Chapter 93 (Patreon)

  Chapter 93

The production trailer was a submarine, not a boat. We ended up being late for our appointment, but this time it was because Zev had delayed it. She said both my conversation with Frank and “Donut’s amazing lap dance” at the male bordello were the top two feeds in the world during that hour. I didn’t want to know what had happened in the strip club.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Yvette, and of her mother choking her until she died. The ring hung heavy on my finger. I was never going to use it, but Frank was right. I’d be an idiot not to take it. A five percent bonus to my stats was too good to pass up. I just wouldn’t ever use the Marked for Death skill. 

“You weren’t worried about what Frank might’ve done to me?” I asked Donut just before we were teleported away. 

“No,” she said. “One look at him, and I could tell he wasn’t going to hurt you. And Sledgie said his wife left him, so I wasn’t worried about her, either. He’s still there at the bar. Hasn’t moved since we left. There’s another crawler talking to him right now, but it’s not a woman.” 

“Wait, how do you know that?” 

“I have Sledgie in my chat. I showed him how to do it.” 

“Huh,” I said. It never even occurred to me to even attempt something like that.

“Anyway,” Donut said, “sometimes you can just look at someone and see that they’ve given up. I’ve been seeing a lot of it lately, even in people who are pretending to hide it. It’s quite scary. But it’s worse in some, and with him it was the worst I’ve ever seen.” 

“Those are the ones we need to worry about the most, Donut.” 

“Why do you say that?” 

“When someone has given up, they no longer care about the consequences of their actions. That can be dangerous.”

Zev pinged us, and we zapped away. The moment we reappeared I could tell we weren’t on a regular boat. I took a few steps in the lavish, velvet-covered room, and the floors felt odd. Then my eyes caught the massive picture window at the end of the room, revealing nothing but a sea of dark blue, punctuated by a blinking light that revealed we were under the surface.

I realized with a start that my interface didn’t disappear like it usually did. My health bar still appeared, and I had access to my inventory. I walked to the counter and pulled the entire bowl filled with Snickers bars into my inventory to test it. It let me.   

Donut rushed to the round window which extended from the floor to the ceiling. She put her two paws up on the glass, gazing out. A floating menu appeared in Syndicate Standard. Lights On? 

“Yes, yes!” she said. An exterior floodlight snapped on, revealing a vast, sandy ocean floor. Squat, round plants dotted the ground as far as we could see. It reminded me of the desert. Furtive movements disturbed the silt-covered floor, and a wide, flat fish darted away, causing dirt to swirl. Donut’s mouth hung open in amazement as she swished her tail. 

I looked about the room. It reminded me of the lavish production trailer we’d borrowed from Manasa the day she was murdered. There was a bathroom, a kitchen with a row of shelves that kept items cool, as if it was a refrigerator without walls. Multiple, expensive-looking chairs filled the room, along with a makeup table with a light-up mirror. This was a real makeup table, not the thing Katia had in the crafting room. This was obviously one of those trailers meant for off-planet celebrities and not crawlers.  

A now-familiar, robot-like frisbee descended from the ceiling. The soothing, female voice was identical to the robot voice of the last one of these things we’d seen, which had been in the standard production trailer that had been rented for the Maestro’s show. 

“My name is Mexx-6000. You are in a deluxe rental trailer owned and operated by Senegal Production Systems, Unlimited. Since this is a security trailer, your location is not being disclosed. The producers of Planet Beautiful are not privy to your exact location, and the only entities on board are you and myself. We will be ready for you to enter through the door in approximately five minutes. Please make yourself comfortable. I see you’ve already discovered the refreshments.”

“Mexx?” I asked as I moved to the couch. I pulled one of the full-sized candy bars out of inventory and unwrapped it. Donut remained at the window, looking out. 

“Yes, Carl?” she asked. 

“Do you know why my interface hasn’t gone away? Usually I can’t access my inventory or other systems. But here, it works.” 

The blue light on the floating robot blinked. “A normal crawl consists of multiple, tightly-focused system zones networked under a single system AI. Under traditional circumstances, each floor has its own, individual core and boundary zone. In such cases, once removed from the zone, you would lose access to all system upgrades and non-internal enhancements. Think of it like wi-fi. However, in this iteration of Dungeon Crawler World, the Borant Corporation has opted to use a dual-layer planetary zone system instead. The main zone extends from the planet’s core to sea-level. The secondary zone extends an additional five kilometers above the surface. So while you are in a surface trailer, you will not have access to your primary interface, and you will only have limited access to certain personal upgrades and systems. This trailer is still in the main zone, as it is below the planet’s sea level. Traditionally, in such circumstances it is customary to create an administrator bubble around the trailer, limiting your access to certain features. This season, Borant has elected not to implement this feature. Therefore you have full access to your regular systems. You should note, however, being in the main zone you are still subject to the system AI’s purview and its rules and regulations.” 

“I don’t understand a word of what the fuck you just said.” 

The robot sighed. “I apologize, Carl. Let me translate it to earth monkey speak. The mudskippers are cheap bastards who have built this entire crawl with spit and duct tape and items they have purchased at the equivalent of an interstellar swap meet. Everything is built with very little regard for system security and is done as cheaply as possible. The fact it hasn’t yet broken down or bitten them in the ass is a testament to the very real existence of the concept of ‘dumb luck.’ Do you understand now?”

I gave the robot a thumbs up. “Got it.”        

“Carl, do you think there’s ever been a cat under the ocean before?” Donut asked. She was making an odd, chirping noise as she watched the occasional fish dart by. 

“Lots of them,” I said. “I don’t know if any have had this sort of view, but navies have a long history of keeping cats onboard. Remind me sometime, and I’ll tell you the story of Unsinkable Sam. He was a famous cat from World War II who survived multiple ship sinkings.” 

“I didn’t know about this,” Donut said. “So he was a hero cat?” 

“Every boat he served on ended up at the bottom of the ocean. I don’t know if that makes him a hero.”

“But he survived?” 

“Yep,” I said. “Ended up dying of old age.”

“Sounds like a hero to me,” Donut said.   

~

“I am not reading this bullshit,” I said. “Where did you even get this? It’s like you used Reddit and Youtube for research, and that’s it.” 

The teleprompter froze. I could see Donut through the glass of the booth next to me. This room was different than the holo studios we were used to. This was an actual studio with physical soundbooths. My chair was made for a creature much too small, and I asked if they had a different one. The chair in the booth disappeared, and a new one appeared in its place. It was like the room itself had an inventory system. 

Donut was currently narrating her portion on pet shows with gusto. I couldn’t hear her, but she was waving her paws in the air and narrating with obvious enthusiasm. 

My section was on human beauty pageants. The paragraph I was supposed to read hung in midair. The first part of the program had been okay. I’d read about the history of beauty pageants throughout the ages. I had no idea if any of it was true, but the information was both believable and harmless. I talked about an ancient Greek ritual called “Kallisteia,” which I had no idea how to pronounce. Their description of the event seemed a little too children’s book-y to be accurate. Especially since the script included video inserts from several bizarre and random sources, like Fraggle Rock and WKRP in Cincinnati. It was like the Unsinkable Sam cat tale I’d just told Donut. It was probably exaggerated and filled with half-truths, but it was an interesting story passed down through the ages. 

Once we got into the specific details of the modern beauty pageant, the tone of the script changed. I couldn’t stomach reading any more. 

“Why do you even need me to do this?” I asked. “If they can make a realistic video of me banging an orc, then surely you can have a robot Carl recite fake, made-up facts.” 

I looked over the script hanging before me. 

The swimsuit portion of this human mating ritual is designed to entice the Chad-class males. The evening gown is to demonstrate their ability to mix with society, and the question and answer portion is to prove mental fitness. The goal of each pageant contestant is to attract the highest-quality male and have him inject them with his superior sperm in order to create the most viable offspring. After they receive the gift from a genetically superior male, they oftentimes find a lower-quality male, a “Beta,” to help raise the child.

Judges for these pageants are usually a mix of ultra-alpha males and former contestants who are well past their prime. 

These women are oftentimes referred to as “roasties.” A roastie is common human parlance due to their genitals being irrevocably damaged by multiple sexual partners. These roasties are honored and desired only by the male beta members of society, as evidenced by my recent trip to an Arby’s-themed saferoom. 

Multiple images and videos accompanied the script, including a photo of the actors Lorenzo Lamas and Fabio as examples of an ultra-alpha male. The “roasties” were an Asian woman I didn’t recognize and Judge Judy. They also had a video of me eating a roast beef sandwich. 

“Seriously. What the fuck?” I said. 

The screen lowered, and Bin the producer appeared. He was one of those stereotypical gray aliens. He looked tired and irritated. 

“Carl, we can’t artificially create your voice. It’s against the law to do so without a disclaimer. People  will watch this because they know it’s really crawlers telling them about their world. Don’t you want the universe to know about your culture?” 

“I do, actually, which is why I’m not reading this bullshit. Where do you even get this stuff?” 

“We hired a consultant.” 

“Christ. Was it some 15-year-old kid?” 

“No. We can’t use surface human consultants. We can’t approach the natives until the crawl is over. We used an AI consultant who has consumed all of your media.” 

“Well then you got ripped off.” 

“We got a discount because Borant started the season early, before the AI could complete its scan. It insists its knowledge is adequate and accurate.” 

“You guys can’t be this stupid,” I said. “Do you really believe this is the truth?” 

The gray shrugged. “Do you know how much we paid for this? The cost for you and Donut was more than the entire budget of the last two seasons combined. People have an unexpected thirst for your world’s culture, and this little show has suddenly found itself as a ratings powerhouse. The least you can do is help us out. Hekla had no problem reading her script on Nordic mythology. Prepotente and Miriam Dom were happy to discuss earth hip hop culture. Your partner may be off script, but she is also embracing the subject. Why can’t you?”

I looked over, and Donut was still gesticulating, talking animatedly.  

“How off script is she?” 

“She is telling the universe about a breed of dog called a cocker spaniel, about the real reason why they are the winningest champion of the Crufts dog show. It is fascinating. We have never heard such a tale of evil and intrigue.” 

“Goddamnit, Donut,” I said. She saw me through the booth window and waved.  

Carl: Don’t make shit up. 

Donut: I AM TELLING THE TRUTH THAT NEEDS TO BE TOLD, CARL. 

I sighed. “You’re either going to have to get another script or ask Borant for a refund because I’m not reading this. I don’t care what happens.” 

The alien looked as if he wanted to jump through the screen and strangle me. We stared at each other for several moments before he seemed to deflate. He looked back and forth nervously and leaned in. 

“Look, Carl. I know the scripts are crap. When I started this program years ago, it was just me. I wanted to tell the real story of the cultures that were getting erased. But suddenly this show is bigger than I ever expected, and Titan, who was happy to leave me alone and let me make this show with little to no interference, is up my ass. They are making me use crawlers to narrate, we have to use shit intelligence to make the scripts, and the show I created is about to get yanked out from underneath me unless I make it even more ‘interesting.’ It’s a kick in the chest cavity is what it is. I was happier when I wasn’t noticed, and now that I am, I am being punished for being successful. So the last fucking thing I need is somebody giving me shit about something neither of us have control over.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, anger rising. “Your rented slave labor isn’t participating like how you wanted? Well, let me look for some sympathy.” I patted myself on the chest. “Nope, all out.”  

The alien looked as if he was about to cry. “Okay, okay. We have a few other scripts. Which one do you think will resonate with your audience better? We have the history of mechanized military conflict. One on video arcades. Oh, and this one is about the history of milk pasteurization.” 

I almost told him to give me the milk one just because it would be so boring maybe this idiotic show would get canceled. But then I took a deep breath and thought about it for a minute. If I took him at his word, he genuinely seemed interested in presenting the truth about our planet to the universe. That wasn’t so bad, was it?  

“Just give me the damn video game one.” 

~

After we were done, we returned to the green room. 

“Carl, Carl!” Donut said as we entered the room. “Sledgie just messaged me. He said Frank is dead! You know that crawler who was talking to him? They got into a fight, and the crawler killed him! I can’t believe it!” 

“Huh,” I said. “I’m not surprised though.” 

“It was Chris. Chris killed him. Sledgie said he did it and walked right out. Now he’s banned from the club. Sledgie said he’s a rock monster like him, but a different kind.” 

“Holy shit, really?” Chris? Imani’s crew hadn’t had any interactions with Frank and Maggie as far as I knew. I’d told them the story, of course. Especially after everything that had happened on the Maestro’s show. Was that why? That didn’t seem like the Chris I’d known. But Imani and Elle had said he’d changed. I remembered Brandon’s last words about his brother. I had the message pasted into my scratchpad, and I found myself reading that last message, especially the part about Chris over and over.  

…Tell him I love him. That’s the most important part. It’s always been the most important part, but I didn’t realize it until it was too late.

I sent a quick note to Imani, asking her if she’d managed to get Chris to talk to her. She didn’t answer right away. She was likely asleep. They’d been heading for a saferoom.  

“If I may interrupt your drama,” Mexx the robot said. We both looked up at the floating frisbee. “Your time with me is drawing to a close. You may freshen up a bit before you return to your crawl, but do not take too long. When you’re ready to go, you may exit through the doorway to the studio. On behalf of Senegal Production Systems, I’d like to thank you for using our services. Have a great day.” 

That door, which had been a normal door only moments before, transformed itself to a one-way subspace portal. I took a screenshot, and it showed the main room of our personal space. It was empty. Katia was likely in the crafting room.   

Donut returned to the picture window and looked out. “I wonder why Chris did that. But I’m glad he’s okay, even if he liked stupid tv shows. Anyway, that was fun. I like the interviews better, but I think it’s good for the Princess Posse to get some culture in with their daily Donut fix. Plus they had a video of me and Miss Beatrice winning a show, so that’ll be a bonus for the fans.”

“Princess Posse?” I asked.

“Zev says that one seems to be winning out, no thanks to you. Some are going with the Donut Holes, which I do not approve of.”  

“Whatever,”  I said. “Look, I want to talk to you about something real quick before we leave.” 

“Is it about the PVP coupons?” 

I froze. “How did you know?” 

“Imani is a big gossip,” Donut said. “She doesn’t look like someone who’d be one, but she is. She felt bad about telling you about the coupons when you asked her, and she messaged me to apologize. She said you’d probably ask me about them. How did you find out?” 

“I heard someone talking about them.” That technically wasn’t a lie. 

“You don’t need to worry, Carl. I got rid of them. I didn’t like having them, so I buried yours under a train track, and I threw Katia’s out in the garbage at that Hotdog on a Stick place. And quite frankly, it’s a subject I’d rather not talk about.” 

I relaxed. That went much easier than I thought it would. 

I moved to the kitchen to see if the refrigerating cabinets could be removed from the walls. They pulled off easily, like they were magnetized. I wanted to see what the electrical connections, if any, looked like. There were none. The shelves appeared to be self-powered, like I hoped. There were four shelves, and I took them and pulled them into my inventory. I looked up at the ceiling to see if the robot would object, but it didn’t move. Well, if we’re doing this… I went and picked up the entire makeup table and pulled it into my inventory as well.   

“What are you doing?” Donut asked. 

“You know how the ice machines sometimes don’t work in the saferooms? I figured we could make our own. I’m sick of drinking warm soda.” 

Donut cocked her head to the side, but then shrugged. I wasn’t normally a steal-stuff sort of guy, and she knew it. Plus that excuse was dumb as the ice usually did work. But I couldn’t exactly tell her the real reason why I wanted the shelves. I didn’t have a specific use for them yet, but there were multiple trap, potion, and bomb recipes in my book that required items to be frozen or cold before they were utilized. And the makeup table would fit well in the main room of the space. I thought about taking the rest of the chairs, but I didn’t want to piss Zev off too much. 

Still, I thought. Why the hell not? I went to pick up the couch, but I paused when a message came in.  

Bautista: Hey Carl. Want to give you an update. We tried to paralyze the Kravyad, and she ended up dying. The portal closed. Over 150 of us don’t have our souvenir hats. We’re not sure what we’re going to do. The trains have stopped coming on all the tracks. We’re going to head up to that abyss portal on foot. It’s about 50 kilometers.  

Carl: Shit. Do you have a hat? 

Bautista: Nope. A guy at the bar was bragging about how much they were buying them for. A bunch of us sold them. Dumb. 

Carl: Get to the abyss. Send those who have hats through on foot. See if maybe you can find a way to station 436, which is where the named lines go.

I went on to explain the catwalk that surrounded the interior of the abyss. I warned him of the lizard mobs I’d seen there. If they could maybe find one of those small trapdoors, they could get to the station and onto a named train like the Nightmare, take it over, and steam it into the yard. That was really their only hope.  

“Let’s get going,” I said to Donut. I picked up the couch and stole it. I pulled the bowl filled with cat treats off the counter and added it to my inventory for good measure. 

“Have you ever noticed how shit always happens while we’re doing these shows?” I asked Donut. I told her about Bautista.  

“At least we get snacks,” she said. 

“Yeah. Let’s get out of here before something else happens.” 

I paused before the portal. Out of habit, I pulled one more screenshot. I froze. 

Our personal space, which had been empty just minutes before, was now full of people. There were at least thirty of them. All women, as far as I could tell, of various races, from humans to fairies to a four-armed lizard. I saw Hekla there in the back, peering inside the training room while Katia pointed at something. 

“Motherfucker,” I said.