. I smiled. Look at you. A pause. Forty minutes ago, you missed a stationary neck with an axe because you forgot how arms work. Ashley laughed.

“There it is.”

Reward: Bronze Tactical Coordination Box.

A box icon appeared. My eyes immediately snapped to it. Ashley saw me.

“Don't.”

“What?”

“We are not reopening the loot conversation.”

“It could have something useful.”

Vellix looked at the door. The monsters were still outside. Waiting. I looked at the box. Then the door. Then the box. The tactical part of my brain and the loot goblin part of my brain briefly entered open warfare. Ashley folded her arms.

“Ark.”

I opened the box.

“Of course you did.”

The fanfare played quickly. One item. A small metal disk. I inspected it.

PARTY STATUS TOKEN

Uncommon While carried, improves visibility and urgency indicators for party-member health changes during combat. I stared. Then smiled.

“Oh, that's actually perfect.”

Ashley leaned over.

“What does it do?”

“It makes the health bars easier to track.”

She paused.

“Okay.”

“See?”

“I hate that you were right.”

I equipped it. The party health bars sharpened. Color changes became clearer. A faint warning threshold appeared at roughly half health. Another at critical. Useful. Extremely useful. The AI purred. Sometimes greed is rewarded. I pointed upward.

“Thank you.”

Don't get used to it. I looked at the door. Everyone was ready now. As ready as they were going to be. Vellix moved toward it. His hand stopped just above the locking mechanism. He looked back at us.

“Once this opens, they will engage.”

I nodded and checked the formation one last time. Puppy Dogmeat and Evan took the front, Dennis stood behind them with the spear angled through the gap, and Ashley and Marisol waited wide enough to move once the enemies committed. I stayed just behind Puppy with the extended axe and six green health bars stacked along the edge of my vision.

MORGUL THE GNAWER — LEVEL 4 ELITE

BITCHMOUTH — LEVEL 3

“Bitchmouth first.”

Vellix opened the door.

Bitchmouth was enormous. The Level Three Gutter Jack filled most of the corridor, low and swollen, easily twice the mass of the others we'd fought. Morgul stood behind it, smaller and leaner, watching us with the unmistakable expression of something that understood there was a plan and wanted to break it.

His eyes moved across the formation. Then he pointed at Evan's shield.

“BREAK.”

Bitchmouth charged.

“BRACE!”

Evan got the shield up just before impact. The collision sounded like a car accident. His boots left the floor, Dennis caught him from behind, and the Party Status Token flashed as Evan's health dropped from full to sixty-two percent.

Puppy Dogmeat roared and drove his shoulder into Bitchmouth's side.

“I HOLD!”

He did not hold. Bitchmouth shifted maybe six inches while Puppy slid backward twice that far, claws scraping stone.

“I DO NOT HOLD!”

Morgul laughed and moved. He disappeared behind Bitchmouth, not literally, just fast enough that I lost him for half a second. Ashley yelled that she'd lost sight of him. I saw movement behind her.

“MORGUL LEFT!”

She turned too late. A claw ripped across the reinforced shoulder of her jacket and knocked her sideways.

ASHLEY — 78%

She recovered fast and slashed backward. Morgul avoided the knife by inches and grinned at her with a disturbingly human expression.

“SMART ONE.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Bitchmouth hit Evan again. This time it got both forelimbs around the rim of the shield and shoved. Evan planted both hands against the wood, arms shaking, while Dennis leaned into his back to keep him upright.

EVAN — 44%

The red warning around his health bar made my first instinct useless. Heal him. I couldn't. Evan had Heal, but he also had both hands on the only thing keeping Bitchmouth's mouth away from his chest. Telling him to cast now would mean telling him to stop defending himself.

Seconds. We needed seconds.

“PUPPY, GET IT OFF HIM! DENNIS, LEFT SIDE!”

Dennis shifted the spear and jammed the haft against Bitchmouth's shoulder while Puppy Dogmeat hit it again, this time from an angle instead of straight on. The monster lurched. Evan staggered backward, suddenly free.

“EVAN! HEAL NOW!”

Evan didn't ask what I meant. One hand came off the ruined shield. Pale light flashed across his body.

EVAN — 44% → 64%

He had maybe two seconds before Bitchmouth recovered.

That was enough.

Bitchmouth's jaw split wider than it should have. I saw black fluid welling in the back of its mouth.

“BACK!”

Too late. The spray hit Evan's shield and splashed across Puppy Dogmeat's arm.

EVAN — STATUS EFFECT: CORROSIVE SALIVA

PUPPY DOGMEAT — STATUS EFFECT: CORROSIVE SALIVA

Evan screamed as the shield started smoking. His health ticked down again despite the Heal he'd just spent.

64% → 61% → 58% → 55%

Puppy stared at the steaming fur on his forearm.

“BURNS.”

“I know! Keep moving!”

Ashley shouted my name from across the room. Morgul had gone after her again. She ducked the first strike, slipped the second, and took the third across the thigh.

ASHLEY — 61%

There wasn't time to think through a new formation. There was barely time to identify the next problem before another one replaced it. I saw Marisol waiting for an opening behind Morgul.

“MARI! NOW!”

She moved. Morgul's attention stayed on Ashley long enough for Marisol to raise the Griddle Warden and slam the flat metal head into the back of his skull.

CLANG.

The sound rang through the corridor. Morgul froze. So did everybody else.

CRITICAL HUMILIATION!

The AI sounded ecstatic. The Level Four Elite Morgul the Gnawer had just suffered significant reputational damage after being struck from behind with modified barbecue equipment.

Ashley started laughing. Morgul did not.

“YOU.”

Marisol backed away.

“Yeah. That's probably me.”

Morgul charged her, which bought Ashley exactly what we needed: a few seconds without him on her.

“ASHLEY! BITCHMOUTH!”

She pivoted immediately and sprinted back toward the main fight. Morgul chased Marisol behind us. Bitchmouth sprayed again. Evan raised the already damaged shield.

CRACK.

The wood split down the middle.

“Oh, come on!”

Bitchmouth lunged through the opening. Puppy Dogmeat caught its upper jaw with both hands. When the lower jaw snapped upward, he grabbed that too.

“I HOLD MOUTH.”

His whole body shook. Bitchmouth thrashed, trying to tear free, while Puppy physically forced its jaws apart. His health started falling.

PUPPY DOGMEAT — 69% → 65% → 61%

The red around his bar brightened. I almost told him to Heal.

Then I looked at his hands.

If Puppy let go to save himself, Bitchmouth's mouth closed on whoever was directly in front of it. Probably Dennis.

Not yet.

“DENNIS! THROAT!”

Dennis drove the spear between the open jaws.

THUNK.

Bitchmouth screamed. Its health bar finally appeared.

BITCHMOUTH — 38%

Information. Finally.

“FOCUS IT!”

Ashley hit from the side twice in quick succession. Dennis pulled the spear free and stabbed again. Bitchmouth's health dropped through thirty-one, then twenty-four percent while Puppy kept both hands locked around its mouth.

“I HOLD.”

“You're doing great, puppy!”

His tail actually wagged.

Ashley looked at me like I'd lost my mind.

“Don't puppy-voice him now!”

“It motivates him!”

“I AM MOTIVATED.”

Bitchmouth jerked violently. One side of its jaw ripped free of Puppy's grip, and the monster twisted its entire body into him. Puppy hit the wall hard enough to shake dust loose from the ceiling.

PUPPY DOGMEAT — 42%

Now.

“PUPPY, HEAL YOURSELF!”

He blinked at me from the floor.

“I HEAL?”

“YOURSELF! NOW!”

Pale light rolled across his chest.

PUPPY DOGMEAT — 42% → 62%

Bitchmouth turned toward me before Puppy was fully back on his feet. I had wanted reach. I finally had it. I swung anyway.

Too early.

The blade passed just in front of the monster's face.

“No fucking way.”

The AI chimed. Some traditions transcend equipment upgrades.

Bitchmouth hit me. The world rotated, and I landed hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs.

ARK — 63%

My axe flew from my hands until the retention lanyard snapped tight. The extended haft whipped backward like an angry pendulum and smashed Bitchmouth in the side of the head.

THUNK.

The monster staggered.

The AI went silent for a beat.

Then: ...I cannot believe that worked.

Neither could I.

BITCHMOUTH — 17%

I had Heal available. I also had a Level Three monster still standing six feet away. Sixty-three percent was not an emergency. Getting Bitchmouth dead was.

“FINISH IT!”

Dennis stabbed and missed. Ashley cut it across the flank.

12%

Puppy Dogmeat got back up, still smoking slightly from the acid.

“I PUNCH.”

“PUPPY, WAIT—”

He threw the worst punch I'd ever seen. His feet crossed, his shoulder rotated too far, and the fist missed Bitchmouth completely. Puppy spun with the momentum and slammed his back into the monster instead.

Bitchmouth stumbled sideways into Evan, who was still holding half a broken shield. Evan panicked and raised it.

SCHLUNK.

The jagged edge punched into Bitchmouth's chest.

BITCHMOUTH — DEAD

For one perfect second, six people and one dead monster all seemed equally confused.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!

TACTICAL GENIUS!

The AI congratulated us on successfully executing the advanced battlefield maneuver known as: Puppy misses a punch, spins into enemy, enemy trips onto broken furniture.

Ashley wheezed with laughter.

Reward: Bronze Improvised Tactics Box.

“I HELPED,” Puppy Dogmeat announced.

“Yes, puppy. You absolutely helped.”

Marisol screamed.

Everything funny disappeared.

Morgul had caught her. One hand locked around her throat, arm extended, her feet kicking several inches above the floor.

MARISOL — 39%

34%

I saw her hand twitch toward herself. Heal. She knew she had it. But Morgul was choking the air out of her while shaking her hard enough that her head snapped sideways. A spell that took only a moment of concentration still required the moment.

27%

Ashley was already running. Puppy Dogmeat was charging. Dennis swung the spear toward Morgul. There wasn't time to assign jobs.

“GET HER DOWN!”

Morgul smiled at us.

“ONE DEAD.”

I had the flash marble in my hand before I remembered reaching for it.

“CLOSE YOUR EYES!”

Ashley shouted back.

“WHAT?”

I threw.

“NOW!”

The marble hit Morgul high on the shoulder and burst.

White swallowed the room.

I shut my eyes too late. Light burned through my eyelids, and somebody screamed. Maybe Morgul. Maybe me. The HUD kept floating in the glare even when the room itself disappeared.

FLASH EFFECT APPLIED

FLASH EFFECT APPLIED

FLASH EFFECT APPLIED

FLASH EFFECT APPLIED

“ARK!” Ashley yelled somewhere to my right.

“I SAID CLOSE YOUR EYES!”

“YOU SAID IT WHILE YOU WERE THROWING IT!”

“THAT WAS STILL WARNING!”

Puppy Dogmeat announced, with deep personal offense, that he could not see.

“I CLOSED MY EYES.”

“Then why can't you see?”

“I OPENED THEM AGAIN.”

Fair.

I ignored everything except Marisol's bar.

MARISOL — 27%

A body hit the floor.

Her number didn't change.

“HE LET GO!”

“MARISOL, HEAL YOURSELF!”

“I'M TRYING!”

That answer scared me more than silence. I heard her scrambling away while something heavy crashed nearby.

Then her bar jumped.

MARISOL — 27% → 47%

“Again if you can!”

“Already doing it!”

Another pulse.

47% → 67%

Good. Not safe. Better. Enough for the next few seconds.

Morgul roared somewhere inside the white haze. Then Puppy Dogmeat shouted.

“I SMELL MORGUL.”

I turned toward his voice.

“What?”

“I SMELL HIM.”

Enhanced Scent. Of course.

“PUPPY! GET HIM!”

“I GET.”

Heavy footsteps thundered, followed by a collision and Morgul's snarl.

“I HAVE LEG.”

“GOOD! KEEP IT!”

My vision started clearing in slow, painful pieces. Ashley appeared first as a blur. Dennis's spear flashed through the haze as he tried to stab toward Morgul.

“Careful!”

“I'M TRYING!”

The spear connected with the wrong target.

Puppy yelped.

“OW.”

Dennis froze.

“Oh, shit. Puppy, I'm sorry!”

“I AM PUPPY.”

The AI chimed. Friendly-fire tutorial unlocked.

Puppy still had Morgul's leg. Morgul kicked him once, then again, trying to break the grip.

PUPPY DOGMEAT — 54% → 47% → 40%

The warning around Puppy's bar pulsed hard. My mouth opened.

“Puppy, can you Heal?”

“I HOLD!”

Right.

If he healed, he had to stop holding long enough to focus. If he stopped holding, Morgul was free.

“Then keep holding!”

“I HOLD!”

Ashley could finally see well enough to move. She darted in and buried the knife under Morgul's arm. He screamed and turned toward her. Puppy used the distraction to stand, still clinging to the leg, and somehow lifted Morgul completely upside down.

“I HOLD.”

“Yes, puppy!”

Morgul clawed at the floor and found nothing. Puppy Dogmeat looked at the wall.

I recognized the thought too late.

“PUPPY, WAIT—”

CRUNCH.

Morgul hit the stone hard.

MORGUL — 84% → 71%

Puppy looked at me with enormous pride.

“I USE WALL.”

“Do that again!”

Morgul's blindness icon disappeared.

He stopped struggling for one fraction of a second and looked at Puppy. Then Ashley. Then me.

His expression changed.

Orders. Health bars. The flash marble. Calling the target.

He understood what I was doing.

“THINKER.”

“That's probably bad.”

Morgul ripped his leg free by driving both claws into Puppy's forearm. Puppy released him. Morgul dropped, rolled, and came straight at me.

I raised the axe and waited. Every instinct told me to swing early.

Not yet.

Not yet.

Now.

I swung.

Morgul ducked.

His shoulder hit my stomach and carried me backward. I slammed into the floor.

ARK — 41%

The Party Status Token screamed red. Morgul landed on top of me before I could breathe. Both hands went to the axe haft, shoving it sideways between his mouth and my face.

“FOUND THINKER.”

His teeth snapped inches from my nose.

I had six mana.

I had Heal.

I had three casts from full.

I couldn't use any of them.

Both hands were on the axe. My shoulders were pinned. If I gave up even one second of pressure to concentrate on the spell, his mouth came down on my face. The answer sat in my menu while my arms shook under his weight.

Morgul pushed harder. The haft bent.

“FUCK!”

The AI chimed with spectacularly bad timing. Threat generation successfully demonstrated.

“FUCK YOU!”

Ashley shouted Morgul's name. His head twitched toward her voice. Just enough.

She kicked him in the ribs.

THUD.

The pressure shifted. Air reached my lungs.

“PUPPY!”

“I COME!”

Puppy Dogmeat hit Morgul from the side like a refrigerator falling out of a truck. Morgul rolled off me. I stayed on the floor for half a second, sucking in air while Puppy grabbed his arm and Ashley moved to the other side.

For the first time since Morgul had targeted me, I had a second that belonged to me.

I used it.

BASIC HEAL

Warmth rolled through my chest.

ARK — 41% → 61%

Two mana gone. Four left.

Useful.

Also completely useless to everybody else.

Puppy had Morgul's arm locked. Ashley cut across his ribs. Dennis came in behind her with the spear. This time the thrust landed clean.

MORGUL — 63% → 55%

Dennis stared at the number.

“I hit him.”

“YES! DO IT AGAIN!”

He tried. Morgul twisted and the spear scraped armor, but Dennis didn't overextend. He stepped back. Marisol had recovered enough to rejoin from the other side with the Griddle Warden raised.

Morgul saw the weapon and actually flinched.

“YOU.”

Marisol smiled.

“Oh, he remembers me.”

The AI chimed. Reputational damage persists.

That half-second of attention cost Morgul. Ashley hit again.

MORGUL — 55% → 49%

Below half.

Morgul went still.

Not tired. Not stunned.

Still.

My stomach tightened.

“Back up.”

Ashley glanced at me.

“What?”

“Something changed.”

Puppy looked down at the arm he was holding.

“ARK. ARM FEELS WEIRD.”

The skin under Morgul's fur moved in ripples toward Puppy's hands.

“LET GO!”

Puppy released him instantly.

Morgul's skin split.

Black beetles poured out.

Hundreds of them scattered across the floor in a moving sheet.

ELITE TRAIT ACTIVATED: CARRION HIVE

“What the FUCK?” Ashley yelled.

Vellix shouted from the Guild Hall threshold.

“Named Elites can possess threshold abilities!”

“YOU COULD HAVE MENTIONED THAT!”

“You asked about bosses!”

“THIS FEELS RELEVANT!”

The beetles reached Evan first. One climbed his boot, then three more. His health began ticking in tiny increments. Ashley stomped one. Marisol swept several away with the Griddle Warden. Dennis used the spear like a broom while Puppy Dogmeat sneezed so violently he almost lost his balance.

“I DO NOT LIKE BUGS.”

“Nobody likes bugs!”

Morgul wasn't attacking. He was backing away while the swarm forced us to move, turn, and break formation. That was the point. Individually the beetles were nothing. Collectively they made it impossible to keep all six people facing the same problem.

“Don't chase him!”

Dennis looked at me like I was insane.

“He's getting away!”

“He wants us split!”

Marisol slammed the flat edge of the Griddle Warden into a cluster of beetles. Ashley kicked another off her shoe. Evan used the broken shield as a scraper. Puppy simply stomped.

The swarm shifted direction.

Toward the open Guild Hall.

Morgul backed toward the narrowing corridor on the other side, watching us. He wasn't retreating. He was positioning us. If we chased him into the narrow passage, we'd bunch up. If we stayed on the beetles, he could keep distance and possibly recover.

Then he screamed.

The beetles all turned toward the safe room.

Vellix's four eyes widened.

“Oh, you clever bastard.”

The swarm poured toward his doorway.

For one second it looked like Morgul had just ruined our emergency retreat point. Bugs inside the Guild Hall meant backing into confusion, losing visibility, maybe getting separated at the worst possible moment.

Then I looked at Vellix.

Wait.

“No.”

Ashley looked at me.

“What?”

I pointed at the Guild Hall.

“The safe room is fine.”

Vellix raised an eyebrow.

“He can't be hurt in there.”

“Correct.”

“And the second those bugs actually attack inside, the room ejects them. And you can deal with the rest.”

Vellix smiled.

“Also correct.”

The entire trick stopped being clever the second I understood the rule.

I looked at Morgul.

His expression changed just enough.

“He's bluffing.”

“PUPPY!”

Puppy Dogmeat turned.

“YES?”

“PIN HIM!”

His whole face lit up.

“I PIN.”

He charged.

Morgul tried to move. Too late. Puppy Dogmeat hit him like a refrigerator falling off a loading dock and rode him to the floor. Both massive hands locked around Morgul's shoulders.

“I PIN GOOD!”

“EVERYBODY ON HIM!”

Ashley was already moving. Marisol abandoned the beetles. Dennis lowered the spear. Evan grabbed the broken half of his shield like a club.

Behind us, the first beetle crossed into the Guild Hall and bit Vellix.

POP.

Gone.

Another attacked.

POP.

Then another.

POP. POP. POP.

Vellix started snapping his fingers with the irritation of a man killing mosquitoes in his kitchen.

“Go.”

POP.

“Away.”

POP.

“You disgusting little bastards.”

I grinned.

Called it.

Ashley slashed Morgul across the ribs.

49% → 43%

Dennis stabbed cleanly from behind Puppy.

43% → 36%

Marisol came around the other side. Morgul saw the Griddle Warden and his eyes widened.

“Oh, yeah.”

CLANG.

Right across the face.

36% → 29%

CRITICAL HUMILIATION!

“Not now!”

Evan swung the broken shield into Morgul's forearm, knocking one claw away from Puppy. Morgul snarled.

“I KILL DOG.”

Puppy's expression changed from determined to offended.

“I AM PUPPY DOGMEAT.”

Then he headbutted Morgul.

CRACK.

29% → 21%

There. A real opening. Morgul was pinned, his attention locked on Puppy, neck and shoulder exposed. For once I had enough reach and enough time to use it correctly.

One step.

Measured.

I raised the axe.

No rush.

I swung.

THUNK.

The blade buried beside Morgul's neck.

21% → 12%

Morgul ripped one arm loose and clawed toward me. Ashley intercepted the wrist with her knife. Dennis stabbed again.

12% → 7%

Marisol raised the Griddle Warden.

“MOVE!”

Nobody moved quickly enough.

CLANG.

7% → 4%

Morgul thrashed and almost slipped free. Evan did the smartest thing he'd done all fight: he threw himself across Morgul's legs and used his body weight to stop the escape.

“GET HIM!”

Puppy tightened his grip.

“I HOLD.”

Four percent.

Nobody waited for a perfect kill. Good.

I swung and caught ribs.

4% → 2%

Ashley stabbed.

2% → 1%

Dennis thrust and missed. Marisol swung and missed. Puppy Dogmeat looked down at Morgul and apparently decided the complicated part of combat was over.

He bit him.

CRUNCH.

Morgul went still.

MORGUL THE GNAWER — DEAD

For half a second nobody moved. Puppy lifted his head with blood on his jowls and looked at me.

“I BITE.”

I laughed despite everything.

“Yeah, puppy.”

His tail started hammering the floor.

“I HELP.”

“You helped a lot.”

Then the dungeon exploded in notifications.

NAMED ELITE ENCOUNTER COMPLETE

FIRST NAMED ELITE KILL

PARTY VICTORY

NO PARTY FATALITIES

My XP bar jumped.

41% → 68%

“Oh!”

Ashley checked hers when I told her I'd gained twenty-seven percent. She'd gained twenty-three. Dennis had thirty-one. Puppy Dogmeat gasped at his own increase.

“I GOT THIRTY-FOUR.”

“Thirty-four?”

“I HELD.”

“You absolutely held.”

The AI rolled over us again.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!

SAFE ROOM? WHAT SAFE ROOM?

The AI congratulated us for correctly realizing that a protected Tutorial Guild Hall guarded by an extremely annoyed Game Guide was not the strategic liability our enemy hoped we'd believe it was. Vellix snapped another beetle out of existence behind us.

POP.

“Thank you.”

Reward: Bronze Environmental Awareness Box.

Another achievement appeared.

DOG PILE!

The AI described, with entirely too much enthusiasm, how the whole party had participated in restraining and beating a named Elite to death while a transformed bulldog sat on him.

Puppy raised one hand.

“I PINNED.”

Yes, the AI agreed. He absolutely had.

Reward: Silver Cooperative Violence Box.

One more notification replaced it.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!

ACTUALLY, THAT WAS A GOOD PLAN.

I blinked.

For once there wasn't an immediate punchline. The AI noted that we'd recognized Morgul's attempt to manipulate our retreat route, understood how the safe-room rules changed the problem, refused to split damage at the wrong moment, and concentrated the whole party on the primary threat.

That one felt good.

Then the AI added: Please do not allow this isolated success to become confidence.

“There it is.”

Reward: Silver Tactical Response Box.

I looked down at Morgul's corpse. A golden outline shimmered around it. Loot. Actual named enemy loot. My brain instantly switched tracks. Ashley saw it happen.

“No.”

“What?”

“You're staring at the body.”

“Named enemy.”

“You just almost died.”

“Named. Enemy.”

Puppy Dogmeat pointed.

“ARK LIKES STUFF.”

“Yes, puppy.”

I crouched beside Morgul. The corpse inventory opened. And there was a lot more inside than thirteen gold. Morgul's corpse inventory opened. I leaned closer. Ashley leaned closer. Puppy Dogmeat leaned closer. Dennis, Evan, and Marisol all leaned closer too. For several seconds, nobody said anything. Then Evan whispered:

“Holy shit.”

The list kept going.

MORGUL THE GNAWER — CORPSE INVENTORY

Current Loot Rights: Party Shared

Gold: 146

Morgul's Serrated Jawbone ×1 Gnawer Hide ×3 Black Beetle Gland ×2 Named Enemy Core ×1 Corroded Chain Harness ×1 Unidentified Ring ×1 Unidentified Vial ×2 Unidentified Map Fragment ×1 And at the bottom: Special Drop Detected I froze. Ashley saw it.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“You made the face.”

“What face?”

“The loot face.”

“I don't have a loot face.”

Puppy Dogmeat pointed at me.

“ARK HAS STUFF FACE.”

“Thank you, Puppy.”

The AI chimed. Confirmed.

“Fuck off.”

I focused on the special drop. The interface expanded.

GNASHER'S REACH

Rare Weapon Modification I stopped breathing. Ashley immediately looked at my axe. Then at me. Then back at the description. I opened it. Compatible with qualifying hafted melee weapons. Adds an articulated locking extension to a short or medium melee weapon. When properly deployed, increases effective reach without significantly increasing carried length.

I stared. Nobody said anything. The AI let the silence build. Then: Some lessons require repetition. Ashley started laughing.

“No.”

I kept reading. Includes automatic lock reinforcement during forward momentum. Reduces accidental collapse during high-impact swings. Then the flavor text. You have spent an impressive amount of time attempting to solve your reach problem through proximity, enthusiasm, and facial exposure. I closed my eyes. The dungeon has elected to intervene.

Dennis laughed. Marisol covered her mouth. Evan looked at the current extended axe in my hands.

“So that thing gets longer?”

I opened my eyes.

“Yes.”

Ashley immediately said, “No.”

“What?”

“You cannot be trusted with more axe.”

“This is objectively an upgrade.”

“You already almost got eaten twice.”

“Because I didn't have this.”

“That is not the reassuring argument you think it is.”

Puppy Dogmeat raised one hand.

“BIGGEST AXE.”

I pointed at him.

“Exactly.”

Ashley looked betrayed.

“Bruno.”

“I SUPPORT ARK.”

His tail started wagging. I selected the item. The System asked: Install Gnasher's Reach on current qualifying weapon? I paused. That mattered.

“Can it be removed?”

Vellix was still snapping the last few beetles out of existence behind us.

“Most modifications of that class can be removed by a qualified crafting station.”

“So not casually.”

“No.”

“Any downside?”

“Weight distribution may change. Skill interaction may change. Some modifications alter future upgrade compatibility.”

There it was. Information. I didn't click immediately. Ashley noticed.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“You didn't instantly equip it.”

“Of course not.”

“You instantly opened every box we've gotten.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“This is permanent-ish.”

Vellix nodded.

“Good distinction.”

I looked through the rest of the loot first. The jawbone. Material. Could be used in crafting. The hide. Same. The glands. Potential alchemy ingredient. The Named Enemy Core made me stop.

“What does this do?”

Vellix looked at it.

“Useful for higher-tier crafting, enchantment, certain quests, certain upgrades.”

“Sellable?”

“Yes.”

“Rare?”

“On this floor? Fairly.”

“Keep.”

Ashley nodded. No argument. The chain harness was armor. Sort of. It was ugly as hell. Leather straps reinforced with dark chain plates. Dennis inspected it.

CORRODED CHAIN HARNESS

Uncommon Armor Value: Moderate Condition: Poor Strength Requirement: 5 Minor resistance to slashing damage. Penalty: Slight movement restriction. I looked at Dennis. Then Evan. Then Puppy. Ashley had mobility. Marisol needed movement for flanking. I wanted movement. Evan was supposed to tank. But his shield was destroyed. I pointed at him.

“Evan.”

He blinked.

“Me?”

“You need armor more than anyone.”

He looked at the harness.

“Does it smell like that thing?”

Puppy Dogmeat sniffed.

“Yes.”

Evan grimaced.

“Great.”

I looked at Vellix.

“Can we clean it?”

“Yes.”

“Later.”

Evan equipped it. The harness resized. Not perfectly. But enough. His armor rating increased. Useful. The unidentified ring came next. I tried to inspect it.

IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED

“Can you identify things here?”

Vellix shook his head.

“Not all of them.”

“Any risk wearing unidentified gear?”

“Yes.”

I immediately put it back in shared storage. Ashley raised an eyebrow.

“Again with the restraint.”

“I play games.”

“Fair.”

One vial turned out to be identifiable.

GNAWER'S SALIVA CONCENTRATE

Uncommon Consumable / Crafting Agent Corrosive. Do not drink. Puppy Dogmeat leaned closer.

“I WAS NOT GOING TO.”

Ashley looked at him.

“You ate a monster earlier.”

“I AM DIFFERENT NOW.”

The AI chimed. Historical evidence remains concerning. The second vial stayed unidentified. Then the map fragment. That got my attention. I opened it. A chunk of the First Floor map appeared. Not huge. But more than we'd discovered. One corridor system. Two safe-room markers. One unknown point of interest. And one symbol. A skull. Red. I stared. Ashley noticed.

“What?”

I zoomed in. The label appeared.

NEIGHBORHOOD BOSS CHAMBER — BOSS UNKNOWN

“Oh.”

Vellix looked over.

“That came from Morgul?”

“Yes.”

“Useful.”

“Boss?”

The chamber is. We don't know the identity of the Neighborhood Boss inside it.

“So that is a real boss marker.”

“Yes. Which is why you should stop looking pleased.”

“That's basically boss-adjacent.”

“You are going to keep using that phrase, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

Ashley leaned over.

“Where is it?”

I checked. Not far. Not close either. Maybe an hour or two of careful travel, depending on the dungeon layout. Then I noticed the safe rooms. One was marked with a symbol I hadn't seen before. Food. I looked at Vellix.

“Cookie?”

He stared at me. Ashley groaned.

“Oh my God.”

“Is that a limited-service safe room?”

Vellix checked.

“Yes.”

I smiled. Puppy Dogmeat gasped.

“COOKIE ROOM.”

“Puppy.”

“COOKIE.”

“We are not running directly there.”

Puppy's face fell.

“Why?”

“Because we just fought a Level Four Elite.”

“COOKIE HELP.”

“It gives ten experience.”

“YES.”

I couldn't argue with that. Actually, I could. Because ten experience wasn't much. But it existed. And once per day. Another system to track. I mentally filed the location. Then the achievement boxes. Mine first. Bronze Environmental Awareness Box Opened. Inside: A small coil of dungeon cord. Two anti-swarm salve packets. And a collapsible hook.

Practical. No joke. Then: Silver Tactical Response Box The fanfare was louder. A small crystal disk appeared. Then a folded black band. Then a potion. The potion identified immediately.

MINOR MANA RESTORATION POTION

I stared.

“Oh, that's good.”

Vellix nodded.

“Very.”

I put it away. The black band:

TACTICIAN'S WRIST STRAP

Rare While worn, party health and status alerts appear slightly earlier and with improved prioritization during active combat. I looked at my Party Status Token.

“Stack?”

Vellix checked.

“Yes, but diminishing effect.”

“Still useful.”

Equipped. Then the crystal disk.

SINGLE-USE THREAT MARKER

Uncommon Marks one hostile target for five minutes. Party members receive improved directional awareness of the marked target while within range. Ashley leaned closer.

“So basically nobody loses track of the boss.”

“Exactly.”

“That would've been useful five minutes ago.”

“Yes.”

The AI chimed. Learning is expensive. I ignored it. Puppy Dogmeat opened the Silver Cooperative Violence Box. The fanfare was ridiculous. A reinforced chest harness appeared. Then an oversized chew— No. I stared. Ashley stared. Puppy Dogmeat stared. It was a bone. A giant bone. Metal-capped on both ends. Puppy's pupils practically doubled.

“I WANT.”

Ashley grabbed his arm.

“Wait.”

“I WANT BONE.”

“Let Ark inspect it first.”

He looked at me.

“ARK.”

I focused.

DUNGEON MAUL-BONE

Rare Two-Handed Blunt Weapon Designed for large-jawed or heavy-bodied crawlers. Can be wielded manually or carried in the mouth by qualifying users. Minor bonus to impact damage. Minor durability regeneration when gnawed between encounters. I slowly looked at Puppy Dogmeat. He was vibrating.

“Puppy.”

“I WANT BONE.”

Ashley closed her eyes.

“Oh, just give it to him.”

He grabbed it. Immediately put it in his mouth. The weapon was almost four feet long. Metal ends. Heavy. Absurd. He looked at us. Proud.

“I HAVE BONE.”

The AI chimed. Of course you do. The chest harness was actual armor.

BULLDOG BRAWLER HARNESS

Rare Moderate protection. Designed for broad-chested transformed canine crawlers. Minor bonus to grapple stability. I stared.

“That's perfect.”

Puppy Dogmeat dropped the bone.

CLANG.

“I GRAPPLE GOOD.”

“You already grapple good.”

“NOW BETTER.”

Ashley helped him equip it. He looked like a medieval linebacker. The last item in his box was a pouch of treats. Of course. Puppy Dogmeat picked them up.

“MY SNACK.”

Ashley pointed.

“Those are dungeon treats. You do not eat all of them at once.”

He slowly lowered the pouch.

“I KNOW RULES.”

I looked at her. She looked at me. Neither of us believed him. Then the AI spoke. Not joking this time.

PARTY PERFORMANCE SUMMARY AVAILABLE

I froze.

“Open.”

Ashley sighed.

“Of course.”

A full combat summary appeared. Damage dealt. Damage taken. Healing. Control. Assists. Threat generation. Friendly fire. I saw Dennis's spear incident immediately. He saw me see it.

“Don't.”

“I didn't say anything.”

Puppy Dogmeat looked at him.

“YOU STABBED PUPPY.”

Dennis covered his face.

“I said I was sorry.”

I scrolled. Puppy Dogmeat had the highest control contribution. Ashley had the highest clean-hit percentage. Dennis had surprisingly strong reach-control contribution. Marisol had the highest environmental/improvised-weapon efficiency. Evan had absorbed the most direct damage after Puppy. And me— I paused. Crawler Ark

Damage Contribution: Moderate

Emergency Response: High

Tactical Contribution: High

Threat Generation: High

Control Contribution: Low

Combat Efficiency: Variable

Then:

Observed Pattern: Rapid tactical adaptation following incomplete information.

I read that twice. Ashley looked over my shoulder.

“Variable?”

“Shut up.”

She smiled. I kept reading.

Observed Pattern: Monitors allied health and alters battlefield priorities in response to injury, even without access to targeted healing magic.

“That one's fair.”

Observed Pattern: Repeated range misjudgment.

I closed the window. Ashley burst out laughing.

“Nope.”

“You can't close the evidence.”

“Yes, I can.”

The AI immediately reopened one line. Repeated. Range. Misjudgment.

“Fuck you.”

Puppy Dogmeat raised his bone.

“BIG AXE FIX.”

“Exactly.”

I looked at the Gnasher's Reach modification again. Now I had more context. More information. Current weapon worked. The upgrade might help. It might also change future compatibility. No rush. That decision could wait. Then I looked at the map. Safe room. Cookie. Neighborhood Boss chamber. Unknown point of interest. And the floor timer.

4 DAYS : 22 HOURS : 11 MINUTES

We had options now. Actual options. And for the first time since entering the dungeon, we had something resembling a real party. Not just survivors standing near each other. A group. Ashley leaned against the desk.

“So.”

I looked at her.

“So?”

“What do we do first?”

Puppy Dogmeat immediately raised his hand.

“COOKIE.”

Evan laughed. Marisol nodded toward the map.

“Honestly, I kind of want the safe room too.”

Dennis looked at the skull marker.

“I do not want that.”

I looked at the map fragment again. Information. Loot.

XP.

Safety. Time. The next move mattered.

I looked at the map for another few seconds. The limited-service safe room with the Experience Cookie was the obvious destination, which meant there was no chance I was going directly there without checking anything else along the way. The route gave us a direction. It did not give us permission to ignore half the floor.

“Cookie room,” I said.

Puppy Dogmeat threw both arms into the air. “COOKIE!”

“As the destination.”

His arms slowly lowered. “Cookie... destination.”

I expanded the map fragment Morgul had dropped. The highlighted route was useful, but entire branches around it were still swallowed by fog of war. We had almost five days left before collapse. That was not unlimited time, but it was enough that walking past every side corridor felt wrong.

“I want another level before we get there if we can manage it,” I said. “And I want to clear as much as we reasonably can on the way. Mobs, side rooms, quests, useful NPCs, whatever. If a branch takes five minutes to check, we check it. If it turns into a three-hour death maze, we reconsider. Time permitting, I want this area as close to one hundred percent as we can get.”

Ashley folded her arms. “So you are a completionist.”

“Time permitting.”

“Completionist with a disclaimer.”

Marisol smiled. “Honestly, I like it. I'd rather know what's behind us than leave a bunch of black corridors everywhere.”

Vellix made a small noise behind his desk. I turned toward him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I was merely appreciating the speed with which unexplored map percentage has become a personal insult to you.”

“It kind of is.”

The AI chimed without bothering to disguise its satisfaction.

We know.

I ignored it and looked instead at the six party bars under mine. Six felt better than three. Maybe experience got divided more ways. Maybe loot would become complicated. Maybe coordinating six people would eventually become its own problem. None of that outweighed the obvious point that this was not a game I could log out of when the run went bad. Nobody respawned. I was not voluntarily shrinking the number of capable people standing between me and permanent death unless there was a very good reason.

“Unless you three have somewhere else you're trying to go,” I said to Dennis, Evan, and Marisol, “I'd rather keep the party together.”

Dennis blinked. “You're asking us?”

“Yeah.”

Evan looked down at the Corroded Chain Harness he had inherited from Morgul and shrugged. “I'm not walking around this place alone.”

“Same,” Marisol said. “I was alone for maybe ten minutes before I found those two. That was enough.” Dennis nodded. Decision made.

Keeping everyone raised another issue. Six people without defined responsibilities was just six people getting in one another's way. I brought up the party display again.

“Before we leave, I want jobs.”

Dennis frowned. “Classes?”

“No. Temporary battlefield roles. I'm not picking anyone's Third Floor class.”

Vellix, who had visibly prepared to object, lowered one of his raised fingers. “Acceptable distinction.”

I pointed at Evan first. “You're the tank. For now, that means you decide what gets our attention first when there's no time to debate. You hold doors, keep dangerous things facing you when you can, and tell us if something is hitting too hard for you to stay there.”

Evan nodded. “I know tank.”

“Good. Then if I ask which target, you pick. We follow.”

Puppy Dogmeat immediately raised his hand. “I AM ALSO TANK.”

“You're control.”

He frowned. “WHAT IS CONTROL?”

“You grab shit.”

His entire face brightened.

“I GRAB SHIT.”

“You pin things, knock them over, body-block them, or make one chase you instead of the rest of us. If Evan is keeping one problem busy, you keep the second problem from joining him.” Puppy nodded with enormous seriousness. “I CONTROL BAD GUY.”

Dennis was easy. The spear gave him reach none of the rest of us had. “You work behind Evan and Puppy. Anything trying to circle around them gets a spear in its face. If one of us needs room, help make it.”

Ashley raised an eyebrow before I even got to her. “Let me guess. Stab things.”

“Stab things where they aren't looking.”

“Much more sophisticated.”

“You had the best clean-hit percentage against Morgul. You're fast. I don't want you standing still and trading hits with anything if you can help it. Move, flank, get out.” She nodded. That left Marisol.

“Secondary healer-slash-mage.”

Marisol stared at me. “I don't know what that means.”

Right. MMO language. “It means redundancy. Right now none of us can actually heal somebody else with Basic Heal. It's self-only. But if we find targeted healing, support magic, ranged spells, useful scrolls, whatever, I don't want one person to be the only person capable of doing that job. If I go down, somebody else should still be able to help the group. You've also been really good at noticing environmental options, so caster or utility stuff makes sense to test on you if you want it.”

She considered that. “So you aren't telling me what class to become.”

“No. I'm telling you what hole I'd like you to help fill with whatever we find.”

“That sounded worse than you meant it.”

“I know.”

Ashley laughed. Vellix did not, which probably meant he was saving it for later.

Then Ashley pointed at me. “And you?”

“Whatever is missing.”

“That's not a role.”

“Primary support, then. I watch the party, call priorities, help create openings, use whatever support or healing we eventually get, and hit things when I can.”

Puppy Dogmeat lifted the Maul-Bone. “ARK ALSO HIT.”

“Yes. Ark also hit.”

That answer led directly back to the thing I had been thinking about since the Morgul fight. I opened my Magic Menu. Six mana. Basic Heal cost two. Three casts from full. Three chances to pull myself twenty percent away from death, assuming I had the two seconds required to activate it. None of those three casts could save Ashley, Evan, Puppy, Dennis, or Marisol.

I had always gravitated toward support when a game gave me the option. White Mage first. Bard eventually. Watching health bars, making everybody else harder to kill, fixing mistakes before they became wipes. The difference here was that a wipe did not end with somebody typing *lol* in party chat.

“Vellix, magic.”

He sighed. “That is not a question.”

“How do I get better at it? More mana, better healing, new spells, abilities. All of it.”

Vellix pointed at my Basic Heal entry. “Start with the disappointing part. Most spells and skills improve through legitimate use. Repeated combat use is substantially more effective than standing somewhere safe and spamming an action because you discovered grinding.”

“That's discriminatory toward gamers.”

“It is discriminatory toward idiots setting my furniture on fire for spell experience.”

I gestured at Heal. “So this levels if I use it?”

“No. That one is the exception. Basic Heal is capped at Level One. Two mana, self only, twenty percent of maximum health. It is a tutorial survival spell, not a long-term healing build.”

“That is bullshit.”

Request for complaint review denied.

“I wasn't talking to you.”

You frequently are.

Vellix continued before I could start arguing with the ceiling. “Your mana pool is tied primarily to Intelligence. Higher Intelligence also improves regeneration. Gear can alter either. Mana potions restore it faster, subject to potion rules you should learn before attempting to drink your way through combat.”

“New spells?”

“Tomes permanently teach specific spells if you meet the requirements and possess enough mana to cast them. Scrolls are single-use casts and generally do not consume your mana. Equipment, quests, loot, classes, races, and specialized guilds can provide additional magic. Skills work similarly in the broad sense: action in the dungeon can unlock or train them, while equipment, potions, and later systems can grant or boost them directly.”

That gave me a shopping list whether Vellix wanted it to or not. Mana. Intelligence gear. Healing scrolls. A real targeted heal. Something that reduced damage before it happened. Potions, but not enough to become dependent on them. I had already started categorizing priorities when another thought surfaced.

“Bosses.”

Vellix closed all four eyes for a moment. “Of course.”

“Morgul wasn't one. The map says Neighborhood Boss chamber. Explain the real hierarchy again.”

He brought up the marker. “On the First Floor, the formal tiers you need to worry about are Neighborhood, Borough, and City. Morgul was a named Elite, which is dangerous but categorically different. Actual boss encounters have formal system treatment, dedicated rewards, and chambers built around them.”

“And stairwells?”

“Every Borough and City Boss chamber on this floor contains a stairwell, but many stairwells are not guarded by bosses at all. Do not hear that sentence and decide the fastest route down is to attack the largest thing you can find.”

“I wasn't going to.”

Ashley looked at me. Vellix looked at me. Puppy Dogmeat slowly looked at me.

“I wasn't.”

The Neighborhood Boss marker remained on my map. I had absolutely no intention of entering it at Level Two. I also absolutely wanted to see what was in there eventually. Those thoughts were not contradictory.

We left the Guild Hall a few minutes later with the cookie safe room marked as our destination and one rule covering everything between here and there: if there was a reasonable opportunity for experience, loot, information, a side quest, or map completion, we checked it before moving on. The route to the safe room turned right at the first major junction. A completely unexplored branch went left.

Ashley looked at the route, then at me. “You're going left.”

“It's right there.”

“The cookie is right.”

“I know where the cookie is.”

Puppy Dogmeat sniffed down the dark branch. His ears rose. “PEOPLE.” He sniffed again, then added the word that made his tail start wagging. “FOOD.”

“People first.”

“AND FOOD.”

“Fine. And food.”

The passage looked like most of the First Floor so far: rough stone, uneven torchlight, and corridors that could have belonged under a castle if somebody had not occasionally embedded Earth signage into the walls for the joke. The six of us moved in the roles we had just discussed. Evan and Puppy stayed near the front, Dennis behind them, Ashley and Marisol on opposite flanks, and I positioned myself where I could see as many health bars and bodies as possible.

A metallic sound came from deeper in the branch. Three evenly spaced impacts. Clang. Clang. Clang. Then nothing. Dennis lowered his voice. “That's deliberate.”

Puppy sniffed again. “THREE PEOPLE.” A few steps later he stopped so abruptly Evan almost ran into him. His ears pointed forward, his posture changing from excited to alert. “BAD.”

“Bad how?”

He took another breath through his nose. “BLOOD.”

The next repetition of the metal signal came slower. Clang. Pause. Clang. Pause. Clang. Whoever was making it was getting tired, injured, or both. My feet were already moving before I finished considering the possibilities.

“Don't outrun the group,” I told Puppy as we picked up the pace.

“I HELP PEOPLE.”

“So do I. Together.”

The corridor bent. A handprint of drying blood marked the wall. A discarded shoe sat near the corner with no foot in it, which counted as good news by current standards. The smell of cooked food arrived at the same time as the smell of blood, an combination offensive enough that Ashley muttered, “That is deeply fucked up.”

The passage opened into a crude larder and sleeping area. Tables, shelves, crates, a cooking fire, and a metal cage occupied most of the room. A gray-haired man inside the cage was striking a metal bowl against the bars. When he saw us, he stopped and screamed, “DON'T COME IN!”

We froze. He pointed behind us. “GET BACK!”

A high, breathless laugh answered him from the corridor. Something stepped from behind a stack of crates we had passed without noticing. It stood a little over six feet, covered in coarse brown-and-black fur with the sloped head of a hyena. A stained white butcher's apron hung over its torso. One hand carried a heavy cleaver and the other a curved hook.

GNOLL BUTCHER — LEVEL 3

The AI supplied the rest with obvious enthusiasm.

Some creatures hunt because they are hungry. Some hunt because they are territorial. This asshole attended a six-week food-service certification program and decided to make it everybody else's problem.

Printed across the apron in faded red letters were the words KISS THE COOK. “Oh, come on,” I said. A second hyena laugh came from inside the room. Another Gnoll Butcher stood from behind one of the tables, this one wearing a darker leather apron with several knives looped across the chest. Blood covered both forearms.

GNOLL BUTCHER — LEVEL 3

The man in the cage grabbed the bars. “There are two!” Ashley raised the knife. Evan shifted his shield. Dennis looked from one enemy to the other. Marisol asked, “Which one?”

I did not have time to build a perfect plan. That was why we had assigned Evan the job in advance. “Evan, you're the tank. Pick.”

He pointed at the butcher inside the room without hesitating. “That one.”

“Everybody follows Evan's target. Puppy, control the other one.”

Puppy looked from me to the rear gnoll. “I KILL?”

“No. Make him chase you. Keep him away from this fight until we're ready for him.”

Understanding arrived all at once. “I RUN WITH BAD GUY.” He lifted the Dungeon Maul-Bone and shouted, “HEY! I HAVE BONE!” Then he smashed the weapon into a nearby crate. Wood exploded across the corridor. The rear gnoll gave a shrieking laugh and charged him. Puppy ran.

“PUPPY RUN!”

“That was the instruction!” I yelled after him. His icon and the gnoll's red marker moved down the corridor together. Thirty feet. Forty. Fifty. It looked ridiculous and it worked.

The butcher Evan had chosen hit us before I could admire it. The hook caught the upper rim of Evan's shield and the gnoll yanked. Evan planted both feet and hauled backward. For a second the two of them were playing a lethal tug-of-war, which meant both of Evan's hands and most of his attention were occupied keeping the shield between his face and the cleaver.

“Dennis!”

“I see it!” He stabbed past Evan. The gnoll twisted and the spear point scraped across the apron. Ashley moved around the opposite side while Marisol brought up the Griddle Warden, the modified barbecue spatula that had already earned Morgul's hatred.

The gnoll abruptly released the shield. Evan stumbled backward. Its cleaver came down at Ashley instead, missing her stomach by inches and burying itself in the edge of a table. “NOW!” I shouted. Dennis drove the spear into its side. The creature's health bar appeared.

GNOLL BUTCHER — 71%

Marisol stepped in and cracked the reinforced edge of the Griddle Warden across the gnoll's jaw. The metallic clang made it jerk toward her. Ashley used that distraction to slash its ribs. I moved in with the longer axe, clipped the shoulder instead of the neck, and immediately backed out before the butcher could grab the haft again.

GNOLL BUTCHER — 58%

The gnoll recovered and drove Evan backward with two fast strikes. His shield stopped both, but his health still dipped from the impacts. Seventy-nine percent. Then seventy-two. His hands were locked into defense again. I watched the bar and had the instinctive support-player urge to fix it, followed immediately by the reality that I couldn't. Basic Heal belonged to Evan, and Evan currently did not have a spare second to use it.

“Make him look away from Evan!”

Dennis threatened the hook side. Ashley shifted opposite. Marisol stepped in and smacked the Griddle Warden flat against the butcher's ear. The gnoll turned toward her on reflex.

“EVAN, BACK! HEAL!”

He disengaged so quickly he nearly sat down. Dennis filled the gap with the spear while Ashley kept the gnoll from following. Evan slapped a hand to his own chest.

BASIC HEAL

EVAN — 72% → 92%

Twenty percent. One cast. Two mana. More importantly, two seconds of space. That was the part the menu never explained. Having a heal available meant nothing if you were too busy keeping your skull attached to use it.

Evan raised the shield again. “Back in?”

“Back in.”

He slammed into the gnoll's side before it could reach Dennis. Ashley attacked. Dennis stabbed. Marisol struck again with the Griddle Warden. The health bar fell through forty, then thirty. Somewhere down the corridor Puppy shouted, “I STILL KITE!” His bar was lower than before, but not critical. The second gnoll remained on him. Control was working.

At twenty-something percent, the butcher in front of us stopped trying to win and turned toward the cage. The gray-haired man recoiled. The gnoll lunged, clearly deciding that if it was going to die, somebody else was going with it.

“STOP IT!”

Dennis caught the back of its leg with the spear. Evan shield-checked its shoulder. Ashley got there last and fastest, driving the hunting knife into the side of its neck before the hooked hand could reach through the bars.

GNOLL BUTCHER — DEAD

No achievement appeared. No celebration. Puppy's red marker was already racing back toward us.

“MOVE!” I shouted.

Everyone scattered as Puppy Dogmeat thundered into the chamber with the second Gnoll Butcher directly behind him. He was carrying the Maul-Bone sideways, using it to knock away swings whenever the cleaver got close enough to reach him. His health sat at fifty-seven percent. “IT CHEATS!” he yelled as he passed us.

The gnoll entered the room, saw its dead companion, and stopped laughing. For the first time it looked less like a disposable mob and more like something that understood exactly what the corpse meant. Puppy stopped too, finally possessing what he had not possessed for most of the kite: space.

He looked at his own bar, then at me. “HEAL?”

“Yes. Now.”

Puppy slapped a hand against his chest. Nothing happened. He frowned. “I DID HEAL.”

“You tried. Focus on the spell.”

“I AM FOCUS.” The gnoll took a step. Puppy frowned harder. “HEAL.” Pale light finally pulsed across his chest.

PUPPY DOGMEAT — 57% → 77%

His eyes widened. “I DID MAGIC.”

“You did.”

“I AM WIZARD.”

Ashley said, “No,” at exactly the same moment the gnoll charged.

Evan met it with the shield. This butcher fought differently from the first. The cleaver struck high as a feint; the hook came low around the shield and buried into Evan's side. His health dropped into the sixties. The gnoll yanked. Evan grabbed the short chain behind the hook with one hand and braced the shield against the gnoll with the other, trying to keep it close enough that it could not rip the weapon sideways.

EVAN — 58%

EVAN — 53%

“Can't heal!” Evan shouted.

“I know!”

Puppy stepped forward. “ARK. I CONTROL?”

Control did not automatically mean body-checking something. If Puppy knocked the butcher across the room while the hook was still in Evan, he might turn a puncture into something much worse. I saw the problem and gave the simplest command I could.

“Puppy, both arms. Restrain both arms.”

He dropped the Maul-Bone and lunged. One enormous arm wrapped around the gnoll's cleaver arm. His other hand caught the wrist holding the hook. The butcher twisted, but Puppy planted his feet and held.

“I HOLD BOTH.”

“Good. Everybody hit him until he's done.”

There was no reason to complicate it. Ashley slipped around Puppy and stabbed the gnoll's ribs. Dennis drove the spear into its thigh. Marisol stepped in and brought the Griddle Warden across its jaw with a metallic crack. I buried the axe in its shoulder, pulled it free, and got clear before the struggling bodies could fall on me.

GNOLL BUTCHER — 66%

GNOLL BUTCHER — 52%

GNOLL BUTCHER — 37%

The gnoll tried to wrench its arms free. Puppy moved with it, boots scraping on stone. “I HOLD,” he said through clenched teeth. The hook tugged inside Evan's side and his health dipped again, but the butcher could no longer swing, yank properly, or defend itself.

“Finish it!”

Dennis stabbed. Ashley cut. Marisol cracked the Griddle Warden against its temple. I missed my next swing entirely because apparently longer weapon did not mean perfect weapon, and the AI made an appreciative little noise I refused to acknowledge. Dennis's next thrust ended it.

GNOLL BUTCHER — DEAD

The body went limp in Puppy's arms. “KEEP HOLDING,” I said before he could drop it. The hook was still embedded in Evan. Puppy locked the dead arm in place while Dennis and Ashley helped Evan create slack and work the hook free without tearing it sideways. The moment Evan had both hands available and the weapon was out, he cast Basic Heal on himself. His health jumped twenty percent and the puncture immediately began to tighten as his health regenerated.

That was the first time I really watched dungeon healing happen to somebody else. The blood slowed. The edges of the wound pulled together. It was not cinematic instant regeneration, but it was fast enough to make real-world first aid feel almost irrelevant unless a status effect, poison, missing body part, or immediate danger complicated things.

Then I remembered the people in the cage.

“Marisol, with me. Everyone else secure the room.”

The gray-haired man moved aside as much as the cramped cage allowed. A woman lay behind him, maybe in her thirties, dark hair stuck to her face with sweat. The health bar that appeared when I focused on her made my stomach drop.

RACHEL — 18%

“What's her name?” I asked.

“Rachel. I'm Tom. One of those things hooked her leg when we tried to run. She used Heal twice already. She's out of mana.”

Eighteen percent was not a number I was going to gamble on while we were still in an unexplored dungeon branch. I pulled out the Basic Healing Potion I had been saving since the tutorial. There was always a better time to use a consumable. Apparently this was the better time.

“Help me sit her up.”

Tom and Marisol supported Rachel's head and shoulders. I did not pour the potion down an unconscious person's throat like an idiot. Tom got her responding enough to swallow, and I gave it to her slowly.

RACHEL — 18% → 68%

Her breathing steadied almost immediately. More strangely, the torn wound along her thigh began closing as the health came back. The effect slowed after the potion's burst, but her bar continued creeping upward on its own. Natural regeneration.

Tom stared at her leg. “That was open.”

“Dungeon health,” I said, which sounded far more confident than I felt. I checked her status display. No bleeding debuff. No poison. Nothing actively preventing recovery. Good. Tom's health sat at sixty-one percent, so I pointed at his own hotlist. “You still have mana?”

“One cast.”

“Use it on yourself.”

He did. His health jumped to eighty-one percent and began regenerating from there. That changed how I thought about the resources we were carrying. Potions were not routine medicine. They were emergency accelerators, especially valuable when somebody was low enough that waiting for natural healing was dangerous.

We still needed them out of the cage. Puppy came over when I examined the lock. “I BREAK?”

“Can you break the lock without breaking the people?”

He looked offended. “I KNOW PEOPLE.”

“Fair. Break the lock.”

Puppy planted one foot against the cage, grabbed the metal housing around the latch, and pulled. The first attempt did nothing. The second bent the bracket. On the third, the lock tore free with a sharp snap. Puppy held it up like a trophy. “I AM KEY.”

“You're not a key.”

Counterpoint: door opened.

Once Rachel and Tom were out and everyone was stable, I finally looked at the corpses. Ashley saw the change in my face and smiled. “There it is.”

“What?”

“Loot look.”

“I saved the dying woman first.”

“And now you're staring at dead hyenas like Christmas presents.”

“Both things can be true.”

The first Gnoll Butcher's corpse inventory held nineteen gold, the cleaver, the meat hook, a stained leather apron, two gnoll fangs, a small ring of keys, and a wrapped parcel that identified as ordinary salted pork. I took all of it. Food was food, even if the packaging story was upsetting. The second had twenty-seven gold, a heavier cleaver, another hook, a knife roll, two hide strips, and a few basic crafting scraps.

The ring of keys opened a storage chest under one of the bedrolls, which made Ashley look from the key to Puppy and say, “We could've used that.” Puppy held up the torn lock. “I FASTER KEY.” Nobody could dispute the evidence.

Inside the chest were forty-one gold, two basic rations, a waterskin, three bandages, rope, a cheap sewing kit, cooking oil, an unidentified scroll, and a brass token stamped with a pig wearing a crown. The scroll immediately became the most interesting thing in the room because I had spent the last hour thinking about spells. Naturally, the interface refused to tell me what it was.

IDENTIFICATION REQUIRED

The token was worse.

QUEST ITEM: BRASS TOKEN

Associated quest unavailable.

“Unavailable?” Ashley asked.

“That's what it says.” I showed the token to Tom. His expression changed immediately. He recognized it.

“There's another room farther down,” he said, pointing toward a hanging cloth at the back of the larder. Behind it was a second passage I had not noticed. “A man gave us that token. He called himself a cook. He said if we brought it to his kitchen, he'd give us food and supplies. We got caught here before we reached him.”

I looked at the concealed corridor. Quest lead. Food. Supplies. Unexplored map. Everything in my brain wanted to keep going. Then I looked at Rachel, Evan, the unidentified scroll, the token, the pile of new equipment, and the number of questions accumulating faster than I could answer them.

“We're going back to Vellix first.”

Ashley looked genuinely surprised. “You're leaving an unexplored quest corridor?”

“Temporarily. I marked it.” I dropped a personal waypoint at the passage entrance and labeled it RETURN HERE. “Rachel and Evan are regenerating, so I'm not pretending they need a hospital. But we have two new crawlers, a spell scroll I can't identify, a quest item with no quest, weapons and materials I don't understand, and I want answers before we push farther.”

Tom glanced toward the hidden passage. “The cook might still be there.”

“Then he'll still be there after I figure out what half this stuff does. Probably.” I did not love the word *probably*, but I loved walking deeper into the dungeon while ignorant even less.

The trip back felt shorter because we had already mapped the route. That fact alone justified the detour in my mind. Every cleared corridor was one less place something could surprise us from, or at least one less place we had to pretend we knew nothing about. Rachel's health continued climbing as we walked, and by the time we reached the Guild Hall the wound in her leg had closed into new skin. Evan's puncture had done the same. Their clothes were still ruined. Their bodies were not.

I kept checking the bars anyway. There was a difference between understanding that the dungeon healed injuries and emotionally trusting a number to put flesh back together. I was not there yet.

As far as I understood the dungeon, Vellix was here. This specific Guild Hall. He had a desk, a bed, personal junk, and the general attitude of someone trapped in an office. Nothing had yet suggested that every Tutorial Guild Hall door we found would eventually lead to the same room and the same Game Guide. So backtracking to him seemed completely sensible.

Ashley opened the Guild Hall door. Vellix looked up from behind the desk, counted the six people who had left, counted the eight people who returned, and then looked at the blood on everyone's clothes. All four eyes closed.

“No.”

“Hi.”

“No.”

“We found people.”

“I can see that.”

“And Gnoll Butchers.”

“I inferred that from the butcher equipment.”

Puppy Dogmeat lumbered through the door carrying the Maul-Bone and announced, “I KITE.”

Vellix stared at him. “I am afraid to ask.”

“He was actually pretty good,” I said.

“I PROFESSIONAL.”

“That sentence has made me more afraid.” Vellix's tone changed when he saw Rachel properly. He checked her status, then Evan's, and relaxed when he saw no active bleeding, poison, or injury debuffs interfering with natural recovery. “They are healing. Do not waste additional potions because the numbers are not aesthetically pleasing to you.”

“I only used one on Rachel.”

“Good. Potions have cooldown rules. Learn them before you decide to drink two because you dislike being at seventy percent.”

That went directly onto the list. “Fine. Next problem.” I pulled out the unidentified scroll.

Vellix looked at it, then at me. “Of course you found a spell scroll immediately after spending twenty minutes complaining about magic.”

“That does not mean it is the spell I want.”

The AI chimed.

Aww. He's learning.

“Can you identify it?”

Vellix held out one hand. “Give it here.”

I passed him the scroll. His lower eyes moved across the symbols while the upper pair focused on something in the dungeon interface. A notification appeared in front of me.

IDENTIFICATION COMPLETE

I leaned forward despite myself. Vellix read the result first. One corner of his mouth twitched.

That expression told me two things immediately.

It was not a healing scroll.

And the Dungeon thought whatever it had given us was funny.

Vellix turned the parchment around.

SCROLL OF SQUEAKY CLEAN Common Spell Scroll — Single Use Removes dirt, grime, blood, common stains, ordinary odors, and minor nonmagical contaminants from one creature or object. May improve equipment whose condition is being affected primarily by filth rather than structural damage. Does not remove curses, poison, disease, magical effects, emotional baggage, criminal records, or the consequences of poor life decisions.

I stared at it. Ashley read over my shoulder. Marisol leaned in from the other side. For several seconds nobody said anything, which gave the Dungeon AI more than enough room to make things worse.

CONGRATULATIONS! You have acquired access to one of civilization's greatest technological achievements: basic hygiene.

“Squeaky Clean.”

Vellix nodded. “Squeaky Clean.”

“A magic spell for washing things.”

“Essentially.”

Puppy Dogmeat gasped. “I CAN BE CLEAN.” Ashley pointed at him immediately. “No.” His ears dropped. “WHY?”

“Because we are not wasting a magic scroll because you smell like dungeon.”

Puppy sniffed himself with great seriousness. “I SMELL LIKE FIGHT.”

The AI chimed again.

Oh, I'm sorry. Would Crawler Ark prefer the Scroll of Immediate Solution to Whatever Specific Problem He Has Been Complaining About for the Last Forty Minutes? Heal Party. Unlimited mana. Perhaps a glowing staff that plays inspirational music whenever one of your friends receives an ouchie? Should I include a commemorative plaque reading MAIN CHARACTER?

“Message received.”

Dennis laughed. I took the scroll back from Vellix and stored it in the shared inventory. It was not what I wanted, which did not make it useless. If anything, the Dungeon's enthusiasm for mocking it made me less willing to throw it away. A one-use cleaning spell sounded stupid right up until the moment we found something that absolutely needed to be cleaned.

Vellix watched me put it away and gave one small approving nod. “Most crawlers discard things they cannot immediately fit into whatever plan is currently occupying their skull.”

“I understand what it does.”

“That is not what I said.”

Fair. I pulled out the Brass Token instead. “Next.”

The crowned pig looked even more ridiculous in Vellix's long fingers. He focused on it, waited, then handed it back. No identification window appeared.

“Well?”

“You have not triggered the associated quest.”

“It literally says quest item.”

“An object associated with a quest is not the same thing as having the quest. The Dungeon can put pieces in your hands before you meet whatever activates them.”

“The cook.”

“Probably.”

“Probably?”

Vellix folded two of his arms. “I am your Game Guide, not an omniscient walkthrough.”

That was annoyingly reasonable. I put the token away and finally looked back at Rachel and Tom. Both had continued regenerating while we talked. Rachel was above eighty percent now, and the ugly gnoll wound on her leg had become a fading pink line. Evan's hook wound was doing the same thing beneath his torn shirt. Watching actual flesh repair itself as the number climbed was still unsettling. The Dungeon treated injuries as something measured in percentages rather than weeks.

“When she reaches full, that's gone?” I asked.

“If it is ordinary physical trauma and no condition is interfering with regeneration, yes,” Vellix said. “Missing limbs, curses, poison, special injuries and the Dungeon's occasional sense of humor are different matters.”

“And equipment doesn't regenerate.”

“Your shirt is not alive, Crawler Ark.”

“I was asking about the shield.”

“Of course you were.”

With the immediate medical emergency gone, one question remained that had nothing to do with loot.

“What are you two doing?”

Tom blinked. Rachel did too. I gestured between them and the door. “You were trapped, we got you out, and you don't seem to have somewhere you're going. Do you have a party? A safe room? Anything?”

Tom and Rachel exchanged a look. “No,” Tom said. The answer landed quickly enough that I knew there was more behind it. Rachel looked at the floor.

They had started with four. Two had died before the gnolls took them. I did not ask for details. There were some questions you asked because they helped, and some you asked because your own brain hated blank spaces. This felt like the second kind.

Tom looked around at the rest of us. “You guys seem like you know what you're doing.”

Ashley laughed once. “Oh, no.”

“That's unnecessary.”

“You missed a monster with an axe because it was two inches too short.”

Puppy Dogmeat raised one finger. “LITTLE AXE.”

“Thank you, Puppy.”

Tom actually smiled. Good. I looked at him and Rachel again. Six had felt safe. Eight was more complicated, but complicated did not automatically mean worse. It meant two more people who could see, carry, fight, learn, panic, help, make mistakes, and—most importantly—not be alone.

“Do you want to join us?”

Rachel looked at Tom. Tom looked at her. He answered first. “Yes.” Rachel nodded a heartbeat later. “Yeah.”

That was it. No initiation. No speech. Two party requests went out and two were accepted.

PARTY UPDATED RACHEL — CRAWLER TOM — CRAWLER

Eight health bars settled into my interface. I stared at them for a second too long.

Ashley saw. “You like that.”

“I like knowing where everybody is.”

“You like the health bars.”

“I do.”

Vellix muttered something about compulsive interface users. I ignored him and asked the new people what they were actually good at. Rachel hesitated, then said, “I was an EMT.”

Everything in my head stopped. Ashley slowly turned toward me. Marisol did too. Even Vellix looked amused.

“You were an EMT.”

“Emergency medical technician, yes.”

The AI made a tiny notification sound.

“Don't.”

It remained silent. Somehow that was worse.

Rachel looked between us. “Why is everybody looking at me?”

“Because I have been complaining about us not having a healer for approximately an hour.”

“I'm not a healer.”

“I know. That's good.”

Ashley folded her arms. “You literally want a healer.”

“I do. I also don't want every useful thing we need to immediately materialize because I complained loudly enough.”

The AI chimed.

Finally.

“Don't sound proud.”

I was beginning to worry you had mistaken this for a customer service experience.

Rachel opened her skill list. “I have First Aid. Level Three.”

That was not magic, but the description was immediately useful: improved assessment and stabilization of bleeding, shock and physical trauma; better use of medical supplies; and limited help determining whether an injury should recover through ordinary regeneration or required additional intervention. That mattered almost as much as raw healing. A health bar could tell me somebody was losing health. Rachel might be able to tell me why.

Then I looked at Tom. “And you?”

He hesitated. “I manage a Costco.”

Puppy Dogmeat's ears rose. “WHAT IS COSTCO?”

“Warehouse store.”

“BIG FOOD?”

Tom sighed. “Very big food.”

Puppy stepped closer to him. “I LIKE TOM.”

I tried not to laugh. “Inventory. Staffing. Deliveries. Scheduling. Flow. Angry customers. That sounds useful.”

The AI chimed again.

Crawler Ark has discovered the legendary fantasy class known as Middle Management.

Tom looked upward. “What the hell was that?”

“You'll get used to it.”

No, he won't.

Before we headed back out, I opened the shared inventory. “We are sorting this first.” Dennis groaned. Ashley immediately accused me of using my inventory voice. Puppy Dogmeat sat down and announced, “STUFF.” At least one person respected the process.

The weapons were the easiest decision. Evan had spent most of the day using a shield as both defense and offensive philosophy, so I handed him the Heavy Butcher's Cleaver. It was an ugly one-handed chopping weapon, but it let him keep the shield up and still hurt something when an opening appeared.

He tested the weight with a short practice motion. Vellix glared. Evan stopped. “Sorry.”

“Shield stays primary,” I told him. “But now you have something besides blunt-force shield trauma.”

“I killed one with the shield.”

“Technically Puppy missed a punch and it fell onto your broken shield.”

“Still counts.”

“Absolutely counts.”

The lighter cleaver went to Marisol as a backup to the Griddle Warden. She looked between the actual blade and the reinforced barbecue spatula. “I feel like I should be using this instead.”

“The spatula has a body count.”

Ashley nodded solemnly. “And emotional damage.”

Marisol clipped the cleaver to her gear. “Fine. Blade when I need a blade. Griddle Warden when somebody deserves humiliation.”

Rachel got the knife roll. She selected one practical blade for immediate access and kept the rest because an EMT had far more legitimate uses for utility knives than the rest of us did. She also took the bandages and sewing kit. Dennis kept his spear. Ashley kept pretending my hunting knife was hers. Puppy had the Maul-Bone and Brawler Harness.

Tom was left holding a broken mop handle, a dead flashlight, and a Costco badge that still read TOM — MANAGER.

Puppy Dogmeat leaned in. “BIG FOOD MANAGER.”

“Yes,” Tom said tiredly.

I gave him the less ridiculous of the two butcher hooks. He held it like someone who had woken up expecting a normal shift and had somehow become an improvised dungeon longshoreman.

“I do not know how to use this.”

“Neither did the gnoll, apparently. Temporary weapon.”

The rope, rations, waterskin, cooking oil, spare hook and assorted materials stayed shared. The Minor Health Potion stayed shared too. Nobody drank it merely because their bar was below full. We had learned that lesson. The unidentified scroll was now identified and disappointingly hygienic. The Brass Token remained with me.

The eighty-seven gold from the gnolls and their room divided into ten each, with seven left in the party pool. Puppy Dogmeat stared at his balance as if I had handed him a new organ.

“I HAVE MONEY.”

“Yes.”

“WHAT BUY?”

“Things.”

“FOOD?”

“Yes.”

His entire face lit up. That was going to become a problem.

When everyone was equipped, I reviewed the rough roles again. Evan at the front when we expected contact. Puppy on control. Dennis protecting lanes with reach. Ashley exploiting openings. Marisol supporting wherever pressure developed. Rachel watching injuries and staying out of the first collision. Tom, until we knew more, had one assignment.

“Don't die.”

He nodded. “That was already my strategy.”

PARTY ROLE ASSIGNED: TOM — DON'T FUCKING DIE

All six original party members answered his horrified look with the same sentence at once: “It's always like this.”

We left Vellix's Guild Hall and retraced the mapped route toward the gnoll larder. Puppy Dogmeat spent most of the walk interrogating Tom about Costco. How much food? Bigger than a store? Did it have bones? How could Tom manage a place and not personally know the bone inventory? By the time we reached the hidden passage, Tom had survived the apocalypse only to receive a negative performance review from a bulldog.

The larder looked as we had left it: dead gnolls, broken crate, bent cage, blood, soup pot, and the cloth concealing the second passage. Rachel paused when she saw the cage. Her health was full and the wound on her thigh was gone. That did not mean the rest of the experience had regenerated with it. I noticed, but I did not ask if she was okay. She was standing. She was with us. That was enough for the moment.

The corridor behind the cloth was narrow and warm. After sixty feet the smell changed from dungeon stone and blood to butter, garlic, roasted meat and fresh bread. Puppy Dogmeat made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a religious experience.

“FOOD.”

“I smell it.”

“ARK.”

“What?”

“I LOVE THIS QUEST.”

“We do not have the quest yet.”

“I LOVE IT EARLY.”

The corridor opened into a restaurant kitchen that looked as if somebody had cut it out of a normal building and installed it beneath the apocalypse. Stainless-steel counters, ovens, shelves, hanging pans, a huge prep table and a chalkboard menu occupied the room.

TODAY'S SPECIALS ROAST CHICKEN — 4 GOLD ROOT VEGETABLE STEW — 2 GOLD BREAD & BUTTER — 1 GOLD CRAWLER SURPRISE — ASK FIRST NO REFUNDS AFTER DIGESTION

A short, round man in a white chef's coat stepped out from behind an oven. His skin was unmistakably pig-pink, his ears slightly pointed, and a magnificent black mustache occupied most of the lower half of his face. His toque added enough height to make him look almost average-sized.

CHEF ROYAL NON-HOSTILE NPC Level ???

The Dungeon description claimed he had cooked for kings, queens, warlords, diplomats, minor deities and one exceptionally demanding children's birthday party. He did not discuss the birthday party.

Chef Royal looked at Puppy. Puppy looked at Chef Royal. “PIG MAN,” Puppy whispered.

Chef Royal pointed a wooden spoon at him. “Bulldog man.”

Puppy's jaw dropped. Ashley covered her mouth.

Chef Royal held out a hand to me. “You have my token.”

The Brass Token triggered the moment I produced it.

QUEST AVAILABLE: THE KING'S PANTRY Chef Royal's pantry has been occupied by freeloading vermin who have mistaken possession for ownership. PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: Recover the Royal Pantry Key. SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: Remove all hostile occupants from the pantry. OPTIONAL OBJECTIVE: Recover at least 75% of Chef Royal's stolen food stock intact. REWARD: Chef Royal's Favor. BONUS REWARD: Based on recovered inventory.

I asked what Chef Royal's Favor did. He told me it meant he liked us more. I told him that was not a reward description. Eventually he admitted it would unlock his private menu. He refused to show the menu before the quest, refused to tell me whether it contained mana food, and refused to answer how many vermin were in the pantry. Vellix would have liked him.

Puppy Dogmeat, meanwhile, discovered that his ten gold could purchase chicken. Chef Royal made him sit at a table before allowing him to eat it. “I HAVE RESTAURANT,” Puppy announced, and for several minutes nothing in the apocalypse mattered more to him.

I accepted the quest. A new marker appeared through a passage at the rear of the kitchen. Before moving, I reread the optional objective. Seventy-five percent intact meant we could not solve this with fire, smashing shelves or Puppy Dogmeat becoming a bulldog wrecking ball.

“This is control first. Protect the inventory.”

Puppy put down what remained of the chicken and became instantly solemn. “I NEVER HURT FOOD.”

Through the pantry door's small window, I saw rats. Lots of rats. Most were ordinary-looking except for being larger than they should have been. A few wore scraps of metal like armor. One had a spoon. Another wore a red scarf. Their labels were almost reassuring.

PANTRY RAT — LEVEL 1

Then the rats moved aside and something the size of a St. Bernard waddled into view. It was so fat its belly almost dragged the floor. A tiny gold crown sat between its ears. A butter knife had been tied to one forepaw.

PANTRY KING — LEVEL 5

Puppy Dogmeat appeared over my shoulder. “BIG PUPPY FOOD?”

“No.”

The Pantry King raised the knife. Hundreds of rats squeaked back at it.

I made the split immediately. “Puppy. Tom. The Level Ones are yours. Pull them away from us and kill as many as you can. Everybody else stays on the King.”

Tom stared at the moving carpet of rodents, then at the pantry layout. Something clicked. The tall shelves created lanes, and stacked crates could turn those lanes into choke points.

“If we block these two aisles, Puppy doesn't have to chase them. We force them through one route.”

“Do it. You're in charge of rats.”

PARTY ROLE UPDATED: TOM — PEST CONTROL SUPERVISOR

Puppy raised the Maul-Bone. “I AM PEST CONTROL.” Tom sighed. “Sure.”

The door opened and the pantry erupted. Puppy and Tom peeled away from us immediately. Tom shoved empty crates into position while Puppy dragged a loaded pallet across one aisle, stopping just long enough to catch a flour sack that started to fall. “I SAVE FOOD.” Ashley yelled, “GOOD PUPPY!” His tail wagged until Tom reminded him they were still being attacked.

The funnel worked. Rats that would have surrounded us were forced toward Puppy in small groups. The Maul-Bone swept low. Boots stomped. Claws grabbed. Tom used a crate lid as an improvised shield and the butcher hook on anything that slipped past. Level One markers began disappearing.

The rest of us met the King. Evan braced behind his shield and discovered that several hundred pounds of charging rodent did not particularly care about his confidence. The first collision lifted him off his feet and dumped him into Dennis.

EVAN — 73% DENNIS — 89%

The tiny butter knife turned out to be an enchanted Royal Table Knife. It bit a deep notch into Evan's shield. Ashley stabbed the King's flank, Dennis worked over Evan's shoulder with the spear, and Marisol struck the crown with the Griddle Warden hard enough to spin it sideways.

ROYAL INDIGNATION

The AI informed us that we had insulted the monarchy. The King screamed and went after Marisol until Evan intercepted again. It was stupid. It was dangerous. It was working.

Behind us, Puppy and Tom kept killing rats. Tom stopped yelling every time one died. Puppy did not.

“DEAD RAT!”

Another crunch.

“DEAD RAT!”

“You don't have to report each one!”

“I LIKE REPORT!”

The Pantry King dropped below sixty percent. Evan fell to fifty-two. We created a window the way we had learned against Morgul: Dennis and Ashley forced the King to split its attention, Evan backed away, and his self-Heal flashed.

EVAN — 52% → 72%

He went straight back in. No waiting for full. Just enough health to keep the front line standing.

At fifty percent, the Pantry King stopped fighting normally. Its crown straightened by itself. It stood on its hind legs, raised the Royal Table Knife, and issued a squeak that every remaining rat obeyed.

ROYAL DECREE: TAXATION

The Level Ones abandoned us and attacked the food. They tore sacks, dragged bread, climbed shelving and began hauling stock toward a hidden rat tunnel. The bonus counter dropped from ninety-six to ninety-five to ninety-four before I finished swearing.

Puppy looked horrified. “THEY HURT FOOD.”

“Keep killing them!”

The assignment did not change. Puppy and Tom kept reducing the population while trying to keep the survivors away from the stock. The rest of us stayed on the King.

For a while I trusted the split. The King had five people on it. The Level Ones were the actual objective problem, so I switched sides and joined Tom and Puppy. The rats were no longer trying to kill us as much as they were trying to steal everything that smelled edible. One ran past with a sausage. Another still had the spoon. I never learned why.

A rat chased a potato past my foot. I kicked it and sent it skidding into a shelf leg, but it popped back up at thirty-one percent. I finished it with the axe and got a small notification at the edge of my vision: Unarmed Combat activity registered. Not a new skill. Just the Dungeon noticing.

Tom had turned two empty crates into a V-shaped funnel at the mouth of one aisle. He stood in the gap with the crate lid and hook like the most aggressive Costco employee alive. A rat came through carrying a dinner roll. He smacked it out of the air, caught the roll, and tossed it into a safe box behind him.

“Receiving's closed!” he yelled at the next one.

The AI congratulated him on improved employee engagement.

Then Tom spotted the rat tunnel. They were not simply damaging the pantry; they were removing inventory. He directed Puppy to slide a short shelving unit across the opening. We cleared jars from it while rats streamed past. One jar fell and shattered, dropping the food objective to eighty-six percent. Puppy's ears flattened. “I BREAK FOOD.”

“One jar. You saved more than that. Keep moving.”

The shelf covered most of the opening. An eight-inch gap remained at the bottom. I briefly looked at the growing pile of dead rats. Tom followed my gaze. “No.” Puppy brightened. “RAT WALL.” I used an empty wooden box instead.

One rat tried to squeeze through before we sealed it. Puppy poked the stuck animal until its health hit zero. “DOOR RAT,” he said. I told him not to name it. He named it anyway.

With the tunnel blocked, the remaining rats reversed direction and came at us. Maybe thirty remained. Puppy held the center, Tom the right, and I took the left. A rat jumped. I missed with the axe. Another came low. This time I shifted my weight, turned the hip, and kicked instead of simply swatting with my leg. The side of my shoe caught it cleanly and launched it into the wall.

PANTRY RAT — DEAD NEW SKILL ACQUIRED FOOT SOLDIER — LEVEL 1 Foot Soldier improves the damage, control and effectiveness of deliberate kicks against hostile targets. Repeated meaningful use will increase this skill. Existing combat experience has accelerated initial acquisition. PUGILISM — PROFICIENCY INCREASED UNARMED COMBAT — PROFICIENCY INCREASED

The AI clarified that this did not mean boxing had magically taught me how to kick, which was why Foot Soldier was Level One. I told it I knew. It remained unconvinced.

I tried the new skill on the next rat and missed completely. The AI said, “There he is.”

Puppy looked down at my foot, then at his enormous paws. “I HAVE KICK?” I told him to save the experiment for somewhere without shelves of food.

Then Ashley shouted my name from across the pantry. The King was down to twenty-one percent. Evan was down to thirty-nine. The giant rat had him trapped against a shelving unit and refused to turn despite Dennis, Ashley and Marisol hitting it from three directions. Evan had no room to disengage and no way to self-Heal.

I hesitated. Puppy and Tom had the Level Ones under control. The King would be dead soon. But Evan was at thirty-one percent now, and I was too far away to physically create the window.

I looked at the axe in my hand.

I had never trained to throw an axe. That was important information.

I threw it anyway.

The axe spun through the pantry in a trajectory that would have embarrassed anyone who actually knew what they were doing. The blade missed the King completely. The wooden haft did not. It struck the side of the tiny crown with a loud THOCK and sent it flying.

The Pantry King froze. The AI sounded offended by physics.

ROYAL INDIGNATION — REFRESHED

The King turned away from Evan and stared at me. That was enough. Evan shoved himself free and Rachel shouted the call at exactly the right moment.

BASIC HEAL EVAN — 31% → 51%

A smaller message appeared for me: Thrown Weapons — Activity Registered. Not a skill. Not yet. The Dungeon had noticed the attempt without pretending one lucky distraction made me competent.

The King charged me. I briefly pulled the Curved Butcher Hook from shared inventory, looked at the short handle and strange balance, realized I had no idea what I was doing with it, and threw it onto the floor.

Tom glanced over while smashing a rat with his crate lid. “Why did you take it out?”

“I changed my mind!”

I raised my hands instead. That felt better. Not safe. Not ideal. Familiar. My stance settled without much conscious effort: hands up, chin down, weight balanced. A Pantry Rat jumped from my left. I slipped outside it and fired a short right behind the head. It survived at fifty-four percent, because a small rodent was a terrible boxing target. Puppy finished it with the Maul-Bone and announced that he had helped punch.

Another came low. Jab. Right. Still alive. A third entered from the side and I kicked it cleanly enough for Foot Soldier to finish the job.

Tom shouted a warning. The Pantry King was almost on me at eighteen percent. There were rats behind me, shelving everywhere, Puppy to my left and Tom to my right. Moving straight backward was the worst possible option, so I did what my feet already knew how to do. I waited until the King committed, then stepped off the line at an angle.

It tried to turn. It had too much mass and too much momentum. The shoulder still clipped me and knocked me into a shelf hard enough to drop my health to seventy-one percent, but I was not underneath it. More importantly, it overshot.

Ashley buried the hunting knife into its flank. Dennis followed with the spear. Marisol brought the Griddle Warden across its face.

PANTRY KING — 4%

Evan came behind them with the shield instead of the cleaver—of course he did—and drove it into the King's rear end. The enormous rat stumbled forward. Straight toward me.

My axe was on the floor. The hook was somewhere behind Tom. I did not need either one.

I planted my feet. The King lurched into range. My hands came up. There was very little thought after that. Its head moved forward and I threw the right hand: hip turned, shoulder followed, wrist straight, first two knuckles.

The punch landed clean above the nose. A heavy impact traveled through my fist and forearm, but the structure held. No sharp pain. No buckled wrist. Just the solid shock of hitting something much heavier and bonier than a person.

The Pantry King stayed upright for half a heartbeat.

PANTRY KING — 0% PANTRY KING — DEAD KILLING BLOW: UNARMED STRIKE PUGILISM — PROFICIENCY INCREASED UNARMED COMBAT — PROFICIENCY INCREASED

I flexed my fingers once. Fine. Ashley stared from the giant dead rat to me. “You punched the boss rat to death.”

“Not a boss.”

She stared harder. “That is the part you are correcting?”

“It matters.”

The AI agreed that I was unfortunately correct and asked everyone to respect the Dungeon's completely arbitrary taxonomy of things trying to murder us.

The remaining rats lasted less than a minute once the King was gone and all eight of us could collapse on them. Puppy squeezed one to death in a single paw and proudly announced that he had controlled it inside his hand. Ashley told him that sentence was horrible. Marisol killed another with a short downward strike of the Griddle Warden and received an Improvised Weapons proficiency increase.

Tom blocked a rat with the crate lid and Dennis finished it over his shoulder. Then Tom stopped moving. A notification was hanging in front of him.

“What did you get?” I asked.

“Logistics. Level Three.”

He shared the description. The skill improved organization of movement, storage, distribution, routing and efficient use of physical resources. Existing professional experience had contributed to the initial level. I looked at the rearranged crates, the protected food, the sealed tunnel and the improvised traffic lanes.

“Yeah. You earned that.”

Puppy raised a paw. “I HELP LOGISTIC?”

“You were the forklift.”

His chest expanded. “I AM FORKLIFT.” Tom closed his eyes. “I walked directly into that.”

The last rat hid inside an empty flour sack. Rachel found it because the sack moved. Puppy took the bag, held the top shut and, after asking what to do, slapped the bottom against the floor.

PANTRY RAT — DEAD THE KING'S PANTRY PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: COMPLETE SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: COMPLETE OPTIONAL OBJECTIVE: COMPLETE FOOD STOCK RECOVERED INTACT: 85%

Eighty-five percent should have felt excellent. My eyes immediately went to the broken jar, torn flour sack and scattered vegetables. Tom saw my face. “You are upset about an eighty-five.”

“I am not upset.”

“You are trying to locate the other fifteen.”

Puppy looked guilty. “I BREAK JAR.”

“You saved much more than one jar. You saved food.”

His ears lifted. “I SAVE FOOD.”

Then I remembered the giant corpse in the aisle. “Loot.” Ashley groaned because apparently I did have a loot face.

The Pantry King's corpse inventory contained the Royal Pantry Key, Royal Table Knife, Bent Tin Crown, Pantry King Hide, two enormous incisors, thirty-four gold, a small velvet coin purse and an Unidentified Cheese Wedge. Puppy appeared beside me the instant the last line rendered.

“CHEESE.”

“No.”

“I THINK CHEESE.”

“We are not eating unidentified dungeon cheese.”

The Royal Table Knife identified as an Uncommon one-handed blade with a minor bonus against unarmored targets. It was technically tableware and technically capable of opening both a dinner roll and a femoral artery. I offered it to Evan as an alternative to the cleaver. He said it made him look stupid. I reminded him he was standing next to a six-and-a-half-foot bulldog carrying a magic bone.

The crown had an armor value described only as embarrassing. Dennis immediately suggested Puppy. Ashley immediately said no. Puppy immediately said yes. I found no mechanical downside and handed it over. It balanced between his ears.

“I KING PUPPY.”

And thus democracy dies.

The pantry itself registered as Chef Royal's property, so we could not simply stuff the recovered stock into our inventories. I checked more than once. Tom accused me of testing whether stealing was allowed. I called it checking ownership. Ashley said I was becoming a hoarder. I kept the tiny brass button from the King's coin purse even after it identified as worthless.

“It literally says worthless,” she said.

“Currently.”

Chef Royal was waiting when we returned to the kitchen. He looked at Puppy's crown first. “No.” Puppy stood taller. “I KING.” Chef Royal looked at me and asked why I had allowed this. I told him there was no mechanical reason not to. His mustache twitched.

I handed over the Royal Pantry Key.

QUEST COMPLETE: THE KING'S PANTRY Food Stock Recovered: 85% All Hostile Occupants Removed Royal Pantry Key Recovered BONUS OBJECTIVE ACHIEVED REWARD UNLOCKED: CHEF ROYAL'S FAVOR BONUS REWARD UNLOCKED

Chef Royal called eighty-five percent acceptable. I repeated the word because it sounded suspiciously like criticism. Tom made a strangled noise behind me and whispered, “There are two of you.”

The Favor turned out to be a permanent access token: eight small brass cards stamped with the crowned-pig emblem. Whenever one of Chef Royal's kitchens was accessible, a holder could buy from his private menu. Availability varied by floor, location, ingredient supply, mood and whether Chef Royal currently disliked you.

“You thought this was my only kitchen?” Chef Royal asked.

I had. It was the second time that day I had assumed an NPC belonged to one specific room. I filed that away.

The current private menu offered temporary buffs instead of the healing or mana refill I had been hoping to see: Ironbelly Hash for endurance, Sharp-Eye Carrots for visual perception, Quiet Mind Tea for concentration and minor mental resistance, Lucky Little Dumplings with one unexplained lucky dumpling, and a Royal Dog Bowl made specifically without anything harmful to canines.

Puppy Dogmeat gasped so loudly Chef Royal's mustache moved. “I HAVE MENU.”

It was not a perfect solution to anything. That made me trust it more. Situational advantages. Temporary buffs. Things that could matter if we were smart enough to use them at the right time.

Then Chef Royal put a small wooden box on the counter. Inside were eight wrapped packages.

BONUS REWARD: ROYAL FIELD LUNCH ×8 Consumable Meal A portable meal prepared from recovered pantry stock. Restores hunger and provides one randomized minor temporary food buff when consumed. Buff is determined at preparation and remains unidentified until eaten.

Puppy picked up his package. “I EAT NOW?” Ashley took it away. “Inventory.”

He looked genuinely betrayed.

“MOTHER.”

The room stopped.

Ashley stared at him. I stared at him. Puppy stared back, then seemed to realize he had said something different from anything he had called her since the transformation. His ears slowly lowered.

Ashley took one step closer. “What did you call me?”

Puppy Dogmeat looked suddenly uncertain.

“...Ashley?”

Nobody laughed. Not even the AI.

Nobody moved.

Puppy Dogmeat still had one enormous hand resting on Chef Royal’s counter. Ashley still held the wrapped Royal Field Lunch she had confiscated from him before he could eat it immediately. Around us, the kitchen had fallen so completely silent that even the ordinary sounds seemed too loud—the low crackle of the ovens, the soft scrape of Chef Royal’s knife against his cutting board, the faint mechanical hum of whatever kept an impossible underground restaurant running after the end of the world.

Puppy’s ears lowered.

“...Ashley?”

She didn’t answer right away.

Her face had changed, though not in any dramatic way. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t smiling. She was simply staring at him as if the giant bulldog in front of her had suddenly become something she needed to relearn.

Puppy looked from her to the rest of us.

“I SAY BAD WORD?”

“No,” Ashley said softly.

He frowned.

“I SAY MOTHER.”

“Yeah.”

“I NOT SAY BEFORE.”

“No.”

He looked down at himself.

“I KNOW MOTHER.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Ashley took a step closer. “What do you mean?”

Puppy pressed one broad paw against his chest. His expression tightened with the effort of trying to explain something his new vocabulary had only just made possible.

“I know you as Ashley.”

He tapped his head.

“I know you feed.”

Then his chest.

“I know you walk. I know you say no sock. I know you come home.”

His voice grew quieter.

“I know when dark. I know when sleep.”

Ashley swallowed.

Puppy looked directly at her.

“I know you.”

Nobody interrupted.

“Before, I know here.” He tapped his head again. “And here.” His chest. “But no word.”

His ears drooped farther.

“But now I have words.”

That landed harder than anything else he had said since the biscuit changed him.

The transformation had given him speech. Intelligence. Hands. An inventory. A health bar. A crawler designation. All the things that were easiest to notice because the Dungeon put labels on them.

But Bruno had loved Ashley before he could explain what that love was.

Now he could.

Ashley stepped forward and hugged him.

It was considerably harder than it would have been yesterday. Her arms barely made it around his chest.

Puppy froze.

Then very slowly wrapped both arms around her.

Carefully.

“I NOT SQUISH.”

Ashley laughed into his chest. It came out broken at the edges.

“Thank you.”

“I CAN SQUISH OTHER.”

“I know.”

“I SQUISH RAT.”

“I saw.”

“I SQUISH MANY RAT.”

“I saw that too.”

His tail started wagging hard enough that Chef Royal reached across the counter and caught a hanging pan before it could be knocked to the floor.

I looked away.

Not because I didn’t want to see it.

Because suddenly watching felt intrusive.

Dennis found something fascinating about the end of his spear. Marisol adjusted the Griddle Warden on her belt. Tom inspected one of Chef Royal’s jars. Rachel simply smiled.

The AI said nothing.

That was what I noticed most.

It had commentary when I missed a rat with a kick. Commentary when Tom unlocked Logistics. Commentary when Puppy put a garbage crown between his ears and declared himself royalty.

Now?

Nothing.

Eventually Ashley stepped back.

Puppy didn’t release her.

“Bruno.”

He immediately let go.

“YES.”

“You can call me Ashley.”

His ears dropped.

“Oh.”

She shook her head. “No, I mean—you can call me whatever you want.”

He thought about that.

“Mother Ashley?”

Her expression nearly broke again.

“Sure.”

“I LIKE BOTH.”

“Okay.”

“Sometimes Ashley.”

“Okay.”

“Sometimes Mother.”

Ashley nodded.

“Okay.”

Puppy seemed satisfied.

Then his eyes dropped to the Royal Field Lunch in her hand.

“Mother.”

Ashley closed her eyes.

“No.”

“I TRY WORD.”

“You are not using an emotional breakthrough to manipulate me into giving you lunch.”

He looked at me.

I immediately raised both hands.

“Don’t involve me.”

“ARK.”

“No.”

“I AM HUNGRY SON.”

Tom made a choking sound.

Ashley pointed at Puppy. “You ate an entire chicken.”

“I AM LARGE SON.”

That broke the room.

Dennis laughed first. Marisol followed. Then Rachel. Even Ashley lost it.

Chef Royal waited until everyone had recovered before clearing his throat.

“Your lunch goes into inventory.”

Puppy sighed.

“CHEF PIG AGREE WITH MOTHER.”

Chef Royal slowly lifted his wooden spoon.

“Chef Royal.”

“CHEF ROYAL PIG.”

The spoon rose another inch.

“CHEF ROYAL.”

“Better.”

Ashley stored Puppy’s meal for him.

I did the same with mine.

ROYAL FIELD LUNCH ×1

The buff remained unidentified until consumption.

Random.

Of course it was random.

I checked the party.

Eight crawlers.

Alive.

Fed.

Mostly healed.

Better equipped than we had been a few hours ago.

An EMT with First Aid.

A warehouse manager with Logistics.

A transformed bulldog who was discovering vocabulary for emotions he had apparently carried his entire life.

And me.

Still trying to understand how any of this worked.

Before we left, Chef Royal stopped Puppy with a receipt.

CHEF ROYAL’S KITCHEN

CUSTOMER: PUPPY DOGMEAT

ROAST CHICKEN — 4 GOLD

TOTAL — 4 GOLD

Underneath, handwritten:

TIP: 0 GOLD

Chef Royal stared at Puppy.

Puppy stared back.

“I PAY FOOD.”

“You did.”

“I GOOD CUSTOMER.”

Chef Royal pointed at the bottom.

Puppy leaned closer.

“I DO NOT READ SMALL.”

I read it aloud.

“Tip: zero gold.”

His head turned toward Ashley.

“WHAT TIP?”

She immediately started walking toward the exit.

“Nope.”

“Mother.”

“No.”

“I NEED MONEY KNOWLEDGE.”

“You’re learning tipping culture from Ark.”

I stopped. “Why me?”

“You took him out to eat.”

“That was one chicken.”

Puppy looked at me expectantly.

“ARK. HOW TIP?”

I sighed.

“Usually if somebody serves you food, you leave a little extra money as a thank-you.”

“How little?”

“Depends.”

“How depend?”

Of course.

“Usually a percentage.”

His expression collapsed.

“I HATE FRACTIONS.”

“I know.”

Ashley called from the doorway, “Twenty percent.”

I pointed at her. “Do not introduce percentages.”

Puppy turned toward her. “WHAT TWENTY PERCENT?”

She kept walking.

Traitor.

“You spent four gold,” I said. “Twenty percent would be less than one.”

“So give one?”

“That would be generous.”

“I GENEROUS.”

He produced a gold coin and placed it proudly on the counter.

“For chicken.”

Chef Royal nodded. “Thank you.”

Puppy’s tail started wagging again.

“I TIP.”

“Yes.”

“I GOOD CUSTOMER.”

“You are improving.”

Puppy immediately clutched his remaining money protectively when I explained that tipping involved voluntarily giving some of it away.

Chef Royal laughed.

Then we finally left.

The hidden corridor felt smaller with eight of us moving through it, but the return to the Gnoll Butcher room was uneventful. The two corpses were still there, though their edges had begun to fade.

Not rot.

Fade.

A faint line appeared when I focused on one.

CORPSE PERSISTENCE EXPIRING

Dungeon cleanup.

Puppy sniffed the body.

“It smell less.”

“Probably good.”

“I LIKE DEAD RAT SMELL BETTER.”

“That’s something you should keep private.”

The map felt better now.

That was the only way I could describe it.

The entire detour behind us had transformed from fog into clean lines.

Gnoll room.

Chef Royal’s kitchen.

The Royal Pantry.

Complete.

Tom caught me looking at it.

“You’re checking completion.”

“I’m checking the route.”

“You zoomed out specifically to look at the finished branch.”

“That was part of checking the route.”

“Sure.”

I was beginning to regret inviting someone professionally trained to recognize obsessive organizational behavior.

The path toward the Experience Cookie safe room still had several unexplored side passages.

So, naturally, we checked them.

The first contained three broken buckets, a broom, and an item the Dungeon identified as:

MILDLY DAMP MOP

Ashley looked at me.

“Take it.”

“No.”

“You took a worthless button.”

“That button could become relevant.”

“The mop could become relevant.”

“The mop is literally mildly damp.”

Puppy grabbed it.

“I TAKE MOP.”

“Why?”

“I HAVE INVENTORY.”

Apparently that was sufficient justification.

The second side room contained two geese.

Normal geese.

White feathers. Orange beaks. Angry eyes.

Then one opened its mouth.

Steam poured out.

BOILER GOOSE — LEVEL 1

Evolution looked at an ordinary goose and decided the personality was fine, but the hardware lacked sufficient hate.

“Of course,” I said.

The first goose charged.

Evan raised his shield.

Dennis readied the spear.

Ashley moved to circle.

Marisol reached for the Griddle Warden.

Puppy beat everyone to it.

He grabbed the goose around the body.

“I CONTROL.”

The goose twisted its neck around and bit his forearm.

PUPPY DOGMEAT — 98%

His expression changed instantly.

“BAD BIRD.”

Marisol stepped forward and cracked it with the spatula.

BOILER GOOSE — DEAD

The second goose looked at its dead companion.

Then at the eight of us.

Then ran.

Ashley lowered her knife.

“Do we chase it?”

I watched the Level One marker disappear around the corner.

“No.”

Dennis looked surprised.

“You don’t want the XP?”

“Not enough to sprint after a goose through unexplored territory.”

The AI chimed.

Character development.

“Shut up.”

We still checked the room where it had fled.

Carefully.

The goose had somehow disappeared into a crack in the wall that should not physically have accommodated a goose.

“Nope.”

Tom pointed. “Could send Puppy.”

Puppy immediately leaned toward the opening.

“I FIT?”

“No.”

“I CAN TRY.”

“No.”

Ashley physically pulled him away.

The nest contained three eggs. Two were ordinary.

The third identified.

BOILER GOOSE EGG

Common Ingredient

Chef Royal’s favor token gave a faint pulse when I focused on it.

Interesting.

I stored the egg.

The final side passage was empty.

Actually empty.

I checked twice.

Dennis watched me look behind a support column.

“There’s nothing.”

“I know.”

“You’re still checking.”

“Yes.”

He nodded slowly.

“Just learning.”

Eventually the map stopped branching.

The route descended through a long, gently curving corridor until a blue icon appeared ahead.

Safe room.

Some tension left my shoulders before I consciously allowed it.

“Safe room.”

Puppy raised both hands.

“COOKIE.”

“Maybe.”

His hands lowered halfway.

“WHY MAYBE?”

“Because Chef Royal ruined certainty.”

“I DO NOT LIKE CHEF ROYAL NOW.”

“You loved him twenty minutes ago.”

“HE GIVE CHICKEN.”

“So you still like him.”

Puppy considered this.

“I HAVE COMPLICATED FEELINGS.”

Ashley smiled and scratched behind one of his ears.

“Look at you.”

“I HAVE FEELINGS WORDS.”

His back leg almost started kicking before he caught himself.

“I AM PERSON.”

“You’re also still Bruno.”

He leaned into her hand.

“Yes.”

The door looked different from Vellix’s Guild Hall.

Blue-painted metal. Smaller. Functional.

A plaque beside the handle read:

LIMITED SERVICE SAFE ROOM

AUTHORIZED CRAWLERS ONLY

I checked the minimap.

No enemies.

Puppy sniffed.

“People.”

“How many?”

“Many.”

“Blood?”

He sniffed again.

“No much.”

Good.

“Stay together until we see what we’re walking into.”

Ashley opened the door.

Conversation hit us first.

The room beyond was roughly the size of a small hotel lobby. Tables and benches filled the center. Sleeping cubicles and private rooms occupied one wall. Restrooms sat farther back.

And crawlers.

At least twenty.

Maybe closer to thirty.

Some were alone. Others clustered in small groups.

A woman in a torn business suit slept with her head on a table, one arm wrapped around a backpack. Two teenagers sat against the wall sharing something from a metal bowl. A massive bald man wearing nothing but a blue floral bathrobe sharpened a long spear with practiced movements.

That caught my attention.

Not the bathrobe.

Okay, partly the bathrobe.

But mostly the spear.

He looked comfortable with it.

Not like Evan trying out a cleaver or Tom holding a meat hook because we had nothing better.

The spear belonged in his hands.

Worth remembering.

Another crawler caught my eye near the information screens.

A woman in a bright yellow raincoat. Late forties, maybe. Construction hard hat. Claw hammer tucked through her belt.

She had a notebook.

An actual paper notebook.

Every few seconds she looked at one of the screens.

Write.

Check another.

Write.

Look around the safe room.

Write.

She wasn’t resting.

She was collecting information.

That immediately made her interesting.

I mentally marked her.

Yellow raincoat.

Notebook.

Talk later.

Then Puppy gasped.

“ARK.”

A simple plate of chocolate-chip cookies sat on a pedestal near the wall.

Nothing magical-looking.

Nothing glowing.

They looked slightly stale.

A sign above them read:

LIMITED SERVICES AT THIS LOCATION

TAKE AN EXPERIENCE COOKIE

ONE PER CRAWLER PER DAY

YOU DESERVE IT

Puppy started forward.

I caught his harness.

“Wait.”

“COOKIE.”

“I know.”

“I AM CRAWLER.”

“I know.”

“ONE PER CRAWLER.”

“I can read.”

“THEN WHY WAIT?”

Because this was a death game created by aliens who had repeatedly demonstrated that their idea of humor involved violence, humiliation, and weaponized fine print.

“I want to inspect it.”

Puppy stared at me.

“IT COOKIE.”

“Yes.”

“I EXAMINE WITH MOUTH.”

“Give me ten seconds.”

I focused on the plate.

EXPERIENCE COOKIE

Consumable

Base Effect: +10 Experience

Limited Service Item

Acquisition Limit: One per eligible Crawler per day at this location

Straightforward.

Suspiciously straightforward.

I tried expanding the description.

Nothing.

Focused harder.

Nothing.

“Does it do exactly what it says?”

“No.”

I froze.

That voice.

Slowly, I turned.

Vellix sat behind a desk in the corner.

Same stained vest.

Same spectacles over his lower eyes.

Same three braids.

Different desk.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

Then at the safe-room door.

Then back at him.

“No.”

Vellix closed all four eyes.

“Oh, here we go.”

“We walked back.”

“Yes.”

“All the way back.”

“Yes.”

“For you.”

“Yes.”

“You were sitting at your desk.”

“I frequently sit at desks.”

“This is a different desk.”

“Yes.”

Ashley started laughing.

I pointed at Vellix.

“How are you here?”

“I am your Game Guide.”

“That does not answer the question.”

“It answers it completely.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Game Guides are accessible through qualifying safe-room facilities.”

I stared at him.

“You can show up in safe rooms.”

“Qualifying safe rooms.”

“And nobody told me.”

“I assumed you understood.”

“Why would I understand that?”

Vellix spread two hands.

“You accepted the destruction of surface civilization, an interdimensional inventory, the transformation of a domestic bulldog into a sapient crawler, and a magical underground restaurant. Yet apparently the concept of me owning more than one desk was too fantastical.”

Puppy raised one paw.

“I AM SAPPIENT.”

“Sapient.”

“I SAY THAT.”

The AI chimed.

NEW ACHIEVEMENT!

I closed my eyes.

CUSTOMER SUPPORT ROAD TRIP!

You walked all the way back to the tutorial Guild Hall to ask questions when your Game Guide would have been waiting for you at your destination anyway.

Reward: You have learned to ask more specific questions.

I waited.

Nothing happened.

“No box?”

The reward was personal growth.

“That is not a reward.”

It is when you’re you.

Ashley was openly laughing now.

I rubbed my face.

Then pointed at the cookies.

“Fine. Does that do exactly what it says?”

Vellix looked at the cookie.

“Yes.”

“No poison?”

“No.”

“Random debuff?”

“No.”

“No delayed effect?”

“No.”

“No thing where it gives ten XP and takes eleven later?”

“Crawler Ark.”

“Yes?”

“It is a stale chocolate-chip cookie worth ten base experience.”

“That simple?”

“Yes.”

The AI chimed.

Sometimes a cookie is a cookie.

“That does not make me trust it more.”

Puppy pointed at the plate.

“AI SAY COOKIE.”

“Exactly.”

I kept going.

“Ten XP directly to the person who eats it?”

“Base experience enters the normal experience system.”

There it was.

“Party sharing applies.”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“The exact formulas are not provided.”

“Why?”

“Because the people operating the Dungeon have no interest in letting crawlers reverse-engineer every experience calculation.”

Tom looked at me.

“You were going to build a spreadsheet.”

“If we had Excel.”

“You don’t need Excel. I can already see your face.”

I ignored him.

“Every one of us gets one?”

“Yes.”

“Same party doesn’t matter?”

“No.”

“One per day.”

“Yes.”

Puppy raised both arms.

“WE HAVE ANSWER.”

“We have answer.”

Ashley took hers first.

Then Marisol.

Dennis.

Evan.

Rachel.

Tom.

Puppy practically vibrated while waiting his turn.

When he finally took the cookie, he stared at it with genuine awe.

“I HAVE COOKIE.”

“Yes.”

He ate the entire thing.

PING!

His ears shot upright.

“I HEAR EXPERIENCE.”

“I heard it.”

“I WANT AGAIN.”

His paw went back toward the plate.

Straight through the remaining cookies.

He froze.

Tried again.

His hand passed through them like smoke.

His face fell.

“COOKIE GHOST.”

“One per day.”

“I AM STILL CRAWLER.”

“One per crawler per day.”

“I HATE DAY.”

I took mine last.

It tasted exactly like Vellix had promised.

Stale.

Very stale.

Then:

PING!

EXPERIENCE AWARDED

My progression bar moved.

Not much.

But it moved.

Actual progress.

I opened the full display immediately.

Of course I did.

Then looked at everyone else’s.

Eight cookies.

Eight experience events moving through the party system.

Useful.

Repeatable.

Worth remembering.

Vellix saw my expression.

“No.”

“I haven’t asked anything.”

“You have the posture.”

“What posture?”

“The one preceding questions.”

I walked to his desk.

“Okay. Different question.”

He waited.

“I understand video games.”

“That has become painfully clear.”

“Levels. Experience. loot. Status effects. Party roles. Grinding. Bosses. Safe zones. I understand the basic logic.”

“Congratulations.”

“What do I need to know that isn’t basic video-game knowledge?”

That actually made him pause.

Good.

“I mean things that can get me killed because I assume this works like something I’ve played.”

Vellix leaned back.

“Several.”

The others drifted closer.

Even Puppy stopped staring mournfully at the inaccessible cookies.

“First,” Vellix said, “your interface provides information. It is not omniscient.”

I nodded.

“A health bar tells you health. It does not necessarily explain why health is changing. A level is a Dungeon classification. It does not tell you whether a creature is intelligent, experienced, uniquely equipped, or capable of killing you before you react.”

Morgul.

The Pantry King.

The gnolls.

Got it.

“Second: meaningful participation matters. The Dungeon tracks more than killing blows.”

“For experience?”

“And other forms of progression. Damage. Tanking. Healing. Control. Support. Other useful contribution.”

“So Puppy holding something while we kill it counts.”

“Yes.”

“Evan taking hits.”

“Yes.”

“Rachel stabilizing somebody.”

“Potentially.”

Good.

That made party roles more important without turning combat into a competition for final hits.

“Third: skills develop from what you actually do. Repeated useful behavior matters. Existing competence matters. The Dungeon notices.”

My Foot Soldier notification immediately came to mind.

So did Tom’s Logistics.

Marisol’s improvised-weapon progression.

Puppy’s grappling.

“Fourth: do not assume an item is worthless merely because you cannot currently imagine a use for it.”

I slowly turned toward Ashley.

“No,” she said.

“Worthless button.”

“It is still worthless.”

“Vellix literally just—”

“I heard him.”

Vellix raised another hand.

“Fifth: safe does not mean time stops.”

The floor timer continued on one of the screens.

“Safe rooms protect crawlers from crawler violence and punish hostile mobs that attack within them. They do not stop the floor countdown. They do not guarantee infinite resources. And they are not magical walls monsters cannot cross.”

“We learned that.”

“Good.”

Puppy nodded.

“POP.”

Vellix sighed.

“Yes. Pop.”

“Sixth: safe rooms appear on your map even through unexplored territory on this floor.”

Navigation anchors.

Useful.

“Seventh: loot boxes may only be opened while you are inside a safe room.”

“That I know.”

“But if you accumulate multiple boxes, do not think of them as individual emergency consumables you can selectively open whenever convenient. When you choose to resolve your available boxes, expect the accumulated sequence to resolve.”

I stopped.

That was definitely not normal game logic.

“We’ve been treating them wrong.”

“You’ve been treating several things wrong.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Then Vellix’s expression changed.

“One more you should know now. Do not spend the next several days assuming you can grind until the floor timer is nearly finished and casually stroll downstairs.”

“Why?”

“The stairwells to the Second Floor are not available immediately.”

Everybody looked at him.

“They open after the first episode of *Dungeon Crawler World: Earth*.”

I looked toward the information screens.

One carried another countdown.

I had barely paid attention to it before.

Now I did.

“So there’s a forced minimum time on Floor One.”

“Yes.”

“And after the episode?”

“Then you need to locate a stairwell and reach it alive.”

“Are they marked?”

“Eventually.”

I hated that word.

I looked around the safe room again.

Bathrobe spear guy.

Yellow raincoat.

Teenagers.

People sleeping.

People talking quietly.

Twenty-something crawlers waiting while time moved forward regardless.

Some of them probably knew things we didn’t.

Some probably knew less.

Some would walk out those doors and never come back.

I looked at our party display.

Eight.

That raised another question.

“What’s the party limit?”

“There isn’t one on this floor.”

I blinked.

“No cap?”

“Not yet.”

“So twenty people?”

“If you wish.”

“Fifty?”

“Yes.”

“A hundred?”

Vellix gave me a tired look.

“If you manage to coordinate one hundred terrified crawlers effectively, I suggest you enjoy the accomplishment before one of them ruins it.”

Tom shook his head.

“A hundred direct reports sounds worse than the Dungeon.”

“Spoken like management.”

“So when does the cap start?”

“Sixth Floor. Thirty crawlers maximum per party. Guild mechanics also become relevant there.”

Thirty.

Still enormous.

“So right now there’s no mechanical reason not to add people.”

Vellix immediately lifted a finger.

“That is not what I said.”

“No hard cap.”

“Correct.”

“But more people means more food, more coordination, more personalities, more mistakes.”

“Correct.”

“And experience can be affected.”

“Yes.”

Fine.

That made sense.

Still, it removed one concern I hadn’t realized I was carrying.

If we found someone alone, competent, compatible—

There wasn’t some invisible party-size rule forcing us to abandon them.

I glanced toward the woman in the yellow raincoat again.

Still writing.

Information.

I liked information.

I wanted whatever was in that notebook.

Not in a steal-the-notebook way.

Probably.

I made a mental note.

Talk to yellow raincoat.

Later.

“Anything else?” Vellix asked.

There always was.

“What happens if somebody sleeps here while their party leaves?”

“They sleep.”

“That simple?”

“For now.”

I frowned.

He continued before I could ask.

“Sleeping crawlers inside safe rooms remain protected. Their normal crawler marker also becomes less visible to outsiders while sleeping, though party members can still account for one another.”

Interesting.

Privacy mechanic.

“Rooms cost?”

“Nothing on these early floors.”

Behind me, Puppy gasped.

“FREE?”

“Yes.”

“I HAVE ROOM?”

“If you want one.”

His face lit up.

“I HAVE HOUSE.”

“Room,” Ashley corrected.

“DUNGEON HOUSE.”

I looked back at Vellix.

“And there’s no reason not to sleep besides the timer continuing.”

“Correct.”

That should have been an easy decision.

Instead my brain immediately generated a list.

Talk to yellow raincoat.

Ask bathrobe guy about his spear.

Cookie tomorrow.

More exploration.

Check equipment.

Identify the cheese.

Open loot boxes eventually.

Find real healing.

Increase mana.

Watch the Dungeon Crawler World countdown.

Think about stairs.

Then Vellix said, “You should sleep.”

“I feel fine.”

“You are an idiot.”

“That medical advice?”

“No. Professional observation.”

Rachel called from behind me.

“He’s probably right.”

I turned.

“That was judgment.”

“Medical judgment.”

I almost argued.

Then actually thought about it.

Noon.

Joy.

The Riverwalk.

Architecture boat.

Walking downtown.

Hello Kitty Cafe.

The museum.

Dinner.

Drinks.

More walking.

Driving her home.

Two in the morning before the date actually ended.

Then Algonquin.

Sitting in the Ridgeline, replaying the hug.

Getting out.

The world disappearing.

Mom.

The entrance.

Ashley.

Bruno.

Trench Lickers.

Vellix.

Gutter Jacks.

Dennis.

Evan.

Marisol.

Morgul.

Gnolls.

Rachel.

Tom.

Chef Royal.

An entire fucking rat monarchy.

I had treated everything since noon yesterday as one continuous event because technically it had been.

My body apparently disagreed.

The moment I acknowledged being tired, I felt it.

Not dramatically.

My knees didn’t buckle. I didn’t suddenly become incapable of standing.

I just became aware of everything I had been ignoring.

Dry eyes.

Heavy shoulders.

Thoughts requiring slightly more effort than they should.

The fact that I had almost walked across the room to interrogate a stranger with a notebook instead of sleeping.

“Oh.”

Ashley looked at me.

“What?”

“I think I’m tired.”

She stared.

“You think?”

“I wasn’t thinking about it.”

“You’ve been awake since yesterday.”

“I know that now.”

Vellix pointed toward the sleeping rooms.

“The Dungeon will provide you with plenty of opportunities to die. Exhaustion does not require your assistance.”

That was annoyingly reasonable.

I looked at the yellow-raincoat woman one more time.

Still taking notes.

Tomorrow.

The information would still be there tomorrow.

Probably.

I hated probably.

“One last question.”

Vellix closed all four eyes.

“I swear.”

He opened them.

“What is the thing most new crawlers misunderstand that gets them killed?”

No sarcasm this time.

He studied me.

Then leaned forward.

“That knowing the rules means they understand the Dungeon.”

I waited.

“A video game is generally designed with the expectation that someone can complete it.”

That immediately sounded bad.

“The World Dungeon is designed to generate entertainment while eliminating crawlers.”

The nearby conversation seemed quieter.

“Learn the rules,” Vellix said. “Learn the systems. Learn the patterns. Exploit every one of them.”

His lower eyes narrowed behind the spectacles.

“But never mistake the existence of a system for evidence that the system wants you to succeed.”

That one stayed.

I nodded.

“Okay.”

Vellix stared suspiciously.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“No follow-up?”

“I said last question.”

Ashley looked genuinely impressed.

“Holy shit.”

“Don’t ruin it.”

We claimed rooms.

There were enough that nobody had to share unless they wanted to.

Dennis took one.

Evan.

Marisol.

Rachel and Tom took separate rooms near each other.

Mine was toward the far end of the hallway.

Puppy Dogmeat stood in the doorway of his assigned room.

He looked inside.

Then at Ashley.

Then inside again.

Then back at her.

“I HAVE OWN ROOM.”

“Yes.”

He stepped inside.

Stopped.

Backed out.

“Mother.”

Ashley turned from her own door.

“What?”

Puppy looked into the empty room.

Then at her.

His voice got quieter.

“I sleep alone?”

Ashley stared at him for a moment.

Then opened her door wider.

“Come on.”

His ears lifted immediately.

“I SHARE HOUSE.”

“Room.”

“DUNGEON HOUSE.”

Their door closed behind them.

I stood there for a second.

Then looked back toward the lobby.

I could still see a sliver of yellow raincoat beyond the hallway entrance.

Still writing.

Tomorrow.

I opened my room.

Small.

Clean.

Cool.

A narrow bed with white sheets. A tiny table. No window. Nothing decorative.

It might have been the nicest place I had seen since the world ended.

I closed the door and placed the axe within reach of the bed.

Then looked at it.

Safe room.

Right.

Apparently new habits were developing faster than old ones were disappearing.

I sat on the mattress and opened my interface one last time.

Party.

Eight.

All alive.

Experience.

Skills.

Map.

Floor timer.

Cookie eligibility.

The Dungeon Crawler World countdown.

Then—

“No.”

I closed everything.

That took more effort than it should have.

I lay down.

The mattress was actually soft.

My brain kept moving.

Yellow raincoat.

Notebook.

Cookie tomorrow.

Explore nearby branches.

Cheese.

Equipment.

Mana.

Healing.

Stairwells.

Joy.

Mom.

That one hurt.

I rolled onto my side.

I hadn’t let myself think much about the surface.

There had never been time.

Or maybe I had made sure there wasn’t.

Now the room was quiet.

For the first time since stepping out of the Ridgeline, nothing required an immediate decision.

No footsteps.

No monster.

No screaming.

No AI notification.

No Puppy Dogmeat yelling about food.

Nothing.

My eyes closed.

The last thought I managed to finish was that when I woke up, I needed to talk to the woman in the yellow raincoat.

Information first.

Then everything else.

I was asleep before I could start making the list.