Intermission: The Monastery of Broken Gears

Sam let the silence stretch, content for a beat. Then, voice dropping to a mock-conspiratorial whisper, she said, “Don’t freak out, but I invited everyone for game night. Well, afternoon.”

Andi blinked. “Everyone?”

Sam gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Thought it was time to stress-test the Pavilion. Also, kind of a tradition to play once a round. Only, with your birthday preparations last round, it hasn’t really happened. But tomorrow’s challenge day, and I figured—” she paused, looking at him, “—the best way to get everyone together is to do it where it can’t hurt.”

Andi considered this, saw the logic. “You’re smart,” she said.

“Sometimes,” Sam replied. Then, quieter: “I didn’t want to take up anyone’s date time with you, either. This way, it’s easier.”

Andi looked at her, grateful. “Thank you,” she said. She wasn’t sure what else to add, so she just let it hang there, simple and honest.

Sam grinned, as if she’d won a bet with herself. “You’re welcome,” she said, and then produced from beneath the table a battered folder. She slid it toward Andi with a flourish. “Your sheet, O Master of Dungeons.”

Andi took a deep breath, shifted back into Andy and glanced at the sheet. When he saw the name pencileds on the top he laughed, surprised at the nostalgia it unlocked. “I haven’t played Dr. Clockblood in years,” Andy admitted.

“Came with the Pavilion. Put Dr. Gearchain on the shelf and return to your origins. Now’s your chance for redemption,” said Sam.

Before Andy could answer, footsteps echoed up the path—several sets, some quiet, some as if actively challenging the structural integrity of the world.

The first to arrive was Dawn, her hair up in a messy bun, bunny ears flicking in time with her steps. She carried a basket of muffins and set them on the table with a gentle flourish. She wore a yellow sundress that somehow managed to look both completely modest and deeply immodest, given the J-cups it was now **** to contain. “Is it okay if I sit here?” she asked, looking to Andy, then to Sam.

“Anywhere you want,” Sam said, and Dawn chose the seat closest to the snacks, waiting for either a willing lap, or ready to kneel on the chair otherwise.

Chloe arrived next, holding her cardigan together with both hands, eyes wide as she took in the Pavilion. Her breasts (still visibly milk-leaking, Andy noticed) had stressing the fabric that attempted to heroically contain them. She hovered by the table, looking for approval before sitting.

“Chloe! Over here,” called Dawn, and Chloe practically scampered to the seat.

Norah and Liesa entered together, in heated but friendly debate. Norah wore a peacock blue wrap dress, stiletto heels, and the faintest air of “I dare you to ask me about my day.” Liesa was in cutoffs and a loose linen shirt, every motion an accidental advertisement for the soft orange glow of her skin and the way she now instinctively posed, even when just walking. She radiated nervousness at the crowd, but it translated into a kind of restless beauty.

Behind them came Myra, upright and steady, cane in hand, fox ears flicking and tail swishing with each step. She wore white jeans, a fitted top, and an expression of gentle vigilance. Riley trailed her, hair freshly washed and already starting to tie itself into a braid; she’d gone for a black denim vest, a band tee, and the same boots she wore everywhere. She clocked the bench, nodded to Andy, then to Sam, and claimed a seat with a thud.

Emily came in after, every inch of her the art student who couldn’t decide whether she was in a figure drawing class or a beach commercial. Her long hair was braided today, with pastel ribbons, but the braid did nothing to cover the fact that she was, as always, completely nude except for her sandals. She smiled at Sam, took a muffin, and plopped down, seemingly oblivious to any potential for awkwardness.

Next came Marissa, in her perpetual business-casual attire, cleavage on display by magical compulsion. She looked slightly out of place, but she smiled as she circled the table, taking it all in before seating herself two chairs down from Andy, across from Norah and Liesa. She nodded at Sam, who nodded back, mutual respect in the glance. She looked around, then her expression softened and she gestured for Dawn to come sit in her lap. The younger woman bit her lip, then bounced over.

Emi showed up with the rest of the “crew,” Claire and Erin. Emi wore a baggy pink tee with a suspiciously ambiguous cartoon on it that did nothing to hide her six arms, all of which fidgeted with the dice bag she clutched like a stress toy. Her shorts were very short, and Andy found himself staring for a moment. Claire wore a soft blue dress and, as ever, carried her notebook and several pencils. She took the seat between Emi and Dawn, then used one hand to gently flatten her cat ears, which had started to perk at the sight of all the snacks. She looked at Andy and he felt a pulse of affection through the bond, to which he replied with his love. He missed Claire. He hadn’t seen her for much of the Fifth Round, and although he knew she had holed herself up in the Sky Archive, he made a mental note of checking on her to ensure she wouldn’t accidentally self-isolate. Erin just nodded at Andy, nipples suddenly becoming erect when he returned her gaze, then she gave Sam a mock salute, and found a chair that let her keep her back to the breeze.

The table filled up, and the energy went from loose to slightly kinetic, as everyone realized how many people were now in play. Sam waited until the last clatter of chairs settled, then rapped her knuckles on the tabletop.

“Alright, you nerds,” she said. “Still waiting for a couple of people. But in the meantime, I’ll let you know that this afternoon is a classic. A real old-school dungeon crawl, no emotional traps, just monsters, treasure, and ****. Any objections?”

There were no objections, only a low, anticipatory hum.

Marissa took a sheet from the stack. “Who’s running what?”

Sam gestured. “Old characters, if you want them. New pre-gens otherwise.”

Dawn raised her hand, already coloring in her character sheet. “Carrotina Fluffytail, as always!”

Chloe giggled. “Melody Stagelight.”

“Gretch the Collector,” said Norah, in her best gravel-voice.

Liesa grinned. “Shadow Whisperwind is ready to relieve the bad people of their valuables,” she said.

Sam groaned. “Liesa, you’re a druid. You remember that, right?” The Belgian woman just grinned innocently, winked, and started planning the next heist.

Myra said, “Saelis, with wolf,” and Riley said, “Ix. The Unlucky.”

Emily took her sheet, “Justina McCormick. Wizard. Glass cannon forever.”

Emi waved all six hands. “Sparkles the Destroyer.”

Claire, silent, held up her sheet. On it, she had written, in big block letters, CLARA CATSWORTH.

Erin just smirked. “Rowan Shieldbark is back, like her futile hope of keeping this group on track.”

Marissa finished, “Cutter McCutterdaughter. Kobold. ‘Flat as a board, sharp as a sword.’” She gave Andy a sidelong glance. Her sketch of Cutter was anything but flat.

Andy took his character sheet, shrugged. “Dr. Clockblood, inventor. Someone has to do the math.”

“Didn’t you use to play another inventor? Gear-something?” Norah asked, dubious. Andy grinned.

“Sam found my old character. Freshly updated to 2e. Same class chassis, different build. Looking forward to showing you what he can do.”

He glanced at Sam, who wore an expression of pure, sly satisfaction.

There were still three chairs left open. Two chairs were next to Andy’s, placed next to each other with a careful, deliberate gap. He realized who they were for just as Laura appeared in the doorway.

She hesitated, just for a second, not sure whether to come in. She wore the old grey T-shirt of his, somehow duplicated, and her hair was still damp from a recent shower. She carried nothing but herself, and her eyes darted around the room, checking every possible escape route before locking onto Andy.

He smiled, and waved her over.

She came, slower than the others, both bodies moving in lockstep, but her faces softened with relief when Sam slid a character sheet her way. Andy looked at it as he passed it to Laura.

Andy looked at the pre-gen character sheet as he passed it to Laura. It was new—he could tell by the way Sam had written "Level 3 Human Kineticist (Water)" across the top in Sharpie, and by the penciled-in notes in the margin: “Let Andy explain overflow.” He slid the sheet to Laura, who took it with both left hands, her faces unreadable as she placed on the table, between her two bodies, and examined it. She read every line, every feat and impulse, eyes darting back and forth, before she glanced up at Andy with something halfway between uncertainty and hope.

“It’s easy,” Andy said, lowering his voice so only Laura could hear. “It’s all about moving water with your mind. You can push, pull, freeze, shape it, weaponize it, or turn steam into a cutting arc.”

Laura’s right body nodded, hair falling over her eyes as she scanned the stat block. Her left body looked up at Andy and asked, “Can I blow up the ocean?”

It was a joke, or at least Andy thought so, but her expression gave nothing away. “No, but you can do some ridiculous things with a puddle if you manage your actions and don’t overuse Overflow.”

Laura considered that. She looked at the empty line for the character’s name and tapped the pencil thoughtfully against her lips, then wrote, in deliberate block print: MARA TIDEBOUND.

Andy grinned. “Good name.”

The left Laura shrugged, but her lips quirked at the edge.

He let her settle into the seats next to him. The table filled out fast—more than a dozen women and, for once, Andy didn’t feel outnumbered so much as… anchored. Maybe it was the Pavilion’s circle, or maybe it was Sam’s deliberately welcoming energy, but the chaos seemed contained, almost cozy.

Sam took command, pressing her hand on the table and smiling at the gasps and wide-eyed looks of surprise as a foreboding-looking, crumbling darkstone monastery rose from its surface, complete with tiny little path leading to it, and even tinier flurries of snow. “Behold!” she said. “The Monastery of the Quantum Saints, abandoned for a century, rumored to house a lost vault of ancient tech, a prototype phase predator the monks failed to destroy—think displacer-beast-adjacent— and at least four, maybe five, actual ghosts. Or maybe just rats. It’s your job to find out.”

She revealed miniatures—dozens of them, some hand-painted, some hastily Sharpied, some obviously kitbashed from other sets. She allowed the monastery to expand and open up, revealing the entrance, and set up the “starting chamber” with a cluster of adventurers, including a bunny-eared cleric, a scowling dwarf with a double-headed axe, a two-foot-tall kobold, a six-armed monk, an assortment of other characters, and what looked suspiciously like a 3D print of Andy, holding a wrench.

The rest of the table erupted in a scramble for character sheets and dice, hands flying. Emi, who had brought her own dice tower (glittery purple, with a sidecar for snacks), immediately started setting up a perimeter of d6’s, while Claire, true to form, used a ruler to align her pencils, notebook, and a backup notebook.

Dawn handed out muffins and then immediately began sharing the backstory for her character, “Carrotina Fluffytail,” which she had written after the Haunted Orchard adventure and by now, included a detailed family tree and a list of preferred salad dressings. Chloe spent the first five minutes twirling a lock of hair and quietly mumbling to herself—practice, Andy realized, for the horrifying yet secretly adorable Scottish accent she always used for Melody Stagelight. Liesa, sandwiched between Norah and Riley, seemed content to watch the other women argue about initiative and who forgot to roll Perception for it, occasionally offering an amused smile and the odd “merde” when someone dropped their dice.

Emily, across from Andy, had her hair tied into a ponytail, leaving herself completely exposed, and was already giggling at the illustrations in the rulebook. Next to her, Marissa was—predictably—annotating her own character sheet.

The table was an ecosystem: every seat a microclimate, every woman an atmospheric front. Myra and Riley, who had never once agreed on anything in Andy’s memory, spent a solid two minutes negotiating whether their characters would be friends or rivals. The answer, as always, was “it’s complicated.”

Sam watched this all with the detached pride of a teacher on a field trip. She let the din reach fever pitch before tapping the table for order.

“Alright!” Sam said. “This is a one-shot. I want to finish before dinner. Any questions?”

A forest of hands went up. Sam pointed at Emi.

“Are the rumors about the displacer beast true, or just flavor?” Emi asked, four of her hands plucking M&Ms from a shared bowl, and the other two dismembering a muffin.

“Even if it’s real,” said Sam, deadpan, “you can’t seduce it.”

Emi looked crushed.

Sam pointed at Riley. “Is there a mechanic for self-loathing?” Riley asked, voice bone-dry.

“Not in the rulebook, but I’ll allow it. Absolutely. You take a penalty to all social rolls, a –2 circumstance penalty to Diplomacy and Deception, but you gain **** tolerance and can crit on any drinking challenge.”

Riley nodded, satisfied.

“Note,” Sam added, without looking up, “this bonus does not stack with magical fortification or any heritages.”

Riley nodded again. “Still worth it.”

Any further questions, Sam repeated, but the invitation lingered, echoing out over the table with the promise of mischief. For a second, Andy thought they’d actually start—the dice were out, the battlemat prepped, even Dawn had managed to restrain herself from narrating Carrotina’s entire post-orchard backstory—but then Arabella herself appeared at the threshold.

She was in her element here: black silk pantsuit, hair down and glossy, a glass of hibiscus tea perched delicately in one hand. She didn’t sweep in so much as radiate into the space, smile gentle, eyes bright and attentive. “Forgive me for the interruption,” Arabella said, voice carrying just enough to hush the din. “But Sam, your special guest has arrived.”

Sam lit up, eyes huge. “Oh, bring her in! Please!”

Arabella stepped aside, and in strolled Tracy Black like she owned the whole coastline. She wore a mesh tank and cargo shorts, both a size too big, and her neon cat tail swished behind her with a menace reserved for final bosses. The left side of her head was shaved close, teal braids knotted on the other, and her right arm—a visibly articulated cybernetic replacement—gleamed with each wave. Tracy didn’t so much walk as stride, already halfway through a rant.

“—action economy is just a scam invented by GMs to slow down girls who know what they’re doing. If you can process more than one turn at a time, there’s no logical reason you can’t—oh, hey, hey! Look at this table!” Tracy stopped dead, surveyed the crowd, then immediately locked eyes with Riley. “Nice to see you again, malcontent,” she said, grin razor-sharp.

Riley barely suppressed a laugh. “I see you’re still allergic to volume control.”

Tracy ignored the dig, turning instead to Dawn, whose ears had perked up so high they threatened to dislodge her bun. “You brought snacks!” Tracy said, swooping to grab a muffin without breaking stride. “God tier. Are you emotionally stable today?”

Dawn, caught off-guard but clearly delighted, blinked twice. “I—well, yes, I think so?”

Tracy nodded, as if this were the correct answer. “Good. Last time, you ended the party with a blast. I didn’t want to cause a scene.” She bit into the muffin with animalistic joy, crumbs scattering. “Ten outta ten. Next time, add nuts or dried fruit—optimize mouthfeel.”

Chloe, whose spot had been safe and quiet until now, whispered, “Oh no,” but her smile betrayed anticipation more than fear.

Meanwhile, Norah regarded Tracy with the wary gaze of someone who expected a hostile takeover at any moment. “So is this the famous MIT criminal you threatened to unleash?” she asked Sam.

Sam shrugged, already half in love with the chaos. “You said you wanted a real dungeon crawl. Tracy’s the best at breaking things. I figured, why not up the difficulty?”

Myra, eyes closed and tail flicking, just said, “Her aura is intense.” Then, almost as an afterthought: “Welcome.”

Tracy made a finger-gun at her, then at Chloe, then at Andy, who had the peculiar feeling he’d just been added to a to-do list.

“Where do I sit?” Tracy asked, scanning for the optimal vantage. She wedged herself between Myra and Chloe with calculated ease, then immediately started unpacking a mini-toolkit and a dice tower that looked more like a particle accelerator than a toy. “Did someone say we’re raiding the Monastery of the Quantum Saints?” she asked, setting a handful of neon dice on the table. “Love it. Love the flavor. My girl’s Destroyer.” She glanced at the pre-gen sheet and flashed her canines. “Catfolk, sterling dynamo arm, fighter with a barbarian dedication. This is the good stuff.”

Emi bristled. “Some of us were Destroyers before it was cool,” she mumbled, all six arms crossed. Tracy winked at her.

Myra said, “You’re a cat?” sounding genuinely curious.

Claire bristled, turning to Andy and tapping her character’s catfolk ancestry with her finger as if proving a point. Tracy shrugged. “Who isn’t, deep down?” Then, without so much as a transition, “Andy, question for you: did you ever find more codes?”

Andy, not expecting to be called out so early, stammered. “Uh—no, not yet. Still working through the ones I have.”

Tracy grinned wider, as if this had been a test and he’d passed. “Classic. But if you do, you gotta send them to me. All the uncompiled logs, too. I want to run a regression and see if there’s a pattern to the way they update the world state.”

Andy blinked. “I’m not sure they want us doing that.”

“Who cares?” Tracy said, waving it away. “If Arabella didn’t want this to be a challenge, she wouldn’t have let you in and definitely she wouldn’t have let me in.” She glanced at Arabella, who sipped her tea and simply nodded, as if to say: Yes, I absolutely did this on purpose.

Sam, for her part, watched the entire exchange with a kind of scholarly fascination, then rapped the table. “Okay, everyone. Tracy’s in. Let’s run it from the top, now that we’re at full party.”

Tracy popped a muffin in her mouth, grinned at Andy, and whispered, “Seriously, though, send me the logs.”

He just nodded, both wary and a little thrilled.

Chloe, her hands shaking a little, whispered to Myra, “She’s not going to break the table, right?”

Myra whispered back, “Statistically unlikely. But she’ll attempt several stress tests.”

Marissa, who had up to now observed in silence, finally said, “Are we all prepared for a six-hour session, or should I schedule a block for bathroom emergencies?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Just be ready to roll, Holt. And no cheating.”

Tracy threw both hands up. “Hey, I haven’t even started! But when I do, you’ll know.”

Erin, who had been silent, finally spoke. “Is this your first time?” she asked Tracy, voice dry.

Tracy didn’t miss a beat. “Nope. First time I played, I TPK’d the party, but it was a moral victory. We brought down a rogue kobold, and everyone agreed it was worth it.” She winked at Sam.

The table vibrated with nervous, happy energy. Arabella, watching from the sidelines, looked content: a scientist surveying her successful experiment.

Andy realized the entire table was now looking at him.

“Uh—” he said, “should we start?”

Tracy leaned in, eyes bright. “Yes, please. Let’s see if this party is as efficient as it looks on paper.”

Erin snorted. “Keep dreaming.”

The room was a battery, charged and humming. Sam let the moment build, then began to speak, her voice low and even, drawing everyone in:

“The wind howls across the broken stones of Saint Pluvien’s Cloister. Rain slicks the mossy steps. You gather at the threshold—hungry, uncertain, but drawn here by rumors of forbidden technology and the promise of a lost future. What do you do?”

As if on cue, Tracy rolled a die, didn’t even check the result, and said, “I open the door.”

The adventure began.

Sam picked up the narrative baton without missing a beat. “The door, warped with centuries of rain and a little hubris, shudders open with a sound like a lost violin string. The air inside the vault is dry—so dry it almost whistles. A strip of crystal runs along the ceiling, pulsing faint blue. Who enters first?”

“I do,” said Tracy, instantly.

Sam rolled with it. “Okay. Tracy—sorry, Destroyer—you step inside, sensors lit up. The hallway is narrow. It smells like ozone, with a note of mildew. Ten feet down, it forks: left, or right?”

“Always right,” said Tracy, not even pretending to check for traps.

Riley’s rogue, Ix, muttered, “Someone should at least check for pressure plates. Or, you know, horrible magical tripwires?”

Dawn’s Carrotina bounced in her seat. “I’ll hop in! I want to sense the hallway’s emotional vibes. Is it scared, or does it want to hurt us?”

Sam grinned. “Alright. That’s a Religion check to Read the Omens, we’ll flavor it.”

Dawn rolled. “Sixteen!” She straightened and looked at Sam hopefully.

Sam hesitated for a fraction of a second, then rolled with it. “Carrotina’s nose twitches. She senses… sadness? Also, an urgent need for validation. Oh, and a little bit of terror. Whatever built this place didn’t want to be alone.”

Chloe, as Melody Stagelight, offered in a quavering Scottish lilt, “Could it be the ghosts of the old monks, wishin’ they’d gotten tenure?”

Andy stifled a laugh, but Liesa immediately riffed: “Or maybe the rats are just lonely.” Her Shadow Whisperwind lifted a hand to steal a chunk of glowing crystal from the wall, pocketed it, and shrugged when Sam reminded her—again—that she was a druid, not a rogue.

Claire’s Clara Catsworth, silent and precise, drew the entire hallway on her notepad in the time it took the others to pick a path. Emi’s Sparkles the Destroyer (no relation, Tracy was quick to point out) clung to the ceiling, all six arms ready, and when Sam prompted a perception check, Emi rolled three dice at once and declared she spotted a “hidden sadness-plate” right before Tracy stomped on it.

The table howled. Even Sam had to pause. She had nearly forgotten how this group could be chaos incarnate, but she did make a point of telling Emi that rolling three dice and then picking the “nicest one” wasn’t an accepted part of the rules.

In the first chamber, a half-ruined magitech golem rose from the debris, gears grinding. Sam described it as “ten feet of weaponized trauma, heavy armor plating, glowing arcane joints, and a slow but very deliberate stride.”

Norah, in character as Gretch the Collector, immediately tried to intimidate it. “I glare,” Norah said, “and tell it to step aside unless it wants to see what a real axe looks like.”

Sam chuckled. “Roll it. This thing has no emotions, but let’s see how hard you commit.”

The die clattered, came up a one.

Norah groaned. “Oh, come on. That’s not—”

Sam cut her off, savoring the chaos. “You forget to address the golem, and instead turn to a load-bearing pillar and threaten it. The pillar, if it had feelings, would be mortified. As it is, it does not comply. The golem gains a +1 circumstance bonus to its first attack from sheer confusion.”

The table couldn’t breathe for a good ten seconds.

Tracy, never missing an opening, said, "While Gretch is negging the architecture, I punch the golem in the knee with my cybernetic arm. Subtle is for losers. Two actions: Stride in, then Power Attack.”

Myra's Saelis, as the only other druid, piped up: "Can I make a Nature check to see if the golem has, like, an affinity for moss? Maybe it's been lonely all these years."

Sam blinked. "It's not in the rules, but sure. You’re fishing for a weakness or condition.”

Myra rolled, smiled. "Seventeen."

Sam grinned. “Saelis approaches the golem with a tuft of rehydrated lichen. The golem, startled by this radical empathy, suffers a -1 penalty to attacks against her until the start of its next turn—”

Tracy's fist connected with the golem's knee joint. The metal crunched. Sparks flew. The golem's eyes flashed from blue to red.

Sam sighed. "And now it's reactivating all weapons systems. Roll for initiative."

Dice clattered across the table. The golem's metal arm swung in a vicious arc, catching Melody and Rowan with a sickening crunch.

“Both of you take eleven bludgeoning damage and are pushed five feet.”

Chloe winced, crossing off hit points.

Dawn's Carrotina hopped frantically between them, “Three actions to cast Heal—burst version!” rolling dice for healing with the energy of an overcaffeinated lemur.

Myra's Saelis hurled a ball of thorns that lodged in the golem's shoulder joint, causing sparks to shower the chamber floor.

Norah's Gretch swung her battleaxe with a roar, leaving a deep gash in the automaton's chest plate. Tracy's Destroyer followed with a cybernetic uppercut that knocked the golem's head askew.

“Critical hit. The jaw assembly dislocates.”

But more injuries piled up, too. The golem's eye beam scorched Shadow Whisperwind's left side. "I'm going to have to use Battle Medicine!" Carrotina cried, rushing to the druid’s side.

Riley's Ix, attempting to slide between the golem's legs, rolled a nineteen and crowed before rolling damage and deflating. "I nick its ankle joint... for one damage," she announced dejectedly.

Sam grinned. “The golem freezes, then collapses in a heap of scrap.”

Riley leapt up, fist pumping. "That's right! Ix with the killing blow! Who needs fancy spells when you've got PRECISION?"

Marissa, as Cutter McCutterdaughter, deadpanned: “I pocket a gear from the golem’s corpse, and then analyze the scattered notes on the workbench. I want to know who built this thing, and more importantly, why they were so bad at basic OSHA compliance.”

Sam’s eyes sparkled. “You discover that all the engineers on this level had deep abandonment issues, an unhinged sense of direction, and a control kink.” She added, “Also, they left a personal logbook. But it’s in code.”

Tracy, bouncing in her seat, said, “Is it base64? Because I’m ready.”

Chloe, who had been taking studious notes, raised her hand. “I want to sing a lullaby for the golem, even if it’s already dead. Maybe it’ll help?”

Sam nodded. “Roll Performance.”

Chloe rolled a 20. “Oh, wow.”

Sam, not missing a beat: “Melody’s song reverberates through the chamber. The golem, briefly reanimated by the power of friendship, salutes the party and then collapses, finally at peace.”

Riley’s Ix, eyes narrowed, said, “I’m looting the body.”

Sam grinned. “You find one half-eaten granola bar and a note that says ‘not for you, Ix’ in angry block print.”

Riley snorted. “Who the hell knew I’d make enemies this fast.”

The table energy spiraled, every joke adding fuel to the next. Liesa, as Shadow, started trading rumors with Saelis about local wildlife. Erin and Andy, determined to keep things moving, had Rowan Shieldbark and Dr. Clockblood make a map of the tunnels and attempted to assign everyone a buddy for the next section.

“Marching order,” Erin said, slapping the table. “Tracy and Gretch in front. Carrotina and Sparkles behind. Clara, Ix, can you search the corridors for traps?”

Claire nodded, already five feet of dungeon ahead on the map. Riley followed, muttering, “If I die before level four, I’m haunting all of you.”

The corridor stretched ahead, every surface draped in the blue pulse of magitech veins: stone walls had been overlaid with fat bands of cracked, ancient crystal, the ceiling traced with spiderwebs of soldered copper. At the far end, a wobbly projection flickered into being: a faint, blue hologram of a monk in heavy robes. The projection’s hands were folded, eyes turned skyward, and it recited a warning in two languages at once.

Chloe, who had been practicing her Scottish accent under her breath, blurted, “Is he goin’ to jump out and kill us, or is he just sad?”

Sam grinned. “You can roll Perception.”

Chloe did, then frowned at the result. “I got a seven. Melody stares into the void, and the void is unimpressed.”

Claire raised her hand, pointing at Chloe, then at her eyes, and rolled a die. Andy saw the result—18—and smiled as he relayed it to Sam.

“Clara notes that the projection repeats in an exact 43-second cycle, and the real danger is the pressure plate in front of the door,” Sam replied. “If the party stands in a specific configuration, you can bypass it safely. Or… you can try your luck.”

Tracy, who had been plotting out possible permutations in her head, snapped her fingers. “Destroyer shoulder-checks Gretch into the pressure plate, then dives left.”

Norah raised her eyebrows, but didn’t argue. “Gretch is not moved by cat-based ****. I stomp on the plate with pride.”

Laura glanced at Andy in stereo. Andy grinned sheepishly. This was par for the course.

Sam rolled behind the screen. “There is a deep, resonant hum, and the floor opens up, dropping Gretch, Destroyer, and anyone within three feet straight down a chute. Reflex saves, please.”

“Oh no!” Dawn gasped, ears erect. “Carrotina tries to catch the falling friends with her rope!”

Sam nodded. “That’s Athletics. Reaction, if you want it.”

Chloe asked, curiously, “Does the rope have a name?”

Dawn beamed. “It’s named ‘Hopeful Noodle.’” She rolled. “Fifteen!”

Sam looked at Tracy and Norah. “Roll Reflex saves.” The two women rolled their dice, Norah’s with unnecessary ****, until they both came up. Fifteen and nineteen.

Sam improvised. “Carrotina flings the rope, and, improbably, both Gretch and Destroyer snag it mid-plummet. You both avoid the worst of the fall, but you’re now dangling above a pit lined with crackling Tesla coils. The voice repeats, a little faster now, as if growing impatient.”

Tracy, not missing a beat, grinned. “I use the dangling motion to build up momentum, then launch myself onto the nearest safe ledge. Two actions: Swing, then Leap. Acrobatics check—23.”

The table whooped. Even Norah looked grudgingly impressed.

Sam kept it moving: “Destroyer lands in a perfect three-point stance, no damage. Gretch is left swinging, but Hopeful Noodle holds—just barely.”

“Myra?” Andy asked, noticing Saelis and her wolf companion were standing at the edge, not involved in the chaos. “What do you do?”

Myra’s smile was sly. “Saelis is guiding the rest of the party through the safe route. We go around the pressure plate. Also, the wolf howls to alert the others to the alternate path.”

Sam laughed. “Perfect. That’s automatic success thanks to prior scouting. The rest of the party follows Saelis, finding a maintenance access at the side. You all rejoin at the base of the shaft, with Gretch still dangling from Hopeful Noodle. The room below is humming, full of electric cages and… one big, angry clockwork sphinx.”

Riley’s hand shot up, eyes gleaming. “Ix immediately tries to sneak behind it.”

Sam, not even glancing at her notes: “Roll Stealth.”

Riley rolled, winced, and muttered, “Three.”

Sam grinned. “The sphinx’s head swivels on a gimbal, tracking you with laser precision. Its voice is less sad than the monk’s. More… disappointed. ‘You lack discipline,’ it intones.”

Riley: “Story of my life.”

Emi had been vibrating with anticipation, and now her six hands fired off dice like a machine gun. “Sparkles uses the monk’s acrobatics to vault directly onto the sphinx’s back and start yanking out wires.”

“Roll Athletics,” said Sam.

Emi: “Twenty!”

Sam nodded. “With all six arms, Sparkles shimmies up and tears open a panel. You successfully Grapple the sphinx, clinging to it. The sphinx lets out a warbling shriek and flails, but you’re on tight. You see a glowing blue orb inside—its ‘soul,’ probably. There’s also a lot of angry crystal spikes.”

“Can I assist?” Liesa asked, her voice soft.

“You’re a druid,” Sam reminded her, gently. “But… sure. How?”

Liesa thought, then said: “Shadow casts Guidance on Sparkles, then starts looting the rest of the room for scrap. In case we need to build something later.”

Sam gave her a look, but said, “You succeed, Sparkles gets a +1 status bonus on her next check.”

Erin, tired of waiting, leaned forward. “Rowan Shieldbark pulls out her axes and goes for the sphinx’s front legs. Powerful Strike, targeting mobility. Roll to hit.”

She did, with the precision of someone who had played this exact scene in her head for days. “Nat 20.”

The table exploded in applause. Erin flushed with pleasure, but tried to play it off.

Sam winced theatrically. “Critical hit. Rowan’s axes sever both front limbs at the knee. The sphinx topples, but uses its wings to stay upright, pinwheeling across the floor. It releases a burst of electrical energy as a last-ditch attack. Everyone within ten feet, Reflex saves.”

Laura sat frozen, clearly unsure what to do, knuckles white around her dice.

"Laura," Andy said softly, "Mara could try her blast. Even a glancing hit might disrupt its charge."

She met his eyes briefly, then nodded. "I... I shoot a blast of water at its crystal core."

Her die clattered across the table: twelve.

“That wouldn’t hit, but because of Erin’s crit, and Sparkles grappling it, the sphinx is Flat-Footed. It hits.” Sam confirmed. "The blast cracks the casing. Electricity arcs wildly as the sphinx howls." Laura beamed.

Andy, as Dr. Clockblood, immediately said, “I use my portable Faraday cage to shield the party. Two actions. I rolled a 16—plus modifiers, 23 total.”

Sam checked her notes. “It works. The electrical discharge is suppressed. Everyone takes only a faint tingle.”

Chloe, who had been taking notes, offered, “Can Melody try to communicate with the sphinx? Maybe it doesn’t want to hurt us?”

Sam said, “Sure. Roll Diplomacy.”

Chloe did, then made a face. “Two.”

Sam nodded and went with the flow. “The sphinx howls something about ‘inevitable entropy’ and ‘failure of the social contract.’ Then dies with a sad whimper.”

Everyone at the table went “Awwww,” in unison.

Marissa, who had been quietly updating her notes, looked up. “Cutter McCutterdaughter wants to analyze the sphinx. Was it programmed to do this, or was it acting out of… autonomy?”

Sam smiled. “Roll Investigation.”

Marissa: “Twelve.”

Sam looked at her. “You determine that the sphinx was part of an old security system. After years without maintenance or feedback, it developed emergent behavior. After decades of being left alone, it became a little… **** for attention.”

Marissa, as Cutter: “I get it, buddy. I really do.”

The second combat of the dungeon ended not with a boss kill, but a gentle moment of existential sympathy. Sam let that linger, then said, “You can briefly rest here. Ten minutes—enough to refocus and patch wounds. There’s a safe zone in the corner, and some rations left by the last maintenance crew.”

Tracy, still in the game, said, “Destroyer uses the time to hack into the control panel and see if there’s a way to disable future traps remotely.”

Sam, impressed, said, “That’s a solid plan. You find the access panel. But it’s protected by a biometric lock keyed to the original engineers.”

“Can I convince it I’m an engineer?” Tracy asked.

Sam nodded. “Roll Deception.”

Tracy grinned. “Twenty-six.”

The table lost it again.

Sam grins. “The panel is convinced, against all odds. You now have root access to the dungeon’s security system.”

Riley, sotto voce: “Never trust a cat with admin privileges.”

Norah, never to be outdone, said, “While everyone’s recovering, Gretch carves her name into the wall. It’s tradition.”

Sam chuckled. “It’s the deepest, boldest graffiti in the hall. Everyone who comes through here will know: Gretch was here.”

Emily, who had been quiet, raised her hand. “Can I… Justina wants to cast Illusory Object on the broken sphinx, make it look like it’s on standby instead of dead?”

Sam nodded, approving. “Absolutely. That’s a two-action cast. The orb in the sphinx’s chest glows soft pink. It looks peaceful, maybe even happy.”

Andy caught a smile from across the table and felt a warm flush. Emily, naked and earnest as ever, seemed delighted that the spell worked.

The rest period was, predictably, full of snack breaks and table banter. Dawn passed out muffins, Chloe offered cookies, and Emi shared a rainbow of tiny origami animals she’d been folding under the table. Andy noticed that even the more standoffish players—Riley, Norah, Liesa—were leaning in, drawn together by the rhythm of play. Myra’s fox ears twitched in time to the action, her eyes distant but always tracking the voices; Claire mapped the entire route so far, pausing only to write, in all caps: GRETCH GRAFFITO in the margin.

Sam glanced at the clock. “Alright. Ten-minute rest is up. If you used the time to Refocus, say it now. Next chamber is the heart of the vault. Anyone want to scout ahead?”

Riley’s Ix, of course. “I do, but this time I check for literal tripwires, and then for metaphorical ones.”

Sam rolled behind her screen, then smiled. “There’s a tripwire two steps inside the next door.”

“Classic,” said Riley.

Claire, tapping the table, wrote: LET CLARA GO FIRST. Then drew an arrow: SHE’S EXPENDABLE. She held it up, and the table howled.

Sam, going with it, said, “Clara goes first. The wire is… actually a decoy. It triggers a confetti bomb, and then a small, hovering eye drone pops out and begins reciting motivational quotes.”

Chloe’s Melody readied a spell, just in case, but when the drone spouted “YOU ARE DOING SO WELL,” she dissolved in giggles.

Andy’s Dr. Clockblood examined the drone. “Can I interface with it? Maybe use it to map the rest of the vault?”

Sam grinned at Andy. “Sure. Roll Crafting.”

Andy, rolling, “Nineteen.”

Sam nodded. “The drone is easily convinced. It projects a hologram of the vault’s entire schematic. You now have a +2 circumstance bonus to checks involving navigation or avoiding traps. However, it is emotionally needy, and will not stop following you.”

Everyone at the table looked at Chloe.

Chloe, red in the face, said, “Melody names it Hope.”

Laura, who had been watching silently from behind her character sheet, cleared her throat. "It... it reminds me of that robot from the movie we watched when we were kids," she said, her eyes briefly meeting Andy's with a smile before darting away.

Dawn, soft: “Can Carrotina give it a carrot? Maybe it wants a friend.”

Sam grinned. “Yes. The drone is overjoyed, and now plays soothing elevator music as you progress.”

With the map in hand, the party made rapid progress through a series of puzzle rooms, each a riff on classic dungeon logic: levers that opened doors but also summoned bees, rotating floor tiles that scrambled anyone walking over them (Claire’s Clara kept getting dizzy and walked in circles), a room with three buttons labeled “Regret,” “Despair,” and “Gusto.”

Erin’s Rowan always pressed “Gusto,” even when told it was probably a trap.

Sam grinned at her every time. “You press Gusto, and are immediately sprayed with confetti and a single party popper. No damage. Just vibes.”

Emily’s Justina, seeing this, tried “Regret,” and was instantly covered in molasses. Sam grinned. “You’re Slowed 1 until you clean yourself off.” The table lost it.

Emi, as Sparkles, climbed the walls to avoid every trap. Liesa’s Shadow joined her, citing “team-building,” but mostly used the opportunity to pocket loose artifacts from the wall. Every time she did, Sam reminded her, “You are a druid.” Liesa would roll her eyes, then make up a reason why it was “for the greater good of the forest.”

At one point, Myra leaned in, eyes glimmering. “Speaking of the forest, Saelis and Shadow should have a side conversation about the importance of ferns in moist, shaded environments. I think it could heal some wounds.”

Liesa, smiling shy, said, “I agree. Shadow is very passionate about ferns.”

Sam, beaming: “You have a druidic bonding session. You both gain a +2 circumstance bonus on saving throws against plant- and moss-based attacks.”

Andy caught the look on the faces of both women—small, conspiratorial—and stifled a laugh.

Within ten more minutes, the so-called "Monastery of the Quantum Saints" had devolved into a disaster zone. The second clockwork sphinx had barely gone cold before Emi's Sparkles the Destroyer—now perched on a ceiling beam—announced, "The vault is basically a vertical maze! Sparkles climbs everything!" Emi rolled all her dice at once and took a monstrous bite of muffin, her six hands making the process look less like eating and more like a speedrun.

Sam, trying not to laugh, said, "You're on the ceiling. The magitech cables look like they're meant to be ladders, but there are weird, wet footprints all along them."

Dawn, who had been tending to the emotionally exhausted drone, immediately offered, "Can Carrotina reach the ceiling, too? I want to see if Hope has friends up there."

Sam nodded. "You can. Roll Athletics."

Dawn, rolling, said, "I… uh… that's a three."

Sam winced. "You jump, but your feet slip on the linoleum. You crash into Norah's Gretch, who is still sharpening her axe. Both of you collapse, pinning Melody Stagelight beneath a mound of women."

Chloe, who'd been half-hiding behind her character sheet, managed a squeaky, “I’m fine—just—emotionally flattened!” And then broke into a fit of giggles.

From the opposite end of the table, Marissa lifted a finger. "Cutter brews a stabilization serum and injects Carrotina, in case she's concussed."

Sam checked the handbook. "You mix the serum. It smells like blue cheese and regret. Roll Alchemy."

Marissa: "Seventeen."

Sam nodded. "The serum works. Carrotina is not only fine, she also ignores the effects of being Stunned or Dazzled from minor impacts for the next hour.”

At this, the table lost it again. Myra, who had mostly been quietly steering Saelis and her wolf, said, "Saelis tries to herd the party away from the crying walls and toward the next objective."

Liesa's Shadow, draped over the back of her chair like a model in a perfume ad, drawled, "Shadow ignores all orders and loots the next room for anything shiny. I'm a druid, but I'm also curious."

Sam sighed. "You find a glowing glass egg. It pulses with a low, organic light, and it smells slightly of cinnamon."

Liesa, raising an eyebrow, "Shadow cradles the egg and whispers secrets to it. For science."

Erin, keeping her eyes on Sam but glancing sideways at Andy, muttered, "Rowan wants to keep the group moving. The longer we linger, the more likely it is we die."

Norah, who had just finished describing how Gretch pried an entire steel railing from the floor, said, "If something comes at us, I'll hit it. That's what Gretch does."

Tracy, not even pretending to be in character: "Destroyer agrees, but also wants to weaponize the glass egg if possible.”

Sam grins. "You can, but the egg may not like being thrown."

Tracy: "Worth it."

Meanwhile, Riley's rogue, Ix, was attempting her third consecutive stealth roll. Each time, Riley would roll, sigh, and say, "Ix tiptoes, but her hair gets snagged on every single wire."

After the second failure, Sam said, "You walk directly into a wall-mounted golem face. The golem is dormant, but you poke it in the eye."

Riley: "Ix bluffs and says it was a greeting."

Sam nodded. "Roll Diplomacy."

Riley, rolling, "Three."

Sam shook her head ruefully. "The golem's feelings are deeply hurt. It powers down out of spite, collapsing onto you with the weight of a small motorcycle."

This, somehow, sent the entire party into hysterics. Norah, as Gretch, offered to bench-press the golem off Ix's body. She rolled a 2, which Sam narrated as, "Gretch lifts with all her might but slips on the molasses Justina had been covered with, and the two of you end up in a heap, with the golem on top. It's suggestive, but not fatal."

Emily, who had so far played Justina McCormick very conservatively, piped up: "I want to cast a cantrip and zap the golem's 'off switch.' Is that possible?"

Sam blinked, then made a call on the spot. "You can. What spell?"

Emily, barely hesitating, "Sparklebolt."

Andy looked up, and so did Erin, both surprised.

Sam nodded. "Roll to hit."

Emily, "Nineteen."

Sam grinned. "It works. The golem is instantly neutralized, and you even add a little glitter to the whole scene. The room is now fabulous."

Andy couldn't help himself. "Nice shot," he said, and across the table, Emily absolutely beamed.

Erin, true to her character, said, "Rowan hoists Justina onto her shoulders. 'She is our tiny wizard now,' she declares."

Emily looked at Sam for confirmation, and Sam grinned: “Justina is now party mascot. This has no mechanical benefit, but everyone knows it’s important.”

The next few rooms blurred by in a rush of dice and disaster. Chloe's Melody set off three consecutive traps by apologizing to them first. "I'm so sorry for what I'm about tae do," she’d murmur, then pull a lever or step on a rune, only to be hit with cold water, glitter, or—in one case—a rain of rubber balls.

Claire's Clara Catsworth mapped the entirety of each room before the rest of the party even entered, annotating every corridor with “LIKELY ****,” “SECRET SLEEPING SPOT,” or, in one case, “FERN ZONE, SEE MYRA.”

Emi’s Sparkles never once walked on the floor, instead inventing new, increasingly acrobatic routes across every chamber. Myra’s Saelis and the wolf would gently nudge the more chaotic party members back onto the “safe” path—never scolding, always patient, her tail flicking contentedly whenever she succeeded.

At one point, as the party approached a particularly intimidating door, Sam described, “A heavy, fortified barrier blocks your way. There’s a keypad with a twelve-digit code, and a sign in Old Quantum Latin reading, ‘THIS IS WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS.’”

Andy, as Dr. Clockblood, said, “I analyze the keypad for prints and patterns. If I can identify recent use, maybe we can guess the code.”

Sam, pleased at the logic, allowed it. "You see the most-worn numbers are three, five, eight, and six. There’s a sticky residue on the 9."

Tracy's Destroyer immediately suggested, "It's 35359999. People always use repeating digits for these things. I punch it in."

Sam laughed. "The keypad beeps, and a soft-serve ice cream dispenser emerges from the wall, loaded with nine flavors. You're sprayed in the face with cold, delicious vanilla."

Tracy, unfazed, said, "Destroyer laps it up and stares the door down, daring it to stop her."

Norah's Gretch, not to be one-upped, flexed and said, "I punch the door off its hinges."

She rolled a 15, and Sam declared, "It dents. You take 1d4 bludgeoning damage from the recoil, but it does look cooler now."

Erin, trying to keep order, asked, "Can I just look for a normal way to open it? Maybe a manual override?"

Sam looked at Erin. "Yes. You find a perfectly functional handle hidden behind the ice cream dispenser."

Chloe, out of turn: "Can Melody pull the lever?"

Sam nodded. "You can, and the door opens with a friendly chime. Well done, party bard."

The next step was a corridor that, once entered, began to fill with water. It started ankle-deep, then quickly rose to knee, then waist.

“This is a hazard,” Sam said. “If you stay here too long, it will escalate.”

Chloe, predictably, panicked. “Melody is not a strong swimmer. She’s going tae drown, she knows it.”

Dawn’s Carrotina tried to sense the room’s emotional state, rolled high, and declared, “It’s scared. The water doesn’t want to hurt us.”

Tracy shook her head. "Destroyer holds her breath and sees how long she can last underwater. Also, she puts the catfolk's ears flat to reduce drag. Science."

Norah’s Gretch attempted to climb the walls, but they were slick with the same water. “She uses her battleaxe as a climbing piton,” Norah said, and rolled. The result was a 2. Sam, not missing a beat, said, “You chip a chunk out of the wall, but also get the axe stuck. Now Gretch is dangling helplessly, upside down.”

Riley’s Ix, less than helpful, said, "I wait until the water’s at chest level, then try to swim to the far end. What’s the DC?"

Sam checked. "With your Dex score? High."

She rolled, failed, and Sam narrated, “Ix swims a few feet, then gets turned around and ends up right back at the start, clinging to Destroyer’s tail for dear life.”

Andy watched as the chaos escalated and realized no one was actually solving the puzzle.

Then, quietly, Laura’s Mara Tidebound looked at the table and said, “Can I try something?”

Everyone turned, surprised she’d spoken up.

Laura explained, “I want Mara to use her water control to make a bubble around the party, or maybe siphon the water away, like… with a drain.”

Sam, excited, replied: “Absolutely. That’s a kinetic impulse. Roll for it.”

Laura, unpracticed but determined, rolled. “Seventeen?”

Sam improvised, “It works, but only partially. Mara siphons the rising water into a tight, spiraling funnel, like a reverse whirlpool. It opens a clear path, but now there’s a huge, angry mass of pressurized water spinning at the far end of the chamber.”

Tracy immediately said, "Destroyer wants to pop it."

Marissa’s Cutter McCutterdaughter declared, “I hurl a bomb at the base of the funnel.”

Sam nodded. “You both act simultaneously. The bomb pops the funnel, causing it to blast open the door on the far side of the room, but Destroyer gets caught in the blast and is thrown clear into the next room. She lands on her feet, soaked, sparking, and very proud.”

Riley, clinging to Destroyer’s tail: “Do I make the roll too?”

Sam pointed at her dice. “You do. Roll Reflex.”

Riley, rolling, said, “Eighteen.”

Sam grinned. “You ride the tail like a pro, and land upright. You get a standing ovation from the rest of the party.”

The tension broke. Even the more reserved women—Myra, Liesa—couldn’t hide their grins.

Andy watched as Laura ducked her head, hiding a smile she couldn’t quite suppress. He leaned closer, nudged her arm, and said, “That was amazing. Seriously.”

Laura’s two bodies blinked in unison, and she whispered, “I liked saving everyone. It felt good.”

Andy squeezed her hand under the table, and she didn’t let go.

The last room before the final vault was a nightmare: blinking alarms, sparking wires, a spinning hazard that looked suspiciously like a Roomba crossed with a bear trap.

Tracy’s Destroyer, seeing it, immediately tried to befriend it. “I offer it a treat from the mechanical snack stash.”

Sam riffed. “It’s deeply suspicious, but takes the snack. It delays its reaction routine.”

Riley’s Ix, uncharacteristically cautious, decided to sneak past. She rolled, and for once, got a 19.

Sam nodded. “You make it through undetected. It’s your first stealth success of the night.”

The table cheered.

Norah’s Gretch, possibly out of frustration, tried to intimidate the Roomba-trap into submission. Sam asked for a roll. Norah rolled a 1.

Sam laughed. “You threaten the Roomba, but instead, it just sprays you with cleaning foam. It’s not effective, but it is humiliating. You’re Slowed 1 for a round because you’re sticky and furious.”

Marissa’s Cutter, taking advantage of the calm, rifled through the maintenance closet for “anything that looks like a chemical weapon.” She found a bottle of “Aromatic Stabilizer,” which Sam explained “may or may not cause hallucinations if inhaled.”

Dawn’s Carrotina, never one to miss a teachable moment, offered the Roomba a blessing of emotional closure. Sam, delighted, declared that the Roomba now followed Carrotina, “like a very confused puppy.”

A fluttering shape whirred out of a ceiling vent—white cloth, frayed edges, animated with malicious purpose. It did a tight loop above the party and dove at Sparkles like a gull that had decided **** was its new hobby. Dawn gasped. Chloe squeaked. Norah swore. Liesa went perfectly still.

“Oh my God,” Emi said, pointing at it with all six hands at once. “DUCK!”

Most of the table reacted at once—Dawn laughing, Chloe making a delighted, horrified noise, Norah barking a single incredulous “No,” and Marissa blinking like she’d just been reminded of a war crime committed in a costume shop. Riley just stared. Myra blinked once, unreadable. Laura, still learning the group’s lore, leaned slightly toward Andy in stereo, silently asking what the hell is Duck.

Sam pressed her lips together like she was trying not to break character and failing. “A pair of flying, haunted underwear… briefly cameoing in this universe… is not in my notes,” she said, deadpan. “But it is in your canon, so… it swoops. Roll initiative—just against Duck. One round.”

Emi whooped, rolling immediately. “Sparkles tries to grapple it midair!”

Emily, caught up in the chaos, lifted her die too fast. “Justina helps—Sparklebolt!”

Sam nodded. “Spell attack.”

Emily rolled low. Sam winced. “The bolt ricochets off a crystal conduit and zaps you instead. Justina takes electrical damage and is Stunned 1.”

Emily’s smile faltered. “Oh.”

Chloe, instantly gentle: “Hey—still a great idea. Just bad wiring.”

Erin, without softening her voice, slid into the opening like it was muscle memory. “Rowan drags Justina behind cover. You’re our tiny wizard. Stay alive.”

Sam tossed a consolation bone. “Duck flaps triumphantly, then—like it’s satisfied—vanishes back into the vent with a final offended wiggle. One round cameo. Canon respected. Moving on.”

The group, battered but functional, reached the final vault, standing at the threshold together.

Andy took a deep breath, looked at the faces around the table—every one of them flushed with laughter or focus, every one of them fully invested in the story.

The boss chamber was a cathedral of tech and ruin. Crystal columns arched overhead, refracting the light from the trembling engine at the room’s heart—a glass sphere the size of a refrigerator, laced with filaments and wild, pulsing fractures. Suspended within was the fragmented intelligence: a storm of blue and white, swirling and flickering like a mind at war with itself.

Sam, who had switched to full DM voice, painted the scene with grim drama. “As you enter, the sphere flares to life. A distorted face appears in the glass—first a woman’s, then a child’s, then a thousand overlapping masks. The walls vibrate with its voice: ‘WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU HERE?’”

Tracy, running at max energy, said, “Destroyer answers, ‘We’re the clean-up crew. Heard you had an emotional mess in here.’”

Sam, deadpan: “The face splits, then recombines. ‘I DO NOT WANT TO FIGHT. BUT I CANNOT STOP MYSELF. HELP.’” There was a tremor in Sam’s voice that Andy recognized—this was the setup for a three-phase kill box, every round bringing new hazards.

As if to prove it, the crystal conduits along the floor brightened. The engine exhaled a pulse that made everyone’s miniatures rattle in place. Sam tapped the map. “Hazard starts now. At the end of each round, the engine discharges. If you don’t stabilize it, it escalates.”

But before Sam could launch her attack, Claire’s Clara scribbled a note and passed it to Andy: ASK IF IT REMEMBERS THE OUTSIDE.

Andy, keeping to character, said, “Clara gently asks the construct what it remembers before the vault.”

Sam, surprised, said, “The construct pauses. It glitches through a dozen faces, then settles on one: ‘I REMEMBER THE OCEAN. I REMEMBER BEING WHOLE.’”

Chloe, perhaps emboldened by her earlier success, piped up. “Melody tells it, ‘It’s okay tae feel lost. Sometimes we all do. But you’re not alone anymore.’”

Sam hesitated. “The intelligence shudders. The reactor surges, then… softens. The blue light dims. The voice becomes almost gentle: ‘HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ALONE FOR A THOUSAND YEARS?’”

Marissa, as Cutter, leaned forward. “Cutter analyzes the construct’s emotional data. She suspects unresolved trauma, possibly abandonment, compounded by isolation and conflicting prime directives.”

Andy stifled a smile; Sam went with it. “Cutter’s diagnosis is correct. The construct is fractured by competing priorities—safeguard the vault, but yearn for connection. The result is madness.”

Dawn’s Carrotina, eyes wide with compassion, said, “Carrotina offers a cookie and tells it that she forgives its mistakes. She understands what it’s like to want to be good, and not always get it right.”

Sam was now resigned. “There’s a pulse from the reactor. The construct says, ‘NO ONE EVER SAID THAT BEFORE.’ It starts to cry.”

The table went completely still.

Then Liesa, whose Shadow had been suspiciously quiet, said, “Shadow tries to sneak behind the engine and see if there’s anything keeping it trapped. Like a key, or a stone, or a curse.”

Sam sighed. “Roll for Perception.”

Liesa: “Eighteen.”

Sam nodded. “You spot a control gem, tucked into the socket at the back. It looks loose.”

Liesa: “Shadow quietly pockets it.”

Sam nodded. “You now have the override gem. You also realize: pulling it wrong could trigger the discharge.”

Norah, not to be outdone, said, “Gretch wants to end this. She swings her battleaxe at the engine, right as the construct is talking about its childhood with Cutter McCutterdaughter.”

Sam, grinning, “Roll to hit.”

Norah, rolling, “Four.”

Sam grinned. “You miss, but you break a really expensive-looking chair instead.”

The whole table laughed.

Emi, not missing her cue, said, “Sparkles suggests we just remove the problematic core and give it a second chance. Maybe install a new, less depressed operating system.”

Sam, delighted: “You can try. Roll for it. That’s Athletics—this thing is bolted in by spite.”

Emi, rolling all six dice: “Thirteen.”

Sam checked her notes. “Sparkles yanks at the core, but the construct resists. The chamber fills with a low, mournful sound—like whale song, only sadder.”

Riley, in-character, “Ix tries to soothe the core, but is bad at feelings. She says the wrong thing and the engine flares in anger.”

Sam said, “The construct screams, ‘YOU ARE MAKING IT WORSE!’ and initiates a meltdown countdown.” She flipped an hourglass beside her screen. “Three rounds. End of each round: discharge. Fail too many checks: boom.”

Emily, in a panic, “Justina casts Sparklebolt at the emergency shutoff!”

Sam replied, “You hit, but it only buys time. The countdown slows, but doesn’t stop.”

Andy, as Dr. Clockblood, said, “I use every tool I have to reroute power from the core. I need a plan.”

Sam looked at him. “Roll for Crafting.”

Andy rolled and grinned. “Nineteen.”

Sam nodded. “It works, but you’ll need help to stabilize the engine. You’ve created a temporary bypass—someone has to hold it.”

Erin, as Rowan, gripped her dice. “Rowan channels the party’s willpower. She shouts for everyone to focus—‘We can work together!’”

Sam blinked. “The construct wavers. The core’s light steadies, then strengthens.”

At this point, Tracy leaned over the table, eyeing Andy. “This is where you do the code thing. The override. Like, a patch for the soul.”

Sam, sighing with affection, “Destroyer, you can try. But you’ll need to combine **** and friendship in equal measure. And you’ll have to time it with the discharge.”

Tracy, grinning: “My specialty. I punch the core while telling it, ‘You’re not broken. You’re just learning.’”

Sam stood up, gesturing. “You punch at the perfect moment, realigning the crystal. The meltdown stops. The engine resets. The construct, for the first time, looks calm.”

There was a hush, then Sam said, “You did it. The vault powers down. The construct is at peace.”

At the table, for a full two seconds, nobody moved.

Then, as if on cue, the entire party cheered.

Even Laura grinned with both bodies.

There was a long, stunned silence after the adventure’s close—a quiet so complete Andy could hear the ocean, the faint crackle of cooling dice, the breathless sense of a story sticking the landing in a way that left no room for aftershocks. Sam sat back, arms folded, and regarded her party with the look of a teacher whose favorite class just turned in a group project so unexpectedly brilliant she’d have to rewrite her grading rubric.

“Okay,” Sam said. “Let me see if I have this right. You pacified the world-ending AI by psychoanalyzing it, feeding it muffins, and then told it to ‘do its best’?”

Tracy, still flush with adrenaline, replied, “You said friendship was an option. If you didn’t want that, you shouldn’t have put in a feelings mechanic.”

Emi, positively radiant, added, “Also, we left it in charge of the monastery. Now it controls the mood lighting and the temperature.”

Sam blinked twice, then started to laugh—real, delighted, half-disbelieving. “This was supposed to be a TPK. The notes literally say ‘probable party wipe unless they cheese the system.’”

Dawn, gently, “Well, I think we made it better. The intelligence is happy now.”

Chloe, still a little pink, said, “Melody will miss it. She wrote a song for the orb.”

Norah, with a crooked grin, “Is it called ‘Gretch is Stronger than All Robots’?”

“Not exactly,” Chloe mumbled, but she smiled at the suggestion.

Marissa, collecting her dice, turned to Andy and deadpanned, “You’re going to need a new backup plan. That group therapy degree is starting to look relevant.”

Riley, who had already packed up her character sheet, said, “Honestly, that’s the best ending I’ve ever played. Not even mad I didn’t get to stab anything.”

Myra, head tilted, said softly, “Sometimes healing is more impressive than ****. I think I like this kind of story.” She paused. “Also, you kneecapped the golem.”

At the far end of the table, Liesa handed Andy the origami egg Emi had made. “For the next adventure,” she said. Her smile was warm, and—Andy thought—a little wistful.

The table was alive with post-game chatter. Snacks disappeared, cups refilled, even the more reticent women hovered, trading favorite moments and mini-eulogies for the party’s fallen foes. Claire, who had not said a word since the boss fight, quietly packed up her notes, but left a folded page on the table: It is more fun this way. You should do this again.

Tracy, as always, found her way back to Andy’s side, tapping the table with her cybernetic hand. “For the record,” she said, “if you ever find those cheat codes, you still owe me. Even a test build. No hard feelings if it blows up reality.”

Andy laughed, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “If I do, you’ll be the first to know.”

Tracy nodded once, satisfied.

As the party began to break up, Laura lingered. She handed Sam her character sheet, held on just a moment longer than she needed to, and then, in stereo, asked, “Does it always happen like this?”

Sam considered. “Pretty much. Group gets together, everything’s chaos, and then the ending is… not what I planned. But that’s why it works.” She winked. “You did great, by the way, for a first-timer. Mara is a keeper.”

Laura looked down, a little bashful, then smiled. “Thanks. I never thought I’d like this, but—” She shrugged, not finishing the thought.

Sam, dry as ever, said, “Don’t tell anyone, but it’s more about the people than the game.”

Laura nodded before leaving with the others, but Tracy caught Liesa's sleeve at the door, whispering something that made her pause. Andy was gathering dice, the click of plastic against plastic filling the sudden quiet, when Tracy's voice rang out: "Wait!" The pavilion emptied except for the four of them—Andy, Tracy, Sam, and Liesa standing framed in the doorway, backlit by the amber glow of sunset.

Tracy's cybernetic hand moved with impossible dexterity, producing two small bags from somewhere inside her sleeve. Her eyes gleamed with barely contained excitement. Before Sam could react or ask questions, Tracy flicked both wrists upward. The air filled with glittering confetti that caught the setting sun, transforming the simple pavilion into something magical, each particle suspended for a heartbeat before beginning its lazy descent.

"Congratulations, lovebirds!" Tracy shouted, her voice carrying the same infectious energy as when she'd punched the game's AI core. She beamed at Sam and Liesa's startled faces, clearly savoring their confusion. With theatrical precision, she produced a small velvet box, holding it out ceremoniously between her flesh hand and her metal one. "From Shar. She says they complete the set."

Inside nestled two matching rings—unmistakably wedding bands. "The whole Haunted Castle crew sends their love," Tracy added, bouncing slightly on her toes. "We all approve. Unanimously. Even Destroyer voted yes."

Andy leaned against the table, watching Sam's stunned expression melt into something softer, more **** than he'd ever seen on her face. Liesa's fingers found hers, tentative at first, then intertwining completely.

Tracy threw her arms around them both, metal and flesh encircling their shoulders. "Remember, the Haunted Castle’s always happy to host a honeymoon." She planted a quick kiss on each of their cheeks before stepping back, her cybernetic hand lingering on Sam's shoulder.

A shadow moved in the doorway. Arabella stood silhouetted against the sunset, her elegant silhouette unmistakable. She raised one hand in a small gesture that somehow conveyed both command and affection.

"My ride," Tracy said with a wink, then nudged Andy with her shoulder. "Good night, huh?"

"The best," Andy replied.

They stood in companionable silence as Tracy sauntered toward Arabella, the voices of the others echoing up from the garden path. After they left, Liesa hugged Sam tightly and kissed her, sashaying away and leaving Sam and Andy alone again.

Andy turned to Sam, and found her already watching him, the ghost of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“Next week?” she said.

He nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”