[Raider Horde defeated! +25 XP]

Silence. The jukebox still played at a low whisper when Tapper gave the toast, but compared to the commotion from earlier this was still deafeningly silent. And in the silence he thought, the robot realized just how little planning he had really done.

The raiders would wake up eventually when the potion wore off, and once they figured out what happened they would absolutely tear the bartending robot to shreds. Tapper felt his resolution to not take lethal actions start to waver with temptation; he set a reminder for Mister Ricky to make it into a proper directive. So he still had to race back to Fableton, but maybe not before Tapper looted every last unconscious raider. That felt expected of him somehow, enough so to justify the delay, so he got straight to work.

Each defeated enemy highlighted itself and offered up its loot, and each time Tapper accepted as he gingerly stepped over the unconscious bodies. Thankfully he only needed to touch a raider once to get the prompt and didn't need to manually pilfer any pockets, and each person flashed yellow before shifting to reveal their loot.

Despite its lack of direct interface Tapper could control the degree of looting like the flow of a water faucet — turning the metaphorical tap on at a trickle made loose trinkets dislodge themselves from pockets and fly into Tapper's hand, then weapons and gear, and suddenly Tapper was holding the beer-soaked clothing of a raider that now snored naked at his feet.

He kept the search thoroughness at a 'moderate' level, both to save time and to prevent the raiders from disrobing. Even if he could somehow use or carry all the clothing, he had no desire to see more of the fleshy organic bodies than he had to.

Most of the loot was just their weaponry, knives and small pistols that ranged in quality from barely serviceable scrap air guns to impossibly brand new laser pistols. Three of the weapons emanated an odd glow with no discernable light source, but all the weapons were collected just the same and tossed into a waste bin for automatic deconstruction.

The most curious piece of loot was a hologram that floated above many of the bodies. They were all the same hologram, of a brown leather pouch with a drawstring pulled tight around metallic coins that spilled out of its opening. When Tapper touched a hologram it blinked out of existence, followed immediately by yet another line blinking into existence on his character sheet.

[TREASURE: 3 Copper]

Performance metrics hit Tapper with a wave of stimulated dopamine when he saw the new status. Treasure! This was what Tapper should strive for at all times, above all else! At least that much was clear from his vague knowledge library, even if it refused to tell him what three units of copper actually meant or what it was used for. But it was three more than he had a minute ago, so Tapper wasted no time in collecting every coin bag available.

Most of the raiders held fewer than 20 copper apiece, but by the time he had looted every proffered bag Tapper had accumulated a hefty 86 copper in total. At some point a physical manifestation of the hologram appeared hanging at Tapper's hip, a soft leather bag with a simple drawstring for security and jingling with copper coins. The coins were plainly designed and stamped with a number 1, 10, or 25 that added up to his 86 total, with the denominations varying slightly in diameter. His emotional feedback hummed with satisfaction at gathering so much treasure and begged him to keep going until every single defeated enemy's loot was all his. And it was, with the exception of the armored man.

The spokesman for the raiders had also grabbed a drink and returned to the mound of furniture for the toast, and although he had collapsed with everyone else, Tapper was still unwilling to approach the powerful figure. But his elevated status surely meant elevated loot, and instead of questioning why he was so sure of that notion Tapper just accepted it. After succumbing to the poison he fell midway down the mound before getting tangled in the furniture, left hanging mostly upside down and obscured.

Climbing up even one chair was a challenge for Tapper's awkward legs, but the promise of loot urged him to make a path. He moved slowly to not disturb the pile, but yelped when he moved a chair and finally got a good look at the spokesman. "Mister Rethar! You're alive!"

A metal clamp pivoted off Rethar's arm and snapped around Tapper's wrist, striking so suddenly that the robot tumbled off his perch. The fall wrenched Tapper free from the clamp's grasp, but not without dragging Rethar to the ground right next to him. Tapper scrambled to his feet and the human did the same, though with much stiffer movement than before. Turning to face each other Tapper saw a man in pain, neck muscles straining and eyes rolling wildly until they locked onto the robot.

"What... did you do... to me?" Steffo managed to ask through a clenched jaw. "I can't... freaking move!" Yet he took a step forward, and Tapper realized that it was the metal exoskeleton moving for him.

Diodes on his chest blinked wildly and various tools on the framework spun to life, but anything that forced his body to move made Rethar grimace in pain. "I'm going... ngh... to kill you!" With slow and painful steps Rethar advanced, and with jerky and panicked kicking Tapper fled.

In his haste the robot tripped over nearly every single unconscious raider, and either due to a lack of mobility or a lack of care the human didn't even bother trying to maneuver around his fallen comrades. That allowed him to keep pace with the robot, and all it cost was the occasional broken bone as arms and legs crunched under heavy metal boots.

Rethar caught up just as Tapper reached the bar and wasted precious seconds flipping open the hinged counter section, instead of just ducking under it. This left him perfectly trapped in a very narrow walkway with a very angry man, who instead of going for a tactful grab opted to reel back for a powerful haymaker punch. In his desperation to not get obliterated, Tapper scrambled for any lifeline and his grasping hands found the cocktail shaker he had been using to mix drinks all night. A proper Boston-style shaker, because this is a proper bar.

With the same preprogrammed motions that he used to astound patrons all evening, Tapper grabbed the shaker and flipped it. The oblong cylinder twirled twice and bounced off each elbow before Tapper caught it with the opposite hand. And directly into the path of the haymaker fist.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Tapper had no conscious recollection of the immediate events. One second, he was wondering if the incoming punch would knock his head clean off, the next he was sliding backwards on the booze-soaked floor with an utterly devastated cocktail shaker in his hand. Somehow the simple metal cup had absorbed nearly all the energy from the punch, and what did leak through just pushed Tapper without causing a single point of damage.

His back bumped against the far wall, which was dominated by a door labeled 'EMPLOYEES ONLY' and slid open the instant Tapper made contact. He slammed the door shut as soon as he was through, just in time for it to rattle from the second haymaker Rethar was winding up to deliver. The heavy security door held, but for how long was not a question that Tapper wanted to answer.

He turned to examine the room he now hid in, an employee break room that was impressive only in how cramped it managed to be. A plastic table and chairs dominated the meager floorspace, which Tapper had to fold into the wall before he could move past. The only other features in the space were a food replicator and set of lockers. all empty, and a tablet set into the wall next to the only other door out.

Most people with a healthy fear for their well-being would take the obvious escape route, especially with the constant hammering on the security door, but Tapper was first and foremost a good employee and good employees do not leave their post without first properly clocking out of their shift. The lone tablet gave easy access for that, and when he chose to end his shift the glass screen tallied up all the statistics from his shift:

Employee: #314

Date: ERROR

Total time worked: 4.5 hours

Base Federal Credit Work Hours (FCWH) earned: 4

Overtime FCWH earned: 0.75

Tips earned: 1.34

Gross pay: 6.09

Taxes and withholdings: 1.8

Net pay: 4.29 FCWH

The line regarding tips actually struck Tapper with a sudden negative emotion. Guilt, maybe even shame? The raiders were willingly giving Tapper extra money, the opposite of what could be expected from thieves. Once his security system stopped recognizing the raiders as patrons it also became much easier to stop recognizing them as people, he will need to ensure that doesn't happen by accident in the future.

At least, this helped justify his decision to not listen to his own security algorithms when they suggested he kill each and every one of them. Maybe there was still hope that at least a few patrons will better themselves and become properly, gainfully employed citizens instead of raiders.

It was difficult to believe that everything Tapper went through at the bar took so little time, and that their accounting system considered a measly 4 hours to be a full workday. In fact, very little about the readout made any sense, because while his internal library contained no definition for 'Taxes' the word still triggered a response from his security algorithms. Apparently, it was now a top priority that Tapper take all evidence of these 'Taxes' and report them to Bowson Industries for a significant breach in contract.

Another loud crash brought the good employee back to his actual priority of escaping the mad human. The security door still held, but it was now warped enough for a small gap to appear in the frame and a single wild eye stared at Tapper with murderous intent. The wall-mounted tablet automatically changed, Tapper's paycheck gone and replaced with a flashing alert. Warning, damage detected in secure employee area! Tapper quickly selected the option to authorize repairs and dismiss the alert, allowing the robot to finally, formally clock out of his first and last shift at Rick's Cafe Casablanca.

Throughout the entire process Rethar had been swearing up a storm, and Tapper did not notice the screams of anger turn to confusion as the damaged security door started to glow. The only thing Tapper saw was the other door smoothly swing open and offer the bartender his freedom.

Freedom, in this case, was a blank hallway. Flat white walls and basic tile floors stretched in both directions, with minimal trimming outlining the identical security doors that dotted both walls at equal intervals. Eight doors along each wall, plus one more at each end as a larger double door, each one with its own accompanying tablet on the wall. The entire layout was sensible, effective, and utterly surreal compared to the chaos of everything else Tapper had seen in the mall. There were no piles of garbage, all of the fluorescent lights worked, and not one sound could be heard aside from the gentle hum of overhead air vents.

The words 'MAINTENANCE HALLWAY EAST' painted in large black block letters near the ceiling were the only break to the stark whiteness of the room. It was almost peaceful, but after a moment the serene quality of the stillness started to become uncomfortable. Nothing changed and there was no outside stimulus to explain it, but Tapper's emotional subroutines were throwing out warnings of impending doom.

He didn't belong here, no one did, and he needed to leave right now. A few hurried steps across the wide hallway and Tapper stood before the security door opposite of Rick's, a mirror image save for a small plaque above the tablet that read 'Cosmo Cosmetics'. The tablet was powered off, but the door was unlocked and opened without resistance to reveal... Maintenance Hallway East.

Tapper double checked to ensure his optical sensors weren't glitching out in this strange liminal space. It was definitely the same hallway, but now he was standing in a slightly different position. So he tried another door, and another. Each one opened without a creaking hinge of resistance and deposited the robot back into the same hallway, but there was no rhyme or reason for where in the hallway he would emerge.

One time Tapper thought he saw a short, glowing humanoid, but reviewing his sensor logs suggested it was just the wind. Another trip showed Tapper his own backside as he moved through a door before it automatically closed behind him. A scientific robot with any concept of spatial warping would melt its logic circuits at the impossible sight, but thankfully a bartending robot would just shrug and conclude that trying these doors was futile.

What Tapper had not tried were the larger double doors at either end of the hallway. He turned to the nearest one, but as soon as he saw 'The Gentleman Hunter' on the plaque he turned right around and marched all the way down the long hallway. The other double door did not have a plaque, but painted directly onto the wall was the single word 'ATRIUM' and it opened to reveal the first cavernous room of the dungeon.

The maintenance door closed behind him with a woosh that sounded like a satisfied sigh after finally getting rid of a particularly annoying guest, or were Tapper's audio processors now taking liberties? So many functions were starting to act on their own.

Silent contemplation was cut through by a static hiss as dozens of hidden speakers crackled to life. "Everyone, this is Ret. Wake your asses up! We have a problem, some bot has snuck in and attacked me. I mean, attacked us! If you see a robot wandering around that isn't security, then destroy that skrat on sight! Rethar out." In the silence that followed the giant holographic orbital display in the middle of the atrium rotated back into view.

Welcome to the PROTIUM MALL, where retro is always in fashion! And everyone wants to kill you.