While Elaine cleaned the lobster meat and Porter went to grab some firewood, Colby went off on his own adventure.

  “Where are you going?” Elaine asked, noticing him walking deeper into the cove.

  “Just going to get some Shell Ginger,” he said.

  “Shell Ginger? The recipe doesn’t call for Shell Ginger.”

  “It’s for my cheese.”

  “I figured. Anyway, just be careful. Lobsters tend to be near Shell Gingers.”

  “Lobsters?”

  “Yeah, lobsters. The monsters that were attacking Port for some reason.”

  “Oh. Do you know why they attacked Port?”

  Elaine shrugged. “Port might’ve accidentally angered them, but we’ll need to ask him after he gets back.”

  “Do you think they’ll attack me?”

  Elaine shrugged again. “Maybe. Maybe not. Things have been wonky lately.”

  “Oh.” That was all Colby could say. Was risking being stirred, stabbed, and sliced by some crustaceans really worth it? Of course it was. When it came to cheese, nothing was off the table.

  “Colbs, you good?” Elaine asked, snapping him out of his motivational internal monologue of motivation.

  “No, I’m—”

  She raised a hand, stopping him from speaking.

  “Since you’re good, do you think you could grab a lobster? It'd be so much better than this mush I'm working with. Make sure you grab a lob-stir. It’s the one with the big spoon claws. They have much more meat than the others.”

  “Um. I'll consider it. But you know it's better for the environment if we don't. Overfishing or something.”

  “Sure, Colbs. Sure,” she said, as she scraped debris off the lobster mush with her sword.

  Ignoring the hygienic implications of Elaine’s actions, Colby walked deeper into the cove. He navigated past the trails of blue blood until the sand was whitish-yellow again, emerging on the other side of the cove.

  Colby continued down the coast of the beach, eyes drifting back and forth between the waves and the cliffs beside him, searching for anything that looked remotely shelly or gingery. His mind drifted to other thoughts. Specifically, what he was going to do if lobsters were guarding the Shell Ginger like some sort of treasured family heirloom.

  Okay, maybe it was. He didn’t know anything about lobster culture or if they even had one in the first place.

  Point being, what was he going to do about it?

  The simple answer would be cheese.

  The hard answer would be what type of cheese?

  The reply to both of those answers would be, “You’ve already wasted so much cheese today. No amount of research loopholes could possibly account for the wasted deliciousness.”

  To that, Colby actually had no comeback other than, “Yes.”

  No one said the comeback had to be a good one or even make sense in the first place.

  That's because while Colby had been debating with one side of his brain, the other was being a productive member of society, coming up with a solution to his predicament.

  The solution was once again cheese.

  Cheese that had already been prepared, so it would technically not be a waste.

  Near the edge of a rocky cliff, slightly inward from the shore, was the Shell Ginger. Brown fibrous skin, with lobes that resembled the ridges of a seashell. It jutted out from the cliffside, growing just above the sand.

  Right below it were the lobsters.

  Elaine did warn him that they might be there.

  Thankfully, there wasn’t a huge swarm of them like in the cove. One lob-stir, two lob-stabs, and a lob-slice. And these ones looked calmer. Though both groups still looked extremely menacing to him.

  Colby crept forward, hiding behind some conveniently placed rocks near the cliff. He poked his head out, observing the lobsters.

  They were collecting the Shell Gingers.

  Rude. Those were his. First-come, first-served only applied to humans, not monsters.

  The lob-slice used their knife-like claws to cut through the roots of the Shell Ginger, till it plopped to the ground. The lob-stabs approached it, jamming their pronged claws into the opening and forcing it apart. Inside was marvelous yellow planty flesh. A mixture of both earth and sea-like tang spread through the air.

  Meanwhile, the lob-stir dug its spoon-like claws into the flesh of the Shell Ginger and brought it to its mouth. The lobster nibbled on the yellow meat. Satisfied, it scooped up the opened Shell Ginger and skittered away.

  As Colby tracked the ginger-stealing crustacean, he noticed another lob-stir. This one was noticeably less gingered. They crossed paths, antennae touching each other, before the ginger stealing one skittered away, and the non-gingered one took its place among the group.

  The lob-slice resumed cutting through the root of another Shell Ginger while the other lobsters waited.

  What could he do with the cheese he had with him?

  Dirty [Cheese Pillows] covered in sand, some tiny, rock-hard mozzarella balls, and an almost depleted pair of [Cheese Boots] and [Cheese Gloves].

  Nothing came to mind.

  Even the larger balls of hardened mozzarella did nothing to the lobsters, other than buy Elaine a few seconds to finish the job.

  Maybe that was his problem. He was thinking like a fighter. What he should be doing was thinking like a cheeser.

  Elaine would just rush in, kill all of the lobsters, and grab the Shell Ginger.

  Porter would run in and out before they even knew what had happened.

  Colby was going to use the oldest trick in the book.

  From The Cheesetastic Fridge, Colby grabbed the small, hard little nuggets that he had cut off when he was making the soft and fluffy cloud-shaped cheese for Elaine. These weren’t the hardest mozzarella pieces, compared to the byproduct of a conventional [Cheese Pillow]. The hardness had been spread out to multiple pieces when he ‘cut the fluff.’

  That was okay. Hard or soft, big or small, it was how the tool was used that mattered.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Colby loaded up a single piece into Smart Waiter, setting it to deliver at maximum strength.

  He aimed his palm right at the lob-stir, then angled it upward. The [Cheese Shot] was fired. It sailed through the air, landing a couple of meters away from the lob-stir. The crustacean’s antenna flickered. It turned.

  Most importantly, it was the only one to turn.

  Perfect.

  Colby aimed slightly higher, firing off another piece. The lump of hard mozzarella plonked onto the soft sand a distance away.

  Its antenna flickered again. Small pointed tips pressed against the soft sand as the lob-stir moved forward to investigate.

  Colby fired even more shots, luring the lob-stir even further.

  Next were the lob-stabs.

  It was the same process. Fire a [Cheese Shot] close enough for them to investigate it, but far enough that the lob-slice wouldn’t get curious as well.

  Antennae flickered. Spindly legs punched into the ground with every step. Soon, the lob-slice was alone.

  It had just finished cutting off another Shell Ginger, the plant flopping onto the soft sand. There was a short pause before it turned, curious why the lob-stabs weren’t prying open the Shell Ginger.

  The lob-slice finally realized it was alone. It inched forward, turning left and right, antenna flickering in the wind, only to face the cliff side once more and start slicing at another Shell Ginger root.

  Thank gouda for teeny-tiny lobster brains.

  This was it.

  Inside his Core, he opened the door to his Inventory. Sticking his hands inside, he retrieved a single [Cheese Pillow] with an extra helping of sand.

  Before he could even take a single step, The Cheesetastic Fridge opened its door, slapping him in the face. Colby crashed to the ground, landing on the soft [Cheese Pillow]—minus the extra crunchy sand bits.

  Looking down, he noticed little sand particles littering the floor. Great, now he had sand everywhere.

  What was that for?

  Were his Core Constructs mutinying now? Did he accidentally give them too much of a personality during the Core Construct creation phase?

  Colby got up only to find all of his Core Constructs, the mobile and non-rebellious ones anyway, gathered in front of him. They pointed at the [Cheese Pillow], followed by immediately forming a cross with their noodle-like limbs.

  “Why not? It's just cheese?”

  Cheese Bowl walked up, pointing its glass hand at the grains of sand on the floor.

  “What's wrong with—Oh. Cross contamination.”

  Cheese Bowl punched its limbs in the air, ecstatic that he had gotten the correct answer on the first try.

  “Okay, what if the cheese wasn't as dirty? Would you be willing to work on it again?” he asked them.

  The Core Constructs turned to face each other. They all wiggled their arms, their usual communication method, before Cheese Bowl turned back toward him. He nodded, nearly tipping over from its heavy glass bowl body.

  “Great!”

  Colby slammed open the door to his Inventory, retrieving the [Cheese Boots] that he used to cling to Elaine when she climbed up the cliff to the lighthouse.

  “What about this? Is this clean enough?”

  His Core Constructs looked at the melted piece of mozzarella vaguely in the shape of a pair of boots that was covered in blood, guts, shell, and dirt. They all crossed their hands.

  “Ok, fair.”

  He tossed the dirty [Cheese Boots] into his Inventory, then bent down to grab the [Cheese Pillow], sending it to join its cheesy companion. With that done, he dusted off his hands.

  That earned him another slap by The Cheesetastic Fridge's door.

  “Okay, now what was that for?”

  All of his Core Constructs pointed to the ground again. He looked down, but all he saw was sand.

  Wait, right. Someone had to clean all of this up.

  Sheepishly, he faced them.

  “Sorry. Could you… You know? Clean this up?”

  The Cheesetastic Fridge’s door swung open again. But before it could smack him in the face, Colby left his Core, focusing back in the real world.

  Peeking over the rock again, the lob-stir and lob-stabs were still over yonder investigating his distraction, while the lob-slash had removed yet another Shell Ginger from the cliffside.

  If he couldn't use his cheese magically, he'd have to do it manually.

  Opening his Inventory, he grabbed the [Cheese Boots] and, with a lot of pushing, managed to slide them over his shoes. They were still sticky, but not as sticky as he would’ve preferred. It would've been nice to just toss them over Stove’s flames again to make them extra gooey and sticky, but sadly, things didn't always work out the way he planned.

  Instead, Colby had to resort to something a tad gross. He moved his mouth around, accumulating as much saliva as possible before letting it all drop down in one big clump onto a [Cheese Pillow] he retrieved from his Inventory. Grimacing, he dug his finger into the disgustingness—wet mixed with rough sand was a recipe for yuck.

  After spreading his saliva all over the [Cheese Pillow], he had to do it all over again for the other one.

  Was the Shell Ginger even worth it?

  Whatever, he was in too deep to abort.

  Now that both [Cheese Pillows] were coated in his spit, he stuck them to the bottom of his [Cheese Boots]. It wouldn’t be as good as actually melting the cheese, but it was good enough.

  With the [Cheese Pillows] under his feet, he emerged from the rock. Tip-toeing toward the lob-slice, the fluff of the [Cheese Pillows] cushioned any would-be sound that he’d make.

  The lob-slice would never hear him coming. Though he couldn’t do anything about the seeing part.

  Colby snuck up behind the lob-slice. His eyes were stuck on the monster. He froze whenever it twitched. Slowly, he bent down and grabbed the two Shell Gingers, stuffing them inside his Inventory.

  A third Shell Ginger had hit the floor.

  The lob-slice turned around searching for its companions.

  Colby froze mid-crouched, hand reaching for the Shell Ginger. He was practicing the art of standing so still, he became invisible. His eyes were locked onto the creature, watching for the slightest reaction.

  The lob-slice brought its knife-like claws together, banging them against each other. It hissed, though that was greatly overshadowed by the clanging.

  Okay, it definitely saw him.

  Colby bent down and picked up the third Shell Ginger, shoving it into his Inventory. He looked up just in time to jump back from the lob-slice charging at him with his knife-like claws.

  Time to get out of here.

  Wait, was three enough?

  He turned back to the Shell Gingers. Without any tools, he doubted that he could cut the root all on his own.

  Jumping over another errant charge, Colby got another idea.

  He did have a tool. And if getting Stove to work had taught him anything, when there’s a will, there’s a whey.

  Opening his Inventory once again, he fished out another two [Cheese Pillows]. This time, these weren’t given the extra sloppy treatment.

  Colby stared down the charging lob-slice, watching in skittering against the sand. In his mind, it was like him staring down a charging bull. In reality, it was a lobster barely slightly lower than his knee.

  In his defense, he was a guy who made cheese for a living!

  And that lobster had knives for arms! This wasn’t fair.

  Colby sidestepped out of the way once more. As the lob-slice dashed past him, he bent down, grabbing the little ocean bug with the [Cheese Pillows]. Even through the fluffiness, he could feel its gross little legs kicking and pushing against the cheese.

  He held it at arm's reach, pulling his face back as his mouth twisted to the side.

  This was really weird, really gross, and really dangerous.

  His parents always told him not to play with his food. Did this situation count?

  Colby inched forward, taking one careful step at a time in case he tripped, fell, and a very angry lob-slice descended on his face. The [Cheese Pillows] beneath his feet weren’t exactly helping right now.

  Moving closer to the cliffside, he angled the angry lob-slice’s knives at the Shell Ginger root. It was working. Sort of.

  The lob-slice swung its knife claws all over the place. Sometimes it struck the root, other times the rocky wall, most of the time it hit air.

  Colby stood there, sweat pouring down his face.

  C’mon, cut it faster, you lobster.

  Halfway through the root after a dozen or so misses, Colby heard something.

  It was the clanging of shelled utensils.

  Turning around, he spotted the lob-stir and the two lob-stabs that he had lured away. In their claws were the little balls of hard, but not that hard, mozzarella. The lob-stabs had managed to stab through them. Meanwhile, whether intentional or not, the lob-stir had a piece on its head. It bashed its claw turning the hardened cheese into dust as it charged forward.

  Oh, Gouda. Please help.

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