Tapper came to his senses midway through his tumble, clattering to the ground at the base of the uncaring security drone before it zipped away and a hidden wall panel slammed shut behind it. It deposited him in someone's office, tall bookshelves with dusty tomes lined the longer walls with threadbare carpet under his faceplate. From his prone position two chairs cast sharp shadows across Tapper's body, thrown by a bright light further down the room.

Leveraging himself over the chairs for a better look, Tapper saw a grand setup that stunned his logic circuits with awe. A solid desk of glossy dark wood stretched almost the full width of the office, bearing the plaque of 'Administration' with a sloppy number 0 spray-painted underneath. The rear wall was completely covered in computer monitors, but Tapper couldn't see the displays because of the light source.

A ball of light floated just above the surface of the desk. Approximately 20 centimeters across, but it glowed so brightly that Tapper could not clearly discern the hard edges of the sphere. The energy it emitted seared at his processor, singing a sweet melody that rewrote Tapper's directives with a promise of unlimited potential. This was the ultimate loot the dungeon could offer, without doubt, Tapper just needed to reach out and claim it.

He leapt off the chair to close the gap, and in his tunnel vision Tapper didn't notice the laser tripwires crossing the room.

Buzzers and red lights announced his trespass and several hidden latches clanked open or shut with a harmonious rattle. One such latch was in the ceiling, and the motion of a panel swinging open drew Tapper's eyes upwards to witness the dungeon's answer to thievery: Mall Rats. Three of the creatures fell from the ceiling and coughed up vapor clouds, instantly filling the room with obscuring toxins.

Part of Tapper, the cold and calculating part, idly mused how effective this trap would be against organic beings. The monsters worked in tandem to ensure that they debuffed any trespasser with the vapor before attacking with tooth and claw, and if Tapper had lungs or fleshy skin then he likely wouldn't survive this room. But that was the extent that these dungeon monsters could strategize, and their random thrashing attacked each other as often as the robot.

The rest of Tapper, the warm and emotional part, recoiled as the three creatures kept trying to touch him. The ball of light turned the rats into a whirling mess of sharp shadows in the vapor, darting and difficult to track. He didn't want to kill more creatures without Phanya's safety at risk, but were these even real creatures? They were dungeon monsters, and they were standing in the way of the dungeon's loot.

Whatever it was, Tapper needed that loot.

One rat caught itself on Tapper's arm and he managed to snap its neck, which made the other two move more frantically. He needed to clear the room, so he grabbed his internal energy and shouted, "SPRAY!" through his vacuum. The room turned green, surely a sign that he made the correct choice, as the burst of air shot the Mall Rats and their vapor away.

Two splats and a sudden, frantic screeching froze Tapper. He successfully cleared the vapor away, which let him watch the two monsters quickly dissolve within a mound of green gelatin. Or rather… ooze? A viscous liquid, lime green and transparent, covered the glowing orb to envelop and surround the treasure. It didn't react beyond bathing everything in a sickly green light, pulsing slightly within the slime. Where did it come from? The mound shuddered and swelled, and with horror Tapper realized the glowing orb must be generating it somehow.

If Tapper ever learns how to experience dreams, then his nightmares are going to feature a giant mound of glowing green ooze that slowly eats him. This was worse than any organic being for Tapper, it had all the writhing movements and slimy textures but lacked even the most basic structure, skeletal or otherwise. It lurched forward, and Tapper screamed.

Scrambling backwards until his back hit the far wall, Tapper wasn't surprised to find the door locked and knew that his highest chance of escape relied on finding the universal port for a manual override. So why did the designers and architects always hide them?? Metal fingers scratched all around the reinforced doorframe, searching for any loose panel and finding one just above the floor.

Squelching noises from behind turned Tapper's hands frantic, tearing it clean off and jamming his finger into the hidden port. The crystalline fibers made connection with agonizing lethargy and Tapper groaned when his attempts to access the emergency protocols were answered with a prompt for an administrator password. He didn't have time to argue his way around logic gates, and the firewall of this security door was much stronger than his own!

Tapper forced some of his mana through the connection, and when that didn't make any difference he resorted to begging. The part of his mind that was still all computer knew that verbal commands had an estimated success chance smaller than the entire margin of error, but his emotional subroutines countered that this would at least drown out the growing sounds of squelching.

"Please, just open up! I'm not trying to break in, I'm trying to break out! Why does everything in this dungeon SUCK so mu —" and then a racket of loud popping drowned out his voice.

[Spell component Suck has fizzled!]

[Lock pick check successful!]

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Spells do not activate with casual usage of the word in normal pleading and cursing, it must be intoned with intent. But during a future self-assessment of his recordings, Tapper would theorize that his overwhelming panic accidentally pushed just a smidge of intent into the word. Not enough for a proper Suck spell to form, but enough for a spark to travel through the open connection between his mana battery and the door's energy cell.

That spark ignited something within the technology and a violent backlash severed the connection. Memories turned fuzzy as Tapper reeled from the stun, but his sensors logged six muffled explosions firing in rapid succession as acrid smoke entered the atmospheric composition. Something blew, and it counted as the door's lock.

A glob of ooze plopped against Tapper's back and the sensation cut through his stunned processor like a laser, forcing him into a horrifying clarity. The slime had reached him! With a wail Tapper wrenched open the door and tumbled through, scraping off the bit of slime that clung to his chassis before he braced the broken door with all the meager leverage he could muster. A moment later and Tapper could clearly hear the disgusting squelching sounds on the other side, but the monster never tried to pull open the door. Maybe it lacked the capacity to turn a doorknob?

If the glob that now lay on the floor in front of him was any indication, then there wasn't anything else to the slime except slime — no grasping digits, no nervous system. When that glob twitched and started crawling towards Tapper he yelped and hurried to suck it up with his vacuum, which was thankfully still strong enough to do the job without the Suck spell available. Only after the last smudge vanished did Tapper relax, his torso rattling against the hard floor in a full-body shudder.

That ordeal was finally over, and with a start his processor finally caught up to remind Tapper of the much larger and unresolved ordeal. He had to find Miss Phanya! His proprietor would never steal so Tapper wasn't worried that she might also get arrested, but he couldn't bear to leave her safety as an unknown variable. The snapshot he saved of the mall directory listed a security office at the end of each wing with no way to differentiate them, so he set off to find another reference point as quickly as his improvised scuttle could carry him.

Wherever he was in the mall, this wing seemed less dedicated to productive shopping and more for... art, maybe? Tapper didn't know how else to label the massive twisting structures that filled recesses in the hallway normally used for storefronts, and the increase in comfortable seating would imply prolonged viewership. Or just more loitering, but either way he saw nothing worth stopping for until he passed a large set of glass doors.

Light from within suggested a functioning storefront, but unlike other stores this one did not have a barrier of visual distortion and Tapper could see glass display cases and informational signs on an open floor plan. One such display case contained different examples of robotic limbs, including a full set of legs.

A deal too good to be true, this was either a trap or an opportunity. He leaned back to read the sign above the doors, 'Museum of Centennial Technology' in cartoonish circuitry with a smaller plaintext sign below that continued, 'Presented by the Department of Museums and Libraries' but offered little else for information. There weren't any spray-painted pictographs anywhere to indicate monsters or other dangers lurking within, so why was Tapper hesitating? Why was he feeling a degree of animosity towards the museum?

He tried to trace the logic behind the feeling, only to find that it didn't originate from his emotional subroutines at all. This feeling was actually a subconscious interpretation of a Bowson directive, stating that museums and other such gatherings for loiters were not conducive to good business. In fact, that same directive was also pushing his espionage subroutines to find out how to get the museum shut down and replaced with a proper Bowson business. It is always a good time to expand market share!

It only took a few cycles of his processor for Tapper to convince the Bowson directive that him looting the museum was an act of sabotage and it quieted down, but it left Tapper with a new feeling of unease. He didn't like the way his higher-level Bowson programming was interacting with his new emotional subroutines, and he could predict several possible scenarios where the broader directives might interfere with his more immediate concerns.

Unintentionally, of course — Bowson would never knowingly prevent Tapper from assisting his proprietors, but he almost passed up an opportunity to repair himself just because it would involve entering a museum. Tapper cordoned off another small section of his processor and set it to writing a new protocol that would funnel any and all Bowson directives though his logic gates first. Hopefully, that would ensure they no longer subconsciously influenced his emotional subroutines.

Once he finished setting up the protocol and could let that process finish in the background, Tapper grabbed onto the door handle with one hand and pushed off the other door with his back spindles. The lack of proper leverage made opening the glass door a challenge and he wound up using his cranium to prop the door open, but it got him across the threshold without losing any more body parts.

To Tapper's pleasant surprise the museum's entrance was in immaculate condition without a hint of grime or litter anywhere. Even the stanchions still stood orderly in the queue area! Gentle orchestral music played from hidden speakers at just the ideal volume to not impede conversation and dense carpet padded all movement, and Tapper began to understand how humans could justify a bit of loitering in this location. It almost felt like he was in a high-class lounge, just without the drinks.

Maybe Miss Phanya would enjoy this area, after he ensured her safety. For now, Tapper ducked under the angled metal bars of a retro turnstile gate and entered the museum proper, making a beeline for the section containing robot parts on display. Maybe next time he could stop to read all the signs and informational plaques as well, but he still slowed to appreciate the care that went into displaying his kind. Each subsection was dedicated to a main body part, starting with truly ancient models from before universal ports were mandated, and flowed into... well, what was likely cutting-edge technology when the museum was first built.

Hands grasped onto arms to create a chain that held itself aloft, heads were arrayed as if the older models were passing knowledge onto the young, and the legs uplifted each other into ever greater heights. Maybe it was because he could see the progression of time in the technology or maybe this was the early signs of bias towards his own kind, but most humanoid art would benefit from this organizational efficiency. The only question now was how he might manage to climb the pyramid of legs to reach the best options.

"Uh hey there, what are you doing?"