Discount Dan

I hit the wall with a whoomph and a host of white stars danced and cartwheeled across my vision. I blinked several times in utter disbelief, not trusting my eyes because what I was seeing was impossible. Standing guard over the stairwell exit was a skeletally thin creature with maggot-white skin, six arms protruding from its gaunt torso, and an honest-to-God toilet for a head.

A tag flashed above it.

Dweller 0.023A – Janitorial Handyman [Level 3]

“This restroom is for employees only,” the Janitorial Handyman said. Its voice burbled and gurgled like mud stuck in a drainpipe. “You are not an employee. You do not belong in the Lobby.” A thick purple tongue slithered out of the toilet bowl, dripping fat beads of glistening blue drool. “You will be removed.”

Without waiting for my perfectly reasonable response, the monster lurched toward me, quickly eating up the distance between us with its long legs.

My mind raced through all my available options in the split second I had before this thing tried to eat me.

I could run, but that was the worst option by far. The exit door to the stairwell was locked and I’d shut the door to the bathroom to prevent the nightmarish Lobby Greeters from sneaking up on me while I had my back turned. I’d be able to get the door open, but it would take precious seconds that I didn’t have to spare.

My next option was the Slammer, still gripped in my left palm. The spell timer had reset, so I had two minutes of relative safety, but there was one major problem: The interior of the spell dome was larger than the inside of this bathroom. If I activated it here and now, I had no idea what the hell would happen. Maybe the dome would repel the creature or—and this seemed more likely—the monster would wind up trapped inside the magical cage with me.

That left me with only one plausible option.

One really shitty option…

Mind made up, I acted without another second of hesitation.

As the creature raced toward me, I flipped onto my ass and lashed out with a brutal front kick, smashing my boot into one of the creature’s bony kneecaps. This thing was legitimately horrifying in appearance, but it had all the muscle mass of an anorexic six-year-old, plus it was tall and top-heavy, thanks to its many arms and the porcelain toilet perched atop its slender shoulders.

My foot connected with a crunch, and the monster’s knee bent in a direction knees aren’t supposed to bend. The Janitorial Handyman let out a screech, equal parts pain and rage, as it lost its footing and toppled to one side. Its bulky toilet head crashed into the sink, busting it from the wall and damaging the connecting pipe in the process. There was a rumble and a hiss as a gush of water arced through the air and splashed onto the tile floor in a steady drizzle.

Despite its injuries, the janitor quickly scrambled back to its hands and knees.

Its wounded leg dragged along the floor, but that didn’t seem to deter the monster too much. Thanks to all its extra arms, it was able to easily maneuver along the floor like some kind of human centipede. There was another sharp crack and its legs arced up behind it in a “C,” making the creature appear less like a centipede and more like a hell-scorpion ripped out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting.

The black toilet lid flipped up, and from this angle, I could see that there were five gleaming, insectile eyes set into the underside of the lid. The toilet bowl contained a bloody red throat, and the lip of the seat was ringed with curved, undulating teeth. The fleshy tongue poked over the edge and waggled back and forth in hungry anticipation.

Every single thing about this was horrifying and it had ruined one of my single favorite pastimes—sitting on the john while I scrolled on my phone. Assuming I survived the next ten minutes, I was never gonna be able to look at a toilet the same way again.

Instead of immediately advancing and pouncing on me like a feral hound, the Janitor tilted forward, lowering the edge of the seat until it was nearly flush with the ground. It shook its toilet bowl mouth back and forth, disgorging several black slug-like creatures onto the floor. Each was about a foot long, completely eyeless, and had a circular, suction cup mouth ringed with even more teeth.

Dweller 0.051D – Janitorial Toilet Snake [Level 1]

Great. Perfect. Just when I thought this place couldn’t get any worse, it proved me wrong yet again.

The trio of Toilet Snakes slithered toward me, leaving gooey slime trails in their wake.

Even though my ribs ached and my head felt fuzzy, I fought my way to my feet. I bolted left and snatched up my hammer, then pocketed the Slammer and pulled free my demolition screwdriver. I’d made it this far and I wasn’t going to roll over and die for anything. Motivated by a potent cocktail of fear, disgust, and a primal urge to survive, I brought one boot down on top of the nearest Toilet Snake, popping it like an overripe tomato. Strings of white gore spurted out, sizzling against the tile.

These things were filled with acid. That’s just what I needed.

Suppressing the violent urge to vomit, I turned and punted the second snake, knocking it across the room and into the mirror. The thing popped like a meaty water balloon on impact—dead before it could pose any real threat. The third, however, disappeared behind the padded chair. Not having eyes on the gross, slimy son of a bitch made me uneasy, but I had an even bigger threat to deal with.

The Janitor let out a gurgling bark and launched a blue spitball at me.

I ducked on instinct, narrowly avoiding the loogie of death, which splattered all over the wall behind me with a terrible hiss. Instead of launching another ranged attack, the monster lunged for me, its prehensile tongue darting toward my throat like a striking cobra.

I sidestepped the attack and batted aside the flailing tongue with my gloved hand before it could latch on.

At the same time, I brought the hammer crashing into the side of the Janitor’s porcelain head, knocking the ugly son of a bitch to one side. The Janitor skittered along on its many arms and hands, quickly regaining its balance. Before I could get some much-needed distance, it lurched sideways, slamming one boney shoulder into my chest. I staggered back but a lanky arm shot out and snagged my ankle, jerking me off my feet for a second time.

I landed on my back and my head bounced off the tiles, sending a jagged lance of pain into my skull. The fall knocked the wind from my lungs, and before I could even try to get a breath, the Janitor was on top of me.

Still wheezing and struggling for air, I jammed one foot into the creature’s gut and pushed. It was stronger than it looked, but with my leg propped up between us, it couldn’t give me the swirly to end all swirlies. I lashed out with the hammer, this time targeting one of its hands, still pressed against the floor. The blunt tool landed with a satisfying crunch as fingers snapped. The creature recoiled, giving me just enough space to slam the hammer into the creature’s ribs once, twice, then a third time.

It let out squeals of pain, but instead of falling back, it redoubled its efforts and threw itself at me with even greater fervor. It raked jagged fingernails across my chest. The attack sliced through my undershirt and left a trio of deep gouges in my skin.

I flipped the hammer around with a growl and drove the pry claws into the monster’s bony bicep. The claws punched through the papery-thin skin and sent out a spurt of sludgy black blood. This time the creature retreated, but it tore the hammer from my grip in the process.

The Janitor regarded me for a long moment with its utterly alien, insectile eyes. I eyed him right back, trying to evaluate my chances of survival. This thing had expected an easy kill, but I’d made it bleed for its assumptions. A deep crack ran along the toilet tank, which leaked bloody fluid to the floor. Its pale ribs were now as black as fresh asphalt. One leg was still busted to hell, an arm dangled uselessly at its side, and one of its hands was little more than mangled pulp.

I was in better shape, but not much.

Gritting my teeth, I struggled back to my feet, using the tiled wall behind me for leverage.

The creature let out a chittering sound, and a second later something heavy dropped onto my shoulders from above.

The last of the Toilet Snakes—the one that had taken cover behind the padded chair before I could finish it off. A slimy tail wrapped around my right arm then the little monster latched onto my pec with its flat, suction-cup mouth. Razor-sharp teeth sawed down, and my exposed skin began to burn from the Toilet Snake’s caustic saliva.

With an inhuman roar, the Janitor barreled straight into me, smashing a shoulder into my gut, doubling me over. Several pairs of unnaturally strong arms wrapped around me, lifting me off the floor and squeezing me tight in a deadly bear hug. While I struggled fruitlessly against the crushing limbs, the Janitor’s purple tongue wrapped around my throat, cutting off the already meager flow of oxygen heading for my lungs.

Fingers of darkness were reaching in from the edges of my vision and I knew I didn’t have long. I still had the screwdriver in my hand; I angled the flat edge of the blade upward, then drove it into the monster’s abdomen with my last ounce of strength.

The screwdriver—designed for demolishing brick and stone—easily pierced skin and muscle, sinking all the way up to the handle. A gush of warm fluid washed over my glove, and the arms squeezing me to death eased just a hair. I gasped, pulling in another vital breath, then fumbled the utility knife from my tool belt with fingers that were going numb. I pushed the blade out with a thumb, then swiped up, slicing deep into the meaty tongue wrapped around my throat like a living noose.

The monster squealed and stumbled backward on uncertain feet.

I drove the utility knife into the flat, black head of the Toilet Snake, still clinging to my chest like an overgrown leech. Acidic blood spurted out and the creature dropped to the bathroom floor.

One swift stomp splattered the slug beyond recovery.

The Janitor was staggering, its tongue whipping back and forth in a pained frenzy. Shattering its kneecap hadn’t done shit, and it hardly even noticed its pulped hand, but its tongue? Its tongue was very sensitive, it seemed.

My hammer was still hanging from the monster’s arm and the screwdriver was planted in its guts, but luckily I had more weapons at my disposal.

I drew out my speed square with the soft whisper of metal on leather.

The speed square was actually a large triangular piece of steel with a smaller triangle cut out in the center of the tool. Every handyman, carpenter, or general contractor carried one since they were the best tool around for measuring, cutting, and determining angles on the fly.

I had a different purpose in mind.

I gripped the flat edge of the tool in my right hand, so the triangular edges were facing outward—transforming it into a makeshift, modern-day punch dagger.

While the Janitorial Handyman stumbled around drunkenly, I grabbed its flailing tongue with my left hand and pulled the creature toward me while simultaneously driving the triangle into the creature’s thin and frail throat.

The speed square wasn’t particularly sharp, but I rocketed the tip of the triangular tool through its esophagus anyway.