"Bloody hell..." Nate choked out, instinctively shielding her eyes with her hand. Her visor fogged up instantly before going haywire, flashing a cascade of red warnings.
They had expected another hall of the Exhibition Centre, however vast. But what lay before them couldn't possibly exist in reality. A crater of an active volcano yawned open in front of them—a cyclopean bowl plunging hundreds of metres down. Walls of scorched black basalt bled rivulets of magma that trickled toward the centre. The air, heated to the limit, reeked of sulphur, ozone, and a sickly-sweet scent reminiscent of burnt sugar and sweat.
Below, in the very heart of the infernal cauldron, a rave was raging. Thousands, tens of thousands of creatures thrashed in ecstasy upon a massive platform of cooling lava. The music didn't just play—it exerted physical pressure. A low, visceral bass that made their bones vibrate was overlaid by screeching electronic samples that sounded like the screams of the damned. Strobe lights—red, orange, toxic purple—snatched fragments of the crowd from the darkness. These weren't humans dancing; they were monsters of every description: cyber-demons with neon horns, succubi clad in latex, all merging into a single mass of flesh and metal.
"Rollo," Lena grabbed the hedgehog by the scruff of his neck and pulled him level with her face. The symbiote, feeling the heat (the ventilation system was barely coping), hissed in annoyance. "Where. Have. You. Taken. Us?"
Rollo, whose sneaker wheels were spinning helplessly in the air, nervously adjusted his glasses.
"Er... well... this is the Final Level. The heart of the Festival. Just as you asked!"
"This isn't the Exhibition Centre!" Irina shouted, her voice muffled beneath her heavy woollen hood. In her "sack," she was suffering from the heat more than anyone; sweat was already pouring down her back, yet she stubbornly remained wrapped in her habit. "This is... this is Hell!"
"Technically, it's the 'Dancefloor of Doom' location," Rollo squeaked. "It’s just... the textures haven't loaded quite right. The scale is a bit off."
"A bit off?!" Nate jabbed the barrel of her plasma cannon toward the crowd. "Take a look at them!"
She activated her scanner.
[Enemy: Berserker-Clubber (Lvl. 55)]
[Enemy: Neon Junkie Harpy (Lvl. 60)]
[Enemy: Elite Void Bouncer (Lvl. 75)]
"Fifty-five? Seventy-five?!" Lena gasped. "Rollo, we’re level seven! SEVENTH! You’ve dragged us into endgame content in starting gear!"
"Well... I am a speedrunner," Rollo gave a guilty shrug. "I used a clip-through glitch in the laundry room. We skipped about... er... 80% of the game."
"I’m going to kill you," Lena said flatly. "Right now. It’ll be more merciful than what they’ll do to us."
She nodded toward the crowd. Some monsters at the edge of the platform had already spotted the "fresh meat." Dozens of glowing eyes turned their way. The music seemed to grow even louder, inviting them to join the deadly dance.
"Run! Back to the laundry room!" Lena commanded, spinning around.
But the doors behind them had vanished. A solid wall of glowing basalt blocked their path.
"The way is shut," Nate noted, a hint of genuine, unfeigned fear creeping into her voice for the first time. Her "Power Thong" hummed pitifully, trying to compensate for the volcanic heat. "We’re trapped."
"Maybe... maybe they aren't aggressive?" Irina asked hopefully, peeking out from her hood. "Maybe they’re just... dancing?"
At that moment, one of the "Berserker-Clubbers"—a three-metre mountain of muscle with a chainsaw for an arm and the head of a bull—spotted them. He let out a roar that drowned out the bass and charged across the narrow bridge leading to the platform.
"Shall we find out?" Nate gave an hysterical chuckle. "Fire!"
She raised both plasma cannons and unleashed a point-blank volley. Two massive bolts of energy, which would have one-shotted any Inquisitor in the crypts, slammed into the monster’s chest.
Pshhh.
The plasma simply washed over the armour, leaving barely visible scorch marks. The health bar above the Berserker’s head didn't even flicker.
[Damage: 0 (Absorbed by high-level armour)]
"Fucking hell!" Nate recoiled. "My guns are like water pistols to him!"
The Berserker closed in. Realising there was nowhere to run, Lena dropped into a fighting stance. The symbiote, shrinking into a tight ball, formed axe-blades on her arms. They looked like pathetic toothpicks compared to the enemy's chainsaw.
"Ira, shield! Maximum!"
"Divine Shroud!" Irina struck the ground with her staff.
The heavy habit hindered her movement, breaking her concentration. The shield turned out dim and flickering. The Berserker swung his chainsaw with full force against the golden dome.
CRACK!
The shield shattered to pieces with the very first hit. Irina was thrown back by the recoil, rolling across the stones as she got tangled in her hem. The Berserker wound up for a second strike, aiming for Lena.
"Rollo, do something, you half-baked glitch-monkey!" Lena screamed, bracing to block a blow she knew would break her arms.
WHOOSH!
A streak of blue lightning darted under the Berserker’s feet. Rollo, using his jet-skates, slammed into the monster’s ankle at full speed. It looked like a fly hitting a lorry’s windscreen. With a squeak, Rollo was sent flying, his sneakers sparking and smoking. But the Berserker lost his balance for a second, his swing glancing off Lena’s shoulder. The symbiote wailed. Even a glancing blow from a level 55 mob stripped away a third of her health.
[Damage received: 900! Critical condition!]
"We’re dead," Nate stated, watching as dozens more of the creatures began running toward them. "This is a wipe. No question."
And then, the music stopped. Abruptly. In a single second.
An earsplitting silence hung over the crater, broken only by the bubbling of lava and the heavy breathing of the heroines. The crowd of monsters froze like marionettes with their strings cut. Every gaze turned upward, toward the centre of the crater. There, above the platform, a figure began to form from a vortex of black smoke and golden sparks.
"Oh, no..." whispered Rollo, who had managed to scramble up and hide behind Irina’s leg (which, in her habit, seemed like a safe mound). "It’s her. The Party Hostess. The World Boss. We’ve summoned her too early."
The figure took on flesh. A woman appeared before them. Though to call her simply a "woman" would have been an insult. She was the embodiment of power, style, and absolute, cold contempt for all living things.
She was tall, improbably slender, with the posture of a queen. She wore an outfit that would have been the highlight of Paris Fashion Week, had Paris been located in hell. Her gown was made of black, light-absorbing material resembling obsidian, featuring sharp, architectural shoulders and a train that swept across the lava without catching fire. Her corset was encrusted with living, pulsing rubies that looked like drops of blood. Her face was perfectly beautiful and perfectly cruel, like that of a porcelain assassin-doll. Her white hair was styled in an intricate, high updo resembling a crown or horns. Her long fingers, tipped with black claws, were weighed down with rings.
She descended slowly down invisible steps.
[FINAL BOSS: Madame Modesta, Lady of Chaotic Haute Couture (Lvl. ???)]
[Type: Archmage / Style Icon / Soul Eater]
[Special Ability: Her attacks ignore any armour that does not meet the dress code.]
She stepped onto the platform, and the crowd of monsters collapsed to their knees, bowing their heads. Modesta turned slowly toward the heroines. Her gaze—the cold, appraising look of a fashion editor-in-chief staring at an intern in trainers—burned right through them.
"Who..." her voice was quiet, yet it thundered in their heads like a forced thought. "Who dares to attend my show without an invitation?"
She stepped closer, her invisible heels clicking against the air.
"And in this state..." she grimaced, as if she had caught a foul scent.
She stopped in front of Lena.
"A symbiote..." Modesta drawled, inspecting the Void Harness with disgust. "How vulgar. These straps, this cheap latex... You look like a forgotten toy in a pervert's basement. No elegance. No concept. Just... meat wrapped in rubber."
Lena wanted to snap back, but her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. This woman’s aura was so crushing that it was hard to breathe. The symbiote within her shrivelled into a tiny, trembling ball, completely overwhelmed by her power.
Modesta shifted her gaze to Nate.
"And what is this?" She pointed a long finger at the glowing thong. "A cyberpunk-themed beach party? Darling, neon went out of fashion last season. You look cheap. Like a neon sign for a roadside motel. Too much light, too little mystery."
Nate, who had always taken pride in her sexuality, flushed so deeply it was visible even through her cracked visor. She suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to cover herself up, to hide, to disappear.
Finally, the Lady of Chaos turned her gaze toward Irina.
"Oh..." there was genuine surprise in her voice, mingled with the deepest loathing. "Now this is interesting. Vintage? No... it’s just... hideous. A potato sack reeking of fear and insecurities. Do you really think these tatty rags will save you? Do you think that by hiding your body, you can hide your own insignificance?"
She laughed. Not a loud laugh, but a quiet, patronising snigger that cut deeper than any insult.
"You are an error. A bug in my perfect programme. You’ve arrived too early. You aren't ready. You don’t meet the dress code of this reality."
Modesta raised her hand. A sphere of pure, concentrated darkness began to form in her palm, crackling with purple lightning.
"I could simply delete you. But that would be tedious. I shall show you what true power looks like. A power before which your pathetic levels and ridiculous costumes are nothing."
She didn’t throw the sphere. She simply clenched her fist.
BOOM.
A wave of energy—not fire, not magic, but a wave of pure, distilled Pathos and Contempt—slammed into the heroines. It wasn’t a physical blow. It was a strike against their very existence in this world. The interface exploded with red notifications.
[Critical Damage from ‘Fashion Verdict’ skill!] [Your armour has been deemed ‘Unstylish’ and is being ignored.] [99% Vitality lost.] [Debuffs applied: ‘Humiliation’ (Lvl. Max), ‘Fear’ (Lvl. Max), ‘The Urge to Delete Account’.]
They were simply swept away. They flew backwards, crashing into the basalt wall. Lena felt the straps of her harness snap, unable to withstand the pressure. Nate tumbled, her forcefield generators sparking and dying, leaving her practically naked. Irina, though protected from magical damage by her heavy habit, took the full force of the moral blow—she slumped against the wall, sobbing from a crushing sense of her own worthlessness.
They lay on the scorching rocks, unable to move. Each had only 1% health remaining. One poke and it was over. Rollo, who had somehow survived by scurrying into a crack between the stones, could only whimper quietly, clutching his head.
"A pathetic sight," Madame Modesta observed, stepping toward them. "You aren't even worth the mana. I shall simply... annihilate you."
She raised her hand for the final blow. The darkness thickened over them, ready to swallow them whole.
"Oi! Steady on, love! Take it down a notch!"
A sound, quiet but cutting through the tense silence like a knife through butter.
Slurp.
The sound of someone taking a sip of hot coffee from a mug. Modesta froze. The darkness above her hand flickered.
Out from the shadow of a cliff stepped Him. A bloke in a white towelling dressing gown. The very same one. In worn-out slippers, holding a "World’s Best Dad" mug in his left hand. Here, in the throat of a volcano, amidst demons and high fashion, he looked as out of place as a palm tree at the North Pole. But his calm was monumental.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
"You..." Modesta hissed, and for the first time, her voice held irritation rather than arrogance.
"Yeah, me," the Man took another sip and winced. "Too much sugar again... Look, Modesta, what’s all this then? I specifically asked: no genocide before the official launch."
"They broke the rules!" the witch pointed a finger at the girls on the ground. "They broke into the Final Zone using glitches! They haven't played the content! They haven't levelled up! It’s an insult to my design!"
"Your design?" the Man snorted. "I’ve seen your bills for the textures. You’re three times over budget. Anyway, never mind that."
He walked over to the girls, who were staring up at him, unable to believe their eyes. He stepped over Nate and gave Lena a light tap with his slippered toe.
"Alive? Seems so. Honestly, you lot are something else."
And then he started yelling. Not the grand shout of a villain, but the rant of a tired sysadmin whose users had crashed the database on a Friday night.
"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, EH?! YOU ABSOLUTE MUPPETS! I told you in plain English last time: stay out of trouble! And what do you do? A speedrun! Using glitches! Do you have any idea how much you’ve cocked up my difficulty curve?!"
He turned to Rollo, who was trying to blend into the scenery.
"And you, you piece of blue code! I’m putting you in quarantine, you glitchy little toerag! You’ll be hunting for mines in Minesweeper until the end of time! Who gave you permission to break the textures?!"
Rollo only squeaked and hid his head in his paws.
"We... we just wanted to go home..." Irina whispered from beneath her habit.
"They wanted to go home!" the Man threw his hands up (nearly spilling his coffee). "Everyone wants to go home! But there are rules! There’s a plot! You were supposed to go through the Swamp of Despair, then the Mage’s Tower, then... Oh, what’s the point in talking to you. Cheaters."
"Administrator!" Modesta had no intention of being ignored. "Step aside. I must finish my work. They must be deleted."
The Man in the dressing gown turned to her. He looked very, very tired.
"Look, Mod. Not today. I’ve had a shocker of a shift as it is. The server is lagging, my coffee’s gone cold, and these three... they’ve gone and speedrun the bloody game. If I delete them now, I’ll be stuck writing reports for three hours."
"You’re protecting them? These... nobodies?"
"I’m protecting my peace and quiet," the Man grumbled. "Right. They broke the rules. But you went over the top with that 'Fashion Verdict' of yours. Tell you what: I’ll take them, roll back their progress, and we’ll all pretend this never happened. Deal?"
"Roll them back?" Modesta narrowed her eyes. "Where to?"
"To the beginning. Into the sandbox. Let them learn to play by the rules."
The witch hesitated for a second. She clearly didn’t want to mess with the man in the dressing gown. Apparently, his "admin rights" trumped her level 100+ magic.
"Fine," she finally spat. "Get this rubbish off my catwalk. But next time... I’ll incinerate them. And no amount of slippers will save you."
She spun on her heels and, with a flourish of her train, began to ascend back into the air toward her throne of smoke. The rave below thundered back to life; the monsters resumed their mad dance as if nothing had happened.
The Man in the dressing gown turned back to the girls.
"Right then, you little hackers, you’ve had your fun," he shook his head. "Consider yourselves lucky. I was in a good mood today. Briefly."
He pulled something out of his dressing gown pocket. Not a laser sword, but... a TV remote. An old one, wrapped in gaffer tape.
"Right. System rollback. Save point... let's say, 'Entrance to Location'. And no more glitches! Especially you, hedgehog!"
He pointed the remote at them and pressed the big red button.
"Hey, wait! What save point? What are you—" Lena began, but she didn’t get to finish.
The floor beneath them—that very same scorched basalt—simply vanished. They plunged into a void.
It wasn’t just a fall. It was a drop through the layers of reality. Fragments of other levels blurred past: jungles, space stations, medieval castles. They were spun, tossed, and turned inside out. Rollo flew alongside them, screeching and trying to brake with his jet-skates, leaving smoky trails in the emptiness. Nate was swearing in every language she knew. Irina was praying. Lena was just trying not to black out from the G-force.
They fell for a long time. It felt like an eternity. And then...
POOF!
The impact was soft, but cold.
Lena opened her eyes. It was dark and quiet. No music, no heat. It smelled of... snow? She tried to move and realised she couldn't. She was buried up to her waist in something white and freezing. Struggling to free her hands, she wiped the snow from her face. They were in a drift. A massive, deep snowdrift in the middle of...
"A forest?" she whispered, looking around.
Snow-covered fir trees stood all around them. Large flakes of snow were falling from the sky. It was cold. Bloody freezing.
"WHERE ARE WE?!" Nate’s howl came from somewhere to the left. She was sticking out of a snowdrift upside down, her nearly dead power-thong flickering.
"I... I’m stuck..." came Irina’s muffled voice from under a cap of snow. Her habit was soaking through and becoming even heavier.
"Brrr! My thrusters are frozen!" Rollo scrambled to the surface, his entire blue body shivering. "What location is this? I hate ice levels! It's slippery!"
Lena looked at her hands. The symbiote had retracted deep under her skin, trying to preserve warmth. Her Void Harness offered absolutely no protection from the cold. She raised her head to the dark sky, from which the snow continued to pour.
"System rollback, then?" she croaked, feeling the frost bite through to her bones. "Cheers for that, you bloody Administrator. Real helpful."
They were alive. But they had ended up at the start of a new, cold and—by the looks of it—very long game. And this time, there were no cheats.
"Cold..." The sound of Nate’s teeth chattering seemed to echo through the entire snowy forest. "Cocking hell... it’s so cold..."
They managed to scramble out of the drift, but it didn't help much. As far as the eye could see, a winter forest stretched out before them. Artificial, of course. If you looked closely, you could see the fir trees stood in suspiciously straight rows, and the "snow" tasted like some sort of chemical foam. Somewhere in the distance, through the blizzard, a glow broke through, looking like the light of Christmas fairy lights. Another zone of the Exhibition Centre, likely the "Winter Wonderland" pavilion or something similar. But the frost here had a real bite to it. Twenty degrees below zero, at least. Plus a piercing wind.
And they were utterly unprepared for it.
Lena wrapped her arms around herself, trying to still a violent shiver. Her "Void Harness," designed for ventilation in the heart of a volcano, had turned into an instrument of torture here. The straps of frozen leather scorched her skin, and the exposed areas—which accounted for 80% of her body—instantly broke out in goosebumps and began to turn blue. The symbiote inside panicked. It hated the cold. Retracting so deep she could barely feel it anymore, it curled into a ball around her internal organs, trying to preserve at least their heat while abandoning her limbs to the elements.
[Warning! Extreme hypothermia. You are taking periodic cold damage.] [Your movement and attack speed is reduced by 40%.]
"My generators..." Nate staggered, trying to activate her Power Thong to full capacity. "They... they aren't heating up! The batteries are dying in the cold!"
The forcefields meant to cover her nakedness flickered dimly and went out. She stood in the snow practically naked, held together by a few strings and icy metal plates. Her lips had turned blue; tears ran from her eyes, freezing instantly on her lashes.
"I’m going to die... I’m going to freeze to death in a bikini... What a pathetic end for a streamer..."
"Brrr-r-r-gh!" Rollo’s entire body was vibrating with the cold. His quills were covered in hoarfrost, and his trendy jet-sneakers had turned into two useless blocks of ice. "My bearings! The grease has frozen! I can’t move!"
The only one who didn't look like she was dying was Irina. She stood knee-deep in the snow in her heavy, coarse, hideous woollen habit. Her massive hood was pulled down to her nose, her hands tucked into wide sleeves.
"Ira..." Lena rasped, feeling her toes go numb. "How are you doing?"
A plume of steam erupted from under the hood.
"I’m fine," Irina’s voice sounded muffled but steady. "The habit... it’s very warm. And it’s windproof."
Nate looked at Irina with such black envy that it seemed the snow around her should have melted.
"You... you knew!" the pirate’s teeth drummed together. "You chose this monstrosity on purpose! You knew we’d be dumped in the cold!"
"I didn't know anything," Irina took a step toward them, her legs heavy in the snow. "I just... didn't want to get undressed." She approached Nate, who was already sinking into a drift, losing consciousness from hypothermia. "Come here."
Irina flung open the wide habit like wardrobe doors. Heat was trapped inside—air warmed by the wool. Nate didn't need asking twice. Forgetting her pride, the Pirate Code, and the fact that Irina was a "Holy-Joe in a bag," she dived into that warm woollen sanctuary, pressing her frozen, half-naked body against her friend.
"Oh god..." Nate groaned, her teeth chattering somewhere in the region of Irina’s armpit. "Warmth... such bliss... Forgive me, Irka. Your dress is the best. I take it all back."
"Eli, you too," Irina called out. "There’s room."
Lena, feeling absolutely pathetic in her "battle harness," squeezed under the habit from the other side. The three of them stood there, huddling under the massive woollen cloak like a three-headed monster, shivering and trying to warm themselves with each other's body heat. Seeing this, Rollo tried to crawl over, but Lena stuck out a boot encased in ice.
"Don't even think about it, hedgehog. You prick me, and I’ll kill you. Warm yourself."
"Cruel women!" Rollo squeaked, burrowing into the snow in an attempt to create some sort of den.
They stood like that for ten minutes until the shivering subsided slightly and their health bars stopped flashing red.
"We have to move," Lena said, poking her nose out from under the habit. "We can’t stay here forever. We need to find shelter. Fire. And ideally, some proper clothes."
"I’m not coming out," Nate declared, clinging to Irina.
"You’ll have to. Irina can't walk with the two of us in tow. We’ll move in short bursts. Irina in the middle, and we’ll huddle against her as we go."
They set off in a strange, clumsy procession. Irina led the way, carving a path through the snow, while the two "high-level warriors" pressed against her sides like frozen puppies.
The Administrator hadn't lied. It was a total "rollback." The level of the enemies here matched the starting location.
From behind the snow-laden firs, a pack of "Rabid Christmas Reindeer (Lvl. 3)" lunged at them, their eyes glowing red, foam at their muzzles, and scraps of tinsel caught in their antlers. In any other situation, Lena and Nate would have dealt with them in a heartbeat. But now...
"Contact!" Lena shouted, trying to pull her arm out from under Irina’s habit.
Her muscles were stiff. The symbiote responded with a three-second delay, lazily forming a small, brittle blade that looked more like an icicle. Nate tried to fire, but her fingers were so cold they wouldn't obey. The plasma cannons let out a pathetic bleep and emitted a weak spark instead of a volley.
"The weapons are frozen!" Nate panicked. "The batteries are flat!"
A reindeer butted Lena in the hip. It didn't hurt (only 5 points of damage), but it was enough to bring her to tears of frustration. The great Agent Vector, slayer of Inquisitors, couldn't handle a bit of Christmas stage-dressing.
"Ira! Do something!" Lena yelled, trying to kick the reindeer.
Irina, warm and composed, sighed. She slowly and majestically (though it was more "clumsily" due to the speed debuff) raised her staff-cum-stick.
"In the name of... oh, never mind. Just die. Lumen."
A bright, warm ball of light shot from the staff and struck the reindeer in the forehead. The mob gave a pathetic bleat and dissolved into a handful of confetti and a couple of baubles.
"They’re one-shottable," Irina noted, looking at her staff with surprise. "My magic is... very strong here."
"I should bloody well think so!" Nate’s teeth rattled. "This is the starting zone! These are mobs for level 1 noobs! We’re level 7! We should be killing them just by looking at them!"
"We should, but we can't because our bums are frozen off!" Lena snapped, hiding under the habit again. "Ira, you’re our tank and DPS now. Smite them all. We’re just your support act."
And so they pressed on. Irina walked in front, slowly but surely incinerating "Man-Eating Snowmen" and "Malicious Elves" with flashes of light. Lena and Nate trailed behind, picking up loot—mostly satsumas and Christmas crackers—and trying not to die of exposure.
After an hour of wandering through this freezer, a new problem added itself to the cold. The adrenaline from the fall and the first few fights had completely worn off. Their bodies remembered they were alive.
"Eli..." Nate tugged at Lena’s harness strap.
"What is it now?"
"Have you got... any of those satsumas? The ones that dropped from the elves?"
Lena fumbled in the one tiny pocket on her belt. She pulled out a couple of shrivelled tangerines.
"I have. Why?"
"I’m starving," Nate admitted. Her stomach gave a loud growl. "I could eat that reindeer raw right now."
Lena realised she was famished herself. How much time had passed since the start of the game? Five hours? Six? They had spent a massive amount of energy, had almost been killed several times, and had survived incredible stress. And all of it on an empty stomach. They shared the fruit. It was a drop in the ocean, only serving to whet their appetite.
"I’d sell my soul for a hot burger right now," Nate murmured dreamily, licking juice-sticky fingers. "Or even a Pot Noodle. Remember that vending machine in the break room? Why didn't we take anything?"
"Because we’re idiots who were in a rush to reach the final boss," Lena replied grimly.
"Er... girls..." Irina’s voice sounded bashful. She stopped.
"What? More reindeer?" Lena peeked from under the hood.
"No. I... I need to... step away."
"Step away where? We’re in a forest."
"Nature calls," Irina whispered, blushing so deeply it was visible even in the dark. "I really need to go. The cold... it tends to... encourage these things, you know."
An awkward silence fell. This was something one rarely thinks about in games. Heroines in chainmail bikinis run around for days, fighting dragons, and never once look for a bush. But here, the game had bled into the real world, and their physiology remained real.
"Oh," said Nate. Then her eyes went wide. "Bollocks. Me too."
"Me too," Lena admitted.
It was a total deadlock. They were standing in the middle of a snow-covered forest teeming with monsters (albeit weak ones) in minus-twenty-degree weather. Irina was in the best position of all—she only had to hike up her habit.
"I... I’m going behind that fir tree," Irina said, scurrying off toward the nearest snowdrift.
"What about us?!" Nate panicked. "Look at me! How am I supposed to get this off?"
She tugged at her "power-thong." It wasn’t just clothing; it was a complex system of straps, wires, and generators. Getting it off would mean faffing about with the fasteners for five minutes, all while standing stark bollock naked in the frost. Lena’s situation was no better. Her BDSM-style harness was fitted so tightly it felt like a second skin. And the symbiote clinging to her body clearly wouldn't be thrilled about being peeled off in the cold.
"This is... this is degrading," Lena said, nearly crying with rage and helplessness. "I’m Agent Vector! I can't... I can't just squat in a snowdrift!"
"You can if you don't want to wet yourself... I mean, your thong!" Nate was already doing a little dance. "Eli, cover me! I can’t hold it anymore!"
"Cover you with what? My own arse?" Lena snapped back.
"Rollo!" Nate suddenly remembered. "Where’s that little pervert?!"
Rollo, who had been pretending to be a snowdrift nearby, tried to scuttle away.
"Stay right there!" In two leaps, Lena caught him and grabbed his icy leg. "Your turn to be useful. Stand over there and keep your eyes peeled. If a single mob shows up—shout. And if you turn your head our way, I’ll shove those glasses where the sun don't shine. Got it?"
"Got it, got it! Not like I wanted to look anyway!" the hedgehog grumbled, turning toward the trees. "I’ve got my own needs, you know! My grease has frozen solid!"
Those were the longest and most humiliating five minutes of their lives. Nate, swearing through her tears and fumbling with frozen fingers at the wires, tried to unbuckle her high-tech knickers behind one tree. Lena, with a heavy heart, battled the buckles of her harness behind another. The cold scorched their exposed skin. The sense of vulnerability was overwhelming. It felt as if red eyes of perverted reindeer were watching them from behind every trunk. When it was finally over and they, shivering and miserable, had somehow buckled themselves back up, they huddled once more around Irina, who had returned from her "expedition" looking just as flushed.
"We are never speaking of this," Lena said, her teeth rattling. "Ever."
"Agreed," Nate nodded, sniffing. "If this gets on the web, I’m deleting my channel."
"Girls... look!" Irina suddenly pointed her staff forward.
Light was breaking through the trees. Not the cold glimmer of fairy lights, but a warm, yellow, living glow. And the air smelled of smoke. And something unimaginably delicious. Ginger, cinnamon, and baking.
"Food..." Nate moaned. "Warmth..."
Forgetting all caution, they trudged toward the light. The trees parted, and they emerged into a small clearing. In the centre stood a house. Not just a house—every child's dream and a diabetic's nightmare.
The walls were made of giant gingerbread slabs; the roof was tiled with biscuits and dusted with icing sugar. Vanilla-scented smoke wafted from the chimney. The windows glowed with a warm light, and the frames were made of candy canes. Next to the door, which looked like a massive bar of chocolate, stood a sign:
[Location: Gingerbread House ‘Sweet Death’] [Threat Level: Medium. But very tasty.]
"It’s a trap," Lena said, stopping in her tracks. "A dead cert. Some witch lives in there, fattening up kids."
"I don't care," Nate was already hobbling toward the house, reaching out her hands. "Witch, Satan, whoever. If they’ve got heating and food, I’m ready to sell my soul."
She reached the wall and snapped off a piece of the candy-cane window trim. She popped it in her mouth and crunched down.
"Oh god... it’s actual sugar... Eli, it’s legit delicious!"
Lena’s stomach cramped with a sharp pang. Hunger and cold had defeated her caution.
"Ira, prep your combat spells," she commanded, stepping up to the chocolate door. "We’re going in. If there’s a witch in there—we’ll eat her. Along with the house."
Lena raised her hand in its frozen latex glove and knocked on the chocolate door.