Maybe for now just sitting upright was an acceptable compromise, at least until Tapper managed to get his bearings. This was the first time he could fully see the vehicle from the outside, and after spending nearly one hundred hours trapped within he wanted to appreciate it fully. The large vehicle loomed over him, and in combination with its sharp edges made for an intimidating display. From Tapper's angle, viewing the car directly on its side looked like a stretched hexagon: flat roof and floor, the rear came to a wedge where the ramp would open, and the front mirrored the angle.

With the exception of something metal and red and crushed beyond recognition beneath the front wheels, the cause of the obstruction, the symmetry made it difficult to tell which end of the car was the front and which was the back. Perfect mechanical balance. The tires were made from a wire mesh with bits of rotted black rubber still clinging in place, all that remains of the rubber wheels. The latticework sagged under the weight of the vehicle, but Tapper estimated that when in prime condition the tires stood over a full meter across.

A faint sound of something skittering broke Tapper from his deep appreciation of the vehicle and the robot whipped around, he had completely forgotten that he was in some unknown and potentially dangerous place. A place quite dim and barren, with flat concrete floors and ceilings held up by more concrete pillars. There were plenty of light fixtures on the ceiling but almost all were dead, the few remaining tubes of light faint and flickering and throwing dark shadows on the few other structures. Metal and plastic skeletons of cars in various shapes and sizes, large enough to sit in but still dwarfed by his vehicle, were all arranged in neat right angles along the walls within painted lines.

Oblivious to the air of rot and forgotten memories, Tapper was just happy to see the first sign of an organized society after the ramshackle institutions of Fableton. Besides, if this building still had power then maybe it had the means of contacting his proprietors, or better yet Bowson Incorporated® for that much-needed update. That was all the motivation the obedient robot needed to leave the safe confines of his car and sally forth into the unknown, after using it one last time to help him climb to unsteady feet. Tapper took a long look at his legs, still shaking like a newborn fawn, pushed a bit more priority to his incomplete walking program, and took his first steps.

Tapper knew the general idea of how upright organics walked, of course. He saw people using their legs every day. But despite having a clear idea of what walking was supposed to look like, his algorithms had apparently decided to not draw on that information at all and were still figuring out their own way to handle locomotion.

Sometimes a leg would kick out in a random direction, sometimes a knee would bend backwards, sometimes they wouldn't bend at all and instead spin around in a wide arc, and yet he didn't fall. Not after the first few trips, with each growing further apart over time. And no matter how much he wobbled and wavered, the end result still carried him forward and that was all that really mattered.

After a few minutes of wandering without any further tumbles, Tapper felt steady enough — and lost enough — to let his legs run on autopilot while he finally took the time to read all these notifications. Most of them were updates on his experience gains and health status, and he was quite happy to see that his wounds counter cleared up when his legs connected, but a few were unique:

[Secondary class features:

Cybroids are not limited by the traditional calculations for augments, and can install up to (5) before risking an overload. They have a special Chrome die of (1d3) that applies to any check involving their augments.]

The message was half the length of his Witchcraft class features, but Tapper could not calculate whether that was because the Cybroid class was secondary or because the Witchcraft class was magical. He didn't ponder on the question long, as other messages were more confusing:

[Quest: What's Mine Isn't Mined complete! Perk reward: Spell Growth

You have relied on the Suck spell component above all others, growing its spell die by one step.]

Just when Tapper thought he was beginning to understand the strange system, it introduces something completely new. For one, this was the first time that a quest had awarded him with a perk instead of experience. For two, it was also the first time he had seen perks at all, and he couldn't tell if that was better or worse than gaining experience. The rarity of perks would indicate they were better, but this description was vague to the point of uselessness. The most logical conclusion he could compute was that the Suck spell would last longer and not "die out" as easily.

The robot made two full rounds of the parking structure before he accepted that there wasn't anywhere he could go except for an intimidating concrete ramp right in the middle, heading downwards at an angle that was probably fine for vehicles and definitely not for awkward legs in training. The lack of handholds in the smooth concrete walls also didn't help, and despite all caution Tapper's foot kicked out unexpectedly right as he started to put weight down on it.

Tapper stumbled, rolling down the second half of the ramp with a clatter that sounded much, much louder in the thick silence. If anything did answer it was lost within the echoes of his crash bouncing off the flat walls, so with mechanical patience he picked himself up and kept looking for anything that wasn't the rusted frame of an old car.

By the third ramp downwards Tapper still had not mastered the art of traversing gradients, but when his prone form came to a stop he definitely heard something else moving out there in the gloom. Scritching noises, faint enough that Tapper had to prioritize his auditory sensors, filled the robot with an aching dread. There was so little data to go on that any time he heard the scratching his processor froze as it tried to calculate the source.

When he rounded a corner and saw the squat sack of octolusk eggs Tapper almost felt relieved to see a familiar danger, until he realized that meant this garage was infested with octolusks and whatever was making that scratching noise. Tapper gave the sack a very wide berth — his torso would still occasionally lean in weird and unexpected ways from his wonky walk — and continued on until he reached a dead end.

The dead end was another octolusk egg clutch, this time perfectly sandwiched between two cars and completely blocking the path. On this level the vehicular remains stopped lining up in neat rows, constantly forming barricades that he had to squeeze through. His legs were still nowhere near experienced enough for Tapper to climb over any of the vehicles, so when he saw the jelly wiggling in the only way forward even the robot felt like it was an obvious trap. Walking 30 meters back to the far wall to ensure none of the gross organic matter could possibly touch him, Tapper picked up a small piece of rubble, measured the distance with perfect accuracy, and threw it with a calculated arc.

The rock bounced off a wall before even making the halfway mark. That was such a deviation that it should not have been possible, so it must have been related to the newer un-computer parts of his person. Tapper tried again, this time after resetting all functions in his shoulder and arm back to their base computational settings, and all feeling from the limb instantly numbed. Now the arc was perfect, but far too short and Tapper was absolutely not willing to get any closer to the pressurized balloon of goop and eggs. Plus, he didn't have exact language for the sensation, but turning off the feeling in his arm felt uncomfortable. It felt like… betrayal? Whatever this new sensation was, he knew he wanted to avoid it.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

So, other options. Tapper tried rolling something into the egg clutch and while that made the distance he couldn't work up enough momentum to trigger a response, and the Spray spell still backfired with enough physical recoil to hurt. Now without the chaos of combat he could take a moment and maybe figure out why, so bracing for another backlash he cast the Spray spell program again and focused inwards as the energy swelled. A line shot off as normal, emptied into his tank, and built up until it sought release through the spindle and met resistance. Watching the energy burst and dissipate within his own body was fascinating right before the feedback hit, and he attempted to move the energy around the blockage until Tapper couldn't focus through the pain.

Frustration, then inspiration. If the Suck spell program could be moved elsewhere, why not this one? Tapper activated Spray again, but he wrangled the energy and instead forced it down the other spindle where the vacuum motor roared to life and coughed out a hunk of the last octolusk sack he had cleaned up. It felt odd, like twisting a joint in an awkward way, but it worked! Unfortunately he couldn't choose anything solid from his tank to expel, but figured a workaround by cramming a small piece of debris into the vacuum funnel. This time the Spray spell overcame the clog, shooting the garbage like a crack shot all the way to the far wall.

It was almost humorous that this method had the opposite problem of a computerized throw — more than enough force, nowhere near enough accuracy — but the robot was patient and ammo was plentiful. He took a break for his mana to regenerate and over the next half-dozen shots he slowly got accustomed to the odd angle, choosing to not calculate vectors and instead acquire a feel for it. The last shot sailed true, and a small hunk of concrete smacked dead center into the clutch.

The response was instantaneous and disproportionate to Tapper's expectations. With a whump Tapper felt in his chest, the egg clutch exploded with enough concussive force to throw both connected cars up and back, crashing into opposite walls as several pieces, and the concrete hunk shot back and embedded itself into the wall next to Tapper's head. Hopefully this one was just larger than the blasts he had been caught in, but either way this gave him new appreciation for never going near those clusters again.

And then the scratching came. Exponentially louder and more numerous than any other time he had heard it before, Tapper froze as a stampede of flesh descended upon the spilled jelly and turned the quiet parking garage into a battlefield.

[Status debuff: Petrified]

[You are frozen beyond paralysis and cannot take any actions until you pass a Willpower save against the cause at a -10 penalty.]

Creatures the size of large cats scurried on stumpy legs and fought each other with jagged beak and claw. Molting brown fur and gray feathers with whiplike tails turned the concrete surfaces into living carpets as every individual animal thrashed against each other to reach the royal jelly before their brethren. And just as quickly as it started, everything went silent. All the food was claimed and the creatures scurried back to their hiding places, replacing the mess of octolusk jelly with a mess of blood and gore. Several of the creatures lay dead on the ground, torn to shreds in their race to food, but strangely not devoured themselves.

The petrified debuff passed on its own after the last living creature vanished from view but Tapper remained frozen. He calculated the probable odds of the creatures being gone, took the longest estimation, and doubled it before he moved again. Just to be safe. Then he started walking again, slowing down the speed in an attempt to lower the noise of his metal feet, and tried and failed to ignore the dead organics that now littered the ground. In the silence Tapper identified them as larger and more vicious versions of the combo creature that harassed Struzick, yet when he accidentally got too close to one the green wireframe appeared, identified it as a griffin, and asked Tapper if he wanted to claim the loot.

He very much did not want to claim anything and walked right on by.

Unfortunately the infestations only got worse from there, and when he reached the next ramp down he found it dotted with multiple vehicles and egg sacks both. Tapper was clearly not even going to try navigating that, but if he popped the clutches one at a time then he'd have to sit through several swarms and that sounded like a nightmare. He scavenged around the nearby cars until he found a solid body panel with a divot, filled it with small pieces of rubble, and took his time calculating a dozen different arc vectors. With the hindsight to not witness the massacre again, Tapper knew to turn around once the rocks went flying.

Without the foresight to realize where the creatures came from, that meant he was now facing them directly as they swarmed out of their hiding places to race down the ramp to the meal he had provided them. The mass of fur and teeth was so sudden that Tapper didn't have time to disable his ocular processors before he petrified in place, forced to watch the monsters swarm around and past him.

If any one of them were interested in Tapper, how long would he be forced to watch while they tore him to pieces? Would he feel their horrible dirty claws shred his chassis? Not one of the monsters made a move to attack him, blissfully ignoring Tapper like any other piece of inedible material. But that also didn't mean that any tried to avoid him, and when one of the creatures side-swiped him Tapper could not even cry out as he toppled over.

Tapper took solace in the knowledge that merely witnessing the creatures would no longer terrify him from now on, because watching that same swarm run over his face was exponentially more horrifying. Their jagged nails ticked a few points off his health as they scratched faint lines all over his torso and face, and then all the small impacts pushed him over the lip of the ramp. He started to slide, and then the gunfire started.

Furry bodies turned to run in every direction as a confused riot, instead of just down the ramp, and flashes of light strobed in the gaps between the bodies. Panic swelled within Tapper, desperate to escape but his body completely ignored his commands. And when it became too much, everything simply shut down.

When Tapper regained consciousness he was still staring at the ceiling, and his joints creaked in the silence as he forced his limbs to move. Sitting up and looking around he immediately regretted everything; if the last encounter with the creatures was a battlefield then he was now in the middle of a slaughter. Corpses piled up all around him, the entire mass fanning out from a far wall made of dark glass with two turrets standing guard.

The twin tubes of deadly intent snapped to his location and followed every little motion he made but nothing else, giving Tapper hope that they were out of ammo. One suddenly spun sideways and fired off a quick volley, answered by a sharp squeak among the masses of fur and settling that question for good. And also once again making Tapper eternally grateful for not being covered in organic flesh.

Keeping his speed slow to minimize sudden movements, Tapper approached the glass wall and the turrets never wavered. As he walked through the distance between them both turrets stopped their tracking, but only because they were working against a bolt that had been attached to their struts and prevented full movement. Well, these machines had helped him and bartenders knew how to be fair, so Tapper pulled out the blockages and continued on his merry way. The glass rose behind the turrets, flowing circles of various sizes intersecting each other and drawing the attention inwards. It would have been impressive if most of the panes weren't shattered and missing.

A hint of shame registered with Tapper when he realized that he was procrastinating the last few steps to cross the threshold, although he could see no logical reason to be wary. Turrets implied people, and whoever lived here may be the sorts of customers that would cause a ruckus when drunk and not leave a tip. And the fact that they were here, wherever here was, meant that they were likely vagabonds, but the bartender was attempting to integrate Miss Uxral's ethos: Do not be judgmental towards potential freeloaders, for whoever these people were, they were just people and this was just their home. The same as Fableton was for him.

[You have entered the dungeon: Throne of the First King

Fight through the monsters and slay the dungeon boss within to claim great riches! Good luck.]

Okay, maybe not exactly the same as Fableton.