"You know what we need?" Donut asked, looking about. "We need alcohol. And dancing. Let's party."

"You know I don't have a pass to the Desperado Club, right?" I said. "I've told you several times now."

"Oh yeah," Donut said, sounding dejected. "You need to do something bad and get a tattoo."

She really did seem sad that I wouldn't be able to come; ironically, that felt good. "What did you guys do to get access?"

"It doesn't matter," Carl said, interrupting Donut. "I think it might be a better idea for you to try to get into the other club, Club Vanquisher. I don't know what's required, but we'll find out."

Of course he didn't want me to join them.

I shrugged, trying to keep it casual. "Okay. You guys go have fun. I have stuff I need to do anyway. Mordecai told me of a type of craft table I should buy. I'm going to pick it up while you're out and try to get some work done. Just don't take too long."

The door closed behind them and the room suddenly felt empty. Empty, and silent, and lonely.

Katia: Hi, Hekla. How are things?, I sent over chat.

Hekla: ctf

Huh?

I puzzled over it for a bit and eventually had a lightbulb moment: Can't talk, fighting.

I started to send another message apologizing and wishing her luck, but I stopped myself before hitting Send. Distractions could be fatal, especially if it happened to be a boss fight.

Well, it was official: No one wanted to talk to me.

I looked over at the door to my bedroom. Maybe a nap? Forget about all of this for a while. Maybe by the time I woke up Carl and Donut would be back.

...No. These new beds meant I only slept two hours. One more thing that the dungeon had taken from me, along with my family, my art books and supplies, and my humanity.

With a sigh I headed over to the saferoom proprietor to get a makeup table like Mordecai had recommended. With the purchase coupon and the two table-upgrade couples I would be starting with it at level three, so it should be useful.

While I was doing that I also got myself some jalapeño poppers and a chocolate shake; I'd never eaten at an Arby's before, so it was a new experience. The poppers were soaked in grease and filled with a gooey cheese that probably had no association whatsoever with actual dairy. The shake was rich, creamy, full of a ridiculous amount of sugar, and big enough to drown in. No wonder Americans had such problems with obesity, diabetes, and heart disease.

I set the table up in the crafting room and sat in front of the glass as I pondered what to work on. Donut had said that I needed to be more interesting. Apparently quadrillions of aliens thought I was boring and useless. Good to know that the entire universe agreed with my neighbors and coworkers.

My former neighbors and coworkers. Everyone I had ever known was dead. Mom, Dad, my siblings, Mrs. Gunnarson next door, my coworker Mattias who smoked those incredibly foul cigarettes...everyone.

Grief rose up to swallow me, but I pushed it aside and focused on the anger instead. I would not be boring, or useless! I would show them that I could do more, be more. I did not have to be the self-pitying load that Carl and Donut dragged around until they could dump me back with Hekla.

In fact, maybe this was an opportunity. When I had spent that summer in Russia it had been a chance to reinvent myself, free of prior attachments and expectations. I literally could not imagine a time or place more free of prior attachments and expectations than this dungeon. I wasn't tied down lecturing to late-stage teenagers who wanted to be out drinking and sexing instead of in my class. I didn't have to be 'Ms. Katia', the art history professor who had to be well-dressed and proper. I could be anything I wanted. I could be brassy like Donut, or brave and terse like Hekla if I wanted. Shoot, I could even be aggressive and crazy like Lucia Mar. The aliens all loved her. Donut had said I should get a catchphrase; maybe I should choose something violent and crass. Maybe 'Eat my axe, motherfucker!'

...No. That was too long, and also too much a raunchy double entendre when said out loud. It needed to be something short and catchy, like Carl's "Goddamnit, Donut." What were some good catchphrases from the real world? Maybe that "You get a thing and you get a thing" meme?

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Of course, before I got a catchphrase I needed to survive. That meant leveling up, and that meant being able to kill things.

I pulled my axe out of my inventory and considered it while munching on the sinfully delicious poppers. It was a decent weapon, but I didn't have the strength yet to take full advantage of it. Even once I did, it didn't stack up well against Hekla's crossbow or Eva's trident. I needed to find something better.

No, I needed to be something better. That was the point of being a doppelganger. Maybe something like Carl's war gauntlet?

I munched a few more poppers with my left hand while holding my right fist up in front of myself consideringly. I didn't want to break my fingers when I hit something, so I wrapped it in a ball of metal from some of the armor I had absorbed. And added some spikes to make it look scarier. Yes, that was good.

I did the same for the other hand, then stood up and took some practice swings. The extra mass in my fists tended to pull me off-balance, so I shifted mass from my torso down into my legs as a counterweight.

Ow.

I hurriedly sat down at the table again so that I could experiment without the pain. Make myself shorter to bring my center of gravity down—the shoes made me surefooted but the description had only said that it covered the ground shaking, not me being pushed back by an attacker or knocking myself off balance with a missed attack. Thicken my arms to give myself the strength to control those fists better. Yes, that should do it.

I stood up and took some more swings at the air. Better, but they were still dragging me around if I didn't swing carefully. Having to swing carefully defeated the whole point.

I sat down again and allowed the mace to melt back into a hand. I turned it this way and that, considering the range of motion of my fingers and the appearance of the skin. It was surprisingly difficult to get that right. The way skin crinkles over the knuckles, the rounded ridges of the veins and sharp lines of tendons...hands were hard. Not as hard as faces but hard.

I melted my hand back into the mace form but this time I focused on less mass and longer spikes. Experimentation showed that it worked better. I'd need to try it out in the training room later, which would be nice since I'd had enough of training the Catcher skill for a while. Carl hadn't actually said it, but he'd made it clear that he thought of me as a...what did the gamer boys call it? A 'meatshield'? Yes. It was my job to get hit so that he and Donut wouldn't.

No, that was unfair. Carl wasn't hiding behind me, he was fighting beside me—in fact, he was usually taking the lead and my job was to keep him from getting flanked. He could be brusque and he was a little bossy but he was also a good leader and he was looking out for me when he didn't have to. And keeping Donut safe was smart; her skills made a huge difference to the team and she was much too fragile to take a hit, whereas I had Constitution for days. Especially on the trains where my momentum bonus applied. For someone with my role on the team, Catcher made a lot of sense.

In fact, maybe I could take advantage of that more. The purpose of Catcher was to let me catch attacks. The training room had me stopping ranged attacks, but maybe I could use it for melee as well. Maybe I could even make it an offensive move.

I stood up and practiced a bit, imagining someone swinging down with a knife or other weapon. If I put my arm in front of the attack it would be my Strength against theirs, and mine was no great shakes. Plus, I might get stabbed. On the other hand, if I used Catcher to intercept with my hand behind the attack, I could push it to the side. Maybe I could even guide it so that the person stabbed themself in the leg. Yes, that seemed like maybe it could work.

I smiled in satisfaction; I was improving! I could in fact contribute. And I could be interesting too.

Of course, 'being interesting' meant being different from who I was, from what a lifetime of being me had molded me into. Fortunately, I now had the ability to literally mold myself into someone else. Someone more interesting.

I considered that. Who did I want to be? Human, and a woman, since I wasn't ready to move that far from my self-image. Someone sexy. Someone brave. Someone that people liked and would follow. Someone who cared about others.

"Show me Hekla," I said to the makeup table. It obligingly put Hekla's face on its surface, showing mine beside it. I shifted my nose to look more like hers: Narrower, finer, without the slight dent at the apex that I had.

Match: 1.6%

Wow, you really suck at this.

I jumped a little at the system message, glaring up at the ceiling as though it were the AI's actual face. "I'm just starting!"

No reply.

I smoothed my nose into a better match, widened my cheekbones more, and then started working on my chin. The match percentage went up steadily, although the AI continued making snarky comments.

Eventually I got the face as close as I could and I started working on the body. Larger breasts (because of course she did!), wider hips, longer legs. I didn't have the mass to match her size without making my limbs hollow, so I tried to work at 3/4 scale. I was up to a 65% match when I heard the door to the liminal space open. I grabbed my shake and raced over to sit on the couch, leaning back as though I had been calmly sitting there for hours.

Three steps in the door, Carl froze, his eyes going wide as he looked at me.

"What do you think?" I asked, jumping up and spreading my arms to show off all my hard work. I spilled some of the shake onto the couch but did my best not to acknowledge that. Didn't want to distract from the show.

"No eyeshadow," Donut said. "She doesn't wear makeup. And she's a lot bigger. But you did a really good job."

"Wow," Carl said after a moment. "That's really good. If I was Hekla I'd be weirded out right now, but that's great. Are you able to change the name over your head?"

"Sort of," I said. "It's a skill called 'Walk in Their Shoes,' and my race came with a level 5 in it. It only lasts for five minutes, and I can only turn it on if my appearance matches their appearance by at least 90%. This Hekla is only 65%. It's the best I can do."

"It looks a lot better than 65% to me," Carl said. "It had me fooled."

I smiled in satisfaction. I could do this!