When the cheers die and the lights fade, what happens to the heroes after their moment of fame?

  Brom had no idea what the victory looked like outside the Dungeon. Were there fireworks? Did something flicker across the sky for everyone to read like the second coming of the sky clock? He was exhausted, not physically, but spiritually and mentally. He stood there, his sneakers beat to hell, his jeans shredded more than an '80s guitar solo, and what remained of his shirt was fused into his skin where both had been burnt together.

  He smelled faintly of rotten fish, rust, and oil, water dripping in a puddle next to him.

  Around him were people with vacant expressions, like the old war photos of young soldiers in the trenches. Some people were weeping openly. Some were just numb. It seemed they'd all been at varying stages of progress, some coated in eel goop, others vomiting up the nasty feast into the waters of the harbor. A few looked at him and nodded, a look of understanding in their eyes. They'd been inside.

  Behind him, City Harbor was still full of yacht debris, but the CHYC was missing. The pier leading to it had been reduced to charred cinders, the pilings it sat on looked bitten off. The more he observed, the more he recognized the damage from Yacht Sothoth's final charge in. The damage looked so significant in the light of day, and yet he couldn't help but feel relieved. The waters of the harbor were that clear grey, and the air smelled of clean ocean salt.

  He laughed, leaning on the railing, the tired laugh of a done-in man.

  A notification drew his attention to his HUD, but he ignored it for now, he already had the reward he wanted. The other four health bars were still shining in his vision. The kids were okay. Wherever in the crowd they were, they had made it out with minor scrapes. He'd have to invite Alex and his folks for a thank you dinner sometime. No doubt that healing was the reason all of them seemed relatively robust, not to mention the boon it had been to Brom in his time of need.

  It didn't take the teenagers long to find him, shuffling their way through the crowd with a far more subdued energy than they'd gone in. He was still angry at TJ for not listening to him, but he couldn't muster the energy to act on that emotion. He just reached out a raw hand and ruffled the teen's hair. "I think I'm gonna head home, kiddo."

  "Yeah, that might be best, Mister B. Before you get mobbed." Rudy leaned against the piling next to him, hands in his pockets. "That feed clip is already starting to spread."

  "Feed clip?"

  "Like, the one in the notifications? From the dungeon?" Maxine looked genuinely sympathetic.

  Nobody had ever cleared a dungeon before. This was the very first time anyone had dealt with one. Nobody had any idea that when a dungeon was first cleared, a highlight reel was posted alongside the celebration message. No lights in the sky. No fireworks. Just a zone-wide notification.

  [Congratulations to Players Brom Jones, TJ Jones, Alex Ruddle, Maxine de'Lange, and Rudy Vazquez!]

  [You were the first players to clear the Event Dungeon 'Into the Maw'!]

  [Players TJ Jones, Alex Ruddle, Maxine de'Lange, and Rudy Vazquez cleared the Persuasion Path without joining the cult!]

  [Player Brom Jones, you cleared the Survival Path! This is a solo achievement!]

  [Please enjoy these select highlights from the world first clear!]

  The following video was well put together, almost professionally so. It seemed that the Dungeon, or whatever entity(s) were responsible for recording it, had access to any angle they wanted. It was all there for anyone to look at. Brom punching out the lampreys. Launching himself out of the window and into Yacht Sothoth's maw. Him dragging the chains hand over hand. Then, finally, him steering the monster into the CHYC.

  There were plenty of clips of the teens mixed in as well, explaining how they'd gotten into Yacht Sothoth and what they'd been up to while inside it. Brom would have to rewatch those sections later, after the horror of being exposed faded a bit. Because now all these people who'd seen the feed clips were looking up and staring at him. Some were horrified. Some were respectful. Some were calculating.

  Under the watchful eyes of all these people, he calmly pulled up his map and activated the 'return to home' option.

  He kept his eyes closed a little longer than he needed, just breathing in the clean air for a few moments. No salt. No rust. No bilge. Just rain, damp moss, and spruce. Never had he been more grateful to see that ratty lawn, ugly despite being mowed. That tired porch that was sagging just a little bit. That roof that desperately needed new shingles. Several crates sat near the front door, the groceries he'd ordered... that seemed like a lifetime ago.

  The cats sensed something was wrong. Alice didn't try to escape, instead she sat on the steps and passed judgment on him with her ice-blue eyes. Marble didn't rush to get under his ankles, instead watching from the back of the couch as Brom bought the grocery boxes in. Brulé loafed on a table, making soft noises at him, like she was reassuring him. Sabbath stood at the edge of the living room carpet, head tipped to the side as if cataloguing his food person's hurts. Bean had gotten him stuck on top of the fridge an hour ago, he couldn't have caused a problem if he'd wanted to, instead merping to signal his need for rescue.

  It was abnormal how they were all respectful of his space. Normally, they'd have a million demands, rushing him to make sure he knew them. At least by now, he should be getting yelled at for litter and food. He checked the clock in his menu.

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  He'd only been gone five hours. Not twenty-four hours. Not thirty hours. Five.

  Time worked strangely in dungeons.

  But that gave him time to clean the litter boxes. To dole out the food. To rescue Bean. To put groceries away.

  He threw out his clothes and tied the bag. He didn't want this stench in his house. He didn't want any fucking reminders of what he'd just been through. He took yet another long, hot shower, this time noticing that the hot water never seemed to run out. Magically efficient. The System at work, changing things behind his back. Making the familiar unfamiliar and expecting him not to question it. He wasn't going to. Who bitched about infinite, free hot water? Not Brom Jones. Not when he was getting coated in heinous shit every day.

  A decision was made. To put on comfortable clothing that had meaning to him. Good mental vibes. Shit, he didn't want ruined. It was a statement to the universe. He was done right now. He was going to sit down in his chair, and he was not going to get up again. Drop a fucking meteor on him or end the world again. He had been at this for two days, and he was already sick and tired of adventure.

  He made himself a rice dish for dinner. Simple comfort food, just rice with bacon, egg, onion, and cheese. He'd have loved to do more, but the grocery store hadn't had peppers. Maybe eventually the System would get the global economy working again, and folks would have access to the fruits and veggies they'd come to enjoy. Or maybe regional foodstuffs were the new name of the game, a return to the basics of years gone by? Fuck, Brom hoped not. That would suck.

  The beauty of this new reality was how easy it was to ignore everyone and everything. Sure, he knew there were messages in his inbox, but the notification marker was easy to dismiss in the corner of his vision, muted and driven away. He sat with his meal, shooing away the inquisitive cats that were lurking despite their own dishes being full. Despite missing most of his usual spices, the rice today tasted especially good.

  Maybe being alive to eat it was the best seasoning.

  He looked at his shredded palms, tender against the ceramic of the bowl, stinging a little as the warmth irritated the injuries. He didn't have the resources to bandage them or put ointment on the burns on his arms and legs from the chains. He just sat there, feeling them, all these hurts that built into a symphony of pain from which there was no escape. Pain was not a detrimental status effect, his barbarian physique didn't shut it off. It might have mended his broken bones and burst organs because those caused physical detriments, but the actual pain? Yeah, those bones were bruised, and those organs were tender. Every time he lifted a forkful of food to his mouth, his back reminded him he'd fallen multiple stories.

  Part of him wanted to shrug it off. This spreading section of his mind that was already working under the System's influence passed on to the rest of him. It wanted to deny him the human quality of negative emotions associated with the pain, playing up his actions and his survival. Brom was very used to swallowing his hurts, both emotional and physical, downplaying it all on his own. This wasn't that, this wasn't unhealthy denial. This was that same sensation as how he had never felt the mental shock from murdering all those goblins. How he'd been so casual about killing the siren. How, being faced with the abject horror of elderly people who'd carved out their eyes, he'd been more horrified by that stupid king crab aspic dish.

  "Stop it."

  His voice was quiet but firm in the room.

  "Stop trying to take away my humanity."

  He didn't need the system rewiring him into a plastic action figure, puppeteered through ever-increasing moments of horror with an excited smile on his face. Why had it chosen him for this when there were probably people in prison who already had the mentality it was trying to foster? Why, out of the billions of human lives it was ruining, had it chosen good old Brom Jones to put through this?

  "You're like a toxic partner, you know? You took one look at me and said, 'I can fix him'. I wasn't fucking broken. I was doing just fine all on my own. I was clean. I had a job, a real one that I fucking hated, but it was paying the bills. I had goals in my life, like fixing up this house, things to look forward to. For the first time in my life, I had a real sense that I could turn things around, and you've taken that from me. For your own fun and entertainment."

  There was a soft touch to the back of his hand, Bean's soft orange fur rubbing against him. The little sausage had climbed up and now was attempting to charm his way into Brom's food dish. Having gotten his owner's attention, he put one plush little paw on Brom's wrist and murrped at him hopefully. Bean knew better than to just stick his face in Brom's food, all the cats did, but Bean never seemed to learn that begging Brom for human food didn't actually work.

  Brom put the dish on the side table, picking up the sausage cat and pulling him onto his chest, scratching the base of Bean's ears until that long body started to vibrate with a small purr. "Hey, Bean buddy. At least you're still here, right?" Had it been any cat other than Bean, Brom might have thought they sensed his emotional state and came to comfort him. Bean though? Bean really had just wanted to try and get some of the food.

  And maybe if Brom were a bit more like Bean, he'd be just as happy as the sausage cat was.