Carl: Start the train! We're coming in hot!

Katia: What?! What's happening?

I looked frantically around at the various controls. Carl had given me and Donut a lesson on how to drive the train as we were leaving the station. At the time I had understood it all, but now it had gone straight out of my head.

Fortunately, Albert had been paying attention. A valve handle flashed green in my view, with a curved green arrow indicating a small counterclockwise turn. I followed the directions, turning the valve and flipping two switches before pushing the throttle lever forward. I pushed it too far and a flashing red '!!!' appeared over it with an arrow showing how far to let up. The train lurched and started moving forward very slowly, less than a walking pace.

Carl: Go go go! Crank it! We're almost there!

There was a faint sound as Donut landed on the roof of the engineer's cabin and jumped through the broken window to land on my shoulder.

"Faster!" she said, not wasting time on pleasantries.

I pushed the throttle down more just as a series of explosions sounded from behind us.

"What's happening?"

"We found the generator that's making all those ghouls," she said. "It looks like one of those pastry bags that I used to see on the cooking channel. It's got a soul crystal on top of it and it plops out a new ghoul every second. There's a door out of the room that leads to a one-way portal to the Repair Station. We came in through a maintenance door that was obvious from our side but concealed on theirs. They saw it when we opened it and we didn't manage to close it in time before the ghouls started coming through."

There was a loud clang as Carl jumped aboard and accidentally banged his spiked kneepads against the side of the train. He tumbled gracelessly through the broken window and sprawled on the floor.

"Go, go, go!" he yelled, completely superfluously because he lunged past me and threw all his weight on the throttle lever. He held it there with one hand while fiddling with other knobs and levers. The train lurched and then started accelerating hard.

"What are you idiots doing?" Brandy said, sticking her head out of the boiler. "The boiler is going redline! If you don't slow down it might burst."

"If we slow down it will definitely burst," Carl said grimly. "There's a soul crystal in that room and it's going to be exploding any second. There's a bunch of turns between us and it, but when those things explode they explode big."

Brandy paled. A moment later she ducked back into the boiler and the train accelerated very slightly. I could hear a keening high note coming from the metal around us as Carl pushed the train engine to the edge of its tolerance.

"Carl, what did you do?" I asked. My stomach had dropped into my feet.

He glanced at a gauge that was passing the top of redline and eased back slightly on the throttle until the gauge dropped from 12:01 to 11:57. "There was a ghoul generator, powered by a soul crystal, and a portal that was sending them to the trainyard. I tossed some time-delay explosives in. I'm hoping that the blast destroys the generator and reaches through the portal to clear some of the trainyard. Problem is that we couldn't close the door behind us, so the ghouls are flooding out into the station; I dropped a couple spike traps and some explosives to slow them down but they weren't far behind us."

"Not to pile on," Albert said, "but I have an unrelated update. We already knew that the mobs on this level are addicted to drugs in order to make them patrol between stations. Tomás Garcia Ramirez Villareal and his team have discovered that when they are cut off from their supply many of the mobs will die and the rest will become more powerful."

Carl read the words out of his chat and cursed.

"They lose access to the drug when the trains stop running," I said. "So when we derailed the Ochre line...."

"All the mobs on that line lost access to their drug, yes. It appears, based on the information supplied by Tomás, that roughly half of the mobs will die from the withdrawal and the rest will become substantially more powerful. Some time later, half of the survivors die and the rest become yet more powerful. Then half again die and the remaining one-eighth of the original supply become extremely powerful. The process stops after three cycles and the third-stage mobs simply die."

"Well, at least—"

SKADOOM!

The Rescue Rail lurched, throwing all of us forward into the control panel as a column of flame shot past us. My metal-covered head dented the panel and I lost a few points off my health bar while Carl lost a third of his. Donut was thrown forward too fast for her to activate HIDER; she crunched against the control panel, instantly zeroing her health bar...and then it rose back to 5% as her Cockroach skill saved her.

"Fuck," Carl said, collapsing to the floor and clutching his scalp. It was bleeding everywhere, but the bloodflow stopped once he used his Heal spell.

I grabbed a Heal scroll out of my inventory and used it on Donut. I could hear sickening pops and crackles as her bones realigned themselves and fused together again.

"What was that?" I asked. A moment later I realized what a stupid question it was. "Right, soul crystal."

"Yah." Carl still seemed discombobulated and his eyes weren't tracking terribly well.

"Ow," Donut said.

"Well, we survived," I said, trying to sound optimistic.

Hang on, this was a dramatic moment that would almost certainly go on the recap. I should say something to capitalize on it. What, what, what...? Oh!

"Geez, Carl. I thought you said it was going to be a big explosion?"

"Donut would have fuckin' died, Katia." Carl clutched his head in pain and didn't look up as he spoke.

o-o-o-o

"Stop the train!" Albert said.

We were five hours out from our brush with death and still an hour away from station 184 because we were babying the engine after the abuse we'd put it through. I was stretched out on the floor of the engineer's cabin, drifting on the edge of sleep. Donut was curled around my neck, rumbling happily and occasionally twitching as she hunted dream mice. Carl was driving and nodding a bit himself.

"Stop the train, stop the train! We have to go back!"

Carl read the chat messages and pulled the throttle back, slowing us to a stop. "What's going on?"

"Start backing up, I'll explain on the way!" Albert said. "Hurry!"

Carl looked like he was going to argue but then he shook his head and put it in reverse. There was a clank! as the gears shifted and then the train started to back down the track. There was a series of slight clunks as the slack in the connectors got taken up and the two flatbed cars we were towing started moving too.

The flatbeds were going to be a problem. What we had wanted for this rescue mission was passenger cars, but that wasn't happening. There had been plenty of cars available on the sidings at the repair yard but with our time limit the best we'd been able to do was the two flatbeds, and even that had been pushing it. Albert had done yeoman's work, guiding various groups of crawlers to link up so that we could pick them all up at once. That was good because we could save more people. It was bad because we didn't have the capacity. There were, according to last report, 374 people waiting for us at station 184. They wouldn't all fit on two flatbeds, so we were going to need to make multiple trips or find another solution.

Which wasn't too important right now, since we were moving away from those people. Which meant I wasn't too surprised when a message popped up in my chat interface.

Sergey M, via relay: Why are you turning around???!! There's a swarm of snaketaurs coming down the Chartreuse line at us!

"Albert? What do I tell this guy?"

A chat message appeared in my Drafts folder. I read it over and tapped 'Send'.

Katia: Hi Sergey. New information came in and there's another large group that we can rescue. They're in immediate danger so we need to get them first. You and your team should get on the Beach Heather tracks and start moving towards us, sending your map data occasionally. If you aren't at the station then the snaketaurs are unlikely to randomly come through onto this track. If they do then you'll have a smaller defensive front on the tracks than you would in the station. We'll be able to come back for you but it will probably be about fifteen to twenty hours, longer if something goes wrong.

Sergey M, via relay: You're fucking kidding me.

It must have taken Sergey about five seconds to explain all this to his team because that was how long it took for messages to start flooding in.

Mary Thompson 13, via relay: What? You promised you would pick us up!

Zhang Wei 7, via relay: Why are you abandoning us?

Bill Bronson, via relay: You fucking bitch! Get your ass back here!

Mary R, via relay: What if those snaketaurs come through? There's thousands of them!

"Please handle those, Albert. And let's save time: You can message anyone you want, for whatever. Just don't get me in trouble."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

"Thank you, Ms Katia." The messages dropped into a folder that pulsed slowly as new messages came in but didn't dominate my field of view with the individual messages.

"Is there any chance we could move with a bit more alacrity?" Albert asked.

"No," Carl said. "Not when we're driving blind like this. I'm not taking a chance on derailing the train. Now, why are we driving backwards?"

"Unfortunate, but needs must I suppose. There is a group of 623 crawlers trapped on the Byzantium line. They have an electric train and the power was cut.

"Our Beach Heather line and their Byzantium line both meander about, so we are at different points on the run. We are in the 100s and the stations are only 40 kilometers apart. This other group is ten kilometers past their station 426 and the stations are 110 kilometers apart, meaning another 1,100 kilometers to get to the portal at 436. The nearest transfer station that would allow them to reach a still-running train is at 349 which is over 11,000 kilometers. Note that I am obviously using approximations for these measurements.

"To complicate matters further, there is a host of something called 'blister ghouls' coming up the tracks towards them, approximately three hours away at current speed."

"You said they're on the Byzantium line," Carl said. "We're on the Beach Heather line. Which station do we pick them up at?"

"Yes, about that...."

o-o-o-o

"You know this is insane, right?" Carl said, somewhat pointlessly since he was still setting the charges as he said it.

"It will work," Albert said confidently.

{Are you sure about this?} I subvocalized. I'd been practicing; open the lips very slightly to free the jaw, form the words without pushing any air. Albert, being melded with my body, was able to monitor the movements of my tongue, larynx, and vocal chords. Apparently I was still a bit mush-mouthed and occasionally he couldn't understand me but overall it worked.

*Yes. You'll do fine. As well, it's going to put your social numbers through the roof. All you have to do is be confident and stick to the plan when I complain.*

We'd been backing down the tracks for two hours, and virtually that entire time had consisted of Albert offering me an idea and then yelling at me, in giant red flashing letters written across my vision, about how I needed to take credit for the idea and that he wanted me to take credit for the idea, and that it would be to his benefit as well as mine for me to take credit for the idea so please take credit for the blasted idea!

And so, here we were.

The Byzantium line was fifteen meters away, separated from us only by the very strong, very dense stone from which the Iron Tangle had been carved. Using a steel pole from Carl's inventory ("weight bar from this Juicer boss on the first floor, long story"), my solid-steel fist as a hammer, and forty minutes of exhausting labor we had smashed a pair of holes into the wall of the track. Each hole was two centimeters wide and a meter and a half deep; Carl packed them with hobgoblin dynamite. The Rescue Rail, our trusty train engine with its two inadquate flatbeds, was two kilometers up the track where it should be safe even if the roof collapsed here. It was time for us to evacuate to a safe distance as well.

"It's not going to be enough," I said, studying the holes.

Carl looked at me in disbelief. "Do you have any idea the yield we're talking about?"

"Do you?"

"I can't get a precise number without being at my Sapper's Table in the personal space but this stuff is no joke. I'm worried it's going to bring the roof down."

"We need it to be focused towards the wall. If it's not then it will rip our tracks apart."

"I'm open to suggestions, but they need to be quick. Those guys are fighting a holding action against the blister ghouls right now."

I chewed my lip for a moment. Was I seriously this crazy? This was utterly bonkers.

"Yeah, I've got this," I said, pulling metal junk out of my inventory and dropping it willy-nilly on the track until I had a packed-solid pile that stretched from the western wall to half a meter short of the blast site.

"That's not going to do the job," Carl said, frowning. "It'll just convert the whole pile to shrapnel."

"Nope." I eeled into the space between the junk and the blast site, had Albert numb me, and began shifting myself to cover the blast holes.

"Ma'am," Albert said/chatted, alarmed. "If you're doing what I think you're doing, may I urge you to change your mind? This seems very unsafe."

"Katia, are you about to do a Carl?" Donut asked curiously. She was perched on a metal brace above me, looking down with her head cocked to the side.

I raised an eyebrow. "'Do a Carl'?"

"Hey," Carl said, sounding aggrieved. "I don't like where this is going."

"You know," Donut, said, ignoring him. "Some completely crazy thing that will probably get us all killed but if it doesn't then it ends up being awesome?"

I shrugged. "Ask me again in five minutes. The plan is that I spread myself over the blast holes, in the shape of a parabolic dish. The junk braces me so that I don't get pushed away by the blast. If I seal tight enough then the explosion will be contained, reflected, and focused."

"Are you nuts?" Carl demanded. "That will blow you to bits."

"I second Carl's objection, ma'am."

I shook my head, which was the last human part of me since I had already finished sealing myself around the hole. I flowed into the cracks from our pilot shafts and secured myself as best I could. The pile of junk behind me would serve as a brace but I wanted all the purchase I could get. "Nah, it ain't no thing," I said insouciantly. I hoped it wouldn't be a thing. "I'm wearing Albert as my outermost skin, and I doubled him over in the front so there's four layers there. He's fucking indestructible so your itty-bitty little boom ain't gonna more than tickle." Did I sound as ridiculous as I felt? I was playing to the audience so I hoped I didn't sound ridiculous or I would be risking my life for nothing.

Carl shook his head in disbelief but didn't object further. "Good luck." He and Donut turned and started jogging up the track.

I let my head dissolve and flow down into the arc I had created. My flesh was carefully distributed across the bottom of the dish as a tiny extra bit of protection; if the blast did somehow penetrate Albert and me then it would probably do it at the center of the parabola, which was merely steel and easily reformed. Not that it would matter much; if Albert was breached then I was going to die, period.

Katia: Okay, I'm ready. Do it.

Carl: You're really sure about this? The more I think about what I've seen at the Sapper's table and count up how much dynamite I used, the scarier it gets. I honestly think you're going to die.

Katia: I'm sure.

Carl: Seriously, you should not do this. If I've made you feel—

Katia: Just push the button!

There was a long pause.

Carl: Okay, fine. Blast in ten seconds.

I was completely numb so I didn't feel the blast at all but the explosion left me deaf and dazed. It took me a short time—I didn't know how long—to get myself focused again, at which point I cast Heal twice and my hearing came back.

"Katia? Katia?!" Donut was saying, on the edge of frantic. From the sound of it she was perched above me again. Probably patting my upper side, although I was still numb so I couldn't feel it.

Well, as long as I was still numb, might as well be dramatic. I used my combat shifting speed to rebuild my Birgit body leaning on the wall, arms crossed under those ridiculous boobs, my right leg bent so I could have my foot against the wall. A quick glance down told me that I got the boobs slightly misaligned; I fixed it quickly. Can't have anything like a natural body type, after all. The viewers whose hormones I depended on for my survival might not like it.

"Hey there, kids and kitties," I said, grinning for the camera. "What do you think?" I hooked a thumb over my left shoulder to point at the hole. I hadn't actually looked in it myself yet so I hoped it looked good. I glanced at my social numbers, hoping that this whole effort hadn't been wasted. It hadn't; my followers had quintupled since before the blast and I actually had an achievement and a Gold Growing Like a Weed loot box for setting a record on growth rate.

Carl arrived at a fast jog, clearly having been outpaced by Donut's greater speed. "Are you okay?"

I waved a hand dismissively. It felt performative but that was the point. "In the immortal words of a very great man, it weren't no thang." I had no idea who had said that, if anyone, but the viewers wouldn't know that.

Donut hopped down, inspecting the blast site carefully. The hole was two meters wide and three meters deep, very roughly circular with jagged edges. Some of the force had leaked out around the edges of my dish, cracking and blackening the wall for a dozen meters in each direction.

"Wow. You blew the shit out of it, Carl," Donut said admiringly

*Ms Katia, you should say 'I told you it wasn't enough, big guy.'*

"I told you it wasn't enough, big guy," I said, grinning at Carl. "Now we're gonna have to do it again."

o-o-o-o

In point of fact, we had to do it six more times, using up more than half of Carl's stock of explosives in the process. Eventually, however, we broke through. Better yet, the final blast sent fragments of stone out the far side like a claymore, scything down hundreds of the blister ghouls who were locked in combat with the crawlers we intended to rescue. The blast front knocked many of them over and distracted the rest, giving the crawlers an opportunity to plow forward. Carl stood in front of the hole and sent xistera-fired explosives through in a steady stream. Between that and the pressure of the crawlers, the ghouls were mopped up in short order.

*Remember, Ms Katia: Strut, don't walk. Be confident, and smile.*

{I thought you were a gentleman, Albert. Isn't it rude to tell a woman she should smile more?} I subvocalized, ironically smiling slightly in amusement.

*Yes. 'Objectifying' and 'patronizing' are words I've seen used. In this situation, however, it's good survival advice.*

"Mind letting me lead?" I asked Carl quietly.

He glanced at me with a raised eyebrow but gestured for me to lead the way through the hole and onto the Byzantium line.

I pulled out the little piece of mirror that Carl had given me back on the third floor. I had better options now, but this had become something of a totem, a tangible reminder of how much I had improved. I checked myself over quickly, making sure that all of my features and 'clothes' were correct. I'd gotten rid of the humiliating gimp suit that Donut had originally put me in. Now I wore clothes that made me feel powerful: Skin-tight leather pants, man's white button-down shirt, and a leather biker jacket with steel hardware. Granted, the shirt's top three buttons were undone, the jacket was worn partially unzipped for ridiculous cleavage, and my stupid stiletto heels completely ruined the look, but I had no option. Once I knew that everything was accurate I dissolved my purple mohawk into a wavy blonde braid that I wore over my shoulder in front. One last check and then I sauntered through the hole, trying to remember to sink into my hips so that I'd get a bit of sway.

Several hundred crawlers waited up the tracks. Three of them were approaching slowly, weapons half-raised.

The system put your name above your head but Albert added a bunch of helpful details about each person. He had apparently been communicating with them in my name for quite a while, including having them send snapshots of each other so that he could put faces to the names.

"Hey, Roberto," I said as we approached. "Jean, Ivan. How's tricks?" Did that sound right?

"Katia?" Roberto asked. "You look...different." His race was listed as 'borrocimom', a teal-skinned amphibian with a fine-boned head equipped with three complex dark green eyes.

Oh god this was going to be embarrassing.

"Decided to remodel," I said, grinning and smoothing my hands down my ribs and hips. "Get in touch with my inner badass. You...you like?" I stumbled a little on the last few words, the embarrassment almost closing my throat. I tried to cover it by rising up on my toes, hands extended overhead as though I were simply stretching my back. I would have been beet red if I didn't have control over my own coloration.

Ivan was twenty-two, from a small village in the Urals. I think he liked my new look very much because his eyes were popping out of his head and he was blushing all the way to his chest. He had stayed human and his fair skin made the blush very obvious.

Jean laughed. "Be nice," she said, her French accent making the scolding sound like a purr. "Poor little Ivan's head might explode." She was an 'uphetchug', a tan-furred biped slightly larger than human with a canine head and a three-meter scorpion tail.

"Hey," Carl said, stepping up to stand beside me with Donut on his shoulder. "You folks doing okay?"

"The infamous Carl and Donut," Roberto said with a grin. "Thanks for coming for us, all of you."

"We were in the neighborhood," I said, crosstalking with Carl's much simpler "Sure."

"We should get moving," Ivan said. "I can see another batch of mobs coming up the line." He had a kite shield and an anime sword—two and a half meters long, a meter wide, the left and right crosspieces in the shape of dragon claws clutching a giant ruby and sapphire respectively. He was trying to look casual while holding the shield in front of his groin; I couldn't help but grin.

I was surprised to find that I was enjoying myself. Sure, I was uncomfortable, but I chose to push that into the background. Sure, I was acting like a stripper instead of like myself, but it felt oddly freeing. After all, why should I have to be meek and mousey? We were in the dungeon, a completely new society with whatever rules we chose to make. And sure, some of the people we were rescuing were going to look at me like a sex object, but the chances were good that I was only going to spend a couple days with these people and then I'd never see them again.

"They're at least a few hours away," Jean said, shrugging. "We just need to get loaded up, right?"

"Nope!" Donut said, grinning. "I hope you have some strong people in the group."