As the monstrous fireroach stood taller, a black carpet of smaller roaches surged into the cavern behind Joe and Betty, pooling like living tar across the floor. Their segmented bodies squirmed and jittered, piling over each other, forming a churning, undulating wall of legs and antennae.

There was no turning back. The towering creature's serrated mandibles clicked with a slow, mechanical hunger, as if savouring the prospect of a meal.

Betty crawled forward as Joe searched into the distance. The cavern walls were smooth and sheer, like a bowl, but no hint of a path or ledge to sidestep the creature. A single exit loomed across the rocky field on the other side of the giant-ass bug, framed hints of goop gleaming off the slick cavern stone.

"This isn’t looking good," Joe said, scrolling through his inventory for the hundredth time. He half-expected to find something new and useful that had magically appeared in his arsenal—perhaps an enchanted blade, a grenade, a meat cannon… But there it was, just the same—single, pitiful stick that had plagued him since he entered the Inferno.

"Betty, if I get out of this car, I’m dead," he said, eyeing the cavern's grim landscape, the undulating swarm behind them, and the leviathan bug ahead.

"Yeah, no kidding. So, don’t get out."

Sweat slicked Joe’s forehead despite the chill underground. The fireroach was massive, a hulking wall of carapace and claws, each leg spiked and segmented like some demonic clockwork.

There was no chance of taking it head-on. Joe attempted to recall every bit of TV and film lore he'd devoured—heroes outwitting dragons, protagonists dodging titans, characters finding creative ways to survive. Maybe they didn’t have to fight it. Maybe some sort of strategy could save them.

"Alright," he said, "We’ll try to speed past it and out of dodge. If it comes to a fight, we look for weak points. Maybe its legs—cripple one, and it might topple."

Betty let out a snort of laughter. "You want me to ram into its legs?"

"Got a better idea?" Joe shot back.

“Oh, I’m in. I just find it funny. I’m gunna break its neck, if it has one, turn that thing whole fucking quad.”

Joe shot a wary glance at Betty’s dashboard for the umpteenth time. She sounded unhinged, but he couldn’t tell if it was the Inferno’s influence or just Betty being herself. He wasn’t sure which one he preferred.

"Let’s not bulldozer it just yet," he said, trying to keep his voice calm, as if reasoning with a 1971 Datsun with homicidal tendencies was entirely normal. "Let’s just try and get around it, out of dodge, nice and easy."

"Whatever you say."

He stole a quick glance back and felt his stomach twist. The carpet of smaller roaches had grown, and they were moving closer in a thick, scuttling tide. They were out of time.

"Alright," he said, hands tightening on the wheel. "You ready?"

Betty revved. "Born ready."

Joe nudged her forward, and the fireroach’s head snapped toward them, mandibles gnashing with an eager screech. Its compound eyes gleamed, reflecting Betty's headlights as it loomed taller, its skinny legs tensing like coiled springs.

Without a second thought, Joe floored the gas, steering Betty toward the cavern’s edge. For a heartbeat, the fireroach hesitated, calculating, and then launched itself forward in a blur of clicking legs.

Crap, crap, crap. This thing was fast. Faster than Joe had anticipated.

"It’s trying to ram us!" Joe said as he pushed the pedal down harder. Betty roared, her engine climbing to an unfamiliar gear.

"Faster!" Betty screamed, her voice high and fierce.

They were neck and neck, if they continued on this course, it’d crush Betty like a tin can against the cavern wall. The steering wheel shook violently in Joe’s hands as he held her steady, every bone in his body thrumming with the need to survive.

We can make it, we can make it. Joe’s hope was quickly extinguished when he realised, they were not in fact going to make it.

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"I’ve fucked up we aren’t going to make it!” he cried, voice cracking. Just when collision seemed unavoidable, Betty threw herself into a skid, tires shrieking as she locked her brakes.

Dirt and gravel sprayed in every direction as the fireroach hurtled in front, its momentum too great to control, slamming headfirst into the stone wall with a wet, splintering crunch.

A guttural, ear-splitting wail erupted from the creature, a sound so alien and wrong that Joe felt it in his filings. For a moment, it writhed in place, spindly legs clawing at the wall, trying to pry itself free.

God damn it. He felt like an absolute idiot, why was he trying to race that thing? They clearly were not going to make it so why did he commit? If Betty hadn’t slammed on the breaks they were surely dead.

Before Joe could apologise to Betty, he glanced back, only to see the swarm closing in.

"We gotta go, Betty! Before that swarm reaches us!" he shouted, but before he could act, Betty sped forward on her own, veering a hard left toward the centre of the cavern where the fireroach had been lurking moments ago. Maybe it was for the best she took charge of the situation, he was clearly an idiot.

"I can take him," she growled.

Okay, maybe not.

“Hell no!” Joe replied, “This is not a demolition derby. If we get slammed by that thing, it’ll turn us into a cougar-shaped pancake.”

"I am not a cougar!" Betty snapped, and for a split second, Joe grinned despite the chaos. She was something else, and somehow, in the middle of a nightmare, he found himself enjoying her company.

As they reached the centre of the cavern, something glimmered in Joe’s peripheral. Across the spot where the fireroach had been coiled was a scattering of shiny objects—a mess of stuff that glinted cavern light, looking suspiciously like weapons, armour, and other gear. His breath caught.

"Betty, look," he said, "a loot pile."

Betty slowed just a touch, her lights casting a glow over strange shaped weapons, bottles, and what might even have been another cannon, all lying there, almost waiting for him.

Joe’s felt that numbness from earlier, a surge of power and adrenaline as he weighed the risk of stopping against the possibility of being better armed.

"Well?" Betty asked.

Joe looked over to the giant fireroach, still writhing and pinned against the stone wall, stuck in place and screeching with frustration. He glanced back at the swarm of smaller roaches, a crawling, writhing mass piling over each other in a chaotic frenzy.

Despite their numbers, they were surprisingly slow, tangled up in their own mad scramble.

"Fuck it," Joe said, making his decision. "Betty, drive off. Try to pull them away from me."

"On it," Betty replied. Joe still couldn’t get over her sounding exactly like Betty White. Joe jumped out and she shot forward, darting away from the pile of loot. She sped off toward the cavern's far wall, weaving erratically to get the swarm's attention.

With Betty pulling the roaches away, Joe turned back to the pile. He took a deep breath and slid down the rough hill on his rear, dirt scraping against his trousers as he descended.

When he reached the bottom, he gasped at the trove spread before him—it was far more than he’d anticipated. He stared at the haul, mouth agape as he began blinking on items to get their descriptions.

"Level 1 Healing…" he said, eyes darting over bottles filled with a faintly glowing liquid… There was a Level 2 Focus Boost as well, and something wickedly sharp labelled a Level 3 Pumpkin Scythe. Further down the pile, a vicious-looking firearm bore the name Level 4 Scorpion Cannon, which he had spotted earlier. There also appeared to be a menacing piece of armour labelled simply, Guard of the Gold Eater Armour, with no level indicator.

Joe blinked on everything, realising each item was transferring into his inventory. He started grabbing what he thought were the best items, calculating how much of his 40 item inventory he had left.

Betty’s engine swirled from above, her tires squealing as if she were doing donuts, trying to maintain the swarm’s attention. She probably was doing donuts for all Joe knew.

Joe stuffed another item into his inventory and stood, glancing around with a sudden realisation. Why do they call it a fireroach, anyway? The thought barely formed before he looked up and froze.

The fireroach was there—its head looming above him. Joe noticed, with a sinking stomach, that it had a massive hole in the centre of its head, glowing faintly. The creature’s breath washed over him, filling the air with a warm and foul, sulfuric stench.

Then, the fireroach emitted a spine-chilling squeal, and with a horrid sputter, fire shot from the hole. Joe ducked, feeling the flames from above slightly singe the top of his hair.

“I am absolutely fucked,” he said, as he was forced to the ground to try and escape the searing heat.