The Task Master hurried out of the kitchen, his knobby hands picking nervously at his apron. The master had taken care to make him different from the others and it showed as he pushed his way through the cooks clattering around the crowded room. He was taller, skinnier, and his bulbous head hidden underneath the chef's hat contained a brain that could count higher than twenty.

Yes, he was a special Gob, made specifically for ordering around his lower brethren and dealing with rowdy adventurers―no, customers. That was how he was to treat the raging [Medic] going toe to toe with armed Gobs, dispatching them one by one with ease―like a regular customer. He didn't even know what that actually meant, but he got the impression that the master wanted him to, what were his orders again?

'Stop her from murdering everyone and send her out the door with some cake.'

He'd forgotten the cake! He started to turn around to grab it, but the monstrous woman had already caught sight of him. She threw the small metal whisk hidden in her fist at his head, her aim nearly perfect. With a small squeak, the Task Master dropped to the floor and managed to avoid getting impaled by the tool. Unfortunately, his hat wasn't so lucky and flopped onto the floor, a gaping hole in the thin, grimy material.

He quickly snatched it back up and got to his feet, trembling as he turned to face the [Medic].

"M-m-m-miss!" he stuttered, staring up at her with wide eyes. "I-I-I'm going t-t-t-to have to a-a-ask you to s-s-stop k-k-killing my Gobs. I-i-if you keep going, I-I'm afraid we w-won't have much l-left to w-work in the k-kitchen!"

She stared at him, her arm relaxing around the neck of the small Gob she had in a chokehold. It got loose enough for the kid to wiggle out and drop to the floor, gasping for breath.

"You talk," she said, in a deep but still vaguely feminine voice.

"U-um, yes, I-I do. I'm one of t-the smarter G-Gobs around here..."

He barked quietly at the panting Gob still staring in fear at the woman before her, jerking his long thumb toward the kitchen door. The remaining Gobs got the message, sprinting for their lives toward the door. The [Medic] let them go, still staring at the Task Master in muted confusion and a little bit of...wonder?

"This certainly is a strange Tower," she grunted. "I've never met a talking goblin before."

"Y-yes, well, my master intended for me to be some sort of boss so he thought heightened intelligence would be rather useful for intimidation," he explained, shifting on his bare feet. He scratched at his itches, unsure of where to go next. "Sp, um, i-if you'd kindly refrain from killing any more goblins, we'd greatly appreciate it."

She cocked her head to the side and folded her muscular arms. "Why should I?"

He blinked at her. It was a valid question, wasn' it? Why should she stop murdering his brethren? She was under no obligation to leave them be. It was a mob's job to attack any adventurer that stepped within the Tower doors and she was well within her right to defend herself. Except, well, she had initiated the first contact.

He looked over to where poor Baiter had been, blanching at the blood that still lingered on the floorboards. Taking a deep breath, he looked a the waiting [Medic] and shrugged. "W-well, you didn't have to come in and start killing everybody. We only acted in self-defense of you brutally murdering Baiter."

"A poor excuse," she snapped. "He's literally named Baiter; I very much doubt your master wasn't going to use him for less than pleasant purposes."

"That would be true," the Task Master hurriedly cut in, raising a finger, "had our Manager not made our master remove any traps previously built on this floor!"

She knit her brow, tilting forward ever so slightly. "And that's supposed to make me feel better? Your Manager just sounds like an idiot."

The Task Master scratched his itches again, rapidly trying to come up with some other argument. He saw the [Medic] becoming impatient and tried to think harder when he felt his master's presence settle down on him.

his master whispered.

The Task Master repeated his master's words, wringing his hands together as he watched the giant woman mull his words over in her head. After a while, she nodded.

"Fine. I'll accept that."

"O-okay, well, um..." Where did he go from here? He successfully managed to contain the threat. Should he send her on her way then?

"Um...would you like a complimentary cake for not killing us?"

She grunted. "Sure."

The Task Master nodded and shuffled toward the kitchen, barking orders at his Gobs. He commanded someone, anyone, to bring him a finished cake. A hefty baker, face covered in crumbs and frosting, put forward a half-eaten cake, the white frosting messily slathered over it.

He sighed, pulled a knife from a passing Gob's hands, and cut off a piece. The Gob who'd given him the cake took the rest of it, allowing him to use the plate that held the dessert. With that out of the way, he shuffled back out of the kitchen and into the shop only to find four more adven—customers had come in, weapons held at the ready.

"Oh, dear," he muttered.