Bob paced back and forth in his tiny, cold cell, the stone floor scraping beneath his boots. The walls seemed to close in on him with every step. He could still hear muffled sounds outside—shuffling feet, distant voices—but had no clue what was going on. "What's that noise? Did something happen?" he muttered, glancing at the door as if it would answer him.

Nothing. Just silence and the faint hum of magic blocking his escape. He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "This is ridiculous," he said, louder now. "Hey! Let me out!" He banged on the door with both fists, feeling the vibrations echo through the cell, but still—no response.

Typical.

Ding!

Of course, right on cue, P.U.M.A. popped up in the corner of his vision, all too cheery. "New Quest: Escape the Cell and Stop the Chaos! Bonus: Do it without getting caught for extra Stink Points!"

Bob's eye twitched. "Oh, now you want me to escape?" he grumbled. "Where were you when I was trying not to blow up my room?"

P.U.M.A. didn't respond, just blinked happily, like an overexcited puppy oblivious to the fact that everything was on fire.

Bob took a deep breath, pacing faster. "Okay, okay, I can do this. I've escaped worse, right? Well, kinda. I mean... how hard could it be?" He stopped in front of the cell door, staring at it like it was a puzzle he could solve if he just squinted hard enough.

"I won't let them decide my fate," he muttered, determination building in his chest. He tried the obvious first: banging on the door with both fists, harder this time. The door rattled, but stayed stubbornly shut.

"Okay, plan B," he said, his voice filled with false confidence. He looked around the cell, his eyes landing on a rusty fork left behind on a small wooden table. "Perfect!" Bob grabbed the fork like it was some kind of magical key.

With a dramatic flourish, he shoved it into the lock... and it immediately bent, its rusty prongs curling up like sad little worms.

"Great," Bob muttered, tossing the useless fork aside. "Guess I'm not a master lockpicker."

Next, he glanced at the tiny window in the corner of the room. It was high up, just a thin slit really, barely wide enough for a squirrel, let alone a full-grown human, but desperation had him eyeing it like it was his last chance.

He clambered onto the small table, squeezing his shoulders against the narrow opening. "Maybe if I just... suck in my gut," he grunted, trying to wedge himself through. His face turned red from effort as he pushed and wriggled.

For a brief, stupid moment, he thought it might actually work. Then his belt snagged on the window ledge, and he was stuck halfway in, halfway out, flailing like a fish out of water.

"Okay, okay, this was a terrible idea," he muttered, struggling to free himself. After a few more undignified grunts, he gave up, slumping back down onto the stone floor, red-faced and completely out of breath. "I look like an idiot."

Ding!

P.U.M.A. chimed in again, its perky voice cutting through his failure. "Reminder: You're still stuck! Keep trying!"

Bob glared at the floating text. "Really helpful. Thanks."

Frustrated, Bob sat on the stone bed, staring at the cell door. "There's gotta be another way," he whispered. Then, a lightbulb flickered in his head. Magic! Of course. He raised his hands, focusing on his mana. If he could cast Scorching Brown Blast, maybe he could blow the door off.

He closed his eyes, concentrating hard. "Come on, come on... just a little fire, just enough to get me out of here."

He felt the familiar warmth of mana gathering in his hands. "Yes! It's working!" he said, hope creeping into his voice.

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But the second he tried to release it, the magic fizzled out, vanishing like steam in the wind. His hands dropped to his sides, useless.

Bob groaned, his head falling into his hands. "This just keeps getting worse."

Locked in a magic-proof cell with no fork, no spells, and apparently, no common sense. Just another day for Bob the Disaster.

Bob slumped back onto the prison bed, staring at the ceiling. "I've gotta get out of here," he muttered, rubbing his temples. Feeling defeated, he opened his P.U.M.A. interface with a flick of his hand, the familiar blue menu blinking to life in front of his eyes.

His gaze darted to the corner of the screen. 350 Stink Points. "At least the universe is rewarding me for all this... catastrophe," he muttered sarcastically. Bob clicked on the Skill Evolution menu, hoping there might be something—anything—that could help him escape.

The screen lit up with options for upgrading his spells. His eyes landed on Scorching Brown Blast, and a list of potential evolutions appeared:

Shotgun blast for a wider spread (75 Stink Points).

Machine gun-style rapid-fire poop (100 Stink Points).

Bigger, wetter, and more explosive versions of the spell (120 Stink Points).

Bob snorted. "Great. Bigger, wetter poop blasts... that I can't even use in this stupid cell!" He scrolled down, looking for other options. Most of his spells were grayed out, blocked due to insufficient experience, leaving only the passive ability: Mana Surge Amplifier.

The description promised stronger, more potent farts. Bob rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no thanks. I don't need to fart more," he grumbled. "That's the last thing this room needs." He swiped the menu away, frustration bubbling inside him.

As his eyes scanned the interface, another option caught his attention. Morph Menu.

Bob paused, curiosity piqued. "What's this...?" he muttered, tapping the button. The screen shifted, showing a flashy, colorful interface that looked like a gacha game. Bob couldn't help but grin. Maybe combining some of his useless spells would give him something halfway decent.

He selected Scorching Brown Blast and paired it with Stench Shield, the two spells flashing brightly on the screen as they merged. The gacha animation spun wildly, with fun sound effects like whooshes and farts accompanying it. Bob watched, almost mesmerized, as the spells blended together.

Finally, the animation slowed to a stop, and the result popped up on the screen.

New Spell Unlocked: Poo-nado!

The description flashed below: A swirling tornado made of fart wind and solid poop flying everywhere.

Bob stared at the result, his face a perfect picture of disbelief. "A poop tornado? Really? This is what I get? How is this supposed to help me?!" He shook his head in disappointment, feeling the weight of his bad luck pressing down harder.

Feeling somewhat desperate, Bob raised his hands to try and cast it, just to see if it might miraculously work. But as expected, nothing happened. The cell's magic-neutralizing walls snuffed out the spell before it even formed.

Bob sighed, letting his arms drop to his sides. For a moment, defeat settled over him, heavy and familiar. But then, a flicker of stubborn hope sparked deep in his chest. Maybe—just maybe—another morph could save the day. His lips twisted into a half-hearted smile as he muttered, "Alright, one more try. Can't get worse than a poop tornado, right?"

His eyes scanned the screen, searching for two more spells to combine. But just as hope was beginning to take root, he noticed something that made his stomach sink. The cost for another morph had jumped to 125 Stink Points.

His jaw dropped. "Wait... what? The cost goes up?! Oh, come on!"

Bob slumped against the wall, feeling even more trapped. The universe really had it out for him.

With 275 Stink Points left, Bob scrolled through his limited options, desperation creeping in. "Alright," he muttered, fingers hovering over Mana Surge Amplifier. "Let's see what happens when I mix this with... oh, why not, the SCATterscorch Spray."

The gacha game animation whirled into action once again, sparkling lights spinning around the screen as the spell and passive ability combined. Fart sound effects popped in the background, making Bob wince.

Finally, the spinning icons slowed down, landing on New Passive: Crap Golem.

Bob blinked, staring at the result. "Crap... golem? What the hell does that mean?"

The description popped up, but it was mostly blurred out, except for a vague line: "The Crap Golem will appear under certain conditions..." The rest of the explanation was annoyingly hidden behind some kind of "level-up" requirement.

Bob's stomach growled loudly, cutting through his confusion. Before he could even process what had just happened, a strange rumbling sensation spread through his gut. "Uh-oh," he groaned, gripping his belly as the pressure built, feeling like something massive was on the move inside him.

Then, with a sudden lurch, Bob's stomach clenched—and he retched. The violent motion sent him stumbling back, barely managing to hold himself up against the cold cell wall. "What the...?" he gasped between breaths, struggling to keep his breakfast down.

The rumbling wasn't stopping, though. Something was happening—deep within his gut, something was stirring.