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November 12 - November 15, 2025
I never considered myself a big fan of cats. But, if we’re being truthful here, I liked Donut. That cat did not give two shits about anybody or anything, and I could respect that.
But tonight, on the coldest night of the year, the furry asshole decided to Lewis and Clark her way out of the apartment.
Congratulations! You’ve earned your first achievement: Crazy Cat Lady.
New achievement! Why aren’t you wearing pants? You entered the dungeon wearing no pants. Dude. Seriously?
“Nor am I wearing a cloak that makes me look like I won a participation trophy at the special needs comic con, Carl. I’m a cat. Cats don’t wear pants. Don’t be so droll.”
I didn’t know how long she’d been there or how she died, but she’d been killed less than 200 meters from the safe room. “Let’s go loot her corpse!” Donut said the moment she saw it on her map.
“I’ve seen your pedigree,” I said. “You’re a few generations shy of nothing. Also, your grandfather was also your uncle.”
Donut named the one with the facial piercings Rory and the other Lorelai.
“The floor collapses,” she said. “Yes. But it is only you who dies when this happens. For us we go to sleep until the next dungeon opens. We will open our eyes, and it will be the same as it has been. Just another day. But one of these days, one of these days we will wake up, and we will be deeper. That’s what they tell us. Kill the crawlers, get better at killing, and you get to go deeper. And one day, eventually, we will be so deep that crawlers will never come, and we will finally have peace. We will have peace and a place to live and breed and have our little ones run free and not worry
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“Did we really just start a meth war between the goblins and the llamas?”
New achievement! War Criminal. You have killed more than 20 non-combatants in a single attack! Question: What’s the only thing standing between an innocent child and a happy, fulfilling life? Answer: You. The answer is you. Reward: You’ve received a Gold Asshole’s Box!
Skill Potion. Drinking this adds a single level to the Determine Value skill. Hopefully now you’ll realize all those Magic: The Gathering cards are nothing more than just meaningless pieces of paper, and you should have spent your money on something with actual value, like a treadmill. Or shampoo.
Donut: I AM YELLING CARL.
“You said you worry that some of these bosses and mobs are like you, here against their will.” He pointed downward, indicating the lower levels. “That’s not always going to be the case. Especially later on. Remember that. There are no gods here. Just those who pay for the privilege.”
Her eyes sparkled. I suddenly had a feeling of dread. That look. That hunger. That was dangerous. She’d had but a single taste, but I could already tell. She was addicted to this. To the crowd. To the cheers. It was going to be a problem.
“My audience loves you. The longer you stay alive, the more money I make. And there is nothing I love in this universe more than money. Now get back in there and try not to die.”
Donut looted something unusual from one of the bodies. A pamphlet entitled Rev-Up. Make Money. Be Your Own Boss. Move to the next floor down. It didn’t appear to be magical. It was just a regular, trifold pamphlet. “Let me see it,” I said. The colorful front showed a group of three, laughing, female clurichauns holding jugs of the moonshine. Several little phrases covered the pamphlet, written in Syndicate Standard. Things like “You’re the Boss Now” and “Your own hours” and “It’s not a pyramid!” and “Safe!*”
“It’s not a pyramid, though. It says so right here.”
But like with the goblins, once Donut turned them neutral, we saw a part of their personalities one didn’t normally see with monsters. We were going to move down to the third floor. Jesus. Her voice had been filled with such longing, such despair.
“You’re not going to break me,” I whispered. It’d become a mantra.
The door to the boss chamber looked like the entrance to some sort of community center. It had “Live, Laugh, Love” written on the top of the door in little cutout, wooden letters. Under that was a schedule of events. The next event scheduled was for noon on the day after the collapse. It read, “Good news, everyone! Little Breannlyne has the chickenpox! Potluck Pox party here at noon. No peanuts. Let’s get that immunity!”
I am doing what you have asked. I am killing monsters, trying to level up, trying to survive. I will smile, and I will joke, and I will put a proper face on when I go on these shows. But, fuck. You have already taken everything from us. Do not ask us to give more than what we have. We are not going to fight or survive on your schedule.”
“This is just like that scene in season three of Gossip Girl when Chuck and Blair break up over the hotel,” Donut said.
Mana Toast. This is toast. It refills your mana. That’s it. Nothing more. Fuck you.
Time to pay the Daddy tax.
The dungeon groaned. It fucking groaned. I sighed as I wiped my foot on the metal bar of the cage. The entire dungeon rumbled as if it was experiencing a small earthquake. My HUD flickered. I felt dirty and sick. I rubbed my foot over and over, but the blood wouldn’t come off.
New achievement! PETA Enthusiast! You somehow managed to remove the hostility of an aggravated, non-sapient enemy. That enemy then fought against other enemies to your benefit. The ghost of Steve Irwin smiles down upon you. Reward: I SAID THE GHOST OF STEVE IRWIN SMILES DOWN UPON YOU.
You will not break me. Fuck you all. You will not break me.
