Solomon stared at Mort. A few flakes of ash fell off the end of the cigar. The system, sadly, did not choose to interrupt with any kind of helpful notifications.

Solomon's curiosity finally got the better of him. "Do what?"

Mort pulled back his cigar and took a puff. He looked Solomon up and down for a moment, then nodded.

"To clear the next one," Mort said, "you gotta kill some intelligent monsters."

"What?" Solomon asked, horrified. He'd barely managed to get through the last dungeon thanks to the monsters' insane aggression overriding any kind of cunning. Even then, in the end it had been good fortune as much as anything that had kept him alive. Facing enemies that were not only clear-headed, but smart, was a death sentence.

Mort sighed. "Look, you ever see Westworld?

Solomon shook his head.

"Star Trek, then?" Mort asked. "One of them episodes with the holodeck?"

Solomon shook his head again.

Mort threw up his hands. "C'mon, kid, you been living under a rock?"

Solomon clenched his teeth. He'd been trampled, thrown around, bitten, and run up a tree like an animal. He was not in the mood to defend his taste in television.

He reminded himself that Mort was his only source of information. What's more, Mort probably had the support of the system, and he'd definitely been in the system for much longer than Solomon had. He might look like a harmless old man, but looks could be deceiving.

Attacking him was a bad idea on several levels. Even so, Solomon had to force himself to unclench his fist before he said anything.

"Explain," he said, "with your own words."

"All right, all right," Mort said, gesturing with his hands for Solomon to calm down. "These guys, they look like they can think but they don't. The light's on but nobody's home."

Mort paused to puff on his cigar before he continued. "They're just puppets of the System."

Solomon just stared at him. "Who cares?"

"I just wanted to soothe your delicate sensibilities," Mort said, "ease you into this."

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

"If it's them or me," Solomon said, "I'm choosing me."

A nigh omnipotent system was intent on forcing him to fight for his life. Solomon wasn't going to get stuck splitting any ethical hairs. If he ran across another human, sure, he'd try and figure out some way that they both could live. But any kind of alien invader the system dropped in front of him to try and kill him? His only worry was how to kill them first.

"Fine, fine," Mort said, giving Solomon another appraising look. "Yeah, you might just do all right."

"How intelligent are these things?" Solomon said. Getting a raised eyebrow in response, he clicked his tongue. "Whatever, how intelligent does the system make them act?"

He needed to have a better idea of what he was getting into. If he was up against a team of monsters that were human-level smart, he might as well give up ahead of time and try and figure out some way to escape. If they were more like some kind of video game NPC, like how Mort was implying before, he might have a shot.

"Depends," Mort said. "They don't start out too bright. Not too many of 'em, either."

Solomon studied Mort. He'd figured out after fighting the boss monster that he was taking some pretty big risks. He'd gotten some pretty big rewards, too, it seemed like, but they wouldn't do him much good if he got in over his head and got himself dead. Mort looked set to make money if Solomon succeeded, so he had at least a little incentive to be honest... but if Solomon died, Mort could just move on to the next planet.

Unfortunately, he couldn't read anything in Mort's expression. If the shopkeeper was uncomfortable at being so blatantly sized up, he didn't show it. All Solomon could do was resolve to take everything he said with a grain of salt.

And stick to the factual questions where Mort didn't have an incentive to shade the truth. "Where are these things?"

"Right back through the same door," Mort said, gesturing out toward the dungeon, "you get a choice now between the dungeon and the outpost."

"They're at the outpost?" Solomon asked.

Mort nodded. "They get dropped in there to start out. At the end of the grace period there'll be more, and they'll start smartening up."

Solomon scowled. "You can tell me all this now?"

Mort nodded, gesturing at the token still sitting on the counter. "You're a third of the way to owning the zone. I can fill you in on the basics."

Solomon leaned forward. He'd been healed up after the arena fight, but he was still covered in blood and dirt from the battle. He'd gotten inured to the smell himself, but he knew he was pretty rank by now. Mort didn't react, not to Solomon getting in his personal space nor to the olfactory assault.

"Tell it to me straight," Solomon said. "Can I take these guys?"

Mort broke into a grin. Solomon couldn't see anything but good cheer in his eyes.

"You beat Boss Hogg," Mort said. "Those schmucks won't know what hit 'em."

Spoken with the conviction of a man who wasn't putting his own neck on the line. Solomon leaned back, considering. He'd barely gotten through the last dungeon. Now he had to decide whether he wanted to press his luck.

He did have a whole mess of grid points to spend. Not to mention the pile of dungeon coins in his inventory. If he could get some better gear. If he could get some potent abilities. If.

Damn it, he hated to leave a job a third of the way done.

Solomon sighed. "Let me see your catalog."

He needed to gear up either way. After that, he was going to try to build a gun. If he could head into the fight with a working firearm, he wasn't afraid to take on a mob of primitives.