Psilocybin Twenty-Four
Sir Nibbles and I climbed all the way up to the fifth floor before I decided that we needed to stop and sleep. The floor was safer than those below. We killed a few of the local moles and bats, and the corpses were used up, producing a fresh batch of mushrooms. I even opened up my last can of spam to celebrate with Sir Nibbles.
I was, basically, in a pretty good mood.
Escaping the dungeon might be a little tricky, but I didn’t think it would be that hard. There was some security around the Ditz dungeon, but it was rather lax, and waiting until nightfall might be enough.
Worse case scenario, I might have to pull back from the top-most floors and wait a few days.
There were contingencies in place with my crew, if a fresh batch of riots broke out. Hell, I was hoping for them.
More riots would mean more people fighting in the streets, more fires, more clashes between the bullies and the Union. That would all be a perfectly acceptable next step in destroying the foundations of the city.
City Nineteen wasn’t repairable.
Maybe, someday in the distant future, I’d have the political and magical might necessary to turn a city into some sort of... druidic haven, where the new gods are forbidden to take root and where people live in harmony with nature.
That wouldn’t happen easily. The people of City Nineteen were raised with the factory chimneys towering overhead. My dad had mentioned how his own father worked in one. It was a generational thing.