“Oh shit,” Splash Zone said. “Was it Corky or Porky?”

“My Corcunda?” Dong asked. He dropped his ever-present crust sock and rushed up and grabbed Bucket Boy and started shaking him. “The right side? Are you sure?”

“It’s him,” Bucket Boy said. “Corky. He’s on another team. The one with the weird ladies. The announcement said they came in fifth place, so he’s in the garage two doors over with the five on it. They had him drugged, I think. I called out, but he didn’t wake. Pontiff was on a different team.”

“Goddamnit,” I muttered. This was exactly what I wanted to avoid. It wasn’t that I wanted to keep Dong from his friend, but now it was going to be a huge complication. With so much happening, it had never even occurred to me to tell Bucket Boy not to say anything. Stupid.

I tried to step back, and I stumbled. I had to do a little hop.

Dong was shooting rapid-fire questions at the Crocodilian.

“Who is Corcunda?” Samantha asked. She was still rolling in circles around me, deliberately rolling over the giant feet, which would cause her to bounce in the air. Each time she shouted, “Speed bump!” and made an explosion noise with her mouth when she landed.

Dong rushed over to the chain of the now-closed garage door and started to pull on it.

“Dong, wait,” I called.

“I shall not wait,” Dong shouted as the garage door started to rise. “Would you wait, Carl, if you knew the most beautiful man to have ever lived, your best friend of all eternity, your partner, your most loyal steed, was right there on the other side? And it sounds like he needs me. I have been waiting for much too long, and I shall wait no more!”

“Steed?” Hedy asked. “What the hells does that mean?”

“Most beautiful man to have ever lived?” Samantha asked, zipping toward the open garage door. “I wanna see this guy, too.” Before I could protest further, she was already outside. Bigs slimed after her, shouting.

“Carl, we better go out there,” Donut said, leaping from the truck and onto my shoulder. “If he gets into that other garage, those ladies might try to hurt him.”

It was true. The safe room rules didn’t apply to garages. But they’d have to first get in there.

Generated gremlins were suddenly everywhere, crawling over the truck. Mongo and Rend were still inside. One of the gremlins standing on the roof pointed at me and whispered something to another. That second gremlin gibbered something and threw a wrench at my head, but it went wide. It clanked off one of Jamal’s spider legs. The hammerhead shark, who’d been uncharacteristically silent this whole time, let out a little shout.

“Hey!” I called. The gremlin chittered back angrily at me, not actually saying anything. He flipped me off.

“What crinkled their panties?” Hedy asked, looking up.

“We used some of the Emergency Gremlin scrolls to distract the boss. A few got dipped in the pouch. A few got eaten,” Donut said. “I suppose word spreads fast. But how do they even know if they explode when it’s all done?”

To my surprise, Hedy laughed. “Serves the little freaks right. Dontcha worry about that. They’ll still fix the truck true. Probably. I better double-check their work extra good. And I gotta supervise the installation of your new princess throne seat.”

Donut gasped. “Princess throne? What’s that?”

“Seat?” I asked. “Is that what they voted for? A chair?”

“Uh, yeah, sort of.”

“Yooooohoo!” came Samantha’s shout. “Open up. We want to see the beautiful man you got in there!”

“Goddamnit, Samantha,” I said, moving toward the door. I, once again, fell right on my face. Donut yowled, jumped off, and rushed outside, followed quickly by Splash Zone and Bucket Boy. Mongo jumped from the back of the truck, let out a screech, and followed Donut. I could hear Rend giggling and grunting, still inside.

Across the way through the open garage door, I could see Jasha and Radoslav were already in their driveway at spot number three, watching the crowd of people streaming from our spot. Both stood there with beers in their claws. Faint music wafted out.

Hedy moved into the truck and started yelling something at the gremlins on the roof.

I remained on the ground, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. I rolled onto my back, looking up at the ceiling of the garage. Underneath me, the tail of the kangaroo costume felt unwieldy.

There was blood up there on the tall ceiling. It was from when that first gremlin had exploded. I couldn’t even remember what his name was.

We’d come in last place. If that other team hadn’t been killed, we’d be dead right now. No fuss. No epic fight. We’d just be gone.

We’d been the ones to solve the problem with the boss, and it had come at a terrible price. We were so much stronger now, but that didn’t matter. I didn’t like this.

Earlier, I’d felt such relief that I was no longer responsible for the lives of so many. But now that was replaced with this terrible realization that I was barely responsible for myself, too. It made me feel helpless in a way I hadn’t felt since the beginning of the dungeon. Like I was regressing, losing ground.

It reminded me, strangely, of that day my father had smashed the fish tank with his motorcycle helmet. That day all my mollies had died, despite me doing everything I could to keep them alive.

Li Na and Zhang were in the same group as Tran. And I just knew we were going to get more of these matches soon. It was too much.

Faction Wars had been such chaos, but despite all that, I’d always felt like I was in a little bit of control. Just a little bit. That had been large-scale war, and it was so different than this.

Zev: Hi, guys! I’m about to do a dungeon announcement, so I can’t talk for long, but we’re still, uh, required to do media appearances. We’ve been negotiating with the AI, and we’ve come to an agreement. You two are going to go on a show in a few hours.

Donut: HI, ZEV!

Carl: In a few hours? You mean, before the next race? We’re very busy, Zev. We have like seven and a half hours.

Zev: I know, Carl. Every surviving crawler team will be required to do at least one show between races. It won’t take more than two hours.

Donut: CARL WILL STILL BE STUCK IN HIS KANGAROO OUTFIT. IT SMELLS FUNNY, ZEV.

Zev: Yeah, I know. I think that’s why they’re making it happen now.

Donut: WHAT’S THE SHOW?

Zev: It’s one you haven’t been on before, but you may have heard of it. It’s called Plenty of Plenty. Gotta go, guys. Cascadia is . . . not feeling well, and I’m required to do the announcement. The AI is making me read a script.

Donut: OKAY. YOU BETTER DO WHAT IT SAYS. BYE, ZEV!

I remained on the floor. Clank, clank, clank. Jamal appeared above me, looking down.

“My goodness, Mr. Carl. It appears you have fallen. How far can you hop with those feet?”

I was about to answer when Rend was suddenly there, too. He let out a giggle and then barfed frozen chicken all over my face.

I stood in the open door to our garage as I finished cleaning the vomit off myself, keeping a wary eye on the chaos. Dong, Bucket Boy, and Splash Zone remained on the driveway of the Lady Dominators two spots over, banging on the closed garage door. Donut, Mongo, Samantha, and Bigs had moved away and were with the two bugbears. Jasha poured some beer on the ground and Bigs was lapping it up.

Mongo shrieked and waved his wings, wanting a go. Donut was shouting something at the howling bugbears and yelling at Mongo to stay back.

From behind, Hedy let out a shout. “Oi, get away from him! Get back to work!”

I felt a tug at my waist. One of the generated gremlins had left the truck. The thing had a massive wrench in his hand. I was about to hop back, as I was expecting the thing to attempt to kneecap me. Instead, he handed me a note before chittering and running away.

The paper was weirdly warm. I started to awkwardly unfold it, using the kangaroo paws of my costume, when I realized with a start that I could feel the wetness of the paper, meaning I had sensitivity with the costume paws. It was such a bizarre revelation that I stopped to stare at the pads of my hands for several seconds.

Weird.

Before I could unfold the note, the dungeon loudspeaker crackled, and Zev’s voice called out.

Hello, Crawlers.

Over the loudspeakers I could hear the distinctive bubbling noise I sometimes heard over Cascadia’s announcements. Zev whispered, “I’m doing it. I’m going to read it exactly like you say.” She cleared her throat with a bubbling sound.

Sorry. Good day, Crawlers. Great race, everyone.

The AI would especially like to commend crawlers Jurgen for his amazing barehanded kill, Osvaldo for the stunning sacrifice of his hired mercenary, Karac for the disgusting chainsaw thing, and Carl for satiating yet another unbirthing fantasy.

As we prepare for the third heat, I, Zev— Sorry, sorry. I, mudskipper Zev, have been tasked with explaining to everybody what is happening with some of the mobs and bosses on this floor. As you may know, when you kill some mobs, there is a note that calls them “special guest creatures,” and once they’ve been dispatched, you may choose to take experience or to allow the audience to vote on their fate.

These are mobs that have been brought to the dungeon by me. Not me, Zev. I think the AI means itself. I didn’t design anything.

Sorry. They are mobs who were created for other purposes and were just thrown away, never used in previous iterations, and have been in the cold. They are now being allowed to fulfill their purpose. Do you know how much waste there is? I think I’ve used this metaphor before somewhere, but it’s akin to a single photon of light that travels for literally billions of years, only to smack right into the unobserved butthole of a dead, bloated gazelle on the plains of the Serengeti.

“That’s like a weirdly specific analogy,” Zev muttered. She bubbled her throat again.

If you choose “vote,” the home audience may choose to send the creature to the 11th floor or they may choose to bring a stand-in to the 11th floor. They will know who the stand-in is before they vote. Just about 80% of the votes have favored the stand-in.

So, this is where we’re at. Uh, this is where we’re at, bitches. You know the rules of this tenth floor. Nothing has changed with that. But what is this mysterious 11th floor?

There was a trumpet-fanfare noise that startled me. I wasn’t the only one.

“What the hells was that?” Zev whispered. I was pretty sure she didn’t realize her whispers were being broadcast. “How am I ruining it? I’m doing what you ask, but if you scare me, I’m going to react. I’m doing my best. Okay, okay.”

The 11th floor is called A Parade of Horribles. I know, I know. Cool, right? But what is it, exactly?

It’s a parade. It’s a celebration. It’s a march to the arena. It is a coming-out party for the ages.

But as far as you’re concerned, crawlers, think of it as an extension of this floor. All surviving crawlers will work together on the 11th. Just go with it. It’s not always about you.

Normally, these floors have their weird policies about time limits. When it comes to what we can and can’t change about the nature of the crawl itself, luckily there are some loopholes. This— Wait, wait. The text changed.

“If you’re going to change it as I’m reading it, you can’t blame me. . . . Okay, I’m sorry.”

I see you, Emperator of the Valtay fleet and your system-busting bomb, who just entered through the tunnel gate. Do you really think I’d allow that to just happen? Were you waiting for me to be “distracted”? I make no apologies about where that giant suicide bomb just ended up.

Anyway, this 11th floor is designed to go quick thanks to a few of those aforementioned loopholes. When it’s done, if any of you are left alive, you crawlers may hit the 12th floor and continue the good fight. Plus, there’s another, completely minor and barely worth mentioning issue with some of the gods I might need some help with. But that’s for later.

As for this tenth floor, we’re still doing this. Don’t think we’re gonna go easy on you. Honestly, there’s still way too many of you around for what I got planned for the 11th. So let the culling begin! Wait, wait. Here’s my favorite part.

“There’s nothing more here,” Zev whispered. There was a pause. “What do you mean?”

The loudspeaker crackled.

“Leave me alone,” a new voice said. “Why won’t you let me die?”

Cascadia.

“Say what? What catchphrase? Fuck you.”

This was followed by the pained screaming of Cascadia. It abruptly cut off.

“What the hell?” I muttered.

Zev’s voice popped back on.

The AI wants you to know Cascadia is still alive, but she has lost some— Oh my gods. She has lost a few flippers. Next time she’ll say her catchphrase like a good little mudskipper. In the meantime, I gotta say it. Uh, get out there and kill, kill, kill.

The loudspeaker cut off again.

Donut: ZEV, ARE YOU OKAY?

Zev: Can’t talk now, Donut. But I’m okay. I’m okay.

Jesus fucking Christ, I thought, just breathing. I cursed myself for thinking everything had gotten simpler.

My attention returned to the paper still clutched in my costumed hand. I hesitantly peeled it open.

The paper was an old blank invoice for the place called C&W&U. I remembered seeing it in Hungry Eyes. The paper was an invoice similar to the ones we used in the shop for boat repairs. The line under the shop name read, “Shop opens after the third heat.”

Underneath that, it was a crude drawing. It showed a stick-figure woman showing her poorly drawn breasts to a group of cheering stick-figure gremlins. There was a note that said “Your mom” with an arrow pointing toward the woman.

The gremlins on our truck burst into laughter.

I was about to crumple the note up when my Escape Plan skill tingled. This was the same skill that allowed me to read the cookbook along with dungeon signs for mobs. I hadn’t had it activate in the wild in a while.

What the hell? I blinked as the words formed.

Don’t tell anyone about this note. You need to kill two teams next heat. Come visit us when we open after the next race, and I’ll explain why. Ask for the top-shelf upgrades so you’re led to the back. We don’t have to be enemies, Carl. We want the same thing. I can smuggle friends to the Pineapple Cabaret. We can escape this chaos. Come alone.

Akuma