“Are you speciesist? Mr. Inspector! I would expect better from a government official!” Egbert pressed on; it was working oddly well so far. Fred was turning a decided shade of red and trying to figure out a way to not screw himself with his answer.

  “Do you just say no, you can’t care for the poor disenfranchised children to elves like this, or dwarves? Are you a human supremacist!” Egbert hissed out in false outrage.

  Fred snapped his notebook closed in frustration, clipping it back to his clipboard with practiced precision. “Now see here! We at the Unwanted Children’s Bureau are an equal opportunity and care entity! I apologize if you ...misunderstood...my questions; they were perfectly normal and in the best interest of the children. Now! Let's continue the inspection!” Fred attacked back, trying to take control of the situation as it spiraled into PR nightmare territory.

  “Hmm yes, I’m sure ‘Will you eat them?’ is a perfectly standard question…” Egbert said, leadingly. Fred didn’t take the bait, leveling his quill at a cluster of Loot Bugs standing on a pillar near him, hissing angrily.

  Fred gestured again with the quill just a handspan from a Loot Bug; it threw itself from the pillar to leap onto him, but he turned back to Egbert’s pet rock at just the right time for the bug to sail by. “What are these things? I'm barely in your foyer, and we have a dozen violations! Tripping hazards, impalement risk, and slipping hazards that lead to tripping hazards! And you have a roach infestation!”

  “Those are Loot Bugs, sir; don’t be biased. They are a perfectly normal and culturally important part of dungeons.” Fred’s eye twitched at the comment, but he didn’t press the loot bug issue farther.

  “Alright, on to the next room. I’ve seen enough here.” Fred walked towards the difficulty room with quick, clipped steps. Ignoring the ominous “HU, huuu…huuu…” beckoning him back to the pit.

  “Bring the rock!” Egbert shouted. Fred sighed and grimaced deeply as he picked up the cursed-looking pet rock, but he dutifully put it in his blazer pocket as they moved on to the loot pit room. Almost immediately his clipped pace slowed to an almost disbelieving stuttered step as he looked across the room. Blessedly, Mr. Stealy was still banished back to his coin purse for a little while after Joe came through and lantern of doomed him extra hard yesterday.

  Fred sighed. “Do I even have to say it?” He scribbled furiously on his notepads once again.

  “Yes,” Egbert said flatly. I will guilt-trip, cajole, or bribe this bastard into giving me what I want!

  “It’s a trap room, Greed, full of falling hazards, designed to be freaking falling hazards, with actual traps spread all around and, based on the spattering of bloodstains here and there, dangerous even for fully classed adventurers.” Damn, I knew I should have cleaned those stains up. It's not my fault Jeb apparently needs more iron and to learn how to duck properly.

  Physical fitness is important for youngsters?” Greed tried lamely. Fred looked at his pocket rock like it was stupid before carefully walking around the edges of the pit and into the village. He made it halfway down the street before making a slow spinning turn to really take in the sheer decrepit haunted ambiance of the place. “Is this where you intend to house them?” Fred asked while pushing on a slightly rotting porch with his foot.”

  Damn, this isn’t going well; I need an ace up my sleeve. Egbert looked around for a moment before he saw IT pretending to be all adorable next to the butcher's stall. Remorse was slowly, desperately shuffling away from the “puppy” as it snuffled at his poorly hidden toes. Aha, foolproof.

  “Never mind that, Fred, I got them a puppy!” Egbert hissed out. At the sound of his voice the “puppy” happily raced over to greet the new guest in a tumbling, endearing array of hops and excited twirls. Fred’s face finally lost some of its “sucking on a lemon” look as he reached down and picked up the “puppy.” He started making slightly uncomfortable “Who’s a good puppy? You! Who's the cutest? You!” Baby, talk to the puppy. Yes, melt his heart, hopefully not literally, but at this point, meh...

  Fred set the puppy back down before addressing Egbert again, notepad in hand. “Sir, you have three hundred and forty-seven points deducted from your suitability score so far; do you wish to continue the examination?” That doesn’t sound...great...

  “How many can I miss and still pass?” Egbert asked if it was a couple hundred; he could probably put some childproofing up and call it good.

  “Seven” was Fred’s harsh answer. That's some unreasonable standards. This is why you don’t have more orphanages! Well, drat, I don’t think I’m going to pass unless we come to an “understanding.”

  “How much gold ya want to give me some rugrats?” Egbert said “diplomatically.”

  Fred’s eyes narrowed down to annoyed slits before he simply reached into his breast pocket and plucked the pet rock out. He set it on the ground in the middle of the street and turned to leave. Gah, the honest ones are so much harder to work with!

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “Wait, wait, wait!” Egbert said frantically, “I’m sure we can work something out!”

  Fred halfway turned as he walked away, his face practically screaming how over the ridiculousness of this situation he was. “Why do you honestly even want to open an orphanage? Greed—nothing about this place screams altruism or a deep abiding need to help the less fortunate.”

  Egbert had one last desperate ploy he had hoped deeply not to have to employ: honesty. “Tax exemption! It can’t cost me more to feed and house a passel of little snotty problems than the crown will want from my gains!”

  Fred stopped leaving. “Well, at least that finally seemed to be an honest answer. You realize to have that kind of exemption, you would actually have to care for them and make sure no one gets eaten.” He gestured at Remorse, who was ever so slowly creeping down the street towards him in ridiculous “you don’t see me” tiptoeing steps.

  “Yes, of course!” greed answered, seeing light at the end of the tunnel.

  “There…are certain deferments we allow for facilities that house our more troubled youths.” Fred started an idea obviously crossing his mind.

  “Wonderful, send me the meanest little shits you got!” Egbert practically begged.

  Fred's eyebrows rose. “Careful what you wish for...we have a handful of...problem children that no facility so far has been able to handle; they are looking at work camps at best or jail at worst in most cases. No promises, but I'll speak to the head office on this situation and to the kids themselves. But seriously, you need to make them some damned actual housing, not whatever deathtrap this is.” Fred gestured widely at all of the village.

  “Deal!” Egbert shouted as Fred made his escape. Remorse still slowly skulking down the street towards him in short bursts. Well hells, that might have worked? What do I care if they don’t do their homework or play nice at school? I’m a damned dungeon. House 'em, feed 'em, keep 'em alive—I can manage that! Otherwise, if my math is right, I already owe the damned crown something like ten gold that I very much so do not have.

  Alright, what now… I have a bit of gold. The village is about ready to start making money, but no one goes in the damn thing yet… It needs…something…something to spice up the search for the right keys… I can put one of those fancy blue powder jars in the chest as a reward. There is the carrot; I hope I still don’t know what the hell that stuff actually is. Now for the stick… something to add some pressure beyond just the mimics…

  Egbert started sorting through the store again, back into the nearly endless pages of available monsters, looking for something that would be a constant pressure but not an existential threat. He already had Boo for that, and people could pay to not have to deal with the murder spider. He needed something that was always just a part of this room. Oh, that’ll probably do it.

  [Pygmy Myconid Ravager Hive] [2 Gold]

  Myconids are what happens when mushrooms, hate, and evolution conspire to make some of the most unfeeling, single-minded, all-consuming plant-based predators in the Forsaken Lands. Standing taller than most men with maws that can gobble down the most heavily armored fighter and dissolve them mercilessly in unfathomably powerful acid. It brings the simmering remains back to the hive to feed the queen stalk and continue the never-ending hunt.

  This isn’t quite that… When times get tough and food gets short...nature finds a way. In this case that way was downsizing the hell out of themselves so they all didn’t starve. You get all the great features mentioned above but in a slightly less terrifying, fun-sized package. Still dangerous if you ignore them but less likely to annihilate parties of adventurers.

  See, this could be perfect. I have enough gold, and all I have to make right now is a path down for Max. Oh, and make the super brats somewhere to live…maybe they would like tavern living? No, I can’t risk Max getting the tax exemption and not me.

  Egbert winced as he spent the two gold and placed the Hive on the very edges of the room nestled into the overflowing fungal garden that was already here when he moved in. It plopped down among the other mushrooms without much fanfare; it was a squat, strange thing the size and shape of a dozen pumpkins jammed together if they had one single giant mushroom cap on top of each of them. The unassuming purplish flesh on its side quivered for just a moment.

  The first pygmy myconid ravager shot out of the side of the mushroom like it was launched from a catapult in a hissing frenzy of glowing green and stubby angry little arms with the world's smallest claws jutting from the stumpy ends like an afterthought. Ha, ha, hahahah. Oh my gods, that thing looks like it's more of a danger to itself than anyone else. Oh, if any of the adventurers die to that, I won’t even feel bad; that would be truly embarrassing.

  It was shaped like a lumpy tube with smaller lumpy tubes for arms and legs and an oversized mushroom cap on top. The whole thing was a meaty purple color with a pair of beady eyes set far on the sides of its mushroom cap. The whole cap split horizontally as its mouth madly opened and closed hungrily like a barrel lid being jiggled around. Acid flowed freely from its bizarre mouth and the ends of its tiny claws, leaving sizzling green trails as it prowled forward.

  It would have all been utterly terrifying, Egbert was sure. If it wasn’t for the fact the Ravager was the size of a pissy house cat and had immediately squared off with one of the cave spiders that was in the wrong place at the right time. Yes, you got this awful little fungal mistake of the gods; clear out my spider problem!

  The Ravager threw itself psychotically at its arachnid opponent, eschewing all attempts at self-preservation or technique in exchange for a simple and surprisingly effective strategy. Hug it and bite it; repeat until dead. The Ravager wrapped its arms around the surprised spider, chomping down over and over ineffectively until suddenly its acid burned through the grotesque, sloshy spider. It popped like the world's vilest water balloon, practically deflating into an empty sack attached to spider legs and a head.

  The ravager didn’t miss a beat stuffing the remains down its top like it was a trashcan and waddling towards the next nearest spider. Ha, you guys might be my new favorites! Kinda worried you might be a bit too ineffective, though... The hive quivered for a moment and popped another Ravager into the room. Wait, how many of them is it going to make before it stops?