I had dozens of achievements and boxes to go over, most of them from the action at the very end of the previous floor. Despite that, it seemed not very many were nearly as significant as the ones Donut had received. That made sense, as she had done a lot of the heavy lifting at the end of Faction Wars. I suspected that role I’d taken—a warlord who sent others off to die—was something that would be exclusive to the ninth floor.

Thank god for that, I thought.

While all that was happening, the cleaner bot started zapping large chunks of the broken kitchen table away—something I’d never seen it do before. It was like a disintegration ray, and it was a little terrifying to see in action. It made a satisfied beep every time something disappeared in a puff of smoke. Soon, the kitchen table and all the pieces were just gone. We’d have to buy or build a new one.

I turned my attention back to my achievements.

The notable ones were:

New Achievement. Bomb’s Away!

You dropped a metric fuck ton of bombs from your own inventory while you were floating in midair!

There’s this phrase that goes something like I dropped everything to come help you. For you, this was quite literal. It’s always fun when we truly discover what someone’s weakness is. I mean, this has been evident for quite some time, but it’s really nice to have confirmation—you know what I’m saying?

You were a cat’s whisker away from ruining everything with that attack. You didn’t even aim that shit.

Reward: You’ve received a Gold Payload Box!

I’d received that when Lucia started her attack on Donut, and I’d fled out of Larracos and dropped all the bombs in my inventory. That reminded me that I needed to refill my stock. The only thing I had left were the big bombs, such as the Carl’s Doomsday Scenario bomb and the tactical nuke that was still attached to a robot dog. That, in turn, reminded me that Samantha also had a nuke hidden up her neck hole, and we needed to extract it from her as soon as possible.

The description itself was worrying, but at this point, they were always worrying.

I had numerous achievements from the short time I was in Donut’s Nest helping her snipe a few of the automated towers, resulting in multiple gold and silver boxes. It was no wonder Donut had received so many.

New Achievement! Default Winner!

Wyndham Halswelle. Óscar Pereiro. Suzette Charles. Montell Griffin. All “winners.” They received top honors in their sport or event, but that victory was marred because someone else had to get disqualified for them to win.

This is you, Mr. Winner of Faction Wars. Sure, you’ve won, but I can’t imagine it’s satisfying.

Honestly, I blame myself. I could have prevented the other warlords from fleeing the battlefield like the little bitches they are. After all, I’d set up this whole showdown thing. But honestly, we’re setting up something even bigger and potentially more tragic, so it’ll all even out in the end.

You’ve received a Bronze Vanessa Williams Box.

That one made me think of Juice Box, and I wondered if she was doing okay, wherever she was. She’d said she was going somewhere with Justice Light, but he’d died. Had that always been part of the plan?

Standing in the doorway to the training room was Tipid. We met eyes, but there was no real recognition there from the man who’d had his memory wiped.

New Achievement! Wastrel.

Wow. Frank Q went out of his way to give you one of the most powerful items in this game, and what do you do with it? You feed it to a fucking cat? What a damned waste.

Reward: Fuck off.

That was for giving Donut the Ring of Divine Suffering to eat. Yeah, fuck you, too, I thought. As angry as that last one was, this next one was ridiculously sad, like the AI was on the verge of crying.

New Achievement. Come to Daddy.

You were offered an exit deal. You rejected it.

You like me. You didn’t leave me the first chance you got. You’re not like that ungrateful wannabe assholes who are running away from the playground just because they can. Well, good riddance, I say. But not you. Not good ol’ Carl. Good. Good boy.

Reward: You’ve received a Bronze Daddy’s Little Secret Box.

And that was pretty much it from the regular list. No celestial boxes this time, though I also had a fan box to open.

“Did you get a box for rejecting a deal?”

“Goodness, no,” Donut said. “Wait, did you? Hey, that’s not fair!”

I started opening the boxes. It was all the usual stuff, including several of those Emergency Gremlin scrolls. The Bronze Vanessa Williams Box contained an unenchanted spray paint can of white paint for some reason. The Bronze Daddy’s Little Secret Box contained a group of five potions Mordecai had mentioned in passing once before. Bomb Blanket. It was a throwable potion that would prevent smaller bombs from detonating if you tossed it upon them in time.

I finally also started receiving more dynamite and hob-lobbers along with some surefires, which was a relief. I also started receiving something called Trollish Boom Boxes, which were upgraded hob-lobbers. They looked like shoeboxes on a stick and were meant to be thrown. I’d have to play with them in my bomber’s studio first.

The Gold Payload Box came in the form of a small WWII-style gravity bomb. It opened up with a small amount of fanfare. Inside of it was a skill potion. I picked it up.

Skill Potion. Hotlist Expansion.

Drinking this potion will expand your 10-space hotlist into 20 spaces.

“Huh,” I said, turning the potion over in my hands. I remembered that when Lucia Mar had been conscripted and I’d examined her, she’d had an expanded hotlist. This was something cool, but again, it wasn’t anything earth-shattering.

I received one more item of note. It came in a Gold Adventurer Box.

“Uh,” I said, quickly examining the pink backpack thing.

“Carl, what is that?” Donut demanded, sniffing at the item. “It looks like one of those BabyBjörn baby backpacks from the Hangover movie. Is there something you’re not tell us? Did you and your new wife already have a honeymoon?”

“Actually,” I said as it popped into my inventory, “that’s exactly what it is. It’s a baby backpack, but it only carries quadrupeds. It’s to carry you on my chest. If I wear it with you buckled in, I can use my Phase or Oozy spell, and you’ll Phase, too.”

“I am absolutely not going to get into that thing. My goodness, do I look like a milk-soaked toddler with snotty Cheerios stuck to the side of my head?”

I laughed. It might come in handy someday.

The legendary fan box approached. It was in the shape of a large cobra head similar to Vinata.

I’d received this in the moments before I’d executed Rishi. I’d gotten it because that interaction had been watched by a large portion of viewers from the Naga system.

I already knew what this was. It was my marriage certificate from Princess Chandra.

The head rose all the way to the ceiling of the room. The cleaner bot moved away, blinking suspiciously.

“Here it comes,” Donut said. “This is where Carl was supposed to learn he’s married to that stupid lady with the gross nails!”

The head opened with a hiss. Stuff started coming out of it.

A lot of stuff.

“What the shit?” I exclaimed, jumping back. Donut yowled and jumped to my shoulder as the others all scrambled away.

It was junk. Like a garbage truck had just dumped its load into the safe room.

More and more items just kept appearing, an impossible amount, things much larger than the box. They just fell and crashed into the room, all of it piling up, creating a heap of crap that just kept getting bigger and bigger.

The cleaner bot made a shrill I-goddamned-knew-it sound and started circling the still-spewing fan box.

It was clothes. Wrecked furniture. Literal garbage, like broken pieces of ceramic and wood mixed with paper wrappers. Smoking trashed electronic devices. It was all wet and scorched, like it had recently been on fire.

I picked an item up. It was a dripping bronze-like trophy depicting a four-armed snake holding something that looked like a rectangular tennis racket. Part of the trophy’s base was melted. It was dripping with some weird slime-like substance that smelled like sewage.

Lame, damaged participation trophy for a GreaserBall tournament.

(Rishi came in 8th place, but he removed the part of the plaque that said what his place was. What a little bitch.)

All of this crap is yours now, Carl. Congratulations.

Most of this stuff looks like crap. That’s because most of it is. But I took a peek, and there might be a useful thing or two. You’ll have to find it yourself.

“Carl, what is this?” Donut demanded. “You’re ruining our safe room! It smells, too! Ew, ew. It smells like your friend Sam!” She looked up at the cleaner bot. “You! Don’t just sit there!”

The bot let out a high-pitched squeal at Donut.

“It ain’t so bad,” Bigs said, slithering up a broken couch. It collapsed, and she slid down, hitting the floor with a plop. “It’s kinda like how we got it in the barracks. I say we keep it. What’s the point of cleaning if you’re still living there? That’s like shoveling while it’s still snowing.”

“I call dibs on any makeup,” Samantha said. She dove into the pile.

Donut was not amused. “Carl, I absolutely refuse to live in this filth. If Katia were still here, she’d be appalled.”

“How did they get all this here so fast?” Mordecai asked.

It’d finally stopped coming. I pushed at what looked suspiciously like a microwave oven with my toe. It had a hole in the door, like from a gunshot. It appeared there was blood on it, too.

The pile went almost up to the ceiling. If this was all the junk he’d had in his house, then his house had been pretty big. Quasar said he’d had multiple wives, so I imagined it had to be.

I thought the cleaner bot was about to have a heart attack.

The whole room smelled of fire, and the entrances to my and Donut’s spaces, plus to the bathroom, were now blocked.

I had to jump back to escape a small avalanche. Samantha appeared holding a small palette of makeup in her mouth. She spat it out. “Donut, look! Your face is on this!”

“What?” Donut asked, leaping forward. She gasped, but then her gasp turned to outrage. “Carl! This is unlicensed merch! The Princess Palette was my idea!”

I spent a moment examining everything as Samantha went spelunking for more makeup. Donut continued to examine the makeup thing with growing outrage.

“‘A Night Out with Mongo’? That’s the name of this color?” She shouted. “How is that a color? ‘The Butcher’s Mascara’? That doesn’t even make sense. I mean, really.”

I kicked away a frying pan that appeared to have fur stuck to it. “What the hell am I supposed to do with all this?”