The moment they stepped off the floating Arena onto the narrow mountain path leading further along the ridge, it hit them.
"Oh... bugger..." Nate stumbled over thin air. Her knees buckled. Her glowing energy-thong, which only a minute ago looked like the height of cyberpunk fashion, was now flickering dimly like a battery in a dying torch. "Girls... my legs have packed in. Completely. I feel like I’ve run a marathon in six-inchers."
Lena tried to steady her, but she could barely keep her own feet. The "Void Harness," which usually provided incredible freedom of movement and ventilation, now felt like it was made of lead. Every strap bit into her exhausted body. The symbiote within had gone quiet, curled into a limp, sleepy lump somewhere near her solar plexus.
"It’s the comedown," Lena rasped, wiping sweat from her brow. The cold mountain wind, which had felt bracing before, now only made her shiver. "We gave it two hundred percent. Berserker mode, Dragon form... we’ve burnt through every resource we had."
Irina brought up the rear, leaning on her staff like an old woman. Her scaled bikini and the tattered remnants of her silk cape looked pathetic. The golden glow in her eyes had vanished, replaced by a deathly fatigue.
"I want to lie down," she whispered. "Right here. On the rocks. And sleep for a thousand years."
Rollo, the only one still full of beans (apparently hedgehogs recover faster, or his cheat-code nature didn't consume stamina), rolled ahead, looking back impatiently.
"Oi, you muppets! Shift it! We’re in the open! There could be mobs about! Sniper-goats or randy yetis!"
"If a yeti turns up, I’ll surrender just so he carries me to a bed," Nate muttered grimly.
They trudged along the ridge for another twenty minutes that felt like an eternity. The path snaked between jagged rocks, climbing higher and higher. The clouds were left below; above them, the sky darkened into a deep, almost cosmic indigo. Then the path dipped around another bend, and the group froze.
A mirage. A hallucination of a brain inflamed by exhaustion.
Before them, in a massive natural bowl at the peak of the mountain, lay a complex of buildings. It looked nothing like the grim Crypts, the mad "Looking Glass" world, or the climbing hell they’d just escaped. It was a true oasis. The buildings were styled after a traditional Japanese ryokan mixed with the pomp of Roman baths. Curved roofs with red tiles, columns of polished wood and stone. Cherry blossoms were in full bloom everywhere (how they survived at this altitude was a question for the System), and pink petals drifted from the branches.
But the main thing was the steam. Thick clouds of white, fragrant steam rose from a multitude of open-air pools on the terraces. From within came the sound of splashing water and quiet, relaxing music—something between a harp and the sounds of nature. Above the main gates hung a massive sign written in elegant calligraphy:
[THREAT LEVEL: ZERO. ZONE OF ABSOLUTE RELAXATION.]
"Am I dreaming?" Nate pinched her thigh, right where the micro-shorts of her forcefield ended. "Ow! Right, not dreaming. Eli, tell me this is real."
"If it’s a trap, it’s the cruelest one in the world," Lena said, taking a step forward, feeling the warmth from the springs drift even this far, melting the frost on her straps.
As soon as they crossed the invisible boundary of the location, the world around them shifted. The System interface, usually hovering in the periphery, suddenly expanded to full screen, flashing an alarming red.
DING!
[ATTENTION! GAME MECHANIC CHANGE!]
A new bar appeared before each girl’s eyes. Massive, red, and pulsing.
FATIGUE: 100% (CRITICAL LEVEL)
[SYSTEM MESSAGE:] CONGRATULATIONS, HEROINES! YOU HAVE OVERCOME MANY TRIALS, DEFEATED BOSSES, AND SHOWN INCREDIBLE WILL TO WIN. BUT EVEN THE STRONGEST WARRIORS NEED REST. YOUR BODIES AND SPIRITS ARE EXHAUSTED. FURTHER PROGRESS IS IMPOSSIBLE.
[STORY QUEST ACTIVATED: "THE ART OF RELAXATION"]
[OBJECTIVE:] REDUCE FATIGUE FROM 100% TO 0%.
[CONDITIONS:] YOU CANNOT LEAVE "HEAVENLY BLISS" OR USE COMBAT SKILLS UNTIL THE BAR IS RESET.
[REWARD:] +5 LEVELS TO EACH PARTY MEMBER. FULL RESOURCE RESTORATION. UNIQUE PASSIVE SKILL: "SERENITY".
"Five levels?" Nate’s eyes went wide. "Five straight levels?! Just for... having a wash?"
"It’s... it’s too good to be true," Irina said, looking at the gates with suspicion. "Nothing in this game is given for free. There must be a catch."
"What catch, Ira?" Lena was already hobbling toward the entrance, drawn to the hot water like a magnet. "Are they going to make us scrub the floors? Or will the masseur turn out to be a vampire? I don't care. I’d agree to anything for five levels and a hot bath."
"Oi! What about me?!" Rollo rolled up to them, his glasses flashing indignantly. "I want five levels too! and a wash! My quills are all dusty!"
An NPC administrator stood at the gates. A tall, incredibly beautiful elf woman in an exquisite kimono, with a flawless smile and a tablet in her hands.
[NPC: MIKO, MISTRESS OF THE SPRINGS (LVL. ???)]
"Welcome to Heavenly Bliss, weary travellers," her voice purred like a mountain stream. "We have been expecting you. Your exhaustion is plain to see. Please, come inside. All procedures for the Heroes of the Festival are on the house."
She invited the girls inside with a graceful gesture. Rollo darted after them, anticipating paradise (and perhaps some new "camera angles").
"Halt!" Miko blocked his path firmly but gently with a fan.
"My apologies," her smile didn't waver, but her voice took on a steely edge. "This establishment is strictly for humanoid female entities. Pets, familiars, as well as males and... indeterminate hedgehog-like beings are not permitted inside."
"WHAT?!" Rollo’s jaw dropped. "What do you mean, pet?! I’m Rollo! A speedrunner! The saviour of these noobs! I’m level 20 with jet-sneakers!"
"Rules are rules," Miko pointed her fan at a small sign by the entrance they hadn't noticed. It featured a crossed-out hedgehog in glasses, a crossed-out camera, and a crossed-out tentacle. "A zone of absolute comfort and privacy. No irritants allowed."
"Irritants?! Me?!" Rollo gasped with indignation. He turned to the girls for support. "Eli! Nate! Tell her! We’re a team!"
The girls looked at each other. They were tired, they were filthy, and they saw a paradise of hot water and free levels before them. Behind them, they saw a noisy, lecherous hedgehog who had spent the whole journey staring at their backsides.
"Sorry, Rollo," Lena shrugged without a shred of pity. "It’s a girls' club. Business is business."
"Yeah, go for a stroll, Spike," Nate waved him off. "Go find a... I don't know... a lady hedgehog."
"Ira! You’re the kind one! You’re a Priestess!" Rollo looked at Irina with his last hope.
Irina, remembering her fall on top of him in the Looking Glass world and his comments about "textures," gave a sweet smile.
"Get some rest, Rollo. It’ll do you good to have some fresh air. Go meditate."
The friends walked inside, leaving a fuming, betrayed hedgehog craving vengeance at the closed gates of paradise.
Inside "Heavenly Bliss," it was even better than outside. The air was warm, humid, and infused with the scents of jasmine, sandalwood, and exotic oils. The polished wood floor was heated—their frozen feet throbbed with pleasure instantly.
Miko led them to a luxurious changing room. The walls were lined with cedar; there were soft ottomans and massive mirrors that (miracle of miracles!) didn't try to show your worst nightmares, but instead flattered you slightly, smoothing over the bruises and scrapes.
"Your outfits..." Miko grimaced delicately at Lena’s harness and Nate’s thong. "I’m afraid they are quite unsuitable for the procedures. Too aggressive. Here, you must relax completely."
"With pleasure," Lena was the first to start unbuckling. The symbiote, sensing safety, retracted deep into her body, leaving its host a mere human again. She cast off the harness, standing completely nude. In this place, nudity felt as natural as breathing.
Nate deactivated her generators. The forcefields vanished.
"Phew," she stretched, her joints cracking. "Finally. Those magnets were chafing like mad."
Irina, feeling a bit bashful, removed her scaled bikini. Miko handed them light, weightless silk yukata robes with floral patterns.
"Your first procedure is the 'Royal Deep Relaxation Massage'," she announced. "We must break down the muscle knots after such... intensive exertion. This way, please."
She slid open the doors to the massage wing. A dim hall lit only by candles. Three massage tables draped in snow-white towels stood surrounded by incense burners. That same quiet music was playing. At each table, a Masseur waited.
The girls froze in the doorway, their jaws dropping in unison.
They were giants. Standing nearly eight feet tall, with shoulders as wide as the doorway. Their bodies were perfection—as if carved from dark marble, with muscle definition that would make any pro bodybuilder weep with envy. They were dressed only in loose linen trousers. Their skin glistened with oil.
But there was one "but." They had no heads. In place of a neck, each had a smooth, rounded stump that looked like polished stone.
[NPC: HEADLESS ADONIS-MASSEUR (LVL. 50)] [TYPE: MAGICAL CONSTRUCT / ELITE STAFF] [FEATURE: ABSOLUTE SILENCE, PERFECT TECHNIQUE, ZERO LEVEL OF JUDGEMENT.]
"Er..." Nate backed away, clutching her robe to her chest. "Miko, darling, did the heads not come in with the latest shipment? Is this some new species of fetish, then?"
"Do not worry," Miko smiled. "These are our finest specialists. The lack of a head is an advantage. They do not chatter, they do not ask silly questions, they do not judge your appearance, and they do not get distracted. They are purely functional. The function of pleasure. Please, lie down."
The girls exchanged looks. The situation was surreal, slightly unnerving, but... those bodies. Those arms, looking as if they could snap a steel crowbar, yet currently slick with oil and ready for work.
"In for a penny, in for a pound," Lena said decisively, approaching the central table. "After a Dragon and an Inquisitor, nothing scares me anymore. And my back hurts so much I’d let King Kong have a go if he’d just rub it out."
She shed her robe and lay face down, nestling her face into the hole in the headrest. Nate and Irina, after a moment's hesitation, followed suit.
"If he tries to throttle me, I’m summoning the Dragon," Irina whispered, lying on the adjacent table.
"And if he starts doing something else... I might not actually object," Nate giggled, settling in.
The masseurs approached the tables. Their movements were fluid, silent. And then it began.
Lena felt massive, hot, oily palms settle on her shoulders. Not just a touch. A statement. A declaration that her body was about to be dismantled and reassembled. The very first movement—a strong, deep stroke along the spine—made her moan out loud.
"Oh... bloody... hell..."
It hurt. Her muscles, seized up after the battles, resisted. But it was that "good pain," bordering on ecstasy. The headless giant knew his business. His fingers, like steel pistons, found every knot, every spasm, and kneaded them ruthlessly yet carefully. The symbiote inside Lena, which had initially tensed at the foreign touch, now relaxed and seemed to be enjoying itself too, receiving a passive massage.
Nearby, Nate was groaning.
"Oh yes, darling... right there... yes, a bit lower... Oh god, you’ve got magic hands... or whatever you have instead of them... Are you hitched? Do you definitely not need a head? I could get used to this..."
Irina tried to keep it together. She was a Priestess. A Dragon. It was unseemly to...
A massive hand settled on her lower back and began slow, circular motions, working out the muscles exhausted from wearing that heavy habit.
"Mmmph..." Irina buried her face in the towel to stifle the sound. Warmth flooded her body, tension drained away, giving way to a thick, honeyed languor. She felt small and defenceless in those huge hands, and to her horror and shame, she was loving it.
The session lasted an hour. Or an eternity. Time flowed differently here. They were kneaded, rubbed, and stretched. The Headless Adonises worked in sync, silently, with terrifying efficiency. It was on the edge. The edge between therapy and something far more intimate. They touched everywhere—thighs, glutes, stomach. But there was no lust in the touch, only pure technique and power.
When the massage ended and the giants dissolved into the shadows of the hall, the girls remained lying there like puddles of melted bliss.
"Can't move," Lena muttered, her eyes still closed. "I think he’s rearranged my skeleton. But I feel amazing."
"I want to marry him," Nate declared, rolling onto her back with glazed eyes. "Seriously. Why does a bloke need a head if he’s got hands like that?"
Irina just lay there, red as a beetroot, trying to gather the remnants of her dignity. Miko entered the hall soundlessly.
"How was the procedure? I trust our specialists lived up to expectations?"
"Oh, yes..." the girls exhaled in unison.
"Excellent. Now, let us look at your progress."
They struggled to sit up, covering themselves with their sheets. The System interface expanded before their eyes.
[FATIGUE BAR]
They expected to see zero. Or at least ten percent. After a massage like that! The red bar flickered and retreated... barely.
[CURRENT LEVEL: 80%]
"What?!" Lena nearly fell off the table. "Eighty?! Only minus twenty percent?! You’re taking the mick! I’ve just been kneaded by a headless hunk for an hour, I feel like a newborn, and the System says I’m still a corpse?!"
"Outrageous!" Nate chimed in. "I demand to see the manager! And a second session! With two masseurs at once!"
Miko maintained her unflappable smile.
"Patience, heroines. The massage only removed superficial physical tension. Muscle knots, lactic acid. But your exhaustion runs deeper. It is in your energy channels, in your magic, in your soul."
She pointed her fan toward a door at the back of the hall.
"This is only the beginning. To reach zero, you must pass through the entire complex. Specialised baths, steam rooms, and... certain private zones await you. Each is designed for a specific type of fatigue."
"It’s a quest," Lena realised, her inner explorer (and accountant) waking up to the challenge. "Not just a holiday. A puzzle. We need to figure out what exactly is tiring us out and find the right procedure."
"Precisely, Agent Vector," Miko nodded. "And remember: the clock is ticking. The longer you stay here, the harder it will be to truly relax."
She left them alone. The girls looked at one another. Bliss was replaced by determination.
"Right, girls," Lena stood up, wrapping her robe tight. "Forget the relaxation for a second. Use your brains. Objective: reset this bloody counter. We try everything in this place until we find what works."
"Sounds like the best quest of my life," Nate smirked.
"I’m already scared," Irina whispered, but she stood up too.
They left the massage hall and entered the main complex—a labyrinth of pools, steam rooms, and mysterious chambers, each promising a new, unseen pleasure—and a new key to the riddle of their exhaustion.
After the massage had turned their tortured bodies into molten wax, the girls, wrapped in weightless silk yukatas, drifted (they were far too lazy to actually walk) into the hot springs zone. This wasn't just a bath; it was a ritual.
Massive open-air pools, carved into natural stone, steamed against a backdrop of snow-capped mountain peaks and blooming cherry blossoms. The water—a milky blue, rich with minerals—seemed to draw the exhaustion straight out of their bones.
But the real surprise was the service. No sooner had they submerged themselves in the hot, blissful water than carved wooden tray-boats drifted toward them.
"Oh my god..." Nate groaned, leaning her back against the hot stone of the rim. "Is that sushi? And sake?"
The trays had everything: the freshest seafood, exotic fruits sliced into intricate shapes, chilled carafes of wine and hot sake, and tiny pastries.
'Unlimited consumption for mana and health restoration,' Lena read the tooltip that popped up, pulling a tray of Philadelphia rolls toward her. "Girls, I am officially declaring my love for this game. I take back everything I said about hell. This is paradise."
The symbiote inside, mellowed by the heat and the influx of nutrients, was purring lazily, releasing waves of endorphins into Lena’s blood. She felt fed, tipsy, and utterly content.
Irina, letting her hair down, floated on her back, staring at the darkening sky. Her dragon essence, usually demanding gold and power, was now completely pacified by the warmth.
"I could stay here forever," she whispered, taking a bite of a peach.
Hour followed hour. They ate, drank, napped in the water, and chatted lazily about nothing. The war with the Inquisitors, the mirror labyrinths, the dragons—it all felt like a distant, unreal dream. Reality was only the warm water and the taste of wine on their lips. The fatigue bar slowly crept down.
[CURRENT LEVEL: 50%]
As darkness fell, Miko appeared. Her smile was as flawless as ever, her steps silent.
"Ladies," her voice purred. "Are you ready for the next stage? We have prepared an individual 'Chamber of Secret Desires' for each of you. There, your fatigue shall vanish completely."
"Secret desires?" Nate perked up, finishing her sake. "Sounds intriguing. Will there be blokes? Or money? Or blokes with money?"
"There will be whatever your soul craves," Miko answered evasively.
They were led down different corridors.
Nate entered a room where the walls were solid screens. As soon as she crossed the threshold, the screens flared to life. She saw herself. Millions of images of her. In the energy-thong, in the pirate outfit, in a bikini. She was everywhere. And beneath every image, real-time counters were spinning.
Likes: 10,000,000. Subscribers: +500,000 per second. Donations: $999,999.
A chorus of ecstatic voices rang out from everywhere: "Nate, you’re a goddess!" "Queen!" "I want to have your kids!" "Best cosplay in the galaxy!" In the centre of the room stood a throne of pure gold, encrusted with diamonds. Nate, drunk on sake and the sudden avalanche of fame, collapsed onto the throne. A wave of absolute, narcotic happiness washed over her. No more fighting for attention. Victory. The whole world loved her. She closed her eyes, basking in the adoration.
Lena found herself in a jungle. Primal, dark, and thick with the scents of blood and fear. Here, she wasn't Elena Nikolaevna, the chartered accountant. She wasn't even Agent Vector. She was a predator.
The symbiote coated her body entirely, turning her into a perfect killing machine while keeping her mind razor-sharp. She felt the power of every muscle, the keen edge of every claw. Shadows flitted around her—enemies. Inquisitors, goblins, mirror-clones. But now they were weak. They were prey.
She hunted. She ran faster than the wind, leaped higher than the trees, and tore her enemies to pieces with her bare hands, reveling in her invulnerability and absolute rule. No rules, no responsibilities, no worrying about the school run or the mortgage. Just pure, wild power. The ecstasy of liberation.
Irina ended up in a cave. It was warm, cosy, and carpeted in the softest down and... gold. Here, there was no need to choose between a habit and a bikini. She was the Dragon Priestess in a shimmering white gown. Dragons were everywhere—tiny, golden ones that nuzzled her like kittens. And people—parishioners—who looked at her not with judgement, but with awe.
"You are perfect, Ryu," they whispered. "Saintly and strong. You saved us all."
She lay back on a mountain of gold and feathers, hugging the little dragons. The guilt regarding her mother, her "wrongness," and her flashes of rage simply vanished. She was accepted. Loved for exactly who she was. She was home.
By midnight, when Miko led them out of their rooms, the girls resembled somnambulists. Their eyes were clouded with happiness, their movements fluid and syrupy.
[CURRENT FATIGUE LEVEL: 30%]
They were taken to their suite. It wasn't just a room; it was an imperial penthouse. A vast hall with a panoramic wall-to-wall window revealing the moon over the mountains. In the centre sat a bed the size of a small yacht, draped in silk and down. They collapsed onto it.
"I’m... never... leaving... this... place..." Nate murmured, burying her face in a lavender-scented pillow.
"Mm-hmm..." Lena agreed, hugging Irina. The symbiote inside was fast asleep.
A slumber, the deepest and sweetest of their lives, swallowed them whole.
Morning met them with bright sunshine and birdsong. Lena opened her eyes, feeling incredible. No muscle aches, no heavy head. She was full of energy, as if reborn.
DING!
A massive system message floated before her.
[QUEST COMPLETE: "THE ART OF RELAXATION"] [FATIGUE LEVEL: 0%] [REWARD GRANTED: +5 LEVELS!] [ELI-00: LVL 25] [NATE: LVL 25] [RYU KIKO: LVL 27] [YOUR RESOURCES ARE FULLY RESTORED. YOU ARE READY TO CONTINUE YOUR JOURNEY!]
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
"We did it!" Irina sat up, her hair shimmering with gold. "Zero fatigue! We got the levels!"
"Oh, yes!" Nate stretched, her joints giving a satisfying crack. "I feel like a million quid. Ready to kick any boss’s arse."
"Perfect," Lena stood up, feeling a surge of professional drive. "Let’s get sorted. Where’s our gear? We need to find the exit and head for the Tower. Rollo’s probably frozen to a bench by now."
They started looking for their things. Suddenly, the door slid open silently. A serving trolley rolled in, shimmering in silver.
Freshly baked, steaming croissants. Bowls of strawberries and whipped cream. A crystal carafe of fresh orange juice. A coffee pot radiating the divine aroma of Arabica. Blinis with caviar. Truffle omelettes. Miko followed, glowing with morning freshness.
"Good morning, great heroines! Congratulations on completing your recovery. Before you leave us, please, sample our signature 'Imperial Breakfast.' It’s on the house."
The girls’ stomachs gave a treacherous growl. They were full of energy, but... that smell.
"Well... maybe just the coffee?" Lena said uncertainly. "A quick bite and then we’re off?"
"Of course, just coffee and a croissant," Nate nodded, already taking a seat. "Rollo can wait another ten minutes. He won't fall apart."
They sat down to breakfast. It was heavenly. Every morsel melted in their mouths, triggering a fresh wave of pleasure. Miko placed a beautiful, gold-embossed scroll before each of them.
"And this is your schedule for today. Since you’ve recovered so wonderfully, we suggest solidifying the results. 10:00—chocolate body wrap. 12:00—rose petal and champagne bath. 14:00—Tibetan singing bowl sound therapy. And in the evening, a gala dinner in your honour, featuring the Festival’s finest geishas."
The girls stared at the schedule. Chocolate wrap... champagne bath...
"Sounds... alright, actually," Irina murmured. "Maybe stay one more day? Just to make sure the effect sticks?"
"Yeah, what’s the rush?" Nate slathered a thick layer of caviar onto a blini. "The Tower isn't going anywhere. We’ve earned a bit of a holiday."
Lena looked at her hands. The symbiote was sleeping. It was warm, delicious, and cosy. The thought of putting that stiff harness back on, stepping out into the cold, and fighting monsters felt so distant. So wrong.
"One day," she decided, sipping her coffee. "Just one more day. We’re definitely leaving tomorrow."
Day 3.
"Eli, pass us those grapes, would you?" Nate asked lazily, reclining in a bath of warm milk and honey.
"Mmm..." Lena, who was having her feet massaged by two headless Adonises, waved a hand toward the fruit bowl. She was too lethargic even to speak.
They had forgotten. Forgotten the Tower. Forgotten the levels. Forgotten the game where every step was a struggle for survival. They had forgotten Rollo. "Heavenly Bliss" had swallowed them. It was the perfect trap. Not a cage with bars, but a soft featherbed from which escape was impossible. Every whim was granted instantly. The food grew more exquisite, the procedures more pleasurable, the desire chambers more enticing.
Their willpower had atrophied like muscles in zero-G. They had turned into contented, well-fed, lazy cats, capable only of purring and rolling from one side to the other.
Meanwhile, outside.
At the gates of "Heavenly Bliss," Rollo sat on a cold stone, seething with indignation.
"'Girls' club'! 'Irritant'! I’ll give them... I’ll... This is discrimination! Pure hedgehog-phobia!"
He kicked a pebble with a trendy skate.
"And those... traitors! Dumping me! Trading me in for hot water! Who glitched the boss for them? Who found the path? Honestly, there’s no justice in this world."
He looked at the high walls of the complex, topped with sharp tiles and what looked like a magical barrier. Climbing over wasn't an option.
"Right then," Rollo adjusted his glasses. A Plan began to form in his blue head. "Speedrunners don’t quit. If we can’t use the front door, we find a texture glitch."
He scouted the perimeter, inspecting every stone and every crack. He was looking for a weak spot. And he found it.
"Right, Rollo," he said to himself. "Time to go back to your roots. You’re a hedgehog. And hedgehogs... they can get in anywhere."
He engaged the afterburners on his skates, gained speed, and... dived into a pipe against the current, like a torpedo. It was grim. Cramped, dark, and reeking of soap and other people's filth. The rush of water tried to flush him back out. He scraped his quills against the pipe walls; his wheels spun in the slime.
"I’m not doing this for them!" he huffed. "I’m doing it for the content! For the 'Bathhouse Infiltrator' achievement!"
After what felt like an eternity, he saw light at the end of the tunnel. And a grate.
"No problem." Rollo pulled a tiny laser saw from his quills—loot from some tech-goblin.
Five minutes of work, and the grate gave way. Rollo tumbled out of the pipe straight into the massage hall. It was empty and quiet, save for the smouldering incense. But from the next hall, he heard voices and the splashing of water. The hedgehog dusted himself off (as best he could), straightened his crooked glasses, and rolled on his tiptoes toward the sound. He peeked from behind a screen. He froze, forgetting to breathe.
Before him was the main hot springs hall. And there they were. The three friends. Stark naked, lounging in a massive pool filled with rose petals.
"Oh. My. God," Rollo whispered. His glasses fogged up from the inside. "This... this is the best level in the game. Twelve out of ten."
The sight was so impressive that for a moment he forgot why he’d come. He just stared, zooming the image, trying to burn every detail into his memory (and possibly onto his glasses' built-in camera). But then he noticed something else. Their faces. They were vacant. Relaxed, yes, but lifeless. Their eyes were half-closed, and gormless, mindless smiles were frozen on their lips. They moved slowly, as if through thick syrup.
"Oi, Eli! Nate!" Rollo called in a whisper.
Zero reaction. Lena lazily rolled onto her back, exposing her face to the steam, without even turning her head.
"They’re like zombies," Rollo realised, and a chill ran down his spine despite the heat. "This isn't a holiday. It’s a lobotomy."
He had to save them. But how? If he just jumped out and started shouting, they wouldn't even hear him. Or worse, the headless hunks would show up and give him a massage he wouldn't get up from.
Rollo ducked back behind the screen and switched on "Gamer Analysis Mode."
"Right. A trap. But every trap has a mechanism. Where’s this buzz coming from? The water? The air?"
Rollo sniffed. The incense smelled too sickly sweet. The water was too blue. He looked at the steam rising from the pools. Switching his glasses to maximum zoom and spectral analysis, he saw it. The steam wasn't just water; it was filled with tiny, shimmering purple runes. Magic. Powerful magic of illusion and mental subjugation.
"Aha! Found it! Magic drugs! Enchanted steam!"
But where was it coming from? Rollo began to trace the steam's path. It rose from the water, but the water was piped in. He rolled along the wall, sticking to the shadows, until he found the inlet. A massive stone wall at the far end of the complex, decorated with a bas-relief of a sleeping dragon. And a door. Unobtrusive, a service entrance disguised as part of the rock. At the door stood two Headless Adonises, their massive arms crossed over their chests. Guards.
"In there, then," Rollo decided. "The server room. The bliss generator."
He had to get inside. But how do you get past two Level 50 tanks when you’re a tiny support-hedgehog? Rollo smirked and pulled a rubber duck from his quills. A yellow, squeaky one.
"Distraction Manoeuvre: Operation Mallard," he whispered and chucked the duck to the opposite end of the hall, straight into a pool of chilled wine.
SPLOSH!
The headless guards turned their stump-necks in perfect sync toward the sound. That was all the time he needed. He engaged the afterburners.
WHOOSH-CLACK! A blue blur shot between the giants' legs while they were still buffering and darted through the slightly ajar door.
Rollo found himself in a dark, sweltering room that looked like a boiler house. No luxury here—just pipes, valves, and the hum of machinery. In the centre sat a massive cauldron over a violet magical fire. Glowing crystals were being fed into the pot via a chute, and out poured the rune-laced steam, funnelled directly into the ventilation system.
Standing by the cauldron was Miko. She wasn't smiling. Her face was focused, hard. She was stirring the brew with a massive sceptre.
[ENEMY DETECTED: MIKO, MISTRESS OF ILLUSIONS (LVL. 35)] [TYPE: SUCCUBUS-ALCHEMIST]
"Crap," Rollo thought. "I've been rumbled."
Miko looked up and spotted the hedgehog.
"You!" she hissed, her beautiful face distorting for a moment to reveal her true, demonic nature, complete with fangs and horns. "You filthy little rodent! How did you get in here?! You’re ruining the whole batch!"
"Me? Ruining it?" Rollo adjusted his glasses, trying to look cool despite his knees knocking. "I’m the Health and Safety inspector! I’ve come to check your drug-manufacturing licence! And guess what? It’s expired!"
Miko swung her sceptre. "I’ll boil you in the pot with the rest of the ingredients!"
Rollo knew fighting was pointless. He had to destroy the source. The cauldron. He looked at the massive tank, the violet fire, and the pipework.
"Right then," the hedgehog said. "Time for a bit of a system overload."
The boiler room reeked of sulphur and impending doom. Rollo, the tiny blue hedgehog on jet-skates, hurtled toward destiny embodied in a giant magical pot.
"Out of the way, you half-baked succubus!" he squeaked, darting under the feet of the enraged Miko.
The witch tried to grab him with a clawed hand, but caught only air and a couple of blue quills.
"You wouldn't dare!" she shrieked, realising his intent. "You’ll destroy everything!"
"That’s the plan, darling!" Rollo engaged his afterburners to the max. His wheels glowed white-hot.
He didn't brake. He used his body as a projectile. The hedgehog curled into a tight, prickly ball and, at near-supersonic speed (well, almost), slammed into the base of the cauldron, right where the magical fire licked the metal and the crystal-feed pipes were thinnest.
WHAM! CRACK! HIIIIISSS!
The impact was so violent that Rollo was thrown against the far wall. He slid down, dazed, with his glasses on the back of his head. But the deed was done. The crystal-feed system had cracked. Magical fuel flooded directly into the open fire. The cauldron began to howl and vibrate. The violet flame turned a toxic green, then a blinding white.
The steam pressure spiked to critical levels. The runes on the pipes leading to the main hall glowed with unbearable brightness before bursting with a deafening crack.
"NO! MY BUSINESS!" Miko rushed to the cauldron, trying to stop the inevitable with her bare hands, but was thrown back by a shockwave.
The cauldron detonated. It wasn't just a steam explosion—it was a magical discharge that tore the fabric of the illusion apart.
In the main hall of the hot springs, time stopped. The sickly sweet smell of incense was instantly replaced by the acrid stench of burnt rubber, ozone, and rotten eggs. The pleasant, relaxing music cut out with a horrific screech, like a needle being dragged across vinyl.
The magical violet steam enveloping the pools turned a dirty grey, acrid and cold. As it dissipated rapidly, it revealed the ugly reality.
Lena, lying in the warm water with her eyes closed, felt a sudden jolt. The blissful languor that had shackled her mind for the last three days burst like a soap bubble, leaving behind a horrific mental hangover. She snapped her eyes open and sat up, coughing and spitting out water that had suddenly turned sticky and foul.
The first thing she saw was her own nudity. They were stark naked.
The second was the massive, oily, muscular hand of a Headless Adonis, which continued to mechanically soap her shoulder.
"What the..." Lena jerked away, shoving the hand off.
She looked around. The rose-petal pool was now a stagnant puddle filled with rotting weed. Floating nearby were the scraps of "imperial breakfasts" and empty bottles.
Next to her, in a similar state of shock, sat Nate and Irina. Both naked, wet, and bewildered. And both were still being "serviced" by the headless giants. One was massaging Nate’s foot; the other was pouring water over Irina from a ladle.
"What... what’s happening?" Nate shook her head, trying to focus. "Where’s my buzz? Why do I feel so... minging?"
Irina looked at the giant looming over her. Before, he had seemed the embodiment of care. Now, she saw only a soullyess mountain of meat, a golem programmed for...
"Get your hands off me!" Irina shrieked, instinctively covering herself. A golden flame flared in her eyes—the dragon within had woken up and was bloody furious at being put to sleep.
"Girls," Lena’s voice was as cold and hard as steel. The symbiote had woken with a start, and its rage was even more potent. It felt cheated, used. "We were drugged. This is a crack den."
"What?!" Nate scrambled up, slipping on the pool floor. The water barely reached her waist, revealing everything. "These things... they... us..."
The realisation that they had spent three days in a narcotic haze, naked, surrounded by headless dolls while a succubus-madam (and possibly others) watched, hit them with a wave of burning shame and fury.
"WHERE. IS. OUR. GEAR?!" Lena roared, turning to her "masseur."
The Headless Adonis didn't react to the change in his client's mood. He simply reached for her neck to continue the massage.
"I said—piss off!" Lena punched him.
No symbiote, no weapon—just a bare fist. But it held so much spite that the giant staggered. At that moment, Rollo stumbled out of the service door, wreathed in black smoke and coughing his lungs out.
"Cough-cough! Ladies! Wakey-wakey! The party’s over! I’ve blown the bar to bits!"
"Rollo?!" Irina stared at him. "You... you saved us?"
"Well, sort of! Now, let’s leg it before the rest of the guards show up!"
"Not until I’ve got my clothes on and burnt this place to the ground!" Nate snapped.
"Guards! Seize them!" came Miko’s hysterical shriek.
The mistress of the springs, covered in soot with her hair dishevelled and her red eyes blazing, appeared in the doorway. Behind her, dozens of Headless Adonises flooded into the hall. They didn't look like masseurs anymore. They were clenching their fists and moving like combat golems.
"You’ll pay for the damage!" Miko screamed. "You’re staying here forever! You’ll be working it off in the budget class!"
"Get in line, bitch!" Lena vaulted out of the pool. Naked, wet, and angry as a hornet.
"Ira, Nate! Find our gear! I’ll hold them off!"
"You're naked!" Irina cried.
"I don't care! Symbiote, to me!"
She strained her will, summoning the power. The symbiote, though stripped of its host-suit, answered her rage. Black sludge began to ooze directly from her pores, forming spiked knuckledusters on her hands. It hurt—her body resisted without the harness—but she didn't give a damn.
She lunged at the first giant. A spiked fist slammed into the headless neck. The golem staggered but didn't fall. It swung back. Lena ducked beneath the blow, sliding across the wet floor between its legs.
"Nate, move it!"
Nate and Irina scrambled through the hall, overturning screens and benches.
"Found it!" Nate shouted, dragging the climbing suits from beneath a pile of towels. "They’re here!"
They began to dress with feverish haste. Never before had pulling on "energy-thongs" and "gecko harnesses" felt so desirable. It wasn't just clothing. It was armour, dignity, and power.
Lena, fending off two golems at once, took a glancing blow to the ribs and was sent flying against the wall.
"Eli! Catch!" Nate threw the bundled harness.
Lena caught the suit mid-air. There was no time to dress. She simply pressed the harness to her chest.
"Integration!" she commanded.
The symbiote, sensing its familiar structure, surged toward it. Black straps and latex pads seemed to come alive, swarming over her body and melding into her skin. A second later, Agent Vector stood in full battle readiness. She straightened up, and with a wet crunch, fully-formed bladed axes took shape on her arms.
"Right then, boys," she smiled predatorily at the advancing headless hulks. "The massage is over. The amputation begins."
Nate, already in her glowing thong and top, activated her plasma cannons. They hummed as they powered up.
"I demand a full refund for this holiday from hell!" she yelled, opening fire.
Irina, throwing on her torn cape and scaled bikini, raised her staff. Gold flared in her eyes once more.
"You defiled us," her voice vibrated with a draconic growl. "You turned our rest into a prison. Burn."
The battle in the bathhouse was short and savage. The golems were strong but sluggish. Against enraged Level 25-27 heroines seeking vengeance for their humiliation, they didn't stand a chance. Lena hacked them to pieces, turning marble bodies into heaps of rubble. Nate scorched them with plasma, leaving smoking holes in their torsos. Rollo rolled between the giants' legs, causing chaos and tripping them up.
Miko tried to cast spells, hurling globs of toxic steam, but Irina blocked them with a golden shield.
"Your magic is a lie!" the Dragon Priestess shouted. "Try some real fire!"
She exhaled a jet of golden flame. It struck the wooden structures of the hall. The cherry blossoms, the screens, the roof—everything ignited instantly, as if soaked in petrol (or magical narcotics).
"No! My Heavenly Bliss!" Miko wailed as the fire caught her kimono. She turned into a cloud of smoke and fled through the ventilation.
"Out! Now!" Lena commanded. "The whole place is coming down!"
They burst through the main gates, leaving the blazing complex behind. The smoke from the fire rose into the cold mountain sky, staining it crimson. They stood in the snow, breathing hard. Cold again, wind again. But now the chill felt clean, sobering.
"Cheers, hedgehog," Lena looked at Rollo, who was covered in soot and grime. "If it wasn't for you, we’d still be in there acting like vegetables."
"Forget it," Rollo adjusted his glasses bashfully. "I just got fed up with waiting. And... well... you’re my party. Who else is going to put up with me?"
They stood on the mountainside, blasted by the icy wind, and watched their paradise burn to the ground below. Heavenly Bliss was an inferno. The fire, fanned by Irina’s magic and the cauldron explosion, devoured the carved pagodas, boiled the water in the pools, and turned the blossoming cherry trees into black skeletons. The crimson glow illuminated their faces—filthy, wet, and twisted with rage and the shame of what they’d endured.
"We’re absolute muppets," Lena said, being the first to break the silence.
She stood with her arms wrapped around herself. The symbiote, deprived of even the pathetic harness she had before, had retracted under her skin, leaving her practically naked in the frost, save for a layer of soot and someone else's blood. But the cold was the least of her worries now.
"Мы fell for it like the greenest noobs," she continued, her voice ringing with self-loathing. "First the gingerbread house. Food, warmth. We let our guard down. Then the treasure. Greed. We walked right into the trap. And now this..."
She nodded toward the fire.
"Comfort. Languor. The promise of safety. They drugged us, we were felt up by those headless mannequins, and we were drooling with pleasure."
"They knew which buttons to press," Irina replied hollowly, huddling in the scorched remains of her silk cape. The golden glow in her eyes had faded, replaced by a cold, dark resolve. "Miko... the System... They don’t just want to kill us. They want to break us. Turn us into obedient dolls. Into 'content'."
Nate silently checked her plasma cannons. The energy-thong and top had finally drained and died, turning into useless bits of plastic and wire. She ripped them off and threw them into the snow.
"Enough," she said. The playfulness and bravado were gone from her voice. There was only steel. "I’m not playing by their rules anymore. No more 'ero-traps'. Next time someone offers me free cheese, I’m burning the mousetrap down along with the owner."
Rollo, the only one in relatively decent shape (bar the layer of soot on his quills), rolled quietly over to them.
"Er... ladies. I get it—the drama, the revenge, the whole bit. Но we’re going to freeze to death out here. My bearings are literally rattling. We need to get somewhere warm."
"To the Laundry," Lena commanded. "The only place that hasn't tried to eat or violate us yet. And there’s the Merchant. We need a serious word with that bucket of bolts."
They headed down the path. They walked in silence, moving fast, ignoring the cold. Their rage provided better warmth than any clothing. Every step was stamped into the frozen earth with a determination they hadn't possessed even at the start of their journey. No longer victims of circumstance. They were players who finally understood the rules. And they didn't like them one bit.
The familiar white door with the neon "LAUNDRY" sign appeared at the end of the ravine like a beacon. They stumbled inside, bringing the smell of smoke and the freezing air with them. The warmth of the room, the scent of bleach and ozone—everything that had once seemed like a salvation was now perceived merely as a resource.
The "Clean-Tron 3000" hummed a welcome, its screen lighting up blue.
"Greetings, users. Detecting critical contamination of skin surfaces and... a total lack of equipment. Threat level: Extreme. Immediate—"
"Shut it," Lena walked right up to the terminal and slammed her fist against the metal casing. "Listen here, you rust bucket. The games are over."
"User Agent Vector, your emotional state is unstable. Interaction protocol dictates—"
"I don't give a toss about your protocols," Lena leaned into the screen, her eyes blazing. The symbiote, sensing its host's mood, rippled across her face in black veins. "We know what you’re doing. You, the System, the Administrator—you’re all in it together. You feed us shite, dress us like tarts, and throw us into the meat grinder for the show."
Nate stepped up beside her, slamming her heavy plasma cannons onto the counter in front of the screen.
"We’re not clowns in your circus anymore, Iron-features."
Irina stood on the other side. Her Dragon aura, though invisible now, raised the temperature in the laundry by several degrees.
"We demand the tools for victory. Real tools."
The Unit fell silent for a second, processing the data. Its drives groaned. Apparently, the algorithm wasn't prepared for such a coordinated revolt.
"Request accepted. Specify required tools."
"First," Lena emptied everything they had into the intake tray. The gold from the mimic cave, the credits from killed mobs, every scrap they’d hoarded. The counter on the screen blurred with numbers and stopped at 52,450 credits. "We need a map. A Full Map of the Festival. Every zone, every crossing, and most importantly, the location of the Administrator’s Tower."
"The cost of the Full Map is 50,000 credits. Confirm transaction?"
"Confirm."
The screen flickered as the massive sum was deducted. Then, a holographic projection unfurled.
It was staggering. The Festival wasn't just big; it was monstrously gargantuan. A whole world stitched together from patches of different realities. They saw zones they hadn't even dreamed of: the "Underwater City of Atlanteans", "Radioactive Wastelands", "Sky Archipelago", "Castle of Nightmares"... Hundreds of locations connected by a tangled web of portals, bridges, and secret paths. And in the very centre, standing like the axis of this mad world, rose the Tower. A black spire piercing the heavens.
"The Administrator’s Tower," Nate whispered, looking at the scale of the map. "God... we’re right here, on the very edge, in the mountain sector. To reach the centre on foot, through all these zones... it’ll take months. And thousands of levels."
"We won’t make it," Irina noted. "We’ll be ground to dust in the very first high-level zone. Look, there—the 'Valley of the Shadow of Death'—recommended level 60+. And we’re only 25-27."
Lena studied the map in silence, her accountant’s brain seeking patterns, shortcuts, loopholes.
"There must be a way," she muttered.
"Second requirement," Lena said, tearing her eyes away from the map to face the Unit again. "We need clothes."
"Analysis of current route—" the Merchant began.
"No!" Lena snapped, cutting it off. "No analysis. No more 'System recommendations'. No more 'energy-thongs', 'ventilated harnesses', or 'see-through capes'. Enough."
She stood tall, her silhouette sharp against the blue light of the terminal.
"We aren't characters in some smutty mobile game. We’re cosplayers. We put our hearts and souls into our looks—the real looks we spent months crafting in the real world. The ones that bastard Archivist devoured at the very beginning."
"We want them back," Nate added firmly. "My proper captain’s frock coat. My boots. My hat."
"My ceremonial vestments," Irina said, her voice trembling with a longing for her lost dignity. "The real ones. Heavy, modest, embroidered with gold. The ones that made me feel like a Priestess, not... whatever it is you’ve turned me into."
The Unit buzzed, its indicators flashing a worried red.
"Warning. Request contradicts 'Spectacle Optimization' protocols. Users' original costumes have been deemed ineffective, cumbersome, and detrimental to viewer engagement ratings by the System. Restoration is impossible."
"Impossible?" Lena smirked. It was a cold, dangerous expression. "Rollo."
The hedgehog, who had been quietly studying the map, rolled up to the terminal and adjusted his mirror shades.
"Yo, Iron-features. Ever heard of a 'Forced Factory Reset'? Or a 'Database breach via the debug port'?"
Rollo pulled a universal interface cable from his wrist and twirled it meaningfully in front of the Unit’s camera eye.
"I’ve got Level 20 hacking skills and a right foul mood after being barred from the baths. I can turn your code into a dog’s dinner in five minutes. You’ll forget how to wash a pair of socks, let alone generate gear."
"Is that a threat?" the Unit droned.
"It’s a promise," Lena confirmed. A needle-sharp spike of symbiote formed on her hand, which she held close to the screen. "Either you return OUR things—the original molecular blueprints from the start of the game—or we dismantle you. Right now."
"Ira," Nate added.
Irina raised a hand. A ball of golden dragon-fire—the same stuff that had razed "Heavenly Bliss"—danced in her palm.
"I can melt your processor without even scuffing the casing," the Dragon Priestess said calmly. "It’ll smart."
The Unit went silent. Its cooling fans whirred at maximum speed as it calculated the variables. The probability of surviving a direct assault from three Level 25+ heroes in a confined space was rapidly approaching zero.
"Protocol 'Emergency Situation' activated," the Merchant finally conceded. Its voice sounded hollow. "Forced restoration of original equipment templates commencing... Bypassing spectacle locks... User confirmation required."
"CONFIRM!" the girls roared in unison.
"Please enter the restoration chambers. Warning: this process will be energy-intensive. Original costumes lack system modifiers, however—"
"We don't give a toss about modifiers," Lena said, stepping toward the opening drum. "We need our own skin back."
They entered the machines feeling, for the first time, like they were doing something right. The restoration process was different this time. There were no garish neon flashes or the stinging pain of implants. Just warmth. A soft, enveloping heat, like coming home after a long journey.
the machines hummed for a long time, painstakingly reconstructing every stitch, every detail, every atom of the gear they had made with their own hands in that other world.
When the hatches finally hissed open and the steam cleared, it wasn't victims of the System in armoured bikinis who stepped out. It was the Heroines.
Nate stepped out first. The glowing strings were gone. She wore her original Space Pirate kit: a heavy, long frock coat of midnight-blue leather with silver embroidery, weathered and worn from imaginary battles. Beneath it was a sturdy breastplate, her original mini-bikini (her own choice, thank you very much), and thigh-high stiletto boots. On her head sat a tricorne hat with a lush plume, cocked jauntily to the side. At her waist was a massive holster for her trusty plasma cannons and a genuine boarding cutlass.
She adjusted her hat, and her visor—now integrated into a leather eye-patch—flashed red. She didn't look like a stripper anymore; she looked like a Captain capable of boarding a Star Destroyer.
"Right then..." Nate swung her cutlass, testing the weight. "Now I feel like myself. Yo-ho-ho, you bastards."
Irina followed. No more bikinis. No more sheer capes. She wore the full, multi-layered ceremonial vestments of the High Priestess. Heavy white silk embroidered with gold thread forming patterns of ancient runes and dragons. Wide sleeves, a long train, and a high standing collar that covered her neck. On her head was an intricate gold crown with a fine veil. In her hands, she held a proper, long staff of white wood, topped with a massive, glowing crystal.
It was heavy. It was cumbersome. But it was majestic. The dragon tattoos on her body were hidden beneath the fabric, but the power hadn't gone anywhere. If anything, it felt more potent. Irina stood tall, her aura filling the room with a calm, certain strength.
"Light and Flame," she said, her voice sounding deep and authoritative. "I have returned."
Lena was the last to emerge. She wore the full tactical rig of Agent Vector. A black-and-orange jumpsuit made of heavy, matte material, reinforced with combat plating on her chest, shoulders, thighs, and knees. High tactical boots. A utility vest bristling with pouches. Full-fingered gloves. She carried a fully enclosed helmet with a mirrored visor under her arm.
The symbiote stayed beneath the armour now. It was no longer on display; it had become what it was meant to be—a hidden weapon, a second skin beneath her primary protection.
"The fit isn't perfect, but I'll manage," Lena said, sliding the helmet on. The visor sealed with a pressurised hiss, and the interface flickered to life before her eyes. "Comms check. Systems nominal. Armour integrity at one hundred percent." Her voice from the helmet speakers sounded mechanical, emotionless, and entirely professional.
They stood in a row before the Unit. Three enclosed, protected, fully equipped figures. No longer objects to be gawked at. They were the masters of their own destiny.
"Right," Lena’s voice echoed hollowly from the helmet. "Now we can have a proper scrap."
"And now," Nate said, stepping up to the holographic map still floating in the air. "Let’s find the way to this Administrator and shove that spire right up his—"
"Wait," Lena said, removing her helmet. Her face was focused as she studied the map not as a territory, but as a blueprint. "We aren't going on foot. That’s suicide."
"You have a better idea?" Irina asked, adjusting her heavy collar.
"I do. Look at this."
Lena pointed at the map. First at their current position in the mountain sector—a small icon of a washing machine. The Laundry. Then she slid her finger to another zone, the "Underwater City." Another laundry icon. "Cyber-City." Laundry. "Castle of Nightmares." Laundry.
"It’s everywhere," Lena said. "In every zone, on every level, there’s a 'Clean-Tron'. It’s a network. Like the Tube."
Her finger slid to the very centre of the map. To the base of the Administrator’s Tower. There, in the "Citadel of the Beginning," was a tiny, barely visible washing machine icon.
"It’s even there," Lena’s eyes narrowed. "It makes sense. Even the final bosses and the Administrator himself have to wash their robes somewhere."
"Are you saying..." Nate’s eyes widened as she caught on.
"We aren't going through the zones. We’re going under them. Using this network."
Lena turned to the Unit, which had gone quiet as if sensing it had been rumbled.
"Iron-features. Your doors. They aren't just exits to the next room. They’re portals. You can open a door to any other laundry in the network, can’t you?"
"The transit protocol between network nodes is restricted to 'Alpha' class service personnel and authorised cargo only," the Merchant replied. "User access is prohibited."
"Rollo!" Lena barked. "Your time to shine. We need to become 'authorised cargo'. Or service staff. Hack the navigation system."
Rollo adjusted his glasses, his smirk wider than ever.
"Oh, baby. Hacking the transport network? That’s a speedrunner classic! The teleport glitch! Daddy’s on the case."
The hedgehog plugged into the terminal. His fingers blurred over the virtual keyboard as streams of code raced across the screen, red warnings being replaced by green bypass strings.
"Right then... the security here is tighter than a gnat's chuff," Rollo muttered. "But I’ve got a back-door I found when I was crawling through that pipe... Aha! I’ve found the routing!"
After five minutes of tense waiting, the Unit’s screen flickered and spat out a message:
[ATTENTION! AUTHORIZATION CONFIRMED.] [USER STATUS UPDATED TO: "URGENT CARGO OF SPECIAL IMPORTANCE (THE ADMINISTRATOR'S DIRTY LAUNDRY)".] [DESTINATION: CITADEL OF THE BEGINNING, LAUNDRY NODE #001.]
"Done!" Rollo threw his paws up in triumph. "We are now officially the Administrator’s favourite small-clothes, and we’re in desperate need of a service wash!"
The door of a nearby washing machine, which usually served as the entrance to the restoration chamber, hissed open. But there was no drum behind it. Just a swirling vortex of blue energy—a portal.
"The way is open," Lena said, putting her helmet back on. "Express service to the finale. No stops and no bloody side-quests."
They stood before the portal: three heroines in their true armour and their tiny blue hacker.
"It’s going to be rough," Nate said, gripping her cutlass tighter. "I doubt they’ll be waiting for us with tea and biscuits on the other side."
"Let them try to meet us with fire," Irina said, striking the floor with her staff. The crystal at the top flared with golden light. "I’ll show them what a real inferno looks like."
"Move out," Agent Vector commanded. "Time to end this game."
And they stepped into the blue flame of the portal, heading toward their destiny and leaving the mountains, the ash, and their fears behind.