"I’m not budging," Irina said, sitting on the edge of the stage and hugging her knees. Her shoulders were shaking. "I can’t. There might be... people. Or more monsters. I’d rather just die here."
Lena, who had been unsuccessfully trying to scrub a particularly sticky patch of webbing off her thigh, straightened up. Her fury toward the 'Bloke in the Dressing Gown' for just swan-off, and toward the Archivist for what he’d done to them, was seething inside her, replacing her missing symbiote power.
"Irina, look at me," Lena said, grabbing her friend’s shoulders and giving them a shake. "Right now, we aren’t heroines. We’re walking fan-service. Is that what you want? Do you want some 'Drooling Spectator' to find you here and finish what that spider started?"
Irina shook her head, tears blurring her eyes.
"Then get up and move. That bloke mentioned a laundry room. Laundry means clothes. Clothes mean armour. And armour is our only chance to get our powers back."
She turned to Nate. The pirate—now without a ship or trousers—stood leaning against a piece of broken scenery, staring blankly at her bare feet. There wasn't a trace of her former arrogance left.
"Oi, 'Queen,'" Lena called out. "Are you with us? Or do I have to carry you on my shoulder?"
Nate slowly raised her head. Her mascara had turned her eyes into black pits in her pale face.
"My shooters..." she whispered. "My ranking... If anyone sees me like this, I’ll..."
"If you don't pull yourself together right now, the only things seeing you will be the maggots eating your corpse," Lena cut her off harshly.
She knew this wasn't the time for pity. They needed a leader, and unfortunately, she was the only one fit for the job.
"We’re moving. I’m point, Irina in the middle, Nate bringing up the rear. Keep your eyes peeled. Any movement, we hit the deck and stay out of sight."
They climbed down from the stage into the service corridor. It was colder here. The crimson glow of the 'Red Sector' barely reached this far, replaced by the dim flicker of emergency lights. The concrete floor was freezing against their bare feet. It smelt of damp, mould, and rusted iron. It was the "corridor of shame."
Every step was a struggle. They felt incredibly vulnerable. Without their costumes, they had become nothing more than three frightened girls in a labyrinth of nightmares.
[System: Warning! You are in a danger zone without equipment. Threat level increased. Your defence is 0.]
"Cheers, Cap," Lena hissed, pressing herself against the wall.
A rustling sound came from ahead. Lena gestured for the others to stop. They froze behind a heap of old metal lockers.
Something drifted down the corridor. It wasn't the zombie-stalkers they’d seen before. It was something more primitive—residual energy from the Archivist. The creature resembled a shadow, a mass of gloom in the shape of... a hand. A massive, ethereal, lecherous hand that felt along the walls and floor as if searching for something to grab.
[Enemy: Wandering Lust (Lvl 1)]
"Oh, please no," Irina squeaked, clapping a hand over her mouth.
The shadow hand froze. It had "heard." The mass of gloom darted toward them with terrifying speed.
"Run!" Lena commanded.
Stealth was out the window.
They bolted down the corridor, not caring where they went, stumbling over scattered rubbish. The shadow was gaining. It didn't intend to kill them. It had another goal. Lena ran last, covering the others. She felt it first. A cold, clammy touch on her buttock, followed by a sharp, humiliating smack. It didn't hurt physically, but it was revolting. As if the darkness itself had decided to demean them.
[Damage Received: 1 (Moral). Debuff Applied: 'Shame'. Your speed is reduced by 10%.]
"You absolute berk!" Lena instinctively tried to summon a blade to lop off the spectral limb, but instead, she only tripped.
"Ow!" Nate shrieked ahead. The shadow had reached her too. "Don't touch me, you freak!"
They ran as spectral hands emerged from the walls and floor, trying to pinch, smack, or grab a bare ankle. It was torture by embarrassment. Every smack was accompanied by a system message and a slowdown.
"There!" Lena spotted a massive metal door ahead with a sign: [Laundry / Technical Staff].
They burst through the door, nearly taking it off its hinges, and slammed it shut, leaning against it with all their weight. A disappointed wail and the sound of scratching against metal came from the other side.
The girls slid down the door to the floor, panting heavily. Their hearts were pounding in their throats. They were flushed red from the running and the shame.
"I hate this place," Nate rasped, trying to cover herself with her arms, though there was little point now. "I hate cosplay, I hate games, I hate everything."
Lena raised her head and looked around. They had found paradise. Or so it seemed. A vast room filled with rows of industrial washing and drying machines. It was warm and humid. It smelt of bleach and floral fabric conditioner—the scents of a normal, civilised world. But most importantly, there were racks of clean towels, robes, and some kind of uniform.
"Clothes..." Irina, forgetting her exhaustion, scrambled toward the nearest rack on all fours.
She grabbed a massive terry-cloth towel and wrapped herself in it as if it were the finest mantle. Lena and Nate followed suit. A minute later, they were sitting on the floor, wrapped in white state-owned towels with the "Expo Centre" logo, feeling like the luckiest people on earth.
"Well," Lena exhaled, feeling the wild tension begin to ebb. "At least we aren't naked. Now we need to find something more substantial. Maybe there are some boiler suits around?"
"Boiler suits won't bring our powers back," Irina said quietly. "Eli, our costumes... they were special. We put our... souls into them. I don't think just any old rag will work."
Lena knew she was right. The symbiote wouldn't bond with ordinary clothes. It needed that specific latex cocoon she’d created.
At that moment, something clattered in the far corner of the laundry. One of the largest machines—a giant industrial unit of chrome steel that took up half the wall—began to shake. Indicators flickered. Steam billowed from the drum. The girls tensed, ready to bolt. Another boss? A Laundry Golem?
But the machine didn't attack. Instead, a voice rang out from a speaker above the loading hatch. It was mechanical, slightly creaky, like an old robot butler from a retro sci-fi flick.
"Greetings, organic units," the Unit said. "Detecting a critical lack of textile coverage on your external shells. Breach of 'Expo Centre' sanitation standards."
The girls looked at each other.
"Er... hello?" Lena said cautiously, pulling her towel tighter. "Who are you?"
"I am the Automated Textile Cleaning and Restoration System, model 'Clean-O-Tron 3000'. But you may call me... the Merchant."
A large screen flickered to life on the machine’s front panel. The familiar blue System interface appeared, but this time it was a shop window.
[Welcome to the Clean-O-Tron Shop!]
[Available Services: Laundering, Ironing, Removal of blood/slime/acid stains, Restoration of epic gear.]
"Restoration?" Nate’s eyes lit up. "You can fix things? Even if they’ve been... destroyed?"
"My databases contain molecular imprints of all costumes registered at the festival," the Merchant droned. "Scanning your biometric data..."
A beam of blue light extended from the machine and swept over the girls.
"Identification complete. User Eli-00 (Agent Vector). User Ryu Kiko (Priestess of Light). User Nate (Space Adventurer)."
Three-dimensional models of their costumes—the very ones the Archivist had destroyed—appeared on the screen. They were whole and gleaming like new.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
"Equipment Status: Critical damage. 99.9% deconstruction. Full restoration required."
"Yes! Yes, we need them!" Irina jumped up, her towel slipping, but she caught it just in time. "Please, give them back to us!"
"Restoring epic and legendary gear is a paid service," the Merchant declared dispassionately. "The cost to restore the 'Agent Vector' set is 5,000 System credits. The 'Priestess of Light' set is 4,500 credits. The 'Space Adventurer' set... hmm, there's a lot of plastic here... 3,000 credits."
The girls froze. They checked their interfaces. Lena had about 700 credits, Nate (who had looted the most) had 1,200, and Irina had barely 400.
"We haven't got that much," Lena said, her voice dropping. "We... we spent everything on potions and upgrades."
"In that case, I can offer you the standard cleaner's uniform," the machine clanked, and three grey, shapeless boiler suits tumbled out of a side slot. "Free of charge."
Nate looked at the boiler suit as if it were a pile of rubbish.
"I’m not wearing that shite. I’d rather go bollock naked."
"Listen, you heap of scrap," Lena stepped right up to the machine. "We need our costumes. Without them, we aren't getting out of here. If we don't get out, the monsters will eat us. If we get eaten, you won't have any customers at all. Simple logic, yeah?"
"Organic logic is primitive," the Merchant countered. "However... System protocols provide a loyalty programme for new users."
The screen flickered.
[Promotion Activated: 'The First Dose is Free!'] [Attention! One-time offer. Full restoration of current equipment for 0 credits.]
"Are you serious?" Nate couldn't believe her ears. "What’s the catch? Do we have to wash someone's skanky knickers for the next ten years?"
"There is no catch. This is a standard marketing strategy to ensure engagement with the economic system," the Merchant explained. "Next time, you will have to pay full price. Do you accept?"
"YES!" the three girls barked in unison.
"In that case, please enter the restoration chamber. One at a time."
The massive circular drum hatch opened. Warm steam swirled inside, and strange blue coils glowed.
"Who's first?" Lena asked.
"Me!" Nate, forgetting all modesty, dropped her towel and, starkers as the day she was born, dove into the drum.
The hatch slammed shut. The machine began to hum. Through the glass, Nate could be seen spinning in a whirlwind of steam and light. It looked gruesome, like she was being put through a blender. A minute later, a melodic chime rang out, like a microwave. The hatch opened.
Nate stepped out of the steam. She looked magnificent. Her pirate peacoat fit perfectly, the gold embroidery shimmering. Her tricorne with its feather was cocked at a jaunty angle. Her boots gleamed. But most importantly, back in her hands were the two heavy, chrome-plated plasma pistols. She raised the weapons, her eye-visor flaring red.
"I'm back, losers!" she burst out laughing, a laugh full of her returned power and arrogance.
"My turn!" Irina, trembling with impatience, dropped her towel and stepped into the machine.
The process repeated. When the hatch opened, it wasn't a frightened girl in her underwear who stepped out, but the Priestess of Light. Her white robe was impeccably clean, the gold embroidery glowing with a soft light. In her hand, she clutched a staff with a crystal pulsing with warm, soothing energy.
"Praise the System..." she whispered, feeling the magic flood her veins once more. A golden halo surrounded her figure again.
Lena was last. She slowly removed her towel, feeling awkward under the gaze (even if friendly) of her now-dressed friends, and stepped into the hot interior of the machine. The hatch closed. The world began to spin.
She didn't feel like she was being washed; she felt like she was being assembled. As if thousands of nano-machines were weaving fabric directly onto her skin. It was ticklish and a bit painful. And then, He returned. She felt the familiar prick at the back of her neck, followed by a hot, dark presence spreading through her veins. The symbiote. It was back, reborn along with the suit. It was angry. It remembered the humiliation. And it wanted blood.
The hatch opened. Lena stepped out. The orange latex hugged her body like a second skin. The turquoise and magenta stripes seemed brighter than before. She felt the weight and might of the suit. Lifting her right hand slowly, she didn't even have to focus. The black sludge erupted instantly, forming a massive, razor-sharp blade with a wet crunch.
She looked at her reflection in the chrome door of the neighbouring machine. Agent Vector was ready for battle.
"Right then," Lena gave a predatory smile, feeling the symbiote vibrate joyfully inside her. "Break's over. Let's find the exit. And god help anyone who tries to smack me again. I'll take their arm off at the elbow."
"Amen," Irina nodded, adjusting her grip on her staff.
"Yo-ho-ho," Nate twirled her pistols on her fingers. "I'm ready to give this place a proper defragging."
The three heroines, once again fully equipped and empowered, stood in the middle of the laundry. They were ready to return to the labyrinth. And this time, they weren't the victims.
The laundry door slammed shut behind them, cutting off the scent of bleach and conditioner. They were back in the 'corridor of shame,' but everything was different now.
"Right then, you shadow-wanking gits," Nate activated her visor, and the corridor was flooded with the red light of her scanner. "Who wants a face full of plasma first?"
She fired a random shot into a dark corner. A bolt of energy slammed into the wall, illuminating a 'Wandering Lust' as it bolted away. The shadow hissed in fear and dissolved into the vents.
"They're scattering," Lena noted with satisfaction.
Her right arm was transformed into a blade; her left rested on the hilt of a new tactical knife she'd found in the pocket of her restored vest. The symbiote purred with the anticipation of violence.
"They can smell the power, the freaks."
They moved quickly and confidently. Irina held the centre, illuminating the path with her staff. Her light seemed brighter now, more aggressive, as if it had absorbed its mistress's resolve. The corridor began to change. The rusted metal walls and flickering fluorescent lights gave way to rough masonry. Beneath their feet, the concrete was replaced by graveyard dirt and dry leaves that crunched as they walked. The air grew cold and damp, smelling of mould and incense.
"Oi, are we sure this is the way to the exit?" Nate stepped over a fake (hopefully) skull with a look of disgust. "Feels like we've wandered into the goth and Tolkien-larper zone."
"According to the map, it's the shortest path to the northern gates," Lena checked her interface. The map in this zone was covered in 'fog of war,' revealing itself only as they moved. "The zone is called... 'Twilight Reach'. Dark Fantasy."
"Brilliant," Nate groaned. "So now we'll have skeletons, vampires, and other various undead with zero sense of humour or style crawling out. I hate fantasy. No blasters, just rusted swords."
They emerged into a spacious hall, styled like the ruins of a Gothic cathedral. High lancet windows were draped with black fabric, through which artificial 'moonlight'—cold blue spotlights—filtered in. Polypropylene gravestones (now seemingly turned to real stone) and gargoyle statues were scattered everywhere. In the centre of the hall, near a ruined altar, someone was crying.
"A mob?" Nate raised her pistols.
"Wait," Lena squinted. There was no red enemy marker above the figure. Instead, a neutral yellow exclamation mark glowed. "Is that... an NPC? Seriously? This game actually has NPCs?"
They approached cautiously. A girl was sitting on the steps of the altar. She wore a tattered medieval dress, once rich, now filthy and in rags. Chains clanked on her wrists and ankles. But the most striking thing wasn't the rags. Furry wolf ears poked out from her tangled hair, and a fluffy tail twitched nervously from beneath her skirt.
"A furry?" Nate lowered her weapons, exhaling in disappointment. "I thought this was dark fantasy, not a pet lovers' festival."
The girl heard them and raised her head. Her face was tear-stained, her eyes an unnatural yellow with vertical pupils.
[NPC Detected: Lyra, the Cursed Maiden (Lvl ???)] [Status: Questgiver]
"Oh, brave travellers!" Lyra’s voice sounded melodramatic, with a slight howl, as if she were overacting in a bad play. "Has heaven sent you to my aid in this hour of sorrow?"
Lena glanced at Irina, who shrugged as if to say, it’s her job to speak like that.
"Maybe," Lena said cautiously, without retracting her blade. "Who are you, and what are you blubbing for?"
"I am Lyra, of the Moon-Shadow Clan," the girl wrung her hands theatrically, her chains clinking. "Evil Inquisitors from the Order of the Silver Hand attacked us during... ahem... during the festival. They seized my beloved, my Vlad!"
"Vlad?" Nate repeated. "Let me guess. Is he a vampire? Pale, in a black cloak, with a broody look?"
Lyra blinked her yellow eyes in surprise.
"Yes! How did you know? He is the fairest of the children of the night, prince of the Blood Rose clan! Our love is forbidden; our clans have feuded for centuries, but we..."
"Stop, stop, stop," Lena said, raising a hand to cut off the flood of clichés. "Long story short: Romeo and Juliet, but with fangs and fleas. You’ve been tied up, he’s been dragged off. Where’s the exit to this zone?"
Lyra looked lost. Apparently, the scripts hadn't accounted for such total disregard for the lore.
"The exit? But... you must help! The Inquisitors have taken Vlad to the Crypt of Despair, beyond these ruins. They intend to perform the Ritual of Purging by Fire! If you do not save him, my soul shall forever—"
"Listen, love," Nate cut in, stepping closer. "We’ve got enough on our plate as it is. We’ve only just come from the laundry, you know? We haven't got time for your soap opera. Just point us to the door and we’ll be off. You wait for the next lot of heroes."
"But..." Lyra looked as though she’d been slapped. "You can't just leave! It's... it's a quest!"
"Watch us," Nate said. She turned and marched toward the massive wrought-iron gates at the far end of the hall, which looked like the obvious exit.
She shoved the gates. They didn't budge. She shoved harder, putting her shoulder into it. Nothing.
"Locked," she noted. "Oi, furball, where’s the key?"
Lyra sobbed.
"The High Inquisitor has the key. He is in the Crypt. With Vlad."
Nate cursed and fired her plasma pistol at the lock. A bolt of energy hit the metal, but instead of an explosion, a purple magical field enveloped the lock. The shot ricocheted off the ceiling, knocking loose a chunk of polystyrene moulding.
[Attention! Passage is blocked by a story barrier.] [To continue, you must complete the quest: 'Forbidden Love'.]
"You've got to be taking the mickey," Lena groaned, staring at the window floating before her eyes. "Is this a railroad quest? Mandatory content?"
"Looks like it," Irina said quietly, walking to the gate and touching the barrier with her staff. It responded with a warning hum. "The System won't let us out until we help. It's like... like a story instance in an MMORPG."
Nate kicked the gate with her boot.
"I hate this game. I hate the devs. And I especially hate vampires and werewolves."
Lena took a deep breath, feeling the symbiote share her irritation. They were being forced into a fight they didn't want. But there was no choice. She turned back and approached Lyra, who was watching them with hope (and the slight smugness of a questgiver who cannot be ignored).
"Fine, tails," Lena said grimly. "You win. We'll save your leech. But if this is a trap, or if there’s no key, I’ll personally turn you into a bath mat. Got it?"
Lyra nodded vigorously, her ears twitching with joy.
[Quest Accepted: 'Forbidden Love'.] [Objective: Infiltrate the Crypt of Despair and rescue Vlad the vampire.] [Reward: Key to the Twilight Gates, Experience, +Reputation with 'Children of the Night' faction.]
"The Crypt is there," Lyra pointed with a trembling hand (she was still in chains, and apparently no one intended to take them off) toward a dark opening in the wall behind the altar, from which a tomb-like chill emanated. "Be careful, brave warriors! The Inquisitors are armed with consecrated weapons and fanaticism!"
"Consecrated?" Irina tensed. "Is that bad for my magic?"
"It's bad for everyone not wearing white robes," Lena snapped, transforming her other hand into a spiked shield. "Right, girls. Enough chin-wagging. Let's hit the dungeon, kill the fanatics, and grab the keys and this Vlad bloke. And try not to step in the melodrama; it’ll be knee-deep in there."
They headed for the passage to the crypt. Three heroines armed to the teeth, cross as anything because they were being forced to play Twilight instead of being allowed to find the car park.