As everyone stands frozen, I take the chance to reload my revolver. The queen storms over, and it becomes clear she is not made for physical activity. It takes her a painfully long time to cross the room.

  “You, you no-good sack of shit, I will rip out your sour intestines and decorate my chambers with them! Now han—”

  I tune out her voice as I always do when people yell. Guess I did learn something working in my dad's furniture store. Huh, she's a lot shorter up close. I wonder how far I could throw her.

  “STOP IGNORING ME, YOU SCALELESS BASTERD.”

  My thought gets interrupted as her fist connects with my chest. It didn't hurt me, but looking at how she clutches her hand and lets out a hiss of pain, it definitely hurt her more than me.

  “GIVE ME BACK MY DAUGHTER, SKINBAG!” she yelled.

  “What are you on about? I ain't got your daughter.”

  “I saw you put her into your pocket,” she says through clenched teeth, looking like she is one dumb comment away from an aneurysm.

  I grab the only living thing in my pocket and use Identify on it.

  “Oh shit, I guess it is.” I point my revolver at the little lizard. “Everyone down on the ground, this is a hostage situation.”

  The queen gives me a flat look and says, “You're gonna put a hole in your hand.”

  I try to find a better angle but can't, so I switch targets and point the revolver at the queen. “Everyone on the ground, this is a hostage situation,” I say while putting the little lizard on my shoulder.

  The queen rubs her eyes as she probably shouldn't have said anything. “Fuck, fine, what do you want?” she says, as angry at herself for getting into this mess but not nearly as angry as she is at me for this whole blunder.

  I grab the queen around the neck and use her as a human? No—lizard shield while I get on the forklift. She seems wholly displeased at my actions, but if it means I will leave, she will endure it.

  I maneuver the forklift and use the prongs to pick up the trolley. I would boast about it, but I don't think anyone here would appreciate the skill it took to do it first try.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  And with every piece of my gear with me, I drive to the door I entered through. The small lizardman army parts in hope I don't hurt their queen. Once through the door, I am greeted by the familiar sight of the dungeon's stone walls, and I take a left, going deeper into the dungeon.

  Once the museum is far enough away, I release the queen, who stares at me, and I pretend not to know what she wants.

  “Give. Her. Now,” she says, her hand outstretched and waiting.

  I let out a sigh. “Fine, here.” I gently put the Lizardman Princess on her open palm, and she says one last thing before I leave.

  “Of all the ones from your kind my people have fought, I have hated none as much as you. I hope truly and utterly nothing good ever happens to you again.”

  I nod along and say, “Fair, but still—fuck you too.”

  With everything wrapped up here, I drive deeper into the dungeon. I don't immediately use Scavenger’s Intuition and just enjoy driving around the forklift. After a few turns, I drop the trolley off the forks and attach it to the hitch.

  I sit on the forklift and think about my next move. I look at my clothes and note that they are torn to shit, so I need new clothes. But I also feel like I don't have enough loot to return to base yet, so I'll be looting a few more summoned buildings before I return to base.

  I am about to activate Scavenger’s Intuition when a goblin walks out of one of the corridors, and I put the next looting spree on hold to harass a few goblins.

  ??? POV

  His lungs burned and his legs ached, but he couldn't stop running.

  She clung to him, her breath shallow and fast. She hadn't said anything in a while—not since her wound started bleeding again.

  He adjusted his grip, one arm under her legs, the other across her back. Cradling her as best he could while sprinting down the dungeon corridors. The dungeon made no sense to him; nothing led anywhere. The more he ran, the more he felt lost.

  Behind them, the bandit's boots hit the ground with awful, measured calm.

  Not running—just following. They couldn't shake him. Somehow, he could follow them. Maybe he had a tracking skill or something similar.

  “You can't keep this up,” she croaked in pain.

  “I can,” he said automatically. “I have to.”

  But he knew—there was no plan, no map. Just the corridors that split, turned, and looped back on themselves. An endless maze that shifted every few hours. And a man with a gun taking his time.

  He turns a corridor and smells something. Something he hadn't smelled in days—exhaust from an engine. And then a voice, far away but loud enough to echo off the dungeon walls.

  “Fear me, you green fuckers—the forklift god cometh!”

  She lifted her head weakly. “Was that…?”

  He froze mid-step, nearly falling over. “No fucking way.”

  The voice came again, closer this time, bouncing off the walls of the dungeon.

  “You green little shits will decorate the forks of my forklift!” What followed could only be called a war cry mixed with the rumble of an engine.

  He laughed. He knew the sound all too well from the late nights he spent online with his friends, playing video games. He felt a smile creep on his face, the sound of the lunatic he knew drowning out the sound of the psycho that follows them.

  With newfound energy, he begins sprinting down the corridors, following the mad forklift-inspired puns and increasingly maniacal laughter. But he had heard it all from him. He whispered, “Grant, you son of a bitch, you better wait up.”