“Only those who show mercy can expect to receive it.” - Tanya Desjani, The Lost Fleet-

“Oh, holy shit! I blinked, and I missed Christmas.” James grumbled to whoever was near enough to hear.

Currently, the people near enough to hear were numerous. Anesh, Ann, Deb, Nate… everyone who’d teleported out into the normal world to firebomb stuffed shirts yesterday. Harvey, too, who was the one running this debriefing.

“You missed New Years, too.” Momo told him with a cheerless smile. “And suddenly it’s a lot less funny that you kept saying it was December.”

“Well fuck.” James considered throwing his arms up, but couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been sharply sore. Weren’t humans supposed to build muscle mass over time if they kept doing stuff like this? It wasn’t fair. He looked back at the preliminary report Harvey had written about the combat.

Harvey, James had been unsurprised to learn, wrote *reports*. In retrospect, it made sense; there was a very good reason for the mental image of police officers being expected to fill out copious amounts of paperwork after an incident. But it was the kind of thing that James wouldn’t have started to set up himself. Which was why he’d more or less let Harvey steal the system from an actual police department, then modify it for their use.

The report, incidentally, had the date on it. Which is what had provoked his swearing.

Date of incident, names and ranks of those involved, reality of origin for opposition - that one wasn’t normally on the form - lines for damages, injuries, contact information for anyone they might need to get in touch with later… it was very comprehensive, even if they didn’t need everything from it *now*. Some day, they might, and when they did, they’d be able to search for it with a short keyword string.

“Alright, so, the incident was resolved without Order losses.” Harvey said, getting them back on track. “Were there any civilians hurt?”

“Uh, kind of?” Deb looked around at the others. “Ours weren’t trying to kill anyone, though.”

“What?” James asked. “How do you know?”

“Well, we got there just as they did the thing with the purples - which I’ve heard you *talk* about, but never seen, and man does it look weird! - and we didn’t have time to stop them or anything, so they planted an infomorph in the person they were after. Or, well, in someone, anyway.”

“Incept.”

“What?”

“The word for forming an infomorph.”

“Good word.” Deb hummed appreciatively.

“Jesus.” Harvey muttered. “This was on the third, or fourth deployment?” He asked, pulling up the map of the day’s events.

“Third.” Deb confirmed.

“Alright. Do you know who it was? Any way to get in touch with them?”

“No, sorry.” Deb winced. “There was the next problem coming up, and we had to hurry back, and… I just didn’t think about it. It’s my fault, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” James told her, reassuringly, noting Harvey nodding along with him. “We’ve literally never done this before. You just pulled off a military mission that most people shouldn’t ever have to participate in; you get some slack, okay?”

Deb shook her head. “Still…” She seemed very put out by the whole thing. “We’re supposed to be better.”

“No, we’re supposed to *get better*.” James corrected. “Anyway. We can ask Karen to track the victim down. And then get… someone… to…” He trailed off into silence. Something felt wrong. The folding chair he was sitting in was suddenly too many textures, the room around him too large and too small. James looked down at his hands, and the feeling of something crawling, coiling around them flared to life. “To…” He closed his eyes. And then, the feeling was gone. Reality snapped back, reasserted itself. “Hm. I guess I don’t know what we do against a hostile infomorph.” He said, shaking his head and trying to clear out the feeling of vertigo. “Also I may be concussed; not sure how that happened, but my head is spinning.”

“We’ll check you out after this.” Deb told him. “Also, Momo, isn’t Research trying to create a tame infomorph?”

“Friendly, not tame!” Momo shot back enthusiastically. She was the only one here wearing armor, since she was actually pulling a shift with Response, and wanted to be ready if anything came up. She had, naturally, added decorative silver studs to the black shell of the shoulder plates. “But yeah, they’re doing something with that.”

“*I* thought I told them to *stop* doing something with that.” James dryly added.

“They took that under advisement.” Momo told him.

Harvey sighed. “Guys, please. Can we stay on track? Were there any other injured civilians?”

“Yeah.” James said. “When we linked up with Ann’s group, there was a truck driver or something who got a few ribs broken when a pallet fell on him. Anesh warped him to the hospital. We have his number, just in case, you should have that.” He told Harvey.

“Yeah, I got it. Okay.” Harvey nodded, tugging on his beard. He hadn’t shaved in a while, but it was looking good on him. “And Ann, you’re doing alright?”

“No broken bones or anything like that.” Their newest knight answered. She still wasn’t actually sure how she’d transformed from part time prep cook working for Nate to part time peace officer and soldier. “I have stitches. Do I get hazard pay for this?” She asked.

“...Yes?” James said, as everyone turned to look at him. He shrugged, “I mean, yeah? Should we do that? I don’t actually know how…hm. You know what? I’ll think about it, and get back to you.”

“Yeah, fair enough.” Ann said. “Anyway, I’m not dead, and it itches, but I’ll live. Why don’t we have health potions, anyway?”

Anesh burst into the conversation, “That’s what I said!” He yelped. “It’s not fair!”

“On task, please.” Harvey cut that mutual complaint run off early. “Does anyone have anything else they need to add to the report?” He asked.

“There was one girl who seemed to know why she was being targeted.” James said. “She was afraid of us, though. I gave her a card, tried to be calm about it. But… does anyone have any idea why *these people*?”

The room went quiet, except for the hum of computer fans and air conditioning. No one had a good answer. No one even had an idea. They hadn’t always seen the people the stuffed shirts were after, but they’d clearly been going to places where people were. And if what Deb had seen was the point, then they weren’t out there to kill, but to plant more infomorphs in people. Maybe to keep the dungeon’s secrets, maybe to spread its influence.

Was it after the people who had contact with rival dungeons? Was it trying to keep more powerful delvers out of its own space? Was it even ‘on purpose’, or was this just a random encounter run amok?

Momo split the silence, slapping her knees and hopping forward off her chair. “I got nothing!” She declared. “And I’m gonna go get a sandwich. Unless there’s anything else, Harv?”

“Please eat light, you’re on call.” He told her, exasperated.

“It’s fine, I can artificially decrease my mass if I need to!” Momo waved over her shoulder as she left the Response room, followed shortly afterwards by a slow stream of most of the rest of the briefing.

“Should we be concerned about that?” Anesh asked James as the two of them waited for the door to clear up.

“What, that Momo is absolutely being irresponsible with phenomenal cosmic power, or that she can reduce mass?”

“The mass thing.”

“Yes. But she said ‘her mass’, not ‘mass’, so it’s probably not as exploitable as we’d like. Though I *am* kinda curious as to where she got that.”

“Blue, probably.” Anesh shrugged. “A lot of those - I mean, somewhere around 80% a lot, I have the numbers - deal with telling physical laws to get bent. So it’s probably that.”

They exited the briefing room, with James making a promise to Harvey to be available for a few hours later to fill a gap in the Response roster. Stepping out into the dining room, lit in bright but cozy tones, was a rapid shift from the dark room where Harvey did his work.

There were people here. There were more and more people here every time James blinked. They’d hired. Actually recruited. And now the auspicious number of tables and comfortable chairs that James had filled this place with suddenly seemed less aspirational when you had a combined sentient membership of over a hundred people.

At one table, Simon sat with a couple camracondas and a member of the support group, locked in discussion about what it meant to be ‘a person’. One table over, a couple of the new people were reading hard copies of the operations manual, alternately scowling or grinning at it. Another group was made up of the new engineers, listening to… what was his name, John? One of the original rescues, part of Sarah’s therapy sessions in some way... explaining the known technical specs of a skulljack. A dozen camracondas throughout the room tried to not be too obvious with their worshipful gazes toward the new kid eating in the back, who was currently sharing a table with an FBI field agent dealing with her worst foe, paperwork; the two of them in a quiet alliance securing one of the tables without having to worry about anyone mistaking the empty chairs as free space.

The whole thing made James feel warm inside. They’d built a bizarre *home* here, and seeing everyone talking, working, learning, and just being so damn *alive*, even as the world got worse and worse around them, was inspiring. Uplifting.

“Oh, by the way!” James said to Anesh, checking the trays on the tables to see what Nate was making today. It looked like fish. He was gonna have some of that, for sure, later. “How did the copy of Virgil’s disc go?”

Anesh let out a low whistle through his teeth as they made their way back to the warehouse area. “Hooooo boy. It works.” He did not sound super excited.

“Normally when things work, it’s good…” James prompted.

“It is! Though…” Anesh winced. “Okay, you know how bitcoin mining is destroying the planet?”

“I’m vaguely aware that cryptocurrency has roughly the same environmental impact as all of New Zealand, yes.” James nodded. “Oh! We should kill bitcoin!”

“Pause on that.” Anesh cut him off. “So, the disc copied. Which is great, because the program on it won’t, but the whole thing… whatever, it’s magic. Anyway. It works fine, doesn’t have diminishing returns, but it requires the hardware to be on or it doesn’t do anything.”

“Yeah, about that. How does it decide who gets the buff? Did you figure that out?”

“It’s whoever it’s assigned to. There’s a sort of mental push you can do when you run it, it’s… magic.” Anesh sighed. “I really wish we had better words for this sort of thing.” He waved his hand around to indicate that ‘this sort of thing’ encompassed most of what their lives had become at this point. “The point is, it eats up a lot of processor power. And honestly? I don’t think that’s a stumbling block for us. We could probably build a server rack with five thousand CD trays just to…”

“Wait, it only runs *off the disc*?” James groaned. “That’s so inconveniennnnntttt.”

“Yes.” Anesh flatly stretched out the word. “It *is*. Welcome to my TED talk.” He rolled his eyes as he pushed open the back door to the warehouse workspace. “The point is, it ‘works’ well enough. And it makes me think we need to devote a lot more effort to figuring out where Virgil got it from.”

“I would be very annoyed at him were he alive.” James admitted. “So, you’re immune to venom now? It was venom, right? Or was it poison?”

“Well, no. I’m 4% resistant to venom.” Anesh corrected. “Which, all things considered, is pretty good. We don’t really have that many computers around here that have CD trays, so getting…”

“Shellaxies.”

“What?”

“What about running it on the shellaxies?” James asked. “Just… out of curiosity. Sometimes our magical bullshit amplifies itself.”

“I don’t think… hm.” Anesh thought for a second, settling into a leaning position against the desk that James had piled a bunch of architecture and political science books on. James, while his boyfriend thought about the question, flopped on his reading couch and started reading the news on his phone. “Okay, I think it just buffs the shellaxy.” Anesh finally answered. “Also, why are we back here?”

“What?” James looked up from an article about election results. “I followed you.”

“No, I followed *you*.”

James was glad he had pillows to hammer his head against. “Goddammit. Okay. I’m going back to my office. People keep wanting to talk to me, recently. I should be somewhat stationary.”

“Good call. I’m gonna go discuss green orb stacking exploits with whoever in Research wants to put up with me.”

“I challenge you to find a world where they aren’t a hundred percent into that, all the time.”

“...One where they’re dead?” Anesh ventured.

“Wow, grim!” James rolled off the couch and to his feet. “I’m gonna get someone *else* to write the Order’s holiday cards next year.”

“Thanks.” Anesh told him, the two sharing a grin and a kiss before they parted ways.

_____

“Yo. I’m back.” JP rapped his knuckles on the frame of James’ office door. He’d actually *waited patiently* for James to finish talking to one of the new kids about something, and while he was very proud of himself for observing social niceties, it did sorta grate to not be doing something of high enough priority to skip the line.

“Oh hey!” James grinned at his friend. “It’s been… wait, it’s only been, like, two days since I saw you. Weren’t you in Utah?”

“Yes.” JP said bitterly. “Among other places. You busy?” He didn’t wait for an answer, strolling in and claiming two chairs, one for his ass and one for his feet. “I like what you’ve done with the place. The sword on the wall is a nice touch.”

“That’s only because I haven’t gotten it inscribed yet.” James retorted. “I’m thinking, ‘in case of cat…’”

“You know, *some* people think I’m a total badass for that whole thing!” JP countered.

James cocked his index finger at his friend, leaning forward with a grin. “Some people were there, and heard you scream in panic.”

“Touche.”

“Anyway! Enough of your shame. How was the trip, which I am now absolutely sure you appropriated telepads to accomplish.” James asked.

JP was running the Order’s version of an intelligence agency. He was still getting his bearings. Which was a polite way of saying it wasn’t going great. Yet.

“Well, I got Momo to do whatever magic those weird computer chips need to make me some-”

“You literally just…” James started to cut him off, then paused. “Whatever. I know about you and Nate building creepy surveillance networks. I’m assuming you have one that searches for… secret organizations?”

“Cults, specifically.” JP said. “The general secret order thing is still growing or whatever. The *point* is that we got a few hits, and I went to say hi.”

“And?” James tried to speed this conversation up. JP was stretching it out, probably for dramatic effect.

“Well, the first one was a cult in the sense that they were a cult of personality.” JP winced. “They had… some not great policies. Also, they weren’t prepared for what I believe you nerds call ‘out of context JPs’.”

“We tend to shorten ‘JP’ to ‘problem’, but yes. Also *you’re a nerd too, you asshat*!” James admonished him. “So that one was a bust?”

“Sort of. I feel like I probably leveled up at least once-“

“Nerd.”

“-and the girl they’d kidnapped is currently recovering in our basement. Which sounds creepy. Hey, how long until we build actual apartments? You could probably manage something cool with all the orbs.”

James stared at him, flicking his eyes from side to side like he was trying to figure out if this was a prank being caught on camera. “Do you… ever actually read the Order’s message server? Listen to Sarah’s podcast thing? Anything like that?”

“No, I’m busy. So I guess you’re on it then?”

“Oh my god, just tell me about the second cult.”

“Well, the clue that I should have googled first is that they were called Dead Orbit-“

James cut in. “Oh, that’s not real.”

“I know that *now*, thank you.” JP refrained from rolling his eyes.

“That’s a Destiny thing.” James added.

JP stopped refraining. “Yes thanks. Look, I know you probably think that’s me being sloppy, but from what I hear, I was gone for not even an hour before you tried applying Air Bud logic to ownership of nuclear weapons.”

“Nate needs better infosec.” James grumbled. “Especially when it’s about stupid things I’ve said. The last one?”

“They are called - and I swear to god I’m not being a jerk here, this is what they call themselves - the Alchemists Guild. Well, the Guild of Alchemists. Whatever.” JP nodded as James winced. “Yeah. *Yeah*. Really. So, you remember when we started… this? And you took a long damn time to settle on calling it an order, because of all sorts of reasons about guilds being fundamentally capitalist and violent and things?”

“I remember that. How far off base was I?” James asked. “Please say a lot.” He glanced up at the sword mounted at an angle over his desk. “Do I need to get the bigger sword?”

“It wasn’t much, sorry dude.” JP shook his head. “So, they are *secretive*. Like, to an extreme. But they’re also incredibly theatrical, and I don’t know if that’s of their own volition, or what. If I had to guess at what’s going on there, and I do, because that’s my job now somehow, I’d say they’ve got a handful of ‘things’ from a dungeon, or maybe more than one, but not the dungeons themselves. And they’ve figured out how to use those things for personal profit. Which they do, aggressively, but very small scale. I think they’ve been around for a long time, too. There’s old newspaper articles from sixty years ago with local myths about them, but no hard data. So, best guess, again, words I’m learning to hate Nate for sharing with me, they have inherited methods with no knowledge behind them, but what they know how to do *works*. Like, big time works.”

“Works how? What are we talking about here, are they doing something creepy? Murdering kids, eating souls, whatever?” James was out of his seat, pacing around. His hands itched, like he should be holding something heavy, and sharp, in anxious anticipation.

“Nope!” JP cheerfully cut him off, leaning back with his hands behind his head and a gleeful smile. “They are, no fuckin’ joke, making and selling potions.”

James stopped pacing. “What?”

“Potions. Like from the games that-“

“I know what potions are. What do theirs do?” James narrowed his eyes. “Are there any that are massive unethical grey areas, like love or invisibility potions or whatever?”

“Would it shock you if I said no?” JP said. “It shocked me. Though, granted, I haven’t done more than two days of survialence on them, and I absolutely am going to do more.”

“You were only gone for two days.” James said. “You had three targets.”

“The first two took an hour, James. Please.” JP was smug enough that it could deflect bullets. “The point is, I have made tentative contact. And, get this, they’ve *heard of us*.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes!” JP nodded. “That’s why I got a discount.” He finished, reaching into the interior pocket of his light jacket, and pulling out a rectangular leather pouch. He set it on the desk, unclasped it, and flipped it open to reveal three thin, finger length glass vials, each filled with a light red fluid. “Merry Christmas.” JP said.

“If those are health potions I’ll kiss you.”

“You’re not my type, which is good, because they aren’t.” JP said. “Sorry dude, but *that* magic is still in the wind. No, these are… okay, they had some stupid Latin name for it, but they’re potions of exercise.”

“Wat.”

“You know how when you work out, you’re actually damaging your body, and the soreness is it growing stronger muscles, or something? Well, these maximize that part, and also shorten the time window to about half an hour. Which I guess makes them like heath potions. But not for, like, cuts or cancer or whatever.”

“That’s still pretty cool. Why only three?” James asked.

“Because they sell to the Hollywood underground.” JP told him. “And we don’t have enough in our treasury to compete with that bullshit.” He shrugged, and pushed the pouch farther across the desk. “Also each of those is three or four doses. It’s just a little something to prove they’re real.”

“This is so cool.” James said, holding one up. “So, we can just… buy from them? Do they take checks? Wait, Hollywood. Are they selling these to Arnold Schwarzenegger? Is that how he got so buff?”

“Yes.” JP said, unironically. “They’re bizarrely out in the open about it, too. They really weren’t hard to find - that program wouldn’t have flagged them if they didn’t have a digital trail, after all. Which is weird for a bunch of old dudes that wear purple robes all the time. And no to the Schwarzenegger thing. I asked. He’s apparently all natural, which is even more impressive now that I know magic is real and wizards will work on salary..”

“And I’m guessing that their inventory is both mildly impressive, and absurdly expensive?” James asked, seeing where this was going already.

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

“Oh, *so* overpriced.” JP nodded. “Basically, their market is *not* people like us. People like us, and by us I mean delvers, are kind of a mystery to them, which is delightfully poetic. No, they sell to celebrities or the ultra rich that want to skip steps, and trade money for results, instead of doing hard work.”

“Ugh.” James groaned, massaging his eyelids. “Even worse than monsters. Capitalists.”

“Hey, at least they produce something of value.” JP offered, not really doing a good job of springing to their defense.

“So, what do they offer?” James asked.

“Well, that minor healing thing I showed you, a dream draught whatever that means, potions for hair growth and skin renewal, and then a couple weird-ass ones, like a potion that oxygenates your blood for six hours, or one that improves reading speed for a day or so.”

“Okay, those last two are *awesome*.” James said, actually getting more excited again.

“Yeah.” JP nodded. “And then there’s this one, which… well. Take a look.” And he pulled something out of his jacket.

It was a small bulb of a vial, and had James not been distracted by its contents, he would have thought it was an overly fancy perfume bottle from the eighties, repurposed to something magic. But what was inside it, was a liquid that roiled like a trapped snake, thrashing and pressing dark scales against the bottle in an endless attempt to escape. It was blue. An eternal, dark, endless blue. James stared into it, and something stared back. Something he recognized. Something dark, and poisonous, and deeply personal. But also something else. Like seeing a flash of an old friend in a crowd, just as they turned their back. James stared, for what felt like days.

JP’s hand covered it up. “Oof. Wow, they weren’t kidding.” He said.

“What was that.” James whispered.

“Potion of cure depression.” JP said casually. Or tried to. Even for him, no matter how suave he could be normally, this part held a weight he hadn’t fully prepared for. His voice was tight as he spoke, even while he tried to be light. “Spent some of my own funds on this one.” He said, holding the bottle up and gazing at it. “Looks like water to me. But they said… well, you know.” He shrugged, and set the impossible object on the table. “These don’t sell well.” He told James. “They’re hard to make, whatever that means, and people who need them can’t afford them. And then, no repeat customers. Which, I imagine, is why I could afford this at all.” He grinned a little at James. “Barely. Hey, can I have a raise?”

“...why does it look…” James ignored his friend, staring at the bottle again. “...like… I know what that is?”

“It does that sometimes.” JP said. “I think. Honestly, it could be wizard poison, I won’t lie. I can’t exactly test it. But if anyone needs that… well. Merry Christmas.” He muttered, not making eye contact. After a minute of quiet, JP stood and stretched his arms, rotating his body back and forth in a dramatic show of motion. “Well, I gotta go check in with Nate, make sure we aren’t being targeted by interstellar assassins or anything. Be careful with that thing, ‘aight?”

He was halfway out the door when James spoke behind him. “We really underestimate you, all the time, don’t we?”

JP laughed. Once. “Nah, I think you’ve got my number.” He said. “Just don’t tell anyone I can’t name every organization name from any given video game, and we’ll be even.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna be enough.” James whispered to an empty room, after JP had gone. He was still staring at the roiling bottle on his desk, like just looking at it could unlock its secrets. “Not enough at all.”

_____

“We possess questions.” Texture-Of-Barkdust chimed from James’ door.

It was a day later, and he’d restrained himself from downing the bottle JP had left him on the spot. There was almost the whole week before the Office opened up safely, and he’d hold back until they could copy it. Because honestly, if it worked, then this was something he’d distribute like candy across the world. This wasn’t a potential tool like the skulljacks, this was a bullet to a very personal monster to James.

So he was sitting in his office, pointedly not going down to visit the vault where he’d locked the thing up.

“Yeah, what’s up?” He said, motioning the camraconda in. “I can fabricate some answers for you.”

The snake slithered in, and took up a coiled position on a beanbag that James had specifically for these particular nonhuman visitors. “Some of us, worried. We have lost friends.”

James’ heart sunk. Here it was. The point where the camracondas told him they didn’t want to be part of this utopia project anymore. He’d felt like it was coming for a long time, but right now, it came on the edge of a day of exhaustion and anxiety and he didn’t know what to say. “I understand.” He said, instead of anything that mattered. “I know what… how bad that is.”

Texture-Of-Barkdust bobbed in a camraconda nod. “You do.” She said. “But you replenish numbers.”

“The… new people?” James asked, confused. “Yeah, we hired more people. We’ll see how many of them work out. I have a good feeling about Chevoy. She seems… energetic. Reminds me of Sarah, if Sarah knew how to build robots.”

“Robots are…?” The camraconda actually, for the first time James had seen, cut its own words off. “No. Later. We require replenishing also.”

“But…” James paused for a second, not sure how to answer this. “Sorry, do you mean that we should be recruiting more camracondas?” He asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I don’t… disagree with you.” James leaned forward, placing his chin on folded hands. “But that might be a challenge. Most of your species are unfriendly, at best.”

“Yes.” Texture-Of-Barkdust confirmed. “Have no answer. Only objective.”

“Okay…” James sat back. “Well, I can think of one way, obviously. Use the telepads to kidnap other camracondas out of Officium Mundi. Break the connection, hold them in the basement until they can be… woken up, I guess? What would you call it?”

“Personed.”

“Good word.” James hummed. “Of course, that assumes that they’d appreciate that. Or that you guys are okay with it at all, which I’m not sure about. How does that idea strike you?”

“Lightly.” Texture-Of-Barkdust said. “Puppets are not persons. No ethics there.”

“Well that’s super worrying. Is that the prevailing attitude among your people?”

“My nest, yes.” The camraconda said. “Others, maybe not. You said options?”

“Yeah, options. So, we could always try *making* more. Building physical shells and breathing life in with the orbs. Dave literally made Pendragon that way. The thing is, your bodies aren’t… normal? Like, you’re made of materials that don’t follow normal rules, and I don’t know if we can recreate that without making a non-viable life. And I do *not* want to condemn someone to live that way.”

“Understand. Other options?”

“We could…” James thought for a second. “We could try to copy a camraconda body? Using the projector. If we can make an empty body, we could bring that to life, probably. Or we could ask Clutter Ascent to try to make siblings for your people, though it might not be ‘the same’. I guess I should ask, what are you *looking for*? Like, what exactly is it you want?”

Texture-Of-Barkdust made a humming noise like a tape rewinding, and settled down in the beanbag. “Unclear.” She admitted. “I consider.”

James waited for a minute for the camraconda to keep talking, before it became clear that she had no intention of doing so before deriving an answer for him. He smiled slightly to himself; this was one thing he loved about the camraconda culture. If they didn’t have an answer, they’d break off conversation, and sit in silent contemplation until they did. Or at least until they had the next stepping stone.

The minutes passed in relative silence, with only the sound of voices from down the hall in Karen’s office breaking up the quiet for a little while. He was still waiting for an answer, and working on an editing pass of new parts of the operations manual for the Response program, when Sarah wandered in. “What’s up buttercup!” She introduced herself, strolling into his office like she owned the place.

“Not much, bubbles. What’s going on?”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m… making a Powerpuff Girls reference. Nevermind, the moment is ruined. What brings you to my office?”

“Just here to check in with you about the Akashic Sewer.” Sarah said. “I… oh, hey Barkdust!” She noticed the camraconda. “Sorry, didn’t realize you were busy. Probably why you didn’t reply.”

“The Sewer’s open?” James said, taking a deep breath and feeling a lingering soreness in his ribs from the last time he’d been down there. “Oh good. I was worried I was almost out of bruises. And Texture-Of-Barkdust is just pondering a question while I work. Actually, on that note, quick check. Could the Clutter Ascent replicate a camraconda?”

“Yes.” Sarah said, without hesitation. “Probably. The biggest thing it’s made so far has been Fredrick Umbra Ar-“

“Please just call it Fredrick.”

“Fiiiiine. Fredrick. But Ascent can make life, even if we don’t know what the qualifiers are. But I get the feeling that it really does care about trying to comfort people, so it would certainly give its best effort to making a new camraconda.” Sarah toyed with her bangs as she spoke. “Also, on your original question, yes, the Akashic Sewer is open. Should we go poke it?”

“We? As in, you plan to come too?” James eyed her. “Are you sure you’re fully okay?”

“James, I broke my neck months ago. I’m fine.”

“That’s not a normal human thing to say!” He snipped back. “Though yes I am aware of what I just said, shut up.” James sighed. “I worry about you.”

“I’m the best weapon we have in there, so far.” Sarah told him with a sad smile. “And I hate being a weapon, but I hate the weird hand tentacles more, so I’ll keep putting sticks in them, kay?” She didn’t wait for him to respond, turning to head out and giving a friendly head pat to Texture-Of-Barkdust as she turned. “Oh! I actually wanted to complain, for a change!” She said when she was in the doorway. “The support group are cheating!”

“Cheating on each other? Cheating on their taxes? Cheating…” James started rattling off suggestions, before Sarah stuck out her tongue at him and made a rude noise.

“No, you blob.” She said. “They’ve started listening to the podcast I do, *specifically to save people time*, and then packaging the memory of listening and understanding it, and then *sharing that file*. Like, they can’t even spare twenty minutes a week! I’m actually a bit offended!”

James stared at her with wide eyes, before slowly putting his elbows on his desk, leaning forward to place his head in his hands, and letting out a soft scream. Then, he straightened back up with deliberate movements, and casually said, “Wow, there’s a lot of new stuff happening today.” As if he hadn’t just had a small eruption and Sarah and Texture-Of-Barkdust weren’t staring at him in concern. “That’s cool, though. Very cyberpunk! I’m sure that won’t be a problem for us ever.” James nodded, entirely to himself, before standing up. “Anyway, I’m gonna go find some lethal pens to take into the school. Meet you in the parking lot in ten? Cool.”

The human and the camraconda remaining in the room looked at each other, then out the door that James had casually slipped through, then back to each other.

“He appears tired.” Texture-Of-Barkdust stated. “I will think downstairs. Share later.”

“Good call.” Sarah told the snake. “I’m gonna go… magnetize some wood. Hey, do you wanna come into the school with us? I bet we can sneak you past the students pretty easily.”

“Children annoy me.” The camraconda replied as the two of them headed for the elevator.

“Really?” Sarah was actually surprised. “I didn’t actually think there’d been that many kids here. Wait, hang on! Weren’t you talking to James about making new camracondas? Wouldn’t they be kids?”

“Yes.” Texture-Of-Barkdust acknowledged simply. “Is problem to consider.”

“Well… so long as you consider it.” Sarah, who had never had the chance to be a real parent, but who spent a lot of time trying to fill that role in small ways with cousins and neighbors, smiled down at the camraconda. “And hey, you all won’t be alone in raising kids. Half the Order would for reals love to be part of that. It takes a village, right?”

“To what?”

They stepped into the elevator. “Huh?” Sarah asked.

“A village to what?”

“Oh!” She said, stabbing the button for the ground floor, smirking at the new label for the bonus extra basement. “It takes a village to raise a child. It’s an old human saying.”

“You have old sayings.” Texture-Of-Barkdust said. “We have… very little. Don’t want to lose it.”

“Absolutely.” Sarah agreed. “We’ll have to talk about it.” She sighed. “Figure out how to make everyone as happy as possible. Not ruin your culture. Help you be a *people*, if you want to be something separate from just part of the Order. It’s all so much. More than I’m qualified for. I should take some anthropology classes.”

The camraconda made an amused tone. “I will join you.”

“Okay.” Sarah said, and then with a wide eyed cheer, “Yeah, okay! Let’s get you in a college course! Oh, that’ll be fun! We can be homework buddies.”

“This sounds good.” Texture-Of-Barkdust told her as the doors opened.

“Alright. Well, I gotta run. If you want to come to the Sewer with us, meet me at the door in ten minutes, kay? If not, have a good afternoon! Be good!” Sarah said as she walked backward, casually dodging a couple other people and camracondas moving through the lobby without looking at them. She waited just long enough for Texture-Of-Barkdust to give a bobbing nod, before she spun and practically bounded toward the warehouse entrance.

There was no time to waste. Because she knew what James was thinking, about the school’s nightmare dungeon, and she agreed with him. If any of the things down there were capable of redemption, then they were the ones who most needed the Order’s help right now.

And at the end of the day, helping people was what Sarah was all about. Even if she had to be somewhere slimy to do it.

_____

[+16 Activations : Close Object]

James made a facial expression halfway between a frown and a smile as the fresh blue orb sank into his wrist. He was sitting in his car in the parking lot of the high school, along with Sarah, Alex, and Texture-Of-Barkdust, everyone procrastinating going out into the dark grey rain between the vehicle and the building’s doors under the guise of preparing for battle.

“You know, I feel like the orbs are learning from us. And not in a good way.” James mentioned offhandedly.

“How so?” Sarah asked, zipping up the bag she was using as a magazine for wooden projectiles.

“Well,” James tapped his hands on the worn leather of the wheel, “it feels like all the ones I get now include the word ‘object’ where they wouldn’t before. Like, ‘close’ is way better than ‘close object’, right? I think they’re getting more limited.”

“I don’t think we were ever supposed to even know we could use them this way, though, right?” Alex asked. “I mean…” She paused briefly, shuddered, then continued like nothing was wrong. “I was plugged into Karen-Net for a long time, and I don’t remember most of it, but, I have this… idea ghost, I guess?... that what you’re doing with the orbs is sort of a cheat. Or a workaround, maybe.” She glanced out the window into the worsening rain. “Not that it’s bad or anything, just that we weren’t, like, expected.”

“Good to know.” James sighed, and let the anxiety go. “Hey, do you think there’s alternate uses for the books? Like, what do you think happens if we stick a bunch of them on a shelf?”

“Well, we won’t find out camping out in here all night.” Sarah told him. “Let’s go!” She boldly tossed open her door, and squeaked as a blast of wind threw a sheet of water directly into her face. “Go *quickly*!” She added, dropping to the pavement with a small splash.

Alex laughed from the back seat and followed, the shorter girl’s feet landing clear of the puddle Sarah had helpfully pointed out. She turned and took a minute to shoulder Texture-Of-Barkdust. Alex had been working out, and felt an amount of pride that she could give the camraconda a lift without struggling too much. Texture-Of-Barkdust, for her part, appreciated it. She was wearing a camraconda coat, but it wouldn’t do much to help her if she had to slither through puddles and mud.

The four of them hustled to the door to the lower level of the school, James frantically waving through the glass to get Lua to come over and let them in. By the time she did, he was thoroughly damp, and glaring at the legs of his pants that were sticking to his skin. All of them were pretty wet, really, with the exception of Sarah, who had at some point gotten a bright yellow rain hood up.

“Hey Lua.” James greeted the school counselor. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, it’s been a long day. Interesting, if nothing else.” The woman smiled back, letting the door swing shut behind them. “We’re not alone.”

“Did you hear about the alchemists, then?” James asked, turning the corner to head down the ramp to the semi-stable door to the Akashic Sewer.

“The what?” Sarah excitedly burst out from behind him.

Lua caught up to him as he took another corner, this one going farther down than the school building should have had floors. “No, I meant… this.” She said as James took the turn, and saw someone else waiting down by the innocuous little dungeon portal.

There was a woman standing there, at the bottom of the ramp. A maroon suit jacket and rather conservative skirt, and hair that was both long and unbound, and yet immobile. It glistened a bit, and James had the uncharitable thought that it probably took enough hairspray to open a new hole in the ozone layer. Her face had the kinds of wrinkles around the eyes and at the edges of her lips that a human got from a lifetime of either grinning, or scolding. James suspected he knew which one this was.

She was speaking to a tall, overweight man wearing a police tactical vest and the blue-black clothing of a patrol officer. And as soon as James rounded the corner, both of them snapped their attention to him.

“Ah.” James said, stumbling to a stop at the top of the ramp. “That’s what you meant.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” The woman spoke in a firm tone. And James instantly, in that moment, decided he didn’t like her much. Every part of that sentence, from the words to the level of smug condensation, made it sound like she was talking down to him. Which was almost impressive, since he was the one at the top of the ramp. “How did you get in here?” Lua was still standing behind the corner of the wall, out of sight, and James tilted his head at her to signal her to move back farther.

“The building has *doors*, you know.” James’ mouth was open before he could stop himself, and he *almost* winced at his own words. But no, not this time. Full snark ahead. “Also we’re here to inspect your basement.”

“This building doesn’t have a basement.” The woman spoke again, like her words would somehow change the literal truth. “I should know, I’m the principal here. And you are trespassing.”

He glanced at the door behind them, then at the officer, who, to his credit, *did* look a little sheepish about the whole exchange.

James took a deep breath. “You *can* see the door behind you, right?” He asked, genuinely curious. He took a couple steps down the ramp before stopping as he noticed both the adults tense up. “It’s right there.”

The cop glanced over his shoulder, and nodded, bald head glistening with a thin layer of nervous sweat as he turned back to keep an eye on James. He had his hand on his gun, though he didn’t remember putting it there. The principle, though, didn’t even look. “There’s no basement.” She said.

“Ma’am…” The officer spoke. “It’s…”

“There *is no basement*.” She said again, stomping up the ramp toward James and jamming an outstretched finger into his solar plexus. “No. Basement. Now *get out*.”

“Alright, now hang on.” James was starting to get mad, but the older woman cut him off.

“Arrest him.” She ordered the cop.

Again, showing more restraint than James expected, the officer paused. And then, as if he’d made a decision, he gave a sad nod and said, “Alright ma’am. I’ll take care of this. You should go back to your office, I’ll file a report later.”

The principle nodded, and gave James a *smirk* as she strode past him. James would have, in that moment, panicked, except everyone else had retreated back up the hallway and was presumably camping out in a classroom or something.

A minute later, as the stomping click of heels on concrete faded away, James cocked an eyebrow at the cop.

“Aw, hell, I’m not gonna arrest you.” The man said, tension draining out of his shoulders. “Why… what the shit. Why couldn’t she see the door?”

“She could have.” James told him. “If she’d looked.”

“But…”

“But she was never going to look.” He confirmed with a nod. “Yeah. She’s… I don’t know what language to use to describe this to you. Haunted?” He shrugged. “She’s got something in her head that’s not her.”

“You’re serious.” The cop sighed. He didn’t sound disbelieving, just *sad*, in a way James honestly hadn’t expected. “Fuck.” He turned and looked at the door again. “Fuck!” He shouted, slamming a fist into the rusting blue metal with a loud clang.

The noise drew attention. What felt like an instant later, Alex slid into view at the top of the ramp in a crouched position, one hand held out to her side with a blade in it. Sarah and Lua popped into view the next second, both of them looking worried but steady. Texture-Of-Barkdust made it down last, but instantly locked her eye onto the officer, though she didn’t freeze him just yet.

“Calm down.” James rolled his eyes at his companions. “It’s fine. He’s just having an existential crisis.” He took a few steps down the ramp, reaching the bottom in a trail of wet boot prints. “Hey. You gonna be okay?” He asked the cop.

The officer’s eyes had locked onto the camraconda at the top of the ramp, and he only barely acknowledged James’ question. “It’s all real, isn’t it?”

“I’m gonna need to know what ‘all’ means here, to you.” James cleared his throat. “But a lot of stuff is real that maybe you might not expect, yeah.”

The officer focused his eyes back on James, mind burning to keep up. “You were here.” He said. “During the gas leak. The one that wasn’t a gas leak.”

“It wasn’t, no.” James confirmed. “And I was.”

“Rourke.” The man said, holding out a hand.

“James.” James replied, taking it and shaking once. “We need to get through that door. You okay with that?”

“No problem.” The officer said without a scrap of hesitation. His eyes performed a quick and practiced scan of James’ person, before checking the people at the top of the ramp; though he did linger for a bit on Texture-Of-Barkdust. “Do you need a gun? I’ve got a spare.”

James heard Sarah cough from behind him, smothering *some* kind of sound. He shook his head. “No, it won’t let weapons in.” He said. “Or phones. Really, anything you aren’t allowed to bring into a school. Though it’s gotten nicer, it *does* give them back when you leave.”

“Can you take a gun in if you have a badge?” Officer Rourke asked him, eyes tracing a grid across the metal and security glass of the unassuming door behind them.

“...I have no idea.” James admitted. “We’ll test that later.” He said. “Alright everyone. Let’s move. Clock’s ticking.” The call to his party members went out. “Do you want to come with us?” James asked the officer, a little apprehensive, but making the split second decision to trust the man.

“Absolutely not.” He said, barking out a hollow laugh. “Maybe next time. Besides, I have to go tell that witch that you’ve been arrested.”

“Hey!” Alex exclaimed as she walked past. “My best friend is a witch!”

“Is she serious?” The officer asked James in a politely quiet tone.

“She prefers the term ‘war witch’, because everyone I know was a drama student apparently, but yes.” James answered.

“Apologies, ma’am.” The officer spoke up. “But I still need to go. Uh… excuse me.” He slipped around the camraconda, giving Texture-Of-Barkdust a wide berth as he moved to climb the ramp back to the real world. “Hey. Be careful, okay?” He said.

“Yes sir.” James saluted him, only half mocking.

The cop didn’t roll his eyes, or snort or do any of the dozens of little gestures that James or his friends and allies had picked up over the years. He just gave a flat, uninterested gaze to the long haired young man who’d just upended his world. Then he turned, and was gone.

“Well that was fun.” Sarah let out a stream of breath she’d been holding. “Should we go, now, or does anyone need a moment?”

“I’ll be waiting here.” Lua said, claiming her chair again, and picking up her book. “There *are* students here, after all.”

“Still hate that.” James said. “There’s a fuckin’ pandemic. It’s really stupid. Look, I even wore a mask, and I’m basically immortal.”

Sarah grabbed his shoulders and oriented him to face the door, struggling a bit to get James to actually move. “Focus. Dungeon.” She said. “Come on.”

“Alright, alright.” James stepped forward, putting his hand on the door’s bar. “Okay, everyone stay close. We still don’t know if maps even work here, but we’re going to retrace our steps from last time. For our new guests, remember, don’t touch the glowing blue or orange gel goop stuff. We don’t know what it does, and we don’t want to find out.”

“That’s why I brought a hood!” Sarah chimed as they pushed the door open.

“...That’s why? Not because it’s raining?” Alex asked, trying to quell her nerves.

“I like the rain.” Sarah pouted as they walked through the breach.

And then they were outside reality.

_____

“Hello again.” James tried to act casual as he stepped out onto the gravel arena.

Behind him, a scraped, bruised, and unpleasantly wet team fanned out, taking up positions where they could move to assist James if he needed to, or if anything else decided to join the fight.

Though today, the arena was less packed than last time, so maybe that wouldn’t be required.

They’d fought through the Akashic Sewer to reach this point after a couple hours of travel. This time, their progress was slowed by near constant ambushes of the small rat things with the glowing blood, and from the hand-vine plants that had begun growing between the pipes, even outside the quiz rooms.

They did take the time to check a few quiz rooms. Mostly they let Alex speak the answers, collecting as many green sparks as they could in one person. No sense being here and not walking out with at least one new magical book.

Sarah’s hood had actually worked, once, against some of the sludge this place disgorged from its dark pipes. One of those overhead pipes had cracked and split as they’d passed underneath, and Sarah’s reflexes were just fast enough to shove Alex out of the way before some of the substance had splattered her.

The hood had melted. Rapidly. She’d gotten it off in time, but had spent the next half mile cheerfully complaining that she was going to need to get hairstyle advice from Momo.

Texture-Of-Barkdust was invaluable, providing classic camraconda overwatch and making any encounter with a single enemy almost too easy. And maybe the Sewer agreed, because toward the end, there was a door that slammed open like an overwound spring, and caught the camraconda with a jagged edge that seemed placed specifically to try to cut her throat. It hadn’t connected properly, but it had hurt her, and Alex had given the other two humans a crash course in camraconda first aid to stop the ‘blood’ loss.

And now, as James downed a half full thermos of arcane coffee and limbered up his legs, walking into a dry and dusty room out of the oily algae of the tunnels, he said hello to a creature out of a nightmare.

“Holy shit, that thing is creepy.” Alex whispered.

“Be nice.” Sarah admonished her. “Even if you’re right…” She added under her breath.

“Welkgome bahk.” The ratroach’s guttural and wet voice greeted James. “Beennnn waiting for kyuh.” Its words sounded like it was talking around a mouthful of meat scraps. The creature looked taller than the last time James had encountered it

The ratroach had uneven, erratic patches of glistening damp beetle shell across its flesh, intermixed with patches of dirty white fur. From points in her fur, they could see small browncap mushrooms growing out of her skin, the fungus leaving strings of spores in the air as the creature swung its arms back and forth. Its fur was worn in places, and a thin line of glowing blue drool oozed from the corner of its muzzle to drip down to the floor.

The last time James had been here, their group had done *substantial* damage to this creature. But here it was again, alive and… well, maybe not ‘well’. But ratroaches were almost blatantly misconstructed; if you watched them for any length of time, you’d see small limps, struggles to breathe properly, and open sores around the edges. The thought of one of them just… healing properly? It didn’t fit.

“Do you have some kind of health potion down here?” James asked casually. “That’s been a sticking point for me lately.” The ratroach stared at James suspiciously with a faceted eye set into the side of its skull. He shrugged. “It’s good to see you again, I suppose. You brought friends this time.” James pointed in a vaguely accusatory manner at the two other ratroaches flanking the white one.

They weren’t nearly as impressive as their leader, but they bristled as he motioned to them, three fingered hands fidgeting with the jagged blades and clubs they carried.

“Kyuh cheyted!” The ratroach accused him, in a wet barking scream. “Nyaht agaiiiin!” It motioned with its doubled right arm, the makeshift spear in those two hands moving in wild lines as the creature gestured its two allies forward.

Around them, outside the rusted fence, a dozen other ratroaches howled screams and hisses in exuberant joy, as the ones on the court started walking forward.

“Sarah, artillery, take the one on the right. Alex, cover her. Barkdust, clear lines, disruption.” James muttered to his people, as they fanned out and watched the fight creep toward them. “You know, we don’t have to do this!” James called over. “We could just trade snacks, I could pretend to appreciate yours, and then we could… yo!” He cut off as the white ratroach suddenly kicked off the ground with a spray of tiny rocks, and lunged toward him.

“Stahhhp thalking!” It screamed at him, putting the warped metal tip of it’s ‘spear’ where James’ throat had been a second ago.

James leaned back up from the rolling motion of his dodge, and slapped the haft of the spear to the side as it came for him again with the back of his right hand, causing the stab to whiff off to his outside without contact.

Coffee, adrenaline, and anger spiked in his blood. James backpedaled, keeping distance between them as the ratroach made a wide sweep with its spear. To his left, he saw Alex drop into a slide, kicking the other ratroach back before Sarah sent a wooden spike through its chest. On his right, Texture-Of-Barkdust had frozen the third one. Their enemy wasn’t winning this fight, no question.

“Come on!” He yelled. “Just let us past! We don’t have to do this!”

“Whannnt tooo!” The thing howled at him. “Whannt iiit! Whant, waant, *want*!” It lurched forward, naked tail whipping back and forth behind it as its tore forward, clawed feet kicking up more gravel into the air. It *flung* the spear at James. Not in any professional way, just hurling a bar of rotting wood and metal at him, the weapon spinning wildly through the air. And as he sidestepped that, the ratroach closed the gap, and lunged again.

James punched her in what he assumed was the stomach. A brutally hard low angle uppercut, that took all her momentum and turned it into a weapon against her. James accepted the incoming strike from the ratroach’s left claw, letting it rake across his armored chest and neck, eventually finding purchase with the claws on his filter mask and trying to rip into it, but not hitting flesh. While the creature was struggling with that, though, James reached up and clamped his left hand around her throat, squeezing hard enough to be a problem as he planted his feet, and forced her back. The two of them traded punches with their right side limbs, but it was clear who was winning this fight.

So the ratroach, feeling its skin rip and shell crack, stopped struggling against James’ grip, and slumped forward into him.

James instantly stopped fighting back, and moved as if to catch the falling creature. Which is when it snapped its eyes back open, cocked its maw, and vomited a sticky, glowing blue slime, directly into his face.

He jerked back, letting go and lashing out to kick the thing away, but all that did was add another involuntary spurt of fluid to its assault as the ratroach tumbled away. Sarah shouted something, but James was too busy being doubled over, scraping what he could away from his eyes with gloved fingers, and flinging the tattered and now smoking remnants of his mask onto the ground.

This stuff *burned*. It made his skin itch and sting, but the actual *pain* felt like it went down to the bones beneath. Still, it was evaporating off his skin rapidly, great plumes of blue fog roiling away along with chunks of his skin and facial hair. If he’d been capable of paying attention, he’d have felt mildly justified in not having shaved for a few days, giving himself an ablative layer between the corrosive goo and his skin. Not that it was doing much.

Then Sarah grabbed his shoulder, tilted his head back, and dumped an entire water bottle over his face. And rapidly, almost impossibly quickly, the burning receded and the remnants of the slime hissed and withered to nothing. It worked like a child’s understanding of acid, James realized. Well, half-realized. Partially realized. A lot of him was still busy experiencing pain.

“You good?” Sarah’s voice reached his ears.

James coughed, and spat out saliva that had strings of blue in it. His throat caught, and he felt like he was about to heave, but he quelled his stomach and answered his friend instead. “Yeah.” He gasped out. “I’m good. What’s going on?” He looked around.

The other two ratroaches were on the ground, one of them bleeding something orange and black, the other one just unmoving. His own opponent was struggling to push herself to her feet, one leg jutting out at an odd angle, with a black shard of bone sticking out of the broken gap in her chitin shell. The thing made pitiful little noises that were still sharply audible over the scratching of its claws on the gravel. Around them, the other ratroaches outside the fences had gone silent, simply watching with baleful stares.

James spat again, trying to clear the *flavor* of the ichor out of his mouth, as he took a few steps forward to where Alex was standing over the downed ratroach.

“Coulda skipped this part.” James told her, angry. She just hissed back, lashing out with a claw that missed by whole feet, and dropping her jaw back down to the floor as she lost balance before trying to pull herself up again. “Seriously, we didn’t have to fight.” James sighed.

The ratroach just gave another wet hiss, lurching forward, leaving a trail of its own sticky blood across the rocks. It drove itself to hurt him like it was on a mission from god. Which, well, judging by the way it had talked last time, it absolutely thought it was.

James stepped up next to the thing, again feeling a spike of anger that *this* was the reward he was offered for trying to be nice, and running through the thought again that maybe ‘trying to be nice’ wasn’t the right call to the literal monster that just vomited burning neon slime on him. The ratroach didn’t do much to assuage these concerns, as it turned onto its side, mismatched eyes glaring up at him while it tried to catch his ankle in a weakly flailing claw. “Haaateh kyuuuuh…” She whined at him around the blood in her mouth.

It was so… pathetic. James sighed again, clearing out the last of the bitter flavor on his tongue as he glanced up at Sarah briefly. The anger he was feeling pushed aside, as he experienced a single crystalized thought.

God, this thing was familiar, in a very personal, and uncomfortable way.

“Yeah, I know you do.” He huffed out a breath as he spoke to it. “But you know what?” It tensed for a second, eyes wide, fanged maw hanging half open as it waited for James to deliver a killing blow, or provide an opportunity for itself to do the same. “I don’t hate you.” James told it. And the ratroach froze, unsure what was happening. “Really don’t. Oh, I’m mad as hell that you puked on me, don’t get me wrong, but you…” He looked around at the other, silently observing creatures around them, “...none of you deserve this. This is pointlessly cruel. But… you know that, don’t you?”

“Hate khyu. Hhhhate yuuuu.” She kept whispering, struggling to stand and failing.

“Well yeah. Why wouldn’t you?” James said sadly. “You’re trapped in a sewer, trapped in a broken body, trapped down here with your murder-god and your insane siblings. And I’m going to leave, and be somewhere nicer in about ten minutes. Because anywhere is nicer.” He met her eyes, and held them. “I’d hate me too. Hell, I *do* hate me, most of the time, and I’m not even stuck in a mold pit. But you wanna know something? And I mean this, seriously. Really.”

“Whhhat?” The ratroach stopped its struggling, just lying there, looking up at James with the one eye on the side of its head, fur around it matted by fat drops of liquid running out of the eye’s corner.

“You can come with me.” James said, and held out a hand covered in a crumbling glove that had been mostly eaten through by the ratroache’s sludge.

It stared at him, and then, a few seconds later, started to twitch, chest heaving, head thrashing back and forth. A noise echoed from it, a rough slapping crackling sound, and with a sad frown, James realized it was laughing at him.

“Maybe next time.” Alex tried to reassure him while they looted a couple books from the arcanely sealed lockers standing by the gate.

“Words will make it think.” Texture-Of-Barkdust said. “Cannot hide from thoughts.”

“And we’ll be back to ask again, okay?” Sarah patted him on the shoulder.

“Or maybe next time, she pushes it too far, and that’s the last chance.” James was still glaring at anything or everything as he used a knee to shove open the chipped blue security door, returning them to the bottom of the concrete slope underneath the high school in the real world. “Maybe the dungeon just kills her. Maybe the other ratroaches do. Have you noticed that there’s only ever one that talks? The two with her even didn’t say anything, or react at all.”

Sarah got a distressed look on her face, lips screwed up in concern. “You think it only hands out so much smarts?” She asked.

“I don’t care.” James shook his head. “I just hate this place. And I’m so tired. Can one of you go check in with Lua? I’m gonna go sit in the car.”

He stomped off, leaving a different kind of wet bootprints up the ramp next to the trail they’d all left coming down. Behind him, Sarah let out a tense breath. “Well, that could have gone better.” She said. “Alex, Barky, do you two want to use the books? We’re not duplicating them right now for a million reasons, and I think you both earned it.”

“Yes!” Alex squeaked, excitement overriding any anxiety that she’d been having, as well as distracting her from the sensation of something squishing in her shoe.

“I would.” Texture-Of-Barkdust agreed. “Can I?”

“Let’s find out?” Sarah sounded split on exactly how enthusiastic she should be. “It should be okay. But if you wanna wait, we can…”

“Home Ec!” Alex clapped her hands together, doing a little spin in the fading dust of the magical paperback that swirled around her. “That was way less dramatic than Alanna made it sound.”

Sarah was going to say something about how Alanna and James shared a propensity for that kind of dramatization, the use of almost mythical language to describe certain feelings of events. She was *going* to say that, but then a digital voice from below her waistline drew her attention. “Social Studies.” Texture-Of-Barkdust said, as the book she had flipped open with her fangs disintegrated. “Out of one hundred. Good. Normal.”

“We could have waited!” Sarah admonished the camraconda.

“Curious.”

“Reckless!”

The camraconda hummed, and started slithering her way up the ramp. “Speak with Lua. Alex, please carry me. It is raining.”

“Yes!” Alex jumped a little, gave a nervous salute, and jogged after Texture-Of-Barkdust.

Sarah watched the two of them for a second, before shaking her head and following. When had she ended up as the reasonable one in a group? That was *dangerous*! She was supposed to be the goofy one, not the one doing check-ins and being in charge of their artillery! Sarah was, honestly, under no illusions as to her ability to be in charge of things. She was easily distracted, and she *liked it that way*. She wasn’t like James, where responsibility would push her to do better. She’d just cleverly escape if she was asked to run the Order.

But *for now*, she *guessed* it was okay that she talk to Lua. That was fine. Lua was nice! And after that she’d make sure to get James normal coffee and ask him how he was doing, when he wasn’t still bleeding and angry.

Run away from work. Run toward her friends. Sarah’s life motto, in short.

She slapped a grin on her face, and followed up the ramp. There was still so much day left to get stuff done in.