“We need to wait for Imani and Elle!” I called as we raced along the ceiling of the apartment, dodging a smoke detector. “The real Imani, I mean. We need to make sure they can reach their gate!”

I pulled myself from my seat, activated Sticky Feet to make certain I wouldn’t plummet, and I started hurling Biscuit Packs at the bugs if they flew too close. The small explosions captured two or three of the bugs at a time, freezing them in the cloud of expanding foam before dropping them to the ground.

“There!” Donut called, pointing. Her seat was turned like a Ferris wheel car, keeping her upright.

Imani and Elle’s APV appeared, zooming from under a door, crossing the carpet alongside the man, who was now covered in the beetles.

Our truck rocked as a beetle crashed into us. The electrified shield activated, and the beetle dropped away, unhurt. It buzzed angrily and tried to come back. I dropped a hobgoblin disco ball out the hole in the roof, and it activated as it fell, flashing colorful lights and thick smoke everywhere.

Carl: Get to the gate and get the hell out of there. Good luck!

Elle: We already hit it. Now we gotta get our asses out of Dodge.

Carl: Meet us at the feet of Imani’s dad!

Imani: That’s not my dad. We’ll be there in ten seconds. I cast Confuzzled on the room, and it works on the bugs. They’ll be stunned for another twenty seconds.

“Drop us out of here!” I yelled.

We dropped from the ceiling, falling back into the smoke-filled living room. It was difficult to see as we plunged into the room, but the shapes of the frozen shells, rigid like statues, helped guide us.

The bugs were everywhere, but they were just circling, confused, snapping and slicing at each other despite their invulnerability. With the smoke, it reminded me of dropping into deep, murky ocean. Only with colorful flashing lights. The giant Imani opened the door, shrieked, and slammed the door again as Gucci barked her head off.

Elle: Holy hells, did you see that? Imani, you look like shit.

Imani: Did Gucci not have sewn eyes?

Carl: She didn’t. I don’t know what that means.

We hit the floor with a thump as Donut directed Pontiff back toward the feet of the man, who still hadn’t been ripped open, meaning he was still listed as a shell and not a ruptured hive.

Donut cast yet another Hole, this time near the supineman’s feet, and Imani and Elle’s APV dropped right in, us following.

Entering apartment 214.

As we fell, Donut snapped the hole shut before any bugs could follow us.

This next apartment wasn’t an apartment at all, but some sort of youth facility. My breath caught in my throat the moment I saw it.

The harsh lighting, the industrial-tile floor, the bunk beds that just went on and on. The headache-inducing stench of industrial cleaner. God. This was clearly some other country, possibly China, and yet it was the same. It took less than a second for it to stagger me. Were they all like this?

A group of children, ranging from about six to twelve, gathered in a far corner, all surrounding another pair of children who were beating the crap out of each other. They were all girls.

Elle: There’s, like, ten gates down here. I see the one that’s not a trap. It’s under the bed close to the fight.

Donut: IMANI, ARE YOU OKAY?

Imani: I’m good, actually. That was a good thing. All that did was show that my uncle would’ve died even if I hadn’t left. But what’s going on with my dog?

Carl: We need to get to 231. Gonna have to go out the door and into the hallway.

Elle: Want us to go with you?

Carl: No. Get the gate and get to the finish line.

Elle: Roger that. Thanks for the assist.

We hit the ground, and we raced across the tiled floor, unnoticed as we angled toward the front door. Donut opened it up easily as we approached.

“The spell makes this very easy,” Pontiff said as we passed through the hole. A group of racers sped by as we entered the hallway. Someone sent a message about avoiding apartment 223.

It seemed all these apartments were self-contained. If the apartment caught on fire, it didn’t spread. The bugs, however, were leaving, so we had to be careful.

The hallway was darkly lit with a cheap industrial-linoleum floor. The hall just went on and on. Apartment 231 was across the hall and down a ways. We turned and rushed, passing the elevator, whose door was blasted open. Bugs zipped about within, and one moved to pursue us, but I tossed a smoke curtain behind us.

“Do you think we’re in first place for our heat?” Donut asked as we approached 231.

“I don’t know,” I said. I jabbed a finger at Dr. Metcalf, who reappeared on the dash, arms crossed, a smug expression on her face. “Don’t say a goddamned word.” And then I added, “I don’t think very many people have the Hole spell. Lots of crawlers have Phase and Teleport, but those don’t work for this. I know some teams are clearly ahead of us right now, but it sounds like many are having issues getting from one floor to the next.”

Donut nodded, not saying anything. She took a deep breath as if preparing herself for whatever we were going to find in apartment 231. I reached out and put a hand on her as she cast Hole on the door.

“Remember, it’s not real,” I said.

“I know, Carl.”

We entered the apartment through the front door.

Entering apartment 231.

For a half a second, I was confused, but I quickly realized what was happening.

“Where are we?” Donut asked as we rumbled inside. “Carl, someone’s redecorated our apartment! Pontiff, it’s under the second door on the left.”

We entered the foyer. “This is an apartment on the first floor of our building. Not ours.”

A pink motorcycle helmet sat on the floor by the door along with a giant pair of female boots. We moved past and bumped onto the carpet. A scratched-to-hell cat tree sat in the living room next to a red couch. Sitting on the couch were two women in their twenties. I recognized one of them.

Marjory Williams, Ferdinand’s owner. Well, not Ferdinand. Gravy Boat. The other woman was someone named Alicia, and I didn’t know her. Both had the X’d-out eyes. Neither noticed as we approached.

“Carl, Carl, look!” Donut hissed, pointing.

An orange tail swished from the very top of the cat tree. The large orange cat was asleep, peacefully snoring at the top of the tree.

“Bill keeps calling,” Marjory was saying, looking at her phone. “That’s like the tenth time today.”

“You gotta call the police,” the friend, Alicia said.

“I don’t know.”

“He’s violating the restraining order. Marjory, you’re not thinking of going back with him, are you? I swear to god, if you let that abusive asshole back into your life . . . Remember what he did to Gravy? Think of him at least.”

“I know, I know. But if I call the police, and he gets arrested . . . He says he finally got a job.”

“He drained your bank account. He busted your face. He almost killed your cat I don’t know how many times. Who gives a shit if that prick loses his⁠—”

We squeezed under the door, entering the small utility room, which cut off the conversation. There was a line of three gates in a row. A disintegration trap, a teleport trap, and the gate. I pointed to the correct one.

“What the hell?” I muttered, seeing the stacked washer and dryer in the utility room. I hadn’t known any of the apartments had come with them. A sudden weird sense of outrage filled me.

And then I was struck with how absurd it was to even think that as I tossed more explosives onto the ground.

Gate Six of Seven cleared.

Donut had gone silent, looking back toward the door. “Carl, do you remember when the police were at the apartment like three days in a row, blocking the door, and Miss Beatrice got mad because they stopped her from going inside? She called her dad and told him to do something?”

“I remember,” I said. I’d been at work, and she’d called me, too. It had been a Monday morning, and Bea had just driven back from a cat show somewhere. She’d been stuck outside for, like, five minutes. And then the cops were there the next two days in a row. Bea had started moaning about us living in a “crime-ridden slum.” Mrs. Parsons had told me it was something to do with Marjory, but I hadn’t told that to Bea because she already hated the woman because Gravy Boat was always outside in the tree, harassing Donut.

And then I remembered something Ferdinand had said to me on the previous floor about a guy named Bill. The pieces were all coming together.

But what was the what-if scenario here? Was it “What if Marjory stayed away from this Bill guy”? I didn’t know, and we didn’t have time to wait around and find out. One more apartment to go.

Jurgen: If anyone is on the first floor, I need help. Apartment 130.

Carl: We’re just leaving apartment 231. What’s the problem?

Jurgen: It’s Prepotente. His mother is here, and she’s playing the piano. I’m leading Sweety, but he has jumped off, and I can’t get him back on. The air is toxic, but he has that immunity. I only have one dose of splooge to go grab him.

I exchanged a look with Donut. We didn’t know where the other teams were. We were probably in first place, but we didn’t know.

Carl: Osvaldo, what floor are you on?

Osvaldo: We’re on the first floor. About to cross the finish line.

Fucking hell, I thought.

Carl: Jurgen, we’re on our way.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck.

We didn’t know where everybody else was. If Osvaldo really was about to cross the finish line, it meant we could be in second place. Or third. Or even fourth. I didn’t know.

I didn’t know, and that wasn’t good enough.

Goddamnit. God-fucking-damnit.

I looked at Donut. She knew what I was asking.

She nodded.

I needed to help Prepotente and Jurgen. They were our friends. How many times had they come to our aid? But we couldn’t risk coming in last place, either.

I pulled up my explosives menu, scrolled to the Primed subtab, and found the detonator I was looking for.

Fuck everything about this place.

“Forgive me, friends,” I whispered.

I clicked Detonate.

Team Free Love has been eliminated due to the death of both racers. Three teams remain in the current heat.

We’d had Samantha roll into the cul-de-sac earlier and distract the two bugbears while I used my Oozy Form spell for the first time. I’d slid up and replaced one of the Peach-flavored beers with the one they’d given me earlier. I’d drilled out the can and replaced it with a hidden explosive. I’d built it in my bomber’s studio, and it would be especially hidden. One had to have a level 12 or higher Find Traps skill to notice it, even if they picked the can up. And since the magical cooler teleported itself back into their van after every race, it’d been a relatively simple way to add a fail-safe if we ever found ourselves in a situation where it was possible we’d come in last.

How many NPCs had we killed at this point? What were two more?

That was the logic, but it wasn’t reality. They were our friends, and I felt like an utter piece of shit. That was the point, of course. But it still hurt.

At least it’s not another crawler, I thought.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go help Prepotente.”