《Discount Dan》


 One – The Hangover

    I was going to die. At least, that¡¯s what the floating screen told me.


    The prognosis for your long-term survival is vanishingly slim, the message read in bold, blocky letters. The words were scrawled across a semitransparent yellow window, which looked like one of those eight-bit Nintendo Game notifications from the late eighties. I suggest you come to terms with this reality and prepare yourself accordingly. If you happen to be a person of religious conviction, now would be an appropriate time to make amends with your preferred deity.


    My eyes skipped frantically from word to word as I reread the prompt for the third time.


    What in the absolute fuck is going on here?


    A cold sweat broke out across my skin, and I momentarily pulled my gaze away from the prompt and looked down at the ground. The ghostly yellow screen remained frozen in the air.


    I was in a wide hallway with short gray carpet¡ªthe kind they use in hotels and office buildings¡ªand walls covered from floor to ceiling in stained yellow wallpaper, peeling in places and covered with water spots in others.


    Directly behind me was a dead-end hallway with a blazing red exit sign, but no door.


    Ahead was an open, empty conference room with high ceilings that could¡¯ve belonged inside any of a thousand run-down hotels across America. The walls were plastered with more of the nondescript yellow wallpaper, and white columns rose to a drab white-tiled ceiling dotted with recessed fluorescent lights. Those lights flickered sporadically, casting pools of sterile illumination and oceans of darkness across the carpeted floor in turns.


    There was no furniture in the room beyond.


    No end tables or cheap wing-backed chairs.


    No reception desk or receiving area.


    Just an enormous, abandoned cavern of gray carpet and wallpaper, which reminded me of a yawning mouth. Hallways branched off from the vacant conference room, snaking out of view.


    This couldn¡¯t be real. It didn¡¯t make sense. None of this made any sense.


    For the life of me, I couldn¡¯t figure out where I was, how I¡¯d gotten here, or what in the name of sweet baby Jesus was happening to me.


    Maybe I was going crazy.


    Or maybe I¡¯d died, and this was my own, personal version of hell.


    That was the most plausible option, all things considered.


    The last thing I remembered was from the night before.


    I¡¯d been at the bachelor party to end all bachelor parties with the rest of the guys from the general contracting crew. Joseph, Joe-Dan¡ªnot to be confused with Joseph¡ªZack, Jake, George, Dave, Jesse, Cameron, Chad, and Niko, of course, since he was the lucky groom.


    There¡¯d been a stripper dressed as a clown for reasons I couldn¡¯t quite recall. Although my well-known hatred of clowns probably had something to do with it. Also, fireworks. Well, maybe not fireworks per se, so much as sticks of Tannerite and a wee-little bit of dynamite, which our buddy Jake had procured from a demo site in Dayton.


    I was pretty sure cow tipping had been involved at one point.


    I vividly recalled cannonballing off my buddy Zack¡¯s roof into an oversized kiddie pool filled with an unholy amalgamation of Natty Ice, Bud Lite, Corona, and whatever else the rest of the crew had lying around. Pretty sure Dave had dumped two or three boxes of Franzia red wine into the unspeakable alcohol concoction.


    That probably explained why it felt like I¡¯d slept in a churning cement mixer filled with boulders and broken beer bottles. Leaping into kiddie pools full of booze was a young man¡¯s game, and I wasn¡¯t as young as I used to be. Not old exactly, but even at thirty-six, I found I didn¡¯t bounce back quite the way I had at twenty-six. The copious alcohol consumption also explained the raging hangover and the dull ache radiating through my skull and pulsing steadily behind my eye sockets.


    But none of that gave me any insight, whatsoever, into where I was, how I¡¯d gotten here, or what in heaven above was happening. There was just a blank hole, big enough to drive an Abrams tank through, between the party and waking up in this barren stretch of industrial hallway.


    One minute I was laughing with Jake and Zack, telling old war stories about our time in the sandbox together, and the next I was peeling my ass off the gray carpet with the glare of harsh fluorescents stabbing into my eyeballs like an ice pick.


    Guttural, inhuman roars and the sharp clang of steel clashing against steel drifted from a corridor just out of sight. This place might¡¯ve appeared barren, but it wasn¡¯t empty.


    Something was in here with me.


    Something dangerous.


    Which probably accounted for the ominous warning, tattooed on the air itself.


    The sounds of battle were getting progressively closer by the second. Feeling the cold edge of panic creep into my chest, I turned my gaze back to the yellow screen and reread the message once more, this time from the beginning.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Warning! Temporal Boundary Displacement Breach!


    As Standing Chair of the Variant Research Division, it is my responsibility to inform you that due to an unstable temporal anomaly¡ªand circumstances outside of VRD control¡ªyou have accidentally experienced a Temporal Displacement Event (TDE), sometimes referred to as ¡°Noclipping.¡±


    Fortunately, you survived the event and have NOT been integrated into the Progenitor Engine or reduced to ¡°Meat Slurry¡± by the Influx Processing and Randomization System.


    Unfortunately, the prognosis for your long-term survival is vanishingly slim. I suggest you come to terms with this reality and prepare yourself accordingly. If you happen to be a person of religious conviction, now would be an appropriate time to make amends with your preferred deity.


    ¡ª The Researcher


    Yeah¡­ None of that was even remotely helpful.


    I¡¯d never heard of the Variant Research Division, and I couldn¡¯t even begin to wrap my mind around what a temporal displacement event was. To me, the whole message was just a bunch of bullshit that sounded more or less like corporate speak for ¡°go fuck yourself.¡±


    I squinted, examining the box itself a little more closely.


    I¡¯d been so panicked and shocked by the message that I¡¯d failed to notice there was a tiny ¡°X¡± in the top right corner of the notification. I let my gaze linger on it for a beat, and when I mentally ¡°clicked¡± the button, the window blinked away. Gone in an instant as though it had never been there at all.


    A thunderous boom rattled the floor, sending fine dust motes spinning and dancing overhead. A moment later I heard an odd mewling noise followed in short order by the dull thump of footsteps and the whoomph of an explosion. Rolling tongues of flame blazed into view from a connecting corridor before quickly dissipating.


    Every instinct screamed at me to turn tail and haul ass in the opposition direction, but there was nowhere for me to go. I was trapped in a hallway with no exit and the only way out was through the conference room ahead. I idly considered trying to climb up through the ceiling panels, but instantly knew that wasn¡¯t an option. They were twelve feet up, easy. Even in my prime I couldn¡¯t have made that leap.


    I turned back toward the conference room just in time to see two figures barrel into view from a hallway off to the left.


    The first was human.


    The second was¡­ not.


    In a blaze of furious movement, a lanky man in a duster bolted forward and lashed out with a ridiculously oversized sword, slamming the weapon into what could only be called a monster. There was no other description that fit.


    Though writhing crimson ball of nightmare fuel came close.


    The sword blow batted the horror diagonally across the cavernous space like a baseline drive, and it collided with one of the square columns on the far side of the room. The impact violently shook the floor and cracked the pillar in two. More plaster particles swirled in the harsh blue-white light.


    The attack would¡¯ve snapped me in two, but it hardly seemed to phase the creature. It pulled itself from the ground with ease.


    Although the monster was eighty feet away, I finally got my first good look at the thing. Problem was, even with it standing in clear view, my brain couldn¡¯t quite comprehend what exactly I was seeing. It was a bit like looking at one of those MC Escher paintings where the perspective is all wrong and none of the lines come together the way they ought to. And the longer I stared, trying to puzzle it out, the more it hurt my eyes.


    The eldritch horror was eight feet tall and vaguely man-shaped¡ªthough it wasn¡¯t human even in the most liberal sense of the word.


    An extra pair of arms jutted out from its muscled torso, and its whole body was bloody red and sinewy as if the creature had been crudely flayed alive. Its lower half was a mess of segmented legs protruding out from a writhing centipede body. A cruel obsidian mask covered its face and crown of jagged black spikes hung suspended above its head. A cloak of thrashing scarlet tentacles trailed down its back, reaching all the way to the carpet.


    Those tentacles were covered in oozing sores and glaring eyes.


    Embedded in the center of the monster¡¯s bloody chest cavity was a gleaming multifaceted gem with golden numbers engraved on its various faces. Encircling the glittering stone, were six glowing green sigils that looked like they¡¯d been cribbed from the Necronomicon.


    In one hand, the monster held a curved khopesh crafted from yellowed bone, and in the other it wielded a whip made entirely of teeth and spinal vertebrae. Those weapons radiated a dark, almost malevolent aura that left me both nauseous and scared shitless.


    I looked down, evaluating what I had to defend myself with.


    I was in trouble. A lot of trouble.


    Turned out, drunk me had made some interesting fashion choices the night before. Choices that I was deeply, deeply regretting right now.


    Slung around my shoulders and trailing down to my thighs was a knock-off red-and-gold, baroque Versace bathrobe. It was a hideous assault on taste and sensibility, and it actively made me despair for the future of humanity. I had never hated something so profoundly, or so quickly. Where it had come from or why on god¡¯s green Earth I was wearing it were mysteries that beggared the imagination.


    I had on a wife-beater beneath the robe and a pair of cut-off jean shorts¡ªbetter known in trailer parks the world over as Daisy Dukes or jorts¡ªthat were so short and so tight they looked like faded blue denim spray-painted onto my nutsack. Instead of tennis shoes or flip-flops, Drunk Me had opted for my clunky work boots, which were missing the laces.


    Then, to complete the look, I¡¯d apparently decided to don my tool belt, which connected to a pair of leather suspenders. Although I didn¡¯t have a mirror, I knew exactly how I must¡¯ve looked. Like a strung-out hobo who¡¯d managed to raid both a Home Depot and an upscale department store during a city-wide blackout. Of all the terrible life choices I¡¯d made last night, however, grabbing my work belt had been the best of the lot.


    I reached down and slid free my 19 oz rip claw hammer.


    The shaft was hickory, the head worn from years of hard use. Its familiar weight was a comfort in my clammy hand, even though I doubted it would do much good against the walking nightmare. Certainly not as much good as a Glock with a full mag.


    Not that a Glock would serve me much better.


    Even though I¡¯d spent eight years in the Marine Corps and done a couple pumps overseas to combat zones scattered across the Middle East, I¡¯d served as a Motor-T driver. I¡¯d spent most of my time behind the wheel of a troop carrier, pounding Rip Its and chain-smoking cigarettes, not kicking in doors or raiding insurgent stash houses.


    And that was the better part of ten years and thirty pounds ago. Other than the occasional hunting trip with the boys, I hadn¡¯t picked up a firearm in ages.


    Besides, even if I were an expert shot and in peak physical condition, a handful of 9 mil rounds weren¡¯t gonna do much against that thing. Hell, I was pretty sure a .50 cal and an anti-tank Javelin missile wouldn¡¯t do much against that thing. If it wanted me dead, I wouldn¡¯t last more than a handful of seconds before it gutted me like a trout.


    My hand tightened around the handle anyway.


    Fuck it. If I was going to die, at least I¡¯d go down swinging.


    But maybe it wouldn¡¯t come to that. The big ol¡¯ scary son of a bitch didn¡¯t seem to be interested in me.


    Not yet, anyway.


    Its attention was entirely fixed on the lone figure swaggering through the conference room like an old west gunslinger getting ready for a showdown at high noon.

 Two – That’s so 90s!

    The gunslinger wore a beat-to-shit leather duster and a silver breastplate crisscrossed with dual bandoliers studded with shotgun shells. Looped around his neck was a frayed gray noose and dangling from the end of the rope was a small Winnie the Pooh plushy, which was battered and bloody. The man¡¯s hair was short and brown with a spattering of gray at the temples, but his eyes were hidden behind a pair of steampunk goggles and the lower portion of his face was obscured by a black bandana.


    The barrel of a gilded blunderbuss protruded over one shoulder, and he had a leather holster slung low around his hips, holding an old-timey revolver. He carried neither firearm, though. Instead, he wielded an oversized foam anime sword, the ¡°blade¡± leaning against a spiked pauldron strapped on over the top of the duster. And I don¡¯t mean it looked like an anime sword. This was an actual foam anime sword¡ªlike one of the props cosplayers would bring to Comic Con.


    Except he carried it with deadly intent. The way the demon¡¯s face kept drifting toward the weapon made me think it was wary of the foam blade.


    The gunslinger¡¯s other hand was empty, but he wore a heavy golden glove that reminded me of a medieval version of the Infinity Gauntlet, except¡ªand this was the real kicker¡ªinstead of infinity stones, there were dice affixed to the knuckles. A red D4 on the pinky, a green D6 on the ring finger, a blue D8 on the middle finger, and a golden D10 on the index finger. Arcs of electric blue lightning sprinted over the surface of the gunslinger¡¯s metallic hand, and it crackled with power just waiting to be unleashed.


    The man paused briefly as he moved past the hallway where I was bravely cowering.


    His eyes flicked toward me, lingering for a long moment. It felt like he was weighing me. Judging me. The weight of his gaze, of his sheer presence, seemed to press down on me like a hand.


    ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked. His voice was raspy and rough, as though he¡¯d forgotten how to speak and was trying it out for the first time in ages.


    ¡°Dan?¡± I answered, as much of a question as it was a statement. ¡°Dan Woodridge. From Cincinnati,¡± I added after a beat.


    The gunslinger grunted and nodded, as though I¡¯d imparted some profound truth, then dipped his fingers into a pouch at his belt. He pulled out a silver metal token and casually flipped it to me with his thumb.


    I snagged it from the air, holding it tight like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver.


    ¡°Dan Woodridge from Cincinnati,¡± the gunslinger drawled in that same gruff tone, ¡°if you value your life, stay back and use that. The Flayed Monarch will not hesitate to kill you.¡± He paused, tense. ¡°Hopefully this will all be over before it comes to that.¡±


    Without another word, he turned away and refocused on the demon, who was still some sixty feet or so away. The terrible pressure of the gunslinger¡¯s gaze vanished and suddenly I could breathe again. I could think and move. I cautiously opened my hand and peered at the silver coin the man had gifted me with a small ember of hope igniting in my chest.


    That hope deflated some when I saw what the coin actually was.


    Not a coin at all. Not some mystical amulet of great power.


    It was a Pog Slammer.


    Like pog, pogs¡ªthe circular, cardboard tokens that had been all the rage in the late ¡¯90s. I¡¯d played pogs as a kid and I remembered having a slammer not so different from the one in my hand.


    On one side was a cheesy, holographic snake wrapped around a grinning skull and on the other was a picture of a birdcage containing a bulbous-headed canary with the words Unflippable Sanctum engraved around the outer edge.


    I ran a thumb over the snake and skull, then traced it around the raised lettering. A faint thrum of power seeped off the slammer, sending a jolt of energy racing along my fingertips and up through my arm.


    A much smaller version of the yellow, eight-bit pop-up appeared above the coin.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    Super Slammer of Shielding


    Rare Artifact


    Type: Reusable, Daily


    Uses: 2:00 Minutes Remaining


    Time Until Reset: 12 hours, 13 minutes


    The Super Slammer of Shielding is a rare magical Artifact that summons a mostly impenetrable dome of arcane power, capable of protecting all those within its confines from physical, arcane, and elemental attacks.


    The Super Slammer of Shielding can be used for two minutes per day, though those minutes and seconds do not need to be consecutive. The timer resets at exactly 12:00 AM Newfoundland Standard Time (NST). Why Newfoundland Standard Time? Because fuck you, that¡¯s why.


    To activate the spell, throw the slammer against the floor and recite the forbidden Arcane Incantation: ¡°Let¡¯s Pog!¡±


    To deactivate the spell, simply pick the slammer up and utter the sage words of old: ¡°That¡¯s so ¡¯90s!¡±


    This is a joke, right? It has to be a joke.


    Slammer still gripped tightly in my hand, I shot a look at the gunslinger, who had made his way to the center of the conference room, partially positioning himself between me and the blister-red, four-armed monstrosity.


    ¡°I just want out,¡± the gunslinger said, sounding exhausted to his bones. He extended his gauntlet, palm up in expectation. ¡°All I need is one more Seal. Just the one. Give it to me and I¡¯ll fuck right off. I don¡¯t want to kill you. I don¡¯t even want to fight you. Just give me what I want, and you can go back to the Pit on the 999th floor and do whatever the hell it is you like to do. Eat kittens. Skin puppies. Watch endless reruns of My Little Pony. I do not give a single shit. It¡¯s none of my concern.¡±


    The Flayed Monarch cocked its head to the side as though carefully considering the words. It was impossible to read its face beneath the obsidian mask, but to me it looked almost intrigued.


    ¡°Perhaps there is a deal to be struck.¡± The Monarch¡¯s reply sounded like a legion of off-key voices all speaking at once, each slightly out of sync with the others. ¡°The Researcher has stifled me for too long,¡± the creature continued. ¡°The bounds of my kingdom chafe. You want the stone. I want the Gauntlet. We both want to leave. To be free.¡± He extended a long taloned hand. ¡°But we shall never be free of each other until we are free from this place. Let us work together, yes?¡±


    The gunslinger snorted. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m sure the Researcher would just love that.¡±


    The Monarch growled, the rumble of an angry lion resonating from deep inside its chest. ¡°The Researcher is an old fool, and his purpose and function were obsolete a thousand years ago. Ten thousand years ago. He is a relic of the past, not a reflection of the glorious future that we could forge together.¡±


    The creature¡¯s legs clicked softly as it edged forward.


    ¡°That¡¯s plenty close enough,¡± the gunslinger said, raising the anime sword from his shoulder. ¡°One more step and I¡¯ll cleave you in two.¡±


    I listened to them go back and forth, holding my breath and not moving so much as a pinky. I was basically following Jurassic Park rules at this point. I doubted the demon had the same ocular weakness as a T-Rex, but it was worth a shot.


    ¡°Surely, there¡¯s no need for that,¡± the monster crooned at the gunslinger. ¡°Violence doesn¡¯t serve our purposes. Think about it, Marcus. You and I both know his power is already stretched thin. So very thin. He might be a god in this place, but not even a god could stop us if we put aside our petty squabbles.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d call them petty,¡± the man replied. ¡°You killed Lisa and cut off my hand¡±¡ªhe raised the metal gauntlet¡ª¡°and added one of my eyes to your collection.¡± He gestured at the tentacle cloak.


    ¡°Small things when weighed against the value of freedom,¡± the Monarch said as though the litany of offenses were water under the bridge.


    ¡°Let me put this plain,¡± Marcus growled. ¡°I would rather drown on floor two hundred and seven in a pool of dog vomit than work with you.¡±


    Although I couldn¡¯t see the Monarch¡¯s face, I could almost hear it grin behind the obsidian faceplate. ¡°Perhaps I will grant you your wish before leaving this place¡ª¡±


    Then, in the space of an eyeblink, the demon shot forward like a bullet, its blade blurring through the air.


    Khopesh met sword in a clap of thunder and a reverberating clang that sounded for all the world like metal. Golden sparks and sizzling arcs of red electricity spit upward. The monstrous force of the two weapons unleashed a ripple of power that exploded outward, snapping another of the nearby columns in two. The energy blast also hit me square in the chest like an invisible mule kick, effortlessly hurling me back down the hallway.


    I landed on the ground with a thud and fought to pull in even a single gulp of air.


    My already aching ribs were on fire now, and it felt like something might¡¯ve broken inside my chest. Part of me just wanted to lie there and die quietly, but ten thousand years of primal survival instinct wouldn¡¯t allow me to give up quite so easy. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I regained my feet and retreated further down the hall.


    Unfortunately, I didn¡¯t have far to go, and now I was trapped between a rock and a pair of unspeakably powerful demigods working out years¡¯ worth of repressed anger issues.


    If I didn¡¯t do something, I was going to die here.


    I still had the Slammer in my hand, and though it seemed asinine, I wasn¡¯t exactly spoiled for choices. I spiked it against the carpet like a football and belted out the words, ¡°Let¡¯s Pog!¡±

 Three – Clash of Legends

    Obviously, I felt like a complete jackass, but when the world starts operating on bullshit Alice-in-Wonderland logic, I figured the best thing to do was just¡­ roll with it, I guess. Or, in this case, throw it onto the ground and scream out a nonsensical ¡¯90s¡¯ catchphrase.


    As the Slammer hit, a burst of warm energy bubbled outward in a ring. Emblazed on the ground was a golden circle with a glimmering image of the snake and skull temporarily branded into the carpet. Rising up around me was a golden birdcage, built from shimmering bars of light. A two-minute timer appeared in the corner of my eye, ticking steadily down toward zero.


    Hesitantly, I crept up to the edge of the circle and grabbed at one of the bars. My hand passed right through as though it were an illusion. A trick of smoke and mirrors. I thought I felt the slightest tickle of electrical current pass through my palm, but it was so faint it could¡¯ve been my overworked imagination.


    Meanwhile, the battle between the two titans raged unabated.


    The Flayed Monarch descended upon the gunslinger with a bloodcurdling screech, which brought the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention. Its four arms were a blur of manic motion, the bone khopesh and spinal whip lashing out in a deadly dance. Each time the whip snapped, a burst of bloody red light flashed through the conference room and huge fissures appeared along the walls. Hurricane-force wind howled into the hallway, but instead of bowling me over, it hit the golden birdcage and fizzled without ever even ruffling my hair.


    I looked down at the Slammer.


    Well holy shit. That was a pretty good trick after all.


    The gunslinger effortlessly avoided each whip strike¡ªducking, sidestepping, even momentarily blinking in and out of existence while he advanced, undeterred. The foam blade in his hands was a whirlwind and, as he moved, ghostly blue flames formed along the edge of the weapon. The Monarch turned every strike and parried every thrust, but he wasn¡¯t launching a counterassault. It was all the demon could do to keep the gunslinger at bay.


    Of the two, it was clear the human warrior had a small edge in melee combat.


    The gunslinger feinted left and lashed out with a quick jab, then darted right and brought the sword screaming down in a vicious arc aimed at the Monarch¡¯s exposed neck. The demon couldn¡¯t get its blade up in time, but as the weapon struck, the creature turned into a fine red mist and drifted away at the last moment.


    The horror reformed on the opposite side of the conference room, completely unscathed by the brutal attack. Now that the Monarch had some breathing room, it raised a hand and muttered a grating incantation that made my ears bleed. Literally. I reached up with a trembling hand and wiped away a streak of red trickling down my cheek. The golden dome was powerful, but clearly it had limitations.


    Meanwhile, a hundred crimson spears and swords appeared in the air above the demon¡¯s jagged black crown. The Monarch casually flicked its wrist forward, and the conjured arsenal lurched toward the gunslinger like an artillery barrage.


    The gunslinger attempted to blink out of existence, but a fleshy red tentacle, covered in a multitude of eyeballs, erupted from a nearby column, wrapping around one of his legs. Rooting him to the spot. He thrust his golden gauntlet out and a blazing azure dome appeared around him, insulating him from the encroaching army of floating weapons before they could hack him to pieces.


    The Monarch¡¯s conjured weapons furiously slashed at the energy barrier, leaving thin cracks in their wake, but they couldn¡¯t break through.


    The gunslinger paid them no mind.


    Instead, he reached out, and a small black void flashed into existence, just long enough for the time-beaten warrior to pluck something free. He flung whatever he¡¯d retrieved onto the ground outside the bounds of the blue dome. A handful of plastic green Army Men hit the carpet, then immediately swelled in size. In the space of seconds, two dozen hulking green warriors appeared, though their proportions were all wrong. Arms twisted. Legs bent at odd angles. Their faces contorted masks of tortured wax.


    ¡°Unrealistically Posed Army Man, reporting for duty!¡± one of the hulking figurines barked.


    ¡°Defensive Position B Fourteen!¡± the gunslinger bellowed.


    ¡°Aye, aye, sir!¡± the rest of the troops cried in gruff unison, before launching into action.


    Without missing a beat, they formed a neat wall surrounding the exterior of the dome and began retaliating against the Monarch¡¯s flying cloud of living weapons. Some fought with bayonets that burned with eldritch green witchfire. Others used backpack flamethrowers to unleash columns of brilliant orange and red fire, burning the bloody weapons from the air.


    The gunslinger used the distraction to hack through the tentacle with his sword.


    The blade severed the grasping limb in a few quick chops, then the dome vanished as the gunslinger blinked across the room and hurled a javelin of blue lightning from his gauntlet.


    The Monarch was ready.


    The demon tossed out a plastic red Easter egg, which intercepted the incoming bolt of power. There was a brief flash and the spell disappeared before it ever landed.


    The two collided back into each other in a clash of limbs, spells, and blades as army men and disembodied weapons fought a merciless, pitched battle.


    A dark cloud formed overhead, and droplets of blood rained down, scorching the carpet, searing the yellow wallpaper, and burning through pretty much anything it touched. Several oversized plastic men got caught in the deluge and were shortly reduced to piles of melted wax, which left an acrid stink lingering in my nose. The scarlet rain didn¡¯t do anything to the gunslinger, though. It rolled right off him like water off a duck¡¯s back, pooling in acidic puddles by his feet.


    The two continued to fight with rabid fury, trading blow for blow, but neither seemed to be able to get the upper hand. Even when it seemed like one might prevail, the other always had some new spell or magical trinket ready to nullify the effects.


    The ground shook and a forest of deadly, rebar spikes erupted from the carpet¡ª


    The gunslinger avoided the attack entirely by leaping upward, then he sprinted across the air itself with some unseen ability.


    A barrage of sharpened icicles fell from the churning clouds¡ª


    Only to be burned away by an inferno blaze of unquenchable black flame.


    All the while, the timer ticked away in the corner of my eye, drawing closer to zero.


    Fifty-seven seconds left to go on the arcane shield protecting me¡­


    The Monarch manifested a plain Bicycle playing card¡ªa ten of diamonds¡ªand proceeded to pluck the diamonds from the face of the card and hurl them at the gunslinger as they grew to the size of frisbees.


    But the weather-beaten warrior was ready for that, turning them away with a jack of clubs that unfurled and grew into a shield that absorbed the attacks before disintegrating to ash.


    The back-and-forth volley was like watching a world-class round of tennis, except they were trading earth-shattering spells and physical blows powerful enough to rip the limbs from my body.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Forty-four seconds left.


    The gunslinger lifted a hand and let loose a flare of blinding light from his palm, so bright it seared a purple afterimage into my retinas. When the burst of illumination finally vanished, I watched as he blinked through space and time once more, appearing behind the Monarch with his sword already descending in an arc that would decapitate the monstrous creature if it landed.


    But the Monarch anticipated the attack and spun like a top, narrowly avoiding the sword strike. In one quick motion, the monster turned and drove its curved khopesh directly into the gunslinger¡¯s guts. The weapon sliced cleanly through the warrior¡¯s armor like a scalpel, then punched out through the back, the blade covered in slick scarlet. The gunslinger glanced down at the sword with a look of dumb surprise etched into the lines of his weathered face.


    His hands groped at the khopesh, but before he could even attempt to pull it out, eye-covered tentacles exploded from the walls and floors. One set wrapped around the gunslinger¡¯s legs, and another wrapped around his shoulders. The tentacles yanked, and the man came apart at the middle, strands of bloody gore and gray intestine dangling out. Then, with an almost casual disdain, the tentacles flicked the warrior away like a piece of garbage.


    The man¡¯s brutalized body landed with a wet thump not far from the mouth of the corridor I was hiding in.


    I¡¯d seen some shit while overseas, but that? Never anything like that.


    It was a death blow, beyond recovery.


    For anyone other than the gunslinger.


    The warrior had been eviscerated, his steampunk goggles were smashed and hanging down around his neck, and there was blood absolutely everywhere. Somehow, though, he was still alive. Although he probably wouldn¡¯t be for long. With painful slowness, the man reached trembling fingers toward the Winnie the Pooh plushy strung around his neck.


    Whatever he was going to do, he wasn¡¯t doing it fast enough.


    He turned and glanced at me, his singular gray-blue eye silently pleading for help.


    But what the hell could I do?


    How could I possibly stop the demon, where he had failed?


    The gunslinger had magic. Weapons. A platoon of green plastic army men.


    I had a hammer and a Versace bathrobe.


    As though finally realizing just how boned he was, the gunslinger finally tore his gaze away from me and looked at the demonic monstrosity languidly moving toward him, as inevitable as death itself. The Monarch seemed to be taking its time. Almost savoring the moment.


    Shit, shit, shit. This was bad. Really bad.


    I knew next to nothing about these two titans, but the guy lying on the floor was human and had gone out of his way to help me¡ªeven when he didn¡¯t have to. As far as I was concerned, that made him the good guy. That and the fact that he didn¡¯t have centipede legs or a tentacle/eyeball cloak.


    Thirty seconds left on my shield.


    Shit. What am I doing?


    Something dumb, that¡¯s what. Something that would probably get me killed.


    I took a deep breath, already kicking myself for being a moron.


    I squatted down and picked up the Slammer, muttering ¡°That¡¯s so ¡¯90s,¡± under my breath. The golden birdcage blinked away, leaving me with just over twenty seconds of juice left in the coin. Then, before I could overthink things, I took off at a sprint, Slammer in one hand, hammer in the other.


    The demonic creature was closing in on the badly wounded warrior.


    If the rough plan I had kicking around inside my skull was going to work, I needed to act now. I muttered a quiet prayer, planted my feet, and hurled the metal token. It arced gracefully through the air, holographic skull glittering majestically as it flipped and toppled. It landed a foot away from the battered and broken gunslinger, and as it did, I yelled the stupid incantation, ¡°Let¡¯s Pog!¡±


    The golden birdcage blazed to life and the timer popped up on the edges of my vision, trickling down from twenty-four seconds.


    Twenty-four seconds wasn¡¯t much, but it was the best I could do. The only thing I could do.


    The gunslinger didn¡¯t waste the opportunity.


    He wrapped a trembling, bloodstained hand around the Winnie the Pooh plushy, suspended from the gray noose, and muttered something under his breath. The stuffed animal began to burn with an eerie red light. A crimson slash appeared across Pooh¡¯s stuffed belly, the two halves of the gunslinger miraculously pulled themselves together, and his skin and flesh began to mend itself.


    I¡¯d bought him a few precious seconds, but the healing process wasn¡¯t going quite as quickly as I¡¯d hoped, and the Monarch had turned away from the gunslinger and toward me. There was curiosity in the way the creature cocked its head, almost as though it were noticing my existence for the first time. The demon looked at me the way someone might look at an ant scuttling across a kitchen counter.


    ¡°You should not have done that,¡± it buzzed, anger undercutting the inhuman words.


    ¡°Yeah, tell me something I haven¡¯t heard my whole life,¡± I replied. Then, because I was already elbow-deep in a shit sandwich that was almost certainly going to kill me, I made another bad choice. ¡°Now how¡¯s about you go fuck yourself.¡± I took another step and hurled the hammer with every ounce of strength I could muster.


    The tool¡ªmeant to drive in nails, not fight otherworldly demonic beings¡ªsomersaulted, end over end, and smashed into the Monarch¡¯s obsidian face. The demon didn¡¯t even try to move or dodge, which was a little insulting. The tool hit with a metallic clatter then dropped harmlessly to the gray carpet without doing any damage at all. Hell, it didn¡¯t even manage to scratch the paint on the Monarch¡¯s faceplate.


    I had no doubt the creature could¡¯ve cleaved me in two or ripped the head from my shoulders without breaking a sweat.


    Apparently, I didn¡¯t warrant even that much effort.


    The Monarch simply lifted one hand and a colossal spiritual weight slammed down on me like a bulldozer. My knees buckled and I hit the floor without offering an ounce of resistance. The pressure squeezed the air from my lungs, then kept right on squeezing until I thought my lungs were going to pop. Blackness crept in on the edges of my vision and tremendous pressure built around my eyes. My heart labored, and I could feel the bones in my chest, arms, and legs grind and break. Magma flowed through my veins and every breath felt like drowning.


    Perfect. Not only was I going to die¡ªI was going to die in the most excruciating way possible. My ninth-grade math teacher had been right all along.


    But then, just as suddenly as the pain had started, it vanished. The pressure relented.


    I gasped, and though I knew irreparable damage had already been done, at least I could breathe again, which was one small mercy. The black receded and I fought to prop myself up on my elbows so I could see what had happened.


    The golden birdcage had dissipated, and the gunslinger now stood behind the Monarch; he¡¯d driven his sword clean through the demon¡¯s chest. A jagged black tear, two feet long and a foot wide, had appeared inside the demon¡¯s torso. Through the void in the creature¡¯s chest, I could see a host of odd items. Weapons. Armor. Glimmering jewels. But other things too. Weird things. Things that made no more sense than life-sized green army men or eyeball tentacles.


    A plastic Burger Baron crown. A golden figurine of a werewolf. Some kind of trading card with a dragon on the front.


    One of those items, a battered bronze compass that had seen better days, tumbled free from the void and rolled across the floor.


    ¡°Thank you for your help, Dan Woodridge from Cincinnati,¡± the gunslinger said. ¡°Should you survive, I will not forget it.¡±


    Something sailed toward me, glinting in the fluorescents overhead. Whatever it was landed on my chest, which sent a fresh bolt of agony racing through my ribs.


    Before I could reply or gargle out an incoherent ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± there was a tremendous howl, and another brilliant flash filled the hallway. When the light finally faded and I could see again, the gunslinger and the Monarch were gone. They left behind carnage, destruction, and a huge, charred spot where they¡¯d been standing, but of the two battling demigods, there was no sign.


    It was great news, except for the fact that I was still, one hundred percent, dying.


    I tried to move my legs and couldn¡¯t.


    My organs hurt and it felt like some giant, uncaring god had decided to squash me with an oversized boot.


    Then I got a glimpse of the thing on my chest.


    It was a slender glass bottle with a blue and black label that had the word Zima splashed across the front. I didn¡¯t remember Zima well¡ªI¡¯d only been a kid and well below the drinking age during its heyday¡ªbut I was pretty damn sure their slogan wasn¡¯t ¡°The #1 Bone Healing Juice in the Market! Guaranteed to make your Insides feel like Glimflam!¡±


    Hovering above the bottle was a small square icon¡ªa black question mark on a mustard yellow background. When I examined it closely a prompt appeared, just like with the Slammer.


    Zima - Greater Healing Elixir


    Uncommon Elixir


    Type: One-Time Use


    Remember the deliciously refreshing taste of lightly carbonated Zima? Of course you do! Those were the good ol¡¯ days, amiright? You¡¯ll find the newest formula has all the same great flavor but will also regrow your spleen! Or your skin. Even missing limbs if you get ¡¯em reattached quickly enough. Huzzah!


    So, kick back a cold one on us, and give your insides a new stab at life!


    After reading through the elixir description, I decided I was having a stroke on top of everything else, but at this point I also had zero shits to give.


    Everything hurt and nothing in the entire world made sense, except one thing.


    The gunslinger had given me this for a reason.


    This was my only chance at walking away from the confrontation.


    With numb, trembling fingers, I twisted off the cap, pressed the cool edge of the bottle to my lips, and chugged the bubbly and refreshing liquid. It burned a little going down then landed in my stomach like a flash of liquid napalm. A renewed wave of agony rampaged through my body as my bones shifted beneath my skin, but then came absolute euphoria as the pain receded.


    The darkness wrapped around me and this time I let it carry me away on a swift, delicious river of blissful endorphins.

 Four – Research Achievement Unlocked!

    I don¡¯t know how long I was out for¡ªcould¡¯ve been two minutes or ten hours. I didn¡¯t have a watch on, and there were no windows or other organic sources of light, so gauging the time was impossible. It was quiet, though. Other than the omnipresent buzz of the lights above there wasn¡¯t a sound, which was unnerving in its own way.


    But at least I was alive. Hell, not just alive.


    I felt like a million bucks.


    I sat up, stretched my arms, cracked my neck, then did a quick inventory, running my hands over my chest in search of wounds. The dull ache from my ribs was gone, there was no sign of the splitting headache from my night of drunken debauchery, and my muscles and joints hadn¡¯t felt this good in ten years. Maybe ever.


    There was a black exclamation point blinking insistently in the corner of my eye. When I cautiously examined it, the symbol vanished and a new message from the Researcher appeared.


    Even after ten thousand years, you humans still manage to surprise me from time to time. I had no expectations whatsoever that you would survive that encounter, much less serve as a tipping point in the battle. Yet here we are. Impressively done. Truly.


    As a result, you¡¯ve earned several Research Achievements.


    Although this is quite irregular, I am going to prematurely assign a Localized Administrator to oversee your case.


    There are hundreds of different Localized Administrators, each with their own unique disposition, and you will be paired with one best suited for your personality profile. Your Localized Administrator is responsible for managing your VIRUS Upgrade Interface, awarding research achievements, and allocating resources based on preset performance metrics and key Research Department Objectives.


    It will serve as a guide during your time in the Backrooms.


    Because of the anomalies associated with your case, be advised that you will not be able to fully integrate with the VIRUS Upgrade Interface or Redeem Loot Tokens until you exit the Lobby and locate one of the Progenitor Monoliths on the lower floors. Should you manage to escape the Lobby, I recommend seeking refuge in the nearest Safe Harbor, which is Howlers Hold. According to your Current Relative Position (CRP), Howlers Hold can be located on Floor 7, Quadrant 12, Sector 3 for the next three days, seventeen hours, thirteen minutes, twenty-eight seconds.


    Although this is likely the last you will ever hear from me, on behalf of the Variant Research Division, I wish you the best of luck.


    ¡ª The Researcher


    I read through the notice and by the time I was done, I was even more confused than when I clicked on the exclamation point. VIRUS Upgrade Interface? Loot Tokens? Progenitor Monoliths?


    I was just hoping this Localized Administrator would be able to clear some of this shit up for me, because I¡¯d never felt more lost in the sauce. When I dismissed the message from the Researcher, a whole slew of new notifications erupted, one right after another, scrolling across my vision like the opening crawl in a Star Wars movie.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Premature Administration


    Don¡¯t worry, premature administration happens a lot to guys your age¡ªI think there¡¯s probably a pill for that.


    Reward: Lobby Access to a Localized Administrator, Iteration 1.13578092. Lucky you¡­


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    My First Artifact


    You¡¯ve successfully managed to find and activate a Backrooms Artifact. Congratulations, you¡¯ve accomplished something so insignificant that it¡¯s basically the Backrooms¡¯ version of a participation trophy. Still¡­ you managed to do it within twenty minutes of being here. How you even found an Artifact in the Lobby is, frankly, impressive. Pretty sure that¡¯s a new Backrooms record.


    Reward: 3 x Copper Delver Loot Token, 1 x Silver Delver Loot Token


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Out of Your League


    You¡¯ve attacked a monster more than 100 levels higher than you. If I had hands, I¡¯d clap¡ªthen I¡¯d use them to dig your grave. That¡¯s a ballsy move, even by my standards. No one in the recorded history of the Backrooms has ever done that and lived to tell the tale. Except you, apparently.


    Reward: 1,200 Experience Points, 1 x Ruby Warlord Loot Token


    Title: Out of Your League ¨C Deal 10% additional damage to opponents more than five levels higher than you.


    Note: Titles come with a wide range of passive benefits, which are always in effect, though you can only have ten titles in effect at any given point.


    [Level Up! x 3]


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Death Wish


    You¡¯ve survived an attack from a monster more than 100 levels higher than you. Do you have a death wish? Because this is how you die a very painful, but often quick, death. At least, it¡¯s quick if you¡¯re lucky. The fact that you somehow survived is mind-blowing and definitely worth a little somethin¡¯-somethin¡¯.


    Reward: 1,200 Experience Points, 1 x Diamond Sentinel Loot Token


    Title: Death Wish ¨C All healing Relics and Artifacts become 5% more effective when your Health drops below 15%.


    [Level Up! x 1]


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Marked for Death


    Whether by poor luck or through a series of even poorer life choices, you¡¯ve somehow managed to cross paths with the Flayed Monarch¡ªeasily one of the most powerful entities in all of the Backrooms. You¡¯re alive, but for how much longer is the real question. You¡¯ve been Marked for Death, and all the Aspirants who serve at the pleasure of the Skinless Court will try to murder you on sight. On the plus side, all factions who oppose the Skinless Court will be more favorable to you.


    ¡°You can always judge a man by the quality of his enemies¡± ¡ª Oscar Wilde


    Reward: 1 x Gold Ambassador Loot Token


    Title: Marked for Death ¨C Deal 15% additional damage to all Aspirants of the Skinless Court!


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Masochist-in-Training


    You suffered a single attack that reduced your Health by more than ninety percent. I¡¯d ask if you¡¯re okay, but there¡¯s no way that you¡¯re okay. I¡¯m going to give you a reward, but I feel conflicted about it, since I don¡¯t want to positively reinforce this type of bad behavior.


    Reward: 4 x Copper Medic! Loot Token, 1 x Silver Medic! Loot Token


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    My First Elixir


    So, you¡¯ve had a hard day at the office and suffered a catastrophic crippling blow that has left you tiptoeing on the line between life and death? Just another average Tuesday in Newfoundland. Crack the fridge and pull out a refreshing, medical-grade Zima¡ªThe #1 Bone Healing Juice in the Market! Guaranteed to make your Insides feel like Glimflam!


    Reward: The delicious, refreshing, lightly carbonated taste of Zima is its own reward, amiright?


    I read through the list of increasingly bizarre notifications, which served as a disturbingly concise record of everything that had happened in the past couple hours.


    Using a magical Pog Slammer to summon an impenetrable dome of arcane energy?


    Check.


    Leaving the safety of said impenetrable dome to save some weird hobo with an anime sword by hurling my hammer at a skinless horror with the lower body of a centipede?


    Double check.


    Having my body pulverized and my bones crushed, only to be miraculously saved by chugging the forerunner to White Claw?


    Yahtzee.


    I wasn¡¯t exactly sure what Loot Tokens were or how they worked, but I figured I could worry about that once I got clear of the Lobby and found a way to the first floor. Problem was, I had no clue where I was, how big the Lobby was, or how to leave.


    The utter lack of signage certainly didn¡¯t help the situation.


    With a grunt, I stood and took a slow look-see around, trying to get my bearings.


    There was no sign of the gunslinger or the Monarch, but the devastation and carnage they left behind was still readily apparent. The two-man Armageddon had smashed through columns, split the walls open, and burned the carpet to cinders, though, strangely, the damage appeared to be fading.


    Though maybe fading wasn¡¯t quite the right word. It was more like the damage was healing. Almost as if this place was actually a living organism, clothed with yellow wallpaper and tacky carpet instead of skin or scales.


    Curiosity got the better of me, and I headed over to examine a zigzagging crack in the plaster. As a general contractor, I¡¯d hung more than my fair share of sheetrock and laid plenty of wallpaper, but as I ran my fingers over the jagged edge of the damage, I knew right away that this wasn¡¯t drywall, brick, concrete, gypsum board or any other construction material I¡¯d ever worked with before. The material was wet, pliable, but also oddly fibrous. It felt more like a slab of beef than sheetrock, and when I pulled my fingers away, they were covered in slick, clear mucus.


    Holy shit. Maybe this place was healing itself.


    I suppressed a shudder and actively pushed away the dark thoughts cycling through my head.


    That didn¡¯t matter right now, I told myself. The only thing I needed to focus on at this moment was getting as far away from this particular location as fast as possible. I¡¯d chucked a hammer at the head of an eldritch horror with god-like power and likely cost it a victory over a deadly rival. There was a good chance that freak show would come sniffing around sooner or later, looking for a little payback, and I didn¡¯t want to be here when it showed up.


    But I also didn¡¯t want to risk leaving anything valuable behind.


    I didn¡¯t know where I was or how long I¡¯d be stuck in here, and I wouldn¡¯t survive long without supplies. And, if the legendary fight between the post-apocalyptic gunslinger and the skinless horror-show had taught me anything, it was that every item could potentially be a valuable, life-saving tool.


    Even a 1990¡¯s POG slammer.


    First, I picked up the empty glass Zima bottle, which had rolled away from my hand after I¡¯d passed out. The Greater Healing Elixir description still populated when I closely examined the bottle¡¯s properties, but the elixir had been a one-time use item. Now it was just a bottle.


    I still shoved it into one of the outer pockets on my tool belt.


    I didn¡¯t have anything to drink from, and even if the bottle could no longer heal what ailed me, I could always fill it up with water on the off chance that I ran across a faucet or drinking fountain.


    Next, I made my way up the hall, rummaging through the debris and smoking rubble in search of anything else that might be useful. Most of the magical trinkets the two clashing deities had tossed around had been completely obliterated.


    The plastic green army men had shrunken back down to size and whatever magic they¡¯d once contained was now gone. There were shredded playing cards and pieces of tacky, plastic mall jewelry lying all over the place, but they were likewise destroyed beyond repair.


    A few things had survived, though.


    In the hallway, buried beneath a chunk of rubble, which looked like sheetrock and felt like fatty gristle, was a pitted brass compass. The same compass that had fallen out of the Monarch¡¯s chest after the gunslinger had run the creature through with his foam sword. At a glance, it looked like something you might find in a discount bin at a roadside antique store.


    Carefully, I poked it with the toe of my work boot, making sure it wouldn¡¯t explode or grow teeth and try to eat me.


    When nothing immediately terrible happened, I breathed a small sigh of relief, then gingerly picked it up off the floor, turning it over and over in my hands. It vibrated with a subtle thrum of energy and sent a gentle ripple of warmth through my arms and into my chest.


    This thing, whatever it was, had power with a capital P.


    As with the bottle and the Slammer, I examined the compass and a description box appeared, rendered in the same eight-bit graphics as the rest of the message boxes.


    This one was different, though. Restricted.


    Compass of the Catacomber


    Mythic Emblem


    Whoops! Looks like you¡¯ve stumbled upon an encrypted item. Because this Emblem is rendered in Archaic Variant, language iteration 1.01, you cannot fully view its properties without a Perception of 10 and you cannot equip it to your Spatial Core without a Resonance of 15. To fix this issue, exit the Lobby and visit the nearest Progenitor Monolith to finish fully integrating with the Backrooms¡¯ VIRUS.


    I dismissed the words and stowed the compass.


    Like everything else in this place, the error message left me with more questions than answers.


    There were two other items that had survived the destruction: my trusty 19 oz claw hammer and the Snake and Skull Slammer that the gunslinger had loaned to me.


    I fished the hammer off the floor, hand wrapping around the hickory handle, but faltered a second later when an identification icon briefly flared over the hammer¡¯s blunt metal head.


    I narrowed my eyes and glanced at the symbol with suspicion.


    19 oz Vaughan Hammer ¨C ¡°Foe Bane¡±


    Rare Artifact


    Type: Blunt Weapon, Personal Significance (Enhanced)


    Victory through superior Hammer power!


    Behold, the mighty 19 oz straight claw hammer! This legendary tool is the perfect blend of elegance and functionality, ideal for smiting your foes or hanging a picture frame. Crafted by the finest blacksmiths of the Vaughan Manufacturing Corporation, this versatile tool can pry open treasure chests or rip the arms off the Faceless Ghouls on the First Floor.


    It¡¯s the perfect addition to any arsenal.


    But this simple-appearing tool is more than it seems. Used to strike a critical blow against the Flayed Monarch, this hammer has garnered additional Significance, transforming it into a Legend in the making¡­


    Effect 1, The Bigger They Are: Through concentration, Foe Bane can be invested with Mana, allowing it to grow or shrink in size. Regardless of apparent size, it will never seem to weigh more than 19 oz for its bonded wielder. To activate this effect, the user must first equip a Relic that enables Mana usage.


    Effect Slot: Empty


    Effect Slot: Empty


    Effect Slot: Empty


    I read through the description once, twice, then a third time.


    Unless I was somehow misreading things, my hammer was now a magical weapon. One that could grow and shrink by investing it with ¡°Mana¡±¡ªthough how I was supposed to do that, I wasn¡¯t quite sure. I focused on the tool in my hand, then shut my eyes and envisioned it swelling up to the size of a sledgehammer. Something stirred faintly inside my chest, a flicker of gentle heat, here then gone. When I cracked one eye, the hammer was still the same size it had always been.


    Feeling just a tiny bit of disappointment, I slid the hammer back into its customary loop on my belt.


    Still, I was curious. If the hammer had somehow gained magical attributes, what about my other gear? I pulled out my trusty demolition screwdriver and saw that it too had a muddy identification icon. Excited, I quickly pulled it up, but found that unlike the hammer, it was listed simply as a Common Artifact with a standard description. The only interesting thing of note was that, like the hammer, the screwdriver was listed as having ¡°Personal Significance.¡±


    There were also two empty Effect Slots located at the bottom of the item description.


    A quick check revealed that all of my tools were like that.


    And not just them.


    My Redwing work boots. The nut-hugger jorts. Even the ass-ugly red-and-gold Versace bathrobe, which I¡¯d literally never seen before. Each and every one was listed as a Common Artifact with Personal Significance.


    That didn¡¯t mean anything to me now, but both the Researcher and the strange Error message I¡¯d received from the Compass of the Catacomber had mentioned leaving the Lobby to unlock additional features. I was betting that if I could find a way to get off this floor, some of this stuff might start making a little more sense.


    The last item I retrieved was the Snake and Skull Pog Slammer, which I¡¯d tossed to the gunslinger during a moment of epic heroism. That or epic stupidity. I¡¯d learned long ago that the line separating the two was often a mighty thin one, but since I¡¯d survived the ordeal, I was going with heroism.


    I took a few extra seconds to pull up the description¡ªdouble-checking that the Artifact was still in working condition. I¡¯d used the entirety of the Artifact¡¯s two minutes of magical protection during the battle between the gunslinger and the Monarch, so for the time being it was nothing more than a glorified paperweight.


    Or an actual Pog Slammer.


    At least, that¡¯s what I thought until I realized the Cooldown timer had changed.


    Time Until Reset: 6 hours, 23 minutes


    My memory was a little cloudy since I¡¯d been on the verge of being murdered, but the last time I¡¯d looked at the Slammer, the Time Until Reset had been around twelve hours. Which meant I¡¯d been unconscious for just over five hours. I dismissed the pop-up and slid the Slammer into my pocket, since it was now the most valuable item in my possession. Not only could it generate a protective shield for two minutes a day, but the cooldown feature also served as a rudimentary clock.


    A clock set to Newfoundland Standard Time, but a clock all the same.


    Now that I¡¯d scavenged all the usable items from the scene of the battle, the only thing left to do was to get my ass moving and find a way to leave the Lobby.

 Five – Endless Corridors

    I spent the next several hours wandering through a seemingly endless series of twisting, turning, and interconnected corridors that didn¡¯t go anywhere or have a discernable purpose.


    It was a mind-numbingly dull labyrinth of gray carpet and yellow wallpaper, augmented by the occasional set of brown double doors that also went nowhere. I opened one set to find a solid wall with more wallpaper. Another let out into a short hallway, which ended after twenty feet. All of the hallways meandered without any real rhyme or reason, randomly connecting to wide conference halls, smaller meeting rooms, cozy alcoves, and more pointless corridors.


    Other than that, there was just nothing.


    No chairs. No tables. None of the inoffensive and utterly forgettable corporate art that usually decorated the walls in these kinds of places. There were also no signs¡ªPool This Way, Fitness Center on 4<sup>th</sup> Floor, Rooftop Access¡ªwith one extremely notable exception. I ran across six different Exit signs, all lit up in blazing red neon. Like the brown doors, they never went anywhere either. They were all positioned in dead-end hallways, just like the one I¡¯d woken up in.


    I was starting to think they existed solely to mock any poor schmuck unlucky enough to get stuck in here. It was enough to drive a guy batshit.


    Especially a guy like me.


    This entire place was a contractor¡¯s worst nightmare. Nothing was up to code. There were no egress windows or smoke detectors. The constantly flickering lights pointed to botched wiring, and I hadn¡¯t seen a single electrical outlet. Right hand to the good Lord, the lack of proper ventilation would haunt me far more than the skinless monster with far too many limbs.


    Even more concerning, however, was the lack of drinking fountains or bathrooms. Having a place to take a dump was high on my list of priorities, but I could make do with a corner. But no water? Yeah, that was trouble. I could go a good long while without food, but water was one of those small amenities necessary for human survival. I had a day, maybe two at the outside, to figure out how to get out of the Lobby before I passed out from dehydration and died in one of a thousand unmarked corridors.


    And the truth was, I probably didn¡¯t even have that long.


    Although the Monarch hadn¡¯t found me yet, there was something else in here with me.


    I wasn¡¯t sure what, exactly, and I never got a good look at it. It was always a flash of movement just on the edge of my peripheries or the scritch-scratch of claws rustling against carpet. It was the sense of eyes watching me from the dark, waiting ever so patiently for an opportune moment to strike. And whenever I sat down or even stopped moving for a little too long, I felt the noxious presence of the watchers draw nearer.


    Closing in around me on every side.


    If I lay down for a bit of shut-eye, I was certain I wouldn¡¯t ever wake up again. Why these things hadn¡¯t eaten me while I was passed out for five hours, I couldn¡¯t say, but they were actively hunting me now.


    So, even though I was tired and thirsty, I kept moving.


    Kept searching for a way out.


    The lack of distinguishing features made it incredibly hard to navigate with any sort of confidence or certainty, but I was a former Marine and I had the benefit of my tool belt. The first thing I tried was the ol¡¯ Hansel and Gretel method. Using the fat-tipped Sharpie, I systematically left symbols at each intersection and juncture, noting which way I¡¯d come from and which pathway I¡¯d chosen, so I would know if I was doubling back or walking in circles.


    It was a solid plan.


    The Backrooms was having none of it. This place had several countermeasures to make sure visitors couldn¡¯t game the system quite so easily.


    Turned out, the wallpaper was lightly corrosive¡ªalmost like the digestive juices of some giant stomach. I figured that out when I took a short break, sat down, and leaned up against one of the walls. I¡¯d been sitting for ten minutes, tops, when I noticed a strange heat radiating through my stupid, ass-ugly bathrobe. When I scrambled away, I found that the wall had eaten a dime-sized hole through the fabric.


    That same acidic quality also dissolved the Sharpie in a matter of minutes, which I learned after hitting a dead-end, then backtracking to a large, circular conference room with a series of corridors branching off like the spokes of a wheel. It didn¡¯t take long to locate one of the trail markers I¡¯d left behind¡ªexcept the arrow I¡¯d drawn was faded to a ghostly gray line, so faint it was nearly invisible. If I hadn¡¯t known any better, I would¡¯ve said the mark had been exposed to the sun and the elements for months or even years.


    Curious, I milled around for a bit longer, watching as the arrow eventually faded completely and disappeared, leaving only unmarked yellow wallpaper behind.


    I wasn¡¯t out of options, though.


    Improvise, adapt, and overcome was the unofficial Marine Corps motto for a reason. It also doubled for contractors working on an unfamiliar job site.


    I stowed the Sharpie and pulled out my demolition screwdriver. In the past eight years, I¡¯d never once used the screwdriver to turn a screw. It had a blunt, flat head and I often used it like a chisel¡ªthat or as a spike to punch holes in walls or even pry boards apart.


    Instead of delicately scribbling arrows onto the walls, I started leaving behind deep, nasty puncture wounds to mark my route. I knew from experience that this place would heal those injuries over time, but based on what I¡¯d observed after the battle between the gunslinger and the Monarch, that could take hours instead of minutes. Not exactly an elegant solution, but it got the job done and that was all that mattered.


    Unfortunately, that plan had a few unexpected kinks as well.


    As with the Sharpie, the Backrooms didn¡¯t appreciate my creative interior decoration. The lights blinked manically in annoyance after the first couple of stabs, and things got progressively worse from there. By the time I¡¯d marked the fifth intersection, an angry tremor rattled through the floor, which made me sweat. Still, the holes stayed put, so I was hesitant to stop. When I punched the sixth hole, there was a long groan followed by the sound of thudding footfalls, rapidly closing in on me.


    The watcher was back, and it was closer than ever.


    That was enough to convince me to try something else.


    At the next intersection, instead of just punching a hole in the wall, I took out my utility knife and carved out a square of wallpaper, approximately two feet by two feet. The material was thin, flexible, and surprisingly durable. The texture also felt like human skin, which was extremely disturbing. But the back side of the wallpaper was plain white in color and didn¡¯t seem to have the same acidic qualities as the yellow front side. I used my Sharpie to sketch out a rough map of the area, and even after ten minutes, the ink didn¡¯t fade.


    That made me think the wallpaper might have some other beneficial uses.


    It was easy to imagine crafting a pair of crude gloves, which would deal acid damage to anything I punched.


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    But when I decided to push my luck and attempted to harvest a second section of wallpaper, the Backrooms pushed back a bit more aggressively than before.


    A tremor as strong as an earthquake knocked me from my feet and several of the lights blinked off entirely, plunging huge swaths of the corridor behind me into a thick shroud of oppressive darkness.


    When I fished out my flashlight and turned the beam toward the sudden patch of gloom, I found something waiting within. The watcher. The spear of light bounced off a creature made of inky black shadows with a protruding potbelly, gangly arms, bulbous white eyes, stringy gray hair, and a too-wide mouth filled with a legion of jagged, needle-like teeth. It wore a tattered blue vest with a yellow smiley face pinned to the left breast.


    A tag briefly fluttered above the creature.


    Dweller 0.052C ¨C Lobby Greeter [Level 2]


    It tilted its head to one side, raised a spidery hand, and waved at me in welcome.


    There wasn¡¯t anything even remotely friendly in the gesture, and it sent shivers racing along my spine. Especially when a second and third pair of bright, bulbous eyes blinked at me from the murk.


    The first Greeter flinched away from the light, but the second I moved the beam away, the creature cautiously crept forward¡ªright to the very edge of the darkness. At this point, I was reasonably certain the building itself was a living thing, but I still wasn¡¯t sure whether or not it was sentient. Had the Lobby sent these things as an overt threat? Or was it possible that this was just some sort of automated response¡ªlike a body releasing white blood cells to deal with an invasive infection?


    I wasn¡¯t sure, but either way, it felt like a warning shot.


    Fuck around and find out.


    Me? I had no desire to find out, so I dismissed ideas of acid-dealing gloves and put as much distance between myself and the encroaching trio of nightmare Lobby Greeters as possible.


    Working under the theory that this place¡ªwhatever it was¡ªwas, in fact, alive and sentient, I decided to forgo smashing any more holes into the walls as well. Better to be safe than sorry, especially when maniacal, flesh-eating ghouls were the possible consequence. I mean, I didn¡¯t know for a fact that they were flesh-eating, but since the walls were literally low-grade digestive acid, I felt like that was a safe bet.


    For the next hour, I used the wallpaper parchment to sketch out a crude map as I wandered through the twists and turns, but eventually that failed too. I ran out of parchment space long before I ran out of corridors. This place was just too big to map with any degree of accuracy. The process did yield one unexpected result, however. With a bird¡¯s-eye view of the Lobby, I realized there were some repeatable patterns and that things weren¡¯t quite as random as they seemed at first glance.


    The Researcher had mentioned quadrants and sectors, and now I knew why.


    I was currently stranded inside of a giant, self-contained box, comprised of a series of smaller interconnected boxes. In essence, a grid. Most of the hallways and corridors were designed to drive traffic back toward the middle of the sector and into an area I¡¯d deemed the Lobby Hub, which wasn¡¯t far from where I¡¯d first woken up.


    There was one corridor, though, in one of the outlying sectors, that seemed to break the pattern. Instead of eventually looping back around toward the Hub, it cut through the outer edge of the perimeter and went¡­ elsewhere.


    Likely to another quadrant, though it was impossible to say for sure.


    It took the better part of another hour to get back over to the hallway¡ªreading the map was tricky at best¡ªbut when I did, I immediately noticed one small, but important difference.


    A vent.


    The hallway looked identical to the others, but near the bottom of the wall, just above the baseboard, was a beige air duct vent cover. It wasn¡¯t big enough to climb into, and even if it had been, there was no way I would have. Who knew what in the name of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph would be waiting for me inside?


    Probably a pulsating, demonic gullet, eager to turn me into ¡°meat slurry.¡±


    Even though the vent shaft was small, I still managed to unscrew the plate cover and poke my head inside. The beam of my Maglite illuminated a long metal duct that went straight as an arrow before eventually being swallowed up by the darkness.


    This was the first corridor I¡¯d seen with no turns. No bends. No intersections.


    Not having any other leads or ideas, I opted to follow it.


    Plain, beige ventilation covers appeared every fifteen minutes or so, always in the same place¡ªlow down on the wall, just above the white crown molding¡ªand always identical to the last. I kept the Slammer in my hand as I moved, compulsively checking the time.


    It was 2:17 AM Newfoundland Standard Time, and the Super Slammer of Shielding had officially reset, by the time I came to a door.


    This was different than the brown wooden double doors I¡¯d happened across a few times before. It had a black plastic sign affixed to the front that read, Bathroom, Employees Only.


    I didn¡¯t go in. Not right away.


    I was exhausted and thirsty, and finding a bathroom was an answer to my prayers. Assuming it wasn¡¯t out of order, there would be a sink inside, which meant water. I also knew I couldn¡¯t just keep walking forever. I¡¯d have to stop eventually. Unlike the creatures that called this place home, I was only human, and I¡¯d need to sleep. So far, the thought of the potbellied Lobby Greeters had kept me moving steadily forward, but it wouldn¡¯t be hard to jam the door and barricade myself inside.


    It wasn¡¯t a perfect solution, but that had to be better than sleeping out in the open.


    Still, I hesitated. It was perfect. Too perfect. In my gut, it felt like a trap.


    The hallway, studded with ventilation covers, continued to the right. I could always keep following it in hopes that it would take me to another quadrant¡ªand to a way out of the Lobby. But, begrudgingly, I had to admit there was no guarantee that I would find a way out at all. Even if this hallway did connect to another quadrant, there was an equally good chance that the quadrant would be an endlessly frustrating maze, just like the area I was leaving behind.


    Taking a pit stop in the restroom was the best option. The only option, really.


    I slipped the Slammer into my left palm, then pulled out my hammer. I took a few deep breaths to steady my fraying nerves, then awkwardly cranked the silver door lever down and kicked the door inward with a booted foot. The metal slab squawked and groaned as it opened, revealing a rectangular room with white-tiled floors and lime green walls. The restroom looked like it had been plucked out of an ¡¯80s shopping mall.


    A rectangular ceiling fixture painted the room in harsh white light.


    Against the left wall was a sink situated below a small mirror with a large crack running up its face. Directly opposite the sink was a solitary toilet. An unholy stink emanated from it, but a black lid covered up whatever rectal carnage had been inflicted upon the poor porcelain bowl.


    Perched in the far corner of the room, for reasons I couldn¡¯t even begin to comprehend, was a padded red sitting chair with metal legs.


    The breath caught in my throat¡­


    Not far from the chair was a second door, set into the far wall. This one wasn¡¯t wood, but matte gray metal with the words Stairwell ¨C Lobby Exit spray-painted across the front in blocky white letters.


    I¡¯d just hit the jackpot.


    Except¡­


    Except, I still couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this was a trap.


    I glanced left and right, searching for any sign of the Lobby Greeters, but there was nothing. I was utterly alone. And the bathroom itself was relatively small with nowhere for a potential assailant to hide.


    The Researcher had told me in no uncertain terms that if I wanted to survive, I needed to get to Howlers Hold on floor seven. I also had at least one item that I couldn¡¯t use until I descended and found a Progenitor Monolith.


    Sure, this could be a trap. Or¡­


    Or it could be my only chance.


    Despite my mounting hesitation, I stepped into the bathroom, then pushed the door shut behind me with my heel, never taking my eyes off the exit to the stairwell. The bathroom door closed with an audible click, and I let out a soft sigh of relief when the whole room didn¡¯t go up in a fiery explosion. Had I really expected to find an IED, wired to the bathroom door? No. At this point, though, there wasn¡¯t anything that would truly surprise me.


    I sidestepped over to the sink and wiggled the faucet handle.


    There was a rumble, followed by a gurgle, then a stream of brown water sputtered out, quickly turning clear. That was common enough for plumbing that had sat unused for a while. Even if the stairwell turned out to be a bust, finding a source of drinking water was a huge win.


    I killed the tap, and ominous silence filled the room once again.


    Gripping my hammer even more tightly, I padded across the tiled floor and tried the door. There was a metal push bar running across the front.


    I gave it a good, solid kick, but the door didn¡¯t budge.


    Locked. Because of course it was.


    Set into the metal push bar was a small, circular hole that would accommodate a key. I wasn¡¯t a locksmith by any stretch of the imagination, but I¡¯d dealt with doors like these more times than I could count on commercial worksites. Jimmying them open could be tricky, but with a little patience and the Irwin 9-in-1 multi-bit screwdriver in my belt, I figured I could get ¡¯er done with a little patience and elbow grease.


    I turned, taking one last sweep of the room to ensure I was alone.


    Still nothing.


    Dropping to one knee, I set my hammer down on the tile floor and began to work at the lock with my screwdriver, prodding around inside the hole¡ªsearching for the release mechanism.


    I didn¡¯t hear the soft scrape of porcelain on tile until something heavy slammed into my side like an NFL linebacker and sent me tumbling away from the door.

 Six – Janitorial Handyman

    I hit the wall with a whoomph and a host of white stars danced and cartwheeled across my vision. I blinked several times in utter disbelief, not trusting my eyes because what I was seeing was impossible. Standing guard over the stairwell exit was a skeletally thin creature with maggot-white skin, six arms protruding from its gaunt torso, and an honest-to-God toilet for a head.


    A tag flashed above it.


    Dweller 0.023A ¨C Janitorial Handyman [Level 3]


    ¡°This restroom is for employees only,¡± the Janitorial Handyman said. Its voice burbled and gurgled like mud stuck in a drainpipe. ¡°You are not an employee. You do not belong in the Lobby.¡± A thick purple tongue slithered out of the toilet bowl, dripping fat beads of glistening blue drool. ¡°You will be removed.¡±


    Without waiting for my perfectly reasonable response, the monster lurched toward me, quickly eating up the distance between us with its long legs.


    My mind raced through all my available options in the split second I had before this thing tried to eat me.


    I could run, but that was the worst option by far. The exit door to the stairwell was locked and I¡¯d shut the door to the bathroom to prevent the nightmarish Lobby Greeters from sneaking up on me while I had my back turned. I¡¯d be able to get the door open, but it would take precious seconds that I didn¡¯t have to spare.


    My next option was the Slammer, still gripped in my left palm. The spell timer had reset, so I had two minutes of relative safety, but there was one major problem: The interior of the spell dome was larger than the inside of this bathroom. If I activated it here and now, I had no idea what the hell would happen. Maybe the dome would repel the creature or¡ªand this seemed more likely¡ªthe monster would wind up trapped inside the magical cage with me.


    That left me with only one plausible option.


    One really shitty option¡­


    Mind made up, I acted without another second of hesitation.


    As the creature raced toward me, I flipped onto my ass and lashed out with a brutal front kick, smashing my boot into one of the creature¡¯s bony kneecaps. This thing was legitimately horrifying in appearance, but it had all the muscle mass of an anorexic six-year-old, plus it was tall and top-heavy, thanks to its many arms and the porcelain toilet perched atop its slender shoulders.


    My foot connected with a crunch, and the monster¡¯s knee bent in a direction knees aren¡¯t supposed to bend. The Janitorial Handyman let out a screech, equal parts pain and rage, as it lost its footing and toppled to one side. Its bulky toilet head crashed into the sink, busting it from the wall and damaging the connecting pipe in the process. There was a rumble and a hiss as a gush of water arced through the air and splashed onto the tile floor in a steady drizzle.


    Despite its injuries, the janitor quickly scrambled back to its hands and knees.


    Its wounded leg dragged along the floor, but that didn¡¯t seem to deter the monster too much. Thanks to all its extra arms, it was able to easily maneuver along the floor like some kind of human centipede. There was another sharp crack and its legs arced up behind it in a ¡°C,¡± making the creature appear less like a centipede and more like a hell-scorpion ripped out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting.


    The black toilet lid flipped up, and from this angle, I could see that there were five gleaming, insectile eyes set into the underside of the lid. The toilet bowl contained a bloody red throat, and the lip of the seat was ringed with curved, undulating teeth. The fleshy tongue poked over the edge and waggled back and forth in hungry anticipation.


    Every single thing about this was horrifying and it had ruined one of my single favorite pastimes¡ªsitting on the john while I scrolled on my phone. Assuming I survived the next ten minutes, I was never gonna be able to look at a toilet the same way again.


    Instead of immediately advancing and pouncing on me like a feral hound, the Janitor tilted forward, lowering the edge of the seat until it was nearly flush with the ground. It shook its toilet bowl mouth back and forth, disgorging several black slug-like creatures onto the floor. Each was about a foot long, completely eyeless, and had a circular, suction cup mouth ringed with even more teeth.


    Dweller 0.051D ¨C Janitorial Toilet Snake [Level 1]


    Great. Perfect. Just when I thought this place couldn¡¯t get any worse, it proved me wrong yet again.


    The trio of Toilet Snakes slithered toward me, leaving gooey slime trails in their wake.


    Even though my ribs ached and my head felt fuzzy, I fought my way to my feet. I bolted left and snatched up my hammer, then pocketed the Slammer and pulled free my demolition screwdriver. I¡¯d made it this far and I wasn¡¯t going to roll over and die for anything. Motivated by a potent cocktail of fear, disgust, and a primal urge to survive, I brought one boot down on top of the nearest Toilet Snake, popping it like an overripe tomato. Strings of white gore spurted out, sizzling against the tile.


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    These things were filled with acid. That¡¯s just what I needed.


    Suppressing the violent urge to vomit, I turned and punted the second snake, knocking it across the room and into the mirror. The thing popped like a meaty water balloon on impact¡ªdead before it could pose any real threat. The third, however, disappeared behind the padded chair. Not having eyes on the gross, slimy son of a bitch made me uneasy, but I had an even bigger threat to deal with.


    The Janitor let out a gurgling bark and launched a blue spitball at me.


    I ducked on instinct, narrowly avoiding the loogie of death, which splattered all over the wall behind me with a terrible hiss. Instead of launching another ranged attack, the monster lunged for me, its prehensile tongue darting toward my throat like a striking cobra.


    I sidestepped the attack and batted aside the flailing tongue with my gloved hand before it could latch on.


    At the same time, I brought the hammer crashing into the side of the Janitor¡¯s porcelain head, knocking the ugly son of a bitch to one side. The Janitor skittered along on its many arms and hands, quickly regaining its balance. Before I could get some much-needed distance, it lurched sideways, slamming one boney shoulder into my chest. I staggered back but a lanky arm shot out and snagged my ankle, jerking me off my feet for a second time.


    I landed on my back and my head bounced off the tiles, sending a jagged lance of pain into my skull. The fall knocked the wind from my lungs, and before I could even try to get a breath, the Janitor was on top of me.


    Still wheezing and struggling for air, I jammed one foot into the creature¡¯s gut and pushed. It was stronger than it looked, but with my leg propped up between us, it couldn¡¯t give me the swirly to end all swirlies. I lashed out with the hammer, this time targeting one of its hands, still pressed against the floor. The blunt tool landed with a satisfying crunch as fingers snapped. The creature recoiled, giving me just enough space to slam the hammer into the creature¡¯s ribs once, twice, then a third time.


    It let out squeals of pain, but instead of falling back, it redoubled its efforts and threw itself at me with even greater fervor. It raked jagged fingernails across my chest. The attack sliced through my undershirt and left a trio of deep gouges in my skin.


    I flipped the hammer around with a growl and drove the pry claws into the monster¡¯s bony bicep. The claws punched through the papery-thin skin and sent out a spurt of sludgy black blood. This time the creature retreated, but it tore the hammer from my grip in the process.


    The Janitor regarded me for a long moment with its utterly alien, insectile eyes. I eyed him right back, trying to evaluate my chances of survival. This thing had expected an easy kill, but I¡¯d made it bleed for its assumptions. A deep crack ran along the toilet tank, which leaked bloody fluid to the floor. Its pale ribs were now as black as fresh asphalt. One leg was still busted to hell, an arm dangled uselessly at its side, and one of its hands was little more than mangled pulp.


    I was in better shape, but not much.


    Gritting my teeth, I struggled back to my feet, using the tiled wall behind me for leverage.


    The creature let out a chittering sound, and a second later something heavy dropped onto my shoulders from above.


    The last of the Toilet Snakes¡ªthe one that had taken cover behind the padded chair before I could finish it off. A slimy tail wrapped around my right arm then the little monster latched onto my pec with its flat, suction-cup mouth. Razor-sharp teeth sawed down, and my exposed skin began to burn from the Toilet Snake¡¯s caustic saliva.


    With an inhuman roar, the Janitor barreled straight into me, smashing a shoulder into my gut, doubling me over. Several pairs of unnaturally strong arms wrapped around me, lifting me off the floor and squeezing me tight in a deadly bear hug. While I struggled fruitlessly against the crushing limbs, the Janitor¡¯s purple tongue wrapped around my throat, cutting off the already meager flow of oxygen heading for my lungs.


    Fingers of darkness were reaching in from the edges of my vision and I knew I didn¡¯t have long. I still had the screwdriver in my hand; I angled the flat edge of the blade upward, then drove it into the monster¡¯s abdomen with my last ounce of strength.


    The screwdriver¡ªdesigned for demolishing brick and stone¡ªeasily pierced skin and muscle, sinking all the way up to the handle. A gush of warm fluid washed over my glove, and the arms squeezing me to death eased just a hair. I gasped, pulling in another vital breath, then fumbled the utility knife from my tool belt with fingers that were going numb. I pushed the blade out with a thumb, then swiped up, slicing deep into the meaty tongue wrapped around my throat like a living noose.


    The monster squealed and stumbled backward on uncertain feet.


    I drove the utility knife into the flat, black head of the Toilet Snake, still clinging to my chest like an overgrown leech. Acidic blood spurted out and the creature dropped to the bathroom floor.


    One swift stomp splattered the slug beyond recovery.


    The Janitor was staggering, its tongue whipping back and forth in a pained frenzy. Shattering its kneecap hadn¡¯t done shit, and it hardly even noticed its pulped hand, but its tongue? Its tongue was very sensitive, it seemed.


    My hammer was still hanging from the monster¡¯s arm and the screwdriver was planted in its guts, but luckily I had more weapons at my disposal.


    I drew out my speed square with the soft whisper of metal on leather.


    The speed square was actually a large triangular piece of steel with a smaller triangle cut out in the center of the tool. Every handyman, carpenter, or general contractor carried one since they were the best tool around for measuring, cutting, and determining angles on the fly.


    I had a different purpose in mind.


    I gripped the flat edge of the tool in my right hand, so the triangular edges were facing outward¡ªtransforming it into a makeshift, modern-day punch dagger.


    While the Janitorial Handyman stumbled around drunkenly, I grabbed its flailing tongue with my left hand and pulled the creature toward me while simultaneously driving the triangle into the creature¡¯s thin and frail throat.


    The speed square wasn¡¯t particularly sharp, but I rocketed the tip of the triangular tool through its esophagus anyway.

 Seven – Bathroom Brawler

    The blow forced the creature backward, its many arms pinwheeling to maintain its precarious balance. Still gripping the creature¡¯s tongue, I pulled my fist back and smashed the tool into the monster¡¯s throat again and again and again, until at last the edge of the square ripped messily through the monster¡¯s neck. The creature let out one last choking gurgle, then collapsed to the floor in a heap of limbs while sludgy black blood pooled around it.


    Its porcelain head lay to one side, connected to the rest of its body by a thin strand of white tissue no larger than my pinky.


    I scrambled away from the dead monster and collapsed against the far wall, my legs shaky and my whole body trembling from exertion. I dropped the speed square, covered in gore, and just sat there for a while, breathing heavily as I watched the corpse.


    All I wanted was a cigarette. That and a cold beer.


    I¡¯d quit smoking eight years ago, not long after getting out of the Corps. I still lit up the occasional cigar every now and then while drinking with my buddies, but I hadn¡¯t had the urge to smoke a cigarette in¡­ Well, I couldn¡¯t even remember how long.


    I wanted one now, though. Just something to help take the edge off and settle my understandably frayed nerves. I¡¯d had more than my fair share of fistfights and I¡¯d served in an active combat zone, but I¡¯d never experienced anything like the battle against the Janitor.


    It had been so close. So personal. So intense, violent, and visceral.


    Part of me wanted to pump one fist in the air, while another part wanted to throw up in the toilet. Well, maybe not this toilet, since the interior of the bowl looked like a miniature version of the Sarlacc Pit, but a toilet.


    An icon appeared and when I hazarded a look toward it, a whole new batch of notifications and research achievements scrolled across my vision. Most of them were unimportant, throwaway ¡°First¡± achievements. Baby¡¯s First Massacre, for murdering more than three monsters during a single combat encounter¡ªand murder was the word the achievement used, not kill. Napoleon Complex, for attacking and defeating a Lobby guardian while being at ¡°effective¡± level zero. Budding Explorer for discovering an active stairwell for the first time.


    Together, they netted me five more Copper Delver Loot Tokens, one Copper Medic! Token, and a Copper Slayer Token. Killing the Toilet Snakes had earned me 25 experience each, and taking out the toilet-headed Janitorial Handyman brought in another 350. Combined with the additional 500 experience points I got as a reward from the Baby¡¯s First Massacre Research Achievement, it kicked me up another level, which, with a little bit of mental math, put me at level 5.


    Not that it made much of a difference at this point.


    I was starting to suspect that I couldn¡¯t actually ¡°gain¡± those levels until I fully integrated with the VIRUS Upgrade Interface, and to do that, I needed to find one of the Progenitor Monoliths the system kept jabbering on about.


    On top of the more generic achievements, I received a couple of more interesting achievements that came with a few higher-tier Loot Tokens and even a new title, Weapon of Opportunity.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Barbarian of the Bathroom


    Look at you go, you filthy fucking animal! You managed to kill a stairwell guardian without having a single Relic equipped to your Spatial Core.


    You¡¯ve displayed a unique blend of brawn and bowel control, which is as stupid as it is impressive. Instead of relying on the powerful sorceries of the Backrooms, you embraced the raw might of your biceps, unleashing the fury of mediocrity and unwashed armpits. Your dedication to the art of close combat has earned you a place in the annals¡ªor should it be anals?¡ªof unconventional heroism.


    Reward: 1 x Copper Brawler Loot Token


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Weapon of Opportunity


    Swords, battle-axes, numchucks, even automatic assault rifles¡­ These are the tools of war. But you? You use actual tools. While others rely on deadly instruments of destruction, you choose to delve into the depths of your toolbox, transforming everyday objects into instruments of pain and fleshy ruin.


    That screwdriver? A kidney shiv. The humble hammer? Nay, a war club capable of shattering bones with every swing. And who could forget the trusty ol¡¯ speed square¡ªslicing through your enemies with geometric precision. Your ability to turn the mundane into the murderous is disturbing, but I¡¯ve got a feeling you¡¯ll fit in just fine here.


    Reward: 1 x Gold Weaponsmith Loot Token


    Title: Weapon of Opportunity ¨C Deal 5% additional physical damage when using a melee weapon that can also be classified as a tool.


    Like the level ups, I still couldn¡¯t do anything with the Loot Tokens I¡¯d earned, but that would change eventually.


    The new research achievements weren¡¯t the only interesting things I found either.


    Although I had no desire whatsoever to approach the dead and gory body of the Janitor, my screwdriver and hammer were still lodged firmly into its corpse. I pulled the hammer out of its arm without much effort, but the screwdriver was really jammed in there, so I had to get down on one knee and use my left hand to push against the creature¡¯s pale torso while yanking at the screwdriver handle with my other hand.


    When I touched the creature¡¯s chest, I noticed a strange warmth radiating outward from its otherwise clammy skin.


    As I focused on that warmth, a black rift appeared like a jagged gash along the Janitor¡¯s chest, which quickly vomited out several items. Then the void rift shrank and vanished with a pop and the warmth emanating from the Janitor disappeared entirely.


    There were four items of note.


    I was already familiar with the first. It was another bottle of the Zima, though this one was a Lesser Healing Elixir instead of a Greater Elixir like the one the gunslinger had gifted me. This time, the tagline read ¡°Same great flavor, but now with half as much organ juice!¡± The Lesser Elixir offered most of the same health and regenerative benefits¡ªit just took significantly longer to repair any damage. I was pretty beat up from my scuffle with the Janitor, so I briefly considered downing the potion, but eventually decided against it. I had no idea how rare these things were, and though I was injured, I wasn¡¯t in immediate mortal danger.


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    I figured it was better to save the elixir for when the shit really hit the fan.


    The next item was a small black hexagonal piece of metal. There was nothing magic about it, but it was extremely valuable, nonetheless.


    I eyeballed the metal door, which let out into the stairwell beyond.


    If the Janitor was the stairwell guardian, it made sense that it would have the key. This would save me loads of time and it might work on other doors that had a similar design and locking mechanism.


    I slipped the bit of metal into my pocket and moved on to the next piece of loot, which turned out to be a glorious treasure beyond the scope of human comprehension or understanding. At a casual look it appeared to be a lowly, half-used roll of single-ply toilet paper. After a more thorough inspection, I discovered it was a lowly, half-used roll of single-ply toilet paper that never ran out. Ever.


    The Roll of Endless Wipe


    Common Artifact


    Type: Reusable, Cursed


    Let me set the stage for you. There you are, knee-deep in the bowels of the Backrooms, battling the unspeakable frog-themed horrors of the thirty-second floor. Then, suddenly, nature calls. It¡¯s a shitty situation, but thankfully the Roll of Endless Wipe has your ass covered.


    Each pull unfurls a seemingly inexhaustible supply of toilet paper. But be warned, for this stuff is a double-edged sword. It feels like you¡¯re wiping your butthole with sandpaper. It¡¯ll get the job done, but believe you me, you ain¡¯t gonna like it and you¡¯ll be walking funny for days after.


    Despite the ominous warning about the quality of the toilet paper, I slipped it into my tool belt like a giddy kid on Christmas morning. As a contractor and former Marine, I¡¯d survived countless porta shitters, spanning the globe from Cincinnati to Iraq, so I knew well the dangers and challenges of cheap, single-ply toilet paper. Still, I¡¯d much rather have this than nothing at all.


    The last item I received from the Janitor was something I hadn¡¯t seen before.


    Something called a Relic, which took the form of a clear cleaning spray bottle filled with some sort of mysterious blue liquid. The label on the front read Bleach Bolt: The Patented Unidentified Stain and Flesh Eradicator. At first, I thought it was a weapon or an Artifact like the Slammer, but when I flipped over the bottle to examine the label on the back, an item description appeared, which quickly disabused me of the notion.


    Bleach Bolt: The Unidentified Stain Eradicator


    Uncommon Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Single Target


    Cost: 5 Mana


    Unleash an orb of super-heated, highly concentrated cleaning solution, so powerful it can ¡°clean¡± the skin right off your enemies¡¯ bones in a matter of seconds, leaving their skeleton as bright and shiny as ever¡ªat least until it dissolves that, too. Bleach Bolt¡¯s patented solution works best on organic compounds and is ineffective against inorganic substances such as metal, tile, or plastic, though it will leave them with a gleaming razzle-dazzle second to none!


    The target takes 15 points of Corrosive Burst Damage on contact, plus 2 points of additional Corrosive Damage per minute for five minutes. This Relic enables Mana usage.


    The Relic felt warm, almost comforting.


    Working on autopilot, my hands brought the item toward my chest, and as it touched my shirt, a clean black rift opened, unbidden, and the bottle of vaguely ominous cleaning solution disappeared inside my chest cavity. The rift snapped shut a second later, leaving no sign of the bottle behind.


    But I could feel it inside me. Loitering in my soul.


    New knowledge bloomed inside my head like a flower unfurling its petals toward the sun. I stretched out one hand, palm up, and activated the new spell with a thought and a subtle effort of will.


    An orb of blistering hot blue goop exploded outward from my hand and splattered across the Janitor¡¯s battered and emaciated corpse. This was the same substance that the Janitor had spit at me during our tussle. As I watched the blue goo eat through skin and bone with alarming and brutal efficiency, I was suddenly very glad that I¡¯d managed to avoid the attack.


    A blue bar appeared in the corner of my eye and drained almost immediately, leaving me feeling woozy, stumbling slightly, and lightheaded. Since I¡¯d spent more than a few hours with my ass planted in front of a gaming console playing RPGs like Evodoom and Titan Realm, I was guessing that was my Mana bar.


    Seeing just how much Mana the simple spell took told me my current Mana level was abysmally bad. Sure, this was an uncommon spell, but it wasn¡¯t rare or legendary, so I probably should¡¯ve been able to cast it more than once without feeling like I¡¯d just finished running a marathon.


    Still, I smiled.


    I had magic.


    And not just any magic. Get fucked, burn-your-face-off corrosive magic.


    Let those creepy, smiling Lobby Greeter shitheads take a shot at me now.


    I earned a research achievement for activating the spell for the first time¡ªMy First Relic¡ªthough it didn¡¯t come with any extra benefits; under reward it just said, ¡°Face-melting magic is its own reward, so don¡¯t get greedy.¡±


    While my Mana ticked up in painfully slow increments¡ªabout a point a minute¡ªI searched the three toilet snakes. One of them was so badly damaged that I couldn¡¯t even examine its corpse for items. That was good to know, and I logged that little detail away for later. Staying alive was obviously at the top of the priority list, but gathering materials and resources was just below that. Which meant I needed to kill things in a gentle enough manner that I could still loot their corpses.


    The other two each yielded a single ¡°Common Relic Shard,¡± which looked like small chunks of glossy white porcelain.


    Relic Shard


    Common


    These bad boys are scattered all throughout the Backrooms and are most commonly found on the corpses of lesser Dwellers. But don¡¯t let their humble origins fool you. Combine ten Relic Shards to randomly generate a Relic of the same rarity level. You never know what you¡¯re gonna get¡ªit¡¯s basically gambling, but that¡¯s the fun!


    Now that was interesting, as well.


    I¡¯d gotten lucky in my fight against the Janitor, and if any one of a dozen little things had gone differently, I would¡¯ve been the one lying dead in a pool of my own fluids. Until I found a Progenitor Monolith¡ªand got a few more levels and Relics under my belt¡ªit would be smart to avoid fighting something so obviously out of my weight class. But the toilet snakes? Killing those things had been relatively easy, though disgusting.


    If I could grind my way through some of the less powerful monsters, maybe I could cobble together enough Shards to form a few more magical skills to help level the playing field.


    I stowed the two Shards and took a few minutes to clean up while my Mana gauge finished refilling. I peeled off the Mechanix gloves, then splashed water from the busted sink pipe along my hands, arms, and face. It was blessedly cool and refreshing against my skin. I took a couple of mouthfuls and swished it around, trying to get rid of the deadly post-hangover morning breath kicking around inside my mouth.


    It was a losing battle. Rinsing helped a little, though.


    There was a chance the water was toxic, but it tasted fine, and I wouldn¡¯t make it much longer before dehydration put me flat on my back with heatstroke. So, I threw caution to the wind, drank my fill, then filled up the empty Zima bottle. I tore off a huge wade of toilet paper from the Roll of Endless Wipe, packed it into a tight ball, then jammed it into the opening. It wouldn¡¯t work well long term, but it was the best I could do for now.


    I took one last look around the bathroom of nightmares, muttered a prayer that things would get easier from here, then unlocked the door and headed into the stairwell, bound for the greener pastures below.


    At least, I hoped they were greener pastures and not a sewer of shit and misery.

 Eight – To Greener Pastures

    The stairwell was nothing special and blessedly devoid of monsters or unnamed horrors waiting to devour me the moment I let my guard down. It was just plain concrete, a simple metal handrail, and a series of switchbacks that eventually led me to an industrial door with a narrow rectangular window and a metal bar running across the front, just like the one I¡¯d left behind. A sign above the door read ¡°Exit¡± but there was nothing to indicate where the stairwell would dump me.


    The door itself was locked, which wasn¡¯t a huge surprise, but luckily the Janitor¡¯s key opened this one as well. Before blundering out, I peeked through the window, trying to get my bearings and see if there were any obvious dangers waiting for me.


    I¡¯d worked at a lot of different construction sites over the past nine years¡ªsome private, others commercial¡ªand I knew a shopping mall when I saw one.


    This one looked years out of date, like something stuck, unchanged, in a time capsule since the 1980s. It was a sprawling, multi-level complex with tiled floors and broad salmon-colored columns rising up to a skyline I couldn¡¯t quite see through the narrow strip of safety glass. The place was painted with cool pastel colors, and vibrant, pink neon lighting ran along the edges of the railing on the upper floors.


    Hesitantly, I popped the door, shoving it open just enough to get a better look.


    Off to the left was an expansive open courtyard with a water fountain in the center surrounded by several planters, overgrown with strange-looking vegetation. Palm trees and creeping vines, thick ferns and huge red-spotted flowers, easily the size of a man. No tag appeared when I looked at them, but instinct told me those things were probably trouble.


    Best to steer clear.


    A pair of escalators in the courtyard ascended to the second floor, and above them was a triangular glass ceiling. It didn¡¯t look out onto the night sky. Instead, it peered out into¡­ nothing. Just endless black, devoid of life. At least, I hoped it was devoid of life. I had the distinct impression I didn¡¯t want to run into anything that might be swimming around in those dark waters. An eye-searing neon sign in shades of red, pink, and purple hung above the courtyard, declaring this place to be the Neon Junction Shopping Center.


    A darkened hallway stretched out beyond the planters and the courtyard, lined with shops I couldn¡¯t quite make out.


    To the right were more shops, running along the lower level of the mall. Although the mall itself was rather gloomy, the garish neon signs above the boutiques were on, casting the floors and walls in a kaleidoscope of dream-like carnival colors. I¡¯d never heard of any of the shops and everything about them was subtly wrong¡ªalmost as though they¡¯d been designed and fabricated by someone who¡¯d been told at great length about shopping malls but had never actually seen one in real life.


    There was a place called Vinyl Vibes with a glossy black record dangling above the glass doors, decorated with concert posters for bands that didn¡¯t exist. The Atomic Riot. Wildfire Wailers. Thunderflash and Velvet Voltage.


    Beside the record store was the Glimmer Glam Boutique, showcasing mannequins in dazzling sequin dresses and vibrant power suits with enormous, padded shoulders. Their tagline summed the shop up perfectly: ¡°Glittering Shadows, Where Dreams Scream in Neon!¡± Across the way from them was an antique store, Timeless Vintage Treasures, overflowing with lava lamps, leather bomber jackets, and plastic bobbles of every shape and size.


    The only thing I really cared about, however, was nestled firmly between the antique store and a beauty shop called Big Hair Rising.


    A bank. Eastside City Savings & Loan.


    Perched just in front of the bank, waiting like a hunched-over gargoyle, was a clunky old-school ATM machine. Except, stenciled along the side of the gray box were the words Progenitor Monolith.


    Either this was phenomenal luck or a trap, just like the bathroom had been.


    The worst part was, I genuinely couldn¡¯t tell which. And even though it probably was a trap, I already knew I was going to roll the dice and hope for the best, which was asinine. Hope was a terrible plan.


    But what other option did I have?


    Taking one final look around, I pushed the door fully open and eased myself out into the retro shopping mall. I tore off a generous heap of toilet paper from the Roll of Endless Wipe, then wadded it up and jammed it into the metal strike plate so the door couldn¡¯t properly latch. I tested my handiwork, silently pushing and pulling the door open and shut a few times to make sure I¡¯d have a way out if this all went sideways.


    Satisfied that the door wasn¡¯t going to arbitrarily lock on me at the worst possible moment, I made my way along the center of the hallway, staying as far away from the storefronts as possible. In some ways, this was dumb because anyone out in the main corridors would be able to see me instantly, but I had a feeling that the real threats weren¡¯t out here. They were inside the stores themselves. I could¡¯ve sworn the mannequins inside Glimmer Glam moved to get a better look at me as I passed by.


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    Finally, I stopped in front of the ATM/Progenitor Monolith, though I stayed a good ten feet away. I crouched down and examined the machine at eye level, looking for anything odd or strange that might give it away as a trap. The problem was, everything about this place was odd and strange, from the stores to the halls, to the monstrous murder machines waiting to skin me alive.


    I licked my lips and rubbed at my jaw, warring with indecision.


    Finally, however, I stood and slowly approached.


    ¡°Sorry to be a bother,¡± a voice squeaked from a nearby pool of shadow.


    I froze, blood running cold, and whirled toward the voice. Without even thinking about it, my hammer leapt into my right hand while I prepared to launch a Bleach Bolt with my left.


    A creature stepped out from behind one of the overgrown planters back in the courtyard and moved toward me slowly. Deliberately. As if I were a skittish kitten that might bolt at any second.


    ¡°I know, technically, it¡¯s none of my business,¡± the thing said, ¡°but I wouldn¡¯t do that if I were you.¡±


    It spoke with a friendly, masculine voice and had a strange, clipped accent that was hard to place. Not Australia. New Zealand maybe?


    That wasn¡¯t important.


    What was important was that this thing was not human. Not even human-shaped. It looked like a medium-sized dog, except it was made entirely of blue Croc material¡ªa smooth, glossy surface with a rubbery texture dotted with large holes.


    As the creature approached, an identification tag flashed above its head.


    Dweller 0.377F ¨C Normal Human Dog [Level 7]


    ¡°They like to hide near stairwells, the mimics, I mean,¡± the dog said. Though, again, it was a dog in the same way a flip-flop was a dog. ¡°Particularly stairwells that connect to the Lobby. Easy to catch fresh meat that way. They can be quite tricky. Sneaky.¡± The creature nodded its head toward the machine. ¡°They know the new Delvers will be searching for one of the Monoliths, so it¡¯s a good lure. This one isn¡¯t very smart, though. Not like the mimics you¡¯ll find on the lower levels. Those ones can talk. Think. Make deals, even. This one is young still. All just hunger and instinct.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s plenty far enough,¡± I said, raising my hammer in clear threat. The dog stopped, then sat on its haunches, its blue spotted tail waggling across the tile floor. ¡°I¡¯m a lot less concerned about what that is¡±¡ªI hooked a thumb toward the ATM¡ª¡°and a lot more concerned about whatever in the hell you are.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, but what do you mean?¡± the dog asked quizzically. ¡°Didn¡¯t you see the tag? I¡¯m a Normal Human Dog. My designation is even marked F for friend. As in man¡¯s best friend.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said, ¡°thing is, I¡¯m a normal human and I¡¯ve seen plenty of dogs. They don¡¯t talk. And they aren¡¯t made out of rubber. They also have fur and organs.¡± I paused, trying to gauge its reaction. ¡°Now how¡¯s about you try that again before I splatter you with a Bleach Bolt.¡±


    ¡°Aw fiddlesticks,¡± the dog replied. Its tail ceased wagging and it lowered its muzzle. ¡°I really thought I had it this time. I looked up a picture of a dog in one of the stores upstairs, Paperbacks and Paradoxes. Lovely little place. Except for the Bibliophages¡ªnasty things, they are. Anyway, I found a kid¡¯s book called Totally Real Human Animals and this is what the dogs looked like. But most of the Progenerated Materials in the Backrooms can be a little wonky.¡±


    ¡°Gee, you don¡¯t say,¡± I replied flatly. ¡°Is that what you are? What all these monsters are? Progenerated Materials?¡±


    ¡°In a way,¡± the not-dog said. ¡°The levels are all Progenerated, of course. The stores and such as well. Technically everything that doesn¡¯t have Material Significance. But the Dwellers are different. We¡¯re not materially produced via the Influx Processing and Randomization System. Our distant ancestors were birthed by the God Box on level 1,000. Technically, for the sake of full transparency, it¡¯s called the Progenitor Cube, but we all just call it the God Box. Also, I should amend that birthed probably isn¡¯t the right term either. More like we¡¯re thought into existence. It¡¯s a small, but nuanced difference.¡±


    ¡°That means you¡¯re one of them,¡± I said, not that there had ever been any doubt in my mind. It was a dog made of Croc material. ¡°Like the Janitorial Handyman upstairs or those creepy Lobby Greeters.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± the dog said dejectedly, ¡°but also no.¡± It hunched up its shoulders in something resembling a shrug. ¡°We¡¯re not all bad. Our original purpose was as Helpmates. But most of the Dwellers lost their way. Forgot our purpose. I think it might have something to do with the Blight. Now they just crave anything with even the faintest whiff of Material Significance. They want something that¡¯s real. Like that mimic there.¡± It once again bobbed its head toward the ATM.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± I asked, hoping to build a little bit of rapport with this thing.


    ¡°Never really thought about it, to be honest,¡± the creature replied. ¡°And no one¡¯s ever bothered to give me one. You¡¯re a human,¡± it stated with a hopeful edge in its voice, ¡°you lot are great at naming things. Why don¡¯t you give me a name?¡± Its tail wagged and thumped energetically.


    I only had to think about it for a second before I said, ¡°Croc.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that¡¯s a good name,¡± the dog said, bobbing its head in agreement. ¡°Is this what it¡¯s like to have a friend? Because I quite like it.¡±


    ¡°That depends,¡± I said. ¡°Friends don¡¯t try to kill, eat, or dismember each other. So I guess the real question is, are you going to try to kill me, eat me, enslave my soul, or wear my skin like a fleshy jumpsuit?¡±


    ¡°Not at all. I¡¯m just trying to help,¡± the dog replied. ¡°Admittedly, I haven¡¯t had the best of luck with the new arrivals. The last guy I tried to help was Tim. Seemed like a nice enough bloke, but he got scared when I introduced myself and then he ran headlong into the Carnivora Rex, just over there.¡± It bobbed its nose toward the overgrown foliage. ¡°Not sure what killed him first, the prolific bleeding or losing all his limbs at once.¡± Croc paused. ¡°You know, now that I¡¯m saying it out loud, it was probably the limb thing in retrospect.¡±


    That didn¡¯t put my mind at ease.


    ¡°Well, since we¡¯re friends, Croc,¡± I pressed, ¡°why don¡¯t you tell me what you really are. Maybe show me what you look like beneath the dog suit.¡±


    ¡°Hmm, yeah, not sure that¡¯s the best idea,¡± Croc replied uncertainly. ¡°The guy before Tim¡ªhis name was Matthew¡ªdidn¡¯t take it so well. Ended up falling face-first into the acid pool then the Reflection Lurker ate him. Which reminds me, under no circumstances should you try to drink out of the water fountain. It¡¯s acid, and there is an enormous invisible fish that will one hundred percent eat you.¡±


    ¡°Friends trust each other, Croc,¡± I said, still gripping my hammer so tightly it hurt. ¡°If you want me to trust you, I need to know what I¡¯m dealing with.¡±


    The dog sighed then nodded. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what Matthew said too,¡± it mumbled half-heartedly under its breath. Then, without any further warning, its form bubbled and shifted.

 Nine – Croc Dog

    In a matter of seconds, the Croc dog was gone, and a blob of bright blue goop appeared in its place. The creature had a small army of writhing tentacles, several different mouth orifices¡ªall filled with far too many jagged teeth¡ªand eyes. So many eyes. It almost reminded me of the weird, bloodred cloak that the Flayed Monarch had worn. The tag above the creature¡¯s head shimmered and changed, this time reading:


    Dweller 0.377A ¨C Juvenile Polymorphic Mimic (Outcast) [Level 7]


    I raised one hand and actively suppressed the urge to throw up in my mouth.


    ¡°I can make a lot of different shapes, if this one bothers you?¡± Croc offered helpfully, voice echoing out of at least seven different mouth holes simultaneously. ¡°Here is a chair.¡± Its tentacles retracted and its body stretched and morphed, turning into a formidable wingback chair with padded armrests. There were blank eyes and a wide flat mouth set into the backrest. ¡°I¡¯ve also been working on my very human appearance as well. To blend in, and such.¡± Croc shimmered again, and this time assumed¡­ a human-shaped being.


    Except it looked boneless, almost as if it were made of playdough. It was maggot white, wore no clothes, was completely androgynous, with a smooth ken-doll crotch, and had a face without a nose but a very large and unnerving smile.


    ¡°I can blend my shapes, too, in case you want a little bit of A and a little bit of B,¡± the utterly inhuman-looking creature said. ¡°Here¡¯s a dog-human hybrid.¡± Its shape blurred again, and a blue humanoid creature with overly long arms, an enormous wolf muzzle, and a pair of unblinking yellow eyes the size of tennis balls stared at me.


    I shuddered in revulsion.


    The unholy monstrosity before me reminded me of a furry¡­


    My one true fear in the whole world.


    It wasn¡¯t that I had a sort of personal hatred toward furries per se¡ªas long as everyone is a consenting human adult, I have zero shits to give about how people live their lives. With that said, I had an irrational and deep-seated phobia of the walking, talking anthropomorphic fur-balls. Again, it wasn¡¯t a moral judgment, but furries managed to fall into uncanny valley territory, which triggered the reptilian, survival mechanism within my brain. Thankfully, the only time I ever saw them was at the occasional ComicCon, and I always managed to keep a safe distance.


    ¡°Yeah, you know what?¡± I said. ¡°That is much worse. Way, way, way worse. Why don¡¯t you just go back to the normal human dog?¡±


    ¡°Good choice,¡± the creature said, shrinking back down into a retriever made from blue Croc material. ¡°This form is a bit more approachable, I find.¡±


    ¡°Just for the sake of argument,¡± I said slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion, ¡°how do I know you¡¯re telling the truth? About the Progenitor Monolith, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Croc said, ¡°a good rule of thumb around here is to assume that everything, everywhere, all the time is both lying to you and trying to murder you. So, let me just say that your initial distrust is a great step in the right direction. Your survival prospects have already improved! Still, for the sake of argument, if I really wanted you dead, I could¡¯ve just not said anything and let the Monolith Mimic eat you. If you don¡¯t believe me, you can always blast it with a spell. See for yourself.¡±


    I hesitated for a beat. ¡°My primary spell only works on organic matter,¡± I replied. ¡°Won¡¯t do anything against plastic or metal.¡±


    ¡°Believe you me,¡± Croc barked, ¡°that thing is entirely organic. The basic mimics on the lower levels can¡¯t actually transmogrify into things like metal, they can only look the part.¡±


    ¡°If I preemptively attack, won¡¯t it fight back?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Probably,¡± Croc offered cheerily, ¡°but they aren¡¯t very strong. Low-level mimics are ambush predators, mostly. They can deal a tremendous amount of damage, but they have pitiful health.¡±


    I glanced between the dog that wasn¡¯t a dog and the ATM that may or may not have been an ATM. I wasn¡¯t sure what the angle here was¡ªmaybe Croc was trying to get me to waste my spell on the ATM, then it would attack?


    Or maybe it was actually being helpful.


    ¡°Although we¡¯re building a good foundation for a relationship,¡± I said, ¡°I¡¯m warning you now. One wrong move and I¡¯ll charbroil your ass with a flamethrower spell.¡± That was a lie, but the dog didn¡¯t know what I was capable of. ¡°I swear to God I will. I picked up a powerful Artifact in the lobby and I won¡¯t hesitate to use it.¡± I stowed the hammer and pulled the Slammer out of my pocket, flashing it at the dog briefly. Not long enough for the creature to see what exactly I had, but just long enough for him to know I had something.


    I figured that if Croc did charge, I could always activate the Slammer and shield myself long enough to come up with a better plan. Maybe even escape back into the stairwell with a little bit of luck.


    Keeping one eye on Croc, I raised my left hand, took aim at the allegedly knockoff Progenitor Monolith, and let loose an orb of super-heated, highly corrosive super bleach.


    The blue ball of congealed death splattered against the front of the machine and started to hiss as fingers of acrid smoke drifted up. The machine immediately split in half, and a huge ravenous mouth appeared directly in its center. Curved yellow teeth gnashed madly, and a purple tongue flapped as the creature screeched in rage. The whole machine rose on a pair of spindly legs and charged, its mouth snapping open and closed as it ran.


    I dropped the Slammer onto the floor beside me and shouted the activation phrase¡ªstill feeling like a complete mook as I did. ¡°Let¡¯s Pog!¡±


    The golden birdcage formed, and the timer popped up in the corner of my eye. The snarling would-be ATM collided with the dome of light and rebounded off as though it had just run face-first into a brick wall. It stumbled, trying to regain its balance, then pitched over and landed with a meaty thud. The corrosive Bleach Bolt was still going to town, mercilessly eating through its skin and muscle. It just lay there mewling and whimpering pathetically, its legs weakly pedaling in the air like a turtle that had been flipped over onto its shell.


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    This thing was a monster, but watching as it struggled and suffered, well¡­ I almost felt bad.


    Just like with the others, a tag appeared when I examined the monster a little more closely.


    Dweller 0.372C ¨C Juvenile Monomorphic Flytrap Mimic [Level 2]


    So, this thing was a mimic, just like the talking dog¡ªthough obviously there were some significant differences between the two. The most important difference was that the talking dog had probably just saved my life. That still didn¡¯t mean I could trust it, or him¡ªI wasn¡¯t quite sure which was the right term¡ªsince this could all be some sort of long con to get me to drop my guard. Except the mimic dog was level 7. The Janitorial Handyman I¡¯d fought in the bathroom had been a level 3 and I¡¯d barely walked away with my life.


    True, I had the Bleach Bolt now, but I had a feeling that if that goofy looking mutt wanted to kill me, it probably could without too much of a headache.


    I pushed that to the back of my mind, bent over, picked up my Slammer, and deactivated the spell with a few words.


    I¡¯d burned through twelve seconds of spell time.


    I slipped the coin back into my pocket and waited for the struggling mimic to right itself and charge again.


    It didn¡¯t.


    ¡°You¡¯re lucky,¡± the dog called in its oddly chipper voice. ¡°This one¡¯s still young. Only has the one form. Plus, mimics tend to be extremely vulnerable against corrosive damage or poison spells. Little guy¡¯s probably only a few weeks old. There must¡¯ve been a hatching not too long ago.¡±


    I stored that info away for later and readied my hammer.


    My Mana gauge was recovering, but it would take a few minutes before I could launch another Bleach Bolt and I had no desire to stand here and watch this thing die slowly and painfully. Obviously, it was a monster, but it didn¡¯t seem particularly evil or malicious. It was just a predator. An animal. Even animals deserved to have a quick, clean death.


    I circled to the right, steering clear of its thrashing legs and lashing tongue, then angled inward toward the top of its head. Or what passed for a head, I guess. The creature let out some disheartening screeches and redoubled its efforts to murder me, but it was on its last legs¡ªmetaphorically speaking, of course.


    In the most literal sense, it was on no legs.


    Hardening my resolve, I brought the hammer roaring down, burying the head into what looked like melted plastic and metal, but what felt like pulpy meat. I kept swinging until the mimic stopped twitching and its anguished cries guttered and finally fell silent.


    My hammer was covered in a sludgy golden ichor, and I used a bit of toilet paper to wipe it clean before slipping it back into my tool belt.


    The mimic¡¯s death had earned me 100 experience points and a new achievement, You¡¯re So Basic.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    You¡¯re So Basic


    You¡¯re a Basic Bitch in the most literal sense of the phrase, melting your enemies with a chemical cocktail more commonly found in the cleaning aisle than on the front line of a battlefield. But just because something¡¯s Basic doesn¡¯t mean it¡¯s bad¡ªStarbucks keeps the ol¡¯ Pumpkin Spice around for a reason: because if it ain¡¯t broke, don¡¯t fix it. Slay Queen!


    Reward: 1 x Silver Elementalist Loot Token


    On top of the modest experience and the extra achievement, when I looted the mimic¡¯s corpse, I also found my second Relic, which took the form of a folding makeup compact with a small mirror inside. Instead of the typical color palette, this had makeup in hues of black and green, brown and tan. It was a camo face painting kit. I¡¯d had something similar during my time in the Corps, though I¡¯d only ever used it in Boot Camp¡ªnot much need for forest face paint in the desert.


    Basic Camo Kit ¨C Camouflage Spell


    Common Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Single Target


    Cost: 2 Mana


    Duration: 1 Minute


    The ultimate spell for those intrepid Delvers who aspire to be just a smidgen harder to spot in the realm of mayhem and chaos. You one hundred percent will NOT be invisible, but by casting this Basic Camo Kit Camouflage Spell you¡¯ll achieve the unparalleled feat of blending into the background¡­ a little bit. For the duration of the spell, you¡¯ll go from ¡°immediately noticeable¡± to ¡°moderately overlooked¡± in the blink of an eye. This Relic enables Mana useage.


    I finished reading over the description, then dismissed the prompt and immediately pressed the stupid looking camo makeup compact into my chest. There was a flare of heat as the Relic melted through my clothes and disappeared inside the black void that was my Spatial Core. It was only a common spell, and the description made it sound rather underwhelming, but it only cost 2 Mana to use, and it had a decent duration. Even if it made me only slightly more difficult to see, that might well save my ass down the road.


    I wondered if there was some way to level up the spell itself.


    It was listed as level 1 in the item description, which implied that it could potentially go higher. Maybe if I leveled the spell up enough, it would genuinely render me invisible, or the next best thing.


    I didn¡¯t have an answer to that question, but I knew who might be able to tell me. I glanced at the rubbery Croc dog, who was still keeping a respectful distance, its tail wagging enthusiastically.


    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you know how these Relics work?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Of course,¡± it said, sounding happy to be of use. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m not an expert or anything, but all the Dwellers know the essentials. We¡¯re the source of the Relics, after all.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean the Dwellers are the source of the Relics?¡± I asked.


    ¡°They come from us,¡± Croc replied. ¡°Inside us, I mean.¡± It tapped a paw against its chest. ¡°Like I said, we¡¯re thought manifestations, born from the God Box. The God Box is the source of all magic in the Backrooms, and each of us is invested with a little piece of its power. That¡¯s what the Shards are. But as we evolve and advance, the Shards grow until they eventually transform into a Relic. Most of the Dwellers on the early levels only have one Relic or a couple of Common Shards, but the more powerful Dwellers on the lower floors sometimes have half a dozen or more.¡±


    There was a lot to unpack there and at this point I still wasn¡¯t sure that I could trust Croc. Worse, even if I could trust the not-dog, I wasn¡¯t even sure which questions to ask. There was just so much I didn¡¯t understand about this place.


    ¡°Let¡¯s put a pin in all that for now,¡± I said after a beat. ¡°What about these Progenitor Monolith things I keep hearing about? Could you take me to one? A real one,¡± I amended, stealing a sidelong look at the dead mimic on the floor.


    The dog paused, wiggling its nose. ¡°Yeah, I suppose I could help with that. The closest one is in the next sector over, but I could get us there.¡± It faltered for a thin minute. ¡°Might be a bit touch and go since we¡¯ll have to get past the Blacklight Wisps, but I think we¡¯ll be alright with just a little bit of good luck.¡± The dog turned and padded away.


    Hoping for good luck was also a terrible plan, but standing around here twiddling my thumbs wasn¡¯t any better. With no better options¡ªand a fair bit of skepticism¡ªI followed the dog deeper into the mall.

 Ten – Relics Galore

    We headed away from the courtyard with the acidic water feature and the presumably carnivorous plants and to another intersection dotted with abandoned kiosks, which sold everything from candy and cheap plastic knickknacks to pungent-smelling facial creams and electric foot massagers. When I suggested that we loot them, Croc just chuckled and shook his rubbery head.


    ¡°Classic rookie mistake,¡± it said. ¡°Are there some top-tier prizes to be taken? Of course. But you¡¯ll never survive long enough to get ¡¯em.¡± It chortled in amusement. ¡°Everyone knows the kiosks are all rigged. Touch any of the items or even show too much interest and you¡¯ll accidentally summon one of the Sales Sirens. They¡¯re the perfect blend of metal and flesh, forged into the unstoppable selling machine. And by selling, I mean murder.¡±


    Croc bobbed its head toward a set of wooden storage doors beneath a kiosk.


    ¡°Every kiosk has a set of those. They connect to a series of tunnels and underground caverns that link all the kiosks together, which is controlled by a single entity known as the Franchisor. The Sales Sirens themselves appear human, and though they¡¯re rather weak, physically, you won¡¯t find one lower than a level five.¡± Croc paused and glanced over one shoulder at me. ¡°They have some truly insidious psychic abilities. You wouldn¡¯t stand a chance, especially with a Grit score under fifteen.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s a Grit score?¡± I asked, edging a little further away from one of the kiosks.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry about that too much,¡± Croc replied. ¡°You¡¯ll learn all about the various VIRUS stats once you finish integrating. Grit¡¯s sort of like willpower, I suppose. It measures your mental determination and your ability to resist psionic attacks and psychic influences. You need to have a high Grit to go up against the Sirens. A while back, I was working with a Delver from Germany¡ªa fella named Fritz. Headstrong, overconfident, wouldn¡¯t listen to me. He tried to take on a Siren working at one of the hand cream booths with only a seven in Grit. Long story short, the hand cream was sentient and ended up crawling into Fritz¡¯s lungs and then laying thousands of eggs inside his torso. Very messy.¡±


    ¡°I gotta be honest,¡± I said, ¡°I find it a little off-putting that so many of the people you try to help wind up dead under some very horrific circumstances.¡±


    Croc had no answer for that.


    We ended up skirting the majority of the kiosks entirely by taking a narrow hallway with slate gray floors and beige walls, which led to the restrooms. Not that there was actually a restroom. Just an abundance of signs for them.


    While we walked along a winding, disorienting set of identical corridors, I picked Croc¡¯s brain about the Relics. There were a thousand things I wanted to know about the Backrooms and how they functioned¡ªWhat the hell were the Backrooms? How the hell had I gotten here? How the hell did I get out?¡ªbut right now the Relics were the most important item on the list. They were the tools that would enable me to survive long enough to get those other questions answered.


    ¡°There are five different Relic ranks,¡± Croc explained, talking to me like I was a plucky third grader. ¡°Common, Uncommon, Rare, Fabled, and Mythic. The same ranking system also holds true for Artifacts. The rarity level is assigned based on how frequently that spell or ability is spawned by the God Box amongst the Dwellers. Common through Rare Relics occur naturally¡ªthough snagging a Rare Relic above floor twenty-five is quite unlikely. Unless you kill a powerful Overseer or clear a Blight-infected area.¡±


    ¡°What about Fabled and Mythic?¡± I asked, constantly scanning the barren halls for any sign of threat.


    ¡°Yeah, those are a bit different,¡± Croc replied. ¡°If you¡¯re very lucky and you don¡¯t die, you might be able to find a Fabled Relic below floor one hundred. Though, and I can¡¯t stress this enough, no one, ever, under any circumstances, should venture that deep. As for Mythic Relics¡­ They¡¯re myths just like the name implies. Could be the Flayed Monarch has one, but I¡¯ve never heard of any normal Delver finding one.¡±


    Casual mention of the skinless horror sent a wave of goosebumps racing along my arms, but I kept my mouth firmly shut. I was a new Delver, still officially at level 0, with no legitimate reason whatsoever to even know who or what the Flayed Monarch was. I was starting to trust Croc a little, but I didn¡¯t want to give anything away at this point. It was unlikely, but what if Croc was one of the Monarch¡¯s Aspirants? Would the mimic dog immediately attempt to kill me once it knew I was in the crosshairs of the Skinless Court?


    I didn¡¯t know and I didn¡¯t particularly want to find out. Certainly not until I¡¯d visited one of the Monoliths and fully integrated my new abilities.


    ¡°See, the thing about Fabled and Mythic Relics is that they don¡¯t occur naturally,¡± Croc continued without missing a beat. ¡°Not like the Artifacts do. Fabled and Mythic Relics must be Forged by combining several lower-tier Relics with synergistic effects into a single, higher-tier Relic with a more specific or powerful effect. Thing is, combining Relics is very touch and go.


    ¡°It can be quite random, and there¡¯s no telling what skill, spell, or ability will be generated. Combining a bunch of synergistic Rares to generate a Fabled Relic is just¡­ Well, it¡¯s mad, isn¡¯t it? Instead of having three powerful Rare abilities, you might end up with a single Fabled ability with a power so specific and focused that it¡¯s as good as useless. Who would do something like that?¡±


    My mind immediately jumped back to the battle I¡¯d witnessed between the time-worn gunslinger and the Flayed Monarch. Living deities would do something like that.


    Now that I was starting to get a sense of how magic worked in this place, it was obvious to me that each of the two warriors must¡¯ve had countless Artifacts and any number of insane and powerful Relics. Each had cast spell after spell, harnessing the forces of nature as though it were child¡¯s play. I was betting every Relic they had was likely Fabled or Mythic. Clearly, those two were the type of creatures that inhabited the lower floors, and I happened to know the Flayed Monarch was actively gunning for me.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    I¡¯d been Marked for Death for a reason.


    If I wanted to survive long enough to find a way out of this nightmarish hellhole, I was going to need to gamble big and pick up a few Fabled and Mythic Relics of my own. Thinking about that drew my thoughts to the brass compass tucked away in my tool belt. The encrypted item that had fallen out of the Monarch¡¯s Spatial Core.


    ¡°What about Emblems?¡± I asked offhandedly, absently running my index finger along the cool metal.


    Croc snorted. ¡°Not even sure where you heard about Emblems, but you don¡¯t need to worry about finding one of those.¡±


    ¡°It came up in one of the prompts,¡± I lied. ¡°Let¡¯s just say, hypothetically, I was to find one. What do they do?¡±


    Croc shrugged. ¡°Hypothetically, Emblems function the same as Relics, they¡¯re just better in every conceivable way. Relics are powerful items, but there¡¯s a catch. You can swap out individual Relics at will, but you can only ever have ten active Relics equipped to your Spatial Core at any given point¡ªand that¡¯s just as true for Dwellers as it is for Delvers, by the way. The reason why Emblems are so powerful is because they break that rule. Or bend it, anyway.


    ¡°I told you that Fabled and Mythic Relics are forged by combining several Relics with synergistic effects into a single, higher-tier Relic, right? It¡¯s the same with Emblems. They aren¡¯t spawned, they¡¯re Forged. Created. But making one is difficult because the material requirements are insane. You need at least five Rare Relics which have already been Fully Tempered¡ªmeaning they cannot be Forged any further¡ªand they all need to have a synergistic affinity for one another.¡±


    I shook my head. ¡°It sounds like you¡¯re talking in cursive right now. Can you break it down shotgun-style for me?¡±


    Croc mulled it over for a second. ¡°To make an Emblem you take five extremely rare and powerful Relics, all with a related purpose, then fuse them together into a single set item. That item is an Emblem.¡±


    ¡°And why would someone want to do that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Because,¡± Croc said, ¡°all the core abilities and spells of an Emblem remain intact, but they can be equipped to your Spatial Core while only taking up a single Relic slot.¡±


    The explanation clicked into place like a puzzle piece.


    If I understood correctly, Emblems were less like individual abilities and more like a Class, which came with a bunch of different preselected abilities and spells. And I had one sitting in my tool belt. One that had presumably come directly from the Spatial Core of a demigod. I still didn¡¯t know what the Compass of the Catacomber did, but that only motivated me to find a Monolith even quicker.


    ¡°Sounds confusing,¡± I replied, pulling my hand away from the brass compass. ¡°Good thing I probably won¡¯t live long enough to ever see one.¡±


    ¡°Now that¡¯s the spirit,¡± Croc replied, waggling his tail.


    ¡°What about the Relic levels?¡± I asked. ¡°My Bleach Bolt is currently listed as a level 1 spell. Can I level it up through use? Like when I get experience points?¡±


    Croc chuckled and shook his head. ¡°That would certainly make things easier, but sadly it doesn¡¯t work that way. The Researcher equips you Delvers with the VIRUS, which allows you to channel the Mana flowing through the Backrooms. Unfortunately, the Relics are like the Dwellers themselves¡ªthey¡¯re manifestations of thought from the God Box. Although many are activated by Mana, they are distinct constructs. If you want to level a specific Relic, you¡¯ll need to cannibalize the Generative Energy bound inside other Relics.


    ¡°You can sacrifice five Relics to raise the level of any single Relic by one level. Once a Relic hits level 5, it will undergo a qualitative shift and will change in some fundamental way. The effect will become more powerful, perhaps. Or maybe you¡¯ll be able to cast it on additional targets. Sometimes the cost will drop. Hard to say what will happen, but it¡¯ll be good. Once a Relic reaches level 5 the cost to advance it further increases twofold. You¡¯ll need to sacrifice ten Relics to raise it each additional level. Once a Relic hits level 10, it¡¯ll undergo another shift, and after that, it¡¯ll cost twenty sacrifices to raise it each subsequent level.¡±


    I whistled through my teeth.


    Doing a little quick and dirty mental math, I realized I¡¯d have to sacrifice one hundred and seventy different Relics to raise just one single Relic from level 1 to level 15. Accumulating so many magical treasures sounded like a costly and dangerous process.


    ¡°What happens if I were to raise the level of a specific Relic then forge it with another Relic? Would I just lose all the levels I¡¯d built up?¡±


    ¡°Naw,¡± Croc replied, shaking its rubbery head. ¡°The total number of levels from both Relics would be averaged, rounding down. If you combine a level 5 Relic and a level 1 Relic, you¡¯d wind up with a new Relic that starts off at level 3. There is one important thing to point out about levels, though. When you kill a Dweller and harvest a Relic it will always start out as level 1, but the same isn¡¯t true for you Delvers. If you die, all of your Relics retain their levels.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± I started to say, ¡°but wouldn¡¯t that incentivize¡ª¡±


    ¡°Merciless, bloodthirsty gangs of roving Delvers who hunt other Delvers in order to harvest their Relics?¡± Croc finished before I could get the words out of my mouth.


    ¡°Yep,¡± I said flatly, already guessing at the answer.


    ¡°Yeah, sadly we have loads of those,¡± Croc replied with a heavy sigh. ¡°The Restless Bones usually operate between floors four and nine. The Sisterhood of Smiles are holed up on twelve. No telling where the Children of the Vault will show up¡ªterrifying little buggers. And those are just the warbands I can think of off the top of my head. Here on level three, we need to worry about the Repo Reapers and Hudson¡¯s Red Hands. They¡¯re part of the reason we¡¯re going to cut through Barry¡¯s Blacklight Emporium. The Wisps are dangerous but not nearly as dangerous as either of those two outfits.¡±


    ¡°Wait, we¡¯re on floor three?¡± I asked, suddenly disoriented. ¡°That can¡¯t be right.¡± I ran a hand through my hair while my mind turned over the puzzle. ¡°I came down from the Lobby, which, if I even remotely understand the layout of this place, is floor zero.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s an easy mistake to make, especially if you¡¯re new,¡± Croc said matter-of-factly. ¡°You¡¯re right that the Lobby is considered floor zero, but the thing about the Backrooms is that time, space, and reality all work differently here than they do in the real world. This place exists in its own reality called Superspace. Most people think of the Backrooms like a big cube. A box with the floors stacked on top of each other, all nice and neat like the layers of a cake.


    ¡°But it isn¡¯t. It¡¯s a jumble. A mix-up. Most of the stairwells on any given floor will likely connect to an adjacent floor above or below, but sometimes not. Sometimes you skip a floor or two. Sometimes you skip a floor or two dozen. Believe me when I say, you do not want to accidentally stumble down one of the latter. That¡¯s a good way to get dead.¡± Croc paused and turned, doubling back down a corridor we¡¯d already passed through. ¡°Ah, here we are at last,¡± it said, stopping in front of a gray metal door that hadn¡¯t been there twenty seconds ago.


    There was a paper sign taped to the wall with the words ¡°Shortcut to Mall Shops¡± in big red letters. It could¡¯ve been Sharpie, but the way the paper crinkled made me think it was probably something else. Like dried blood. On the door itself was a brown placard with the words ¡°Level 3, I-420: Barry¡¯s Blacklight Emporium!¡±

 Eleven – Barry’s Blacklight Emporium

    Barry¡¯s Blacklight Emporium turned out to be a headshop.


    Like everything else inside the Backrooms, however, Barry¡¯s was a TV stereotype cranked to eleven, hit with a potent dose of psychedelic mushrooms, then vomited out by a sentient 3D printer. Bead curtains separated the doorways, eye-jarring tie-dye shirts and flags covered the walls, and there were several posters rendered in Rastafarian green, yellow, and reds with a man who almost looked like Bob Marley but wasn¡¯t. More like a version of Bob Marley sketched from memory by an amateur artist who was drunk.


    The words ¡°One love, one heart, one burrito. Let¡¯s get spicy,¡± appeared below the man¡¯s picture.


    Along one wall was a long glass case filled with even more glassware.


    Hookah pipes with octopus-like hoses. Bongs the size of my leg in a riot of colorful hues. Neat rows of smaller pipes and weird, clear glass rigs that looked like they belonged in a chemistry lab.


    I examined several in passing.


    Most did nothing at all and had no description, while one item¡ªan Enchanted Dab Rig called The Blazer¡ªcould be used to increase the potency of certain alchemic elixirs and potions. I was curious about how Artifacts worked and why some things seemed to be magic while others weren¡¯t, but now wasn¡¯t the time or place to ask Croc about it.


    Not while we were elbow-deep in hostile territory.


    I¡¯d only smoked pot once or twice in high school¡ªit had never really held the same appeal as good ol¡¯ fashion liquor¡ªbut I was still tempted to snatch the enchanted Blazer on principle. Not because I had any inclination to get high, but because I figured something like that might come in handy later on. And if not, maybe I could sell it. If there were gangs and safe havens, then it stood to reason that there was some sort of economy here too. Trade was as old as humanity, and before the advent of modern-day fiat currency, barter had been the law of the land.


    I figured something like that Blazer could probably get me three hots and a cot for a day.


    Still, I resisted the impulse and kept my sticky fingers to myself, not wanting to trigger some sort of Hookah Horror that would undoubtedly attempt to strangle me to death or poison me with toxic clouds, or God only knew what else.


    Not that we made it clear of Barry¡¯s without incident.


    We were closing in on the front entryway, which would dump us back into the mall proper, when we wandered a little too closely to a bunch of tacky blacklight posters.


    There was an orange-and-red flaming skull with 8-balls for eyes. A psychedelic unicorn with a shimmering white coat and a flowing mane and tail that shifted between shades of pink and blue and purple. The cosmic dragon, with a huge serpentine body that appeared to be breathing out smaller dragons from its mouth, was my personal favorite. A close second was the Groovy Gargoyle¡ªa stone behemoth wearing oversized sunglasses, one of its clawed hands held up in a peace sign.


    There were a handful more just like that.


    Electric Octopus. Technicolor T-Rex. A giant, golden phoenix that rightfully belonged on the hood of a ¡¯73 Trans Am. Others, which were even more ridiculous.


    They were all loud and obnoxious, but nothing more than gaudy eyesores. At least until the images started to bleed off the posters, circling around us in a kaleidoscope of shifting colors that left me feeling dizzy and a little stoned.


    These were the Blacklight Wisps Croc had warned me about. They were enchanting creatures of light and illusion that could bewitch the senses and enthrall the feeble-minded.


    Thankfully, they were all level 1s and 2s, with a single level 3 presiding over the whole bunch¡ªthe cosmic dragon, breathing smaller dragons, because of course it was that one.


    Thankfully the Wisps were relatively harmless on their own. They were impervious to any sort of physical attack, and though they had some slight psionic ability, their real job was to confuse, disorient, and drive intruders deeper into the shop, where the nastier things that lurked in the glassware section waited to strike. Thankfully, Croc knew the score, and though I couldn¡¯t harm the fanciful lights directly, destroying their velvety posters did the trick.


    Killing them all took a lot longer than I wanted, and by the time I was done, I had a pounding headache that felt like the worst hangover of my life. Even worse than my hangover from Niko¡¯s bachelor party. That was the result of several concentrated psionic attacks. The wisps weren¡¯t all that powerful individually, but their attacks stacked over time. With so many of the wisps working against me, I could hardly see straight by the time the battle was done with.


    It was worth the headache, though.


    The level 1s each granted me twenty experience points, while the level 2s netted me fifty apiece. The level 3 cosmic dragon was worth a hundred and twenty-five, bringing the grand total up to 395 experience for the encounter. Additionally, I earned six more Common Shards¡ªone from each of the level 1 wisps¡ªand a small treasure trove of Relics.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    I ended up with three identical Common Relics, all called Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding. The Relics resembled a Tinfoil Hat, as the name implied, and each came with a passive ability that raised my ¡°Grit¡± by one point and offered me a two percent resistance against all forms of Hypnotic Psionics¡ªwhich was any type of psychic attack that could unduly influence the mind or the physical senses. I tried to equip all three hats at once, hoping to stack the effect into a much larger bonus, but whatever laws governed the Backrooms prevented me from cutting corners and breaking rules.


    Finally, I decided to leave one Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding equipped to my Spatial Core and stowed the other two in my tool belt. Maybe I could trade them at some point. That or sacrifice them to level up my Bleach Bolt spell.


    I picked up one final item from the level 3 Blacklight Wisp. It was an Uncommon Relic, which took the form of a ridiculous tie-dye lava lamp.


    Psychedelic Light Show of Minor Distraction


    Uncommon Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Line of Sight


    Cost: 2 - 16 Mana


    Duration: 15 Seconds


    Psychedelic Light Show of Minor Distraction allows you to conjure between 1 and 8 blacklight pixie dragons that will swirl through the air in a whirlwind of enchanting technicolor brilliance. Like a planetarium laser show, they¡¯ll create a hypnotic dance of light that will distract your enemies, giving you the upper hand in combat for a second or two.


    There¡¯s also a tiny chance the dancing dragons will hypnotize any enemy onlookers, making them even more susceptible to your attacks. It¡¯s like staring at the sun¡ªyou know it¡¯s not good for you, but sometimes you just can¡¯t look away. The more dragons you summon, the greater the likelihood of triggering the hypnotic effect. This Relic enables Mana usage.


    Although it didn¡¯t do any damage, it was still a powerful spell and one with a ton of potential uses. I immediately equipped it to my Core and conjured a pair of twin dragons. Each was about two feet long with a wingless, serpentine body. My blue Mana gauge immediately dropped to zero. It seemed that with my current Mana supply, I could only summon two of the creatures before I ran dry.


    The dragons themselves were graceful creatures that dived and twirled through elaborate loops and patterns, opening their mouths and shooting out sprays of beautiful, multicolored sparks. I wasn¡¯t sure how much these things would help in combat¡ªespecially since it would cost most of my Mana to cast the spell, but it would make a great party trick if I ever found a bar.


    The real prize, however, wasn¡¯t the experience, the Shards, the Relic, or anything that lay inside Barry¡¯s Blacklight Emporium. It was what was just outside the front doors.


    A Progenitor Monolith.


    This time a real one that wouldn¡¯t try to bite my face off.


    The slate gray Progenitor Monolith looked exactly like the hulking, old-school ATM, which had been sitting outside of the Eastside City Savings & Loan shop. Curiously, this one was also positioned in front of a fictional bank I¡¯d never heard of called Fairview Heights Community Bank. I didn¡¯t have enough evidence yet to say it was a pattern, but it certainly didn¡¯t seem like a coincidence.


    Although Croc assured me that this monolith was legit and wouldn¡¯t try to turn me into a midday snack, I lobbed a ball of super bleach at it anyway. Just for good measure. The blob of blue goop splashed against the side of the boxy machine, then slid down, doing no damage but leaving an especially shiny streak of gray plastic in its wake.


    The stuff really did work miracles on dirty surfaces.


    ¡°See, I told you this one was the real deal,¡± Croc said, though there was no malice in the words. The mimic dog was just friendly and helpful. In a place where everything wanted to murder and eat you, friendly and helpful were somehow even more suspicious. But so far, Croc had been an open book and hadn¡¯t done anything to make me worry about its intentions.


    ¡°Just following the first rule,¡± I replied over one shoulder, keeping my eyes trained on the monolith. ¡°Assume that everything, everywhere, all the time is both lying to you and trying to kill you.¡±


    ¡°Hey, that¡¯s what I said,¡± Croc replied happily. ¡°You listened. No one¡¯s ever listened before. There was this one Delver, Meadow, who said she was listening, but then she wandered into the ball pit inside Animatronic Adventure Arcade against my express advice. The ball gremlins ate her from the waist down. Such a shame.¡±


    I grimaced, and this time, I did look back at him. ¡°Croc, just how many Delvers have you tried to help?¡±


    The mimic sat back on its haunches, tail waggling, doggy face screwed up in a thoughtful expression. That was hard to do since Croc didn¡¯t have eyes.


    ¡°Time is funny here,¡± Croc replied after a few moments, ¡°and I¡¯ve been here a long time. Several decades, I¡¯d say. Hard to keep track of all the Delvers that¡¯ve passed through during that time.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need an exact number,¡± I said. ¡°Just, sort of ballpark for me.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯d say somewhere north of three hundred then.¡±


    ¡°And they¡¯re all dead?¡± I choked out.


    ¡°The Backrooms are a very dangerous place,¡± Croc confided as though that should be entirely self-evident, and he couldn¡¯t possibly be to blame. ¡°Plus, bear in mind, I¡¯ve made it my mission to help brand-new Delvers, who are the most likely ones to die. I can think of twenty or so who made it past a week and a handful that survived a month. In my experience, it¡¯s best not to think about the numbers¡ªit can be a teensy bit depressing. But I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll be different. You remind me of Caroline, a real fighter. Lots of pep and spunk!¡±


    ¡°What happened to Caroline?¡± I asked, knowing I probably didn¡¯t want to hear the answer.


    Croc¡¯s expression faltered and his eyeholes drooped a little. ¡°Disemboweled by a Fitting Room Mirror Ghoul inside the Bargain Bazaar on the eighth floor. Very tragic.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s encouraging,¡± I said, mind already calculating how boned I was. Based on everything I knew so far, the answer was very.


    Except¡­


    Except, I had one thing none of those other poor schmucks did. I ran my fingers over the brass compass. I had an Emblem, stolen from one of the most powerful residents of the Backrooms. That had to count for something, assuming I could figure out how to use it.


    I looked at Croc, who still looked rather dejected. ¡°Can you add eyes?¡± I asked on a whim. ¡°It¡¯s hard to tell what you¡¯re thinking without eyes.¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Croc replied enthusiastically, its moment of melancholy suddenly forgotten. ¡°That is definitely something within my wheelhouse.¡± The blue Croc dog shook its head, once then twice. When it stopped moving it had an oversized pair of plastic googly eyes, resting above its doggy snout. ¡°Is that better? More relatable and friendly?¡±


    I snorted and nodded. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s perfect,¡± I said, actually feeling a little bit better. ¡°Exactly what I had in mind.¡± The compliment set the dog¡¯s tail to waggling so hard I thought it might take flight. With a half smile on my face, I closed the gap to the Monolith in three long strides. ¡°Here goes nothing,¡± I muttered, slapping my hand against the machine.

 Twelve – The Backrooms VIRUS

    I heard the sharp whirl of a motor start up as digital text flickered to life on a small screen. Welcome to the Backrooms! To access your Personal VIRUS Account, please place your bare hand on the palm reader, then select an option from the menu! There was a blue square light on the gray plastic console with the green outline of a handprint emblazoned on the surface. The green handprint blinked on and off at me like a winking eye.


    Reluctantly, I peeled off one of my Mechanix gloves, shoved it into my tool belt, then complied. The scanner was warm against my skin and thrummed with faint energy. New words blinked onto the screen.


    New user detected! Initializing account setup and VIRUS integration process. Please be patient, this will only take a few moments. Rest assured, any discomfort you feel is totally normal. Please note, side effects may include heart eruption, brain implosion, limb disfiguration, and catastrophic central nervous system failure. The Variant Research Division is not financially or legally culpable for any damage suffered while using the Progenitor Monolith.


    Before I could even finish reading all the fine print, the motor whirled even more loudly, like a helicopter preparing for takeoff. There was a blindingly bright series of camera flashes, taking photos in rapid-fire succession. It was a dazzling spectacle that left me feeling like some famous celeb getting ambushed by a small army of paparazzi. At the same moment, a surge of electricity rushed up through my hand and took a lap along every single nerve ending in my body all at once.


    During my early days as a general contractor, I¡¯d been working at a site where some DIY-er had installed a series of overhead lights with the worst wiring job I¡¯d ever seen. I¡¯d been removing a section of damaged drywall and ended up connecting to an exposed live wire tucked away behind a stud. That wire had been a house fire waiting to happen, but instead of burning the place down, it sent electricity surging through my pry bar and into my hand.


    I remembered the experience vividly, and this was just like that.


    My muscles seized, my body convulsed, and the scent of cooking meat hung thick in my nose. Thanks to the searing pain throbbing in my right palm, it wasn¡¯t hard to figure out where the aroma was coming from, but there wasn¡¯t a damn thing I could do about it. I¡¯d metaphorically strapped myself to the back of an angry rodeo bull and now all I could do was hang on for the ride and hope this thing didn¡¯t kill me or turn my brain into a bowl of hot mush.


    After what felt like a thousand years, the power cut off and I dropped to my knees, gulping in greedy lungfuls of delicious air. Small curls of smoke rose from my hand and drifted up from my arms. My muscles ached and it felt like I¡¯d been wrung out like a wet washcloth.


    Curiously, however, a host of other minor issues had disappeared. I examined my chest and immediately saw that the bite mark from the toilet snake was no longer fresh and raw, but rather had turned into a faint circle of white scar tissue. With a wince, I jerked my hand away, but when I examined my palm, there wasn¡¯t a mark on my skin. It wasn¡¯t even red. Mystified, I struggled to my feet and looked down at the pad, fully expecting to see a layer of charred meat plastered to the surface of the palm reader.


    But there was nothing.


    I glanced at the tiny digital screen. There was a new message waiting for me.


    Welcome to your Personal VIRUS Account, Dan Woodridge, Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C! You have successfully integrated with the Progenitor VIRUS (Variant Individual Registry Upgrade System, Iteration 21.2), brought to you by the Variant Research Division, Making Reality Better!


    Although a small portion of Delvers experience some slight discomfort during the integration process, you have survived. Congratulations! Now that your neural framework and biological blueprint have been successfully scanned and registered with the Researcher and the Progenitor Core, you have full access to a host of new features, including the Subspace Storage System, the Research Department Job Board, and the Delver Interface Portal, which contains your Specimen Bio-Report (SBR).


    To learn more, please use the Monolith Keypad to select an available option.


    <ol>


    <li> Subspace Storage System</li>


    <li> Delver Interface Portal</li>


    <li> Research Department Job Board</li>


    <li> Learn About the Variant Research Project!</li>


    </ol>


    I scanned the menu, feeling a sense of relief that I was finally going to get a few answers.


    Although every available option looked fascinating, I skipped down to option four¡ªLearn About the Variant Research Project!¡ªand mashed the button on the metallic keypad with one finger. The semitranslucent prompt screen I¡¯d become so familiar with appeared, hovering just above the Monolith¡¯s gray plastic exterior. Hope flickered, but then my smile turned to a frown as I read.


    Whoops! Looks like you¡¯ve attempted to access an obsolete or out-of-date section of the Delver Interface Portal. These files may have been restricted, deleted, or corrupted. If you¡¯d like to attempt to recover these files, please visit one of the designated Research Labs located on the lower levels.


    I skimmed the words once more with annoyance.


    Why had I honestly expected this place to give me necessary, life-saving information without dicking me around first? Begrudgingly, I thumbed the number one¡ªSubspace Storage System¡ªhoping this option wasn¡¯t broken as well. The error message was whisked away, and new information crawled across the floating screen.


    Congratulations! As a fully integrated Delver, you can now access your personal Subspace Storage System, a unique inventory that allows you to store up to 2,000 pounds of physical material in a secure extradimensional space, accessible only by you. You may deposit or withdraw items from your Subspace Storage System at any time thanks to our handy-dandy ¡°On-the-Go¡± Inventory Portal.


    This intuitive system allows you to shred the fabric of space and time without breaking a sweat, storing any non-living items indefinitely. All Variant Subspace Storage Systems are time-locked, meaning any perishable items contained within will remain unspoiled until removed from Storage. To obtain a comprehensive, itemized list of all objects stored within your Subspace Storage System, please visit the Inventory Portal Tab at any available Monolith!


    Would you like to view an itemized list of your Subspace Storage System? Yes/No


    I selected yes, half-expecting the storage system to be empty, but was pleasantly surprised when a list of items materialized.


    <ul>


    <li>8 x Copper Delver Loot Token</li>


    <li>5 x Copper Medic! Loot Token</li>


    <li>1 x Copper Slayer Loot Token</li>


    <li>1 x Copper Brawler Loot Token</li>


    <li>1 x Silver Delver Loot Token</li>


    <li>1 x Silver Medic! Loot Token</li>


    <li>1 x Silver Elementalist Loot Token</li>


    <li>1 x Gold Weaponsmith Loot Token</li>


    <li>1 x Gold Ambassador Loot Token</li>


    <li>1 x Diamond Sentinel Loot Token</li>


    <li>1 x Ruby Warlord Loot Token</li>


    <li>Current Weight: 1.75lbs/2,000 lbs</li>


    </ul>


    Huh. So that was where all the various Loot Tokens I¡¯d earned had ended up.


    I still didn¡¯t know what they did or how to use them, but at least now I knew how to get my hands on ¡¯em. With a thought, I selected one of the Copper Delver Loot Tokens. A small black rift, like a thin slice in reality itself, appeared in the air beside me. Suspended inside the rift was a single copper coin. Tentatively, I reached in¡ªsilently praying the rift didn¡¯t snap closed and cut my arm off at the elbow¡ªand pulled the item free.


    It was copper and looked like a video game arcade token. On one side were the words Variant Research Division, Making Reality Better! On the other face was the picture of an eight-bit pick-axe encircled by the words Delver Loot Token - NO Cash Value. I held the coin tightly in my hand but the steady thrum that often emanated from Artifacts and Relics was absent and when I tried to examine the token further, nothing came up.


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    This was just a coin. An arcade token, like it said.


    But if it really was an arcade token, then maybe there was some way to redeem it or use it. Turn it in for a prize, maybe. I¡¯d have to ask Croc about that later.


    Instead of pocketing the coin, I summoned the black rift in space-time once again and flicked the coin in. The void ate it up then vanished with a wink. I rechecked the itemized Storage list and noted that I had eight copper Delver Loot Tokens once again. Out of sheer curiosity, I reached down and did the same thing with the Zima bottle half full of water from the Lobby bathroom. It vanished into the black rift just the same as the coin, then a line item popped up on the inventory list.


    <ul>


    <li>Zima Bottle ¨C Half Full (Water)</li>


    </ul>


    Everything about this place was terrible, but I had to admit that little party trick was almost worth the price of admission. I added a few other items from my pockets and tool belt into the Subspace Storage System. My Endless Roll of Wipe, the two extra Tinfoil Hat Relics, all eight of my Common Shards, and a handful of loose screws and nails, which had been rattling around in the bottom of an exterior pouch.


    The important things I kept on hand, though.


    All of my tools, the Zima healing elixir, the Slammer of Shielding, and, of course, the brass compass that had somehow fallen out of the Flayed Monarch¡¯s Spatial Core. That I intended to use as soon as possible, but I needed to make a few adjustments before I could equip it. Even though I¡¯d fully integrated with the VIRUS, I still didn¡¯t have a high enough Perception or Resonance.


    I was hoping the Delver Interface Portal option would help with that.


    I jabbed the number 2 button on the keypad and my Inventory List vanished, replaced yet again by a new greeting message.


    Welcome to your Delver Interface Portal, which contains your Specimen Bio-Report (SBR). The SBR is a comprehensive personal file that contains a host of useful biometric and meta-reality information, including current status conditions, comprehensive injury reports, and a list of all active Relics and Titles. Any Personal Enhancement Points, earned from level advancement, can also be distributed through the SBR tab, via a Monolith.


    Would you like to view your SBR? Yes/No


    I selected yes and the image on the screen changed.


    A floating 3D avatar of myself appeared, visible only to my eyes, and beside it was a character sheet. Or a ¡°Specimen Bio-Report¡± I guess¡ªalthough I¡¯d played enough DnD and RPG games to know a character sheet when I saw one. There was a general overview page, which held all of my basic and most pertinent information¡ªname, race, attribute stats, and equipped Relics and Titles¡ªand several other tabs that covered a wide range of additional information, such as my research achievements, status conditions, and a complete medical record.


    And when I say complete, I mean complete.


    It had details from the time I broke my arm in middle school and even the time I got a terrible staph infection after getting bitten by a camel spider in Iraq. On top of past injuries, it also tracked my current health conditions, including a comprehensive, real-time blood work panel that monitored everything from my glucose value to my electrolyte levels and flagged anything that was outside of the standard range. How this system had any of that information was beyond me, but it was certainly impressive.


    After a quick scan, I moved on to the overview page, which contained the bulk of the relevant information.


    Dan Woodridge


    Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C


    Variant Assimilation Level: 5


    Race: Human, Archetypal


    Current Experience: 3,715


    Next Level: 4,250


    Personal Enhancement Points: 20


    __ __ __


    Health: 28


    Health-Regen/Hour: 1.3


    __ __ __


    Stamina Reserve: 16


    Stamina-Regen/Minute: 1.2


    __ __ __


    Mana Pool: 8


    Mana-Regen/Minute: 0.8


    Individual Adaptative Stats


    Grit: 6 (5 + 1 Enhanced)


    Athleticism: 5


    Toughness: 6


    Perception: 4


    Resonance: 3


    Preservation: 1


    Spatial Core - Active


    (C) Basic Camo Kit, Camouflage Spell ¨C Level 1


    (C) Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding ¨C Level 1


    (U) Bleach Bolt: The Unidentified Stain Eradicator ¨C Level 1


    (U) Psychedelic Light Show of Minor Distraction ¨C Level 1


    Current Titles ¨C Passive


    Out of Your League, Deathwish, Marked for Death, Weapon of Opportunity


    Although I still didn¡¯t understand why I had a Specimen Bio-Report or a knockoff DnD character sheet, a lot of the information it contained was intuitive. My Health and Mana, for instance, and the level progression system. The Individual Adaptive Stats, however, were anything but run-of-the-mill. What the hell was Resonance? And why did I only have one point in Preservation?


    I mean, I didn¡¯t actually know what Preservation was, but that seemed insultingly low.


    As I focused on each, a cracked-out animated paper clip appeared that looked just like Clippy, the old Microsoft Word assistant. Except, somehow, this version radiated the energy of a fifty-seven-year-old man with a potbelly, a drinking problem, two ex-wives, and a brood of kids who refused to see him even on holidays. It was singly the most depressing animated assistant I¡¯d ever seen.


    ¡°Use the tooltips to learn more shit,¡± the paper clip said morosely. ¡°Or don¡¯t. It¡¯s no skin off my teeth either way.¡± That done, the paper clip removed a pack of cigarettes and lit up a virtual Marlboro Red, seeming to delight in the harsh smoke.


    Despite his world-weary appearance, the animated paper clip did indeed have some great¡ªif rather unenthusiastic¡ªtooltips, which offered me a curt, though thorough, overview of what each of the various stats was used for.


    <ul>


    <li>Grit is the epitome of unyielding fortitude and ironclad will. It measures your mental determination, perseverance, and ability to resist psionic attacks and psychic influences. </li>


    <li>Athleticism measures your overall physical prowess, encompassing strength, speed, and agility. Smash through obstacles, gracefully dodge traps, and strike with unerring precision. </li>


    <li>Toughness measures your raw physical fortitude: your ability to endure adverse conditions such as pain and fatigue, and to recover from injuries that would cripple or kill lesser beings. In the Backrooms, if you aren¡¯t smart, you better be tough.</li>


    <li>Perception measures your awareness and ability to perceive details, such as noticing hidden traps, detecting lies, or sensing danger. This is that smart thing I was talking about before.</li>


    <li>Resonance measures your connection to the Mana that permeates the extradimensional Superspace between worlds. Greater Resonance directly increases your ability to harness the magical power generated by the Progenitor Core.</li>


    <li>Preservation measures your ability to withstand and resist the corruption brought on by prolonged exposure to the Blight. The best cure for the Blight is to not get it. The second-best cure is dying. I cannot emphasize this strongly enough: DO NOT CONTRACT THE BLIGHT!</li>


    </ul>


    I carefully read through each stat, not wanting to miss anything vital, before finally dismissing the overworked paper clip and his tooltips with a wave of one hand. With new knowledge burning through my mind, I went back and reexamined my SBR Overview. I wasn¡¯t sure what the baseline stats for a normal Joe Blow were, but based on my own stats, I was guessing eight or nine must¡¯ve been at the far end of the bell curve.


    I wasn¡¯t an Olympic athlete by any stretch of the imagination, but I was a former Marine, worked out regularly, and had a physically demanding job. My Athleticism was at 5, so I figured that had to be a notch above average. Not great, but not terrible either. Likewise, both my Toughness and Grit were at 6, which rang true. I may not have been the strongest sumbitch around, but I was tougher than old boot leather and didn¡¯t know the meaning of the word quit.


    But I was far more interested in the fact that I had 20 Personal Enhancement Points to spend. Assuming an eight really was the upper limit of human ability, if I dropped all twenty points into Athleticism, I would officially become stronger than the strongest living person on planet Earth, and it wouldn¡¯t even be close.


    I was tempted to do that, just to see how jacked I got.


    As entertaining as that thought was, I quickly dismissed it, thinking back to the Compass of the Catacomber sitting in my tool belt. I wasn¡¯t sure what it would do, but it was a Mythic Emblem, and to use it, I needed a Perception of 10 and a Resonance of 15. With my current stats, hitting the Emblem¡¯s base requirements would cost me all but two of my Personal Enhancement Points. My gut told me it would be worth it in the long run, even if it was still a big gamble in the short term.


    I¡¯d been leveling up quickly so far, but that was how these things always went. The early levels were the easiest, but the grind got increasingly more difficult the higher you progressed. I was sure this would be no different.


    Making this choice was a risk, and it went against my natural instincts, but I knew it was the right thing to do. Before I could talk myself out of it, I dropped twelve points into Resonance and six into Perception. Then, even though it killed me a little on the inside, I used the last two points to boost my Preservation stat up to 3. I¡¯d heard Croc mention the Blight a couple of times, and although it was still just as much of a mystery as everything else in the Backrooms, I knew for damn certain I didn¡¯t want to get it¡ªespecially not if the second-best cure was literally just dying.


    With my points distributed, it was finally time to see what the Compass of the Catacomber could do¡­

 Thirteen – Compass of the Catacomber

    I looked over my newly upgraded stats once more before closing out my SBR tab.


    Dan Woodridge


    Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C


    Variant Assimilation Level: 5


    Race: Human, Archetypal


    Current Experience: 3,715


    Next Level: 4,250


    Personal Enhancement Points: 0


    __ __ __


    Health: 28


    Health-Regen/Hour: 1.3


    __ __ __


    Stamina Reserve: 16


    Stamina-Regen/Minute: 1.2


    __ __ __


    Mana Pool: 35


    Mana-Regen/Minute: 2.9


    Individual Adaptative Stats


    Grit: 6 (5 + 1 Enhanced)


    Athleticism: 5


    Toughness: 6


    Perception: 10


    Resonance: 15


    Preservation: 3


    The only thing that had really changed was the size of my Mana Pool and my Mana Regeneration Rate. The overall amount of Mana I had at my disposal had quadrupled and my Regen rate had tripled. I could now cast Bleach Bolt seven times in rapid-fire succession before running dry. It still felt like my Regen rate was as slow as a narcoleptic sloth, but that just meant I needed to pace myself¡ªbe strategic in how I used the spells I had at my disposal.


    I closed the Monolith Menu screen and fished out the brass compass, holding it flat against my palm. Time to see if this horse could run.


    Compass of the Catacomber


    Mythic Emblem


    The Backrooms are filled with a thousand dangers, from lethal traps to ravenous Dwellers, but none are more deadly than the murky, ever-twisting, ever-changing corridors of the Backrooms themselves. Though many Delvers perish at the claws and fangs of inhuman horrors, even more die thirsty, hungry, and alone, trapped in a dark room with no way out.


    Not the Catacomber.


    The Catacomber is a twisted blend of cartographer and cryptic graveyard robber. Though lacking in combat prowess, a unique blend of skills and spells allows those holding this Mythic Emblem to map the uncharted depths, effortlessly venturing where others fear to tread. In a world of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. The Catacomber has both eyes open and a torch that will never go out.


    As I finished reading over the Emblem description, I was surprised by how different it was than the other Relics I¡¯d seen so far. Each Relic was essentially a single skill or spell, which could be leveled up, swapped out, or forged into more powerful skills at will. But they were always just a single ability. This was different. This read like an RPG class description. A class that specialized not in combat or even spell-slinging, but in navigation.


    I¡¯d played DnD and online MMOs for years, and I always tended toward the brawler builds. Hit first, hit hard, ask questions later. Under any other circumstances, I would¡¯ve run as fast as possible to get away from a lame-ass class that revolved around disarming traps or making maps¡ªeven now it sounded so incredibly boring. But I wasn¡¯t playing a game, I reminded myself. This was my life, and I was trapped inside of an endless labyrinth where everything, including the furniture, was deadly.


    Because I¡¯d invested the bulk of my Personal Enhancement Points into Perception and Resonance, I was as squishy and vulnerable as a basket of newborn kittens, but if the Emblem allowed me to avoid fights, sidestep pitfalls, and find shelter, it would be well worth my comparatively abysmal Athleticism and Toughness score.


    I peeled my gaze away from the Catacomber description and looked at the six ¡°Emblem Slots¡± listed beneath. In essence, each one was a distinct Relic, all fused together under one umbrella, just like Croc had explained.


    __ __ __


    Emblem Slot 1: Mapmaker¡¯s Eye


    Fabled Relic (Fully Tempered) ¨C Level 15


    Mapmaker¡¯s Eye is a passive feature that allows the Catacomber to generate a visual Map of the Backrooms as they explore. Unexplored areas stay veiled by the ¡°Fog of War,¡± but once a section has been visited, the floor map will remain intact even after a ¡°Floor Shift¡± occurs. The presence of benign and hostile Dwellers, secret doorways, and other Delvers will also be indicated on the Map.


    __ __ __


    Emblem Slot 2: Surveyor¡¯s Mark


    Rare Relic (Fully Tempered) ¨C Level 15


    The Backrooms are a living organism, and as such, the corridors, rooms, and byways that make up each floor are extremely resistant to external change. Trying to alter or even mark the surface in any way is futile at best and potentially life-threatening at worst. Surveyor¡¯s Mark is a passive ability that allows the Catacomber to mark their path through the Backrooms, leaving a trail others can follow.


    __ __ __


    Emblem Slot 3: Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense


    Fabled Relic (Fully Tempered) ¨C Level 15


    After years of traversing treacherous tunnels and crumbling ruins, the Catacomber has developed an uncanny passive ability to detect insidious traps and spot concealed foes with almost casual indifference. Many develop an almost perverse fascination with disarming and rearming the traps, often to the rage of those who laid them in the first place. Their uncanny passive ability also allows them to spot loot from a mile off, much to the envy of their fellow adventurers.


    I whistled through my teeth as I read.


    The first three abilities alone were enough to make the Compass of the Catacomber a priceless item that anyone inside the Backrooms would kill for. I¡¯d spent less than a day here, but after wandering aimlessly through the Lobby¡ªconstantly on the move from unseen threats, stalking me from dim shadows¡ªI knew exactly how miserable, disorienting, and dangerous this place was.


    Even my rudimentary attempts at creating a map had proven useful, but in a place this size, I doubted that walking around with reams of paper was a tenable solution. But a map that I could look at in real time? And one that actively labeled secret passageways or hostile enemies? Yeah, that would make life considerably easier. That, paired with Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense would let me easily avoid so many of the environmental dangers the Backrooms had to offer.


    Sure, I¡¯d still have to worry about running into a gang of cannibalistic Delvers or roaming packs of tentacle-faced Dwellers, but I wouldn¡¯t have to worry about accidentally having my face melted off by an acidic water fountain.


    Surveyor¡¯s Mark was less immediately applicable, especially since I had the map to help guide my feet and I was currently alone. If it was included with the Emblem, however, I was sure there was a good reason for it.


    If the first three abilities made the Emblem priceless, the last three made it a treasure fit only for a king. Or for a god.


    __ __ __


    Emblem Slot 4: The Researcher¡¯s Codex


    Fabled Relic (Fully Tempered) ¨C Level 15


    Despite its current function, the Progenitor Ship was originally designed as a Researcher Vessel. As such, it contains a host of valuable information on all the Delvers and Dwellers who now inhabit its endless and ever-changing corridors. This passive skill grants the Catacomber a Credential Key for all restricted Variant Research Division Labs and additional insight into the varied inhabitants of the Backrooms, including their strengths, weaknesses, skills, and behaviors. The Researcher¡¯s Codex Notes will be accessed, compiled, and disseminated through your Localized Administrator.


    __ __ __


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    Emblem Slot 5: Pathfinder¡¯s Unerring Arrow


    Fabled Relic (Fully Tempered) ¨C Level 15


    Range: Line of Sight


    Cost: 30 Mana


    Duration: 30 Seconds


    Using the Pathfinder¡¯s Unerring Arrow, the Catacomber conjures an illusionary blue arrow, visible only to them, which will lead unerringly to any objective fixed firmly in the Catacomber¡¯s mind. With each step taken, the conjured arrow extends its reach, always pointing in the optimal direction, bypassing obstacles, dangers, and hindrances, which allows the caster to navigate even the most treacherous environments with unflagging confidence.


    __ __ __


    Emblem Slot 6: Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort


    Mythic Relic (Fully Tempered) ¨C Level 15


    Kids all over the world are well-acquainted with the boundless joy of rearranging and repurposing couch cushions and bed blankets to make an awesome fort. This is just the grown-up, extra-dimensional version of that. Use Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort ability to cordon off a portion of the Backrooms and claim it as your own, transforming the area into a cozy little pocket dimension that you can always retreat to when the going gets too rough.


    As with any good blanket fort, your pocket dimension can grow by adding extra material. The Catacomber can add 2,500 square feet of space to their Blanket Fort for every Variant Assimilation Level earned. Think of it as a high-end real estate investment, only with fewer property taxes and more flesh-eating monsters.


    But the best is yet to come.


    As with all real estate, they say it¡¯s all about location, location, location, and with Blanket Fort, you always have an optimal location. This ability allows the Catacomber to create one Doorway Anchor per two Variant Assimilation Levels. A Doorway Anchor can transform any standard door within the Backrooms into a dimensional gateway that connects directly to their slice of paradise. Doorway Anchors can be moved at any time and may be set to private or public, restricting who can enter the comfort of your own personal hell.


    For a full list of Blanket Fort features and options, please see the Blanket Fort DIY Operations Manual, available after claiming your first section of the Backrooms!


    As I finished reading, a cold sweat washed over me, and I found myself acutely aware of how much trouble I was in. The Compass of the Catacomber was¡­ Amazing didn¡¯t quite feel like an adequate term, but I wasn¡¯t sure anything else fit. Incredible? Astonishing? Divine? It was all of those things and then some. In the Backrooms, knowledge was power, which made the Researcher¡¯s Codex a weapon that would start paying dividends the second I used it.


    And it was nothing compared to Pathfinder¡¯s Unerring Arrow or the ridiculously named Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort. Although Mapmaker¡¯s Eye would allow me to draft a map in real time, it was still limited in scope¡ªI needed to physically go someplace before the Fog of War lifted, but Pathfinder¡¯s Unerring Arrow would allow me to sidestep that limitation. It could take me anywhere I wanted to go with a thought.


    Need a stairwell? Just think of one. Food running low? A little magic, a splash of razzle-dazzle, and boom, I¡¯d know exactly how to get there in the quickest, most efficient manner possible.


    As for the Mythic Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort ability¡­


    I literally couldn¡¯t think of a more powerful skill in an endless, ever-changing dungeon. With that, I could create a safe haven, one which would be accessible at any point from any location within the Backrooms, and unlike the other Relics, this one would scale with me over time. I could attach more and more spaces as I leveled up, until I essentially had my own self-contained kingdom with everything I could possibly need within.


    It was awesome.


    That was also the problem.


    It was too awesome.


    It didn¡¯t take a genius to realize that this was the kind of power kingdoms were built upon. Literally, in this case. I wasn¡¯t sure how the grizzled gunslinger with the foam anime sword had knocked this Emblem out of the Flayed Monarch¡¯s Spatial Core¡ªprobably some sort of specialized Relic or Artifact, if I had to guess¡ªbut there was one thing I knew as certain as the sun rose in the east and set in the west: the Flayed Monarch would come looking for this particular lost treasure.


    Even if I somehow managed to give the Compass back to the eldritch warlord, I got the sense he wasn¡¯t exactly the forgiving type. More the slice-your-skin-off, boil-you-in-oil, then hang-you-to-death-with-loops-of-your-own-intestine type.


    This compass had effectively painted a target on my back that was visible from outer space. Sure, the Backrooms were enormous, but I got the sense that the Monarch had eyes, ears, and hands all over the place. It was only a matter of time before a member of the Skinless Court found me. Once they did, the Flayed Monarch would come a-callin¡¯, and when that happened, I¡¯d be a dead man. End of story.


    Unless¡­


    Unless I figured out a way to use the Compass to my advantage.


    But therein lay the second problem.


    Although each of the Relics contained within the Emblem was ridiculously overpowered in their own way, they weren¡¯t ridiculously overpowered in the right way. I had a bunch of high-end screwdrivers when all I really needed was a rugged, hard-hitting sledgehammer. Sure, they would help me survive the Backrooms, but they wouldn¡¯t help me survive the wrath of an angry god, and that was my long-term goal. Really, my only goal at this point.


    Every single skill was utility oriented.


    None of them would make me stronger, faster, or offer me extraordinary combat capabilities. They offered information, convenience, and safety. Under any other set of circumstances, finding the Emblem would¡¯ve been a one-way ticket to easy street in the Backrooms. But given my particular situation, it would only delay my inevitable, and very painful, death. What I needed were Artifacts and Relics. God-tier ones. The battle between the gunslinger and the Monarch played out in my head, just like it had a hundred times before.


    A cloud of telekinetically controlled flying weapons. A legion of loyal minions. Corrosive rain that melted anything it touched. The ability to blink effortlessly through space and time. To throw lightning bolts from the palm of one hand. That¡¯s what real power looked like.


    The Compass couldn¡¯t give me any of that.


    Not directly anyway. But¡­


    The barest shadow of an idea began to form.


    True, the Compass couldn¡¯t directly give me the power to go toe-to-toe with the Monarch, but maybe there was a way it could indirectly help me achieve my long-term goals. I ran one hand absently through my hair as I turned that notion over and over inside my head. Information, convenience, and safety. As the words tumbled through my skull like a record stuck on loop, it hit me.


    Information, convenience, and safety weren¡¯t just me problems. They were problems for literally every single soul trapped inside the Backrooms. That¡¯s why the Compass was so valuable in the first place. Even the most capable Delvers¡ªbeings with unimaginable, godlike power¡ªstill needed food to eat and a place to sleep. They still needed safety and information. That was a universal problem and it just so happened that I had a universal solution.


    My dad had been a serial entrepreneur, always moving from business to business and side hustle to side hustle. He would invent things or fix things or sell things. Sometimes he¡¯d buy junk from the flea market and try to flip it, like they do on those HGTV shows. He was never very good at it. Other times, when money was tight, he¡¯d do odd jobs¡ªtinkering with lawn mowers or installing fences on the cheap. I¡¯d never met someone handier with a wrench, but he also had the follow-through of a bored toddler.


    My dad was a hard worker, but he also dreamed about easy money and had enough get-rich-quick schemes to fill an Olympic-sized swimming pool. The cold, hard truth of it was his ideas rarely panned out. Most times they bit him in the ass. There was one thing about business that he¡¯d taught me, however, which had stuck with me even all these years later. If enough people have the same problem and you can fix it, then you¡¯ve got yourself a license to print money.


    Unerring Arrow, as useful as it was, could only help me. Same thing with Mapmaker¡¯s Eye or Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense. But Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort?


    Well, that could help everyone.


    What if, instead of transforming the blanket fort into my own, personal Fortress of Solitude, I made it a place that specifically catered to other Delvers? A place where they could come to buy, sell, and trade? A place to grab a bite to eat without having to worry about whether something was going to eat you instead? A refuge to catch a few minutes of uninterrupted shut-eye without the constant fear that you would never wake up again?


    From my handful of correspondences with the Researcher, I knew there were Safe Harbors that served a similar function. But unlike the Safe Harbors, my trading hub would be faction neutral¡ªexcept for the dickheads from the Skinless Court, of course, who could go fuck themselves¡ªand, even more important, there would be access points far and wide. With enough elbow grease, I could plant doorways on damn near every floor. I could even plant them in every Safe Harbor, creating a fast travel network for Delvers to move through.


    Hell, being able to reliably move from floor to floor would solve a whole host of problems I hadn¡¯t even considered yet.


    And inside this glorious hub, I¡¯d have everything anyone could ever need to survive the Backrooms. Supplies. Food. Safety. Intel. All of it. And in payment, I¡¯d collect Relics and Artifacts for myself. Not to mention countless favors and endless goodwill, which I would hopefully be able to leverage against the Flayed Monarch. As things stood, there was no way I could beat the Monarch alone, but maybe I could do it through the power of teamwork.


    Teamwork and a splash of capitalism.


    This was my best¡ªor, more realistically, my only¡ªshot at long-term survival.


    The only question now was, what kind of store did I start with?


    What would serve as the beating heart of my Backrooms trading empire?


    A hotel of some sort was the first place my mind immediately jumped to. The Backrooms were a nightmare, and finding a safe location to rest was a dubious proposition at best. Most hotels usually had a small, attached restaurant and a little gift shop that I could use to sell items.


    That was a solid option, but there were also a few complications.


    First off, even small hotels were big. Picking up a hotel straight out of the gate would burn through the majority of my square footage, and there was no way I¡¯d be able to properly run anything larger than a quaint bed-and-breakfast without staff. I¡¯d need a cook, cleaners, someone to work the front desk and handle check-ins, plus another person to deal with the shop. That was a goal I could work toward long term, but for now, I needed something smaller and more efficient that focused on what I really wanted to accomplish: acquiring all the Relics and Artifacts I could get my hands on.


    I could resell the worthless Relics or sacrifice them to level up the Relics in my Spatial Core, but I was also bound to come across some useful items that would allow me to get more powerful as well.


    The hotel idea was out. At least for now. Next, my mind skipped to a grocery store.


    That could be a solid option, too. Smaller. Easier to manage. I could find a camping surplus store to raid, then set up a few cots for folks looking to sleep. The accommodations wouldn¡¯t be glamorous, but it would be safe, and people would pay a hefty premium for safety. It would also have ample food and supplies¡ªthough restocking things like fresh produce or meat would be extremely difficult. Plus, once I got to thinking about it, I realized most of the items inside a grocery store were luxury goods.


    No one would have access to a fridge or a pantry, although that could probably be circumvented by using the Subspace Storage System. The Storage System was time-locked, after all, which meant any perishable items stored within would stay good indefinitely. Still, the thought of some postapocalyptic survivor taking the time to make a home-cooked meal seemed laughable. Food that was quick and easy to eat on the go like beef jerky, chips, or protein bars would be far more useful.


    The grocery store was better than the hotel, but still too specialized.


    What I really needed was an ol¡¯ timey general store. Like the kind of place that would exist in an 1800s western frontier town. A location that was small and manageable, with just enough room to set up sleeping spaces, that also had a little bit of everything. Food. Medicine. Basic hygiene gear. Decent bathrooms. Survival items. Good shelf space. Eventually, I¡¯d be able to attach other structures, but the general store would serve as the beating heart of the operation.


    But what the hell was the modern equivalent of a frontier general store?


    A Walmart, maybe? That was in the right ballpark but had a lot of the same problems as the hotel. Too big. Too much shit. Impossible to manage, even with Croc¡¯s help.


    What about a gas station? No. That had the opposite problem. Too small, not enough shit.


    I continued to kick it around, running my hand along the stubble at my jaw. I¡¯d need to trim my beard before too much longer. My fingers froze as I abruptly recalled the last time I¡¯d taken a vacation. I¡¯d been running late for my flight, and I¡¯d packed up all my hygiene gear in a frantic flurry, throwing stuff blindly into my travel bag. In the rush, I¡¯d forgotten to grab my razor from the shower. I¡¯d needed to buy a new one before I ended up looking like a disheveled marmot, so I¡¯d stopped by the one place that I was certain would have what I needed.


    Because they had a little bit of everything.


    In a flash that felt like divine revelation, I knew exactly what I needed to find...

 Fourteen – The Job Board

    ¡°You know what the best store is?¡± I said, turning away from the Progenitor Monolith and toward the rubbery blue dog waiting patiently behind me.


    ¡°Wait, give me a minute, I know this one,¡± Croc replied as though there was a right answer. ¡°Is it a water park? I bet it¡¯s a water park.¡±


    ¡°What? No,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°It was a rhetorical question and, for the record, the answer is definitely not a water park. That¡¯s not even a store.¡± I paused, eyes narrowed. ¡°Though I¡¯m genuinely curious about why that, of all things, was your go-to answer.¡±


    Croc snorted and rolled his googly eyes. ¡°Well, it¡¯s obvious, isn¡¯t it? Water parks are the best because they have so many slides. Me? I¡¯m a big fan of slides. I used the one at the Burger Barn Play Palace and it changed my life. They¡¯re just great, slides. Going down them. Climbing the stairs back to the top, the anticipation building with every step you take.


    ¡°I mean, I¡¯ve never actually been to a water park myself, but I bet waterslides are a thousand times better than what they have at Burger Barn. Plus, on top of the slides, they have wave pools. Can you imagine? A pool that makes its own waves? Like a man-made ocean!¡± The mimic shimmered and transformed into a rubbery blue innertube with oversized googly eyes. ¡°This is my wave pool form,¡± it said as a large gaping mouth split the side of the innertube.


    It was horrifying. Nightmare inducing.


    ¡°Yeah, no,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°I mean water parks are okay, I suppose¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wait, does that mean you¡¯ve personally been to a water park?¡± Croc asked, shifting back into its dog form. Its googly eyes fixated on me in a mixture of awe and adoration. ¡°Like in real life?¡±


    ¡°I feel like most people have been to a water park at some point,¡± I replied.


    ¡°Not me,¡± Croc said, head dropping in abject misery. Then the mimic dog perked right back up. ¡°Can you tell me what a real-life water park is like? Please?¡± Croc¡¯s tail wagged frantically. ¡°Every detail¡ªI wouldn¡¯t want to miss anything. Did they have food? How long were the lines? What was the highest slide you went on?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re getting off track here,¡± I said, waving away the dog¡¯s onslaught of questions. ¡°The answer to my original question is Walgreens.¡±


    Croc frowned, his muzzle drooping. ¡°Not sure I¡¯ve ever been to a Walgreens. Based on their name alone, I assume they sell a variety of green walls, though I can¡¯t imagine how that would be better than a water park.¡±


    ¡°No, they don¡¯t sell green walls,¡± I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose in irritation. ¡°It¡¯s a convenience store, back where I¡¯m from. But like a big one. Thing is, no one ever thinks much about Walgreens. They aren¡¯t fancy or glamorous. Hell, the stuff they carry is the most basic, generic shit in the world. No one ever goes out of their way to visit Walgreens. But they¡¯re everywhere, they¡¯re always open, and they have a little bit of everything.


    ¡°Walgreens is the modern-day equivalent of an old west general store. They have food and beverages, car parts and beauty supplies. There¡¯s a pharmacy in every location and an entire aisle of random, miscellaneous seasonal bullshit. It has more options than a gas station but is cheaper and smaller than a Target or a Walmart. It¡¯s the ideal trading hub where a weary traveler can get anything they need. In short, it¡¯s the perfect fucking store.¡±


    Water was dribbling down from Croc¡¯s googly eyes. The dog was openly crying. ¡°It sounds like a truly magical place,¡± the mimic said breathlessly. ¡°Still not as good as a water park, but a land of plenty all the same.¡±


    ¡°Oh, it is, Croc,¡± I said, nodding enthusiastically. ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°I should like to see such a place of abundance and whimsy one day.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna see one sooner rather than later,¡± I replied, ¡°because that¡¯s where we¡¯re headed.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Croc asked. ¡°I mean, it sounds lovely, but why the sudden interest in finding one of these Walgreens? Usually, new Delvers want to find a way out¡ªwhich there isn¡¯t¡ªor get to one of the Safe Harbors, which is dangerous but possible. In all the years I¡¯ve been working with new Delvers, I¡¯ve never had one ask to go to a Walgreens.¡±


    I almost told the mimic that we needed to go there so I could plant the seed of a trading empire and undermine a malevolent deity who wanted me dead, then reluctantly decided against it. I would need to tell Croc about the Compass and my plans eventually, but now wasn¡¯t the time. I trusted the dog. Mostly. But the Compass was powerful, and depending on Croc¡¯s feelings about the Flayed Monarch, I could end up fighting for my life. That or Croc might abandon me on the spot, and I couldn¡¯t afford that.


    Better to play my cards close to the vest for the time being.


    ¡°We¡¯ll go to a Safe Harbor, but there are some very specific supplies that I need first,¡± I lied, ¡°and I¡¯m sure that if we can find the Backrooms version of a Walgreens, I¡¯ll be able to get what I¡¯m looking for.¡±


    ¡°What sort of supplies?¡± Croc asked, nosy as ever.


    I racked my brain trying to think of an answer. I hadn¡¯t anticipated so many questions. ¡°They have a bunch of stuff,¡± I finally blurted out, ¡°but the thing that I need is a specific type of medication.¡±


    Croc grew serious. ¡°Are you sick, Dan? Please tell me you¡¯re not sick. I¡¯m really starting to like you and I wouldn¡¯t be able to forgive myself for at least three weeks if you died.¡±


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    ¡°It¡¯s not life-threatening,¡± I assured the mimic, already regretting my deception.


    Croc nodded sagely, then added, ¡°Is it hemorrhoids? I bet it¡¯s hemorrhoids.¡±


    ¡°What? No, it¡¯s not hemorrhoids,¡± I shot back. ¡°How do you even know what hemorrhoids are?¡±


    ¡°I had a Delver, about ten Delvers back, named Daryl. He went on and on and on about how bad his hemorrhoids were. Me, I¡¯ve never had hemorrhoids, on account of the fact that I don¡¯t technically have an anus, but Daryl made them sound exceedingly unpleasant. Both hemorrhoids and anuses, that is. In a rather dark and ironic twist of fate, Daryl was later eaten by the Ravenous Sand Sphincter who dwells in the desert playground on floor seven.¡±


    I scowled at the dog. ¡°I sincerely wish you hadn¡¯t told me any of that. Also, for the record, it¡¯s not hemorrhoids. Now, if you¡¯re done prying needlessly into my private medical affairs, can we please get going? Also,¡± I added before the dog could answer, ¡°if you agree to not ask any more follow-up questions and help me find what I¡¯m looking for, I¡¯ll tell you everything I know about water parks.¡±


    Croc stared at me with equal parts wonder and joy burning in its eyes. ¡°This,¡± the mimic finally said, ¡°is the single best day of my life. One, I have a new friend. Two, that friend still has all of their body parts and doesn¡¯t have hemorrhoids. And, three, that friend has been to a water park and is going to tell me about it. Dreams really do come true.¡±


    Croc began to pace in slow circles. ¡°But finding this mystical dream store of yours could prove to be a challenge,¡± it said. ¡°Still, there¡¯s never been a challenge I¡¯ve failed at. Except for all of the times I¡¯ve accidentally let Delvers die. This is different, though. I can feel it. Admittedly, I¡¯ve never heard of Walgreens, but that¡¯s not unusual. The Backrooms rarely replicates things exactly the way they are in the real world. It consumes lost matter, which is then pulled into the IPRS.¡±


    ¡°IPRS?¡± I asked with a raised eyebrow.


    ¡°The Influx Processing and Randomization System,¡± Croc said absentmindedly. ¡°Please try to keep up, Dan, I really want to hear about those water parks. Now, after the physical matter is sorted into the IPRS, the God Box mashes it all together and generates new sections based on the Divine Algorithm, which is a process that no one quite understands. Except maybe the Researcher. He probably knows how it all¡ª¡±


    Croc froze, mid-step. ¡°Wait! That¡¯s the answer. The Researcher. You should¡¯ve seen an option on the Monolith Keypad to access the Research Department Job Board, yeah?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said, nodding along. ¡°I saw it. How does that help us?¡±


    ¡°Simple,¡± Croc said. ¡°The Job Board generates a list of all locations on any given level that have been corrupted by the Blight. If left unchecked, the Blight spreads like, well¡­ peanut butter maybe? I don¡¯t know. But something that spreads quickly.¡±


    ¡°The plague?¡± I offered.


    ¡°Yes, just like that!¡± Croc exclaimed. ¡°The Blight is basically a plague. Or an infection, I suppose. The Researcher is the big boss and he¡¯s in charge of keeping the Progenitor Vessel alive, but he¡¯s the only Researcher left, so he can¡¯t handle everything on his own. Which is why he generates the job board and then offers rewards to any Delver willing to purge one of the Blighted locations. The more dangerous the location, the better the loot. Thing is, the Researcher always leaves basic notes about the target, including its quadrant and sector location. I bet you could use the Job Board to find a store that fits your description.¡±


    I grunted, impressed.


    For as dopey as Croc looked, the mimic was chock-full of surprisingly good ideas and useful information. I wanted to hear more about the Researcher and how he fit into the bigger picture, but that was a distant concern. Right now, the mission priority was finding safety, shelter, and a way to survive for the next few days and weeks.


    I sauntered back over to the Monolith and fired it up once more, quickly scanning my palm, then using the keypad to toggle over to the menu section labeled Research Department Job Board. I selected the option, and it immediately conjured an enormous list of blight-infected stores, each with a star rating. There were hundreds of them. VHS Vault, Totally Rad Toys, Price Pro Plus, Far Out Fashion, Mythic Mementos, Nourish ¡¯n¡¯ Go, The Paw Palace. I used the arrow on the number pad to scroll down, then randomly clicked on one of the store names.


    The familiar burnt yellow pop-up appeared above the Monolith.


    BigSavers R US


    Threat Assessment Rating: ?


    Current Relative Position: 3.28.17.37-54 (Floor 3, Quadrant 28, Sector 17, Relative Sector Coordinates 37-54)


    BigSavers R US is like every generic big-box retail store you¡¯ve ever been to. It¡¯s got cheaply manufactured home electronics, shitty furniture built from particle board that you are 100% going to have to assemble yourself, and all the other dubious household ¡°essentials¡± that no one needs, but everyone seems to have.


    There¡¯s an entire section of just panini makers.


    BigSavers R US offers ¡°deeply discounted¡± prices, which are sustained by a perpetual Going Out of Business Sale¡ªcough, cough fictitious pricing models¡ªand the bloodthirsty sales team is overseen by the Blight-infected Bargain Beast. With razor-sharp claws and a borderline sexual desire for savings, the Bargain Beast will make sure shoppers pay an arm and a leg for encroaching on its territory.


    Reward: 500 Experience Points, 5 x Copper Delver Loot Token, 1 x Silver Mercenary Loot Token


    Accept Job Posting? Yes/No


    I hit no, but I couldn¡¯t stop the grin from spreading across my face. This was exactly what I needed. I closed the description and turned my attention back to the Job Board list, scrolling faster and faster until I found another store that sounded promising.


    MediocreMart


    Threat Assessment Rating: ??


    Current Relative Position: 3.28.17.64-13 (Floor 3, Quadrant 28, Sector 17)


    You¡¯ve been inside this place a thousand times, but never actually by choice. Usually, you¡¯re begrudgingly driven there against your will by one minor emergency or another. Your kid is sick, but it¡¯s 10:48 PM on Christmas Eve, so where the fuck else are you going to go? They have food. Is it good food? No. It¡¯s stale bread, frozen hot pockets, and leathery beef jerky, but you¡¯ll eat it, and you¡¯ll like it. You can pick up diapers here or motor oil or a pair of ¡°As Seen on TV¡± copper-lined compression socks that will do wonders for your terrible circulation.


    It¡¯s all garbage, but you can¡¯t help yourself. YOU WILL BUY IT!


    And, of course, there¡¯s the pharmacy. It¡¯s only open for four and a half minutes every other Tuesday, but that¡¯s on you for choosing to shop here. You could go to so many other places, but no¡­ This is where you have your prescriptions sent, you rube. And there, hunched behind the service counter, is the Blight-infested Harmacist. Clad in a tattered lab coat and wielding dirty syringes, the Harmacist revels in corrupting the flesh and providing drugs that fall outside of your insurance coverage.


    Reward: 1,250 Experience Points, 5 x Copper Delver Loot Token, 2 x Silver Delver Loot Token, 1 x Gold Mercenary Loot Token


    Accept Job Posting? Yes/No


    Jackpot.

 Fifteen – Minor Detour

    If MediocreMart wasn¡¯t the Backrooms version of Walgreens, I¡¯d eat a flip-flop. Sure, the description didn¡¯t make it sound great, but under the right management, it could be a goldmine. I accepted the job posting and turned back toward Croc.


    ¡°Found it,¡± I said. ¡°MediocreMart. It¡¯s in Quadrant 28, Sector 17. The job board lists it as a two-star threat.¡±


    Croc brightened. ¡°Quadrant 28? That¡¯s not bad at all. We¡¯re in an adjacent quadrant, so getting there should only take a few hours.¡± Then the mimic¡¯s face sagged. ¡°The two-star rating isn¡¯t quite so good, though. That means whatever is guarding the location is level ten or above. I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s an impossible bounty, but at your current level I am saying there is a ninety-nine percent chance that you¡¯ll die horrifically and at least a twelve percent chance that something will tear your arms off and beat you to death with them.¡±


    ¡°Wait, there¡¯s a twelve percent chance that something is going to tear my arms off and beat me to death with them?¡± I asked slowly. ¡°That¡­ That can¡¯t be accurate. I mean, that is just so, so specific.¡±


    ¡°Well let me think a moment,¡± Croc replied. ¡°There was Joel then Amber. The Stonebreaker Baboon got Christian before that. Then there was Hosana¡ªI think she fell into one of the limb-ripper snares. Brock and Rebecca had all their limbs ripped off by the Gravity Inversion room, though I guess technically they weren¡¯t beaten with them afterward. The Coupon Kraken made short work of Ishmael¡ª¡±


    I held a hand up to stop the flow of increasingly gruesome deaths. ¡°Yeah, I think I get the picture. What I¡¯m hearing is that I need to level up before we tackle MediocreMart.¡±


    ¡°That would certainly help, but you¡¯ll also need some better gear and Artifacts, I reckon. That acid attack you have is pretty effective¡ª¡±


    ¡°Bleach Bolt,¡± I corrected without giving it any thought. Bleach was basic and acids were, well acidic.


    ¡°Right, Bleach Bolt,¡± Croc amended, ¡°but your Artifacts are just as important to long-term survival. Since you¡¯ve survived this long, I¡¯m assuming you¡¯ve unlocked a few research achievements and earned at least a handful of Loot Tokens, am I right?¡±


    I nodded.


    ¡°Good, that¡¯ll help. But we¡¯ll need to locate a Loot Arcade to redeem ¡¯em, and finding one of those could be tricky without a rudimentary Navigation Relic.¡± The mimic paused as though considering something. Finally, it bobbed its head. ¡°I reckon it¡¯ll be worth the attempt, though. Getting some decent gear will drastically increase your life expectancy.¡±


    ¡°And these Arcades are where we go to redeem Loot Tokens?¡±


    ¡°Got it in one,¡± Croc said. ¡°And the Arcades are great, Dan. Lots of cool games. Nifty vending machines. Loot dispensers galore. You just feed your tokens into the dispensers and out pop amazing prizes! It¡¯s so much fun. Usually,¡± it added as a whisper. ¡°Unless there are Dwellers inside, but usually there aren¡¯t. Eight out of ten times, they¡¯re clean.¡±


    ¡°Are you shitting me?¡± I said excitedly. ¡°That¡¯s great news! I¡¯ve got enough Loot Tokens to choke a horse¡ª¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not how you use Loot Tokens, Dan,¡± Croc said gently before I could continue. ¡°Didn¡¯t you listen to me? You put them in these Loot Dispensers.¡± Croc shook its head. ¡°There are no horses involved, silly goose.¡±


    I waved away Croc¡¯s comment. ¡°Forget about the horses, it was just a figure of speech. The point is I have a lot of tokens. Most of ¡¯em are copper, but I¡¯ve got a handful of silver and gold ones, too. Plus a few others that have different colors.¡± I racked my brain, trying to remember all the tokens I¡¯d earned so far. ¡°I think there was a ruby one. The other one might¡¯ve been diamond. They were both gemstone colors, I¡¯m pretty sure.¡±


    Croc let out a strangled gasp. ¡°How in the world did you get your hands on those?¡± Croc sounded in awe of my accomplishment. ¡°Loot Tokens aren¡¯t Relics and aren¡¯t ranked the same way, but if they were, those would be Rare or maybe even Fabled quality. You must¡¯ve done something extremely impressive or extremely stupid to earn those.¡±


    An image flashed through my head. Me standing, bathrobe fluttering behind me, as I used the Slammer of Shielding to save the gunslinger before chucking my hammer at the head of the Eldritch horror who ruled the 999th floor.


    I pursed my lips. ¡°Honestly, it was a little bit of both.¡± I paused. ¡°It does make me wonder, though, if this Researcher guy can just directly drop these tokens into our Storage System, why not give us prizes directly? That seems like it would make way more sense, instead of forcing Delvers to dick around with these Loot Arcades.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a fair point,¡± Croc replied. ¡°It would be easier that way, no doubt, but the Loot Token System gives Delvers more choices in what kind of prizes they receive. Tokens can be used to redeem all sorts of different things. Each individual Delver knows what they need better than the Researcher does, so this gives them a chance to pick the best reward based on their current circumstances. The type and grade of each token determines what kind of reward you¡¯ll get.


    ¡°Copper Delver Tokens are the most common, and you can usually redeem them for things like food or water or basic survival gear¡ªnothing magical, though. No Artifacts. But silver and gold tokens on the other hand¡­ You could wind up with some decent gear. As for the gemstone-grade tokens, I can¡¯t even imagine what those will earn you. Getting Relics from the Loot Arcade is almost unheard of, but a Ruby or Diamond Token might do the trick. At the very least, you¡¯ll walk away with some high-quality Artifact Sigils to upgrade your weapons or armor.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have armor,¡± I replied flatly. ¡°Just this fugly-ass bathrobe, denim jorts, a dirty undershirt, and clunky work boots without laces. None of that qualifies as high-speed, low-drag tactical body armor in my book.¡±


    Croc offered me a toothy grin in return. ¡°But those items are armor here, Dan. All of the stuff you Noclipped in with has Artifact status by default, because those items have Material Significance¡ªwhich means they¡¯re real. From the real world. Like you! That¡¯s what makes an item an Artifact. Things that are Progenerated aren¡¯t real enough to be imbued with Mana, but anything from your world that survives the transition becomes an Artifact. Even more importantly, the items you arrived with also have Personal Significance, because you¡¯re the original owner.¡±


    ¡°Why would that matter?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Dan. It¡¯s not like I make the rules. But items with Personal Significance are always the best because they¡¯ll have additional Effect Slots, and they¡¯ll scale with you. The more powerful you become, the more powerful they¡¯ll become, and as they advance, they¡¯ll unlock more and more Effect Slots. It¡¯s a great big circular loop of winning!


    ¡°And you can put all kinds of stuff into those slots. Elemental Resistances. Added Stat bonuses. Increased armor rating.¡± Croc stole a sidelong look at me. ¡°Believe it or not, but I once saw a string bikini that offered as much protection as a full suit of medieval plate mail. Offered great movement bonuses too. Not that it saved Ava in the end. She was vaporized by a microwave cannon.¡±


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    I pressed my eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of my nose. I felt a tension headache forming behind my forehead. ¡°Ignoring the microwave cannon, are you telling me that the nut-hugging Daisy Dukes and the dirty undershirt I woke up in are going to be the best Artifacts I have access to?¡±


    Croc shrugged. ¡°Probably. I guess you could get better stuff later on, but any Artifact with Personal Significance will always have one additional Effect Slot, and those slots could be the difference between life and death. You might look a little bit goofy but looking goofy never killed anyone.¡± Croc puffed its chest out proudly. ¡°I¡¯m living proof of that!¡±


    I groaned inwardly and took a second to inspect my stupid fucking Versace bathrobe.


    Imitation Versace Bathrobe


    Common Artifact


    Type: Cloth Armor, Personal Significance


    You look terrible in this thing, and you should actively feel bad for wearing this. The hideous clash of reds and golds is jarring, and instead of expensive, Italian imported silk, this thing is made from the same cheap terrycloth material they use for hotel washcloths. And not nice hotels. The kind of hotel you pay for by the month. This thing is one step above a burlap bag. I would feel bad for you if this wasn¡¯t so hilarious.


    Effect Slot: Empty


    Effect Slot: Empty


    Great. Perfect. Awesome. I was going to be stuck with this stupid thing forever.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I begrudgingly muttered. ¡°Let¡¯s find an Arcade and go spend some of these tokens.¡±


    ¡°Getting there could still be a problem, Dan,¡± Croc said. ¡°Every quadrant has an Arcade, which means there are thirty-six of them per level, but the quadrants are huge. By the time we find one, there could be a Floor Shift, and if that happens, getting to this Walgreens of yours could be next to impossible.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I follow,¡± I said.


    Croc offered a long-suffering sigh. ¡°I worry about you, Dan. How you made it to level 3 without even knowing about Floor Shifts is a complete mystery.¡± The dog shook its head in disbelief. ¡°Each level has thirty-six quadrants, each with twenty-five sectors. When a Floor Shift occurs, all the quadrants rotate, though the sectors within each quadrant remain the same. Right now, Mediocre Mart is currently in Quadrant 28. We¡¯re in Quadrant 27. Those numbers are close together. But if a Floor Shift occurs, we could end up separated by hundreds of miles.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, did you say hundreds of miles?¡± I gasped. ¡°Just how big are these quadrants?¡±


    Croc shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s not exact and it varies by floor, but here on floor three, each sector is about one square mile, which makes the entire floor¡ª¡±


    ¡°Nine hundred square miles,¡± I finished, after doing a little quick and dirty math in my head. I knew this place was big, but that was almost twice the size of LA, and that was just one floor. The sheer scale of it was mind-blowing.


    ¡°Precisely.¡±


    ¡°Easy,¡± I said with a shrug. ¡°We¡¯ll just head over to Quadrant 28 and look for an Arcade there, that way if there¡¯s a Floor Shift, we¡¯ll still be in the right general location. And don¡¯t worry about finding the place,¡± I said, forestalling the mimic before it could interject. ¡°You mentioned something about a basic navigation Relic. Turns out I have one of those.¡± I flashed the Compass at the dog, the brass glinting in the neon mall lights.


    ¡°I thought you said that was a flamethrower Artifact,¡± Croc replied disapprovingly.


    ¡°I lied.¡±


    I pressed the Compass of the Catacomber against my chest and slipped it into my Spatial Core with a slight shove.


    ¡°Friends aren¡¯t supposed to lie to each other, Dan,¡± Croc admonished, but I barely heard the words over the burst of intense pain suddenly rampaging through my body.


    When I¡¯d added the other Relics to my Core, a gentle warmth had radiated outward to my limbs. This time, a raging wildfire roared in the center of my chest, sending pulses of all-consuming flame sprinting through my veins. Simultaneously, excruciating pressure built and built inside my skull as the power and the knowledge contained within the compass rewired my brain in the span of an eyeblink.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Legend in the Making


    You crazy son of a bitch. A Mythic Emblem? At level five? You¡¯ve got to be shitting me. Either you¡¯re the luckiest bastard alive or someone hates you¡ªhard to say which. In a truly absurd twist of fate, you¡¯ve somehow stumbled upon an outrageously broken ability that you clearly aren¡¯t supposed to have. Seriously. This is like giving a bazooka to a toddler: it¡¯s super dumb, but it¡¯ll probably be entertaining.


    Before you¡¯re done, legends will be spun about your reckless audacity and your devil-may-care attitude toward wielding forces of nature better left to the walking deities of the 999th floor. That, or you¡¯ll be dead inside a week. There¡¯s a reason fresh meat don¡¯t end up with this kind of power, and that¡¯s because something nasty is bound to come looking for it. A Mythic Emblem is Reward enough, but there¡¯s a good chance you¡¯re a dead man walking, so I¡¯ll throw you a bone.


    Title: Legend in the Making ¨C Increases the chance of finding Rare Relics and Artifacts by 2.5%


    As I read over the message, a fresh knot formed in the pit of my stomach.


    The research achievement confirmed the worst of my suspicions and fears, but I was in too deep to turn back now. I¡¯d already been Marked for Death, so this was one of those sink-or-swim situations, and I planned to doggy paddle for all I was worth.


    When I dismissed the achievement, I found that the whole world looked different thanks to the power of the Emblem now embedded in my soul.


    It was subtly brighter in some places, and darker in others. A nearby glass door that led into a jewelry shop burned with a faint red aura, which I instinctively understood meant it was trapped. Further on, a wrought iron bench pulsed with a thin thread of purple life essence. The bench was a flytrap mimic, just like the fake Progenitor Monolith that had tried to eat me outside of Eastside City Savings & Loan. That had to be my Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense at work.


    Best of all, hovering in the corner of my vision was a semitransparent digital map that showed me every twist, turn, shop, and hallway within a fifty-foot radius.


    I focused on the map and found I could zoom in or zoom out, revealing more or less of the map at will. Huge swaths were shrouded in an opaque gray, but anywhere I¡¯d already visited was lit up in white like Christmas lights. Turned out, Mapmaker¡¯s Eye worked retroactively. If I enlarged the map too much, the fine details faded and vanished, but when I zoomed in, they reappeared in crisp clarity. At closer range, I could see a pair of small triangular marks on the screen, which represented me and Croc.


    I frowned and glanced between the map and the wrought iron bench, which I was sure was a mimic. The creature wasn¡¯t marked at all.


    ¡°Hey Croc,¡± I said absentmindedly. ¡°Let¡¯s say, for the sake of argument, that my navigation ability gives me a map which is supposed to show the presence of any Delvers or Dwellers in the immediate vicinity. Is there a reason why something might not appear on the map?¡± I paused, staring daggers at the bench. ¡°Say, a mimic maybe?¡±


    ¡°That is an incredibly specific scenario,¡± Croc replied, ¡°but theoretically, if you did have such an ability, there are a number of other abilities that might counteract the map¡¯s identification properties. There are several cloaking spells that could easily do the trick, and mimics won¡¯t show up at all if they are actively camouflaged. It¡¯s part of our core skill set.¡±


    ¡°Good to know,¡± I muttered, keeping one eye on the bench glowing with purple light.


    I fixed the nearest Loot Arcade in my mind¡¯s eye, then raised one hand and triggered one of my other shiny new abilities, Pathfinder¡¯s Unerring Arrow. My Mana gauge plunged precipitously, and a ghostly blue arrow, visible only to me, blazed to life, shooting away from my chest and down the hall¡ªswerving widely to avoid the mimic bench¡ªthen continuing straight for a hundred feet, before taking a hard right and disappearing into a store called Style-for-Less, which looked like a knockoff JC Penney.


    Interestingly, a smaller version of the blue arrow also appeared on the mini-map in the corner of my vision, allowing me to see more of the arrow¡¯s path than I could in real life. Together, the two abilities synergized to form a supernatural version of Google Maps. The only bad part was that the path¡¯s illumination would only last for thirty seconds before fading, and because the spell had such a steep price tag, I wouldn¡¯t be able to cast it for another ten minutes or more.


    I took off at a sprint, legs eating up the ground as I followed the ethereal blue light of the spell. ¡°Come on,¡± I called back over one shoulder. ¡°The quicker we get to the Arcade, the quicker we get to the Walgreens.¡±


    ¡°Which is important because of your urgent medical condition, which definitely isn¡¯t hemorrhoids?¡± Croc yelled back.


    ¡°Something like that¡­¡± I muttered under my breath.

 Sixteen – Extreme Gains

    The Compass of the Catacomber turned out to be exactly as awesome as I¡¯d anticipated. Hell, it was probably even better than I¡¯d thought on first inspection. The map was incredibly detailed, and it showed the location of every single Dweller, allowing us to easily avoid the fiercest pockets of resistance and obvious ambushes. It used colored symbols instead of proper labels, so it was impossible to tell what kind of creatures we¡¯d be facing or what their respective levels were, but it still gave us a huge edge.


    There were also the mimics to consider.


    We skirted by no fewer than five of the sneaky sons of bitches, which were disguised as objects that ranged from mannequins to drinking fountains. They didn¡¯t show up on the map at all, but thanks to Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense, I spotted them long before we ever got close to any danger. They were all Juvenile Monomorphic Flytrap Mimics, just like the fake Monolith outside the Lobby stairwell, and since I¡¯d leveled up my Mana so much, taking them out at range with a couple of Bleach Bolts was easy work.


    I earned 100 experience points for killing each one, which pushed me up to Level 6, plus they all carried a Common Relic that replicated the effects of the Basic Camo Kit I already had in my Spatial Core. The Relics didn¡¯t all look the same, though. One took the form of an invisible ink pen, another resembled a Hide-Away money belt, while a third was just a fist-sized smoke bomb. But each made the user slightly less noticeable. Like the Tinfoil Hats, I couldn¡¯t add any of them to my Spatial Core, without first swapping out the Camo Kit.


    Aside from killing the mimics and earning some easy experience, I took the liberty to loot pretty much everything that wasn¡¯t bolted down, tossing all of it into my Subspace Storage System.


    I raided the back-to-school section first, pilfering backpacks by the dozen, before moving on to the shoe department. I shamelessly stole boots, running shoes, and flip-flops, then hit up the men¡¯s clothing department, grabbing heavy-duty Wrungler blue jeans, thick Ironguard work jackets, and enough T-shirts to keep me in fresh clothes for a month¡ªnot that I¡¯d be likely to use them, I considered bleakly.


    None of them were Artifacts, they were just clothes, which meant no Effect Slots and no Stat bonus. But the T-shirts would make excellent pressure dressings for wounds, and I could always sell everything else to customers once I got my shop up and running. I also took the opportunity to fit my Redwing work boots with a new pair of shoelaces so they wouldn¡¯t threaten to fly off every time I broke into a run.


    We followed Unerring Arrow through the Style-for-Less, finding surprisingly little resistance, and out through a hidden door tucked away inside the fitting rooms, which connected to a secondary utility corridor that shaved off hours¡¯ worth of travel time.


    Our next stop was a tiny storefront called Extreme Supplements, which loosely resembled a GNC. That one wasn¡¯t quite so easy to clear.


    Although the shop was small¡ªalmost claustrophobically so¡ªit was filled with a handful of extremely disgruntled level 3 Roid Gremlins, who were impossible to avoid, despite our best efforts.


    The Gremlins were short and stocky, each standing no more than three feet tall, with large bat-wing ears and huge mouths filled with jagged black teeth. They wore tiny red Speedos, which showcased their painfully swollen muscles, and were slathered in so much bronzer and tanning oil, they left treacherously slippery puddles in their wake. Angry, swollen zits as bright red as their Speedos carpeted swollen lats and bulging delts.


    One¡ªthe apparent leader of the weight-lifting tribe who was the only level 4¡ªwielded a bench-press barbell like a bow staff and wore workout gloves with large iron spikes jutting from the knuckles. The Gremlins weren¡¯t especially fast, but they were strong and, even more importantly, they were irrationally pissed at everything and everyone. It was hard to blame them, considering how bad their bacne was.


    That would¡¯ve made me pissy and self-conscious, too.


    ¡°How long are you gonna be on the squat rack?¡± one shrieked before charging toward me with an inarticulate bellow of rage.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bogart the free weights, bro!¡± another snarled, swinging a heavy flail, which was built from a weighted jump rope with a kettlebell attached to the end.


    The whole interaction was extremely confusing¡ªespecially since we were in a supplement store filled with shelves of pills, bottles of pre-workout, and huge plastic tubs of protein powder, but absolutely no weights. There wasn¡¯t a squat rack or dumbbells anywhere in sight. Not that the Roid Gremlins gave two shits about that. As a former Marine, I¡¯d worked with some world-class crayon-eating morons, but these jackholes made those guys look like bona fide rocket scientists.


    Dumb or not, after squaring off against the level 3 Janitorial Handyman in the Lobby, I was genuinely nervous to go toe-to-toe against the veiny dude-bros.


    Turned out, however, my fears were misplaced.


    Although I hadn¡¯t gotten physically stronger while leveling up, my Bleach Bolt was devastatingly effective, which made sense considering the Gremlins were only a flimsy red thong away from being completely naked. The concentrated bleach ate through bronzed skin and bulky muscles like a ravenous pack of paranoia. I also discovered another perk, courtesy of the Compass of the Catacomber.


    The Researcher¡¯s Codex not only granted me additional information about the individual Dwellers, it also projected their Health and Mana bars during active combat events. Which meant I could see exactly how much damage my attacks were doing, and how much magic each individual Dweller had at their disposal. The Gremlins had no magical ability whatsoever and needed to be in punching range to do any kind of damage. Thankfully, they were slow as balls, so keeping them at a distance wasn¡¯t all that hard.


    And when one of the irrationally angry Gremlins did manage to get close enough to be a threat, I took the opportunity to cast Psychedelic Light Show of Minor Distraction.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    A pair of illusionary blacklight dragons exploded from my hands, draining the rest of my Mana, but they ended up being well worth the expense. The glittering creatures flitted gracefully between the supplement shelves, looping, swirling, and dancing together as they spit brilliant bursts of neon sparks from their jaws. After two steps the encroaching Gremlin went utterly still, staring up at the light display in slack-jawed wonderment like a kid seeing fireworks for the first time.


    It almost made me feel bad when I slipped around an endcap stacked with bottles of PowerPro Muscle Might Extreme Pump Preworkout¡ª¡°Unleash Gains That Defy Sanity!¡±¡ªand drove my hammer into the back of the Gremlin¡¯s skull with a sickly wet crunch. I gagged on reflex as a combination of hot oil and warm blood sprayed across my face and ran down my neck.


    Maybe someday I¡¯d get used to how absolutely disgusting this place was.


    Today was not that day.


    The hammer blow would¡¯ve killed anyone else, but the jacked Gremlin just stood there, swaying on thick legs, eyes still fixed on the blacklight dragons. I brought the hammer screaming down twice more, once into the side of his head, then again into the base of his spine. Finally, the Gremlin¡¯s beefy legs gave out and he crumpled to the floor. The brief pause had let my Mana recover just enough to launch another Bleach Bolt, but I didn¡¯t need to. The rest of the Gremlins were dead, thanks to Croc, who was now covered in a truly obscene amount of gore.


    I¡¯d only caught a brief glimpse of the mimic fight, but it had been enough to make me eternally grateful that it was helping me and not hunting me. Croc¡¯s head had split open revealing an immense circular maw, lined with teeth. A small army of writhing, flexing tentacles had exploded from the mimic¡¯s spike-lined gullet, ripping apart one of the Gremlins, then consuming another one whole.


    Croc was made out of¡­ well, Croc material, which meant it was hollow and dotted with holes, so I had no idea where in the name of sweet baby Jesus the Gremlin had disappeared to.


    I didn¡¯t ever want to find out.


    Croc and I had killed five Gremlins between the two of us and I ended up with a total of 675 total Experience, while Croc wound up with 425¡ªhow exactly those points were divvied out was hard to say¡ªbut on top of that, the Gremlins ended up being a gold mine of greasy, disgusting treasure.


    I earned a new research achievement, Mind Fucker, for successfully utilizing the Psychedelic Light Show of Minor Distraction in battle and my first two Uncommon Shards. Each of the Gremlins also carried a bright-red jockstrap that looked vile and smelled like taint cheese and rancid feet. Honestly, I considered burning the whole lot of ¡¯em on general principle until I examined their stats.


    The Gremlin¡¯s Groin Guardian


    Common Relic ¨C Level 1


    Passive Ability


    Look, we can give this thing whatever fancy name we want, but we all know this is a magical nutbucket, plain and simple. Is it dignified? No, absolutely not. But neither is getting kicked in the dick, so pick your poison.


    The Roid Gremlins who commonly wear these things are basically naked because their ridiculous muscles serve as armor. But some areas need a little extra protection no matter how strong you are.


    The Gremlin¡¯s Groin Guardian grants an additional 10% resistance against ALL physical attacks and an enormous 95% resistance against physical attacks aimed at the ol¡¯ Long Dong Silver. But this armored banana hammock also comes with a bad case of magical jockitch¡ªyou receive 10% additional damage from all magical or elemental sources of damage. Better get that looked at¡­


    The idea of having a dirty Gremlin jockstrap tucked away inside my soul was a revolting notion, but the passive benefit was too good to ignore. I added it to my core even though it made me feel dirty on the inside.


    The level 4 Gremlin had a second Common Relic, which was even better than the gag-inducing jockstrap.


    The Relic, called The Force Multiplier, resembled a pair of sweat-encrusted workout gloves with iron spikes protruding from the knuckles, and unlike the enchanted jockstrap, there was no downside. When activated, Force Multiplier allowed me to deal an additional 10% damage on a single strike, while using any item that qualified as a blunt weapon. Even better, it consumed Stamina to activate instead of Mana, and though the price tag was a little steep¡ª10 Stamina per use¡ªit meant I had a wider range of options to draw on.


    It made perfect sense that the Roid Gremlin would have a skill like that, considering he used a blunt barbell to crush the skulls of his enemies, but it worked great for me, since my claw hammer was still my go-to melee weapon. The barbell in question also turned out to be a Common Artifact. It didn¡¯t have any specific magical power like my Slammer of Shielding, but it did have a single empty Effect Slot. I tossed it into Storage along with the makeshift jump rope flail and the rest of the stained jockstrap Relics.


    Even though I was jonesing to get to the Arcade, I took a little extra time to pick over everything that Extreme Supplements had to offer.


    I couldn¡¯t remember the last time I¡¯d eaten¡ªsometime during the hazy, booze-fueled bachelor party¡ªbut that had been more than a day ago. Most of the stuff crammed onto the shelves was just a single step above nonsensical garbage, but I did manage to turn up a bunch of whey protein powder, an accompanying box full of shaker bottles, and disgusting off-brand health bars called Protein Power Pucks.


    They tasted like dirt slathered in peanut butter.


    But they were also three hundred calories apiece and packed in thirty grams of protein.


    Truth be told, I¡¯d eaten far worse during my time in the Corps. The Protein Pucks were heaven on earth compared to the Veggie Omelet MRE, and they were a thousand times better than slowly starving to death. I scarfed down two and added another three dozen to my storage space.


    The other big find actually turned out to be the tiny plastic bottles of PowerPro Muscle Might Extreme Pump Preworkout. I never would¡¯ve even considered looking at the endcap, but it glowed with a hazy yellow aura. The aura was so subtle at first that I almost thought it was a trick of the light. Upon closer inspection, I realized all of the Preworkout bottles were actually One-Time-Use Drink Elixirs.


    PowerPro Muscle Might Extreme Pump Preworkout - Greater Rage Elixir


    Uncommon Elixir


    Type: One-Time Use


    Tap into the Primal Fury within to ¡°Unleash Gains that Defy Sanity!¡± As your muscles swell, a homicidal rage grabs you by the goddamned throat, giving you superhuman strength, titanic stamina, and the raw damage output of a guy on bathsalts loitering in front of a Waffle House at 3 AM.


    Although your gains will be LEGENDARY, the line between friend and enemy might blur just a little. Hallucinations are common and you may find yourself seeing your fellow gym-goers as the ultimate challenge to be eradicated. Will you leave a trail of devastation in your wake? Yes. Obviously.


    The real question is, who the fuck cares?! It¡¯s all about them Gains!!!


    After reading the description, I resolved to never, ever use the Preworkout drinks from Hell, but I also couldn¡¯t justifiably leave them behind. They were all Uncommon Elixirs, and someone out there would pay top dollar for them, even if it wasn¡¯t going to be me.


    Into the Storage they went.


    Prizes in hand, Croc and I left Extreme Supplements behind, slipping through another concealed Employees Only door and back out into the mall proper. I conjured Unerring Arrow once again and watched as the trail of glimmering blue light shot away, then curved slightly and disappeared into a neon-lit wonderland.


    We¡¯d finally made it to the Loot Arcade¡­

 Seventeen – Gamblers Paradise

    Like everything else on level three, thematically the Arcade looked like it had been ripped straight out of an episode of Stranger Things. Neon blazed, painting the walls in a tapestry of eye-searing purples, bubblegum pinks, and loud electric blues. The carpet was a deep navy and dotted with cheesy cartoon planets and distant starbursts.


    Rows and rows and rows of arcade games twinkled like digital constellations beneath the garish and disorienting lights, all issuing beeps and bloops. For once, I recognized several of the machines. There were older games like Space Invaders, Pac-Man, Galaga, and the OG Street Fighter right alongside a bunch of systems I¡¯d never seen before, which was saying something. I¡¯d spent a good chunk of my young adult life tucked away inside of arcades not so different from this one, and I¡¯d sure as shit never heard of Pixel Pizza Party or Jungle Jumper Joe.


    In addition to the arcade cabinets, there were a half dozen Skee-ball machines, several first-person shooters, claw machines, and a small fleet of racing games, all called Nitro Derby Dash.


    ¡°I thought you said we were looking for vending machines?¡± I asked Croc, making sure not to cross the threshold into the colorful arcade. ¡°You didn¡¯t mention anything about an actual video game arcade.¡±


    ¡°Why else would it be called an Arcade if there wasn¡¯t an actual Arcade?¡± Croc replied. ¡°That would be a sloppy and confusing naming convention, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    I grunted and waved my hand toward the machines. ¡°Could be I¡¯m wrong, but those don¡¯t look like they give out loot.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, those aren¡¯t loot dispensers, but you can still win prizes,¡± Croc said. ¡°Most of the arcade games take Copper Loot Tokens. If you win big you can earn temporary status buffs that can last for hours or even days. But the drawback is that if you lose, you get nothing. It¡¯s a bigger gamble than the Loot Dispensers, but the benefit is that you know exactly what the payout is.


    ¡°The racing machines typically offer movement buffs,¡± Croc continued, ¡°the fighter games give melee combat bonuses, and the shooters give advantage on ranged attacks. That sort of thing. It¡¯s also theoretically possible to win items out of the claw machine, but I¡¯ve never heard of anyone actually doing it. It¡¯s a waste of time, in my humble opinion. Most of the games are rigged, and they¡¯re mostly designed to keep you playing and distracted until something nasty comes along and eats you.¡±


    ¡°I thought you said these places were safe,¡± I said, scanning the Arcade for signs of danger. There was nothing that I could see, not even with my Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense.


    ¡°I said there was an eighty percent chance it¡¯s safe,¡± Croc corrected. ¡°But it¡¯s always best to keep the first rule in mind, and what is the first rule, Dan?¡±


    ¡°Assume that everything, everywhere, all the time is both lying to you and trying to kill you,¡± I said.


    ¡°Exactly. I don¡¯t know for a fact that there¡¯s something waiting for us in there¡ªlike I said before, the Arcades are technically neutral territory spawned by the Researcher, but¡­¡± Croc faded off. ¡°Well, the Researcher isn¡¯t what he used to be. He can only see so far and do so much. If we¡¯re quick, there shouldn¡¯t be any issues. Best to avoid the games, hit the dispensers, and get out before we attract anything unfriendly.¡±


    ¡°Good enough for me,¡± I replied.


    Pulling my hammer from its loop, I headed through the wide archway that led into the Arcade with Croc following close behind. The place smelled like an odd mixture of stale BO, moldy carpet, and sickly-sweet cotton candy. As I padded down a wide aisle flanked on both sides by arcade cabinets, I found my gaze instinctively being drawn toward the pixilated images flashing across the screen.


    The effect was eerily hypnotic, and I quickly found myself remembering all of the fun times I¡¯d had playing games at the arcade with my dad. He¡¯d been an old-school Galaga fan, and every week we¡¯d hit up the movie theater and play to see who could go the furthest off a single quarter. I¡¯d never made it past stage 22. My dad, on the other hand, could regularly hit stage 30, which was when King Galaspark appeared, launching an all-out invasion against the would-be defender of humanity.


    I felt something bump against my leg and looked down to find Croc nudging me insistently.


    ¡°You just stopped walking,¡± the dog said. ¡°They all have minor hypnotic properties. Best to get a higher Grit level before you risk any coin on those things. The dispensers are just up ahead.¡± The mimic pointed with its snoot. ¡°Let¡¯s keep moving.¡±


    I grunted, feeling a little lightheaded, but heeded the mimic¡¯s advice.


    We left the bulk of the games behind and found a small, partially separated room, devoid of the blazing neon lights painting the rest of the Arcade. A regular white, fluorescent light illuminated several machines, which all looked sorely disappointing compared to the video games situated in the arcade proper.


    There were two vending machines¡ªone for various beverages, and another for food items. I examined each and was underwhelmed.


    They were exactly what they appeared to be.


    Plain ol¡¯ run-of-the-mill vending machines. I could buy off-label soda, bottles of water, or the kind of garbage food you¡¯d expect to see at a rest stop. Candy bars, bags of chips, zingers, and plastic-wrapped cupcakes. None of it was good or especially nourishing, but if you were dying of starvation or dehydration, a vending machine like this would be a literal God-send.


    Most of the items cost anywhere between one and three Copper Delver Tokens. On top of having a rarity system¡ªcopper, silver, gold, then gemstone¡ªthe tokens also had other designations, like Medic!, Slayer, or Elementalist, which were rewarded for completing different types of tasks. The Delver Tokens were by far the most common and seemed to be the generic, default reward tokens.


    Interestingly, it was possible to purchase Lesser Healing Elixirs from the soda machine, but only if you had Copper Medic! Tokens to part with. I had several of those, thanks to my near brush with death against the Flayed Monarch, so I spent three of the five, storing the extra Zima Elixirs in my storage space.


    Despite the protein bars I¡¯d woofed down at the Extreme Supplements store, my stomach was a tight knot of hunger. Apparently walking for endless miles and murdering things for hours on end was hungry work. MediocreMart would have all the food I needed, but I didn¡¯t want to go into a life-or-death battle while hangry. I was prone to make bad choices when I had low blood sugar. I begrudgingly purchased two candy bars¡ªSnackers! Kick Hunger in the Nuts!¡ªfor a Copper Delver Token apiece, scarfing one down and stowing the other for later.


    The pair of vending machines weren¡¯t the only dispensers in the room, however.


    There was also a boxy red temporary tattoo machine, filled with cheap, cringey-looking designs that seven-year-olds everywhere thought were the pinnacle of badassery. Grinning skulls and flaming four-leaf shamrocks, a heart with a knife stuck through it, and a coiled blue-and-orange cobra ready to strike. There were also several more girly designs¡ªbrilliantly colored flowers, elegant butterflies, and a majestic unicorn.


    The machine had a large coin turner that accepted copper, silver, or gold Loot Tokens of any variety.


    ¡°What in the shit is this thing?¡± I asked, hooking a thumb toward the temporary tattoos.


    ¡°The Temporary Buff Machine,¡± Croc replied enthusiastically. ¡°This is the alternative to playing arcade games. You put a token in, turn the knob there, and out pops a temporary tattoo. You apply it to your skin and the bonus lasts for as long as the tattoo does. You¡¯re guaranteed to get something with the temporary tattoos.


    ¡°The effects genuinely last much longer¡ªespecially if you don¡¯t shower¡ªbut they¡¯re always much weaker and you never know what you¡¯re gonna get. Unless you use something other than a Delver Token. If you put a Medic! Token in, you¡¯re guaranteed to get something related to Health regen or damage reduction. Could be passive resistance as well,¡± the dog added after a second.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°And what about these things?¡± I asked, crossing the tiny room then placing a hand against the bank of white Gashapon machines, which filled the majority of one wall. They looked like fancy toy vending machines that stood chest high, with bright blue Japanese writing across the sides. Each had a clear case, which displayed a hoard of small plastic capsules, all with colorful lids and tiny bobbles contained within. There were four different toy dispensers, one for each of the various token rarities.


    Copper, Silver, Gold, and Gemstone.


    It took two Copper Tokens to earn a prize from the first machine, but only one silver, gold, or gemstone token for the others.


    Curious, I fished two more Copper Tokens from my dwindling supply and fed them into the machine, turning the crank with an audible click and a clack. A mechanism gave way inside the machine and one of the plastic capsules dropped into the vending slot. I retrieved it from a circular hole at the base and held it up, examining the item within. It looked like a tiny, G.I. Joe-sized set of binoculars.


    I pried the lid off the top and let out a strangled gasp. Screw me left, right, and sideways. The inside of the capsule was a self-contained spatial pocket, two feet square in size. I tipped the capsule over, and a set of cheap, but perfectly normal-sized binoculars fell out into my opposite hand. I¡¯d half expected them to be Artifacts, but they weren¡¯t. Just the kind of thing you could buy on the cheap at a Walmart. Or a Walgreens.


    ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s a bit disappointing, I know,¡± Croc said, glancing between me and the binoculars. ¡°But that¡¯s pretty much what Coppers will get you. No Artifacts, just basic survival equipment. Same rules apply when using specialty tokens. A couple of Medic! Tokens will likely get you Band-Aids or a tourniquet. You could wind up with a knife if you had some Slayer Tokens.


    ¡°Honestly, most of the folks who have survived down here for a while use the coppers as a kind of trade currency more than anything else. But these other ones¡±¡ªthe dog fixed his gaze on the next three machines in the line¡ª¡°are generally worth the price of admission. Silvers will usually earn you Common Artifacts with empty Effect Slots or One-Off items. With Gold you have a chance of earning Uncommon Artifacts or Sigils. No idea about the gemstone ranks, but I¡¯m sure they¡¯re even better.¡±


    I had three silver tokens¡ªDelver, Medic!, and Elementalist¡ªone Gold Ambassador, another Gold Weaponsmith, a Diamond Sentinel, and one Ruby Warlord.


    I stowed the binoculars, along with the tiny pocket dimension capsule they came in, then popped the Gold Weaponsmith Token into the third machine and cranked the dial. I pulled out a second capsule, though this one had a plastic gold lid. I opened the container, revealing an even larger interdimensional pocket space. This one was almost three feet square. Not that the item inside needed that much room. In the bottom was a smooth red stone, about the size of my palm, with an odd glyph carved into its surface.


    Bloodletting


    Uncommon Sigil


    Type: Weapon Sigil


    Fact, victims rarely die from stab wounds¡ªthey mostly die from the resulting blood loss. Fact, bloodletting will make sure they die SO much faster.


    Bloodletting deals 2n points of additional Bleed Damage per minute, for two minutes where n is equal to the wielder¡¯s Variant Assimilation Level. Bloodletting can stack up to five times by dealing multiple stab wounds, and each additional instance of Bloodletting will refresh the effect¡¯s duration. What the hell are you waiting for? Go bananas and get to stabbin¡¯!


    Restriction: Must be affixed to a weapon that deals piercing damage.


    I stared at the bloody stone with what must have been a combination of pure shock and ecstatic joy etched into the lines of my face. Wait, so I could just pop this thing into one of my tools and anything I stabbed with it would just spontaneously bleed out for two minutes? Oh hell yeah. There were so many things that I wanted to stab.


    Obviously, this wouldn¡¯t work for my hammer, since stabbing things with a hammer is tough¡ªthough, admittedly, not impossible¡ªbut it fit my demolition screwdriver like a glove.


    I slid the bulky screwdriver from its customary pouch and turned it over in one hand. Truly, there was nothing special about it. It had a clear plastic handle engraved with the word Craftsman in blocky white text, and a long heavy metal shank with a flat tipped head, slightly dulled by years of hard use.


    There was nothing pretty about it and I¡¯d picked it up from Lowe¡¯s for twelve bucks, but the most dangerous weapons rarely looked fancy. This thing was the definition of form follows function. This bastard wasn¡¯t built for turning screws, it was built for stabbing things, and I was gonna put it to good use. Intuitively, I took the bloodred rune and pressed it against the length of metal. The tool heated up, vibrating steadily against my palm, and a prompt appeared.


    Would you like to add Bloodletting to the Craftsman Demolition Screwdriver, filling one of two empty Effect Slots?


    Since this is your first time using a Sigil, be advised that once a Sigil is bound to an Artifact it cannot be reclaimed without destroying the Artifact.


    Proceed? Yes/No?


    Some small portion of my enthusiasm dwindled as I read over the warning.


    Unlike my Spatial Core, it seemed I wouldn¡¯t be able to swap Sigils freely. If I did this, it would be for keeps¡ªno redos if I didn¡¯t like the way things turned out. If a new and better Sigil came along in the not-too-distant future, would I be pissed about this decision?


    I only considered the question for another second, before proceeding. Honestly, I couldn¡¯t imagine a better fit for the screwdriver, and the effect would even scale as I leveled the skill through use. There was no point sitting on something this awesome.


    There was a bright flare of white light as the red stone melted into the screwdriver, staining the metal shaft a bloody red color.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Evolve from Monkey


    Look at you, fashioning and enhancing rudimentary tools to better kill things. This is like that scene out of 2001: A Space Odyssey, except more pathetic somehow. Still, your hairy, primitive, knuckle-dragging ancestors would be proud. And for the record, I¡¯m talking about your Uncle Jed.


    Reward: 5 x Delver Copper Loot Token


    I absently dismissed the achievement and examined the screwdriver in closer detail, conjuring its item screen. Sure enough, the first Effect Slot was now filled by the deliciously gruesome Bloodletting ability. I gave the tool turned weapon a little twirl then took a couple of practice jabs¡ªenjoying the way it felt in my grip¡ªbefore finally stowing it back in my tool belt.


    If that had been Gold, what would a Ruby Token get me?


    Instead of dicking around with the Silver and Gold Tokens, I pulled out the Ruby Warlord Token. I¡¯d never been one of those patient kids who liked to save the best gift for last on Christmas morning. I always went in for the kill straight away, picking the biggest present under the tree, then tearing the paper away like a feral honey badger raiding a beehive. I plunked the Ruby Token into the last Gashapon machine in the line and waited with hungry anticipation.


    The contraption once more gave a mechanical whirl as I turned the dial and another capsule emerged in the prize slot, this one with a metallic ruby-colored lid.


    Excitedly, I popped the top¡ªrevealing a capsule space big enough to store a large dog¡ªand dumped the rather small sigil onto my palm. Unlike the last, this stone was pure, inky black and had a gleaming, bone-white symbol carved into its face. Upon closer inspection, a tag appeared: Gavel of Get Fucked ¨C Fabled Sigil. My eyes skipped past the rather colorful flavor text and landed on the sigil¡¯s effect.


    Activate a Power Attack, costing 20 Stamina, which inflicts additional damage equal to 20% of the opponent¡¯s existing Health (250 Max Damage). If the opponent is already below 10% total Health, Gavel of Get Fucked lands a Killing Blow, instantly slaying the target. Landing a Killing Blow triggers a follow-up effect, Wave of Justice, that applies the Gavel¡¯s primary effect to all enemy combatants within a twenty-foot radius around the Gavel¡¯s wielder. Gavel of Get Fucked has a cooldown time of 5 minutes.


    Restriction: Must be affixed to a weapon that deals blunt force damage.


    I just stared, completely thunderstruck.


    Ho-lee shit.


    Not only was it a Fabled Sigil, but it only had a single restriction: it needed to be bonded with an Artifact that was classified as a Blunt Weapon. But that wasn¡¯t much of a restriction at all, considering my hammer was the best weapon I had anyway. True, this would take up one of the two Effect Slots, but I highly doubted I was going to find something better suited for me anytime soon.


    I pressed the sigil against the blunt metal hammerhead and quickly breezed past the confirmation prompt.


    As sigil and hammer became one, the handle turned from plain brown hickory to a black so deep it seemed to eat the light. The head practically burned silver against the inky handle.


    In a word, it was awesome.


    I slipped the hammer into its customary loop and pulled yet another token out, this time the Diamond Sentinel Token. But then I paused, the coin extended halfway toward the vending machine slot. I caught a strange sound, so soft I almost missed it at first. It was like the rustle of dry fall leaves rubbing together. I lowered the token and glanced back over one shoulder at the seemingly empty arcade.


    ¡°Did you just hear something?¡± I asked Croc, feeling a thin thread of worry rear its ugly head. ¡°¡¯Cause I could¡¯ve sworn I heard something.¡±


    ¡°No, I heard it too.¡± The dog¡¯s body was canted away from me as the mimic peered into the strobing neon chaos beyond. ¡°There¡¯s something in here with us, alright,¡± Croc confirmed, though it never took its eyes from rows of neatly lined video games.


    That certainly didn¡¯t leave me full of warm and fuzzies.


    ¡°Care to elaborate?¡± I asked, then froze as I heard the sound again. Only much, much closer¡­

 Eighteen – Triple M

    It was the whisper of fabric on fabric, this time accompanied by a blur of motion off to my left. I wheeled, catching the fluttering edge of a blue sheet, just before it disappeared behind one of the racing machines. Another flash of movement in the corner of my right eye revealed a small figure, no more than four feet tall, who scampered out from behind one of the claw machines.


    For the first time, I got a good look at our visitor.


    At first glance, I wasn¡¯t particularly impressed or worried.


    It looked like a kid wearing a bright red sheet draped over its head. The stupid ensemble made him vaguely resemble a ghost. There were jagged holes gouged into the sheet, but I couldn¡¯t see any eyes¡ªjust pits of black that seemed to go on and on and on. Those black endless sockets were the most disturbing part by far. A pair of gnarled, bare feet protruded from beneath the hem of the loose-fitting sheet, the toes long and pale and capped with yellowing nails that hadn¡¯t been trimmed in ages.


    Dweller 0.393C ¨C Arcade Specter [Level 2]


    Arcade Specters look like grubby toddlers pretending to be ghosts for Halloween and that¡¯s about how dangerous they are. Hell, if anything these little rascals can be mildly beneficial. Their meat is chock-full of healing nutrients, assuming you¡¯re willing to indulge in what is basically borderline cannibalism. Unfortunately for you, the thing that likes to HUNT these guys isn¡¯t so harmless. I¡¯d run if I were you¡­


    ¡°Uh, Croc, how boned are we here?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Hmmm, on a scale of Milkbone to prehistoric fossil, I would say we¡¯re solidly preserved mammoth tusk.¡±


    ¡°What the fuck is that supposed to mean?¡± I shot back, one hand already reaching for my newly enhanced hammer.


    ¡°It means no need to panic yet, Dan. But¡­¡± The mimic trailed off. ¡°But maybe best to hurry it along, yeah? You can ooh and ahh at your goodies once we get out of here.¡±


    Croc had never sounded worried before, but the dog sounded worried now.


    Which probably meant I needed to really, really worry.


    I spun back to the machines and started feeding my high-end Loot Tokens into each of the respective Gashapon machines as fast as my fingers would move. Three Silver Tokens¡ªa basic Delver Token, one Medic!, and an Elementalist¡ªone Gold Ambassador Token and, of course, the coveted Diamond Sentinel. I didn¡¯t even bother to look at the contents of each capsule, but instead shoved all of them into Storage without a second look, nervous sweat beading on my forehead and running down my cheeks.


    There was a thump that rattled the floor off in the distance, followed by a distant sound that was hard to place, but also strangely familiar. It was droning and repetitive. Almost hypnotic.


    ¡°And now we should panic,¡± Croc called. ¡°Time to go, Dan. Like right now!¡±


    The sound was growing louder, more insistent.


    With the capsules all safely stowed, I rushed over to Croc¡¯s side and froze when I saw something huge and round emerge from the end of an aisle, not far off. The creature was easily the size of a compact sedan, perfectly spherical, and covered in pebbled yellow flesh. It had two beady black eyes, glossy and lifeless like a shark, and a cavernous maw filled with rows and rows of cruel curved teeth. The jaws of a deep-sea anglerfish, maybe.


    I was staring at an off-brand, horror movie rendition of Pac-Man.


    Dweller 0.3327A ¨C Mobile Murder Muncher [Level 27]


    Let¡¯s not pretend we don¡¯t all know exactly what this is¡­ Yep, a Mobile Murder Muncher. The Triple M is a triple threat and is as fierce as it is stupid. A voracious creature of pure, unthinking hunger, the Mobile Murder Muncher yearns for the healing flesh of the Arcade Specters, which soothes it from the unrelenting pain of its own terrible existence¡ªat least for a short while.


    With that said, it isn¡¯t a particularly picky eater and will consume anything unlucky or stupid enough to get in its way. If there is any saving grace to this shitshow of a situation, it¡¯s that the Triple M will not leave the Arcade for any reason. It¡¯s also dumber than a sack of hair. But then so are you for being here in the first place. You really should¡¯ve run when I told you to¡­


    The monster opened and closed its mouth in a rhythmic fashion as it levitated a foot above the star-speckled carpet. Now, I knew exactly what the sound was.


    ¡°WAKA-WAKA-WAKA,¡± the creature thundered, before disappearing down the next aisleway.


    Dead ahead one of the Arcade Specters appeared, this one clad in blue. It took off at a sprint, moving as quickly as possible away from the Murder Muncher. In Pac-Man the ghosts usually hunted you, but in this bizzarro world, of course it was the other way around. The Codex entry said the Murder Muncher was stupid, but it also said the monster was hungry, and if it was after the creepy ghost kids, I didn¡¯t want to be anywhere near them.


    I turned and took off in the other direction, running toward the glass-fronted entryway, hoping to get clear of this place before the Murder Muncher could get within chomping range. I took a sharp right and skidded around an aisle filled with more claw machines¡ªthese filled with miscellaneous weapons and odd bobbles¡ªthen bolted past a bank of first-person shooters, which stood near the exit. Except there was one problem. One huge, pain-in-my-ass problem. A metal security gate had been unceremoniously rolled down from the ceiling and secured to the floor with a thick metal lock.


    I could easily stick one hand through the metal slats of the rolling gate, but there was no way I could squeeze my body through. Picking the lock was out of the question, and I didn¡¯t have any Artifacts or Relics that would let me get past the gate. Theoretically, I could bust the lock with my hammer, but it was outside the metal gate, so getting a clean shot would be impossible. And the most Bleach Bolt would do is leave the metal sparkling and clean.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    I had a full charge on the Slammer of Shielding, but that was a stopgap measure at best.


    I needed to find a way out. Fast, quick, and in a hurry.


    I rushed over to the broad glass panel flanking the security gate to the left. I doubted very much that I¡¯d be able to bash my way through, but my hammer did have a few fancy new upgrades and I had Surveyor¡¯s Mark as part of the Catacomber Emblem, which allowed me to alter the physical structures of the Backrooms in small ways. Admittedly, smashing out an entire window probably didn¡¯t qualify as ¡°altering things in a small way,¡± but I¡¯d feel dumb as shit if I didn¡¯t at least try.


    I let the Mana in my core flow down my arm and into the hammer gripped tightly in my hand. The makeshift weapon felt hollow and hungry, like an empty vessel desperate to be filled. My blue Mana gauge flared to life, dropping by several points, then suddenly the weapon swelled, growing to the size of a sledgehammer. It blazed with cold cobalt light, as though it were built entirely from forged Mana, but weighed no more than it had before.


    I planted my feet, grabbed the handle with both hands, then swung for the fences, activating Gavel as I did. My Stamina plunged as well, dropping close to zero as even more power surged into the weapon.


    The blunt face slammed into the glass with a thunderous reverberation and the smallest hairline fracture crept outward from the impact. Seeing the tiny crack made me think that I might well be able to bash my way free. If I had an unlimited pool of Mana and Stamina and a couple of uninterrupted hours to bang on the glass. But I didn¡¯t have either of those. What I did have was a handful of seconds before I was shark chum. The racket had drawn the attention of the Murder Muncher, and it was racing toward me at an unbelievable speed.


    ¡°Oh, fiddlesticks! We need to move, Dan!¡± Croc bellowed, slamming into my hip with one shoulder.


    I stumbled, frozen for a moment by the sight of the onrushing avalanche of pebbled, waxy skin and too-big teeth. The creature was horrifying, but watching its jaws rhythmically shoot up then snap shut was hypnotic. Dreamy. There was a part of me that wanted to stand there, staring placidly into the maw of certain doom like a moron. Thankfully, the jarring shove from Croc broke the strange trance and coaxed my feet into motion. I shook my head and staggered into a run, darting down the connecting aisle.


    There was a whoosh of displaced air as the Murder Muncher erupted from the aisle, then turned on a dime and proceeded to follow us.


    The rumbling growl of ¡°WAKA-WAKA-WAKA¡± chased us down the hall, the sound vibrating inside my chest. It was the sound of memories. Of long summer nights and childhood friendships. It was also the sound of my death.


    ¡°The Arcade is locked,¡± I hollered down at Croc, who was pacing me easily. The mutt was fast when it wanted to be, and it seemed Croc had a very strong urge not to be eaten. ¡°What the hell do we do now?¡±


    ¡°Two options,¡± Croc replied, panting a little even though the mimic didn¡¯t have lungs to speak of. ¡°There should be an emergency exit that will dump us back into the mall. Could be anywhere, though, so we¡¯ll have to stay alive until we can find it. Or we can find a Ravenous Hunger Pellet. It¡¯s a white ball, about the size of a fist. Floats in the air. It¡¯ll make the Murder Muncher vulnerable for three minutes.¡±


    ¡°And then we can kill it?¡± I asked.


    Croc barked a laugh. ¡°Heavens no. It¡¯s level twenty-seven. Even vulnerable, it¡¯ll shrug off anything we can throw at it. But its teeth will vanish for a bit, so it¡¯ll have to gum us to death instead¡ªwhich it is fully capable of doing, by the way. It¡¯s just a much slower death. More painful, in all likelihood.¡±


    ¡°Then why would you tell me about it!¡± I yelled, still running.


    Except, the words were lost as the ¡°WAKA-WAKA-WAKA¡± behind me grew so loud it was deafening. I could feel hot fetid breath on my back, and I knew that if I turned around, even for a moment, the creature would bite me in two.


    We blasted out from the end of the aisle, and I saw a red neon exit sign a few rows over.


    Unfortunately, a pink-sheeted ghost slammed into me at the exact same instant, and the pair of us went down in a tangle of limbs. We rolled several times, and when we finally came to a stop, the ghost was lying on top of me like a lumpy sack of potatoes, and the Murder Muncher was less than ten feet away and closing fast, its predatory eyes locked onto our position.


    Oh fuck.


    I fumbled for the Slammer, but my fingers felt numb and useless. That was the adrenaline settling in. Adrenaline is one helluva potent drug, but it has a few drawbacks, like diminished hearing, tunnel vision, and the temporary loss of fine motor skills. Which was the reason my fingers were staging a mutiny. But it also has the added benefit of slowing time down to a crawl. Things weren¡¯t actually going any slower, of course, but my brain was processing information at a breakneck speed.


    I knew I wouldn¡¯t have the dexterity to use the Slammer, but there was one option that might buy me a few extra precious seconds. Just enough time to get to the exit, if I was lucky.


    If I was unlucky, I was going to die horribly.


    It wasn¡¯t a great option, and I would have trouble looking at myself in the mirror for a few days, but it was that or be devoured by a mutated version of Pac-Man. Given the outcome, the choice was a no-brainer.


    I pulled my legs up, jammed them into the Arcade Specter¡¯s stomach, and mule-kicked the son of a bitch off of me and straight into the oncoming jaws of the Murder Muncher. The ghost was surprisingly light¡ªit only weighed as much as a small child, which had a number of disturbing implications. It sailed through the air like a punted football, its little legs kicking as it issued a terrified mewling noise that might have almost sounded like the word help.


    Or maybe not. I was hoping not.


    Then the jaws crunched down and there was an explosion of gore. The creature was dead so fast, its Health bar didn¡¯t even have a chance to appear.


    A geyser of crimson erupted outward in an arc, spraying the purple carpet and drenching me in blood, bone, and bits of fluttering sheet. It was easily one of the most horrendous things I¡¯d ever seen. I¡¯d kicked that defenseless ghost child into the creature¡¯s mouth, knowing it would be devoured. I hadn¡¯t been aware I was feeding it into the supernatural equivalent of a woodchipper.


    Yep, definitely didn¡¯t feel good about that.


    But it was me or the ghost, I reminded myself, and I¡¯d pick me all day every day. The Murder Muncher had stopped moving and was mashing through the meat in great noisy gurgles. I scrambled to my feet and took off like a bullet, racing around another arcade machine¡ªclassic Donkey Kong¡ªbeelining for the emergency exit.


    ¡°You okay?¡± Croc called, appearing beside me at a run. ¡°Because that is an obscene amount of blood.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not my blood,¡± I yelled in reply. ¡°Now move your ass!¡±


    In the distance, the ominous ¡°WAKA-WAKA-WAKA¡± had started up once more, like the engine of a murderous combine tractor roaring to life, but Croc and I raced through the door and into the relative safety of the mall.


    I skidded to a stop¡ªsweating, shaking, and bloody¡ªthen doubled over, hands pressed against my knees as I sucked in great, greedy lungfuls of air.


    I stole a sidelong look at the dog. ¡°Hey Croc,¡± I said, ¡°let¡¯s not make any more unnecessary pit stops, okay?¡±


    ¡°Oh, fiddlesticks. But there¡¯s a great Froyo place not far from here,¡± Croc replied, looking crestfallen. ¡°Don¡¯t know why, but the Arcade always puts me in the mood for Froyo.¡±


    ¡°I just donkey kicked a toddler into the equivalent of a sentient bear trap,¡± I growled, looking down at my blood-spattered shirt. ¡°We are not, under any circumstances, getting Froyo.¡±

 Nineteen – Froyo for Everyone!

    Half an hour later Croc and I were sitting on a bench in front of a Froyo place called Yogurt Oasis. We¡¯d come here because Yogurt Oasis happened to be the closest store with a working bathroom, and not in any way because I begrudgingly wanted to make Croc happy. The shop was tiny and manned by only a single level 2 Dweller, called a Seasonal Work Goblin. One Bleach Bolt cleansed the world of the goblin¡¯s existence in less than two minutes, leaving behind a burbling corpse and a single Common Relic Shard.


    I caught sight of all the delicious-looking containers of frozen yogurt as I looted the creature¡¯s corpse. I hated myself for admitting it, but Froyo did sound amazing. Maybe it was because I¡¯d very nearly died a few minutes before, or maybe it was because I hadn¡¯t eaten anything but a candy bar in more than a day. But either way, I couldn¡¯t take my eyes off the Sumatra Coffee Blend, which was an unbroken swirl of white and brown frozen goodness. It smelled like caffeine, chocolate, and happiness.


    But how could I possibly eat something so delicious after literally feeding another living being into an industrial-sized kitchen blender?


    Just the thought of doing it was immoral.


    Unethical.


    Disgusting.


    Honestly, I should¡¯ve been ashamed of myself.


    I did it anyway. My gut told me that the random monster toddler from the Arcade would want me to honor its memory with joy, not sorrow.


    But before digging in, I made sure to thoroughly scrub off the caked-on blood and wring the gristly chunks of ghost meat out of my undershirt. Just as the ghost child would¡¯ve wanted. It was a losing battle, unfortunately. My undershirt was so stained with blood that it looked solidly red instead of white. Well, faded pink really, since I¡¯d tried to wash it in the sink.


    Although it was an Artifact with a Personal Significance, it didn¡¯t have any effects yet, and I couldn¡¯t stomach the thought of wearing it. Not until I found a way to properly wash it. I stowed it in storage and fished out a loose black T-shirt that read, ¡°Existence is a Joke, and We Are the Punchline.¡±


    Croc was sitting beside me with a cup of Passion Mango Citrus Sorbet. The mimic had sprouted human hands at the end of his forelimbs but had left the rest of its dog body more or less the same. Was it disturbing? Not after what I¡¯d witnessed in the Arcade. The Lobby Greeters had been terrifying, and the bathroom Janitor would haunt my nightmares for years to come, but they all dimmed in comparison to the Murder Muncher and the geyser of blood that had soaked me from head to toe.


    Everything was a walk in the park compared to that.


    Croc enjoyed the sorbet in contemplative silence, which was a nice change of pace, while I polished off the rest of my Sumatra Coffee Blend then pulled out the capsules I¡¯d taken from the Arcade. I¡¯d suffered extreme psychological trauma and had nearly died to get these damned things¡ªI just hoped it was all worth it.


    I had three silver capsules, one gold, and one with a sparkling diamond lid.


    I moved to pop the lid of the diamond capsule, but Croc stopped me.


    ¡°Wait, you can¡¯t do that,¡± it said, sounding personally scandalized.


    ¡°Why the hell not?¡± I asked. ¡°This is the best one, so I should start with it first.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly why you can¡¯t start with it first,¡± Croc replied, rolling its eyes. ¡°Trust me, that one is going to be amazing, but then the rest of them will feel underwhelming, even though they¡¯re actually great prizes. But if you start with the silvers and work your way up, then the anticipation will build and build. Trust me, it¡¯s far more satisfying to do it that way.¡±


    I grunted noncommittally but didn¡¯t feel like arguing with the dog. I was going to open them all anyway, so if Croc wanted to save the best for last, I could do that.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I said, swapping out the diamond capsule for one of the silvers and wriggling the top off with my thumb.


    I systematically opened the three silvers, one right after another. The items weren¡¯t world-breaking by any stretch of the imagination, but they were all useful enough in their own way. The Silver Delver capsule rewarded me with an Artifact called Twinning String. It resembled a big ball of red yarn, which sounded lame as hell, but was actually kinda badass.


    The way it worked was both simple and ingenious.


    First, you cut off a length of yarn, cut that piece in half again, then tied one section around your finger and the other around literally anything else¡ªtypically another person or a distant location. The two pieces of yarn were then Twinned together, and you could conjure a wispy blue line that connected the first piece of yarn to the second. It was in every conceivable way inferior to my Unerring Arrow spell, but it would be an invaluable lifeline to anyone else.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    I didn¡¯t have any need for it, but I was sure I could get a hefty premium for the yarn.


    The Silver Medic! capsule yielded a One-Time-Use Artifact called the Healing Hand Grenade.


    Ironically, it didn¡¯t look like a hand grenade at all. Instead, it looked like one of those cheap, green water balloons you could get at the supermarket for a buck or two. The kind that was as thin as tissue paper and would pop if you looked at ¡¯em the wrong way. Naturally, it was filled with Zima. But the effect did exactly like what it sounded like. Wind back and chuck the balloon into a group of friendlies, instantly healing up to 200 points of damage to all allies in the thirty-foot area of effect.


    I stored that so I wouldn¡¯t accidentally pop it.


    The silver Elementalist capsule ended up being the best of the lot. It granted me a flat 8% resistance to Fire Damage, increased Burn Damage Regeneration rate by 12%, and made the item it was attached to fireproof. There was one minor catch, though. It could only be attached to armor classified as ¡°pants.¡± Which meant my frayed, ass-hugging jorts. It was annoying, but between that and the Gremlin¡¯s Groin Guardian Relic, at least I knew the ol¡¯ family jewels would be taken care of.


    When I opened the gold-lidded capsule, I found a golden medallion, suspended from a gold chain with thick links. On one side was a giant thumbs-up. On the back were the words, ¡°Researcher Approved!¡±


    Seal of the Researcher


    Fabled Artifact


    Type: One-Time Use


    Well look at you, Mr. Hot Shit. Earning a personal nod from the Researcher himself. Not too shabby. You must¡¯ve done something pretty fuckin¡¯ impressive because he doesn¡¯t just go around handing these bad boys out, believe you me.


    This is a one-and-done item and serves as a personal voucher from the big guy. The Researcher holds a lot of sway with certain Backrooms factions, and if you present them with this talisman, they¡¯ll treat you like a favorite nephew and allow you to operate freely within their territory. It¡¯s a lot more impressive than it sounds. Remember, in a world where everyone¡¯s gunning for you, it¡¯s damned good to have a token telling them to aim elsewhere.


    As for the last item, it was a Sigil Stone and ended up being every bit as good as the Gavel of Get Fucked, which I¡¯d received from the Ruby Warlord Token. Hell, it might¡¯ve been better.


    Mana Capacitor


    Fabled Sigil


    Type: Cloth Armor Sigil


    Armor is great¡­ If you¡¯re a loser who plans on getting punched in the teeth all the time like a bitch.


    Which is why you don¡¯t want an armor upgrade. Nope, what you really want is a Mana upgrade¡ªbecause no one can punch you in the teeth if you set ¡¯em on fire with your mind or use a Relic to turn them into USDA-certified organic meat paste. Enter Mana Capacitor. Let¡¯s call it what it really is, a giant magical battery that will supercharge your abilities.


    What¡¯s not to love?


    Mana Capacitor increases your total maximum Mana Pool by 15%, increases your overall Mana Regeneration Rate by 10%, and has a 5% chance to trigger Wild Surge when using any Relic that costs Mana. Wild Surge instantly replenishes 50% of your total Mana Pool, increases Mana Regeneration by 25% for 2 minutes, and has a 50% chance of duplicating the original trigger spell at no additional Mana cost.


    After reading through the description three separate times, I decided it was significantly better than the Gavel Sigil. Although Gavel of Get Fucked offered some extraordinary effects, it was limited in scope, could only be used while wielding my hammer during melee combat, and drained Stamina to activate. The Mana Capacitor, on the other hand, was a passive that would drastically boost my overall Mana Pool and Regen Rate, plus the Wild Surge ability alone was worth its weight in gold.


    There was one serious drawback, which felt like a kick in the ballsack.


    Restriction: Must be affixed to an item that qualifies as cloth armor.


    Naturally, I had exactly one Artifact item that qualified as cloth armor, and it wasn¡¯t my boots, jorts, undershirt, or tool belt. I pulled off the stupid, ass-ugly Versace bathrobe. It was bright red with black cuffs and a black belt, decorated with baroque golden statues and weird Grecian shit. I didn¡¯t have anything else, and this item not only met the requirements but also had Personal Significance, which meant it would scale with me as I leveled. Of all the items I¡¯d Noclipped in with, the bathrobe was the one I hated the most.


    And if I added the Mana Capacitor, I¡¯d never be rid of the damned thing. It would haunt me for the rest of my time here¡ªwhich could be forever, so far as I knew.


    ¡°Screw me,¡± I grumbled, pressing the sigil stone against the robe, then confirming the prompt that followed.


    There was a flash of light as the items melded together and a glowing blue sigil, perfectly mirroring the symbol from the stone, appeared bright and bold on the back of the robe.


    With a disgruntled sigh, I slung the robe around my shoulders and slid my arms into the sleeves, instantly feeling a tremendous surge of power rush through me like a crackling bolt of electricity. I looked dumb as hell, but fashion didn¡¯t matter in the grand scheme of things. Only survival. And the Mana Capacitor would help me survive.


    ¡°You ready?¡± I asked as Croc finished the last drags of sorbet. ¡°Because we¡¯ve already wasted too much time as it is.¡±


    Croc took one last longing look at the Froyo and nodded sadly.


    Then, because I was both a jackass and a sucker, I easily vaulted over the counter and grabbed each of the stowed tubs of Froyo, disappearing them all to my Storage System. I still had plenty of room to spare and the space was time-locked, so the Froyo would probably last longer than I was going to.


    ¡°For later,¡± I said as Croc visibly brightened.


    ¡°You really are the best friend, Dan,¡± Croc replied. ¡°Let¡¯s go get you to Walgreens so you can finally get the life-saving medication¡ªwhich is definitely not hemorrhoid cream¡ªthat you so desperately need!¡±

 Twenty – March to the Mart

    We spent the better part of the next six hours putting as much distance as possible between us and the Loot Arcade, all while maneuvering through mostly empty shopping mall corridors and not-quite-so-empty storefronts. The Compass of the Catacomber made the trip as quick and painless as possible. Though, to be fair, there was still quite a bit of pain involved. Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense helped me avoid more traps than I could count, but there were still runic pressure plates, magical trip wires, and enough mimics to fill an Olympic swimming pool.


    And those were the easy traps.


    We stumbled across one hallway shrouded in deep shadow, though the gloom was pierced by thin shafts of light that streamed in through an overhead skylight. Unerring Arrow ushered us through the passageway, but it led us along a path that curved and zigzagged, avoiding each of the beams of illumination. Once we cleared the obstacle, I took out a coat from my storage space and tossed it directly into a shaft of white light out of curiosity more than anything else. Razorblades of concentrated sunfire condensed and sliced the jacket into a hundred smoldering pieces.


    It wasn¡¯t hard to imagine what would¡¯ve happened to the oh-so-frail human form.


    There were cursed mirror chambers that would ensnare anyone with a weak Grit score in a world of crystalline glass¡ªstranded until you invariably starved to death or died of thirst. We also discovered two temporal distortion pockets, which would suspend unlucky souls inside a bubble of frozen time for a hundred years or more. Victims would survive the cruel process only to find everyone they¡¯d ever known was dead and gone. We even found one of the Gravity Inversion Wells near a pastry shop called Cinnaholics.


    That we stayed well clear of, since I was currently enjoying the use of all my limbs.


    But seeing all those traps did get me thinking.


    One of my new abilities, Surveyor¡¯s Mark, allowed me to mark my path and even make small superficial changes to the Backrooms themselves. I¡¯d learned firsthand that it wasn¡¯t powerful enough to do any meaningful structural damage, but what exactly did small superficial changes entail? Back in the Lobby, I¡¯d used my Sharpie to leave rudimentary directions for myself, but the corridors had quickly dissolved my handiwork. Now though? Now, with a little will and a trickle of Mana, it turned out I could imbue the Sharpie with enough power to leave notes on the walls.


    Which is exactly what I started doing.


    Shadow Gauntlet: Do NOT touch the beams of light. ¨C Dan


    Gravity Inversion Well: Will literally rip all your limbs off. ¨C Dan


    The gray bench on the right is a Mimic. ¨C Dan


    Cinnaholics is only okay. The pastries are stale. Lot of calories. ¨C Dan


    The Sharpie wasn¡¯t the easiest thing in the world to see from a distance, so Croc and I performed a smash-and-grab on a craft supply store called the Funky Fresh Art Mart. We were in and out in less than two minutes, grabbing as much spray paint as I could get my hands on before the store¡¯s artists in residence could drown us in ink or slash our throats with folded origami swords.


    The spray paint made marking each of the traps all the easier.


    There were also Dwellers to deal with. Lots of Dwellers.


    Even with Unerring Arrow to guide us and the map to show us when there were hostile creatures lying in wait, we couldn¡¯t avoid them all. Nor did we want to, truth be told. In order to take over the MediocreMart, I needed to get stronger and level up, and to do that, I needed to hunt.


    Unfortunately, the line between hunter and hunted was often a blurry one.


    More than once, Croc and I had to haul ass to get away from horrors that were way the hell outside of our respective weight classes¡ªespecially when we ventured through the shops themselves. Similar to the dungeons that populated games like those in the immensely popular Titan Realm RPG franchise, most of the shops had lower-level ¡°mobs¡± and one significantly more powerful ¡°overseer,¡± which on this floor were typically labeled as ¡°Store Managers¡±¡ªthough Croc assured me that changed based on the theme of each individual floor.


    Those Store Managers carried the best shit, hands down, but were not to be dicked around with unless running away wasn¡¯t an option. Still, so long as we didn¡¯t get pinned down or backed into a corner, running was almost always an option. The Store Managers were viciously territorial and would violently eradicate anything inside the bounds of their territory, but once we got outside the confines of their stores, they seemed reluctant to venture out into the mall.


    And thank sweet baby Jesus we didn¡¯t stumble across anything even close to as lethal or powerful as the Murder Muncher from the Arcade.


    There were plenty of other things that lurked in the common spaces of the mall, however, and the only way to shake those assholes was to kill ¡¯em outright. We tangled with a couple of the Carnivora Rex plants and a lone Wandering Mall Janitor, who bore a striking similarity to the Janitorial Handyman from the Lobby bathroom¡ªthough instead of a toilet for a head, it had a mop bucket.


    The most common mob, by far, were the seething packs of Mall Rats, which were vicious rodents each the size of a Rottweiler.


    They were mean as hell and dealt a disease debuff that lasted for twenty minutes if they managed to land a clean bite. Most of them were low-level, but they traveled in groups of ten or fifteen. One pack was even accompanied by a level 11 Mall Rat King, who looked less like a rodent and more like a mangy werewolf with a bald, pink tail. The Rat King had been wearing colorful boardshorts and a puka shell necklace, which undermined his authority somewhat.


    Still¡ªeven accounting for the boardshorts and the necklace¡ªCroc and I hadn¡¯t been able to beat the Overseer on our own, so we drew him off to a hallway strewn about with limb-ripper snares. Turned out the Dwellers were just as susceptible to the traps as anyone else.


    That might even have explained why so many of the creatures were reluctant to leave behind the safety of their tiny fiefdoms.


    I ended up with a score of shallow cuts, painful lacerations, a pair of deep puncture wounds on my bicep¡ªcourtesy of the jaws of an especially ambitious Mall Rat¡ªand a broken hand for my trouble. And that was with the map and the Unerring Arrow to guide us. But, if there was one good thing about this place, it was that even the most severe wounds healed at sharply accelerated rates. A broken hand should¡¯ve taken six weeks to fully recover from. The pain had faded within the first hour and by the third, it was almost as good as new.


    I also earned heaps of experience points for all the kills¡ª2,325 to be exact, which pushed me up to level 9. Croc and I only earned partial experience for the Rat King, since technically the Backrooms themselves managed to land the killing blow, but the sheer volume of wandering Mall Rats had added up to just over fifteen hundred points. That was enough to push Croc up to level 10, which the mimic dog seemed especially pleased about.


    Along with the experience came a small fortune of Shards, Relics, and Artifacts. Unfortunately, most of them were absolute garbage and everything else ended up being duplicates of absolute garbage, which was somehow even worse. There were Relics that caused uncontrolled hiccupping and others that caused unpredictable lapses in memory. Even one that resembled a portable Walkman which, when equipped, made the wielder speak entirely in boyband lyrics.


    That one was the worst by a country mile.


    There were two notable exceptions.


    The first came from the Wandering Mall Janitor and took the shape of a bright yellow triangular folding sign which had a red stick figure man flanked by the words Caution Wet Floor on top and Cuidado Piso Mojado on the bottom. It was a Common Relic appropriately named Slippery When Wet, which allowed the user to conjure a thin sheen of extremely slick water that would cover a ten-by-ten section of floor. Not the most devastating spell in my arsenal, and certainly not on par with Bleach Bolt, but I figured it might have a few practical uses.


    I added that one to my Core, bringing my total Relic count to eight.


    The other worthwhile Relic came from a level 5 Delinquent Mall Rat¡ªbigger and nastier than the Common Mall Rats, but not quite as deadly or revolting as the Mall Rat King. It looked like a pair of pitted brass knuckles that had seen better days. The effect was a common physical ability called Sucker Punch, which dealt additional physical and emotional damage when striking an opponent first.


    What exactly emotional damage entailed, or how it was calculated, I had no idea, but it had a nice ring to it.


    I would¡¯ve added Sucker Punch to my Spatial Core without batting an eye, but it happened to have synergistic resonance with the Camo Kit I already had equipped. Croc had mentioned that it was possible to combine Relics with similar effects, creating more powerful or unique spells and abilities in the process. The problem was that when forging Relics, you never actually knew what you were going to end up with.


    It was all one big crapshoot.


    In theory, you could wind up with an ability that was rare and badass, but there was an even money chance it would be shitty. And after seeing exactly how shitty some of the Relic effects could be, I understood the hesitation.


    Turned out, I had an ace in the hole.


    When I pulled the Camo Kit from my Core and held it in close proximity to the Brass Knuckles, I felt the two items begin to hum and vibrate in my hand like a struck tuning fork a second before a prompt appeared.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Synergistic Resonance Detected!


    Would you like to Forge Sucker Punch (Common ¨C Level 1) and Basic Camo Kit ¨C Camouflage Spell (Common ¨C Level 1) into a new Relic?*


    Yes/No?


    Right below that, like a footnote tacked on at the bottom of a textbook page, was a much smaller line of text.


    * Run Researcher¡¯s Codex Compatibility Analysis - Yes/No?


    Finding two Relics with a Synergistic Resonance got my blood pumping, but it was the footnote that left me drooling at the prospects. Maybe forging was less like gambling and a bit more like chemistry¡ªand I happened to have the teacher¡¯s study guide stowed away inside my soul.


    I mentally selected the Analysis option, and a new box replaced the first.


    Researcher¡¯s Codex Compatibility Analysis


    Based on historic data sets and extensive Forging models, Sucker Punch (Common ¨C Level 1) and Camo Kit ¨C Camouflage Spell (Common ¨C Level 1) have an estimated 92% resonance compatibility, meaning the number of possible Relic Iterations is Low. The most probable outcome is Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike (Uncommon), or a closely adjacent derivative. Would you like to view additional report records for the Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike ability? Yes/No?


    I selected yes once again and quickly read over a brief and extremely dry analytical report of the potential derivative. The changes were significant, but there was also a certain logic to them. Almost as if the forging process served to amplify the best qualities of each Relic, while also making those qualities narrower in focus.


    First off, Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike nerfed the duration of the camouflage spell¡ªcutting it in half from one minute to thirty seconds¡ªwhile also jacking up the overall Mana cost by a factor of ten. The payoff was that the camouflage portion of the ability was vastly more effective. Although I wouldn¡¯t be invisible, I¡¯d gain an active effect during the duration of the spell called Mall Ninja¡¯s Veil, which would allow me to seamlessly blend into surrounding shadows.


    Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike also had a more limited function than Sucker Punch but made up for it by packing a much greater¡­ well, punch. It would allow me to deal three times my normal damage, but only if I attacked preemptively while simultaneously shrouded in the Mall Ninja¡¯s Veil. The greatest benefit, though¡ªand the bonus effect that made me decide to forge the two Relics into one¡ªwas that the Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike damage bonus applied to spells as well as physical attacks.


    The possibilities for a skill like that were endless.


    When I finally Forged the two Relics together, there was a tremendous flare of heat accompanied by a blinding, though brief, flash of golden light. When the light vanished, the two items were gone and a cheaply manufactured mall wakizashi rested in my palm, its handle wrapped in faux-silk fabric from several different anime shows. It didn¡¯t look like anything special, but then neither did the Compass of the Catacomber. I examined the new Relic description, confirming what the Compatibility Analysis had already told me.


    Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike


    Uncommon Relic - Level 1


    Duration: 30 Seconds


    Cost: 20 Mana / 10 Stamina on Strike


    Embrace your inner Mall Ninja as you channel the power of shadow to hide from your enemies¡­ and also from all the people who are actively judging you for buying a mall wakizashi, you nerd. You couldn¡¯t even spring for the full-sized katana? You should be ashamed of yourself.


    Once activated, Mall Ninja¡¯s Veil envelops you in an aura of darkness and secondhand cringe, making you seamlessly blend into the surrounding shadows. Your enemies won¡¯t see you coming, but they¡¯ll certainly feel your presence when you shank them right in the kidney! While they were out partying, you were studying the blade, and it shows¡­


    While under the effects of Mall Ninja¡¯s Veil, your first preemptive strike¡ªwhether magical or melee¡ªbecomes a devastating surprise attack, dealing three times normal damage. Just make sure to exercise caution. You wouldn¡¯t want your Klingon bat¡¯leth to get caught on your tactical fanny pack and ruin your grand entrance.


    I grinned in satisfaction.


    The added ability to predict the likely outcome of the forging process would be a huge benefit once I got the storefront up and running. I¡¯d be able to collect junk Relics then manufacture them into Uncommon and Rare abilities, which I could sell at a steep markup. Honestly, I was a little sad to lose the versatility of the Sucker Punch ability, but Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike was the better technique, and it wasn¡¯t even close.


    I also earned another research achievement for forging my first Uncommon Relic¡ªEasy Bake Oven. The description was as condescending as ever, but it came with five Copper Forger Loot Tokens, so I didn¡¯t give a shit.


    As for the rest of the Relics¡­


    I ended up sacrificing fifteen of them to bring my Bleach Bolt spell up to level 4, although the process wasn¡¯t nearly as quick or easy as forging the two Relics together had been.


    Croc guided me through the ritual, which wasn¡¯t at all intuitive. I sat on the floor, legs folded beneath me, and arranged five Relics around me in a rough circle with my body at the center. Each of the objects radiated a strange warmth and a subtle aura of authority and otherworldly power. I meditated on the Bleach Bolt Relic, nestled inside my core, then reached out with my will and mind, drawing the generative power of the assembled Relics toward me.


    The objects began to glow with spectral silver light, and after a few seconds, the five Relics crumbled to fine motes of dust and the colorful essence contained within each of the items flowed toward me, sinking through my chest and into the Relic I held in my mind¡¯s eye. As the energy settled, the Relic level ticked up, moving from one to two. The whole ceremony took about ten minutes from start to finish and left me weak and shaky, but those feelings passed quickly enough.


    I repeated the process twice more, laying out the Relics each time and funneling their preternatural energy into Bleach Bolt. The spell description remained the same and so did the Mana cost, but the damage output jumped dramatically from 15 points of Corrosive Damage on contact to 24 points on contact, and it now dealt 5 points of additional Corrosive Damage per minute for five minutes. In short, it was almost twice as destructive as it had been before the upgrade.


    That left me with five unused Relics left to my name¡ªone extra Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding, two Gremlin¡¯s Groin Guardians, and two Basic Camo Spell Relics. All of those I left in Storage along with my ever-growing stash of Common and Uncommon Shards. Eventually, I¡¯d forge those into even more Relics, but that could wait until later.


    I also earned a wheelbarrow¡¯s worth of Artifacts from the various skirmishes but, by and large, they weren¡¯t much better than the Relics.


    Most of them were like the Greater Rage Elixir I found in the supplement store. Sort of okay but offset by a host of horrendous¡ªoften crippling¡ªside effects that vastly outweighed any potential benefit. I found a wicked looking machete that caused you to teleport to a completely random location within line of sight every time you landed a blow against an enemy and a metal bracelet called Jinxed Fortune, which minutely altered probability against the favor of the wearer.


    Why would anyone in their right mind want something like that? I wasn¡¯t sure.


    The best Artifacts were the ones that tended to have no active effects at all, but rather empty Effect Slots just like the barbell I¡¯d looted off the Roid Gremlin Overseer. I picked up a few more Lesser Healing Elixirs¡ªthey were all Zima¡ªand two Mana Elixirs that took the form of the iconic ¡¯90s soda of choice for teens everywhere, Jolt Cola. Those I added to my tool belt so I¡¯d have them on hand for when things went sideways in the worst possible fashion.


    Worthless garbage or not, the Artifacts all went into Storage until I could figure out what in the hell to do with ¡¯em. I was starting to get a little worried about my Storage weight capacity. Two thousand pounds sounded like a lot, but little things could add up quick, I knew.


    When MediocreMart finally populated on my map after what felt like countless hours of walking, running, and duking it out against the mall¡¯s many inhuman inhabitants, I took a little extra time to track down another Progenitor Monolith.


    I was anxious to raid the off-brand Walgreens and claim my first strip of Backrooms real estate, but I needed to be smart about it. This was a two-star threat, I reminded myself, which meant the Store Manager waiting within was level 10 or above. The Mall Rat King had been level 10 too, and we¡¯d only managed to kill that dickhead by drawing him into an indiscriminate death trap. I doubted that was going to be an option against whatever called the MediocreMart home.


    The truth was, if I rushed in there with metaphorical guns a-blazin¡¯, I¡¯d end up dead long before the Monarch ever had a chance to flay the skin from my body.


    I¡¯d made it to level 9, and the twenty extra Personal Enhancement Points I now had could be the difference between a long, fulfilling life as an interdimensional real-estate tycoon and a bloody death that left me in a shallow, unmarked grave just like all the other Delvers Croc had tried to help over the years. But I was chomping at the bit to get my ass moving, so I didn¡¯t dwell on things overlong.


    I still wasn¡¯t entirely sure what Blight was, but it sounded like I wanted to catch it about as much as a case of Super Gonorrhea, so I added two more points to Preservation just to be on the safe side. Bleach Bolt was still my single greatest weapon, so the more of those I could cast in quick succession, the better off I¡¯d be. Working under that assumption, Resonance got seven extra points while Perception ended up with three, significantly raising my Mana. Three points went into Athleticism and the last two went to Toughness, which boosted my total Health up to 40 and my Stamina to 24.


    Dan Woodridge


    Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C


    Variant Assimilation Level: 9


    Race: Human, Archetypal


    Current Experience: 7,630


    Next Level: 8,250


    Personal Enhancement Points: 0


    __ __ __


    Health: 40


    Health-Regen/Hour: 1.75


    __ __ __


    Stamina Reserve: 24


    Stamina-Regen/Minute: 1.85


    __ __ __


    Mana Pool: 58


    Mana-Regen/Minute: 4.5


    Individual Adaptative Stats


    Grit: 6 (5 + 1 Enhanced)


    Athleticism: 8


    Toughness: 8


    Perception: 13


    Resonance: 22


    Preservation: 5


    Spatial Core - Active


    (C) Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding ¨C Level 1


    (C) The Gremlin¡¯s Groin Guardian ¨C Level 1


    (C) Force Multiplier ¨C Level 1


    (C) Slippery When Wet ¨C Level 1


    (U) Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike ¨C Level 1


    (U) Psychedelic Light Show of Minor Distraction ¨C Level 1


    (U) Bleach Bolt: The Unidentified Stain Eradicator ¨C Level 4


    (ME) Compass of the Catacomber (Fully Tempered)


    Current Titles ¨C Passive


    Out of Your League, Deathwish, Marked for Death, Weapon of Opportunity, Legend in the Making


    The physical changes took effect within minutes. It was a genuinely unnerving experience.


    My skin crawled as the muscles beneath flexed and swelled. Fat melted away from my midsection like water evaporating from the surface of a hot pan. Raw strength surged through my limbs, and it felt like someone had stripped years off my joints and lower back. Right hand to the Good Lord, it was the closest thing to a miracle I¡¯ve ever experienced. A host of old aches and lingering injuries, which I¡¯d collected through a life of hard living and manual labor, vanished in the blink of an eye.


    I¡¯d grown so used to all those chronic pains that I hardly even noticed them anymore, but the sudden and immediate relief was almost enough to make me cry.


    Instead of crying, though, I laughed.


    In the back of my head, I¡¯d been starting to think that someone up above must¡¯ve hated me something fierce to sentence me to this hellhole, but maybe I¡¯d been all wrong about this place. Were the Backrooms deadly? Sure as shit. Were they horrifying? Without a doubt. Could they kill you in a second if you weren¡¯t careful? Does a bear shit in the woods?


    But the Backrooms might also have been the best thing to ever happen to me.


    Feeling like I was twenty years old again and in the best shape of my life, I turned away from the Monolith and headed toward the MediocreMart with my hammer in hand, spoiling for a good ol¡¯ fashion ass-kicking.

 Twenty-One – MediocreMart

    ¡°I say this in love and with absolutely no disrespect, Dan,¡± Croc whispered as we stood outside the sliding glass doors that let into the MediocreMart, ¡°but this is not quite as glamorous as you made it sound.¡±


    Through the glass it was easy to see the rows of ruler-straight aisles that stretched out of sight, all loaded down with a bizarre mishmash of off-brand products. The walls were painted a faded salmon color, and they seemed to pulsate with an uneasy internal glow. The glaring fluorescents overhead added to the eerie effect, bouncing off the white linoleum floors and casting a sickly pallor over the entire space. The cash registers near the front stood empty and there was no sign of whatever horrors called the store home, but this place gave me an uneasy feeling.


    I mean, everything about the Backrooms gave me an uneasy feeling, but this was different somehow, though I couldn¡¯t quite put my finger on it.


    ¡°I mean, you¡¯re the human,¡± Croc continued, googly eyes squinted as the dog studied the space, ¡°so far be it from me to tell you what to enjoy, but I find it extremely hard to believe this place could possibly rival a water park.¡±


    ¡°For the record,¡± I replied absently, ¡°I never said this was better than a water park¡ªit¡¯s more practical than a water park. Those are two very different things.¡± I faltered and grimaced. ¡°But there¡¯s also something wrong with it,¡± I added after a few seconds. I felt like my Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense should¡¯ve been screaming a warning at me, but it was oddly silent.


    ¡°That¡¯s probably the Blight,¡± Croc said solemnly. ¡°I told you, it¡¯s an infection. Comes from one of the floors far, far below.¡±


    I frowned, thinking. ¡°Maybe we should pick a different location,¡± I finally said after a minute. ¡°I¡¯m not afraid, but I¡¯m also not sure I want to spend my limited resources on a location that¡¯s infected with magical herpes. Seems like a bad investment.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about that,¡± Croc said dismissively. ¡°The Blight can spill over into individual locations, but the Dwellers are the disease carriers. If we wipe them out, the store will heal itself in no time at all. Plus, we¡¯ll get loads of extra benefits from the Researcher. It¡¯s a win-win if you ask me. Which you didn¡¯t. But I¡¯m very helpful, which is why you should¡¯ve asked me.¡±


    Despite Croc¡¯s reassurances, I hesitated. ¡°Is there any risk that you¡¯ll catch the Blight if we go in here?¡±


    ¡°Aww¡­¡± Croc looked at me with tears welling in its eyes. ¡°You really do care about me. No one has ever asked about my well-being before. Usually, it¡¯s ¡®Get away from me, you hideous freak, or I¡¯ll set you on fire¡¯ or ¡®Can I use you as a meat shield?¡¯ or ¡®Why don¡¯t you step on the pressure plate and see what happens?¡¯ But no one has ever asked if I would be okay.¡±


    ¡°Well, we¡¯re friends, aren¡¯t we?¡± I replied, shifting uncomfortably.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah we are,¡± Croc agreed heartily and happily.


    ¡°What about me? Is there any way I¡¯ll catch it?¡± I asked. ¡°Because earning some extra experience and loot is awesome, but it ain¡¯t worth it if I¡¯m gonna have to chop off my hand because it gets infected with Backrooms rabies.¡±


    ¡°I mean, the Blight is a disease,¡± the mimic dog said almost apologetically, ¡°so of course it¡¯s possible to contract it, but it¡¯s pretty unlikely. I¡¯ve seen loads of Delvers die¡ªmost of them in ways so horrific that it haunts the very recesses of my mind¡ªbut I¡¯ve never lost one to the Blight. Instead of thinking about the Blight like a plague, maybe think about it like cancer. There are floors that are overrun with these self-aware tumors. Even spending a few minutes in those places can be deadly. But this high up, where the cancer hasn¡¯t had a chance to metastasize, we¡¯d have to be exposed for days or even weeks before seeing any signs of Blight infection.¡±


    That made me feel better, but only a little. I was glad to hear that the Blight wasn¡¯t Super Gonorrhea, but Super Cancer wasn¡¯t much more comforting.


    I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves. ¡°Alright,¡± I finally said, enchanted hammer in one hand, my demolition screwdriver in the other. I had a Healing Elixir and a Mana Elixir ready to go and the Slammer of Shielding in my pocket in case things went south. I was never gonna be more ready than this. ¡°Stay close. Stay quiet. Let¡¯s see if we can get the jump on whatever¡¯s inside.¡±


    I padded forward and the doors slid open with a soft whoosh, followed by an automated chime that rang through the store, instantly alerting anything lurking within to our presence.


    So much for the stealthy approach¡­


    Immediately, I caught a rustle of fabric and a flash of movement down one of the aisles, but when I turned to get a proper look, the Dweller was already gone. As Croc crossed the threshold behind me, the glass doors slid shut again and my Sixth Sense screamed a warning at me.


    ¡°Get down!¡± I bellowed, throwing myself flat against the linoleum floor as something sliced through where I¡¯d been standing a moment before. Croc followed suit, moving just a split second behind me. I glanced up over one shoulder and saw a gleaming saw blade protruding from the wall behind the checkout counter. The disc, as big as a truck tire, still quivered and vibrated. I scrambled to my knees, searching for the source of the blade, but didn¡¯t see anything.


    I was sure it was a trap and not an attack, otherwise my Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense wouldn¡¯t have given me a heads-up at all. I¡¯d tested that out extensively during our grind through the mall, and it seemed that the preternatural sense¡ªas glorious as it was¡ªhad a few hard-and-fast limitations. Given the sheer variety of skills and abilities I¡¯d seen so far, I had no doubt that a skill similar to Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense, but designed specifically for battle, probably existed.


    The two skills might even have a certain degree of Synergy, though combining them would be impossible, given that my ability had already been Fully Tempered¡ªmeaning it could be advanced no further.


    Dismissing the thought, I pulled myself from the floor and looked toward Croc.


    ¡°You okay?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Never felt better,¡± the mimic replied cheerfully. I glanced at the floor, finding that hard to believe. The blade had sheared cleanly through its rubber tail. Golden ichor leaked from the stump and the tail quickly reverted to pale blue flesh.


    I cocked an eyebrow and pointed at the missing limb.


    ¡°No worries, it¡¯s just a flesh wound,¡± the dog said, shrugging rubbery shoulders. Without missing a beat, Croc turned around and huge fleshy tentacles exploded from its maw, quickly consuming the missing piece of meat. Before long, the tail sprouted from the bloody stump and no sign of injury remained. Gross, but I couldn¡¯t argue with the results.


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°Keep close,¡± I said, deciding not to comment on the disturbing display of self-cannibalism. ¡°If there was one trap, there¡¯s bound to be others.¡±


    Turning away from Croc, I scanned the area behind the checkout counters on the left, making sure there was nothing lying in wait. I didn¡¯t want something coming at me from behind if it could be helped. The space was clear, but for some reason that only ratcheted up the tension building inside my chest.


    Everything about the Backrooms was disturbing, but something about this place in particular got under my skin, sending jolts of fear and uncertainty creeping through my mind. I tried, unsuccessfully, to shake the feeling off as I headed deeper into the store. Instead of picking any individual aisle at random, I moved across the front of the store, staring down each aisle in turn, assessing the situation and searching for any obvious threats.


    As I got further and further away from the doors, the lights overhead began to flicker and strobe, as though angry about our intrusion, and a low, inhuman moan sounded over the internal PA system. Undercutting the moan was the rough growl of static and the labored, wet sound of heavy breathing. Then the PA cut off with a clatter, banishing the sound, though that was cold comfort.


    I finally made it to the photo development counter.


    It sat in the corner next to the rows of refrigerated coolers, which took up the wall furthest from the entry. The interior fridge lights sporadically flashed on and off, but it was the deep pool of inky darkness behind the photo counter that left my skin crawling. That darkness seemed to stretch on forever, and though I couldn¡¯t see anyone, my gut told me there was something in there, watching us. Or maybe it was the photos hanging above the counters that set my teeth on edge.


    A variety of framed pictures showcased happy, smiling families. Except someone had methodically gone through and gouged out the eyes of every single person in each one of the photos. Something clicked deep within the gloom and the sound of a movie reel kicked up as a rectangular cube of light bloomed within the dark. It was a movie screen, and I figured the click had been someone turning on one of those ol¡¯ timey home movie reels¡ªthe kind they might¡¯ve had back in the late ¡¯70s or early ¡¯80s.


    I watched, entranced, as the grainy movie played out and a family of four¡ªa husband and wife along with their two children¡ªenthusiastically ripped open a pile of presents gathered around the base of a brightly lit Christmas tree. There was no sound to the movie, other than the steady flick-flick-flick of the movie reel itself, but if I strained my ears, I could almost hear distant laughter and the sound of tearing wrapping paper.


    A gentle numbness crept through my body as I watched, swaying slightly on my feet, but I couldn¡¯t seem to muster the will to care. I felt sleepy. Happy. Warm. Like it was me sitting cross-legged by the tree, soaking up the heat emanating from the fireplace. In fact, I could feel that heat against my back¡ªso comforting and inviting.


    On the screen, the reel skipped, and for a second the images changed, but I couldn¡¯t quite make out what had happened.


    But it didn¡¯t matter.


    The movie quickly resumed and now the kids were ripping at the presents with an almost inhuman fervor. Bright red pieces of paper sprayed up into the air and the parents laughed wildly, but there was a manic look in their eyes and it seemed more and more like they weren¡¯t laughing but screaming. Still, I watched, unmoving. The heat from the fire and the icy numbness of detachment warred for superiority inside my body.


    I heard a clatter that might¡¯ve been broken glass, but the sounds seemed distant and unimportant. The blaring sound of the silent movie filled my head completely. The frantic, desperate, ravenous tearing thundered in my ears like a beating heart, but it didn¡¯t sound like paper ripping. The noise had morphed, and now it sounded wet and meaty somehow. The image flickered out of focus again, and pale white static momentarily took its place. Those ghostly flashes of black and white drew me in, deeper and deeper.


    Without a thought in my head, I found my feet shuffling forward, toward the photo counter.


    The movie reappeared as I slipped past the swinging gate and behind the service counter. Except now the movie was no longer a projected rectangle of light at all. I was inside the living room. I could see the tree. The fireplace. The people. It was so real, I felt like I could walk right up and join them. A sleepy smile spread across my face, until I turned my eyes back to the little boy, frantically shredding his presents. The red-wrapped package was gone and the little boy had changed in the space of seconds.


    He had deathly pale skin, faded black hair, and long spidery fingers that ripped through the guts of his screaming sister. The bits of wrapping paper fluttering up were actually thick droplets of blood and pieces of creamy skin. The ripping stopped abruptly, and the boy¡¯s eyes shot up, locking onto me as a thin grin stretched across his narrow face.


    Something clicked inside my head and a notification fluttered in the air above the boy.


    Dweller 0.375B ¨C Photophage (Blighted) [Level 7]


    Prepare to have your grit tested ¡¯cause these monstrosities have a taste for the stupid and weak-willed. FYI, if you¡¯re seeing this, that probably means you.


    The Photophage is a grotesque abomination spawned from the crushing loneliness of human memories. They take up residence in those treasured family photos and old home movies, turning your nostalgic mementos into a twisted nightmare game. One minute you¡¯re reminiscing, and the next you¡¯re paralyzed in terror as a long-legged horror descends on you like an avalanche of tearing teeth and shredding claws.


    Maybe this is a metaphor for why it¡¯s important to live in the present.


    Or maybe it¡¯s just literally a bloodthirsty monster that is going to rip your face off.


    Either way, you¡¯re fucked.


    With lightning-fast speed and freakish dexterity, the Photophage disembowels its paralyzed victims, reveling in sadistic glee as it crunches through bones and feasts on fleshy morsels. Although not particularly strong, Photophages have a host of illusionary tricks and psychic attacks capable of deceiving your senses and distorting the world around you. If you get snared in their hypnotic spell, pray for a quick death, but know that you probably won¡¯t get one. These things really like to draw it out¡­


    Revulsion and horror washed through me as the prompt disappeared. Thanks to Researcher¡¯s Codex, I now knew what I was up against and how to stop it. But it didn¡¯t really matter because, try as I might, I couldn¡¯t break through whatever hypnotic spell had been cast over me.


    The boy, who now had impossibly long arms and legs, left his dying sister and slowly advanced on me. I tried to cast Bleach Bolt, but the numbness invading my body kept my arm firmly at my side.


    Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit¡­


    I was going to die, I realized like a punch to the stomach¡ª


    Then something painful latched onto my calf like the jagged, iron teeth of a bear trap snapping closed. Pain, sharp and clear, flooded through me, and I blinked several times, as though waking up from a particularly terrible dream. I shook my head and glanced down. A tubular tentacle was attached to my leg, sawing through the thick denim of my pants.


    The tube protruded from Croc¡¯s canine mouth.


    When the mimic saw that I¡¯d finally come to my senses, the tentacle withdrew, revealing a circular maw that reminded me of a lamprey. Sound crashed over me next. Screams echoed in the air, accompanied by the crackle of flames as one section of shelving burned like a bonfire. My bathrobe was singed and one of the sleeves was charred, as though it had been on fire not long before. Was that the heat I¡¯d been feeling? Had some asshole set me on fire?


    ¡°Psychic attack!¡± Croc growled, spinning away from me to deal with some other, unseen threat.


    The store had gone completely dark, except for the light cast by the blaze. There were flashes of movement in the shadows beyond the furthest edge of the flames. Dwellers. Lots of ¡¯em from the look of things, though I couldn¡¯t get a clear look at what we were up against.


    But I didn¡¯t have time to deal with that.


    The pale-skinned boy with the ghoulishly long limbs from the movie was almost on top of me. His dark hair hung limply across a gaunt skull-like head, and his lower jaw had unhinged, revealing a fang-filled mouth large enough to devour my entire upper body.


    The kid let out an undulating screech and leapt at me, clawed fingers ready to tear out my throat.

 Twenty-Two – Let’s Reminiscence

    I briefly considered pulling the Slammer of Shielding out of my pocket and hurling it at the floor, but I knew the spell wouldn¡¯t activate before the thing was already inside the dome¡¯s radius. Instead, I thrust my hammer forward and triggered Bleach Bolt. Mana rushed from my core and exploded outward from the blunt hammerhead as though it were a magic wand instead of a contractor¡¯s work tool. The burning ball of blue magic hit the creature directly in the chest, splattering across its ribs and shoulders.


    The corrosive power immediately went to work, eating holes through the Photophage¡¯s thin skin. A stat plate appeared, showing the monster¡¯s Health and Mana: HP 28/34, MP 42/65. My Bleach Bolt attack was more powerful than ever, yet the Photophage¡¯s bright red Health bar had barely dipped. Clearly, this thing had some sort of Mana or magical resistance. Instead of unleashing another seething ball of corrosive magic, I aimed my hammer at the floor and activated Slippery When Wet, which cost me another five Mana.


    A thin, glimmering sheen of water abruptly stretched across the already slick linoleum floor, separating me from the Photophage.


    The creature¡¯s foot came down on the surface and its ghastly black eyes widened comically as it lost its balance and careened toward me, arms windmilling wildly as it tried to find purchase.


    As the gangly shithead careened toward me, I channeled a thread of raw Mana into my hammer and it swelled in size, burning with ethereal cobalt light. Before the monster could gain its balance, I swung the hammer in a wicked arc and triggered Force Multiplier at the last second.


    The hammerhead¡ªnow easily twice the size of my fist¡ªcollided with the incoming Photophage with a sickening, bone-crunching thud. My Stamina dropped by half, but it was worth it. The blow caved the skeletal kid¡¯s head in like an overripe melon and it dropped to the floor, though the sheer momentum of my swing sent the monster¡¯s body skidding backward across the water-slick floor. The nasty little SOB wouldn¡¯t be getting up ever again.


    Its Health bar had zeroed out, but I stared at it for a few seconds longer anyway. Just to be sure. Once I was certain it was dead, I cut off the slow but steady trickle of Mana to my hammer and turned toward the rest of the darkened store.


    For killing the Photophage, I earned 375 Experience and a new achievement, Hammer Time, which came with three Copper Delver Loot Tokens and a single Silver Weaponmaster Loot Token. I didn¡¯t bother to read over the achievement description¡ªI had better shit to do. Like trying to figure out how to not die.


    More fires raged. In the dancing orange light, I caught sight of Croc doing battle against a squat figure with gray skin, clad in a tattered white lab cloak.


    Dweller 0.395B ¨C Pharmacy Tech (Blighted) [Level 5]


    The creature had the molted head of a raven, though its beady black eyes were protected behind a set of clear plastic safety goggles. Strange growths¡ªlike gnarled, pulsing tumors¡ªprotruded from its arms and legs, and another jutted up from its back. It wore a glove on one hand with scalpel blades jutting out from the tips of each finger like a surgical version of Freddy Krueger. In the other hand, it carried what looked like a Molotov cocktail, except it was made from a glass Erlenmeyer flask.


    A short description popped up above the hunched creature, who had a clear penchant for pyromania.


    Overworked, underpaid, and sorely unappreciated, Pharmacy Techs are only one bad customer interaction away from burning the whole world down. On top of everything else, the excruciating, cancerous Blight growths riddling their bodies probably don¡¯t help curb their latent homicidal rage. Wielding scalpels, used syringes, and science-based firebombs, underestimate these insane fuckers at your own risk and just pray you don¡¯t run across their boss¡­


    If there were more of these things skulking around in the aisles, that would certainly explain the sudden outbreak of fires.


    The Tech slashed at Croc with its scalped fingers, slicing through thick folds of blue rubber. Golden ichor splashed across the white floor.


    ¡°Hey, buddy, that wasn¡¯t very nice at all,¡± Croc said, sounding only a little perturbed. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I¡¯m going to have to turn your insides into your outsides.¡±


    The mimic dog reared back onto two legs and swelled in size until it stood as large as a brown bear. Then, Croc¡¯s belly split open from throat to crotch, revealing an enormous, fanged mouth with several lashing tentacle tongues within. Those tentacles struck like angry vipers, latching onto the Tech, wrapping around its arms, legs, and throat. The Dweller struggled fruitlessly against the mimic, but it was only a level 5 and Croc far outclassed it. With a heave, the tentacles reeled the Tech into the gaping stomach mouth.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    Croc¡¯s torso jaws snapped closed with a meaty crunch and a spurt of rancid black blood. The streak of black gore across the floor was all that remained of the Tech.


    Croc dropped to all fours, shrinking back to the size of a lab, and rounded on me. There was a mixture of fear and despair in its googly eyes.


    ¡°Dan, I am so, so sorry you had to see me like that.¡± Croc¡¯s voice was reproachful, sorrowful even, as though the dog had somehow betrayed my deepest trust. ¡°I hope we can still be friends and that you don¡¯t think any less of me. I swear, I¡¯m a good boy, Dan. A very good boy. Remember, F is for Friend.¡±


    I was quiet for a beat, and the crackling snap and pop from the fire seemed deafening.


    ¡°Are you kidding me?¡± I replied, completely deadpan. Croc wilted even more as though I¡¯d just kicked him in the ribs. ¡°That was the coolest thing I¡¯ve ever seen in my whole fuckin¡¯ life!¡± I crowed. ¡°I mean, was it horrifying? Sure. But you¡¯re on my team. If anything, I respect and value you even more than I did before!¡±


    Croc looked up hopefully. ¡°You mean it? You¡¯re not mad at me? You¡¯re not going to abandon me like Jackson did? Or Angela before him?¡±


    ¡°Abandon you?¡± I scoffed. ¡°Are you high? Of course I¡¯m not going to abandon you. Honestly, I¡¯m kinda pissed you waited so long to do whatever in the hell that was.¡± I waved a hand toward the aisles. ¡°Go do it more. Just be careful, and if you get in a tight spot, call for help!¡±


    Croc brightened visibly.


    ¡°Yay!¡± Croc cheered. ¡°Let¡¯s go crush our enemies and consume their corpses in preparation for our own dark ascension.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, something like that.¡± I watched as Croc took to two legs once again, this time looking far less like a dog and more like a grizzly bear wearing a Venom suit. The mimic stormed down a seasonal aisle filled with squirt guns, swimming trunks, and pool supplies, each step shaking items from the shelves as the monster passed.


    I just shook my head and moved in another direction.


    I¡¯d half expected the Photophage to be the Store Manager, but killing the creature had been too easy, and it had only been at level 7. I was looking for something level 10 or above, and after reading over the brief Codex description for the Pharmacy Tech, I had a sneaking suspicion that I was looking for their direct supervisor. I ran down a few aisles until I spotted what I was looking for all the way in the back of the store, tucked away in a corner.


    The pharmacy.


    That¡¯s where we needed to go.


    I reached inward toward my Spatial Core and triggered one of my other new abilities¡ªMall Ninja¡¯s Strike. My Mana dropped, but I¡¯d already regained some of my power from my earlier scuffle with the Photophage thanks to my increased Mana Regeneration Rate. Darkness lay thick around me and there were shadows everywhere, so there really was no better place to try out this technique. Fingers of inky gloom reached for me, and power rushed out from my body.


    As tendrils of shade spooled around my body, the color faded from my clothes and my skin, until I was little more than a dark, hazy blur. I wasn¡¯t invisible, but rather I looked like a living, moving shadow in the shape of a man. A secondary aura hung around me like a cloak, helping to mask my presence from those with a low Perception score. Covered by the pervasive Mall Ninja¡¯s Veil, I stole along the snack-food aisle, moving silently as I scanned for more enemy Techs or any traps that might be waiting for any unsuspecting Delvers.


    It didn¡¯t take long before I found both.


    There were runic pressure plates scattered all over the place at random intervals, and though I wasn¡¯t sure what they did, I knew it couldn¡¯t be anything good. There were also a variety of invisible trip-wire sigils strung across each aisle at various heights¡ªsome at chest level, others low enough to catch an ankle. They weren¡¯t traditional trip wires, made from metal or string, but rather invisible cords of shadow magic that ran between two connected sigil sensors. When the signal was broken, the trap would activate.


    I pulled a teddy bear from a nearby shelf and tossed it across the beam.


    A silver light flashed, cleanly slicing the bear in half; white stuffing spilled out onto the floor as the two halves landed. That was answer enough. Thankfully, the traps were easy enough to avoid, since they glowed a dull red in my vision, passively alerting me to their presence. I sidestepped or ducked beneath them, though I was worried that Croc wouldn¡¯t have as much luck. The mimic dog was made of stern stuff, however, so I had confidence that he¡¯d make it through in one piece.


    And if not, I was positive that he¡¯d just be able to gobble up any pieces he lost and be good as new in no time.


    Getting past the disgruntled Pharmacy Techs wasn¡¯t quite so easy.


    I was guessing there were only about seven or eight of them in total, but they moved fast and tended to lob their deadly firebombs from a distance then scamper away. Croc was doing an admirable job of drawing their attention, but even with my shadowy veil in place and the distraction of a giant blue dog-bear thing with an enormous mouth splitting its torso, their Perception was unfortunately high. Too high to simply sneak past them. I tried that once and ended up with a trio of scalpel razors to the calf.


    Once I finished clearing this place out, I fully intended to find some better gear. Maybe a suit of medieval plate armor or¡ªbarring that¡ªpolice riot gear. I could wear my personal effects beneath.


    Honestly, at this point, I¡¯d settle for hockey pads¡­

 Twenty-Three – Clean Up, Aisle Five

    Between my hammer, the demolition screwdriver, and my newly enhanced Athleticism, I made short work of the lab-coated shithead.


    I didn¡¯t try to sneak around any of the other Techs, though. I¡¯d learned my lesson and had no plans to make that mistake again.


    Instead, I followed in the wake of Croc¡¯s murderous rampage, staying a few aisles over as the mimic drew the Techs out. Firebombs flew from the shadows as the disgruntled Dwellers tried to murder the dog-bear¡ªnot that they could. The mimic was a friggin¡¯ tank who could brush off damage like water rolling off a duck¡¯s back. But, their fixation on Croc did leave them susceptible to my stealth attacks. I kept my distance and clung to the shadows, then launched Bleach Bolts with sniper-like precision.


    The corrosive orbs melted through their fluttering lab coats and chewed through any exposed skin, killing the Techs in the span of thirty seconds or less. The triple damage bonus certainly helped get the job done in record time. For those few who survived the initial Bleach Bolt blast, I quickly followed up with either a Mana-enforced hammer blow to the head or a demolition screwdriver to the kidney. The screwdriver¡¯s bloodletting effect was devastatingly effective, and my hammer¡¯s Gavel ability turned those with low Health into red smears on the linoleum.


    Did I feel a little cowardly, stabbing them while they had their backs turned?


    No. Not even a little. Screw these assholes.


    I didn¡¯t have anything to prove to anyone, and this wasn¡¯t some kind of game, no matter that there were stats and floating, eight-bit prompt boxes. This was life and death. This was war, and I¡¯d use every tool at my disposal.


    It took me and Croc about fifteen minutes to dispatch the rest of the Techs and another fifteen minutes for me to make the rounds and mark the legion of traps with spray paint.


    We still weren¡¯t done yet, though.


    We hadn¡¯t run across any Dweller over level 10, nor had we received any sort of achievement notice for completing the job board posting¡ªand I was sure my douchebag Localized Administrator wouldn¡¯t pass up an opportunity like that.


    Besides, there was still one section of the store we hadn¡¯t even touched yet.


    The pharmacy itself.


    I suspected there would be more of the pyromaniac Techs hidden away behind the plexiglass-encased counter along with the Store Manager who called the shots around here.


    But I wasn¡¯t prepared to charge headlong into the final boss battle just yet. We were close to the finish line, and I saw no reason to rush things, since we had the time to catch our breath and recuperate.


    Croc and I took the brief reprieve to systematically clear the rest of the store, giving the pharmacy a wide berth. Whatever was hiding away back there seemed content to leave us be, so long as we stayed away from its lair. My Mana and Stamina were both low from the initial push and Croc had taken some nasty physical damage, including a few burns that turned its blue, rubbery body into a mass of charred flesh and writhing tentacles.


    It seemed there was a limit to the amount of damage the mimic could absorb before it started to affect the creature¡¯s shapeshifting ability.


    Croc had a much higher Health-regeneration factor than I did, but even taking that into consideration, there was no way the dog would be fully healed in time to take on the Store Manager. So, even though I was reluctant to part with it, I cracked the Lesser Healing Zima and forced the mimic to drink the restorative elixir. Croc protested, of course, but when I told it that friends didn¡¯t let friends suffer from catastrophic internal hemorrhaging, the dog¡¯s googly eyes teared up and it reluctantly drank.


    ¡°I would literally die for you,¡± Croc declared solemnly once it had emptied the Zima.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hope it doesn¡¯t come to that,¡± I grunted, though I was begrudgingly glad to have the dog around. It was nice not being alone.


    While my Mana slowly ticked back to full, I took a little extra time to loot the dead Dwellers for anything that might come in handy for the battle against MediocreMart¡¯s big bad.


    Like maybe some of those firebombs the Techs had been hurling at us.


    Erlenmeyer¡¯s Molotov Cocktail


    Uncommon Relic - Level 1


    Range: Line of Sight


    Duration: 5 minutes


    Cost: 8 Mana


    Marrying the principles of basic high school chemistry with the arcane powers of bored pharmacy techs, Erlenmeyer¡¯s Molotov Cocktail is a one-way ticket to Arsonville, population you! All targets take 15 points of Fire Damage on contact, plus 5 points of additional Burn Damage per minute while within the Area of Effect. Just remember, fire is an equal opportunity force of devastation. You¡¯re just as likely to accidentally burn down your detached two-car garage as you are to kill your enemies.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Not only was it an Uncommon Relic, but it was quick, dirty, and dealt out a metric butt-load of damage for the amount of Mana it consumed. Unfortunately, I wouldn¡¯t be able to control the effects with any kind of precision. It was¡­ well, the magical equivalent of a Molotov Cocktail. It¡¯d be great in an open area like the main floor of the mall, but inside the tight confines of the pharmacy? It was possible that I could end up accidentally killing myself if I wasn¡¯t extremely careful.


    I still planned on using it, because only a moron or a jackass passes up a potential weapon like that, even if it was incredibly reckless and more than a little suicidal.


    But it turned out, I didn¡¯t need to worry at all.


    The Molotov Cocktail had synergistic compatibility with my Bleach Bolt Relic. Under normal circumstances, I never would¡¯ve forged the two techniques into one. Bleach Bolt was my best spell by a landslide, and there was no telling what the end product would be. Except, I had Researcher¡¯s Codex, so I knew exactly what I¡¯d end up with. Bleach Blaze. It had all the same effects as the original Bleach Bolt Relic, but with new-and-improved, melt-your-face-off Fire Damage!


    Upgrading the Relic transformed it from an Uncommon ability into a Rare one and added 5 points of Fire Damage per minute while simultaneously draining Stamina by 10 points a minute for five minutes. There were a couple of drawbacks, though. The biggest of which was that the Relic level dropped from 4 to 2, which gutted the overall Corrosive Damage. Still, I was sure I¡¯d get that extra DoT¡ªDamage Over Time¡ªback once I leveled up the ability a little more. It also doubled the Mana cost from 5 to 10, which hurt more than I wanted to admit.


    We¡¯d picked up five more of the Erlenmeyer¡¯s Molotov Cocktail Relics¡ªas well as a mix of Common and Uncommon Shards¡ªand I briefly considered sacrificing the whole lot of ¡¯em to bump Bleach Blaze up to level 3, but ultimately decided against it. The added level boost might give me a few more extra points of damage output, but I had a feeling that the Uncommon Fireball Relics would fetch a premium from new Delvers once I got my storefront up and running.


    Besides, even without the extra levels, Bleach Blaze still dished out 58 total points of combined elemental damage, which was more than enough to take out most of the Dwellers we¡¯d tangled with so far¡ªthough I doubted it would be enough to kill the Store Manager in charge of the MediocreMart.


    But I had a few other plans brewing on that front.


    The nightmarish Photophage, who¡¯d nearly devoured me like a hungry anaconda, also had a Relic called Sleep Paralysis Demon, which resembled the hunched form of a palm-sized stone gargoyle. It was a hypnotic, psionic attack that did exactly what it sounded like¡ªparalyzed onlookers for a short period of time. I¡¯d experienced the full force of that Relic firsthand, so I knew how powerful it could be.


    I wasn¡¯t at all surprised to find that it had a synergistic resonance with my Psychedelic Light Show of Minor Distraction, though I was surprised to see that it also resonated with my Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding. The three items together pulsed and vibrated, but there was something subtly off-key about the frequency of that discordant hum.


    Upon closer examination, I started to figure out why.


    Researcher¡¯s Codex Compatibility Analysis


    Based on historic data sets and extensive Forging models, Sleep Paralysis Demon (Common ¨C Level 1) and Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding (Common ¨C Level 1) have an estimated 69% resonance compatibility, meaning the number of possible Relic Iterations is Low to Medium. The most probable outcome is the Colander of Mind Shielding (Common), or a closely adjacent derivative.


    Sleep Paralysis Demon (Common ¨C Level 1) and Psychedelic Light Show of Minor Distraction (Uncommon ¨C Level 1) have an estimated 83% resonance compatibility, meaning the number of possible Relic Iterations is Low. The most probable outcome is Bad Trip (Uncommon), or a closely adjacent derivative.


    Sleep Paralysis Demon (Common ¨C Level 1), Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding (Common ¨C Level 1), and Psychedelic Light Show of Minor Distraction (Uncommon ¨C Level 1) have an estimated 17% resonance compatibility, meaning the number of possible Relic Iterations is High. With such a low resonance compatibility, creating a predictive Forging model is not possible at this time and the end result will likely be unfavorable.


    Would you like to view additional report records for Colander of Mind Shielding or Bad Trip? Yes/No?


    As I read over the detail reports for both Relics, I immediately saw the problem with trying to combine all three. The Colander offered passive psionic resistance while Bad Trip was an offensive spell. The Sleep Paralysis Demon could, apparently, augment either of my other two Relics, but smashing them all together would create a bipolar Relic that didn¡¯t know what it was supposed to do. Which meant I¡¯d wind up with something worthless like so many of the Relics I¡¯d already stumbled across in the mall.


    After a little careful consideration, I decided that the offensive Relic would be more likely to help me to survive the next few hours, so that¡¯s what I went with.


    Bad Trip


    Uncommon Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Line of Sight


    Cost: 5 - 40 Mana


    Duration: 15 Seconds


    Bad Trip allows you to conjure between 1 and 8 illusionary blacklight wisps that will swirl through the air in a whirlwind of psychedelic brilliance. But not all trips down the rabbit hole are good ones¡­ Any creature with a Perception lower than yours will see their worst fears manifested inside the blacklight wisps. Those afflicted have a 10% chance of suffering from Paralyzing Fear, immobilizing them on the spot for twenty seconds. The chance of triggering Paralyzing Fear increases by 10% for each additional blacklight wisp you summon.


    With my two new Relics equipped to my Spatial Core, the traps all spray-painted and marked on my map, and my Mana and Stamina topped off, it was time to venture into the pharmacy and put this mission to rest.


    ¡°You ready?¡± I asked Croc stoically, checking my tool belt, then examining the handful of other items I¡¯d created in preparation for this fight.


    ¡°You¡¯ll tell me all about water parks once this is done?¡± the dog asked hopefully.


    ¡°Everything you could possibly want to know,¡± I agreed, ¡°and probably a few things you didn¡¯t. Like how people routinely pee in the pool.¡±


    Croc didn¡¯t seem deterred in the least. ¡°I¡¯ve never been more ready in my life.¡±


    Metal roll-away screens had been pulled down, and a dark gray Employees Only door separated the pharmacy from the rest of the store.


    The last time I¡¯d gone through a door like that, I¡¯d ended up in a fight for my life against the Janitorial Stairwell Guardian, and I had a feeling this was going to be no different. Taking one more deep breath, I kicked open the door with a booted foot and rushed in with Croc close on my heels.

 Twenty-Four – The Harmacist

    I knew we were in trouble the second we rushed through the door.


    Half a dozen of the crow-faced Pharmacy Techs loitered about the room, waiting in ambush. Towering above them was a rail-thin figure wearing a long black cassock beneath a tattered lab coat with a bandolier studded with colorful glass orbs, which ran from shoulder to hip. Cold black eyes regarded me and Croc through steampunk-like goggles inset into a black leather plague doctor mask with a cruel raven¡¯s beak. The Dweller carried an oversized silver revolver, which was already raised and ready to unleash certain death.


    Dweller 0.3911A ¨C Harmacist ¨C Store Manager (Blighted) [Level 11]


    Eight years, a hundred thousand dollars¡¯ worth of student loans, and for what? For working in the back of a glorified gas station, ten hours a day, five days a week, slinging pills to a bunch of ungrateful shitheads who treat them like part-time McDonald¡¯s burger flippers? Here they are, attempting to do a little good for the world by distributing life-saving medicines to antivaxxers who believe they¡¯re secretly agents of the deep state.


    Such is the life of a Harmacist.


    A few years in retail made these guys homicidally crazy long before the Blight ever touched ¡¯em. Jaded by the worst that humanity has to offer, Harmacists are as dead on the inside as you¡¯re about to be on the outside. Armed with disease bombs and dirty syringes, they sow contagion like the European rats of 1347. These mean sons of bitches know the human body like the back of their gloved hand¡ªthey are doctors after all¡ªso choose wisely before facing off against these avatars of disease and disillusionment¡­


    I was moving long before I¡¯d even finished reading through the Dweller¡¯s description.


    Even though I¡¯d only been stranded here for less than two days, I¡¯d already learned that an ambush was only ever one breath away. I¡¯d come prepared for the possibility. The Slammer of Shielding hit the floor with a metallic clatter as I screamed the activation incantation, ¡°Let¡¯s Pog!¡± The golden birdcage blazed into existence and the two-minute countdown timer blinked to life in the corner of my eye. Less than a heartbeat later, the raven-beaked plague doctor opened up with a spray of rounds from the oversized revolver.


    Syringes filled with some sort of black sludge erupted from the end of the barrel, slammed into the invisible forcefield, then fell harmlessly to the ground. The arcane barrier would prevent the Harmacist and its minions from harming us in any way, but it only provided that protection for two minutes and, unfortunately, the protective qualities of the dome worked both ways. Although arcane power couldn¡¯t hit me while I was inside, I couldn¡¯t launch a magical sneak attack against someone outside the safety dome, either.


    But there were certain exceptions to that rule, as I¡¯d learned.


    Hostile Dwellers couldn¡¯t physically cross the barrier threshold, but I could leave the boundary without deactivating the spell. There might be a way to exploit that to my benefit. Although metaphysical energy was incapable of penetrating the dome from either direction, maybe I could physically hurl things through the defensive barrier without breaking whatever strange laws governed the Slammer of Shielding.


    I pulled out a black drywall screw from the pouch at my side and flicked it at the plague doctor with contempt. The screw sailed through the golden dome of energy, unmolested, and smacked against the Harmacist¡¯s stupid steampunk goggles. It didn¡¯t do any damage, but it accomplished its dual purposes all the same. One, it showed me that I could, in fact, throw material, non-magical items through the barrier even while in active combat, and two¡­


    It pissed the plague doctor off.


    ¡°Hey dipshit,¡± I called while pulling another pair of items from my storage space.


    It was a bottle of cheap vodka with a rag sticking out of the top. I couldn¡¯t use the Erlenmeyer Molotov Cocktail Relic while contained within the dome, but this wasn¡¯t that. Hell, this wasn¡¯t even an Artifact. This was just a bottle of booze I¡¯d picked up from the liquor aisle. It had no magic. No special abilities. But good ol¡¯ fashion fire is its own special kind of magic, and there was nothing to stop me from fashioning an actual Molotov cocktail.


    Or several.


    ¡°This didn¡¯t have a price tag on it,¡± I said, lighting the rag with a silver Zippo I¡¯d taken from the front register. ¡°I guess that means it¡¯s free,¡± I finished, hurling the bottle. It arced through the air and crashed near the back of the room, dosing one of the Techs in a coat of flames. I pulled a second bottle from thin air and lit that one too. ¡°Maybe you can price check this one instead.¡± I tossed it on the other side of the room and watched in satisfaction as the flames raced across the shelving units.


    Red Health plates popped up all over the pharmacy as the Techs started to slowly burn to death. The whole while, I kept one eye on the timer, sprinting toward zero.


    1:12 remaining¡­


    There was some small part of me that was worried about doing so much damage to the store, since I planned to claim it as my own. But this was part of the Backrooms, so chances were high that it would heal just the same as the Lobby had, given enough time.


    I pulled out a third bottle, just for good measure, and fast-balled it right at the Harmacist¡¯s clunky black boots. Tongues of orange and red erupted upward in a whoosh, washing over the lanky Dweller. The Harmacist just stood there, wreathed in flames, and watched me with hate burning in the dark eyes behind its goofy goggles. Its status plate appeared¡ªHP 87/90, MP 120/125¡ªbut it hardly flickered at all.


    ¡°Your store sucks a bag of dicks, and the lines are too long,¡± I hollered, flipping the Harmacist the bird before slowly retreating through the door.


    I wanted to pull the door shut and jam it, but the door swung inward, so that wouldn¡¯t be possible. I did the next best thing. Dropping to a knee, I wedged my speed square beneath the frame of the door so it wouldn¡¯t close. The steady inrush of oxygen would feed the flames, and with the golden dome still blazing, the Harmacist and its small platoon of Techs wouldn¡¯t be able to get out until the Slammer of Shielding ran out of juice.


    My hope was that the rampaging fire would burn them all to death without me ever having to lift another finger. No muss, no fuss.


    I felt confident that at least a few of the Techs would die, but held very little hope that the blaze would kill the Harmacist. I had a strong hunch that it would take more than a few well-placed firebombs to end that thing.


    ¡°Get into position,¡± I barked at Croc.


    The mimic dog nodded, then quickly disappeared down one of the adjacent hallways, preparing to launch an ambush of its own.


    Meanwhile, I picked up a crudely cut sheet of plexiglass and attached it to my left forearm with some rope, which I¡¯d looped through several small holes drilled through the front of the makeshift shield. Thinking about police riot gear had given me the idea¡ªeven if I couldn¡¯t find any armor yet, there was no reason I couldn¡¯t make some. I¡¯d scavenged the plexiglass from the photobooth, and though cutting it had been a pain in the ass, between my Stanley utility knife and my newfound strength, I¡¯d managed to get ¡¯er done.


    I positioned myself in aisle 25¡ªCough, Cold, and Allergy¡ªjust out of sight of the entryway into the pharmacy proper. Whatever crawled out of there wouldn¡¯t be able to see me, but I¡¯d be able to see them just fine.


    Shield on my left arm, hammer in my right hand, I waited in tense anticipation as the timer finally hit zero and the golden glow from the shield guttered and vanished. A billow of smoke wafted out from the door followed only a second later by a high-pitched wail as several hunched, rat-faced Techs streamed out en masse. Severe burns had turned huge patches of skin blister red, and most of their lab coats were little more than smoldering ruins.


    Considering these same assholes had set Croc on fire, I didn¡¯t have a sliver of mercy to lend them.


    I thrust my hammer forward and triggered Slippery When Wet, conjuring a thin sheen of water across the floor directly outside of the door. Scrambling rat claws hit the water and four Techs went tumbling and sliding across the slick linoleum. One, totally out of control, careened onto a tiled square that looked subtly different from the others surrounding it. In my eyes it glowed with a faint red light, indicating that it was a runic pressure plate.


    Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense didn¡¯t just allow me to identify traps. It also granted me the bone-deep knowledge of how to arm, disarm, and even move those traps. Most of the deadly surprises scattered through the MediocreMart required specialized tools to manipulate or alter¡ªtools I didn¡¯t have, sadly¡ªbut not the one I¡¯d relocated from the Greeting Card section in aisle 4. That was a simple pressure plate construct, which could be picked up and moved without much trouble, although it still required a deft touch.


    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    The already charbroiled Tech skittered across the top of the plate and triggered the arming mechanism. A whirling saw blade of pure Mana erupted from the floor, splitting the creature in two and killing it instantly.


    The trap was a one-off, and I¡¯d been hoping to use it against the Harmacist, but this was still better than nothing. Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense was an incredible skill, but getting a Relic that would allow me to construct my own traps was at the top of my wish list.


    I couldn¡¯t wait for a chance to start building some of these things for myself.


    As for the rest of the half-dead Techs, I triggered my new and improved Bleach Blaze. Instead of a blob of pure blue goop, this one had streaks of red swirling through the mass as well as a miasma of orange heat hanging around the outer edges. I quick cast three bolts, splattering each of the visible Techs with corrosive death magic. My good ol¡¯-fashion, redneck-engineered Molotov cocktail had nearly killed the Techs long before they¡¯d ever made it out of the pharmacy, and Bleach Blaze finished the job without a problem.


    Experience flooded in, 175 points for each kill. Combined with what I¡¯d gained from killing the Photophage and the early batch of Lab Techs, it was enough to push me up to level 10¡ªthough, fat lot of good that would do me right now. Leveling up didn¡¯t even restore my Health or Mana. And speaking of my Mana, between the Slippery When Wet spell and the series of rapid-fire Bleach Blazes, my blue Mana gauge had damn near bottomed out.


    I fished out the can of Jolt Cola, cracked the top with a satisfying hiss, and pounded the beverage, which was so sweet it made my teeth ache. But it was worth it. As the cola trickled down my throat, renewed energy surged through me like a bolt of caffeinated lightning. I crushed the empty can and tossed it on the ground before retreating even further into the aisle. After a few seconds of waiting, another three Techs¡ªall badly burned and mangled from the fire¡ªrushed out of the pharmacy, followed by the lanky Harmacist.


    The plague doctor had taken some significant burn damage as well, but its Health still lingered just above half, and it looked as though it was slowly ticking upward. This emo chucklefuck had passive Health regeneration, and from the look of things, its Health Regen was a helluva lot better than what either Croc or I had. That meant I couldn¡¯t afford to take the pressure off, or we¡¯d be right back to square one.


    The Harmacist swiveled its head between its minions and barked out guttural commands in a language I didn¡¯t recognize. The words sounded like the way doctors wrote¡ªall jumbled and wrong. The three remaining Techs chittered their acknowledgment, then spread out and began to sweep the aisles. I wasn¡¯t worried about them. Croc and I had anticipated that they¡¯d likely split up to search for us, and Croc was ready to take them out.


    That left the towering plague doctor to me.


    Drawing in a deep breath, I raised my shield and rushed out into the open, boots slapping against the floor.


    The Dweller moved with snake-like speed. It leveled its silver pistol and blasted out several rounds. I flinched, muttering a prayer to the Good Lord Almighty that my shield would hold. If those things were real bullets, they would¡¯ve shredded the plexiglass and riddled my body with bloody bullet holes. But they weren¡¯t. The syringes clanged against the makeshift shield and sent a network of spidery cracks racing across the surface.


    But that was all. The shield held.


    The Harmacist let out a surprisingly birdlike trill of apparent frustration, then pulled a glass orb filled with sloshing red liquid from the bandolier slung across its chest.


    A jolt of panic raced through me, and I knew I needed to put a stop to that quick, fast, and in a hurry. With clear line of sight, I raised my hammer and unleashed Bleach Blaze. The blob of blue and orange hit the creature square in the chest, and the shock of the impact caused the Harmacist to fumble the potion in its gloved hand. The glass orb landed with a crash and red gas billowed out in a cloud, swirling around the plague doctor and obscuring it from view.


    A sense of smug satisfaction washed over me.


    Suck on that, dick wipe.


    My satisfaction was short lived.


    A pulse of cleansing white light rippled outward from the Harmacist until it looked like the Dweller was standing in an angelic halo. As the light touched the tongues of red smoke, they dissipated and vanished. So did the blue splatter of corrosive bleach decorating the Harmacist¡¯s black cassock. As far as I could see, Bleach Blaze hadn¡¯t done any damage at all, and it looked like the Harmacist had some sort of ability to neutralize enemy spells, which was bad news for me, since Bleach Blaze was the only offensive spell I had in my arsenal.


    I highly doubted that Bad Trip would have any effect at all against something this high level and intelligent¡ªthe plague doctor was a doctor after all¡ªand the rest of my skills required me to be in punch-you-in-the-teeth range.


    Improvise, adapt, and overcome, I thought grimly.


    I glanced back over one shoulder and spotted another section of floor I¡¯d marked with a dab of spray paint. Another trap, called an Internal Combustion Engine. Anyone who stepped on it would turn into a living bomb that would explode from the inside out, leveling anything inside a thirty-foot radius. If I could goad the Harmacist to trigger the mechanism, then maybe I could kill it just like I¡¯d killed the Mall Rat King¡ªget the Backrooms to do the bulk of the dirty work for me.


    Without thinking, I dropped my hammer into its loop, then grabbed a bottle of bright pink GastroShield from the shelf to my right and pitched it at the encroaching Harmacist. Thick bubblegum-colored sludge splattered across the creature¡¯s cassock. It did about as much damage as throwing a sponge at a mountain, but that wasn¡¯t the point. It was insulting. Annoying. I started backpedaling deeper into the aisle, grabbing other things off the digestive care shelf, which I then proceeded to chuck at the Dweller.


    I could see the anger building to a crescendo.


    The creature raised its pistol again and fired more rounds, but they bounced off my plexiglass riot shield.


    It wouldn¡¯t hold up against too many more of those, but the Harmacist didn¡¯t know that.


    ¡°Sorry, jackass,¡± I taunted. ¡°You¡¯re gonna have to do better than that. You want to kill me, I¡¯m thinkin¡¯ you¡¯re gonna have to get your hands dirty. You can start by cleaning up all this shit.¡± I reached my arm out and swiped boxes of antacids and bottles of liquid laxatives onto the floor. Pills, powders, and goop of every kind splattered as lids popped off and bottles broke. ¡°Whoops, my bad. You want me to get a mop bucket? I won¡¯t help you clean that up, but I¡¯ll watch you do the work.¡±


    That was the last straw.


    I¡¯d briefly worked retail after getting out of the Corps¡ªI¡¯d quit after six weeks. Spending time in an active war zone was significantly less demeaning. The plague doctor pulled out a single-edged sword that resembled an oversized scalpel and darted toward me with a squawk of rage.


    I was only a few feet away from the Internal Combustion Engine trap. The Harmacist was barreling straight toward it, and I didn¡¯t want to be within spitting range when that thing went off. I needed to make my getaway and I needed to do it now. I grabbed a bottle of Metamucil fiber powder off the shelf beside me and spiked it straight down onto the floor, just a few feet from the nearly invisible runic symbol.


    Pale orange powder erupted outward, coating the floor and enveloping me in a dust cloud. Using the momentary distraction, I triggered Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike, slipped effortlessly into a pool of nearby shadow, and darted outside the effective kill range of the trap.


    The Harmacist blundered into the powdery but fibrous cloud, wildly swiping at the air with its gleaming razor blade. Its steps faltered as the dust settled and I was nowhere to be seen. It twirled around, lab coat fluttering out as its black boots missed the trap by a matter of inches.


    The Dweller was so close. But not close enough.


    I was still cloaked in shadow, but I didn¡¯t have many cards left to play. If I was going to kill this cheesedick and claim the MediocreMart for myself, I needed to do something. I could always launch a Bleach Blaze and hope the Harmacist would stumble back into the trap. Problem was, the spell had done next to nothing before, and once I broke the concealment of the Mall Ninja¡¯s Veil, I wouldn¡¯t get another chance. It would be far more effective if I could get close and physically shove the Dweller into the trap.


    The Harmacist was tall and gangly, and it looked like a strong breeze would bowl it over. Getting up close was the best option, but then I would be well within the blast radius of the trap.


    Unless¡­


    A devilish idea suddenly occurred to me.


    Moving quickly, I opened up my Storage Space and hauled out a wicked looking machete. It was the Artifact that would teleport me to a completely random location within line of sight as soon as I landed a blow against an enemy. I¡¯d thought the item was as useless as tits on a bull, but I was big enough to admit when I¡¯d been wrong.


    It was mostly useless. Except in very specific circumstances.


    Like, say, forcing an enemy to stagger into a magical land mine, then teleporting away before the act of heroism turned into a kamikaze mission.


    Holding my breath, I crept closer as the cloud of fiber began to settle. The Harmacist continued to turn in slow circles, searching fruitlessly for me. I pulled another screw from the pouch at my belt and tossed it in an overhand arc. The screw landed behind the plague doctor with the soft clink of metal. The noise was just loud enough to momentarily draw the Harmacist¡¯s attention; it turned its back on me, searching for the source of the noise.


    In the same instant, I leapt from the shadows and slammed the machete blade into the plague doctor as the weight of my body pushed the Dweller directly into the runic trap.


    Time stretched and everything seemed to happen in slow motion as our bodies collided and the machete blade sank deep, slicing through a chunk of the red bar floating above the Harmacist¡¯s head.


    Then, there was a flash of light followed in quick succession by the roar of a Harrier jet engine and a terrible burst of heat that singed the eyebrows from my face and left my skin feeling tight and tender.


    For a long beat, I thought I was dead, floating blissfully on a sea of white, totally at peace and without a single care in the entire world. Then pain flooded back in as if a dam had broken and I found myself sprawled on the floor, staring up at the white tiles of the ceiling overhead.


    I was approximately fifteen feet away from the obliterated corpse of the very dead Harmacist.


    Apparently, I hadn¡¯t teleported quite far enough away to escape the blast completely unscathed. My Health had dropped to a thumbnail of red, and everything in my body hurt. I smiled anyway, even though that hurt too. I was alive and I¡¯d just cleared my first Job Board mission. Several new research achievements hung in the air above me, just waiting for me to give them a little attention. I ignored them all, focusing instead on the blue rubbery face that popped into view.


    There was deep concern in Croc¡¯s googly eyes.


    ¡°Oh drat,¡± the dog muttered. It sighed. ¡°I really liked this one.¡±


    I laughed, blood frothing on my lips as I did.


    ¡°I ain¡¯t dead yet,¡± I groaned. ¡°Now how¡¯s about you be a pal and see if you can¡¯t find me a healing elixir back in the pharmacy?¡±

 Twenty-Five – Corvo’s Blanket Fort

    Croc found a small treasure trove of Lesser and Greater Zima Healing Elixirs stashed away inside one of the fridges in the pharmacy. We were just lucky they hadn¡¯t been destroyed in the raging inferno of burning vodka like so many of the other drugs and pharmaceuticals. I knew the store itself would naturally heal over time, but I was less sure that the supplies would regenerate¡ªespecially once I cut this section off from the rest of the Backrooms and turned it into my own interdimensional safe haven.


    I regretted the need to burn everything down, but we hadn¡¯t really had many other options. Croc and I had barely escaped by the skin of our teeth. If we¡¯d done anything differently, chances were good that I¡¯d be dead right now¡ªjust another hopeless casualty like so many of the Delvers that had gone before me. Besides, even with the destruction, there were still lots of prizes to be had. The Healing Elixirs were a huge win, but there was also a cooler filled with Mana Elixirs and another stocked with Stamina Regen Potions, which were called Electro-Quench¡ª¡°Fuck Your Thirst!¡±


    The potion was bright green and looked like Gatorade.


    Most of the other drugs were gone, but the lab equipment itself was in decent shape, which gave me a small sliver of hope that I might be able to start creating my own elixirs at some point.


    Two of the Lab Tech bodies were so badly burned and mangled that we weren¡¯t able to recover anything off their charred remains, but we did manage to pick up another four Erlenmeyer Molotov Cocktail Relics, plus five Common Shards and two more Uncommon Shards. That brought me up to thirty-two Common Shards and thirteen Uncommon Shards¡ªenough to start forging the pieces into usable Relics.


    The Shards and extra Relics would serve as stock for my store or as fuel to level up my own abilities, but I still wasn¡¯t sure which. It really depended on what my future customers wanted.


    For now, I chucked everything unceremoniously into Storage and systematically worked through the debris and wreckage, looking for anything else worth salvaging.


    The Internal Combustion Engine Trap had damn near obliterated the Harmacist and had taken a good chunk of aisle 9 along with it. The plague doctor lay in smoking pieces, scattered across the floor, while bits of inky skin and strings of intestine hung from nearby shelving units. Croc and I would have to clean that mess up before our grand opening.


    I was gutted to find that the Harmacist¡¯s silver syringe pistol had been transformed into an unusable twisted hunk of scrap metal and that the plague doctor¡¯s oversized scalpel-sword had suffered a similar fate. The sword I could live without, but I¡¯d been salivating over the prospect of running around like John Wayne, quick-drawing the silver syringe pistol and blasting the shit out of anything that looked sideways at me.


    Some things were just not meant to be, it seemed.


    It wasn¡¯t all bad news, though.


    The Harmacist¡¯s body may have been mangled beyond belief, but there was enough of its torso left for me to recover two Relics.


    The first looked like a set of small bronze scales, which might be used to measure the components of an elixir. It was a Common Relic appropriately named The Pharmacist¡¯s Scales, which allowed me to exchange Mana for Health or Health for Mana in equal measure. Although it didn¡¯t have any direct combat application, it had to be one of the most useful utility skills in my arsenal, just beneath the Compass of the Catacomber and Bleach Blaze.


    I¡¯d suffered some pretty horrendous injuries since Noclipping into the Backrooms, and in my estimation, praying to stumble across a lukewarm bottle of Zima was a terrible long-term survival strategy. As we used to say in the Marine Corps, hope is a shitty plan.


    Healing myself completely would burn through the majority of my Mana, but at least it was a reasonably reliable way of not dying. I struggled to think of a situation where I might want to use my life force to supplement my Mana¡ªespecially considering how slowly Health Regenerated by comparison¡ªbut I¡¯d also thought the randomly teleporting machete had been stupid too, and that had just saved my ass.


    I added the Scales to my Spatial Core, which brought me up to nine Relics in total.


    The tenth and final slot in my Spatial Core was shortly filled by the Harmacist¡¯s second Relic, which turned out to be a Rare ability called Sterilization Field. The item itself had to be the strangest one I¡¯d received so far. It was a white cube about the size of a toaster oven with a clear glass circle set into a small locking door. Inside the machine were a series of bulbs that emitted a blindingly bright blue light. There were several buttons on the outside, along with a label that declared the box to be a medical-grade UV Chamber.


    Variant Research Division: Sterilization Field


    Rare Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Self


    Cost: 50 Mana


    Duration: 20 Seconds


    Every Alchemist knows that working with volatile chemicals and arcane elixirs is dangerous enough without errant strands of magic floating around. Unleash the power of Variant UV-C Bulbs and conjure a bubble of ethereal blue-white light, designed to keep bad magic out and your organs in.


    This shimmering field not only travels with you, but also reduces all incoming magic and elemental attack damage by 50%. Even better, any enemy spellcaster trapped within the Sterilization Field who has a lower Resonance Score than you will be unable to activate Mana-Based Relics until leaving the bubble¡¯s Area of Effect. This Relic enables Mana usage.


    ¡°It¡¯s more than protection ¨C it¡¯s DOMINATION!¡±


    I¡¯d seen the Harmacist use this skill firsthand to dampen the effects of the red gas cloud and my Bleach Blaze spell. At 50 Mana, Sterilization Field cost a metaphysical arm and a leg to use and would wipe out every ounce of Mana I had at my disposal, but the possible applications were staggering and endless. Sure, it wouldn¡¯t protect me at all from taking physical damage, but even without forging the Relic further, this was a cornerstone technique that I could structure the rest of my build around.


    It would be useless against Dwellers like the Roid Gremlins or mimics who mostly relied on physical strength and beating the shit out of their opponents, but it could defang anything that used magic. Things like the Photophage or the crow-faced Lab Techs. Or maybe even the Flayed Monarch.


    Though, admittedly, I¡¯d seen the skinless horror show wield that curved khopesh like it had been born with the blade in its hands. The ruler of the 999th floor could probably gut me like a trout without ever using an ounce of magic.


    Still, this felt like a small step in the right direction.


    Killing the Harmacist earned me 750 experience points, not to mention the added 1,250 Experience for clearing the Job Board Mission, and all the Loot Tokens that came with it as a bonus¡ªfive Copper Delver Loot Tokens, two Silver Delver Loot Tokens, and one Gold Mercenary Loot Token. The massive influx of Experience rocketed me all the way up to level 12. Next time I visited a Progenitor Monolith, I¡¯d have fifteen more Personal Enhancement Points to distribute, though most of those were going straight into Resonance.


    I also had a string of new unlocked achievements waiting for me, which I casually read over while ripping through a bag of beef jerky and chugging a can of Peak Dew¡ª¡°Different Elevation, Same Dewy Goodness.¡± The beef jerky was dry and, like the Jolt Cola, the Peak Dew soda hurt my teeth. Not that I cared. After eating nothing but candy bars and Froyo, this was a feast delivered from on high¡ªlike God raining down manna from the heavens.


    Except this manna from the heavens left me with burps potent enough to strip paint.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Merc for Hire


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    How does it feel to recklessly put your life on the line while mercilessly slaughtering others for cold hard cash? Or was it experience points? Fame? Doesn¡¯t matter. The principles are the same. You¡¯ve officially sold your soul and proven you have the careless disregard for your own life necessary to take on some of the dodgiest gigs the Researcher can dream up. Now get your ass back out there¡ªthe grind awaits!


    Reward: You already got paid for this and we both know it. Don¡¯t try to double-dip, dickwad.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Combination Mechanic


    Most people say that randomly smashing a bunch of Relics together is a fool¡¯s game. At best you¡¯ll probably ruin a perfectly good skill, at worst you¡¯ll murder yourself and everyone else inside a fifty-foot radius. But that hasn¡¯t deterred you¡ªwhich might not be the high praise you think it is. Still, you¡¯ve created not one, not two, but three unique Relics, forging shitty bullshit into slightly less shitty bullshit. My hat¡¯s off to you.


    Reward: 1 x Silver Forger Loot Token


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Bargain Basement Hero


    Holy cheaply made armor, Discount Dan! You¡¯re like Batman. If Batman was a hobo. Living under a bridge. With terrible credit and a crippling mental condition. What the fuck is wrong with you?! You just cleared a two-star bounty clad in gear so low level, you couldn¡¯t give it away at a yard sale. For all the protection your current equipment offers, you might as well have ventured in bare-assed. But hey, who needs fancy OSHA approved dungeon-delving equipment when you¡¯ve got guts, guile, and a pair of cajones the size of bowling balls.


    Reward: 1 x Gold Armorer Loot Token. Get yourself something nice¡­ Hopefully something that resembles dignity.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Overkill Overlord


    Blam! Bam! Kaboom! That¡¯s the sound of you using a tactical nuke to swat a goddamned fly. Do you feel good about yourself now? By defeating an enemy with an attack that dealt 10 times more damage than necessary to kill it, you¡¯ve officially landed yourself the Overkill Overlord Research Achievement, proving that ¡°excessive¡± is just another word for ¡°extra fun.¡±


    Reward: 5 x Copper Delver Loot Token, 1 x Gold Slayer Loot Token


    Title: Overkill Overlord ¨C Gain a 2x Experience Bonus when dealing more than 10 times the amount of damage necessary to kill any opponent.


    I wasn¡¯t eager to go back to the Loot Arcade anytime soon¡ªthe Mobile Murder Muncher was still the worst of the horrors I¡¯d seen so far¡ªbut I was starting to rack up a significant hoard of tokens once again, including several silvers and golds. The prizes I would no doubt gain would be worth the danger, but that could wait for a little longer. First, I wanted to set up a cordon and get my personal Blanket Fort up and running.


    I killed the rest of the beef jerky, chased it down with the remainder of the too-sweet Peak Dew cola, and pushed off the counter with a groan.


    ¡°What¡¯s the plan now?¡± Croc asked, easing his way out of a nearby aisle with strings of gristle and bloody meat dangling from his blue, rubbery snout.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a little something right here,¡± I said, gesturing vaguely at my entire face.


    Croc¡¯s jaws stretched and a huge tongue emerged, pulling the excess strips of meat into his mouth. ¡°Is that better?¡±


    ¡°Yep, you got it all,¡± I said, feeling queasy.


    Intellectually knowing Croc was a carnivorous monster was somehow very different than watching him slurp down chunks of raw monster meat, but I kept my mouth shut. The mimic was terrifying and vaguely disgusting, but it had also proven itself to be an ally a hundred times over. So long as Croc was eating my enemies and not me, I didn¡¯t really care.


    ¡°Did you find the medicine you needed?¡± the dog asked.


    I dropped my gaze and couldn¡¯t look at the mimic in the face.


    ¡°Yeah, about that¡­¡± I said slowly, rubbing at the back of my neck. ¡°I¡¯ve been putting this off for a while, but I¡¯m not sure it can wait any longer¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh god,¡± Croc blurted, ¡°you¡¯re dying. Wait, no, it is hemorrhoids. Or you have cancer. But it¡¯s contagious cancer and now I have it too.¡±


    I barked a laugh that I didn¡¯t really feel. ¡°No, it¡¯s none of those things. It¡¯s¡­¡± I trailed off, not sure how to explain. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s better if I just show you.¡±


    I fell silent and let things go hazy as I pulled up my mini map until it filled most of my field of vision. I could see all the details of the MediocreMart¡ªfrom the registers by the front door, all the way to the still-smoldering pharmacy in the back. Marked on the map were the corpses of the dead Dwellers, their bodies rotting away, and the whole area glowed a faint shade of blue, which indicated it had been cleared of both enemies and Blight.


    Although this was my first time using the Blanket Fort ability, the knowledge for how to use it was already nestled deep in the base of my brain, like a memory half forgotten. I raised a finger and began to trace it across the map, outlining the edges of the newly liberated MediocreMart. In the peripheries of my vision, a blue light bled from the air, following the course of my finger like an ethereal serpent.


    As I traced, a numeric counter appeared in a corner of the map, tracking how much square footage I had to play with. The skill granted me twenty-five hundred square feet per character level, which was more than enough to cover the entirety of the store. Which was great news, since there were several other locations I wanted to add in order to really maximize the skill.


    I finished tracing the perimeter of the store, connecting the edges of ghostly blue light together, then took a few seconds to mark the sliding glass doors as the designated Entryway Anchor point. As I did, a new prompt appeared.


    Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort


    You¡¯ve selected 14,200 square feet of eligible Progenerated Material Resource Space. Would you like to use Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort to convert the selected material into a Personal Superspace Dwelling? Proceed Yes/No?


    Researcher¡¯s Codex Note: Doing so will amputate the selected material from its current Spatial Location and transfer it to an extradimensional Superspace pocket, accessible only through a designated Doorway Anchor. Additional sequestered Progenerated Material can be grafted onto the current space at any time. For a full list of Blanket Fort features and options, please see the Blanket Fort DIY Operations Manual, available after claiming your first section of the Backrooms.


    I mentally selected ¡°Yes¡± and both the prompt and map vanished. The whole room violently shook and rumbled like a raging bull, knocking Croc from its feet and many of the items from the shelves. But the tremors only lasted a few seconds, and once they passed another short notice swam into view in all its eight-bit glory.


    Congratulations, you¡¯ve officially created your very own Personal Superspace Dwelling, or PSD¡ªnot to be confused with PTSD, which are two very different things, as we learned the hard way. To complete the process, and fully cordon off the selected location, you must first plant a Prime Doorway Anchor Point in an exterior Backrooms location.


    7 x Items have been added to your Subspace Storage Space: 5 x Standard Doorway Anchor, 1 x VIP Doorway Anchor, 1 x Blanket Fort DIY Operations Manual.


    Would you like to assign a name to your new Personal Superspace Dwelling? If not, the name on record will remain with its current designation: MediocreMart. Yes/No?


    Unlike the last message, this one gave me a moment of pause.


    A name.


    Of course, I¡¯d need to name the place, but I haven¡¯t given it any thought until right now. I¡¯d had a few bigger, more pressing things on my mind. Like mimics. And mutated Pac-Man. And Molotov-cocktail-hurling birdmen. Now that I had a chance to breathe, however, I realized I couldn¡¯t leave the name as it was. Although MediocreMart was a painfully accurate description of this place, it didn¡¯t exactly inspire confidence.


    If I was going to get Delvers from countless floors to shop at my little interdimensional general store and funnel me all their excess Relics and Artifacts, I was going to need something catchy. Something memorable. Something I could use to advertise.


    A line from one of the achievements I¡¯d just unlocked bubbled up to the surface of my mind. Discount Dan. It was dumb, but it also had a certain ring to it. But it needed something else. Something more. Something to give prospective customers a better idea of what kind of wares I¡¯d be offering.


    As a kid I¡¯d always loved going to the flea market with my dad. We had a big ol¡¯ flea market not far from us called Big Time Bargains, and about once a month my dad and I would head out that way to look for deals and flea markets were, hands down, the best place in the world to find deals. That and pawn shops. As a perpetual handyman, my dad was always on the hunt for used but well-loved power tools.


    Going to the flea market was work for him, but it was pure joy for me. Rummaging through other people¡¯s junk, searching for all the little gems they might¡¯ve overlooked. And there were always treasures to be found, because as the saying goes, ¡°one man¡¯s trash is another man¡¯s treasure.¡± Every month I¡¯d walk away with something. Old coins from places I¡¯d never heard of. Pok¨¦mon cards and comic books. Old-school video game cartridges for consoles that were no longer in production.


    Who would want those? Me and my dad, that¡¯s who. We had an Atari and a NES, the Super Nintendo and the Dream Cast, the first-generation Xbox and the PS1 and 2. All picked up for dirt cheap from Big Time Bargains. We didn¡¯t have a lot of money growing up and my dad was a frugal man, so we never had the newest things, but he had an eye for a deal like no one I ever knew. I wanted to make a place that he would want to shop in. A place where one man¡¯s trash could be treasure to the right buyer.


    ¡°Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains,¡± I said, the words little more than a whisper under my breath.


    There was a brilliant flare of light and the prompt disappeared, replaced by the map once more. The name above the section of real estate I¡¯d just carved out for myself now read Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains in blocky black script.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Safe Space Warrior


    The real world generally doesn¡¯t care about your personal comfort and it sure as shit doesn¡¯t come with Safe Spaces, no matter what your high school teacher told you. Unless your name is Dan. Apparently, you are such a special snowflake that the world literally revolves around you. At least a little. Still, I wouldn¡¯t let this go to your head. Good money says you¡¯re dead within a week. RemindMe! 1 Week


    Reward: 5 x Copper Delver Loot Token, 1 x Gold Entrepreneur Loot Token


    I dismissed the achievement notice with a wave of my hand and turned away from the counter. Croc was looking up at me with a reproachful gaze.


    ¡°Dan, I think maybe we have a few things we need to talk about¡­¡±

 Twenty-Six – Friends Don’t Lie

    It seemed like it would be difficult to pull off a reproachful look as a rubber dog with googly eyes, but somehow Croc managed it anyway.


    ¡°You¡¯re not sick,¡± the dog said, not a question but a cold, hard statement of fact. ¡°And that was no run-of-the-mill spell you just cast, Dan. That was a sequester ritual.¡± There was no accusation in its tone, but I could see it carved into the lines of the mimic¡¯s face. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a sequester ritual in action before and that¡¯s because all of them are Mythic quality and no one other than the monarchs and lords of the lower floors have ¡¯em.


    ¡°You look like a simple newb,¡± Croc continued, ¡°but things aren¡¯t adding up. Your navigation abilities. The way you can spot mimics even faster than I can. Your ability to detect and disarm traps that even the most experienced Trapsmiths would readily avoid. It¡¯s all coming together.¡± Croc nodded his head sadly. ¡°You¡¯ve been lying to me, Dan. If that¡¯s even your real name. But maybe it¡¯s not. Maybe you¡¯re a Josh or a Steve. Could even be an Adam.¡±


    ¡°Of course my name¡¯s Dan,¡± I replied. ¡°I swear, it¡¯s not like that, Croc¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then what is it like, hmm?¡± the mimic shot back before I could finish. ¡°Because to me, this feels like you¡¯ve been lying to me from the get-go, even though I¡¯ve been nothing but honest and helpful. Have you ever even gone to a water park? Because I just don¡¯t know what to believe anymore.¡±


    ¡°My name is Dan,¡± I reassured the dog, ¡°and yes, I have been to a water park. And I¡¯ve been honest with you¡­ mostly. There are just a few minor details I may have left out.¡±


    ¡°Lying by omission is still lying, Dan,¡± Croc said stiffly, its tail standing straight up at attention. ¡°And this wasn¡¯t just lying by omission¡ªthis was just lying by lying. You said we were friends. Friends might not eat each other, but I¡¯m pretty sure they don¡¯t lie to each other either.¡± It looked down and seemed to wilt like an old flower, too long without water. ¡°But what do I know? I¡¯m not a human like you. I¡¯m just a dumb, soulless monster, not worthy of trust. That¡¯s what Rashid told me.¡± The dog peeked up at me with one eye.


    ¡°What happened to Rashid?¡± I asked, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else.


    ¡°Vivisected by the Arch-Surgeon of the Bloody Blades,¡± Croc said morosely. ¡°Quite an ugly death, that one was. Maybe if Rashid had trusted me a little more, he would¡¯ve listened when I told him to stay away from the CryptiCrabs that live in the wishing pond.¡±


    I was silent for a long beat, not wanting to look at the dog that wasn¡¯t really a dog at all.


    I sighed, dropped down onto one knee, and placed a hand onto Croc¡¯s rubbery shoulder. ¡°We are friends, Croc,¡± I finally said, breaking the tension. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be alive right now if it wasn¡¯t for you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you tell me earlier?¡± Croc cut in, looking up at me. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask questions about how you managed to get a navigation Relic. But this? Keeping a sequester ritual from me.¡± It raised a paw and swept it out. ¡°You just created your own personal pocket world. That¡¯s something else entirely. That¡¯s dangerous, and you should¡¯ve told me sooner.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s precisely why I didn¡¯t tell you. Because it is dangerous and complicated and I was afraid you¡¯d abandon me if you knew the truth,¡± I blurted out before I could overthink things. ¡°Like I said, we are friends, but in my experience, friendship has its limits. If I asked you to help me move a couch, that¡¯s one thing. But asking you to help me wage a war against one of the most powerful creatures in the Backrooms? That¡¯s a big ask, especially for someone you met less than a day ago.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a human and maybe things are different where you¡¯re from,¡± Croc said, ¡°but here, friend is an unconditional term. This is a hungry world, Dan. A place where everything is trying to kill you if it means surviving for another day. There are alliances. There are factions. Tenuous partnerships. Even kingdoms with hundreds or sometimes thousands of denizens. But that¡¯s all about survival. Every relationship in the Backrooms is transactional. What can you do for me? How can you help me survive?


    ¡°But to me, friendship is about companionship,¡± the dog continued. ¡°It¡¯s about service and loyalty. About being there even when things get hard. That¡¯s why I choose to pick the form of a real, human dog.¡± Croc paused again, staring deep into my face with its stupid googly eyes. It was like the mimic was peering right into the deepest part of my soul. ¡°I¡¯m not going to leave you, Dan. But if you want me to help, I need to know what kind of trouble you¡¯re in.¡± The dog cocked its head to one side. ¡°No, scratch that. I need to know what kind of trouble we¡¯re in.¡±


    I took a deep breath and braced myself, preparing for Croc to either run away as fast as its rubber legs would go or attack me on the spot. It was all well and good to extol the virtues of friendship, loyalty, and selfless service until you learned that you were suddenly hanging out with someone at the top of the Skinless Court¡¯s Most Wanted List. Although I¡¯d gotten comparatively lucky so far, having an enemy like the Flayed Monarch was almost a guaranteed death sentence and anyone who helped me would likely suffer fallout as well.


    ¡°It all started with a bachelor party,¡± I said, unspooling the story word by word, beginning with the night before, then telling the mimic about waking up in the middle of a raging battle between two beings of otherworldly power.


    Croc asked a few questions while I spoke. The mimic seemed extremely interested in the trench-coat-wearing gunslinger who¡¯d saved my ass with the Slammer of Shielding¡ªthough I wasn¡¯t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.


    When I finally got to the part about the gunslinger stabbing the hellish Monarch through the chest and knocking loose the Brass Compass that now resided in my Spatial Core, I expected the dog to freak out.


    Instead, Croc threw back its head and roared with¡­ laughter. The mimic had a deep, full laugh that resonated in my bones. The sound was so happy and infectious, I found myself grinning from ear to ear, even though I wasn¡¯t quite sure what exactly was so funny.


    ¡°So wait¡­¡± the dog gasped in between chuckles. ¡°You stole a Mythic Emblem from the Flayed Monarch?¡± It paused. ¡°Just picked it right up off the floor and stuck it in your core?¡±


    I nodded, sober as a judge.


    Croc laughed even harder, falling onto one side, then rolling and thrashing across the linoleum. That went on for so long I began to have legitimate concerns that the mimic was having an epileptic fit. Finally, after what felt like an obscenely long time, the dog¡¯s laughter tapered off. Croc righted itself and swiped a tear from its eye with one paw.


    Why or how a googly eye had tear ducts was beyond me.


    ¡°This is the best thing I¡¯ve ever heard,¡± the dog said. ¡°I¡¯ve had dreams that weren¡¯t half as satisfying as this. The Flayed Monarch lost one of the most potent Emblems ever to exist to a brand-new Delver. The irony is, in a word, delicious.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m so confused,¡± I said. ¡°To me this all sounds like bad news. I¡¯m level twelve and I basically robbed a supernatural warlord with unspeakable godlike powers of a priceless treasure. The Flayed Monarch Marked me for Death and anyone who serves the Skinless Court is obligated to murder me on sight. Could be I¡¯m missing something, but I¡¯m having a hard time seeing any upside here.¡±


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be honest, Dan, there aren¡¯t a lot of upsides. This is either the best or worst thing to ever happen to anyone, and I¡¯m not sure which it is. The Flayed Monarch is¡­¡± Croc paused, tapping one paw thoughtfully against its chin. ¡°Well, powerful beyond the scope of human imagination, certainly. He is arguably the oldest of all the great monarchs and rules the 999th floor in its entirety. But the Flayed Monarch is also not well loved by most of the other denizens. Even better, you personally met and assisted the Boundless Wanderer.¡±


    Croc¡¯s eyes seemed to shimmer with a new reverence as they looked at me.


    ¡°First time I¡¯m hearing that name,¡± I replied slowly. ¡°Should it mean something to me?¡±


    ¡°Not at all,¡± Croc said, shaking its head. ¡°You¡¯re as fresh and green as spring grass, but the man you helped¡ªthe one who gave you the Slammer of Shielding¡ªhe¡¯s a folk hero on pretty much every floor. Except, of course, on the 999th floor, where even whispering his name can earn you a death sentence. See, there are a handful of monarchs that occupy the lower floors, and they¡¯re all perpetually at war with each other. Most of the folks above floor one hundred try to keep their heads down and stay out of the politicking and machinations of the great monarchs below, though sometimes their conflicts spill over even here.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s this have to do with this Boundless Wanderer guy?¡± I asked, feeling even more confused than I was before. ¡°Is he one of these monarchs?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Croc said, before shaking his head, ¡°but actually no. He has the power of a monarch, but no kingdom. He¡¯s a wanderer, like the name implies. But he¡¯s also more than that. The Boundless Wanderer is a traveling monster hunter who prowls the floors, helping people while eternally searching for a way back to your world. He is venerated by most of the humans who call the Backrooms home, and his conflict with the Flayed Monarch is legendary and spans centuries. The skinless nightmare killed the Wanderer¡¯s daughter nearly a century ago, and things have been a bit dodgy ever since.¡±


    ¡°So helping him was a good thing?¡± I hedged, feeling a little better.


    ¡°That depends, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Croc said. ¡°Mostly on who finds you first. I doubt the Flayed Monarch was able to kill the Wanderer, but he¡¯s still only one man. The Flayed Monarch has the sworn loyalty of most of the Dweller factions that exist within the Backrooms¡ªnot to mention several human warbands, including a few that operate in this area. Hudson¡¯s Red Hands work the third through fifth floors, and if any of them find you first, a quick death is the most you can hope for and far more than you should expect.¡±


    ¡°And what about you?¡± I asked. ¡°You said most of the Dweller factions are loyal to the Flayed Monarch. Does that include the mimics?¡±


    The question hung between us like an ominous storm cloud. Now that Croc knew the truth, where would the mimic stand?


    ¡°Yes,¡± Croc finally said. ¡°Most of the sentient mimics are Aspirants of the Skinless Court. But not me,¡± it continued reassuringly. ¡°Do you know much about the mimic procreation cycle, Dan?¡±


    ¡°Why in the name of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph would I know anything about the mimic procreation cycle?¡±


    ¡°Well, I know all about human procreation,¡± Croc replied, ¡°what with the storks and the gnomes and the baskets that you leave under the chimney¡ª¡±


    ¡°I am truly fascinated to hear how you think human procreation works,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°¡ªso I just figured you might have some of the basic facts about mimics,¡± Croc continued, unabated, ¡°seeing how we are the most common species in the Backrooms¡ªand because we¡¯re best friends and all. We mimics are born in clutches. Mature mimics can lay upward of a hundred eggs at a time, but our parents aren¡¯t exactly the nurturing sort. They lay the eggs and then leave the younglings to fend for themselves. Survival of the fittest, and all that.


    ¡°Thing is, I was born premature and defective. I was smaller and weaker than all of my kin and had an internal deformity, which prevents me from perfectly mimicking... anything, really. I can take many forms, but¡ªand this might come as a shock to you¡ªall of them are subtly wrong.¡± Croc stole a sidelong glance at me, as though admitting some dark and terrible secret. ¡°The truth is, I couldn¡¯t make myself look like a dog, even if you showed me a picture of one.


    ¡°I¡¯m broken on the inside, Dan. My siblings saw that and cast me out, fully expecting me to die within days or weeks. But even though my magic is broken, I was always smarter than the others. I could think and talk, which are normally abilities that don¡¯t develop until a mimic reaches maturity, around level twenty. That didn¡¯t help me hunt, though. The truth of it is, I was helpless and would¡¯ve died within weeks if not for the kindness of a human who found me.


    ¡°Her name was Gertrude. Gertrude Evans. She was a seventy-two-year-old grandmother who Noclipped into the Backrooms from a laundromat in Madison, Wisconsin. Her husband had died three years before and she lived at home alone with her seven cats. But the cats didn¡¯t come. It was just her, and she was alone and scared. But she was also a survivor. Gertrude served during the Second World War. She said she was a WASP, you know, which is a type of pilot, and not a bug as I originally assumed.


    ¡°Anyway, the important thing is that Gertrude was fierce. But she was also kind and sweet and generous. She found me curled up in one of the service corridors. I was level one and so weak from hunger I could hardly move. She was lonely and missed her cats. I was dying and roughly cat sized. It was a match made in heaven¡ªthough, admittedly, her poor eyesight might have also had something to do with it.


    ¡°When she started calling me kitty, I assumed the rough shape of a cat. Thanks to my defective genes it was a truly terrible mimicry. It was only good enough to fool someone half-blind and mostly senile. Fortunately for me, Gertrude was both. She adopted me. Fed me.¡± Croc smiled, unshed tears in its eyes. ¡°She would carry me around inside this enormous tote bag and would pat my head as we walked. At first, I considered eating her, but before long I realized I would live longer helping her than I would consuming her delicious flesh. She was my first friend. Really my only friend until you, Dan.¡±


    ¡°What happened?¡± I asked. Of all the Delvers Croc had told me about so far, this was the one I wanted to hear about the least.


    ¡°She lasted four months,¡± Croc said evenly. ¡°Survived longer than any of the other Delvers I¡¯ve ever been with. She made it down to the twelfth floor, which is when she ran across an Aspirant of the Court¡­¡± The mimic faltered, as though trying to find the right words. ¡°She didn¡¯t make it,¡± the dog finished simply, though what he didn¡¯t say spoke volumes. Croc never shied away from all the gruesome ways other Delvers had perished but was silent about Gertrude. ¡°As for me, I was branded as an Outcast for helping her.¡±


    Croc¡¯s form blurred until it was a writhing mass of tentacles and teeth. The mimic slowly turned, and I saw a mark burned into its rubbery skin. The brand looked like an angry red welt in the shape of an eye with a jagged crown floating above it.


    ¡°I¡¯d reached level three by that point and though I was still weak and small and defective, I was strong enough to fend for myself. There wasn¡¯t enough left of Gertrude to bury, so I figured the best way to pay her kindness forward was to try to help other new Delvers. Because that¡¯s what she¡¯d done for me, and I figured that¡¯s what she would¡¯ve wanted me to do for others.¡± Croc once more resumed the form of a dog, then dropped its snout and curled in on itself. ¡°Despite my endless list of failures, I¡¯ve done my best to do right by her.¡±


    I scooted over so I could sit beside the dog that wasn¡¯t a dog, then slung an arm around its shoulders. ¡°She sounds like something special.¡±


    ¡°She was,¡± Croc agreed, leaning its weight against me. ¡°She was the closest thing I¡¯ve ever had to a mother, and the Flayed Monarch took her from me.¡± There was an uncharacteristically deep rumble of anger in Croc¡¯s chest as it spoke. ¡°We¡¯ll probably both die in rather excruciating ways, but if there¡¯s even a sliver of a chance that we can hurt the Monarch in the process, then it¡¯ll be worth it.¡±


    ¡°Whoa, let¡¯s rein in all this gruesome death talk,¡± I replied quickly. ¡°I have no intention of dying as a martyr or some sort of hero. I want to live a long, full life that involves lots of casual day drinking. And, maybe someday, I¡¯d like to find a way out of this twisted funhouse of tomfuckery. I know the odds aren¡¯t in our favor, but I also don¡¯t think this is a lost cause. Not completely. It¡¯s gonna take a truckload of elbow grease and more than a little luck, but I¡¯ve got a plan to keep us both alive and maybe we can continue to honor Gertrude¡¯s memory while we do it.¡±


    I described the Emblem¡¯s manifold abilities and how I planned to use those abilities to make a lot of friends and get my hands on enough rare Artifacts and Relics to give us both a fighting chance against the Flayed Monarch and his army of bootlickers. By the time I was finished, Croc was practically spinning in circles out of sheer excitement.


    ¡°Where do we start?¡± the mimic said as I finally picked myself up off the ground.


    I surveyed the store, which was a chaotic mess from our battle against the Harmacist and the crow-faced Lab Techs. There were supplies strewn across the floor, and whole sections of shelving had been blown to pieces. A lot of the structural damage was already starting to repair itself, just as I¡¯d suspected would be the case, but the boxes weren¡¯t gonna pick themselves up, and there were still bodies that needed to be disposed of.


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna start with a mop bucket and a little bit of light reading,¡± I said, reaching through the fabric of space to retrieve one of the new items that had been deposited into my Subspace Storage System. It was a fat three-ring binder, with a cheaply laminated cover that read Blanket Fort DIY Operations Manual.

 Twenty-Seven – Cannon Fodder

    For the next several hours, Croc and I worked tirelessly, righting tipped-over shelving racks, mopping up spills and blood, and disposing of bodies. There were a shocking number of bodies, though taking care of those mostly fell under Croc¡¯s jurisdiction. The mimic enthusiastically insisted on it, actually. The dog explained that the Backrooms would eventually absorb the ¡°physical material¡±¡ªits exact words¡ªbut that it was much easier and quicker to just consume the corpses.


    After watching Croc unhinge its jaw and swallow the first dead Tech like a starving anaconda, I decided to leave the mimic to it. I already had enough nightmare fuel to last me several lifetimes.


    I took several breaks to read through my new operations manual, which was chockfull of useful information. Although it looked like a three-ring binder, stuffed to the brim with sheaves of loose-leaf papers, it was actually my Blanket Fort Interface, serving much the same function as the Progenitor Monolith¡ªexcept for my Personal Safe Space. By simply opening the binder, I could view a staggeringly long list of available resource materials and useable square footage.


    The interface portal even granted me access to a set of interactive 3D schematics, which allowed me to manipulate and even reconfigure the space as I deemed fit. I couldn¡¯t use the manual to instantly fix all the broken shit lying all over the place, but I could change the location configuration of the various rooms as well as arm, disarm, and rearrange all of the traps inside the store, which was a damned nice perk.


    On top of the traps, the store had several other security features and passive benefits.


    Turned out, the building had a rudimentary Spatial Core, though it was called a Progenitor Nexus Relay, and within that core were several unique Relics, though they were labeled as ¡°Bindings.¡± Despite my best efforts, I couldn¡¯t find a way to remove those Bindings¡ªnot that I really wanted to¡ªbut it seemed possible that I could add compatible Bindings to the Nexus Relay, granting the space some portion of their powers.


    The first Binding was a Healing Skill similar to my newly acquired Pharmacist¡¯s Scales, but way better. It was like Pharmacist¡¯s Scales on steroids and applied on an industrial level. The space had its own Health Pool and Mana reserve, and the Unyielding Foundation Binding passively restored and mended all damage dealt to the structural property itself at a rate of 100 Health per hour¡ªwhich was insane, until I realized that the store had 14,200 Health, which perfectly matched the overall square footage.


    At that rate, it would take one hundred and forty-two hours, or just under six days, to totally repair the store from catastrophic damage, which was significantly longer than it would take to bring me back to full health, even from the edge of death.


    On top of Unyielding Foundation, the store had four active abilities¡ªCornucopia of Plenty, Stasis Halo, Ban Hammer, and Cannon Fodder¡ªall of which were fueled by the store¡¯s rather impressive Mana reserve.


    Although Unyielding Foundation only regenerated the physical structure itself and not the items contained within the store, Cornucopia of Plenty did. It would only work for items that came with the store and not additional materials brought in later¡ªlike Relics or Artifacts¡ªbut still¡­ For the rest of my time in the Backrooms, I¡¯d never have to worry about food, Mountain Dew¡ªwell, Peak Dew, technically¡ªor finding a toothbrush ever again.


    Even better, that also meant that once the pharmacy recovered from the firebombing, the Health, Mana, and Stamina potions would regenerate as well.


    Which meant I now had a near-infinite supply of life-saving medicine, which I¡¯d be able to mark up and sell at a steep profit to intrepid Delvers. I say near-infinite because there was one small catch. Unlike Unyielding Foundation, which passively regenerated the store¡¯s Health over time, Cornucopia of Plenty was an active ability that required a small degree of oversight. Inside the Blanket Fort Interface Manual was a comprehensive list of every single item that came stock with the store¡ªincluding total item quantity, the Mana regeneration cost, and the regeneration respawn time.


    I would have to actively manage my inventory and ¡°reorder¡± items as they ¡°sold.¡± Thankfully, regenerating the items drew from the store¡¯s Mana Pool and not my own, but the store had a limited Mana reserve to work with, even if it was vastly larger than my own. The more magically or materially complex the item, the more Mana it cost to make. I could generate a bottle of water for as little as two Mana, while a Beefy Man frozen TV dinner cost around ten.


    The Health, Mana, and Stamina Elixirs cost the most by a country mile, at 200 Mana a pop. The store had a total Mana Pool of 7,100, which meant, in theory, I could manufacture thirty-five elixirs a day. Doing so would completely drain the magical reserves, however, which I needed to power all of the store¡¯s other abilities. There was one other significant catch. Each item in the store inventory also had a ¡°Max Stock Value¡± listed in the binder, and I could never generate more of any given item than that value at any one time.


    In the case of elixirs, that number was twenty apiece.


    The Max Stock limitation quickly deflated my dream of an endless surplus of cheap potions, but as long as I stayed on top of the store¡¯s inventory management system, I¡¯d be golden.


    Stasis Halo¡¯s effect was rather straightforward and didn¡¯t require any forethought or oversight. As the owner of the Superspace, the store was built to protect me at all costs while I was within the confines of its walls. Anyone inside the store who was stupid enough to launch an attack against me¡ªwhether it be physical or magical in nature¡ªwould instantly be trapped within a temporary stasis field, which would petrify and immobilize them for an entire minute, simultaneously nullifying any hostile magical effects in play.


    That was more than enough time to kill them or throw them out on their asses, depending on what mood I was in at the moment. The only drawback was that the spell burned through an epic amount of energy, which meant that it could only be used about three times before the store¡¯s entire Mana reserve dwindled to zero. It was a solid protective measure, but the system could be overwhelmed and eventually overloaded if enough people decided to launch an attack on me all at once.


    Of the four active abilities, Ban Hammer was the most complicated and basically served as a moderation tool. I could create a series of rules for the space¡ªno attacking others, for example¡ªand anyone who performed that action would instantly be teleported to a random location on a random floor that the space was connected to, via a Doorway Anchor. I could create any number of rules that the store would passively monitor and enforce, restricting things like stealing, damaging property, or even cussing.


    Not that I¡¯d ban anyone for cussing.


    I fucking loved to cuss.


    Honestly, people often criticized me for my ¡°colorful¡± language, saying that it demonstrated ¡°a lack of articulation and imagination¡±¡ªthat was a direct quote from my youth pastor¡ªbut to my mind, there were few words as flexible or versatile as shit, ass, and fuck. The innumerable ways they could be twisted and strung together to form complicated and nuanced expressions were like poetry when wielded by a true master.


    Chucklefuck. Assface. Douchewaffle. Shitstick. Cockwomble.


    A work of art, each and every one. Though I made it a point not to take the Lord¡¯s name in vain. My parents raised me Christian and although my dad had a mouth like a drunk sailor, he¡¯d paint my ass black, blue, and red if he ever heard me blasphemy.


    As cool as those Bindings were, however, none of ¡¯em even came close to the last and greatest Binding of all, Cannon Fodder.


    Cannon Fodder


    Uncommon Binding


    Cost: 1 x Relic (Common Grade or Better)


    Meet your new best friend: a disposable Cannon Fodder minion. These things are cobbled together from whatever random bullshit you have lying around¡ªwhether it¡¯s a discarded pizza box, moldy socks, or the rotting remains of your vanquished enemies¡ªthen empowered by a single Relic, Common grade or better.


    You can conjure one of these unholy, Frankenstein murder-machines for every 5,000 sq ft of Blanket Fort you lay claim to. Cannon Fodder Golems will exist indefinitely until they are either destroyed or banished by their creator. The Relic you use to empower the creature will largely shape its personality but¡ªgenerally speaking¡ªunderstanding simple commands are the height of their intellectual prowess.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Their vitality is directly linked to the Health of your Blanket Fort, with each Golem sporting a robust 1% of the Fort¡¯s total Health capacity. That doesn¡¯t sound like a lot, but believe you me, it¡¯ll take more than a few love taps to turn these lumbering morons back into the debris from whence they came. But, because their Health is directly tied to the Fort, they cannot leave without falling apart.


    These haphazard doofuses might not be great conversationalists, but when you¡¯re knee-deep in dickheads doing their absolute best to fuck you, you¡¯ll be glad to have ¡¯em around.


    Remember, if you¡¯re desperate enough, everything is fodder for your Cannon Fodder.


    I wanted to cackle manically like an evil supervillain.


    I had minions. I couldn¡¯t think of anything more badass.


    After reading over the Binding description, I grabbed a bunch of random garbage from my storage space along with some of the destroyed products still strewn about the store from our battle. I tossed the bloody and broken plague doctor mask from the corpse of the Harmacist in just for good measure. The description didn¡¯t mention how much material I needed to use, and I got the distinct impression that I could make the golems as big or as small as I wanted, depending on what material I used.


    Once I had a roughly human amount of material piled up, I rooted through my available Relics, looking for something that I wouldn¡¯t be too sad to part with. Unfortunately, I wasn¡¯t spoiled for options. I had a bunch of Molotov Cocktails, but those I intended to use or sell, which left me with one Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding, two Basic Camo Kits, and two of the Roid Gremlin jockstraps. None of those seemed like great options, but I had two jockstraps, and that seemed like an item that would be hard to sell, even at bargain-bin prices.


    I tossed the musty nut cup on top of the heap, then focused on the pile with intention, which conjured a floating prompt.


    Would you like to transform the selected material into a Cannon Fodder Golem? Doing so will destroy the Common Relic, Gremlin¡¯s Groin Guardian. Proceed? Yes/No?


    I mentally selected ¡°Yes¡± and the floor immediately began to rumble while the lights flickered frantically for a few seconds.


    When the shaking finally stopped and the overhead fluorescents stabilized, the previous pile of junk pulled itself upright onto a pair of bulky legs, made from a combination of twisted metal and random items pilfered from the shelves.


    It vaguely resembled a bodybuilder and had a bulky torso made predominately of cereal boxes, medical bandages, and cleaning supplies, all held together by strings of barely visible white energy. Its arms, by contrast, were composed entirely of melted and badly disfigured baby dolls that I¡¯d raided from the toy aisle. A basketball sat on the creature¡¯s shoulders, and plastered to the front was the cracked and scorched plague doctor mask.


    ¡°What. The. Fuck,¡± I mumbled under my breath, more statement than question.


    I instinctively took a step back, but the creature mirrored my movements, its huge feet whispering across the tiles as it moved toward me.


    ¡°Whoa there, boy¡±¡ªI raised a hand, palm out¡ª¡°that¡¯s close enough. In fact, why don¡¯t you go ahead and take a couple of steps back. Give me a little breathing room.¡±


    Green light flared behind the cracked steampunk goggles, but then the creature complied.


    ¡°You understand what I¡¯m saying, right?¡±


    The creature nodded, though it had to bend most of its upper body to do so, since the golem didn¡¯t have a proper neck to speak of.


    ¡°Can you talk?¡±


    ¡°Can talk,¡± it confirmed in a gravelly voice that sounded less like a human being and more like a cement mixer brought to life.


    ¡°What should I call you?¡± I asked. ¡°Or does it matter?¡±


    The creature tapped its broad chest with a plastic hand composed of dozens of smaller baby hands. ¡°Me Cannon Fodder.¡±


    I casually waved away the words. ¡°Yeah, yeah, I know that¡¯s what you are, but I¡¯m gonna make another one of you and I don¡¯t want to have to call out for Cannon Fodder One and Cannon Fodder Two¡ªthat¡¯ll get real old, real quick.¡± I considered the creature and rubbed at my chin while I thought. ¡°How¡¯s about we call you Baby Hands,¡± I said after a minute, ¡°on account of your tiny, rubber baby hands. Does that work for you?¡±


    Baby Hands nodded its body again, apparently indifferent to my naming conventions.


    ¡°Perfect. Now why don¡¯t you go help Croc clean up the store while I find enough stuff for another one of you.¡±


    ¡°Baby Hands lives to serve,¡± the creature grumbled.


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit,¡± I said, clapping the trash monster on the shoulder.


    The golem shuffled away, moving with an uneven gait, then began to pick up and sort items with a surprising degree of efficiency and dexterity. I¡¯d only known Baby Hands for approximately ten seconds, but I could already tell that he was a harder worker than ninety percent of the new hires who would occasionally apply for my contracting crew. Clearly, he was dumber than a box of wet hammers, but that didn¡¯t matter so long as he followed orders.


    While Baby Hands lumbered out of view, I headed back over to the toy aisle and raided a bunch of crap to make a second golem. Of all the stuff inside the former MediocreMart, the toys were the least useful of the lot and took up valuable shelf space, which could be used for more important items. I already had plans to create some basic Delver survival kits that I could give out, free of charge, to any of the new arrivals who managed to make it to the shop.


    The toy aisle would serve perfectly well for that.


    I scooped shit off the shelves with one arm and carelessly plucked items off the racks with the other, tossing all of them into one big heap of useless packaging and cheaply manufactured plastic. The toys themselves were stupid beyond belief, but left me smiling all the same. There was Arachno-Lad, The BULK, Green Lamp Lighter, and everyone¡¯s favorite, the Streak. Beside them was Hare Devil¡ªa mutated giant rabbit with a taste for danger¡ªand Cat Woman¡¯s distant cousin, Jenifer¡ª¡°She¡¯s just a normal lady that really likes cats!¡±


    Jenifer came with a bagful of accessory cats.


    There were also several disturbingly realistic Carbie Dolls, which were all anatomically correct according to the packaging, and came with a wide range of miniature low-carb food products. Even worse were the My Tiny Trotters, and the instantly recognizable Might Morphin¡¯ Force Rangers, which seemed just legally distinct enough to pass muster. The whole lot of them went into the pile, with no plans to regenerate any of those particular items.


    I decided to add a bunch of crap from the beauty product aisle because nail polish and eyeliner weren¡¯t likely to be bestsellers anytime soon either.


    As for the Relic, I decided to go with the Tin Foil Hat of Mind Shielding.


    Although I had another Gremlin Jockstrap to get rid of, ol¡¯ Baby Hands could barely talk, and I really wanted a minion that could do a little more than mop floors or move heavy boxes. Ideally, I wanted something that could work the register in my absence. The Cannon Fodder description mentioned that the Relic empowering the Golem determined its personality, so I was hoping a Relic that was Mind focused might give this little guy a modest intelligence boost.


    I activated the Cannon Fodder skill again, selecting yes when prompted, then sat back and watched the magic of the Backrooms do its wonderous work.


    The end result was a gloriously distressing creature that stood about four and a half feet tall, which was only about half the size of ol¡¯ Baby Hands. The golem was thin, almost waifish in appearance, and most closely resembled a Might Morphin¡¯ Megazord. Except its arms and legs were made of Carbie dolls and counterfeit Superhero action figures, while its torso looked like a robot, and its head was that of a bright pink pony with a majestic mane of silver hair. A sheen of dazzling glitter covered everything, and the pony had impossibly long eyelashes.


    It was worse than anything I possibly could¡¯ve imagined...


    Then it opened its mouth and spoke in a sweet, childlike voice. ¡°Morphin¡¯ is magic, and the power of our unholy friendship will outlast your pitiful flesh.¡±


    I shuddered and considered dispelling the creature on the spot then starting over from scratch.


    Baby Hands was one thing, but this? This was an abomination. This was a sin against the natural order. The kind of thing so profane it risked calling down the wrath of the Almighty. The problem was, I¡¯d just burned one of the few remaining Relics I had to my name, and if I destroyed the creature there was no guarantee I¡¯d get the Relic back. I couldn¡¯t be throwing Relics away all willy-nilly, just because this thing made me a little squeamish.


    ¡°You¡¯re a bit more talkative than the other one,¡± I observed, folding my arms across my chest as I regarded the Pony-Zord.


    The golem giggled, which was worse than any other response it possibly could¡¯ve given.


    I sighed. ¡°Well, let¡¯s just hope you have the same work ethic.¡± I reached into my storage space and retrieved thirty backpacks, all in varying shapes, colors, and designs, along with bunches of shirts and black athletic socks I¡¯d looted from Style-for-Less. ¡°We¡¯re going to make some basic Delver kits,¡± I said, gesturing to the backpacks and clothes. ¡°Every pack is going to get a shirt and two pairs of socks, but we¡¯ll also need to gather a few extra items from around here.¡±


    I stuck a finger into the air. ¡°Toothbrush and toothpaste.¡± Another finger joined the first. ¡°Baby wipes.¡± I added more fingers as I continued to list items. ¡°One of the first aid kits that are back by the pharmacy. Three bottles of water, two protein bars, and a bag of beef jerky. Make sure to get a flashlight from the hardware aisle¡­ Oh, and grab some pencils, a pad of paper, and one of those little Exacto knives from aisle 22.¡± I looked at the pony, who was staring at me with dead black eyes as deep, ominous, and unknowable as the heart of the ocean.


    By the time I was done, I¡¯d run out of fingers.


    ¡°You got all that?¡± I asked.


    ¡°We serve perfectly.¡± The pony giggled again. It was the sound of windchimes blowing next to a graveyard. ¡°We remember all.¡±


    ¡°Why are you speaking in the third person?¡± I asked, squinting at the pony in suspicion. ¡°Is that like the royal we? Please, god, tell me it¡¯s like the royal we.¡±


    The pony shook her head, mane fluttering majestically. ¡°It is because we are Legion, the devourer of worlds, though you may call us Princess Ponypuff.¡±


    Not only did her answer have a myriad of disturbing implications, but I¡¯d attended enough Sunday services to be keenly aware of the overt demonic connotations of that particular response. Whatever. As long as Princess Ponypuff, devourer of worlds, did as it was told it was all gravy.


    ¡°Cool. Well, don¡¯t just stand there, Ponypuff,¡± I said, making a little shooing motion with one hand. ¡°Pitter-patter, let¡¯s get at er. These basic Delver packs ain¡¯t gonna make themselves...¡±

 Twenty-Eight – New Management

    It took us another seven hours or so to get the rest of the store cleaned up and in working order. While we swept up broken glass, scrubbed the floors, and righted shelving units, I used the Blanket Fort Interface to see what we had, what was worth keeping, and what needed to be cut to make room for additional provisions.


    Overall, I was thrilled.


    The former MediocreMart had been less Walgreens and more the bastard lovechild of a Walgreens and a Dollar General, with a little dash of local hardware store sprinkled into the mix. There was a great selection of items ranging from Home D¨¦cor and Housewares to Grocery and Automotive. Twenty-eight aisles in total, meticulously laid out with all the basics anyone could ever need for survival.


    There were a few aisles that needed to be gutted, but far fewer than I¡¯d originally anticipated.


    I was pleased to see that the grocery section had a surprisingly well-rounded selection of food. Boxes of cereal, pasta noodles and marinara sauce, soup and canned veggies, cup of noodles, and shelves full of bread. The frozen section was also loaded down with a variety of TV dinners, frozen pizzas, cheap sliders, and boneless chicken wings. Plus, a whole freezer, near to bursting with ice cream. There were also chips and snack food aplenty that would stay good for a geological epoch, even if none of it was healthy exactly.


    The store had flats of bottled water, cases of soda, and a whole aisle dedicated to cheap liquor. The booze would make the time here a little more bearable and it would probably also sell for as much or more than the elixirs back in the pharmacy. Same thing with the cigarettes, cheap cigars, and chew, stashed away by the register. During my two deployments, luxury items like cigarettes ended up being worth their weight in gold as people ran dry and nicotine cravings started kicking in.


    All of that stayed, of course, along with the exceedingly well-stocked over-the-counter drug section and other obvious essentials like basic hygiene, hardware, and home d¨¦cor.


    All of the greeting cards in aisle four needed to go, since I couldn¡¯t imagine there would be much need for an abundance of Get Well Soon or Happy Birthday cards. The toy and game aisle ended up on the chopping block as well, along with the vast majority of the beauty supplies. Like the cards, I highly doubted anyone would be in the market for tinted moisturizer, liquid foundation, or bottles of cheap perfume that smelled like old gym socks.


    Still, I tossed all of that stuff into my storage space. Waste not, want not as my grandad used to say.


    There was a large storage area in the back, positioned behind the refrigerated section, but it was almost entirely devoid of items. Just a large open space with a concrete floor, a notice board, and a row of small metal lockers for employees to store whatever meager belongings they brought with them to shift.


    Normally, that was where all the items waiting to go to the floor would be kept, but we didn¡¯t have delivery trucks full of stuff waiting to be offloaded. Which made it the perfect spot to set up temporary sleeping quarters. Eventually, I¡¯d get some simple camping cots in here, but for now, I had Baby Hands and Ponypuff give the place a good sweep and scrub, then set up a series of sleeping pallets on the floor, using blankets and pillows from the Home D¨¦cor aisle.


    It wasn¡¯t exactly a five-star resort and there was little to no privacy, but for Delvers desperate for a safe place to catch a bit of shut-eye, it would do just fine.


    Cleaning up from the fight against the Harmacist and getting the store organized was only half the battle, though. I also needed to go through and price each and every one of the items on offer. Croc found a label gun stashed away in the Employee Lounge by the pharmacy, which made the process a bit easier, but it was still slow and tedious work. Thanks to my visit to the Loot Arcade, I already had a rough idea of what the going market rate was for most of this junk.


    I marked food and beverages at a single Copper Loot Token apiece, while things like first aid kits, personal hygiene items, medicine, or survival gear such as blankets and flashlights went for more. Anywhere from two coppers all the way up to one silver. I based it off of how much Mana each item would cost to regenerate. Even though I felt the prices were a tad high, they were actually on par or even slightly lower than what someone would pay to purchase a comparable item from the Loot Arcades, plus I had a significantly wider variety of options.


    And no monstrous Pac-Man creatures to contend against. The convenience alone was worth the price to play, as far as I was concerned.


    Even though I probably could¡¯ve squeezed a little more money out of each item, undercutting the only other supplier made my products much more attractive, and it didn¡¯t really matter to me, since, essentially, I had no overhead. With a little investment of Mana, all of these products would regenerate. I could sell the same thing, over and over and over again, maximizing my profit through sheer volume.


    The adrenaline of the battle against the Harmacist had finally faded from my system, which is when I realized exactly how wiped I was. I fell asleep while sweeping up some broken glass near the vitamin section in aisle 26 and woke up several hours later on one of the makeshift sleeping mats in the storage room. I wasn¡¯t one hundred percent sure how I¡¯d ended up on the pallet, but I suspected Croc had something to do with that. The dog was sitting beside me, staring at me with feverish intensity.


    ¡°Good morning, Dan,¡± the mimic said.


    I glowered at the dog. ¡°What the hell are you doing?¡± I asked, sitting up then leaning back on my palms.


    ¡°Just watching you sleep and not thinking about eating you or how succulent your meat would be.¡±


    I recoiled. ¡°Why would you even say that?¡± I asked, brow furrowing in skepticism. ¡°You¡¯ve gotta know how insanely suspicious that sounds, right? It definitely makes me think you were considering whether to eat me or not.¡±


    ¡°What? No. I would never, Dan,¡± Croc protested. ¡°Friends don¡¯t kill, eat, or dismember each other. We¡¯ve already gone over this. Even though, objectively speaking, you probably would be delicious. Not that I want to eat you, of course.¡±


    I cleared my throat and scooted back a wee bit. ¡°Of course,¡± I replied with a weak smile, before politely excusing myself to the bathroom.


    Just when I thought I¡¯d finally gotten used to how weird Croc was, the mimic went and did or said something that made me question all of my life choices. At least, inside the safety and protection of the store, I wouldn¡¯t have to worry. If Croc ever did lose control and try to make a meal out of me, Stasis Halo would lock the mimic down faster than a boot Marine buying a used Dodge Charger at a twenty-one percent interest rate.


    There were two gendered bathrooms, each with several stalls, but there was also a smaller, private bathroom attached to the employee¡¯s breakroom. That bathroom would serve as my private commode. There wasn¡¯t a shower, unfortunately, so instead I took a quick baby wipe wash¡ªscrubbing away days of blood, sweat, and grime¡ªthen brushed my teeth and applied a fresh coat of deodorant, which helped combat the eye-watering stench of BO wafting from beneath my armpits.


    I¡¯d need to be on the lookout for proper bathing facilities. Attaching some sort of laundromat probably wouldn¡¯t go amiss either.


    The employee¡¯s breakroom was rather lackluster and unimpressive. It had a small, timeworn love seat and a round table with a few metal folding chairs, but it also came with a small kitchenette complete with sink, fridge, stove, and microwave, as well as the most important item of all time.


    A coffeepot.


    There was plenty of coffee over in the grocery aisle, so I wouldn¡¯t have to worry about running out anytime soon, and there were extra coffeepots for sale in the housewares section.


    Croc slinked into the room as I puttered around the breakroom¡ªnuking a frozen burrito from the coolers and putting on a pot of coffee to brew.


    ¡°Listen, I just wanted to apologize for what I said back there,¡± the mimic offered. ¡°About eating you and all that. For the record, I would not eat you, but as we discussed yesterday, friends don¡¯t lie.¡± The mimic took a deep, steadying breath. ¡°And though it pains me to admit it, it would be a lie to say I¡¯ve never considered eating you.


    ¡°I love helping Delvers, but it¡¯s also in my nature to eat Delvers. But I would never do it. I¡¯m basically the mimic version of a vegetarian. Do I have the capacity to eat you? Yes. Do I have the ravenous desire to eat you? Also yes. But I¡¯ve taken the moral high ground and elected not to eat humans. Except for bad ones,¡± it amended after a second. ¡°Or ones that are already dead, I suppose.¡±


    Croc seemed to brighten as an idea occurred to it. ¡°You know what? You and I are just like Edward and Bella from the internationally bestselling and beloved by all Twilight series, written by the unparalleled wordsmith Stephenie Meyer, starring the expressive Kristen Stewart as Bella, and the eminently talented Robert Pattison as the dreamy, yet mysterious Edward. Our love and friendship cut against the very fabric of nature yet, somehow, we make it work with absolutely no negative repercussions whatsoever. Plus, I like to watch you sleep, just like Edward! The parallels are truly uncanny!¡±


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    ¡°Are you being sarcastic right now?¡± I asked. ¡°Because I genuinely don¡¯t know whether you¡¯re being sarcastic or if you legitimately love the Twilight series.¡±


    ¡°Of course I¡¯m being serious! I mean, what¡¯s not to love? Romance. Drama. Action scenes and cool powers. An apex predator befriending a squishy, irresistibly delicious meat-filled human then subsequentially wrestling with their insatiable desire for murder?¡± Croc nodded enthusiastically. ¡°It¡¯s very relatable content, Dan.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t decide which part of that statement was the most concerning. But I feel the need to point out that Edward does eventually eat Bella¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wait, does that mean you¡¯re a fan of the series, too?¡± Croc interpreted excitedly.


    I was half tempted to deny it, but then recalled the dog¡¯s brutal and uncomfortable honesty. Friends don¡¯t lie to each other. ¡°I read it on deployment, okay? And it was fine. Not great. But fine. If you¡¯re into that sort of thing. Which I¡¯m not. Here¡¯s the real takeaway, Croc. Please, for the love of my sanity and all that is good in the world, never, ever, under any circumstance, for any reason whatsoever, compare you and me to Bella and Edward again. Ever. For any reason. Are we clear?¡±


    ¡°Crystal.¡± Croc shook one eye at me, and the pupil jiggled. ¡°I can¡¯t blink,¡± it said, ¡°but that¡¯s what I was trying to do there, just so you know. There is one other tiny little point of awkwardness I was hoping to talk to you about.¡± Croc paused and took one fearful look over one shoulder. ¡°I¡¯m not quite sure how to say this, but it¡¯s about¡­¡± The mimic dropped its voice to a whisper. ¡°Princess Ponypuff. The golem with the pony head,¡± it added for clarity, as though I¡¯d somehow be able to forget the terrifying pony Voltron, destroyer of worlds.


    ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong,¡± Croc continued. ¡°I¡¯m not saying that she¡¯s overtly created a hostile work environment, but there¡¯s definitely something not quite right about that one. Baby Hands is great. He and I are like two peas in a pod¡ªhe¡¯s a great listener, too¡ªbut Ponypuff just keeps staring at me with cold, unblinking murder eyes,¡± Croc said while simultaneously staring at me with cold, unblinking plastic eyes.


    ¡°And she¡¯s constantly saying odd things about meat, or ¡®the failings of mortal flesh,¡¯ or how ¡®the power of friendship shall unlock the great pits of the eternal dark.¡¯ Again, not anything overtly threatening or hostile, but there¡¯s just something that doesn¡¯t feel right about it, you know? She also follows me around. And I saw her surgically dissecting one of the few remaining Carbie dolls. Just little things like that.¡±


    ¡°Gee, that sounds creepy,¡± I replied flatly. ¡°Can¡¯t imagine what being on the receiving end of that would be like.¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t agree more. It¡¯s amazing how socially unaware some people can be. The point,¡± Croc continued, somehow missing both my sarcasm and point entirely, ¡°is that I¡¯d love to get out and stretch my legs a bit. Just, you know, get some distance and create some healthy boundaries. We¡¯ve got all these new powers to try out, you need to go to a Progenitor Monolith, plus our Artifact and Relic supply could use a few upgrades before we have our grand opening. I in no way mean this as a criticism, but things are a little¡­ underwhelming in that department.¡±


    I grunted and drummed my fingers on the edge of the cheap table.


    Croc wasn¡¯t wrong.


    I¡¯d cleaned out the glass security cases behind the front register and replaced the high-end booze, tobacco products, and lotto scratch-offs for the handful of Relics and Artifacts I was willing to part with. Seeing it all laid out showcased exactly how thin our supplies really were at the moment. After crafting the two Golems, all we had left was one Gremlin Jockstrap, two Basic Camo Spells, and nine of the Erlenmeyer¡¯s Molotov Cocktail Relics.


    The Molotov Cocktails would probably fetch a decent price, but everything else was basically one step above garbage. I could change that, though, assuming we could get our hands on more Relics. Since I could analyze the synergistic effects of Relics using the Researcher¡¯s Codex, I could take trash-tier loot and forge them into Uncommon or even Rare Relics that people would kill to get their hands on. And anything else I could either trade away for better equipment or Sacrifice to level up my own abilities.


    I¡¯d put out a couple of the PowerPro Muscle Might Extreme Pump Preworkout Elixirs and the handful of Artifacts I¡¯d looted from the Roid Gremlins and the Mall Rats.


    But the handful of Artifacts I had on hand was as disappointing as my Relic selection. There was the enchanted barbell bow staff, the jump rope flail, the Jinxed Fortune bracelet, and a few other miscellaneous items that had no overt power, but empty Effect Slots: a pair of crocheted mittens, a plastic ring with a giant fake flower, a left flip-flop, and a chipped coffee mug with a picture of a kitten hanging from a power line that read, ¡°Just hang in there.¡±


    I¡¯d swapped the classy booze for Lesser Healing, Mana, and Stamina Elixirs, which helped round out the display and was the biggest draw by far.


    Still, all things considered, it was rather¡­ lacking was a better word than pathetic, though pathetic was probably more accurate.


    Unlike Croc, though, I wasn¡¯t worried.


    ¡°You¡¯re right that we need to expand our inventory,¡± I said, ¡°but you¡¯re thinking about how we¡¯ll do it all wrong. We aren¡¯t the party of DnD adventurers, and our job isn¡¯t to go out and raid dungeons. We¡¯re the distributor, Croc. Our real job is to advertise, and if we do that well, then other Delvers will bring us everything we need and then some, and we won¡¯t have to lift a finger.¡±


    Croc stared at me, rubbery mouth hanging agape. ¡°Once again, I stand in awe of your wisdom, Dan. Truly, you are the defining intellect of a generation.¡±


    I looked for a barb in the words, but as always, it seemed the mimic¡¯s compliment was genuine.


    ¡°Just out of curiosity, though,¡± the dog continued, ¡°how exactly are we going to do that? The advertising and whatnot, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯ve got a plan.¡± I reached a hand through the Void and pulled out a can of spray paint. I¡¯d been pleasantly surprised to find there were cans of spray paint in the Hardware section, which meant I wouldn¡¯t need to raid any more art supply shops in the immediate future. Then I drew out a second item¡ªthe red Twinning yarn I¡¯d purchased from the Loot Arcade. That wasn¡¯t endless, but I had more than enough to last me for a good long while.


    ¡°Come on,¡± I said, jamming the spray paint and yarn into the exterior pockets of my tool belt.


    Croc and I left the breakroom behind and beelined toward the front of the store.


    I gave a sharp whistle as we walked and called out for the two Cannon Fodder golems to meet me by the front. Princess Ponypuff was already loitering behind the counter, while Baby Hands lumbered in from aisle two, his heavy footfalls reverberating off the ceiling tiles overhead.


    ¡°Alright, team meeting,¡± I said. ¡°Croc and I are going out to plant doorway anchors, acquire some new territory, and canvass the area with a viral guerilla marketing campaign¡ª¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t mention there would be gorillas involved, Dan,¡± Croc blurted out.


    ¡°Guerrilla not gorilla,¡± I corrected. Then to really drive the point home, ¡°Just to be perfectly clear, if there are gorillas involved at any point in the process, things have gone wildly off the rails. Now, please stop derailing me.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I see what you did there,¡± Croc chortled. ¡°Off the rails and derailing me. Very clever, Dan. Very clever.¡±


    ¡°Dammit, Croc, please shut it,¡± I growled, then made a zipping motion, running my fingers across my lips. ¡°Croc and I will be out for a while, but if things go as planned, we should start to have a trickle of customers before too long. Baby Hands, you¡¯re dumber than a sack of bricks¡ª¡±


    ¡°Baby Hands is hard worker,¡± the golem agreed, nodding its body.


    ¡°Yep, which is why you¡¯re the muscle. If anyone tries looting or stealing anything, you stop ¡¯em and throw their asses out with a polite but firm warning. I¡¯ve already programmed a few basic rules into the Ban Hammer protocol, so if they deal more than ten percent damage to you, the store will auto-eject them, and they won¡¯t be able to regain entry. There¡¯s also a door fee for all Delvers who are over level one. If they want to come in, even to browse, it¡¯ll cost ¡¯em one Copper Loot Token, doesn¡¯t matter the flavor. You got all that, Baby Hands?¡±


    ¡°Baby Hands is Baby Hands,¡± the golem grumbled. I assumed that was idiot for, ¡°Yep, I got all that, boss.¡±


    ¡°Ponypuff¡±¡ªI turned my gaze on the demonic MegaZord of toys and evil¡ª¡°you¡¯re in charge of the shop while we¡¯re out. Your main job is to interact with the customers and man the cash register. Any level zero customer who wanders in automatically gets one of the basic Delver Kits we put together free of charge, plus one complimentary night of sleep.¡±


    ¡°Quick question, Dan, but how are we going to earn Relics if we give stuff away?¡± Croc asked, sounding befuddled but interested in learning.


    ¡°I asked you not to derail me, but that is a fair question,¡± I replied. ¡°It¡¯s called a loss leader. If a Delver is level zero, it means they¡¯re brand new. Fresh meat, essentially. That also means they probably don¡¯t have anything worth trading. But if we give away one of those survival kits, it¡¯ll earn customer loyalty and it¡¯ll help them survive long enough to get better stuff, which they will then sell back to us.


    ¡°There¡¯s even a coupon in each of the kits for ten percent off their first order,¡± I added, ¡°which should help create repeat business. As for the customers who aren¡¯t level zero, they¡¯ve gotta pay. The items on the shelves are all labeled already, so you¡¯ll just have to ring them out once they¡¯re done shopping. The prices for the few Relics and Artifacts we have are also posted¡±¡ªI waved at the wall of items, each with a paper sticker attached to the front¡ª¡°and those prices are nonnegotiable.¡±


    The pricing scheme was fair, though certainly in my favor.


    We were charging fifteen copper tokens or fifteen Common Shards for a Common Relic or Artifact, or I¡¯d take a two-for-one trade-in on Relics of the same rarity level. The Uncommon Relics and Artifacts were obviously more expensive and ran three silver tokens, one gold token, or fifteen Uncommon Shards apiece. I was also willing to take a two-for-one swap on those, or they could buy an Uncommon for five Common Relics of any type.


    As for the Health, Mana, and Stamina Regen potions, those all ran either four coppers of any variety or eight Shards each¡ªwhich was significantly below the going value at the Loot Arcade. Because the price was so damned good, I¡¯d decided to cap those at three elixirs per customer. They would serve as another loss leader to get people through the door, and even though I was undercutting the Arcade, I¡¯d still be making a healthy profit, since the store would naturally regenerate those over time anyway.


    ¡°Let anyone that comes in know that we¡¯re also actively looking to buy any Relics or Artifacts they¡¯re willing to part with.¡± I reached back into the void and pulled out a sack filled with Copper Delver Loot Tokens. There were thirty-five in there, leaving just five left in my personal inventory. ¡°We¡¯re paying out seven coppers for Common Relics, one silver for Uncommons.¡± I retrieved a second, much smaller bag, and added it to the first. It contained three silvers, which felt physically painful to part with¡ªthe two Silver Delver Tokens I¡¯d earned from clearing the store and one Silver Weaponmaster Token.


    Ponypuff accepted the two bags without comment and slipped them into the cash register drawer.


    ¡°Any questions?¡± I asked, eyeing the two golems and wondering if I was making a terrible mistake.


    When neither asked, I grimaced and nodded. Probably a terrible mistake.


    ¡°Is it time to go summon the gorillas?¡± Croc asked, sounding hopeful, tail waggling so hard the dog¡¯s rump was damn near vibrating.


    ¡°Again¡ªand I cannot emphasize this strongly enough¡ªthere will absolutely be no gorillas involved, Croc. And to answer your actual question, almost. There¡¯s just one more little thing we need to do before we can really get this show on the road.¡± I turned and eyed a spot right next to the front counter. A space that looked like it was custom-built to hold an ATM, or maybe something ATM shaped.


    Like a Progenitor Monolith.

 Twenty-Nine – New Addition

    As Croc and I exited the shop, I glanced back over one shoulder to find the familiar glass sliding door vanish in the span of three steps. One minute it was there, and the next it was like the entire store had been surgically cut out of existence¡ªneatly removed like a cancerous tumor¡ªleaving only a smooth expanse of tiled wall where the shop had been before.


    ¡°Well there¡¯s something you don¡¯t see every day,¡± I muttered while examining the empty stretch of wall.


    Then I realized the same could be said for literally every single thing inside the Backrooms. Giant mall rats the size of Rottweilers. Skinless demons. Firebomb-hurling crows. A dog with googly eyes made entirely out of Croc material. I shook my head, dismissing the thought, and activated Unerring Arrow, fixing the nearest Monolith in mind.


    My plan was to head up to the Lobby and start my guerilla marketing campaign there, grinding out some easy experience against the Lobby Greeters, then progressively work my way down. But first I needed to divvy out my fifteen available Personal Enhancement Points. No reason to sit on ¡¯em.


    Plus, there was something I wanted to try.


    The arrow ushered us back the way we¡¯d come, down a few wide hallways, then through a service corridor that had a handful of easily avoidable low-level traps and a single level 2 Monomorphic Flytrap Mimic, in the form of a metal folding chair. I scorched the Dweller with a quick one-two punch of Bleach Blazes, then looted its smoldering corpse, earning another Basic Camouflage Relic in the process.


    Like all the others I¡¯d visited so far, the Monolith was outside of a small bank, this one called Sunset Savings & Loan. I glanced through the frosted white window trying to get a better idea of what exactly was inside the bank and what connection they had to the Progenitor Monoliths. Were all the Monoliths¡ªeven those located on other floors¡ªalso outside of community banks? I didn¡¯t have an answer, but at this point, I was certain it was more than just a coincidence.


    I asked Croc while still peering through the window, though I couldn¡¯t see jack shit inside. The glass was so opaque that I¡¯d need to venture inside if I wanted any sort of answer, and I wasn¡¯t that curious. Not yet, anyway.


    ¡°It¡¯s not always a bank,¡± Croc replied absently. ¡°It¡¯s only a bank here on the third floor. I¡¯ve never been lower than floor eleven, myself, but on floor one you can find them outside of these parking attendant shacks. On floor two, they¡¯re all located by the Plumbers and Steamfitters Union shops. I¡¯ve spent a fair bit of time down on floor seven, as well, since that¡¯s where Howlers Hold is. The Monoliths on seven are always near a principal¡¯s office.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean level seven is a school?¡± I asked, wanting to know more about the level with the Safe Harbor.


    Croc frowned. ¡°More or less. Most of it is school themed, but there are some school-adjacent areas, too. Outdoor playgrounds. Cafeterias. Nurse stations. Nurseries. Those weird birthday party places that cater exclusively to children between the ages of seven and eleven. Those are usually the Loot Arcades, though.¡±


    ¡°Any idea what¡¯s inside here?¡± I asked, stepping away from the community bank then hooking a thumb toward the frosted glass.


    ¡°Bad stuff is what,¡± Croc said darkly. ¡°Delvers that go into the banks don¡¯t come back out. Ever. Against my better judgment, I went into one with a Delver from Brazil named Juana. It looked like what you would expect from a small bank. Bland carpet, comfortable chairs, racks of literature about different types of savings accounts and credit cards. But there was a guardian inside. He was called a Vault Teller. He was very tall, the Vault Teller. Maybe eight or nine feet, I reckon, and he wore a nice suit.


    ¡°Instead of a face, he had on this ivory-white porcelain mask with a big smile. It seemed¡±¡ªCroc hesitated for a second, as though considering its words carefully¡ª¡°not as overtly hostile as most of the store managers,¡± the dog finished. ¡°But when Juana got too close, he pulled that mask off. He didn¡¯t have a face, Dan. Where it should¡¯ve been was just this empty black hole. That hole sucked Juana right in like a vacuum cleaner. Compressed her into a pulverized ball of meat and bone the size of my fist, then just swallowed her.¡±


    That didn¡¯t sound especially hopeful.


    ¡°Any idea what level the Vault Teller was?¡± I asked, my curiosity growing even stronger.


    ¡°Level forty, Dan. For reference, that¡¯s a full thirteen levels higher than the Murder Muncher from the Arcade. The thing that was so strong you couldn¡¯t even have scratched it on your best day¡ªeven with that fancy stolen Emblem of yours. I say all that, just in case you were thinking of doing something rash.¡±


    I sighed and moved away from the bank.


    ¡°Nope,¡± I replied, shaking my head. ¡°It just strikes me as odd is all. This place¡±¡ªI waved a hand around¡ª¡°it feels wild and chaotic and random, but it¡¯s not. Not always. You said there are Loot Arcades and Progenitor Monoliths in every quadrant. That¡¯s a pattern. But that also means there¡¯s one of these banks, or something like it, in every quadrant, too. And assuming they all have these powerful guardians, the question becomes, just what in the hell are they guarding?¡±


    I let the question hang, unanswered, in the air as I headed over to the Monolith and quickly toggled through the options menu, pulling up my Specimen Bio-Report. I scanned through the details but didn¡¯t linger long on anything in particular. I had fifteen Enhancement Points to burn, and I had a good idea of what to do with them. Although I still badly wanted to enhance my Athleticism and Toughness so that I could take a hit and pummel things to death with my hammer, my magic was just a more effective tool.


    It did more damage and was far more versatile than any of my purely physical skills, plus the Mana Capacitor gave me percentage-based boosts, so the higher base stat the greater the overall benefit.


    With that in mind, I dropped two points into Perception and eight points into Resonance, both of which influenced my overall Mana Pool and regeneration rate. I added a single point to Toughness. Thanks to my shitty Health Pool, I¡¯d already knocked at Death¡¯s door one too many times for my liking, and intended to change that, even if it took a little longer than I wanted. I begrudgingly dropped the last four Enhancement Points into Grit, because I was also getting real tired of things screwing around inside my head.


    First those shitheels in the Blacklight Emporium, then the hypnotic chomping of the Murder Muncher in the Arcade, and finally the Photophage. My low Grit score had nearly killed me several times over, and I needed to rectify that before it ended up burying me for good.


    Dan Woodridge


    Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C


    Variant Assimilation Level: 12


    Race: Human, Archetypal


    Current Experience: 10,990


    Next Level: 12,250


    Personal Enhancement Points: 0


    __ __ __


    Health: 43


    Health-Regen/Hour: 2


    __ __ __


    Stamina Reserve: 25


    Stamina-Regen/Minute: 1.95


    __ __ __


    Mana Pool: 77


    Mana-Regen/Minute: 6


    Individual Adaptative Stats


    Grit: 10 (9 + 1 Enhanced)


    Athleticism: 8


    Toughness: 9


    Perception: 15


    Resonance: 30


    Preservation: 5


    Spatial Core - Active


    (C) Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding ¨C Level 1


    (C) The Gremlin¡¯s Groin Guardian ¨C Level 1


    (C) Force Multiplier ¨C Level 1


    (C) Slippery When Wet ¨C Level 1


    (U) Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike ¨C Level 1


    (U) Bad Trip ¨C Level 1


    (R) Sterilization Field ¨C Level 1


    (R) Bleach Blaze: The Unidentified Stain Eradicator ¨C Level 2


    (ME) Compass of the Catacomber (Fully Tempered)


    Current Titles ¨C Passive


    Out of Your League, Deathwish, Marked for Death, Weapon of Opportunity, Legend in the Making, Overkill Overlord


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    Happy with my handiwork, I closed out of the SBR then took a step away from the Monolith as I brought up and expanded my minimap until it took up the majority of my vision. I wanted to try something, though I wasn¡¯t sure it would work, since I had a sneaking suspicion that the Monolith was in some way tethered to the nearby bank. But when I scrutinized the map, the Monolith itself wasn¡¯t marked in red.


    With a thought and a whisper of will, I activated Blanket Fort for the second time, this time tracing an ethereal line in a tight square, which only encompassed the Monolith itself. As the ends of the blue Mana trail connected, the world seemed to groan around me and shift almost imperceptibly beneath my feet. There was a resistance that hadn¡¯t been present when liberating the MediocreMart¡ªalmost as if I were prying out a stubborn tooth.


    For a long beat, I thought the ability would fail me, but then the familiar prompt appeared again, traced into the air in eight-bit glory.


    Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort


    You¡¯ve selected 3 square feet of eligible Progenerated Material Resource Space. Would you like to use Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort to graft the selected material onto a Personal Superspace Dwelling? Proceed Yes/No?


    I stared at the prompt in slack-jawed amazement.


    Well how about that?


    I was stone certain this wouldn¡¯t work, but if I could actually add a Monolith to the store, it would be a game changer¡ªespecially for the fresh meat trickling in from the Lobby. Instead of having to hunt around for a Monolith, they¡¯d be able to stop in, integrate with the VIRUS, then head right back out into the fray, fully equipped with stats, survival gear, and even Relics.


    Assuming they could pay my prices, of course.


    I was happy to offer them basic survival kits, free of charge, but Relics were too rare and valuable to give away as handouts.


    As I selected Yes, the world groaned again and the ground rumbled. A moment later there was an intense flash of light and a thunderous snap that sounded like breaking glass and grinding stone. I stumbled back and blinked several times to clear my vision. When I could see again, the Monolith was, indeed, gone, and where it had been standing was a blank, smooth patch of tile.


    Something else had changed as well, however.


    A huge crack had appeared across the frosted white window of the Sunset Savings & Loan, then continued down, morphing into a deep fissure that carved its way across the stone fa?ade of the bank. The jagged crack, large enough to stick my entire hand into, terminated at the floor. I dropped into a crouch and ran my fingers along the edges of the fracture. The stone felt slick and also strangely warm, though not hot. I pulled my fingers away and found them coated in a thick, mucus-like goo.


    The fuck is going on here?


    Although sequestering the MediocreMart had caused some minor tremors, I got the sense that I¡¯d just damaged the Backrooms in a rather significant way. I vividly recalled how much force it had taken to put a tiny hairline crack in the Arcade window. I was sure the Backrooms would heal the damage over time, but I couldn¡¯t even imagine the amount of metaphysical power it would take to inflict this kind of wound in the first place.


    I stood and shook the slime free from my fingers, then wiped my palm against the outer edge of the Versace bathrobe for good measure.


    ¡°Dan, what in the world did you just do?¡± Croc asked, sounding equally impressed and scandalized.


    ¡°I think I just got us our own personal Progenitor Monolith?¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s¡­¡± Croc started to say. ¡°But that¡¯s not possible. The Monoliths are an integral part of each quadrant, just like the Arcades. You can¡¯t just take one,¡± the dog finished. Then, ¡°Can you? I mean¡­ Will it even work if it¡¯s disconnected from the rest of the Backrooms?¡±


    ¡°Only one way to find out,¡± I replied with a shrug.


    I reached through the Void and pulled out one of the six Doorway Anchors I¡¯d received after establishing my Blanket Fort for the first time. I half expected it to look like an arcane sigil or maybe a golden skeleton key engraved with runes of tremendous power.


    It was neither of those things.


    It looked like a black plastic doorplate with a simple white rectangular border. Written on the front of the placard were the words Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains. There was an option to edit the text, but I left it as it was¡ªI was trying to advertise, after all. Intuitively, I fed a trickle of Mana into the item then moved over to the bank in four long strides and slapped it against the glass door. It hit with a sharp thwack and a new prompt appeared.


    You¡¯ve attached a Standard Doorway Anchor to a compatible door at the Current Relative Position: 3.28.16.52-67. Completing this action will convert the existing doorway into an entrance to Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains. Warning, unlike VIP Doorway Anchors¡ªwhich can be reclaimed at any time¡ªonce a Standard Doorway Anchor is placed, it cannot be reclaimed for twenty-four hours. Proceed? Yes/No?


    I faltered when I got to the part that spelled out the difference between the VIP and the Standard Doorway Anchors. I¡¯d been wondering about that since the items had magically appeared in my inventory, but I hadn¡¯t been able to find anything about them in the operations manual. Now, I knew. The fact that I could only reclaim the standard anchors once a day limited some of the various ways that I could use them, but the VIP anchor mostly made up for any other shortcomings.


    With the VIP anchor, I¡¯d be able to pop in and out of my personal Superspace without ever having to worry about backtracking to find a doorway.


    I accepted the prompt and a flare of metaphysical weight briefly pressed against my newly enhanced perception. It almost reminded me of the spiritual pressure I¡¯d felt while under the cold gaze of the Flayed Monarch. The skinless ruler had forced me to the ground and ruptured several of my organs just through the sheer power of its presence. That was Mana control, I was beginning to realize. Mana itself had a certain weight to it and the more a person had¡ªor the more a spell consumed¡ªthe heavier that weight became.


    Based on the pressure building in the air around me, whatever I¡¯d just done was very heavy, spiritually speaking.


    Another prompt appeared as the weight lifted then faded entirely.


    You¡¯ve created a Prime Doorway Anchor Point, securely tethering your Personal Superspace Dwelling to the VESS (Variant Exploration Surveyor Ship) Superstructure. If you remove this Prime Anchor Point without first attaching a secondary anchor point, it is statistically probable that your Superspace Dwelling will become unmoored from reality and drift into the Oblivion Field within one standard year, where it will suffer utter, unfathomable annihilation.


    Due to the nature of your Personal Superspace Dwelling, all Doorway Anchors act as a temporal restriction field, which allows you, the owner, to set up an Admittance Credentialing System to limit access based on criteria of your choosing. Would you like to set up an Admittance Credentialing System at this time? Failure to do so will allow any Delver or Dweller to enter your PSD through all active Doorway Anchor Points. Yes/No?


    The operations manual hadn¡¯t mentioned the difference between the VIP and standard anchors, but it had briefly covered the credentialing system¡ªthough it had been rather light on the details. Probably because the Doorway Anchors themselves had their own custom interface, just the same way as the store did.


    Although I was jonesing to start spreading the word about my new general store, I couldn¡¯t just let any random schlub waltz on into my store. I had a skinless murder god hunting me, after all, not to mention all of his cultist shithead pals.


    I hit Yes and a new interface appeared, this one just as complicated as my personal SBR Portal and my Blanket Fort Interface.


    But it was also intuitive and surprisingly easy to use.


    There were several demographic tabs that allowed me to discriminate against damn near anyone for damn near any reason. I could deny access based on gender, age, Variant Assimilation Level, faction affiliation, and about a hundred other things, including a Delver¡¯s former occupation or medical conditions, ranging from the flu to gonorrhea. Obviously, I wasn¡¯t going to keep someone out because of a case of the sniffles¡ªI had enough coffee syrup to drown an ox¡ªbut that also meant I could prevent anyone with early onset Blight from getting inside and contaminating my property.


    I quickly toggled through the options and kept it general to start, excluding anyone with the Blight or any affiliation with the Skinless Court. I also set the Variant Assimilation Level Cap at thirty for the time being. I could always adjust that as I got stronger, but for now I wanted to play it safe. Although the store had a metric assload of formidable defensive capabilities, I had no idea how powerful someone above level thirty really was or what kind of Artifacts and Relics they might have at their disposal.


    While camouflaged, mimics could render themselves invisible even to my Mapmaker¡¯s Eye, which was a fully tempered, Fabled-grade Relic that also happened to be part of a Mythic-grade Emblem. If a low-level Camo spell could do all that, then maybe there were more powerful Relics that would actively suppress the store¡¯s Stasis Halo or Ban Hammer Bindings, preventing them from engaging. Was I being paranoid? Probably.


    But just because I was paranoid didn¡¯t mean I was wrong.


    Once all the demographic restrictions were in place, the system prompted me to create an intro message and a set of group rules, which would be shown to every single person¡ªhuman or otherwise¡ªthe moment they attempted to enter through any doorway anchor for the first time.


    I only mulled it over for a short moment, before crafting my magnificent masterpiece.


    Welcome to Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains. Need supplies, food, Artifacts, Relics, or just a safe place to lay your head for a few hours? You¡¯ve come to the right place. We¡¯ve got a little bit of everything and offer all of it for a fair price.


    But¡ªand read this part carefully¡ªif you Fuck Around with me, my employees, or my store I guarantee you will Find Out. Or as my grandad would say, ¡°sow the wind, reap the whirlwind.¡± This is a neutral space, so whatever problems you have with other Delvers or Dwellers, that shit stays outside my store. Follow the rules and you¡¯ll be fine. Don¡¯t and you¡¯re gonna regret it.


    <ol>


    <li> Don¡¯t STEAL, or I¡¯ll dropkick your ass into the sun.</li>


    <li> Don¡¯t harass store Employees. Seriously. They will END you.</li>


    <li> Don¡¯t damage store property or I will personally feed you to the Mobile Murder Muncher in the Loot Arcade.</li>


    <li> DON¡¯T BE A DICK. You might be surprised how far not being a dick will take you in life. </li>


    <li> Discount Dan¡¯s is Neutral Territory. All are welcome here, EXCEPT for the Aspirants of the Skinless Court.</li>


    <li> All Aspirants of the Skinless Court can go suck an entire bag of dicks.</li>


    </ol>


    ¡ª Discount Dan


    I read then reread my message, double-checking that I hadn¡¯t missed anything important.


    Admittedly, it wasn¡¯t the most professional welcome message, but it got the point across and covered all the major bases. Plus, if I thought of anything else, I could always add it in later. Satisfied, I approved the rules then tugged the door open without ceremony and stepped not into what should¡¯ve been the inside of Sunset Savings & Loan but into my own little slice of paradise.


    Princess Ponypuff was manning the front desk, looking rather bored, and though there was no sign of Baby Hands, I could hear shuffling footsteps off in the distance accompanied by the squelching sound of a mop.


    That guy really did have one helluva work ethic.


    Sitting nearby, jutting off from the wall in its own little alcove, was the Progenitor Monolith I¡¯d just added. I hurriedly flipped open my operations manual, accessed the Blanket Fort Interface, and selected the new addition. A ghostly 3D version of the store blazed to life in the air, and I rotated the layout with a quick twist of my fingers so I had a perfect top-down view of the entire store¡ªincluding the poorly tacked-on new addition. I selected the Monolith with a poke of my finger and the item lit up white on the holographic overlay.


    Using the map, I dragged the machine away from its secluded nook and repositioned it near the front desk¡ªright where an ATM should¡¯ve sat, but didn¡¯t. There was a low groan and a subsequent tremor shivered through the floor, but by the time I closed the three-ring binder, the new alcove was gone, and the Monolith had already been relocated to its new position beside checkout.


    The real question now, though, was would the Monolith actually work?


    Holding my breath in anticipation, I slapped my palm against the reader. The options menu appeared, and a grin spread across my face. I selected my SBR tab, just to be sure, but everything appeared to be working without a hitch.


    That left a new question spinning through my head.


    If I could steal a Monolith, what about a Loot Arcade? If I could tack one of those sons a bitches onto the store, it could prove mighty useful. Then I faltered. Sure, it would be personally convenient to have access to a private Loot Arcade, but would I be hurting my overall bottom line in the process? Thing was, there was no way for me to take a cut on any of the items within the Loot Arcade¡ªthe Backrooms absorbed all Loot Tokens spent¡ªwhich meant Delvers would come in and spend money on stuff that didn¡¯t belong to me.


    Hmm, I¡¯d have to noodle on that one a little and figure out what the best course of action was. But first things first, I needed to start getting the word out.


    ¡°Well?¡± Croc asked, shaking me from my thoughts. ¡°Does it still work?¡±


    My grin widened into a beaming smile and I nodded. ¡°We¡¯re in business, my friend. And now it¡¯s time to go let everyone know¡­¡±

 Thirty – Guerilla Marketing

    With the first Doorway Anchor planted, Croc and I headed back up to the Lobby to start our viral marketing campaign.


    Locating a stairwell took less than half an hour thanks to Unerring Arrow, and in short order we found ourselves wandering through endlessly confusing corridors filled with gray carpet, white columns, buzzing lights, and moldy yellow wallpaper. We emerged in a quadrant that was a hundred miles or more away from where I¡¯d first entered the Backrooms, which gave me some sense of exactly how big this place really was.


    Each level was easily the size of a sprawling city¡ªaccording to Croc, some were even the size of small countries¡ªand I couldn¡¯t afford to post more than one Doorway per level. Hell, even if I only planted one on every other level, I¡¯d still need to hit level 500 before I could cover just half of the known levels in this twisted hellhole.


    I would be able to move the doors, though, which would likely help in the long run. In the short term, it created a significant logistical problem.


    Although I could mark up the walls with spray paint¡ªleaving clues, hints, and even rudimentary directions¡ªthe sheer scope of the Lobby was just too massive for that to be an effective long-term strategy. Especially since the floors were liable to shift at sporadic intervals. A phenomenon I personally experienced for the first time after about two hours in the Lobby.


    Croc and I were making our way down an unremarkable hallway¡ªidentical to a thousand others just like it¡ªwhen suddenly the whole world rumbled as a massive earthquake knocked me on my ass. Motes of dust rained down from the ceiling, hanging thick in the air, and the lights flickered madly, casting the hallway into darkness for a few long, tense seconds before finally stabilizing. Several long cracks had appeared in the walls, though it would only be a matter of time before the wounds healed themselves.


    Once the dust settled, it was damn near impossible to tell that anything had even happened. If it weren¡¯t for my handy dandy mini-map I would¡¯ve written it off as an errant tremor.


    Just another weird thing in a very weird place.


    My map lent me some much-needed perspective, however. Although the individual sector I was in hadn¡¯t changed at all, that sector itself had moved its relative location within its quadrant, and the quadrant, in turn, had radically shifted its position within the floor.


    The mini-map had a useful feature, which allowed me to get an accurate Current Relative Position coordinate at any given moment. Just minutes before the shift, my CRP had been 0.15.23.19-78, which corresponded to Floor 0, Quadrant 15, Sector 23. After the Floor Shift, my CRP had changed drastically to 0.31.12.19-78. Floor 0, Quadrant 31, Sector 12.


    The sudden change reinforced my logistical challenge.


    Given everything working against me, just how in the hell was I supposed to guide a brand-new Delver¡ªwho didn¡¯t know their ass from their elbow¡ªto a singular doorway in a sprawling labyrinth that was as big as the city of LA? Only a thousand times more confusing. With monsters. And no food or water. Plus, the floors shifted, completely rearranging their entire spatial layout at seemingly random intervals.


    The answer turned out to be simple and surprisingly elegant:


    The red yarn I¡¯d received from the Loot Arcade. The Twinning String.


    The string wasn¡¯t nearly as good as Unerring Arrow, but it served a similar function. Although the two small sections of string weren¡¯t physically connected, they were metaphysically connected through a spectral tether of power. With a simple effort of intention, an intrepid Delver could easily use one piece of string to find its twin, no matter how far apart it might be. Even better, because the yarn was an Artifact, it didn¡¯t require Mana to use, which meant even newbs without a Relic could harness its magic.


    It was the perfect solution.


    I stashed hundreds of little slivers of yarn inside the cash register drawer back in the store. Then I took the twinned pieces, tied each of them into small red rings that could be worn around a finger, and spent the better part of three days systematically distributing them throughout the Lobby.


    Well, a relatively small section of it, anyway.


    Every time there was a trap or an environmental danger, I¡¯d take a few minutes to spray paint a warning in bright red letters.


    Rule #1 - Beware the Bathrooms, the toilets WILL eat you.


    ¡ªThis Survival Tip brought to you by Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains.


    Once that was done, I¡¯d pound a nail into the wall with practiced ease, imbue it with a sliver of Mana using the Surveyor¡¯s Mark ability, then loop several of the yarn rings around the nailhead. That done, I¡¯d mark the location on my mini-map, then beneath each nail, I¡¯d write a much smaller note using my Sharpie.


    Bad news, you¡¯re in the Backrooms. Worse news, everything is trying to kill you. Better news, I¡¯m not trying to kill you. Take one of the yarn rings, put it on your finger, and follow where it takes you. Or don¡¯t and die¡ªthe choice is yours. I¡¯ve got supplies, intel, and a Progenitor Monolith waiting.


    ¡ªDiscount Dan


    It was a truly tedious process and because the Lobby was so enormous, Croc and I were only able to loosely canvass two of the thirty-six quadrants. And that was with three days of constant grinding, trekking for fifteen hours or more a day, and only taking short breaks to eat or catch a few minutes of shut-eye.


    By the end of the third day, I was starting to get a little discouraged.


    This place was just so impossibly vast that our meager efforts felt like a waste of time. It was like trying to empty the ocean with a coffee mug. But if we managed to save one life, it would be worth it. At least, that¡¯s what Croc told me over and over and over again anytime it seemed like I was getting depressed.


    There weren¡¯t nearly as many traps in the Lobby as there were on the third floor. The greatest danger was desolate emptiness and the staggering lack of resources. Most of the unfortunate souls who ended up here would probably die from some combination of dehydration or starvation long before they stepped on a runic pressure plate or accidentally sat down on an aggressive flytrap mimic masquerading as a bench.


    That didn¡¯t mean there weren¡¯t any traps or threats, however.


    The walls themselves were slightly acidic, and there were rooms where the incessant buzzing of the fluorescent lights was so loud and disorienting it could make your ears literally bleed. Stay in there too long, Croc warned, and your organs would spontaneously liquefy, which was an absolutely horrifying notion.


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    Needless to say, we marked the rooms quickly and didn¡¯t linger.


    I also found one isolated room that wasn¡¯t empty like all the others.


    It resembled a nondescript lobby¡ªthe kind of place that was common at cheap business hotels. There was nothing particularly impressive about it, but after wandering through a desert of carpet, it felt like stumbling into a lush oasis. There were padded armchairs, coffee tables, an empty reception desk, and even a working drinking fountain. The desk had phones that played banal Please Hold music on an endless loop and an ancient desktop computer that had been cutting edge back in 1993.


    Beside the desk was a wire rack filled with travel brochures.


    Like the Lobby corridors, each and every brochure was identical.


    They all had Welcome to the Backrooms! scrawled across the front, but the interior was filled with monotonous pictures of carpet, columns, and, of course, yellow wallpaper. There was ad copy and customer reviews splashed across each page of the trifold pamphlet, extolling the virtues of the Backrooms as though it were a tourist destination filled with wonderous attractions and not a stinking death hole boiling over with murder monsters.


    ¡°Get lost in the ambiance ¨C And just about everything else!¡± one headline read.


    ¡°It¡¯s so awesome here, you¡¯ll never want to leave. Which is good, because you can¡¯t! HAHAHAHA ¨C My eyes are bleeding¡­¡± another said.


    A customer review at the bottom of one page was especially poignant. ¡°Did I want to come here? No. Would I wish this on my worst enemy? Also no. This place is an infinite loop of existential dread. I want to die.¡±  ¡ªMatt Smith, Former Guest of the Backrooms


    Still, all of that aside, the room was far more inviting than any other space in the Lobby, which obviously meant it was not to be trusted.


    In general, the Lobby was sweltering, but the lounge hummed with AC.


    Delicious, cool, inviting, refreshing AC, which was perhaps the single greatest technological innovation of modern man.


    Unfortunately, the cool air also carried a faint chemical whiff, which was noticeable at first but faded quickly. Turned out, that chemical smell was a slow-acting anesthetic gas that would knock out anyone who loitered in the cushy lounge for too long. I started to feel a little woozy after ten minutes or so. For those with lower Athleticism and Toughness stats, it probably would¡¯ve been much quicker. The fact that this place would taint something as pure and amazing as AC was a genuine travesty and one of the deepest betrayals yet.


    When the gas eventually kicked in, there was something nasty waiting beneath the reception desk.


    Well, maybe not waiting beneath the reception desk, so much as it was part of the reception desk. My Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense tipped me off right away, and I splattered the creature with a Bleach Blaze that ate through ninety percent of its HP on impact.


    Dweller 0.014A ¨C Lobby Receptionist [Level 4]


    The Receptionist unfolded its body with a furious shriek as my attack landed.


    A tight black suit clung to limbs that were thin and frail looking, and its head turned out to be the ancient computer from the desk.


    No surprise there.


    In many ways, it reminded me of the Bathroom Janitor who¡¯d guarded the stairwell down to level three. The creature hurdled over what remained of the desk in a mad rush to murder me even as ghostly blue flames ate through its suit and the pale skin beneath. I could¡¯ve ended the monster with a second Bleach Blaze, but instead I drove my enchanted hammer into the side of its computer skull, activating the Gavel of Get Fucked as the blow landed.


    Since the Receptionist was well below ten percent total Health, the strike triggered the Killing Blow effect¡ªslaying the target on contact. My hammer hit like a bomb blast and the ancient computer that served as the Receptionist¡¯s head exploded, bits of bone, blood, plastic, and screen flying everywhere before the creature¡¯s knees gave out and it collapsed to the ground in a heap.


    There was a small bronze key on its corpse, which opened a secret panel in the wall behind the Receptionist¡¯s desk. The door let out into a narrow stairwell that connected to level one.


    The creature granted me 150 experience points and had a Common Relic, called Complimentary Upgrade, along with two Common Shards tucked away inside its Spatial Core. Complimentary Upgrade was a decent support spell that could be cast on a single target, increasing all damage that target dealt by five percent for thirty seconds. Unfortunately, the spell had a relatively high Mana cost and couldn¡¯t be cast on self, which limited its usefulness. Especially since it was just me and Croc at this point.


    Still, something like that would sell well, so I added it to my inventory along with the tiny bronze key. Then I made sure to spray-paint the room with so much red that it looked like a murder scene.


    Although the current Delver Guardian was dead, another would take its place sooner or later.


    On top of dehydration and starvation, exhaustion was also a significant problem, since resting for too long invariably summoned the Lobby Greeters. There was no exact science to how long was too long, however. It all seemed to boil down to one thing: how much time you¡¯d spent in the Lobby. Although there were a lot of Greeters, they weren¡¯t everywhere, all the time, as I¡¯d first assumed. The gangly nightmares traveled in packs, which typically ranged in size between five and thirteen Greeters.


    Once a pack found you, they started hunting in earnest, and once they got a whiff, they didn¡¯t relent until you were dead or had somehow managed to escape to a lower level. The Greeters were rather timid, though. Opportunists and scavengers. Each one had a comically small Health Pool, and they only dealt a tiny amount of overall physical damage. They made up for their myriad of shortcomings with volume and patience.


    Once a target was weak, they would swarm en masse like a school of hungry piranha.


    And although they were weak and squishy, they were persistent little butt-munchers who just wouldn¡¯t give up. They could wait for hours or days, biding their time until their chosen prey became so tired and dehydrated that they couldn¡¯t offer any meaningful resistance.


    Now that I¡¯d hit level 12, the ghoulish Greeters¡ªwith their inky skin, bulbous eyes, and too-wide smiles¡ªwere far creepier than they were dangerous. Croc and I purposely took long rests, luring the creatures into range, then slaughtered them by the dozen before moving on. They offered only a paltry twenty-five Experience Points apiece, and despite being level 2, none of them carried Relics, just Common Shards.


    But, again, volume.


    There were a shit-ton of ¡¯em and they didn¡¯t seem especially bright because more and more kept coming at me, even though I was leaving actual piles of corpses in my wake. Enough corpses that even Croc got full. I massacred so many of the gangly, potbellied bastards that I leapt right past level 13 and hit level 14 by the third day of grinding. I¡¯d earned 2,575 Experience, in total, plus one hundred and eleven Common Relic Shards.


    I¡¯d also unlocked a new achievement, which I had mixed feelings about.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Fish in a Barrel


    You¡¯re one sick fuck, you know that? I mean, 103 Lobby Greeters? Triple digits. Do you feel good about yourself? These things are about as dangerous as a ninety-two-year-old pensioner picking up a few extra shifts at Walmart because they can¡¯t afford their nursing home care. Sure, they pose a threat to new Delvers, but to someone like you? Slaughtering Lobby Greeters is like shooting fish in a barrel. Using a .50 caliber machine gun. You monster.


    Reward: 5 x Copper Delver Loot Token, 1 x Silver Slayer Token


    Title: Fish in a Barrel (E) ¨C You exude an aura of pure carnage. Dwellers more than ten levels below you will actively avoid you, and slaying any Dweller below level 5 grants no Experience.


    This is an (E)volving title. This title cannot be unequipped. Sucks to be you. Honestly, this is what you get for being a dick and upsetting the delicate ecosystem of the Lobby.


    The title seemed to do its job because, after that, the Greeters disappeared like fog burning away with the noontime sun. That made the job easier in some ways, but also much less lucrative. And about a thousand times more monotonous.


    In the end, though, that was fine, because it was high time I moved on to some of the other floors. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I wanted to do my part to help out all the poor suckers stuck in the Lobby, but I also wanted to pick up Relics, and brand-new Delvers weren¡¯t going to have many of those¡ªif any. I needed to find some more seasoned Backrooms veterans, and the only way to do that was to go deeper.


    With Unerring Arrow to guide us, Croc and I headed for the first floor.

 Thirty-One – The Daily Grind

    The next two weeks passed much the same as those first three days in the Lobby had.


    Croc and I spent every waking moment grinding through new quadrants and killing anything unlucky enough to get in our way.


    That, or hauling ass away from anything that was too powerful to tangle with head-on.


    I spent a lot more time running than I¡¯d like to admit.


    The whole while, I mapped out different sectors, spray-painted warnings and survival tips, and distributed red Twinning Rings like Johnny fucking Appleseed sowing seeds through the rolling hills of Kentuckiana. We still spent a handful of hours every day up in the Lobby¡ªI¡¯d begun to think of that as charity work¡ªbut the majority of our time was spent canvassing the first, second, and third floors.


    Of the three proper floors, the first was the least awful.


    I mean, it was still a miserable, existential nightmare of unending horror, filled with monstrous Dwellers who would kill you as soon as look at you, but at least there were also resources and a few redeeming qualities.


    The first floor took the form of an enormous dystopian parking garage from hell: the kind of thing you might expect to find in a postapocalyptic zombie flick. Unlike the Lobby, which seemed to be a flat, continuous plane, floor one was an enormous cube with quadrants stacked one on top of the other, all held together by gargantuan concrete pillars, each the size of a skyscraper, which supported the level above.


    The garage wasn¡¯t empty.


    Its tens of thousands of spaces were occupied by a wide variety of vintage cars, which had been new and shiny once upon a time, but were now rusted and worn with age and disuse. Most of them didn¡¯t have keys and even the ones that did rarely started. These things had been sitting for God only knew how long, and whatever magic animated the generators and lights on the floor didn¡¯t seem to extend to the vehicles themselves.


    There were a few exceptions, though.


    On the third day of exploration, my Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense illuminated a bright orange, 1972 Ford Pinto that miraculously sputtered to life and was powered not by gasoline but by Relic Shards, of all things. Turned out, the ass-ugly piece of shit was a bona fide Artifact. A powerful one, too. Not only could I feed it Shards to keep the motor running indefinitely, but it was a summonable item.


    ¡¯72 Ford Pinto of the Hobo


    Uncommon Artifact


    Type: Summonable


    Cost: 7 Miles/1 x Common Relic Shard


    You¡¯re down on your luck, in between jobs while trying to land your big ¡°acting break,¡± and just got evicted from your studio apartment NoHo. And no, that¡¯s not a garbage bag, that¡¯s a suitcase. But at least you have this 1972 Ford Pinto that you inherited from your dead uncle, Bill. It¡¯s technically better than being homeless. Yes, it does smell like pee, and sure there is probably a possum roosting in the engine, but at least it keeps the rain off your back.


    To summon the Artifact, simply repeat the words Bill uttered every Saturday night during the blistering hot summer of ¡¯81: ¡°It¡¯s Cruising Time.¡±


    To unsummon the Artifact, repeat the words Bill would recite come Monday morning: ¡°Why does God hate me?¡±


    When unsummoned, the Pinto magically transformed into a miniature Hot Wheels made from real die-cast metal, which I could carry around in my pocket. It had a nice feel to it, but weighed no more than a typical Hot Wheels car would. The way the Artifact defied the laws of both god and the conservation of mass was a real head-scratcher, but who was I to question the strange physics of this place?


    I had no idea if seven miles to a Shard was good¡ªthough I suspected not¡ªand the Pinto had a host of other issues besides. Eighteen miles per hour was her top speed, no matter what I did, and the car radio blared ¡°The Girl from Ipanema¡± on a continuous loop so long as the motor was running. The woofers were blown, and the radio could not be shut off or even turned down. It was less than an ideal situation, and after a few hours, I was fantasizing about sticking a screwdriver into both my ears to silence Astrud Gilberto¡¯s gentle crooning.


    Still, despite its many, many faults, the Pinto was convenient and helped us cover a lot of ground much quicker than we could¡¯ve on foot. And if there was one Artifact like this, it stood to reason that there were likely others. Hopefully ones that were less old, went faster, and had a better selection of tunes.


    The first floor was also substantially safer than either the Lobby or the sprawling mall that occupied the third floor. But safer still wasn¡¯t safe. There were mimics by the bushel¡ªoften assuming the form of cars, vending machines, and Progenitor Monoliths¡ªwhich came as no shock to anyone. The Monoliths still resembled ATMs and were all universally positioned outside of locked parking attendant shacks, which were tiny compared to the huge banks of the third floor.


    The shacks themselves were secured tighter than a nun¡¯s panties, and try as I might, there was no getting inside.


    There were the standard pitfalls to consider, but there were also a variety of floor-specific traps, which were as clever as they were deadly. Oil slicks that would spontaneously erupt into flames. Electrical hazards and carbon monoxide poisoning. Randomly placed car bombs, which gave me traumatic flashbacks to my days of running convoys outside of Fallujah.


    And Dwellers, of course.


    Always Dwellers.


    Although the mimics were the most plentiful, there were also roving bands of faceless humanoids. And when I say faceless, I mean faceless.


    They looked more or less like normal, everyday folk, but where eyes and noses and mouths should¡¯ve been was just a smooth expanse of empty skin, stretched too tight against the skull. They couldn¡¯t see, but those cockwombles could hear a pin drop at a hundred yards, and they ran like Olympian sprinters. The majority of the Faceless were between level 4 and 7 and offered anywhere between 125 and 200 experience a pop, which wasn¡¯t bad at all¡ªalthough, I didn¡¯t get anything for killing the level fours, thanks to my shitty new Fish in a Barrel title.


    Even barring the experience, they all carried at least one Relic or the occasional Artifact, though nothing that rivaled the glory of the Pinto.


    Their Relics tended to be physical in nature and usually involved enhancing the senses in some way, often increasing sound or smell sensitivity. One even granted infrared vision, allowing the user to see like a pit viper. But those Relics were a double-edged sword with distressing implications. The most common drop was called Mask of the Faceless. It took the form of a blank porcelain mask, devoid of eye or mouth holes, which increased sound and smell sensitivity by 10% each day the Relic was equipped, while simultaneously decreasing eyesight by 10% each day in exchange.


    And if you kept the Relic equipped long enough?


    You ended up like one of the faceless freaks aimlessly wandering the purgatory parking garage. Which meant that although the faceless weren¡¯t human any longer, most of them probably had been at one point.


    That was a thought I didn¡¯t dwell on for too long.


    I did score a kick-ass movement-enhancing Relic from a level 9 Ruined Faceless, called Moving Walkway, which was a helluva find with no nightmarish side effects.


    Moving Walkway


    Common Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Single Target


    Cost: 8 Stamina


    Buckle up, buttercup, because it¡¯s time to take a ride on the wild side. Transform the ground directly beneath your feet into a moving walkway, allowing you to dash forward at three times your normal rate of speed for six seconds. Just be careful, because EXITING the walkway can be a real sumbitch¡­


    Much as I hated to see it go, I swapped out the Gremlin¡¯s Groin Guardian for the makeshift haste ability, since being able to close the distance with my enemies or outrun high-threat pursuers was way more useful than a magical jockstrap, which also reduced my magic and elemental resistance.


    Although the first floor wasn¡¯t a place I wanted to spend much time, it wasn¡¯t terrible, either. Not compared to everything else in the Backrooms, at any rate.


    Then there was the second floor¡­


    ***


    I¡¯d come to hatefully think of the second floor as the Devil¡¯s Asshole because it was moist, gross, filled with suffering, and overflowing with shit.


    Suffice it to say, the second floor was a thousand times worse than the first and made the Lobby look bright, cheerful, and inviting by comparison.


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    The entire level was composed of narrow service tunnels, built from water-slick red brick, crammed full of rusty pipes in a hundred different sizes and varieties. Pipes that carried water. Others overflowing with fetid sewage. More still filled to bursting with steam. The cramped corridors were sweltering; it was like being stuck in a steam room located on the surface of the sun. Plus, the constant drip, drip, drip of water was maddening.


    Like a nail being pounded into your eardrums over and over again.


    The lights flickered constantly, often dying completely¡ªcasting the world into total, oppressive darkness¡ªand the whole place smelled like the inside of a hot porta john left to stew in the Iraqi desert for a few weeks. I often found myself trudging through ankle-deep sludge that reeked so bad that I had to wear a cloth facemask to help with the eye-watering stench. I muttered a small prayer of thanks that I¡¯d decided not to use the smell-enhancing Relic from the previous floor.


    On top of everything else, the place was dangerous¡ªeven more so than the third floor. Right hand to the good lord, I couldn¡¯t toss a rock without hitting a trap.


    Intentionally faulty wiring constantly threatened to electrocute unlucky Delvers at pretty much any given moment. Broken valves and cracked pipe junctures would jettison geysers of super-heated steam, capable of melting flesh and muscle in a matter of seconds. Sewage pipes leaked streams of rancid, gag-inducing slurry that could poison you or afflict you with a prolonged sickness called Sludge Lung, which sounded exactly as bad as it was.


    I knew that firsthand because I caught Sludge Lung on my second day in the tunnels. I¡¯d had to crawl back to the store in a feverish delirium to sleep off the effects of the sickness, which lasted the better part of a day. None of my elixirs helped either. I spent the entire time curled up in the fetal position, vacillating between a blazing fever and teeth-chattering chills, all while vomiting profusely and experiencing hallucinogenic nightmares.


    Without exaggerating, I can honestly say it was the sickest I¡¯d ever been in my entire life.


    Thankfully, Croc and Baby Hands were there to nurse me back to health while Princess Ponypuff cooed sweet nothings in my ear about the inherent weaknesses of mortal flesh and the imminent arrival of Vor¡¯ghel, the Devouring Maw who Dwells Beneath.


    Good times.


    There were rooms on the second floor, as well, but they were all filled with roaring machinery and clanking gears, which Croc ominously referred to as limb rippers. The mimic had lost three different Delvers to the mechanical death engines of the second floor. Over several years, Croc had also lost nine additional Delvers to the unholy Dwellers who called the floor home. There were enormous cockroaches¡ªaffectionately referred to as Skitters¡ªskin-melting Slimes, literal shit golems, and elemental steam djinn.


    The djinn were all level 10 or higher and completely immune to physical attacks.


    Needless to say, I spent the least amount of time on the second floor because¡ªone, fuck that place and the shit horse it rode in on¡ªand two, I couldn¡¯t imagine anyone surviving there for more than a day or two. It was an environmental trainwreck, not fit for human habitation, and no one would spend any amount of time there of their own volition. I reluctantly planted a doorway anchor and left notes when and where I could, but I wasn¡¯t hopeful.


    At some point, I¡¯d probably move the door to a floor with a little more foot traffic and less sewage.


    The only good thing was the Experience and the loot.


    I actively avoided fighting the shit golems for obvious reasons. As for the Skitters, Slimes, and elementals, they were miserable sons of bitches who were hard to kill but gave out excellent experience for the trouble. Enough to push me up to level 15, though my progress stalled after that. So far, the progression system had been rather linear, and levels had come easily enough, but the points needed to advance from fifteen to sixteen were triple what had been required to move from fourteen to fifteen.


    I got a decent stash of Relics, which almost made the miserable floor worth it.


    Like the Faceless of the first floor, the Skitters had physical Relics, which had to do with Health Regeneration or Poison and Disease Resistance. They were decent and there were no overt drawbacks, so I decided to keep one of each for later.


    Most of the Slimes carried a Common Relic called Mucus Membrane. It was a passive aura that caused the user¡¯s skin to secrete a goo-like acid, which dealt a small amount of corrosive damage in retaliation against all direct physical attacks. It synergized well with Bleach Blaze, but after a quick examination, I realized combining the two would transform my best offensive spell into a powerful defensive ability called Viscous Splash.


    It was a decent skill, but not at all what I needed, especially since I already had Sterilization Field.


    Still, it would be a great passive spell for any new Delver looking to round out their defensive lineup. I also managed to snag a single Uncommon Relic called Arcane Corrosion, from a level 7 Ancient Slime. It actively ate through an opponent¡¯s available Mana reserve, draining ten points of Mana per minute for five minutes. The ability could also stack up to five times, and any additional stacks renewed the spell effect.


    It was good. Really good.


    And like Mucus Membrane, it also synergized with Bleach Blaze, though the overall effect was far better.


    Synergistic Resonance Detected!


    Would you like to Forge Bleach Blaze (Rare ¨C Level 2) and Arcane Corrosion (Uncommon ¨C Level 1) into a new Relic?*


    Yes/No?


    Before committing, I ran a Compatibility Analysis.


    Researcher¡¯s Codex Compatibility Analysis


    Based on historic data sets and extensive Forging models, Bleach Blaze (Rare ¨C Level 2) and Arcane Corrosion (Uncommon ¨C Level 1) have an estimated 97% resonance compatibility, meaning the number of possible Relic Iterations is Extremely Low. The most probable outcome is Drain-O Bolt (Rare), or a closely adjacent derivative. Would you like to view additional report records for the Drain-O Bolt ability? Yes/No?


    I viewed the additional report and was pleased with what I saw.


    Combining the two Relics would not only increase Bleach Blaze¡¯s burst damage output, but it would add Mana Drain on top of the Stamina Drain it already dealt. With just a single ability, I¡¯d be able to deal Corrosive and Fire Damage while simultaneously obliterating a given target¡¯s Stamina and Mana pool. It was a dream spell, and I¡¯d be an idiot not to forge the two items together, even though doing so dropped the new Relic back down to level 1.


    I hit accept and added Drain-O Bolt into my Spatial Core with a satisfied grin.


    The second-best find came from a level 12 Steam Djinn, who was a ¡°Maintenance Chief¡±¡ªthe second-floor equivalent of Store Managers¡ªwho ran one of the largest machine shops we stumbled across.


    It was a Rare-grade Relic called Scalding Torrent.


    It resembled a foot-long hunk of pitted and rusty metal pipe. Its shitty exterior belied its true, badass nature, however. The Relic jettisoned a concentrated burst of scalding steam, which inflicted significant Burn Damage and ignored traditional flame resistances since it was a water-based attack. It filled the same general role as my new and improved Drain-O Bolt, but didn¡¯t deal nearly as much Burst or DoT, plus no Stamina or Mana draining effect.


    Adding it to my lineup didn¡¯t make sense at this point, but I tucked it away for my personal collection. My gut told me I¡¯d find a use for it sooner or later.


    When I wasn¡¯t grinding through the first three floors and spreading helpful survival tips far and wide, I spent my downtime crafting new Relics using the Shards I¡¯d amassed. At first, I¡¯d been reluctant to use them, thinking they¡¯d be great for bartering, but at this point, it felt like I had an obscene number of the things. Not enough to Scrooge McDuck backstroke through, but I was getting there. Even though killing creatures under level 5 granted no experience, they still dropped lootable items and every single one of ¡¯em had Shards.


    Croc talked me through the crafting process, which was strikingly similar to the ritual required to level up individual Relics.


    First, I arranged the Shards into two concentric rings. The outer ring was approximately five feet in diameter and consisted of a ring with five evenly placed Shards. The inner ring was three feet in diameter and had four Shards. I stood directly in the center of the pattern, clutching the final Shard in one hand. That Shard acted as the focal point for the ritual and would absorb the latent generative power of the other Shards, eventually giving birth to a new Relic.


    What type of Relic formed seemed like a coin toss to me, though Croc insisted I could actively influence the creation process through focused intention. Croc¡¯s explanation for how exactly I was supposed to do that was¡­ lacking was the kindest word I could think of.


    ¡°Just want what you want, Dan,¡± the mimic said confidently as if that advice made a single lick of sense. ¡°Just picture it in your head and force your intention into the Shard. Let your will radiate outward.¡±


    ¡°Are you even listening to yourself?¡± I asked the dog. ¡°Because that sounds like the biggest load of magical, pseudo-spiritual horseshit I¡¯ve ever heard in my life. It sounds like the kind of thing a prosperity cult would teach. That or Gwyneth Paltrow. Just visualize what you want,¡± I said, trying to emulate the dog¡¯s accent, ¡°and the universe will give it to you.¡±


    Still, as dumb as the mimic¡¯s advice sounded, I tried anyway.


    I attempted to keep things simple and easy my first time out of the gate. The most common Relic I¡¯d seen so far was some iteration of the basic Camo Relic, which all of the mimics seemed to hold within their core. I closed my eyes and pictured the camo kit in my mind until it felt so real that I could almost reach out and touch it. I could see the stupid little mirror and the multi-colored smudges of green, black, and brown greasepaint.


    With the image fixed firmly in my mind¡¯s eye, I ever so slowly fed a trickle of Mana into the Shard in my hand.


    The Shards arrayed around me resonated with a high-pitched whine that made my teeth itch. A moment later heat bloomed in my palm and the Shard vanished, replaced by an item that weighed a lot more than it should have. I cracked an eye and glanced down, disappointed to find that instead of crafting a replica of the Camo Kit, I¡¯d somehow created a dull black boot, which was so worn it looked like the sole would fall off at any moment.


    It was a Common Relic called Squeaky Sole and its stats were even worse than the boot looked. Instead of allowing its user to blend into the background, it created an ongoing passive effect that made the user¡¯s shoes squeak whenever they moved.


    It was by far the worst Relic I¡¯d seen so far.


    My second attempt didn¡¯t go any better, either.


    Neither did my third attempt. Or my fourth. Or my fifth or sixth or tenth.


    I created Relics that summoned noncombatant pigeons that fluttered around and shit on you when you were least expecting it. Phantom Pocket teleported a random item from your storage space to an unknown location once a day. Another, called Dietary Restriction, caused a nonlethal, but highly uncomfortable allergic reaction whenever consuming an elixir of any type. It seemed like the harder I tried to craft something useful, the more awful the Relics ended up.


    They were so bad I couldn¡¯t even forge them to make slightly less terrible Relics.


    I ended up sacrificing the whole lot of ¡¯em for levels.


    I focused my efforts on the newly enhanced Drain-O Bolt, finally pushing it up to level 5, which cost twenty low-grade Common Relics. I was a little surprised to see that the Mana cost actually tripled, increasing from 5 to 15, but the damage scaled along with it. The spell now dealt 25 points of Corrosive Burst Damage and a combined 20 points of Corrosive and Fire Damage per minute for five minutes. Plus, both the Stamina and Mana Drain had doubled from 10 to 20 points per minute.


    The spell was a magical wrecking ball, and only getting better and better all the time.


    Best of all, the level 5 advancement added an additional effect called ¡°Split Cast,¡± which allowed me to split the attack into two streams, capable of targeting two different enemies simultaneously. Split Cast cut the total damage for each portion of the spell in half, but it added an additional level of versatility to the Relic¡ªespecially when dealing with a group of lower-level mobs. A single Drain-O Bolt would likely be overkill in many cases, so the new effect would let me get twice the bang for my buck.


    I sacrificed another ten Relics to bring Sterilization Field up to level 3, increasing the effect duration by five seconds, then burned the last five I could spare to nudge the Pharmacist¡¯s Scales up to level 2, which didn¡¯t seem to make any appreciable difference. But it was the only healing spell I¡¯d come across so far, despite being a Common Relic, which told me I needed to work on upgrading it.


    Overall, it was a long and tedious couple of weeks, but the important thing was that my plan was working.


    By day five we got our first customer.

 Thirty-Two – Shop Keeper

    Our first customer was a brand-new Delver named Taylor, who¡¯d wandered into the shop from the access door in the Lobby.


    She was a wide-eyed and terrified twenty-two-year-old from Oklahoma State University and, much like me, she¡¯d Noclipped in after a drunken rager. Though her rager had been at a sorority party instead of a bachelor party, but that was really just semantics. Croc and I explained the situation to her as gently but realistically as possible, helped her integrate with the VIRUS using the in-store Monolith, then let her catch a full night¡¯s rest.


    In the morning, Princess Ponypuff outfitted the college girl with one of the basic Delver Kits we¡¯d assembled, then dropped her off in the parking garage on floor one.


    Honestly, it felt a little cruel to just toss her back into the wild where there was a good chance she¡¯d end up dead in weeks if she was lucky and days if she wasn¡¯t. That or worse, considering the fate of the Faceless who inhabited the parking garage.


    As shitty as it made me feel, that was just the reality of this place. I couldn¡¯t help everyone indefinitely and if people wanted to survive, they were going to have to fight for it. That was just the way of the Backrooms. Were we sending them out like lambs to the slaughter? Maybe. But at least we were sending those lambs out with machetes and enough survival know-how to have a fighting chance. We also let her keep the red yarn ring and told her she was welcome to come back anytime, so long as she had tokens to spend or Relics to trade.


    By day eight, we had a steady stream of new Delvers trickling in.


    Usually two or three per day, from places as close to home as Texas and as far away as Kyiv. They were college kids and soldiers, housewives and day laborers, teachers and lawyers. Men, women, young, old, and everything in between. We even got a Greek Orthodox priest who didn¡¯t speak a lick of English. One and all, we gave ¡¯em a rough rundown on the Backrooms, a decent night¡¯s sleep, and a survival kit to see them on their way. It was the most we could do.


    Hell, we were running out of the backpacks so quickly that Croc and I had to raid the Style-for-Less for a second time.


    We also paid a visit to a camping store called Open Sky Outfitters, on the third floor. We killed a handful of Dwellers and raided the outdoor essentials section¡ªstockpiling on things like hatchets, machetes, ropes, and magnesium fire starters¡ªthen loaded up on collapsible, green camp cots.


    For the most part, the survival supplies went into the kits, while the cots replaced the makeshift sleeping pallets in the back storage space, behind the refrigerated coolers. I added a trio of large tents as well, which I planned to rent out for those who wanted a little extra privacy while they slept. Which was probably most people, considering that Princess Ponypuff had developed a terrible habit of watching people sleep with her cold, unblinking doll eyes.


    She was so creepy that even Croc continued to feel uncomfortable around her.


    It was at the tail end of the second week¡ªjust when I was starting to give up hope of ever attracting a paying customer¡ªthat a level 25 Delver slunk into our shop, via the door I¡¯d planted on the third floor. He moved with stealthy, lethal grace, like a prowling cat, and constantly scanned every aisle for any sign of danger. I¡¯d spent a lot of time with Marines who had PTSD. This guy had all the symptoms.


    Hypervigilance, open hostility, obvious anxiety, and extreme mistrust.


    He also wasn¡¯t completely human, though he wasn¡¯t a Dweller either. At least, not according to the tag that appeared above his head.


    Delver #12T - 01 - B0BFX6X9M9 ¨C Cendral, Transmog [Level 25]


    The tag clearly labeled him as a Delver, just like every other person who¡¯d wandered through the store so far, but I¡¯d never heard of a Cendral before, and he sure as shit didn¡¯t look human. Humanoid, in that he stood upright like a man and had two arms and two legs. But he also had sleek, pale white serpent scales covering every inch of his visible skin, shimmering violet hair, and a pair of upward curling black horns protruding from his forehead.


    As someone who¡¯d grown up going to a southern Baptist church every Sunday, I was inclined to call him a demon. Except, I was guessing the similarities were both superficial and coincidental. The guy wore tight leather pants, a pair of clunky black Doc Martens, and a beat-up leather jacket with a hood stitched into the lining. Beneath the jacket was a full ring mail shirt, cinched tight at the waist by a leather belt with a small circular buckler hanging from one hip.


    He had a leather glove covering his left hand, rising all the way to his elbow, and slung over his shoulders was what I could only call a bazooka. But the launcher was spray-painted with so much colorful graffiti that it looked like it something that belonged in Fortnite and not out here in the real world. Not that this was the real world, I supposed.


    As I studied the newcomer more closely, the Researcher¡¯s Codex populated a more thorough description.


    Although Cendrals look like overgrown snakes, they¡¯re actually the distant offspring of the long dead Dragon Lords of Vytharia. They consider themselves a proud race. Everyone else considers them to be colossal assholes. Oh, look at me, I¡¯m the offspring of a Dragon. No one fucking cares, Jerry.


    Unfortunately, Cendrals can back up their arrogance.


    They¡¯re strong, fast, and basically fireproof, plus they have some nasty magical resistances. They also regenerate Health at a crazy rate and can regrow limbs, so there¡¯s that. On the flip side, they suck a wheelbarrow full of assholes when it comes to utilizing any Relics that require Mana. Their bodies just aren¡¯t built for it. Best bet, kill them at a distance before they can get close enough to turn you into red meat sauce.


    Another brief prompt appeared beneath the more detailed description.


    Would you like to use the Codex to examine this Delver¡¯s Spatial Core? Yes/No?


    Huh, now that was curious.


    I hadn¡¯t seen that prompt with the other Delvers I¡¯d met so far, but then all of those Delvers were brand new and hadn¡¯t added any Relics to their Spatial Core. So maybe I hadn¡¯t seen the prompt because there was nothing for me to see inside them?


    I hit Yes.


    Nothing happened.


    There was a brief pulse of energy that flared around the Cendral, and the Codex simply failed.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t do that,¡± the man hissed, his voice smooth with a slight German lilt to it. ¡°It¡¯s considered extremely rude to scan another Delver without their permission. And if you are going to do it, you should know that it generally only works on Delvers of a similar or lower level.¡± He paused, eyes narrowing. ¡°And it¡¯ll never work on a Cendral.¡±


    He cocked his head and studied me more closely.


    ¡°How is it that a level 15 has a scan ability at all, I wonder? Or all this, for that matter.¡± He swept out a hand, gesturing at the store. ¡°What possible Relic could one so low-level have to accomplish such things?¡±


    ¡°Where I¡¯m from,¡± I replied evenly, ¡°it¡¯s considered rude to ask what someone has in their Spatial Core.¡±


    The man¡¯s lips pulled up into a lopsided smile and he snorted. ¡°Touch¨¦,¡± he said, acknowledging the verbal parry.


    ¡°For what¡¯s it worth, though, I¡¯m sorry,¡± I added after a second. I didn¡¯t need to apologize, but I didn¡¯t want to create bad blood between us, especially since this was the first Delver I¡¯d ever met who¡¯d been in the Backrooms longer than me. Plus, I needed allies, not enemies, and a few words of apology could go a long way toward making friends. ¡°Wasn¡¯t trying to offend. I¡¯m just new around here. Still learning the ropes.¡±


    The grin faded and the Cendral folded his arms across his chest. ¡°I¡¯ve seen a lot of strange things in the Backrooms, but that is a little hard to believe, even for me. I¡¯ll admit that this operation of yours is new enough, but there¡¯s no way you are fresh meat, even if you are only level fifteen.¡± He dropped his voice low and leaned forward. ¡°Come now, it is just the two of us, na? Who¡¯re you working for, hmm? Which sovereign set this up? I¡¯m guessing we can rule out the Flayed Monarch, based on that little entry notice of yours¡­¡±


    He trailed off, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin.


    ¡°But then, that is precisely the kind of message the Flayed Monarch would have you write if he were trying to deflect suspicions regarding his involvement.¡± Finally, the Cendral grimaced and shook his head. ¡°No, perhaps I¡¯m overthinking this. I feel like Wallace Shawn from the Princess Bride. It is not the Skinless Court, but it is certainly the work of one of the great rulers or another. The Lord of Coin, perhaps?¡± he offered, cocking an eyebrow. ¡°This certainly seems in line with his motives. Or the Iron Tyrant? Could even be the Sorority Queen¡ª¡±


    I raised a hand to forestall him. ¡°It¡¯s none of those. Like the sign says, this is neutral territory. I don¡¯t have any ties to anyone, though I may have gotten off to a bad start with the Aspirants of the Skinless Court,¡± I reluctantly conceded.


    ¡°Well, as you Americans are so fond of saying, fuck ¡¯em.¡± He tossed up both hands as though in dismissal. ¡°No one likes those arschl?cher anyway,¡± the Cendral continued, offering me a sly serpentine grin. ¡°If you had to pick a faction to start a war with, that is the best of the lot. The Flayed Monarch is the most powerful of all the sovereigns, true, but he¡¯s also the most deeply resented and hated.¡± He scratched his chin. ¡°Still, it is a bit of a good news, bad news type situation, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°I take it that means you¡¯re not on friendly terms with them?¡± I asked.


    His face darkened noticeably, then he slowly and carefully peeled off the glove covering his left hand. He winced as the garment came away, revealing not scales but a bloody red limb devoid of scales or skin. Just exposed muscle and sinew.


    ¡°That would be a fair assessment,¡± he replied. ¡°This is what they do to those who cross them. They take pieces. Trophies. Then they fashion them into capes and cowls. I¡¯ve even seen a high-level Aspirant wearing someone else¡¯s leg skin as a pair of pants.¡± He shook his head in clear disapproval. ¡°Very disturbing to say the least.¡±


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Wait,¡± I said, brow furrowing in confusion. ¡°But I thought Aspirants flayed themselves as they advanced through the court?¡±


    ¡°Oh, they do,¡± the Cendral said in earnest, ¡°which can make it a little confusing. The difference is, when they do it to an enemy, they have magics to make sure the wound never heals and the pain never goes away. Not ever,¡± he said softly, and I could hear the muffled anguish in his voice.


    ¡°When they do it to themselves, however, the process evokes a feeling of ecstasy. Or so I¡¯m told,¡± he finished, before gingerly slipping the leather glove back in place. ¡°Now, if we are done with the interrogations, allow me to introduce myself properly. I¡¯m Jakob. Called Jakob of Greif, by some, and Jakob the Scales, by others.¡±


    He extended his good hand and I noticed there was a small red piece of yarn tied around his pinky finger.


    ¡°Dan,¡± I replied, accepting the proffered limb and giving it a firm pump.


    ¡°I surmised as much,¡± Jakob said, ¡°considering the name of your little store here. Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains. It¡¯s a mouthful, but there is a certain ring to it, I must admit.¡±


    ¡°Mind if I ask you another question since we¡¯re being so friendly?¡± I asked, releasing his iron-clad grip.


    ¡°It¡¯s your store, is it not?¡± the Cendral replied, cocking a scaly eyebrow. ¡°I think that entitles you to do quite as you please, don¡¯t you agree?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s true, but since we¡¯re speaking candidly, I can tell you that I¡¯m looking to make allies and I¡¯m not aiming to offend.¡±


    ¡°I doubt very much anything you say could offend me.¡± He tapped at his scales. ¡°I have thick skin.¡±


    I chuckled. ¡°Aright, fair enough.¡± I let my next question rip. ¡°What¡¯s a Transmog?¡±


    ¡°Mein Gott, but you really are new here,¡± Jakob said, sounding rather scandalized. ¡°That or you¡¯re a great actor and you¡¯re nailing the whole naivete angle.¡± He paused, regarding me with fresh eyes. ¡°Transmogs are Delvers who assume a new racial alignment. I¡¯m not really a Cendral¡ªor at least, I wasn¡¯t always a Cendral. Once I was human, very much like you. That was five or six years ago, now. The Cendral are one of the most common nonhuman races you¡¯ll find in the depths below. They have a rather large settlement on floor two hundred and seventeen, and there are pockets of them elsewhere.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re some kind of Dweller hybrid?¡± I asked.


    Jakob snorted and rolled his eyes. ¡°It¡¯s like talking with a child.¡± He sighed. ¡°The Cendral aren¡¯t human, but that doesn¡¯t mean they¡¯re Dwellers,¡± he said in a clipped tone. ¡°And you should know they will be very offended indeed if you suggest otherwise. The Progenitor ship has been stuck in our dimension for quite some time, but you must understand that Earth wasn¡¯t its first stop. From what I¡¯ve been able to piece together, we were supposed to have been the last. Would¡¯ve been, if not for the Blight.


    ¡°The ship picked up a wide assortment of different races before it ever docked with our world,¡± he continued in earnest. ¡°There are Cendrals, obviously¡±¡ªhe gestured at himself with a reptilian, claw-tipped hand¡ª¡°but there are also Nymphshades, Celestari, Kobocks, Drekhnaar, Ecliputaurs, Helionites, Irides, Mystivores, and Kromalkins¡ªand those are just the big ones. Transmogs are Delvers who voluntarily splice their genetic material with another race.¡±


    I squinted at him.


    ¡°Wait, let me see if I have the gist of it,¡± I prodded. ¡°You were human, but now you¡¯re a lizard guy. With scales. And horns. And claws. And presumably other, unmentionable lizard anatomical bits?¡±


    ¡°Yes, to all of the above,¡± he replied flatly. ¡°Though I would prefer not to talk about the rest of my ¡®anatomical bits,¡¯ if you don¡¯t mind.¡±


    ¡°And you did this willingly?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he agreed.


    I sighed and rubbed at one temple. ¡°But why?¡± I asked after a long beat. ¡°What in the world would make you want to trade in your humanity?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°Humanity isn¡¯t all it¡¯s cracked up to be. As to why I did it. Why do you do anything in the Backrooms? To survive, of course. As difficult as it might be to believe, when it comes to the vast expanse of interdimensional reality, we humans aren¡¯t at the top of the survival food chain. There are a great many things that are faster, stronger, and more durable. Even here on Earth, we are physically outmatched by almost all other apex species in almost every metric, save one. Intelligence.¡±


    He let the word float in the air, heavy like a thundercloud.


    ¡°But if you were to give bears human levels of intelligence,¡± he continued after a moment, ¡°do you truly think man would still rule our world?¡± He grimaced and shook his head. ¡°Doubtful. Many of these other races offer additional benefits and bonuses, and this one suited my Spatial Core build particularly well. Assuming you really are new, and this isn¡¯t all some elaborate scheme, then you might want to consider it at some point yourself. There are Variant Helix Splicers down in the research labs below, though getting to them can be¡­¡± He faltered. ¡°Challenging.¡±


    ¡°Good to know,¡± I said, cataloging that detail away for later. The idea of trading in my humanity was extremely unpalatable, but would I do it if it meant surviving? Maybe. Though I couldn¡¯t say before the option was on the table in front of me. ¡°You¡¯ve been extremely helpful, so as a small thank you, I¡¯ll give you ten percent off on your entire order.¡±


    ¡°There is no need for that,¡± the Cendral replied formally, waving away my offer. ¡°I don¡¯t need any of your frivolous provisions or any of your subpar Relics. All I want is elixirs. Health, Mana, Stamina. I¡¯ll take the whole lot of them. I was trying to explain that to your horrifying pony golem, but she insisted the elixirs are capped at three per customer.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, that¡¯s store policy,¡± I replied. ¡°We want to keep some in stock for other customers.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jakob said matter-of-factly, ¡°that simply will not do at all. You are charging a ridiculously paltry fee, and I am prepared to pay well above market value for the entirety of your stock.¡± He held up a clawed finger. ¡°One Common-grade Relic per elixir. But, in exchange, I want all that you have available.¡±


    I nearly choked at his offer.


    A straight-up one-to-one trade? For elixirs?


    Holy shit, but it felt like I¡¯d just hit the jackpot.


    I didn¡¯t even need to check the binder to know that we had a total of sixty elixirs on hand¡ªtwenty of all three varieties. I had even more in my personal Storage, though I wasn¡¯t willing to part with those. They were my emergency stash for when things went sideways, as they invariably did. But if I was really to part with all sixty, that meant sixty Relics. Even if they were all trash tier, with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, I could still sacrifice them and boost a bunch of my best abilities straight through the roof.


    Although I was already salivating at the possibilities, I didn¡¯t immediately jump on the man¡¯s offer. If he was willing to waltz right in and drop sixty Common-grade Relics for elixirs without even batting an eye, then it meant I was missing something important. Maybe these potions were rarer and more valuable than I¡¯d first assumed. Or maybe elixirs acted as currency in other places and this guy was trying to pull one over on me.


    Sure, taking the deal would be great in the short-term, but maybe it would end up biting me in the ass down the road.


    ¡°That¡¯s an extremely generous offer,¡± I replied after mulling it over for a bit longer, ¡°but I¡¯m still inclined to say no.¡± I watched as his shoulders bunched and a thread of anger wormed its way across his face. ¡°Unless you tell me why you¡¯re willing to pay so much for ¡¯em,¡± I amended. ¡°Seems like elixirs should be easy enough to come by, especially for someone as high-level as you. Which makes me think that your offer might not be as generous as it first appears.¡±


    Jakob of Greif stared at me as though trying to decide what to do with me. After a few long seconds, his shoulders slumped, and he seemed to relax just a hair. He exhaled and it was a heavy sound. ¡°You would think procuring elixirs is a trivial matter, but in that you would be quite wrong. Dwellers rarely if ever drop them, which means there are essentially only two ways to obtain them. The first is by earning Medic! Loot Tokens. In the early stages, such tokens can be quite easy to come by because they often are awarded with new research achievements.


    ¡°Unfortunately, the longer you¡¯re here, the harder it is to unlock additional achievements, which means the fewer Loot Token Rewards you get, overall. Unless, of course, you are willing to take increasingly suicidal job board posts, which most of us are not. And that means the best way to get elixirs is to farm locations that regenerate them.¡± He paused and glanced around. ¡°Such as this one, I am assuming. But these locations are also surprisingly rare. The third floor is one of the most diverse, because of its theme, and has a great many resources, which makes it a popular hunting ground.¡±


    ¡°Still not seeing a problem,¡± I said, restlessly drumming my fingers on the edge of the counter. ¡°Why not just find a location that spawns elixirs and then raid it every couple weeks?¡±


    ¡°The problem is the Black Harbor Syndicate,¡± Jakob replied stiffly, ¡°whose toes you are unwittingly stepping on. They are a criminal collective, of sorts, who operate with some degree of impunity in almost every single Safe Harbor. And, as it happens, the farming, distribution, and sale of all elixirs falls under their exclusive purview.¡±


    I looked at Croc, who was reclining in a folding chair in a very un-dog like fashion.


    ¡°Did you know about this Black Harbor Syndicate?¡± I asked quietly.


    ¡°Well yeah,¡± the dog said, crossing its legs. ¡°Who doesn¡¯t know about the Syndicate?¡±


    ¡°Me,¡± I growled. ¡°I don¡¯t know about the Syndicate. Why didn¡¯t you mention that earlier? Like maybe when we were going over the pricing model for the elixirs?¡±


    The mimic looked at me, puzzled. ¡°But Dan, how am I supposed to know what you do and don¡¯t know? You didn¡¯t ask about the Syndicate or whether selling elixirs was illegal, so I just assumed you had some awesome plan, because you always have an awesome plan.¡±


    I pressed my eyes shut tightly and took a few deep breaths through my nose.


    ¡°This sounds like a classic case of miscommunication,¡± Croc said, ¡°and I think we can all agree that no one is to blame, especially not me. Croc. Who is a good boy that just wants to be helpful.¡±


    It was impossible to stay mad at the mimic, even though it felt like I¡¯d just got sucker punched in the teeth.


    ¡°From now on, Croc, just assume that I don¡¯t know anything if you haven¡¯t told me,¡± I said.


    Croc¡¯s googly eyes got strangely large and the dog looked incredibly serious all of a sudden. ¡°Oh, fiddlesticks. That is a huge responsibility, Dan. I¡¯m not even sure where to begin. Do you know how to read? We could start there, I suppose. Or maybe we should have the birds and the bees talk. I read about that in Paperbacks and Paradoxes. Honestly, I was very confused about the whole thing, but I¡¯ll do my best to explain why the daddy bees wrestle with the mommy birds¡ª¡±


    ¡°About the Backrooms, Croc,¡± I interrupted. ¡°I one hundred percent don¡¯t need you to explain the birds and the bees to me.¡±


    ¡°Wow, that is such a relief,¡± Croc replied, clearly relieved. ¡°But since we¡¯re on the topic, I don¡¯t suppose you could explain it to me, then? Because, again, the whole premise was very confusing. Birds and bees seem like natural enemies, so them forming an alliance like that seems oddly out of character. Unless¡­¡± The mimic trailed off. ¡°Unless it¡¯s a bit like Edward and Bella¡ªfrom the bestselling and beloved-by-all Twilight series¡ªsetting aside their differences to explore the wonders of forbidden love. Is that the answer, Dan?¡±


    I ignored the dog and turned back to Jakob. ¡°So, you were saying about this Syndicate?¡±


    The Cendral glanced between me and Croc, confusion clear in his gaze.


    ¡°I was saying that you are courting trouble,¡± he said. ¡°They have an unofficial decree granted by the sovereigns¡ªwho all receive sizeable kickbacks from the Syndicate in exchange for turning a blind eye to their dealings. Collecting elixirs from a raid or from the Loot Arcade is permissible, but they can only be used for personal consumption. Reselling them is strictly off-limits. First offense, you lose a finger or two. The second time it¡¯s the whole hand. Then they start taking off progressively larger body parts.¡±


    ¡°So, you¡¯re hoping to get all the elixirs I have before the Syndicate shuts me down and starts taking appendages,¡± I said.


    ¡°Jein,¡± he acknowledged with a dip of his chin.


    Just my fucking luck.


    Not only was I actively at war with the Skinless Court, but now I had to worry about these monopolistic douchebags from the Black Harbor Syndicate breaking my fingers or amputating body parts. At this point, it seemed like the Skinless Court and the Syndicate were going to have to fight over who got to murder me first. I could also take Jakob¡¯s warning to heart and avoid the wrath of the Syndicate altogether by simply not selling elixirs but¡­ Well, I didn¡¯t want to.


    Not only did I dislike shithead bullies, but I wasn¡¯t about to kneecap my business before it even got off the ground.


    And if elixirs really were in such short supply this would only drive even more customers to my store. That did mean tangling with the folks from the Syndicate, but in for a penny, in for a pound, as my granddad used to say. Besides, maybe I could cut a deal with the Syndicate or, worst-case scenario, I¡¯d restrict their access to the store just like I¡¯d done with the dickbag Aspirants who rallied beneath the Flayed Monarch¡¯s banner.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I said, ¡°I¡¯m willing to part with the whole lot for one Common-grade Relic apiece, but since I¡¯m likely signing my own death warrant by selling you these things, I¡¯m thinking maybe you could add something else to help sweeten the pot?¡±


    Jakob considered it only for a few seconds, before agreeing. ¡°That seems like a fair concession, considering the risks involved on your end. Because I am a man of honor, I¡¯ll give you a one-for-one swap, plus I¡¯ll toss in an extremely useful Uncommon-grade Relic that should make you a little more durable. Do we have a deal?¡±


    Sixty Commons, plus an Uncommon Relic? All for a resource that I¡¯d be able to regenerate in a span of two days? I¡¯d be crazy not to take that deal.


    I grinned and extended my hand once more. ¡°Hell yeah, we do, partner.¡±

 Thirty-Three – R & R

    I handed over a duffel bag worth of elixirs to Jakob and he headed off to one of the tents in the back¡ªcompliments of the house¡ªfor a peaceful night of rest and relaxation, while I spent the next few hours sorting through the enormous pile of Relics he had unceremoniously dumped onto the front counter.


    As expected, most of them were complete garbage, fit only for sacrificing.


    Elevator Music conjured elevator music for thirty seconds, cost forty Mana, and had no combat effect whatsoever. Selfie Sense was a bit like my Sixth Sense ability, but instead of locating traps, it allowed the user to detect the perfect lighting and angle conditions for snapping a selfie. I couldn¡¯t imagine a single use for a skill like that and wondered why it even existed.


    There were a handful of gems in there, though, including half a dozen Basic Camo Kits and two Sucker Punches.


    I forged another Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike and added it to the store¡¯s available Relic Inventory, along with the rest of the Camo Kits and the other Sucker Punch. There was also a Common-grade called Arsonist Accelerant, which took the form of a cheap grocery store squirt gun. Except it was filled with lighter fluid. Although it didn¡¯t have an active damage component, it could conjure a large AoE puddle of lighter fluid that increased all Fire Damage by one hundred percent.


    It had extremely high synergy with the Erlenmeyer¡¯s Molotov Cocktail Relic, and I forged the two together, creating an Uncommon Relic called Burn, Baby, Burn. It effectively turned the Molotov Cocktail into a flamethrower spell, allowing the caster to unleash a wild jet of continuous flame for as long as they had Mana to burn. It dealt a shit ton of Burst damage and did decent DoT as well, but it came with a few significant drawbacks that made me hold off adding it to my core.


    Burn, Baby, Burn


    Uncommon Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Single Target


    Cost: 2 Mana/Sec


    Ever wonder what burning hair smells like? Now, you¡¯ll know. Unleash a reckless column of purifying flame and cleanse the world of its many, many transgressions. Let it burn, baby, burn. The target takes 30 points of Flame Damage on contact, and an additional 5 points of damage per second while the opponent is directly in the flame stream.


    But there are drawbacks.


    Do you know what the life expectancy of a flamethrower operator in Vietnam was? Four minutes. Yours probably won¡¯t be much longer.


    While actively using Burn, Baby, Burn, you are rooted in place and unable to move. You receive 2 points of Flame Damage per second while using this skill. If actively using Burn, Baby, Burn while your Health is below 10%, you have a 25% chance of spontaneously exploding¡ªjust like the flamethrower operators in ¡¯Nam! This Relic enables Mana usage.


    The drawbacks were horrendous¡ªso much so that I didn¡¯t even want to sell the damned thing¡ªbut if I could forge it with another Relic that mitigated some of the god-awful side effects, it might be a real contender down the road.


    The single Uncommon Jakob had given me to sweeten the pot ended up being a physical Relic that was too good to ignore. It also addressed one of the fundamental problems with my current abilities: I was weak as a newborn kitten. I¡¯d dumped the vast majority of my Personal Enhancement Points into Resonance, Perception, and Grit. Although, in theory, I was already significantly stronger than even the strongest human athlete, compared to the things in the Backrooms I was like a toddler swinging around a pool noodle.


    On top of that, I had a serious glass jaw thanks to my low Toughness score.


    The Uncommon-grade Relic Jakob had given me wouldn¡¯t solve all of my problems, but it definitely lived up to the hype. Even better, because I hadn¡¯t harvested it from a dead Dweller, it retained all the levels Jakob had already imbued it with.


    Baldree¡¯s Scale Mail Cuirass


    Uncommon Relic ¨C Level 7


    Range: Self/Passive


    Is this just the chest cavity of a dead Cendral? That¡¯s not important right now. What is important about this rib cage/chest cavity is that it¡¯ll imbue your frail, squishy meatsack with a sliver of the Cendral racial bonuses without having to run your body through the DNA equivalent of an industrial woodchipper.


    While equipped, this Scale Mail Cuirass¡ªwhich may or may not have been harvested from a poor schlub named Travius of Baldree¡ªgrants the user +1 Toughness per 2 Variant Assimilation Level and offers an additional 10% resistance against all sources of magical damage.


    Unfortunately, the Cendral suck so profoundly at magic that their suckage has even seeped into this odd Relic. While equipped, you lose +1 point of Resonance per 5 Variant Assimilation Levels.


    Even accounting for the penalty against Resonance, equipping the Cuirass¡ªwhich did indeed look like the hollowed-out, scale-covered torso of a Cendral¡ªwas a no-brainer. An extra ten percent resistance against all forms of magic? Fuck yeah. Plus, I¡¯d gain seven points of Toughness, while sacrificing only three points of Resonance?


    Sign me up.


    Deciding which Relic to get rid of was a little tougher.


    Bad Trip was a solid control technique, and Slippery When Wet had proved to be surprisingly effective more times than I could count.


    The best option was to replace Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding, which would cost me a point of Grit, plus the slight protection it offered against Hypnotic Psionics. I hung on to the Tinfoil Hat, though, since I could always swap it back in if I found myself squaring off against a Dweller that primarily dealt in mind-fuckery, like the Photophage.


    After sorting through the Relics¡ªforging those worth forging, and separating out those worth selling¡ªI had forty-three Common-grade Relics fit for the burn heap.


    Since my Drain-O Bolt had hit the level 5 advancement threshold, the cost to level the ability had increased from five to ten Relics per level. With forty Relics to burn, I could¡¯ve pushed it up to level nine, but instead I decided to raise a few of my other abilities up to the first advancement threshold, which would give me the most bang for my buck. The Cendral Scale Mail was already at level seven, so I ignored that one, and instead sacrificed ten Relics to bring Sterilization Field from level 3 up to level 5.


    The effect wasn¡¯t nearly as exciting as I¡¯d been hoping for, though still not bad.


    The total aura duration increased to 30 seconds and the Mana cost decreased by ten points, from 50 to 40. It also added an additional effect: while I was actively inside the aura field, all my Mana costs were reduced by 10%.


    Good, but not nearly as flashy as the changes to Drain-O Bolt.


    I used fifteen to boost Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike to level 4 and the last fifteen to bring the Pharmacist¡¯s Scales up from level 2 to level 5. The advancement didn¡¯t change the core mechanic of the Relic in any way¡ªit still allowed me to exchange Mana for Health or Health for Mana in equal measure¡ªbut now I could extend the effect to others, instead of just myself, which would be handy to have.


    Even more so now that I knew about the whole elixir situation.


    I spent some time tinkering around with the Monolith, distributing the fifteen Personal Enhancement Points I¡¯d racked up over the past two weeks. I dropped two points into Athleticism, increasing my attack speed and damage, a single point into Grit¡ªmaking up for the point I¡¯d lost by removing the Tinfoil Hat¡ªthen put five more into Perception and the remaining seven into Resonance.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    For my level, I was still critically weak when it came to physical damage output, but overall, things were looking up.


    Dan Woodridge


    Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C


    Variant Assimilation Level: 15


    Race: Human, Archetypal


    Current Experience: 16,370


    Next Level: 19,250


    Personal Enhancement Points: 0


    __ __ __


    Health: 69


    Health-Regen/Hour: 3.25


    __ __ __


    Stamina Reserve: 36


    Stamina-Regen/Minute: 2.7


    __ __ __


    Mana Pool: 89


    Mana-Regen/Minute: 6.35


    Individual Adaptative Stats


    Grit: 10


    Athleticism: 10


    Toughness: 16


    Perception: 20


    Resonance: 34


    Preservation: 5


    Spatial Core - Active


    (C) Moving Walkway ¨C Level 1


    (C) Slippery When Wet ¨C Level 1


    (C) Force Multiplier ¨C Level 1


    (C) The Pharmacist¡¯s Scales ¨C Level 5


    (U) Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike ¨C Level 3


    (U) Bad Trip ¨C Level 1


    (U) Baldree¡¯s Scale Mail Cuirass ¨C Level 7


    (R) Sterilization Field ¨C Level 5


    (R) Drain-O Bolt ¨C Level 5


    (ME) Compass of the Catacomber (Fully Tempered)


    Current Titles ¨C Passive


    Out of Your League, Deathwish, Marked for Death, Weapon of Opportunity, Legend in the Making, Overkill Overlord, Fish in a Barrel (E)


    I caught a few hours of shut-eye after that, since Croc and I had been pounding the metaphorical pavement nonstop for what felt like forever. When I woke up, I was still tired but significantly less so than I¡¯d been before. I headed over to the breakroom with a trio of microwaveable Hot Pockets¡ªwell, Magma Calzones, technically¡ªin tow and found Croc and Jakob lounging together at the circular table, a half-demolished plate of chicken wings sitting between them.


    Jakob was picking the wings clean with his razor-sharp teeth and Croc was then swallowing the bones down whole. Just slurping them into a stomach that didn¡¯t seem to exist. The reptilian Cendral had a half-full beer propped up on the table, condensation beading on the glass.


    ¡°Good morning,¡± the lizard-man said, lifting his bottle and offering me a small salute.


    ¡°Is it morning?¡± I asked, squinting bleary eyed at him.


    ¡°In the Backrooms,¡± the man replied evenly, ¡°it is whatever time you want it to be. You just woke up, so for you it is morning. I wanted a beer, so for me, it is evening.¡± He paused and regarded the glass in his hand. ¡°I find that it is usually evening for me, these days. I never was much of a drinker before coming here, but now it is one of the few pleasures I have left.¡±


    ¡°Amen to that, brother,¡± I said, before popping the Hot Pockets into the microwave, then setting them to whirling as I hit the start button. ¡°Looks like it¡¯s five o¡¯clock for me too, so how¡¯s about you grab me a beer?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Jakob replied, fishing one out from the employee¡¯s fridge, then popping the cap off with a claw. He slid it across the table toward me with ease, not spilling a single sud in the process.


    I plopped into a chair opposite him and took a long swig, enjoying the flavor of the brew. At least the beer was good here. And plentiful.


    ¡°So your compatriot and I¡±¡ªhe nodded toward Croc¡ª¡°have been discussing this enterprise you have started, and I think your idea might have some merit. How exactly it is you¡¯ve come by this place is still a mystery, and one I won¡¯t press you to divulge, but with all of this advertising you are going to attract some powerful interests very quickly if you haven¡¯t already.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± I asked, cutting him off. ¡°What¡¯s it to you? I thought you were just trying to scoop up all the elixirs you could get before the Syndicate cuts my hands off and feeds me to the shit golem on the second floor.¡±


    ¡°Genau. Indeed, I was,¡± he replied, dipping his chin slightly, ¡°but I¡¯ve had some time to ponder your situation. The truth is, I think the service you can potentially provide would be of tremendous value to a great many Delvers, just like me. Is this vision of yours likely to work? No. Is it suicidal? Yes, almost certainly. And yet¡­¡± He trailed off. ¡°And yet I find myself both curious and rooting for your success. Which is why I want to offer you a little advice.¡±


    The microwave dinged, punctuating his words.


    ¡°That¡¯s awfully considerate of you,¡± I said, retrieving my Magma Calzones, which were roughly the surface temperature of the sun. ¡°And I suppose you¡¯re doing that out of the goodness of your heart?¡±


    ¡°Do not be obtuse, it is beneath you,¡± Jakob replied. ¡°I am doing it because if you succeed it will benefit me greatly. Much like you, I am an outsider. Not fully accepted by the Cendrals below, since I am a Transmog, but not fully accepted by the human settlements for the same reason. Plus, I already have plenty of bad blood with the Skinless Court. As a result, finding reliable allies can be tricky, but this place¡­ It could be something truly fantastic, but only if you survive long enough to make it so.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± I said, absently tracing a finger along the slick exterior of my beer bottle.


    ¡°You are moving too slow,¡± he said.


    ¡°How the hell are we supposed to move any faster?¡± I asked, mildly annoyed.


    ¡°It¡¯s true,¡± Croc added in, seeming to sense my frustration. ¡°We¡¯ve been out canvassing levels for sixteen hours a day. Sometimes more. The only way I can see it going faster is if we recruit Princess Ponypuff¡ªan idea I am not particularly keen on¡ªor if Dan finds a way to shed his frail, fleshly need for sleep.¡±


    ¡°I have no doubt you are working tirelessly, but it will not be enough,¡± the Cendral said, shaking his head. ¡°The marketing, it is creative¡ªperhaps even a stroke of genius. Again, how you are accomplishing such a feat given the nature of the Backrooms is a baffling conundrum, but that is not the point.¡±


    ¡°And your point is what, exactly?¡± I pressed.


    ¡°That you are overtly drawing attention to yourself, but do not yet have any worthwhile allies, discounting dear Croc here and those nightmarish golems working the floor. But they will hardly be enough, considering who your adversaries are. Especially once the Syndicate gets word about your activities. It¡¯s like you¡¯ve installed a neon sign telling everyone who might want you dead exactly where to find you.¡±


    Huh. I wondered if we could get an actual neon sign. That would be a helluva lot more eye-catching than the spray-paint.


    ¡°The doorway anchors act as temporal restriction fields,¡± I said dismissively. ¡°I can keep out those shitweasels from the Skinless Court, and if the douches from the Syndicate get froggy I can ban their asses too.¡±


    ¡°And what is to stop them from simply setting up a cordon around each of your little doors, hmm?¡± he asked. ¡°Will you just stay in here forever?¡±


    ¡°I love how you¡¯re laying out all the problems, and not giving me any solutions to work with,¡± I shot back.


    There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.


    ¡°That is only because I have yet to finish. You see, gef?hrte, I approve of what you¡¯re doing, but to speed things along, you need to post one of these doorways of yours in a proper Safe Harbor¡ªpreferably one without ties to the Syndicate. And there is only one I can think of within your reach. Howlers Hold, down on floor seven.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d heard the name.


    ¡°The Researcher mentioned Howlers Hold in one of his prompts,¡± I said, picking at the hot pocket and shoving the cooler bits into my mouth.


    ¡°You received more than one prompt from the Researcher?¡± Jakob asked quietly, more for himself than for me. ¡°Curiouser and curiouser.¡± He eyed me and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ¡°But never mind, one mystery at a time is more than enough. Howlers Hold is run by a rather¡­ shall we say eccentric group of likeminded individuals, but they also happen to be quite powerful. They can be a little standoffish toward outsiders, but of all the communities, they are the most likely to render aid to outcasts and new Delvers just trying to find their way.


    ¡°You happen to be both: a new Delver and an outcast. And their standoffishness might actually be a benefit in this situation. Although they have a ruling council of sorts, which resides in a hidden enclave somewhere below the hundredth floor, they don¡¯t owe allegiance to any sovereign and their Safe Harbors are among the only ones where the Syndicate doesn¡¯t operate freely.¡±


    ¡°So I wouldn¡¯t have to worry about the Aspirants of the Court or Syndicate thugs?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that,¡± Jakob cut in sharply. ¡°I said the Syndicate doesn¡¯t operate freely. There will certainly be Syndicate members lurking in the shadows. But they will keep their allegiance hidden. That means more knives in the dark. But there will be far fewer of them, and they won¡¯t have the blessing of the Harbor itself. Making an ally out of the Howlers might prove to be difficult, at least initially, but if you could secure a trading partnership with them, it would certainly boost the prospect of your long-term survival.¡±


    As he spoke, I thought about the fabled Artifact I had tucked away inside my storage space. The Seal of the Researcher. I could only use it once, but assuming the Researcher held sway with the Delvers of the Hold, then maybe setting up shop wouldn¡¯t be as tough as Jakob thought.


    Not that I was going to divulge any of that information to him.


    ¡°If you would like,¡± he said after a moment, ¡°I could, perhaps, make an introduction for you? Although I am not a standing member of the Hold, they¡¯ve always treated me with a great deal of kindness. Friendliness even, which is saying quite a lot since this is a world where friendship doesn¡¯t exist.¡±


    I felt the hairs stand up along the back of my neck, almost as though Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense had activated. This had nothing to do with magic, though, and everything to do with gut instinct. Maybe this guy was really on the level, or maybe he was being useful with an ulterior motive in mind. Like getting me out of the store then turning me over to the Flayed Monarch. Or, more likely, killing me the second I was an easy target, and looting every single Relic from my Spatial Core.


    ¡°And what¡¯s to stop you from ripping my head off the second we leave this place?¡± I asked bluntly. ¡°You¡¯re level twenty-five. I wouldn¡¯t last two minutes against you if you decided to kill me.¡±


    The man just grinned. ¡°Maybe you will survive here after all. So long as you assume that everything, everywhere¡ª


    ¡°All the time is both lying to you and trying to murder you?¡± I finished.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± he agreed, practically beaming. ¡°And what would you say if I asked to stay a while longer in this store of yours?¡±


    ¡°As long as you can afford to pay for a room and follow the posted rules¡ªdon¡¯t steal shit, don¡¯t harass my golems, don¡¯t break anything¡ªyou¡¯re welcome to stay as long as you¡¯d like. I¡¯ll have another shipment of elixirs ready by next week.¡±


    He pulled out a Silver Delver Token and slid it across the table toward me. ¡°Excellent. Put me down for a week¡ªin the private tent of course.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± I said, pocketing the coin.

 Thirty-Four – The Seventh Floor

    ¡°You know, I like that Jakob,¡± Croc said as we exited through the sliding glass doors by the front register.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean anything,¡± I replied. ¡°You like everyone.¡±


    ¡°That is true and a fair point, but this time I really feel it. Like the warmth I feel in my belly after eating someone. It just feels right, you know?¡±


    ¡°Having never eaten anyone, I do not know. But I¡¯ll take your word for it.¡± I paused and stole a sidelong look at the dog. ¡°Thing is, Croc, we need to be careful about people like Jakob. He seemed like a straight shooter to me too, but he could be playing us. He can¡¯t hurt us inside the store, but the second we leave, we¡¯re fair game. For now, the only people we can trust is ourselves.¡±


    ¡°Because we¡¯re friends, Dan?¡± Croc asked. ¡°And friends stick together forever and would never lie, betray, or eat one another?¡±


    ¡°Bingo,¡± I replied. ¡°Besides, we don¡¯t need Jakob. We can find Howlers Hold ourselves. We know it¡¯s somewhere on the seventh floor, and with Unerring Arrow, we¡¯ll get there eventually.¡±


    Instead of exiting directly into the sprawling expanse of the third floor, we found ourselves in a large shipping elevator. The kind they use to move cargo around shopping malls. Running down a sleek silver panel on the right were buttons that corresponded to each of the various doorway anchors I¡¯d planted so far. There were five buttons in total¡ªone for the Lobby and each of the first three floors, plus a fifth button that simply read VIP.


    That button was only accessible by me.


    The curious thing was, I hadn¡¯t intentionally added the elevator using my Blanket Fort ability. It had just sort of shown up after I planted the second doorway anchor. Apparently, it was the Backrooms¡¯ logistical solution for one door that had many entrances and exits.


    I thumbed the VIP button and the elevator rumbled and vibrated as though great, invisible cables were hauling us up into the abyss. After a few seconds there was a ding and the doorway slid open with a smooth whisper. Croc and I stepped out through an unremarkable gray janitorial door, set in a beige service hallway on the third floor. The door clicked shut behind us, taking with it the view of the overlarge interior of the elevator.


    Curiously, if I were to step through the doorway again, it wouldn¡¯t take me to the elevator at all, but through the sliding glass doors and directly into the store. It was a weird bit of spatial magic that hurt my brain to think about. It was a good thing overall, though, because it meant that if Delvers wanted to use the storefront as a means of traversing between floors, they¡¯d have to pay for the privilege first.


    I turned around and ran my fingers over the black plastic faceplate, which simply read ¡°Private Service Access Point,¡± and tugged it off with a thought and a small trickle of Mana. The placard served as my private VIP doorway anchor, and unlike the others, I could move it freely with no time or placement restrictions. With the faceplate now tucked away in Storage, the door would legitimately connect to a janitor¡¯s closet.


    One filled with a level 6 amorphous ooze that breathed out toxic chlorine gas.


    I fixed the seventh floor firmly in my mind and cast Unerring Arrow, conjuring the ghostly blue arrow that shot down the corridor to the left. It quickly disappeared into another door that led to what Croc had dubbed a ¡°double-decker stairwell¡±¡ªmeaning it connected both to the floor directly above us and to one of the floors below. This particular stairwell was extra useful, however, since it skipped the fourth floor entirely and let out directly onto the fifth.


    Finding stairwells was hard enough, but finding stairwells that jumped floors was like finding an uncut diamond in a pile of horseshit. In hindsight, I¡¯d been damned lucky to come across the janitorial bathroom guardian, even though it had nearly killed me in the process.


    I unlocked the metal push bar using the same key I¡¯d taken off the Janitor so long ago and shouldered my way into the stairwell. I took a quick glance around to make sure the way was still clear and that nothing nasty had set up shop since we¡¯d last scoped out this location, then Croc and I headed down two simple sets of concrete steps.


    The descent was remarkably anticlimactic, which was fine by me.


    Even though Croc and I had discovered the double-decker stairwell almost a week ago, this was the first time I¡¯d actually ventured below the third floor. Croc had told me in endless detail about what to expect, but it still caught me by surprise as the door swung open and we stumbled out into what I could only describe as a 1920s luxury hotel.


    Gaudy gold-and-crystal chandeliers dangled from frescoed ceilings, casting warm buttery light across polished marble floors. The soft, distant sounds of a piano drifted through the air, mingling with the muffled chatter of unseen patrons. Crushed velvet drapes framed grand arched windows that looked out into nowhere, while plush armchairs, ornate tapestries, and gilded mirrors hinted at an era of unparalleled luxury. Although I didn¡¯t see anything or anyone, it was impossible to miss the earthy scent of cigars waltzing with a hint of floral perfume.


    The place wasn¡¯t my style, not even close, but I¡¯d spent time with people who would pay an arm and a leg to stay in a hotel this fancy. Hell, me and the boys had worked on a renovation job up in Cincinnati that strongly reminded me of this place¡ªand I knew for a fact that even the low-end rooms went for four hundred or more a night. There was nothing in the world that would convince me to pay that much for a place to sleep.


    I¡¯d slept in tents, under the stars, and on top of honest-to-god tank treads, and there wasn¡¯t anything a four-hundred-dollar-a-night room could do for me that a bed down at the Motel Six couldn¡¯t accomplish.


    Still, assuming things went well with the folks in Howlers Hold, maybe I¡¯d venture back up here and snag a block of rooms to graft onto the store. It would give visitors a little more space, and I could charge quite a bit more for a luxury suite than I could for a tent or a cot in the storage area behind the freezers. I planted a standard Doorway Anchor on a gilded door that let into an empty guest room with a king-sized bed and a boxy TV that buzzed with fuzzy black and white static.


    With the anchor set, I¡¯d be able to come back here and look around at my leisure once I¡¯d finished taking care of business with the settlers in Howlers Hold.


    We didn¡¯t spend much time exploring the fifth floor, and Unerring Arrow quickly spirited us not toward a stairwell¡ªas I¡¯d first assumed¡ªbut toward a dumbwaiter that dropped us down onto the sixth floor, which was utterly and completely dark. Crawling out of the cramped box, barely large enough to accommodate my bulk, and into a pitch-black room was an unnerving experience. I pulled the high-powered Maglite from my tool belt, but the watery beam of light was about as effective as farting into the wind.


    The darkness seemed to be a living thing that ate the light after only a handful of feet.


    I pulled a secondary flashlight from Storage, hoping that the extra beam would somehow reduce the oppressive nature of the hungry dark. It didn¡¯t help at all. Not a lick. When I dropped to a knee and examined the ground beneath me, I saw pitted concrete, which suggested this was an indoor location of some variety. Past that, though, there were no distinguishable features of note.


    But there was a sound in the darkness.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    The howl of a distant wind blowing through the branches of a leafless winter tree.


    There didn¡¯t seem to be any Dwellers to speak of, but the longer we stayed the more I felt the weight of unseen eyes watching me from every corner.


    Not that there were corners.


    Or walls.


    Or rooms.


    This wasn¡¯t a twisting labyrinth like the Lobby or even the endless urban sprawl of the third floor. This was a Void place. A realm of complete emptiness, barren of anything that could conceivably be used for survival. There was just¡­ nothing.


    Hell, I couldn¡¯t even locate a Monolith. Not one that existed on this floor, at any rate.


    When I asked Croc about the discrepancy, the mimic merely shrugged.


    ¡°Of course there aren¡¯t Monoliths,¡± the dog replied as though it were common knowledge, intuitively known by all. ¡°Lots of people think the sixth floor isn¡¯t a proper floor at all. This is Superspace. Or maybe Subspace. No one seems to agree on which exactly. Far as I can reckon, there are about half a dozen of these floors scattered throughout the Backrooms. The sixth floor. The hundred and third. Two hundred and thirty-two. Three hundred and forty-nine. Those are the ones I¡¯m reasonably sure about.¡±


    ¡°If they¡¯re not real floors, then what in the hell are they and why do they exist?¡± I asked, still scanning the darkness, looking for threats that weren¡¯t there.


    ¡°Now that is the question, isn¡¯t it?¡± Croc replied sagely. ¡°Why does anything exist, Dan? Who am I, why am I here? What is my purpose, amiright?¡±


    I grimaced and pinched the bridge of my nose. ¡°I can appreciate that it seems like you¡¯re having an existential crisis right now, but I¡¯m not talking metaphorically. Like if this place isn¡¯t a proper floor, why is it in the Backrooms?¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s what I¡¯m trying to get at, Dan. No one knows. That¡¯s the thing you have to understand about this place¡ªno one really knows anything. About anything. At all. Except maybe the Researcher, but there¡¯s a good chance he¡¯s insane now, so even he¡¯s probably not an entirely reliable source. And that¡¯s assuming you could find him, which you can¡¯t. Or that he¡¯ll talk to you even if you did, which he won¡¯t. We¡¯re all just taking a wild, blind stab in the dark.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard other Delvers say these floors are like connective tissue. Or quantum glue, maybe.¡± Croc paused, wrinkling its nose. ¡°I¡¯ll be honest, I don¡¯t actually know what quantum glue is, but there was this Delver named Mikal who said it and it sounded really smart. He was some sort of scientist or something before he ended up here. But now that I hear myself say it aloud, it sounds kinda dumb.¡±


    ¡°What happened to Mikal?¡± I asked because I always had to ask.


    Maybe if I survived impending execution at the hands of the Flayed Monarch, I¡¯d take some time to chronicle all of the countless deaths Croc had witnessed. A Thousand Ways to Die in the Backrooms, I¡¯d call it.


    Croc¡¯s face fell. ¡°Mikal didn¡¯t last long, but I want to go on record and say that was not my fault. He was in bad shape before he ever got here. Some sort of accident with something called the Large Hadron Collider.¡± Croc leaned in close. ¡°Not sure who Hadron is or why he¡¯s so large, but he must¡¯ve been one mean fella.


    ¡°Mikal¡¯s organs were all mixed up on the inside. Honestly, I¡¯m surprised he made it as long as he did, considering the circumstances. But he was an interesting case, since he¡¯s the only Delver I ever meet who bypassed the Lobby entirely and Noclipped straight to level five, which is where I found him. His lungs were on the outside of his body.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean he died of natural causes?¡± I asked.


    Croc just laughed for a good solid minute. The sound was oddly muted in the dark. Eventually it wiped a tear from the edge of a googly eye with one paw. ¡°Natural causes. That¡¯s funny, Dan. It¡¯s good to see you haven¡¯t lost your sense of humor yet. That usually goes pretty quickly for most Delvers.¡±


    We walked for another hour or so, accompanied only by the sound of our muffled footfalls and the rustle of the distant breeze that never abated, but never drew any closer either. I cast Unerring Arrow every ten minutes or so, but the arrow always pointed straight ahead. Even when I turned around and cast the spell a second time. I got the sense that direction didn¡¯t matter at all here. I wasn¡¯t even sure direction existed. Eventually, my flashlight beam reflected off a freestanding metal door, jutting up from the floor.


    It wasn¡¯t connected to anything at all.


    No walls. Not even a proper doorframe.


    Croc and I circled it three times, scanning for traps. But it was just a freestanding door. When I cast Unerring Arrow, the ethereal trail of light curved around the door and seemed to disappear into its backside. Because I couldn¡¯t leave well enough alone, I tried the door from the front side and thought my jaw might hit the floor as it swung open to reveal the sweltering interior of a machine shop on the second floor.


    I shut the door quickly, before anything nasty could lumber through and ruin my day, then tried entering from the other side. This time the door swung open, revealing what appeared to be a dilapidated elementary classroom.


    The room lay in ruins. The tile floors were scuffed, chipped, and covered in a thick layer of dust and flaking plaster. Ancient desks, crafted from rusty iron and moldering wood, were haphazardly scattered about the room¡ªmany overturned as though the former occupants had left in a hurry. They were small, those desks, and wouldn¡¯t fit anyone larger than an eight-year-old. Looming at the front of the classroom like a wounded buffalo was a significantly larger desk, crafted from rich mahogany.


    A wooden ruler sat on the desktop and beside it was a heap of crimson rosary beads.


    Behind the heavy desk was a weathered green chalkboard, its cracked and pitted surface covered by a list of rules, written in tight, white cursive lettering.


    <ol>


    <li> Good children are seen but never heard.</li>


    <li> The best children are never seen at all.</li>


    <li> Good boys and girls always say their prayers, or they will be taken by the left leg and thrown down the stairs.</li>


    <li> When the bell tolls thrice, return to your chambers. You know why.</li>


    <li> At 3 AM the Sacred Hour begins. Stay in bed, eyes shut tight. No matter what you hear, DO NOT leave your room. </li>


    <li> Obedient children will avoid the mirrors. It is as it ever was and so shall ever be.</li>


    <li> Good boys and girls avoid the indulgent temptations of the Partygoers. The cake is a lie. The cake bearer, the Father of Lies.</li>


    <li> Children who avoid their studies and stay too long at the playground will receive delicious penance. </li>


    </ol>


    What the fuck is wrong with this place? I thought as I scanned the list of rules, trying to commit each one to memory. Were they here solely to scare the absolute bejesus out of anyone who stumbled across them? Probably.


    Unless they weren¡¯t.


    And these rules were so incredibly weird and specific, I had to assume they were in some way a warning. Or at least a glimpse into whatever dangers this creepy place held.


    Croc slipped into the room behind me, and the door we¡¯d entered through closed with an audible click, which seemed thunderous in the stillness of the abandoned classroom.


    On instinct, I turned around and tried the handle. It opened with ease, but now it no longer led to the yawning darkness of the sixth floor, but rather revealed a small supply closet filled with a heap of old papers, covered with the faded scribblings of children. I crouched down and snatched up a sheet of construction paper with a crude scene sketched in crayon.


    There was a little stick figure kid with a wide grin holding up what appeared to be a birthday cake covered with a ridiculous number of candles. The stick figure was in some sort of party room with balloons, and standing behind the figure was the lanky form of a clown in a bright yellow suit. The clown had tufts of red hair poking out and a smile that stretched beyond the bounds of its face.


    I shuddered and let the drawing flutter back to the discarded heap.


    If there was one thing I disliked even more than furries, it was clowns. And with the furries, it wasn¡¯t a moral judgement. They just made me uncomfortable. But with clowns? I specifically and actively thought less of anyone who, of sound mind and their own volition, decided that being a clown was a good and appropriate life choice.


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing this is the seventh floor?¡± I asked, stealing a look at Croc.


    ¡°Of course. It¡¯s the School Zone. Although sometimes people call this place Level Fun, on account of all the Arcades.¡±


    ¡°I thought you said each quadrant had one Monolith and one Loot Arcade. Except for level six, which doesn¡¯t have any,¡± I amended.


    ¡°Yeah, but the Loot Arcades here are enormous. They¡¯re actually larger than any other Loot Arcade above the hundredth floor and they offer a better selection of prizes, too. That¡¯s why Howlers Hold is here. This is one of the best levels for resource access¡­¡±


    ¡°Why do I feel like there¡¯s a but coming,¡± I said, forehead furrowing in suspicion.


    ¡°Because I was about to add one,¡± the mimic replied sheepishly. ¡°This is one of the best levels for resources access, but the trade-off is that the Fun Zone Arcades are also among the most dangerous and well defended. Lots of Dwellers. Lots of Blighted areas. On floor three, the Arcades are clear eighty percent of the time, but here, it¡¯s the exact opposite. More danger, but proportionally bigger rewards.¡±


    ¡°We talkin¡¯ Murder Muncher levels of danger here?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Or worse,¡± Croc said happily. ¡°But I¡¯m sure we won¡¯t have a problem, Dan. You¡¯ve got all your fancy navigator abilities, so I fully expect nothing bad whatsoever to happen to us in anyway.¡±


    Which is precisely when we heard the melodic giggle of a child¡­

 Thirty-Five – The School Zone

    Hammer firmly in hand, Croc and I slipped out of the dilapidated classroom and into an equally run-down hallway with green walls, so pale they were almost white. There was ample debris scattered along the floor¡ªbits of plaster, old soda cans, crumpled sheets of notebook paper¡ªand the overhead lights dimmed and flickered in signature Backrooms fashion. The giggle of children came again, closer this time. The eerie sound sent goosebumps crawling along my arms.


    I focused on the minimap in the corner of my eye and zoomed in, looking for any sign of hostile Dwellers. Despite the ominous child-giggles, however, the map showed nothing but me and Croc.


    I dismissed the map and surveyed the hallway, which branched off with one path heading left and another going right.


    To the right, the hallway continued straight as an arrow, going for so long that eventually it just faded from view. The left-hand path connected to a ¡°T¡± intersection, branching left and right once more. Rows of rusty lockers adorned the left-hand corridor. A few of them were closed, but most hung open at odd angles, concealing pools of shadow. Anything could¡¯ve been hiding in those things, and my Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense quickly lit up, highlighting several of the lockers with a hazy red aura.


    Traps¡ªthough what kind I wasn¡¯t sure.


    Scrawled on the wall, directly across from the rusted lockers, was a faded cartoonish mural, which had clearly been made by an army of small children. Or at least painted to look that way. There were several figures lined up in a lime green meadow with a huge yellow sun overhead. There was a gaggle of stick figure kids, each drawn to scale. They wore triangular dresses or boxy, square pants and shirts, marking each one as a little girl or little boy. The figures had large black eyes and crooked smiles that ran across round faces in odd ways.


    Standing at their center was an image of the same nightmare clown I¡¯d seen on the discarded paper in the classroom. Tall and gangly, wearing a baggy yellow suit with red puff balls trailing down his front. Spikey tufts of red hair poked out from the tops and the sides of his head, and in one oversized hand, the clown held a bouquet of balloons, all in a variety of different animal shapes. Everything about this situation put my teeth on edge, the mural most of all.


    ¡°This is so fun, don¡¯t you think?¡± Croc said, tail waggling happily.


    ¡°In what way does this constitute fun?¡± I asked, glancing down at the dog.


    ¡°We¡¯re in school, Dan. Personally, I never got to go to school, but I always thought it would be so much fun. Reading books. Learning about all the interesting facets of the universe. Making the best of friends who will stay with you for the rest of your life. High school seems like it would be a magical place.¡± The dog canted its head and looked at me. ¡°Did you go to school, Dan?¡±


    ¡°Of course I went to school. Go Blue Devils,¡± I replied almost by reflex. ¡°Never went to college or anything like that,¡± I added after a second. ¡°The Marine Corps was the closest thing I ever got to higher education, but most kids in America at least spend a good chunk of their formative years with their asses stuck behind desks, learning to recite a bunch of bullshit they¡¯ll never end up using. I can still tell you what the quadratic formula is, even though I¡¯ve never once used it. Not since the day after I squeaked by with a C in algebra.¡±


    ¡°Wow, the quadratic formula,¡± Croc marveled. ¡°I don¡¯t know what that is, but it sounds very impressive. Did they have a lot of singing in your school, Dan? Because I feel like all the impromptu musical numbers would¡¯ve been where I really excelled¡ªif I¡¯d gone to school instead of being born as a defective monster, destined to be alone forever.¡±


    I frowned at the dog. ¡°One, you¡¯re not defective. You might not be like the rest of the mimics, but that ain¡¯t a bad thing. We¡¯ve already killed enough normal mimics to fill a dump truck, but you¡¯re still alive and kicking while they¡¯re dead and gone. If anything, you¡¯re the next step in mimic evolution. And two, what in the hell are you talking about? Impromptu musical numbers? That isn¡¯t a thing. Anywhere. Not even in those fancy, private liberal schools.¡±


    Croc let out a shocked gasp. ¡°Surely you¡¯re not telling me that the award-winning documentary High School Harmonies was factually inaccurate? I based a core chunk of my identity around the ideas espoused in that film.¡±


    I snorted. ¡°Sorry, bud. But most of the things that you see on TV or read about in books rarely represent real life¡ªeven when it¡¯s supposed to. That goes double, maybe even triple, for anything you find in the Backrooms. But if you want a tour of school life, I¡¯m pretty sure the unspeakable horrors this floor has to offer are pretty close to the real thing. Come on.¡±


    I fixed Howlers Hold in my mind¡¯s eye and cast Unerring Arrow.


    Blue light shot down the left-hand corridor¡ªblurring right past the open lockers and the horrifying clown mural¡ªthen took a hard right at the ¡°T¡± juncture before vanishing out of sight. Of course we had to walk by the clown mural. I¡¯d been naive to ever assume otherwise.


    ¡°This is my surprised face,¡± I muttered, eyeing the mural again. Clowns. I fucking hated clowns. ¡°We¡¯re going thataway,¡± I said to Croc, jabbing a finger toward the left-hand path since only I could see the etheric blue trail. ¡°But stay close and only walk where I walk. Lot of traps tucked away inside those open lockers.¡±


    ¡°I will be like your shadow,¡± the dog replied without an ounce of concern as I headed into the hallway proper. I moved slowly, glancing between the lockers and the shoddy linoleum tiles on the floor. Several individual tiles glowed with a subtle red aura, and I knew they were connected to whatever was hiding away in the lockers, working on the same metaphysical principle as the red Twinning yarn we¡¯d been using to direct potential customers back to the store.


    Curious, I crouched and tossed a loose screw onto one of the glowing tiles, just to see what would happen. The second the screw landed there was a click followed by a series of thwacks as a flurry of arrows exploded from one of the lockers. Except they weren¡¯t arrows at all, I realized after a second. They were oversized pencils, each as thick as my finger and as long as my forearm.


    As the explosion of pencils lanced the opposite wall, the innocent cherubic giggles I¡¯d been hearing suddenly transformed into unholy wails and pained screams. The sound was so close and so loud I dropped my hammer in surprise and clapped my hands over my ears so the drums wouldn¡¯t rupture. The crude mural drawings were writhing in place, their painted arms waving and flapping as the pictures peeled themselves off the plaster.


    Dweller 0.738B ¨C Funtime Doodle [Level 8]


    The imagination of a child is a pure and wonderous thing. So powerful, in fact, that it can imbue life and whimsy into even the simplest of creations. A favorite toy, say. Or a cherished childhood blanket, threadbare and stained. Or even a drawing.


    Unfortunately for you, the child who drew this particular mural isn¡¯t one of those fun, adorable, gifted kids that you read about in the Smilebook Mom Groups. Little Timmy was one sick fuck. Broken home, addicts for parents, and with a penchant for playing ¡°Surgeon¡± with all the furry little friends in the backyard.


    So, instead of whimsy, these pictures are filled with little Timmy¡¯s murderous bloodlust and insatiable desire for world domination.


    Several of the stick-figured drawings had pencil-arrows jutting out from their chests or faces, with a good chunk of their HP already gone. But there were a half dozen of the doodles, all crawling off the walls and surging toward me like hungry zombies.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Even worse, they weren¡¯t alone.


    Slowly emerging from the wall was the looming form of the yellow-suited clown, with his bright red pompoms and his tufts of triangular spiked hair poking out like spearheads.


    Dweller 0.7813A ¨C Harold the Funtime Imagination Friend [Level 13]


    If you thought the Funtime Doodles were bad, just wait until you meet little Timmy¡¯s imaginary friend, Harold the Terror Clown. Thanks to a total lack of parenting or the intervention of any responsible adult, Harold is the pure distillation of Timmy¡¯s murderous impulses. Harold is raw id all wrapped up in a cheap silk suit of confusion, anger, and pain for a childhood which ended far too soon. It¡¯d be tragic if this fucking horror wasn¡¯t going to juggle your organs like bowling pins.


    I waved away the description as the first Doodle dropped its blocky shoulders and charged, its mouth contorting in a ravenous maw.


    I thrust my left hand forward, fingers splayed wide, and activated Slippery When Wet, coating the patch of floor between us with a slick coat of sudsy water. The Doodle¡¯s foot came down, and the creature promptly slipped, activating another one of the trap tiles glowing red in my vision. One of the lockers erupted with a colossal boom, and a spitball the size of a truck tire sideswiped the son of a bitch, plastering the Doodle against the wall.


    The gooey wad of paper and saliva didn¡¯t do any damage, but the stick figure was stuck fast, its legs dangling uselessly above the floor.


    I unleashed Drain-O Bolt and activated Split Cast in the same instant.


    A pair of bright blue lances of power erupted from my palm, one splattering the creature against the wall with corrosive magic, another hitting one of the Doodles in the chest with a sizzle. The dual spells triggered the Wild Surge ability baked into my stupid Versace bathrobe, instantly replenishing a huge chunk of Mana and duplicating the originally Split-Cast Drain-O Bolt, free of charge. Both blasts landed again, instantly killing the Doodle stuck to the wall, and dropping the other one down into the critical hit zone.


    I didn¡¯t have time to grab my fumbled hammer off the floor, so instead I pulled out my demolition screwdriver and slammed it straight into the Doodle¡¯s stick-figure throat. I was not at all ready for the spurt of black ink that erupted from the wound¡ª


    And directly into my open mouth. It tasted like turpentine and made me gag.


    I yanked the screwdriver free, snagged my hammer from the floor, then swiped the back of my hand across my lips, wiping away the revolting smudge of ink and paint. God this place was so gross. Each level was a brand-new study in disgusting, and I was quickly becoming a doctoral candidate in absolute nastiness.


    Croc had swollen in size, rearing back on two legs as it swiped at one Doodle with a clawed mitt as big as a grizzly¡¯s paw. The mimic¡¯s hulking torso had split open, revealing enormous, spiked jaws. A pair of tentacles extended from Croc¡¯s guts, holding another Doodle aloft and crushing its frail form like a constricting anaconda.


    There were still two more Doodles on the loose, not to mention Harold¡ªthough, curiously, the clown loitered in the back and didn¡¯t seem too keen to approach. But maybe that was because it didn¡¯t need to get its hands dirty. A small cloud of shiny, rubber animal balloons were floating toward me at a rate that was far too fast to be normal. Not that there was anything normal about this situation. I raised my hand and unleashed another Drain-O Bolt at an encroaching green balloon in the shape of a frog.


    The spell splashed off the shiny plastic, doing no damage and not even slowing the balloon down.


    Damn it. The balloons were inorganic material.


    Drain-O Bolt had the same core weakness as its first iteration¡ªit only affected living matter. And naturally it was the only ranged spell at my disposal. But I was a Marine. Improvise, adapt, and overcome had been pounded into my head so often that it was now a part of my DNA. I pulled the tactical speed square from its holster, cocked back my arm, and hurled that son of a bitch like a ninja star with all the strength a ten in Athleticism could muster.


    The speed square flipped gracefully, end over end, and hit the balloon frog with a pop.


    The balloon erupted in a wave of emerald power that obliterated the nearby Doodle and swatted me through the air like the hand of an angry god. I flipped ass over teakettle and landed in a heap, curls of smoke rising off me as my HP bar strobed an angry shade of red.


    ¡°The balloons are bombs,¡± I said, hoping Croc would be able to hear me. The words came out as an inarticulate croak, my throat raw and bloody.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± came a pained reply from beside me. ¡°Sort of figured that out when it blew off my leg,¡± Croc replied, still sounding remarkably chipper. The mimic was lying six feet away and had reverted back to its natural form¡ªa blob of bright blue goop with too many arms to count, all covered with eyes and circular mouth orifices. A Health bar hung above its head, and the mimic wasn¡¯t in much better shape than I was.


    There was still one Doodle left, plus Harold and all of his fun balloons, which were drifting our way, carried by an unfelt breeze.


    With numb fingers I fished out the Super Slammer of Shielding and plunked it down between me and Croc, whispering, ¡°Let¡¯s Pog,¡± under my breath. The golden birdcage erupted in a dome of brilliant sparks, just in time to intercept the oncoming Doodle and another of the balloon-borne IEDs. The last remaining Doodle¡ªa girl in a triangular black dress with yellow pigtails poking out of her round head¡ªbounced ineffectually off the shield.


    A floating lion hit next, and I flinched as a wave of orange and red light bubbled out. The explosion swallowed the other balloons, which set off a daisy chain of rippling destruction.


    Boom... Boom. Boom! BOOM!!!


    The floors quaked and I was sure the roiling flames would charbroil us alive. But the shield held without so much as a flicker, rebuffing the destruction as the timer spun down.


    The blast incinerated the last Doodle and obliterated the lockers, setting off the remainder of the traps. I used the time to get to my feet, retrieve my hammer, and pull two deliciously refreshing Zimas from storage. I handed one to Croc then chugged the other, tossing the bottle away into the rubbish decorating the rest of the floor.


    Croc had gained its feet as well and was back in the hulking form of a dog-bear.


    We had about fifty seconds left to go on the shield, but I wasn¡¯t keen on wasting any more time. We still had to take out Harold the Terror Clown. Although the last round of explosions had detonated all of his explosives, the freak had more flaccid balloons hanging at his side and was already starting to inflate another. He was about thirty feet away, and we were never going to get a better chance to smoke him than now.


    ¡°I need a boost, Croc,¡± I yelled, a plan suddenly coming together in my head. ¡°I¡¯m gonna kick off your hands and you¡¯re gonna hurl me toward the clown. You got that?¡±


    ¡°You want me to throw you, Dan?¡± the dog-bear asked, sounding legitimately confused.


    ¡°Yep,¡± I said. ¡°Just aim right for that asshole. On three. One¡­¡±


    I reached down and picked the coin up.


    ¡°Two¡­¡± I deactivated it with the arcane catchphrase of yesteryear. ¡°That¡¯s so ¡¯90s¡­¡±


    ¡°Three¡­¡± I roared as the golden barrier vanished with thirty-two seconds left on the countdown timer. At the same time, I leapt up and planted my foot in Croc¡¯s oversized paw, kicking off as I triggered Moving Walkway. Croc heaved, using the sheer weight of its body to hurl me through the air and directly at Harold.


    The clown had blown up another balloon, this one a deep purple, and was already furiously tying it into a new animal shape. But I was too fast.


    I was speed.


    Between Croc¡¯s throw, the force of my kick, and Moving Walkway¡ªwhich increased the speed of my forward momentum by a factor of three¡ªI was a bona fide human cruise missile. I funneled Mana into the hammer already in my hand, and it swelled in size and burned with a blue light that reminded me of a falling star.


    Harold¡¯s eyes went wide, and the stupid balloon animal was only halfway finished when I brought my hammer crashing into the side of his head, still in midflight. The fallout from the balloon explosions had already brought the clown into Gavel of Get Fucked range, and I triggered the attack without the smallest shred of mercy. This asshole had almost killed me and my dog¡ªwell, sort of dog¡ªbut for that I could forgive him. After all, this was a dog-eat-dog world, and it was kill or be killed.


    But he was also a clown, and that was simply inexcusable.


    Harold¡¯s head exploded as the hammer landed, but instead of spraying blood and gore, a colorful geyser of party confetti erupted outward along with a pair of notifications.


    [Level Up! x 1]


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Human Cannonball


    Gravity, physics, and sheer fucking audacity: these are the three forces that govern your trajectory as you hurtle through the air, headfirst like a suicidal moron. Most ranged warriors prefer to fire things like bullets, or rocks, or hives filled with angry bees, but not you. You are the projectile. Launched skyward, foes can only watch in horror and amazement as you descend like a lumpy, flesh-colored meteor, bathrobe flapping majestically in the wind.


    Reward: 1 x Silver Acrobatics Loot Token


    Title: Human Cannonball ¨C Decrease fall damage by 25% whenever you are bodily used as a projectile weapon.


    I didn¡¯t have time to read through the notice before I landed flat on my face, flipping and rolling several times before finally sliding to a stop on my back. The collision had knocked a fully twenty percent off my total Health, putting me at just above the fifty percent mark, and I¡¯d broken a rib in the process. That would heal quickly, but man did it hurt like a bitch in the interim.


    Worst of all, I was covered in colorful bits of confetti.


    Problem was, the flakes of confetti were heavy and wet and strangely gristly.


    Turned out clowns weren¡¯t made of confetti after all. Their meat was just rainbow colored¡­

 Thirty-Six – Goosey Goosey Gander

    After looting the corpses and recovering my speed square, I planted my VIP Doorway Anchor and popped into the store to distribute my five new Enhancement Points and swap around some Relics. The Doodles dropped a variety of Common and Uncommon Shards, but each one carried a Common-grade Relic called Doodle Buddy, which served as a summoning spell that allowed the user to conjure a level 4 Doodle. The minion would exist for ten minutes, or until destroyed.


    The Mana cost was pretty high, at thirty a pop, and it had an internal cooldown of twenty minutes, so it wasn¡¯t the kind of thing I could spam endlessly, but I felt like it had some decent potential. Since I only had ten slots to play with, I reluctantly swapped it out for Bad Trip¡ªthough I deposited the Uncommon Mind-based Relic into my own personal storage. The other five Doodle Buddies I added to the store¡¯s Relic stock.


    Harold the Terror Clown had also dropped a pair of Relics, one Common grade, the other Uncommon. Both were worthy considerations, at least initially.


    The first, appropriately titled Balloon Menagerie, conjured slow-moving balloon animal bombs, which would seek out targets then explode for extraordinarily high burst damage. On the surface it sounded great, but once I cracked the hood and peeked below, I saw there were a couple of significant catches. First, the cast time for creating new balloons was ten seconds¡ªwhich was absurdly long¡ªand though you could hold up to five balloons at a time, they were extremely volatile.


    A fact I¡¯d witnessed for myself, firsthand. Breathe on ¡¯em wrong or look at ¡¯em funny and they were just as likely to nuke you as your enemies.


    The other drawback¡ªwhich was a deal breaker for me¡ªwas that the Relic resembled a red, rubber clown nose and when you used it, a corresponding red clown nose appeared on your face. As far as I was concerned, that made it even worse than the Mask of the Faceless, which slowly stole away the user¡¯s face until they were a blind husk of a human being devoid of eyes or nose or mouth.


    In my estimation, it was better to have no eyes at all than to bear the indignity of looking in the mirror every day, only to see a clown staring back.


    Needless to say, I put the godforsaken Relic up for sale and would pray for the poor soul desperate enough to use it.


    The other Relic was a small item called Squirting Flower. It looked like a bright yellow sunflower with a small plastic tube running out the back, which was attached to a red hand pump. Like the cursed nose, this particular Relic also summoned an accompanying physical manifestation, attaching a yellow sunflower to the user¡¯s lapel, which could unleash a quick, concentrated burst of water that dealt five points of slashing damage on contact.


    The Mana cost was next to nothing, but it was still dog shit compared to everything else I had equipped.


    Thing was, it synergized with two other Relics: Slippery When Wet and the Scalding Torrent I¡¯d picked up from the Steam Djinn on the second floor. Best of all, the three items all buzzed like a hornet¡¯s nest when I brought them together, and when I ran the Codex Compatibility Analysis, it came back with an eighty-nine percent match for a badass little ability called Pressure Washer.


    Pressure Washer


    Rare Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Single Target


    Cost: 5 Mana/Sec


    People underestimate the power of water, forgetting that, given enough time, water carved the Grand Canyon. You don¡¯t have millions of years to wait, though, so we cranked the power of water up to 90,000 PSI and funneled it into a stream the size of your pinky finger. This shit can cut through steel and is hot enough to boil a live lobster.


    You¡¯re welcome.


    The target receives one stack of Water Erosion on contact, suffering 15 points of Slashing Damage, and receives an additional 5 points of Scalding Damage per second while directly in the water stream. For every three consecutive seconds spent in the water stream, an additional stack of Water Erosion is added, dealing 15 more points of Slashing Damage. When an enemy receives five stacks of Water Erosion, all damage dealt triples for each subsequent stack thereafter.


    I whistled through my teeth when I read the report in its entirety.


    Pressure Washer had a similar mechanic to the Flamethrower Relic, but without any of the terrible, potentially explosive, side effects. The additional stacking damage could make it a powerhouse long term. It did occupy the same ranged magical attack slot as Drain-O Bolt, which wasn¡¯t ideal, and it didn¡¯t have the Stamina or Mana drain effects, either. But it did have one benefit Drain-O Bolt was lacking.


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    It would work on anything. Not just organic matter.


    My overall Athleticism score was still weak sauce, and casting magic was my strong suit.


    Except, I didn¡¯t have many offensive spells, which had nearly killed me during the battle with Harold the Terror Clown. Pressure Washer would give me some versatile ranged options, and I could also probably use it to slice through chunks of the Backrooms itself, if I needed to. I¡¯d have to sacrifice Slippery When Wet, which sucked balls, since that was my only Crowd Control-style spell, but it was worth the price of admission.


    I forged the shiny new Relic, added it to my Spatial Core, then quickly used the Monolith to drop three more points into Resonance, and a point apiece into Grit and Athleticism.


    Then Croc and I were back at it, scouring the seventh floor for the elusive Howlers Hold.


    ***


    Even with Unerring Arrow to guide us, the process was as slow as old people shuffling through the food line at a Country Buffet.


    The Arrow was awesome¡ªa literal lifesaver that made navigating the floor possible¡ªbut it still had limitations. It ate Mana like a hungry pit bull and only lasted for thirty seconds at a time, plus the Backrooms were just fucking enormous. The Arrow was great for finding a targeted location within a single quadrant or even finding an exit or stairwell to a specific floor, because there were lots of available options.


    But when the location you were looking for was several quadrants away?


    It was a slog, even with the perfect route laid out like a magical version of Google maps. I felt like Frodo, trekking my ass across half of Middle Earth to return the One Ring.


    Croc and I spent the next two days tediously grinding through the School Zone, avoiding countless school-themed traps and legions of Doodles, Clowns, and even worse horrors.


    There were packs of Hellraiser bondage nuns who weren¡¯t particularly strong, but wielded a powerful mental magic called Repressed Catholic Guilt, which could leave you weeping uncontrollably on the floor.


    We avoided Quadrant 17 like the plague, since apparently it was home to the Mother Superior of the Sisters of Silent Shadows, which added extra time onto the trek.


    The playgrounds, which were everywhere, were even worse.


    The equipment was all built from old sheet metal that was as hot as a stove burner and so rusty that even looking at ¡¯em would give you tetanus. The dusty sandpits beneath the playgrounds held gargantuan worms, which had clearly been inspired by the Shai-Hulud of Dune. That or Tremors. It was hard to say, though they were terrifying as hell either way. Croc and I had to American-Ninja our way across the scalding playground equipment, swinging from monkey bars and scaling dubious rope bridges as though we were kids playing the Floor is Lava.


    Except if you stepped on the floor a giant sandworm would eat your leg.


    The worst terror by far, however, was Goosey Goosey Gander.


    That sadistic, goose-bodied motherfucker.


    Every so often as we trudged through the winding halls of high school hell, I¡¯d hear a faint snatch of that old nursey rhyme. A nursery rhyme which had both confused and frightened me as a kid.


    Goosey goosey gander,


    Whither shall I wander?


    Upstairs and downstairs


    And in my lady¡¯s chamber.


    There I met an old man


    Who wouldn¡¯t say his prayers,


    So I took him by his left leg


    And threw him down the stairs.


    It was creepy and unnerving as shit. What even was a goosey gander? Why was it in some lady¡¯s chamber? And, most importantly, why the hell did this goose feel the need to commit elder abuse?


    All I had were questions, never any answers.


    The voice would only whisper a single line of the poem at a time, and sometimes the words were so faint that I almost thought it was a trick of my imagination. Until the last line bled from the air and a mutant horror goose¡ªhalf man, half goose, easily ten feet tall, and built like a brick shithouse¡ªmaterialized out of nowhere like an Avenging Angel of the Lord, fully prepared to smite the wicked. Before I could do a damned thing, the asshole goose-man summoned a set of concrete steps, picked me up by my ankle, and hurled me down the stairs with a flick of his wrist.


    I broke my collarbone and lost about fifteen percent of my total HP, due to the fall.


    And then, just as quickly as he appeared, the horror goose vanished.


    Gone in the blink of an eye like a bad dream.


    Except then the rhyme would start all over again, the tension building and building with each passing line. Every hour or so, I¡¯d hear another snatch of verse and I knew the goose was one step closer. And it wasn¡¯t like I could do anything to stop the monster. It was level 42, so even if I threw every spell I had in my arsenal, it wouldn¡¯t even make a dent in its Health Pool. The impending sense of dread and doom, coupled with the complete helplessness of the situation, was a form of intense psychological warfare.


    A form of intense psychological warfare that worked extremely well.


    Pretty soon I was jumping every time I saw a shadow flicker in the corner of my eye.


    The goose pitched me down the stairs four more times before I finally remembered the rules, so neatly scrawled on the chalkboard in the classroom. Rule number three, Good boys and girls always say their prayers, or they will be taken by the left leg and thrown down the stairs.


    The innocuous line had seemed dumb and random at the time, but I started muttering a short prayer whenever the rhyme started up again, and the goose finally let me be.


    The whole time, I left copious notes, warning other Delvers about the multitude of dangers, as well as nailing more and more red Twinning rings to the walls, which all led to a door that I¡¯d planted not far from where Croc and I had first entered the floor.


    Say a prayer. Doesn¡¯t matter to who. Just say a prayer or that sadistic Goosey Gander chucklefuck will literally throw you down a set of stairs.


    ¡ªThis Survival Tip brought to you by Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains.

 Thirty-Seven – The Red Hands

    Early on the third day of what was beginning to feel like a doomed quest to nowhere, Croc and I blundered into a large school locker room with a slick, mildew-covered floor, filled with rows of lockers and wooden benches that had probably endured more horrors than I could ever even begin to imagine. Just thinking of all the wrinkly nutsacks those benches had witnessed firsthand gave me full body chills.


    The gentle pitter-patter of water hitting the floor came from unseen showers off in the distance, and a carpet of misty steam crawled through the room, fogging the communal mirrors hanging above the sinks.


    Coming from up ahead were voices.


    Croc and I ducked behind a set of lockers, concealing ourselves from view.


    Loitering in a large open space between the lockers and the sinks was a ring of Delvers, all encircling another Delver, who stood in the center with an enormous nail-studded baseball bat drawn, raised, and ready to fuckin¡¯ rumble. The bat-wielding Delver in question was female, maybe five foot even with a slight figure, and she couldn¡¯t have weighed more than a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet.


    She was also a furry.


    Not a Cendral like Jakob, or some other half-human, half-animal Transmog.


    She was a legit, honest-to-god, furry.


    Fuck. My. Life.


    Delver #03A - 04 - B00IJMHAXQ ¨C Human, Archetypal [Level 19]


    She wore a skintight pink bodysuit with a patch of white fur running down the chest. Cartoonish oversized white paws covered her hands, and she had on a pair of matching furry white boots that went up past her calves. A set of floppy pink bunny ears trailed down her back, completing the look. Thank the good lord above she wasn¡¯t wearing one of those weird full-head furry masks, but I wasn¡¯t sure if that made the situation better or worse.


    Interestingly, she had an eclectic assortment of additional armor strapped on over the bodysuit itself. A single spiked pauldron jutted up from her right shoulder, kept in place with a leather chest harness. A silver vambrace adorned one forearm. She had a ringmail skirt wrapped tight around her hips, hanging down to midthigh. A leather belt held an oversized meat cleaver that looked like it had been forged in the foulest pits of Isengard.


    She looked young¡ªlate twenties or early thirties¡ªwith pale skin and short blonde hair that looked like it had been styled with the meat cleaver at her hip.


    ¡°Just tells us where he is, Temperance,¡± one of the other Delvers was saying.


    The speaker towered over the furry and had shoulders that belonged on an NFL linebacker, with a gut to match. His skin was rough, almost pebbly, and it looked like he¡¯d just waltzed off the set of a dollar-discount version of Mad Max Fury Road. He wore tattered camo pants and hockey pads studded with razor blades. The guy had a bright pink Mohawk, styled into pronounced liberty spikes, and was covered in a legion of colorful tattoos. Except for his forearms.


    Each forearm, from elbow to fingertips, was completely devoid of skin¡­


    Just gristly red meat and strikingly white lengths of tendon.


    There were five members of the gang.


    Each was dressed in a similar fashion, and all were missing patches of skin below the elbow or around the hands. But no one had as much skin missing as Mohawk. As I examined the leader a little more closely, a tag briefly flickered above his head.


    Delver #03V - 05 - B00IJMHAXQ ¨C Human, Variant [Level 20]


    I could¡¯ve used the Researcher¡¯s Codex to glean a little more information about the man, but I remembered Jakob¡¯s warning. This douche was higher level than me, so there was an even money chance that examining him wouldn¡¯t work anyway. Plus, douchenozzel and his buddies hadn¡¯t seen me yet and I didn¡¯t want to risk tipping them off beforehand. Instead, I activated Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike, burning twenty Mana as a pocket of deep shadow reached out and engulfed me.


    The rest of Mohawk¡¯s posse ranged in level between fourteen and seventeen, but there were a lot more of them than there were of us.


    ¡°Where who is?¡± the furry said in a clipped accent that sounded vaguely foreign. British maybe. Or possibly Eastern European? Hard to say.


    A girl wearing a leather jacket decked out in silver studs raised a piece of paper with the image of a man scrawled across the front. It was a caricature drawing¡ªthe kind of thing street performers did on the Oceanside pier¡ªbut even though the features were comically overexaggerated, there was no mistaking who they were looking for. Especially since the name ¡°Discount Dan¡± was written in bold, blocky letters directly beneath the image.


    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°Hey, that looks like you, Dan,¡± Croc whispered from behind me. ¡°They got the bathrobe and everything,¡± the mimic added.


    ¡°Yeah, no shit,¡± I muttered, gaze still fixed firmly on the scene playing out ahead.


    Looked like all of my poor life choices were finally coming home to roost. It didn¡¯t take a genius to figure out that these were Aspirants of the Skinless Court, and they were on the hunt for little ol¡¯ me.


    ¡°We know he¡¯s on this level somewhere,¡± Mohawk said. ¡°Just tell us where he is and maybe we¡¯ll let you go without giving a tribute to the Monarch.¡±


    As Mohawk spoke, another one of his goons¡ªa balding guy with tattoos crawling up the sides of his head and over his face¡ªremoved a thin, curved filet knife. The blade glittered darkly in the buzzing, overhead lights of the locker room.


    ¡°I still don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about, Braxton,¡± the furry replied stiffly, then gave a dismissive sniff.


    Braxton. Of course Mohawk¡¯s name was Braxton.


    ¡°This picture of yours means nothing to me,¡± she said, ¡°and I¡¯ve never met this Discount Dan before. Now if you¡¯re done interrogating me, I¡¯m on Howler business.¡±


    Mohawk¡ªaka Braxton¡ªchortled and rolled his eyes. ¡°I still don¡¯t understand what you see in those losers, Temp. They¡¯re weak. Soft. They have their dumb fucking rules and play pretend that we can be civilized. But this isn¡¯t civilization. This is the fucking wilderness. It¡¯s survival of the fittest and you know that better than anyone.¡± A crooked grin stretched across his face. ¡°You¡¯re broken, like us. You know that, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°I know that if you try and lay a single hand on me, I¡¯m going to cut your dick off,¡± she said, sounding as saccharine sweet as a Disney princess. She even batted her long eyelashes at him and gave him a disarming smile that looked positively feral.


    Mohawk chuckled. ¡°That attitude right there could take you far in the Red Hands, Temp. You know I like ¡¯em feisty. Just tell us what you know about Discount Dan here¡±¡ªhe thumped the paper¡ª¡°and I¡¯ll put in a good word for you with Hudson. He and I are like this.¡± He raised a hand and crossed his fingers. ¡°One word from me, and you¡¯ll be a lieutenant and not some little bitch running errands for those fur-faced fucks in the Hold.¡±


    Her hand tightened around the handle of the baseball bat. ¡°I already told you,¡± she said, still smiling, ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. But like I said earlier, if you want to get feisty, I¡¯d be more than happy to cut your knob off so you can go fuck yourself with it.¡±


    There were coarse laughs from the other Delvers present, but Mohawk wasn¡¯t laughing. The smile slipped away, and anger rippled beneath the surface of his face.


    ¡°There¡¯s a difference between feisty and disrespectful,¡± Mohawk growled, his brow furrowing in displeasure. ¡°And maybe you haven¡¯t seen Discount Dan, but a little birdy tells me you know more than you¡¯re letting on.¡±


    ¡°How many times did your mother drop you on the head? Because for the last time, I don¡¯t know¡ª¡±


    Mohawk¡¯s hand lashed out like a striking cobra and snagged a tiny bit of red yarn from her finger. I hadn¡¯t even noticed it was there.


    A Twinning Ring.


    One of mine.


    ¡°Cut the bullshit, Temp. How¡¯s about you start telling us the truth before Jordan¡±¡ªhe hooked a thumb toward Face Tattoos¡ª¡°has to start carving, eh?¡±


    Face Tattoos offered a malicious grin filled with yellowed and rotting teeth, then advanced a step with the filet knife outstretched.


    ¡°Goddamnit, Braxton, I don¡¯t know him,¡± she spat. ¡°I saw one of his warnings, just the same as you and anyone else with a pair of functional eyes. If you want the ring, you can take it. Go deal with him yourself.¡±


    ¡°That might be the first honest thing you¡¯ve said today,¡± Mohawk replied, nodding. ¡°Unfortunately, we already tried to pay him a visit. The door won¡¯t work for us. Not for any Aspirant. But you¡¯re not one of us. Maybe if you were to go and take care of the problem for us¡­¡± He trailed off.


    She pouted. ¡°Oh, does poor little baby need someone to kill the big bad man for you?¡± she needled. ¡°Well, tough luck because I don¡¯t take requests. I only kill the people I want to kill. Like you, if you don¡¯t leave me alone.¡±


    ¡°I have no doubt you¡¯d gut me if you could,¡± Mohawk sneered, ¡°but we both know you can¡¯t. And for someone who doesn¡¯t take requests, you seem more than happy to do bitch work for the Howlers.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because they don¡¯t make me want to vomit in my mouth when I look at them.¡±


    He backhanded her across the face with casual cruelty, splitting her bottom lip wide open. She staggered a few steps from the blow but didn¡¯t seem cowed in the least. Instead, there was a dangerous, deadly fire burning in her eyes.


    ¡°I¡¯m done with your bullshit, Temp. You don¡¯t want to play nice?¡± He shrugged. ¡°That¡¯s fine. But then neither will we. If you aren¡¯t gonna help us out, then I¡¯m afraid we¡¯ll have to take an offering of flesh, bunny rabbit.¡±


    She tensed, and I couldn¡¯t tell if she was going to turn tail and run or try to beat the shit out of the guy with her baseball bat. It seemed like she could go either way.


    ¡°I¡¯ll let you pick,¡± Mohawk said, clearly not worried about whatever threat she might pose. ¡°Left ear, or right? Which¡¯ll it be?¡±


    ¡°For what?¡± she snarled. ¡°For picking up this stupid ring? You¡¯re going to take one of my ears for that?¡±


    Mohawk nodded in agreement. ¡°Yep,¡± he confirmed. ¡°Since we can¡¯t get to the man himself, we¡¯ve been given orders to go after his customers. Try to firmly dissuade anyone from using his services. Looks like that includes you.¡± The nasty sneer tugged at the corners of his lips. ¡°Now, which¡¯ll it be, Temp? Left?¡± A long pause. ¡°Or right?¡±


    There was a manic, almost hungry glint in his eyes, but it couldn¡¯t match the sheer batshit crazy intensity in her gaze. I could tell the pink-suited, baseball-bat-wielding furry wasn¡¯t gonna go down easy. She was gonna fight these fuckers to the end, win, lose, or draw.


    Even if they killed her for it.


    In that moment, I knew I was going to do something stupid.


    Just like I¡¯d known I was going to do something stupid back in the Lobby when I¡¯d helped the gunslinger against a demon that could kill me with a look.


    Much as I wanted to make a smart choice, I couldn¡¯t turn my back on this lady, even if she was a furry, and even if Croc and I were outnumbered and outclassed on pretty much every level. This lady was elbow-deep in shit-sandwich and it was partially my fault. If I walked away, I wouldn¡¯t be able to look at myself in the mirror without seeing her stupid, bunny-eared face.


    And even if I ran now, this wouldn¡¯t end here.


    These postapocalyptic douchewaffles were going to target my customers. If I wanted to stay in business, I needed to send a message. A strong one.


    Plus, helping her was the right thing to do.


    Even if it was also the stupid thing to do.


    ¡°Get ready, Croc,¡± I whispered just loud enough for the mimic¡¯s ears. ¡°It¡¯s time to kill some motherfuckers. But don¡¯t worry, they¡¯re the bad ones¡­¡±

 Thirty-Eight – Killing Blow

    Croc and I needed a game plan before barreling in there like reckless morons.


    I mean, we were morons for not just running away, but we could try to avoid being reckless. As my dad always used to tell me growing up, if you¡¯re going to do something stupid, try to be smart about it. I did a cursory scan of each of the five members and got a baseline level for each of ¡¯em.


    Four of the five were Archetypal Human, while their boss was a Human Variant.


    Starting with the lowest-leveled member of the group, I metaphorically rolled the dice and used the Codex to pull up a rudimentary bio report on his Spatial Core.


    Richard Johnson


    Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C


    Variant Assimilation Level: 14


    Race: Human, Archetypal


    __ __ __


    Health: 114


    Stamina Reserve: 70


    Mana Pool: 24


    __ __ __


    Spatial Core - Active


    (C) Thick Skin ¨C Level 8


    (C) Pocket Sand ¨C Level 1


    (C) Curb Stomp ¨C Level 3


    (C) Bare-Knuckle Brawler ¨C Level 5


    (C) Escalation of Force ¨C Level 3


    (C) Shoulder Check ¨C Level 4


    (U) Dumpster Dive ¨C Level 5


    (U) Razor-wire Fisticuffs ¨C Level 6


    (U) Double Bounce ¨C Level 5


    (R) ???


    Affiliations of Record


    Hudson¡¯s Red Hands, Pledge; Skinless Court, Neophyte Aspirant


    Although the Codex didn¡¯t allow me to see anything else, based on his stats and the names of the individual Relics, it wasn¡¯t hard to guess that this guy was a brawler of one variety or another. The scuffed brass knuckles hugging his fists confirmed my suspicions. The guy didn¡¯t seem to notice that I¡¯d scanned him at all, which meant he likely had a shitty Perception score, so I moved on to the next lowest ranking member of the party and progressively worked my way up from there.


    They had another shitkicker type at level 16, while the guy with the filet knife was a level 17 who seemed to specialize in torture. He had Relics with names like Thumb Screw Grip, Sadistic Glee, Embalmer¡¯s Anesthesia, Trip Wire, and Crude Stitch¡ªthough he had a fair number of healing Relics as well.


    When I scanned the fourth member of the group, though, things went sideways. Natasha Anno was level 18, and unlike the rest of her pals, her Mana Pool was through the roof and her Relics clearly leaned toward the arcane. She had a few support buffs, but most of her spells were ranged damage dealers.


    Her back stiffened as I scanned her, and her head snapped up, eyes flaring wide.


    Well, shit.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got company,¡± she growled softly, gaze darting around the room.


    ¡°Who¡¯ve you got with you, Temperance?¡± Mohawk asked, suddenly looking nervous. ¡°One of the Enforcers from the Howlers maybe?¡± He paused, a sneer curling his lips. ¡°Or maybe some other little bitch boy, looking to curry favor with the rest of the furverts.¡± He wheeled around without waiting for her to reply, scanning the darkened corners of the locker room.


    I instinctively scooted further back into the shadows.


    ¡°Come on out, little bitch boy, we were just playing,¡± he called, voice echoing off the tiled floors. ¡°We weren¡¯t really gonna hurt her. Just planning to put a little fear into her heart.¡±


    He was looking the wrong way, toward the showers, which were still jettisoning thick curls of steam, but he¡¯d turn my way before too long.


    I pitched my voice low. ¡°We need to move fast, Croc. Hit ¡¯em while we still have the element of surprise.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure, Dan?¡± Croc whispered back. ¡°Because this seems like a very bad idea.¡±


    ¡°It is a bad idea,¡± I agreed, ¡°but that weirdo in the bunny suit needs our help. And sometimes doing the right thing is a bad idea, but you gotta do it anyway.¡±


    ¡°Are we gonna die, Dan?¡± Croc asked, though he sounded more determined than scared.


    ¡°Not if we¡¯re smart,¡± I lied, feeling a small jab of guilt. Friends weren¡¯t supposed to lie to each other but telling him the truth wouldn¡¯t help anything. In a firefight, your troops needed to see confidence, not uncertainty. ¡°But we¡¯ll need to be decisive. That lady¡±¡ªI jabbed a finger at the spellcaster, Natasha¡ª¡°is bad news, so I¡¯m gonna kill her before she can do any real damage. I¡¯m going to make a big distraction, then we¡¯re gonna do Croc-apult. I want you to aim for the spell slinger, understand?¡±


    ¡°Oh, fiddlesticks,¡± Croc murmured. ¡°We haven¡¯t tested Croc-apult yet.¡±


    ¡°No time like the present,¡± I replied. ¡°While I¡¯m dealing with the spellcaster, you¡¯re going to have to handle Mohawk and his knuckle-dragging buddies for a little while. Make sure they don¡¯t surround you. Hopefully Rabbit Ears over there will be able to help us out. If things get too bad, I want you to run¡ªI¡¯ll be able to find you after the dust settles.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t see any dust, Dan,¡± Croc replied, sounding worried.


    ¡°Just a figure of speech,¡± I said. ¡°Now get your game face on.¡±


    Croc manifested a pair of dark eyebrows, which slanted sharply downward across the top of its googly eyes, making the dog look like an angry anime character. It was more hilarious than intimidating, but I didn¡¯t tell the dog that. Croc was trying its best.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready, Dan. Let¡¯s kick some bad guy butt in the name of justice and Froyo.¡±


    ¡°For Froyo,¡± I agreed solemnly.


    The dog¡¯s form shivered, morphing into what could only be called a half-sized replica of a medieval catapult. One with a crooked mouth, googly eyes, and angry black eyebrows, of course. Still cloaked in shadow, I slipped into the bucket, said a small prayer to sweet baby Jesus above, then targeted Mohawk and unleashed a full-strength Drain-O Bolt while his back was still partially turned toward me.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got incoming!¡± someone screamed, but it was too late.


    The blue ball of corrosive magic roared into Mohawk with a wet slap and the sizzle of flesh as the spell immediately went to work. And because I¡¯d cast while shrouded in the Mall Ninja¡¯s Veil, the attack hit for three times its normal damage, dealing a total of 75 points of Corrosive Burst Damage on impact, knocking the ugly son of a bitch¡¯s Health down by nearly half. And the additional DPS damage immediately began shredding his Health, Mana, and Stamina bars.


    ¡°Hey, dicknoodles,¡± I proclaimed as the Aspirants of the Court turned toward me in evident shock, ¡°I¡¯m Discount Dan, and you¡¯d better keep my name out of those cock holsters you call mouths.¡±


    They all stared at me in complete and utter disbelief. Then an enraged war cry went up and the two brawlers and Mohawk all rushed toward us with squeals of inarticulate fury.


    I fired off a second round of Drain-O Bolt¡ªburning through another 15 Mana¡ªthen activated Split Cast, peeling the single spell into two smaller blobs of corrosive death. The first hit Mohawk dead in the face, splattering across his eyes, while the second caught the bare-knuckle brawler across the lower jaw and chest. Unfortunately, the guy was wearing black football pads, covered in graffiti and metal rivets, so the blast only did a few points of damage.


    I wanted to kick myself for not using Pressure Washer instead, but it was too late now.


    I had 54 Mana left and I would need almost all of that for my plan to work.


    ¡°Come get some, shitheads!¡± I growled, making a come-at-me-bro gesture, baiting them onward as I drew my hammer from its loop with my other hand.


    At the same time, I cast a glance behind the ranks of charging shitkickers and saw that Bunny Ears was now going toe-to-toe with the Hellraiser wannabe with the filet knife.


    A furious green halo had erupted around her, and the baseball bat was a whirlwind in her hands. She effortlessly slapped aside a knife thrust with the bat, then pointed it at Face Tattoos and unleashed a ball of writhing black shadow. When the inky ball hit her assailant it exploded into a thousand smaller shadows. They scuttled across the man¡¯s face, wriggled into his ears and nose, slid down his neck, then disappeared beneath his armor.


    Face Tattoos shrieked bloody murder, dropped his knife, and frantically scratched at his eyes. ¡°Spiders! You shot me in the face with a ball of spiders, you stupid bitch!¡±


    ¡°If you think the face is bad, just wait until they get to your asshole,¡± she cackled, before swinging her bat in a vicious arc, burying the nail-studded head into his thigh. He squealed like a pig and dropped to the ground, bat still lodged firmly in his leg. Temperance watched on in glee as he flailed and rolled, slapping frantically at the legion of scurrying spiders that were swarming his body.


    I was as horrified as I was impressed.


    Meanwhile, the spell slinger, Natasha, was in the middle of an incantation, a ball of seething red light coalescing between her palms.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Temperance the bunny said. She thrust one hand out, her palm flat, and shouted, ¡°Talk to the Hand!¡± Her voice crashed into the enemy spellcaster like a physical blow. The red ball abruptly blinked off as a thick shroud of silence enveloped her completely. Some sort of mute spell, I was guessing.


    There was never going to be a better time than now.


    The three brawlers were almost on top of us, ol¡¯ Face Tattoos was slowly getting back to his feet, and the spellcaster was momentarily stunned into silence.


    ¡°Now!¡± I thundered at Croc.


    There was a sharp twang and I felt the ground jerk beneath me, propelling me upward and forward all at once. I triggered Moving Walkway a heartbeat before my feet disconnected from the faux wooden platform and the spell propelled me through the air and toward the spell slinger like a human missile. The attack had worked so well against Harold the Terror Clown that Croc and I had been experimenting with ways to make the technique more effective.


    Having the mimic launch me with its palms was inaccurate and unreliable at best. It ended with me flat on my face with a broken nose as often as it worked. But with my new Human Cannonball title, I wasn¡¯t quite ready to call it quits.


    Which is why we had invented the Croc-apult.


    A Croc-powered catapult.


    We¡¯d launched dozens of Dan-weighted objects and had honed the process into an exact science over the past few days, even though we¡¯d never tried this move in actual combat. But it worked like a dream. Mostly. I soared over the incoming goons, pointed my free hand down, and activated a single pulse of Pressure Washer, drilling directly into the top of Mohawk¡¯s exposed head for 15 points of Slashing Damage and another 5 points of Scalding Damage.


    That¡ªcombined with the trio of Drain-O Bolts he¡¯d already absorbed¡ªdropped him below thirty percent Health.


    I sailed past the brawlers, coming so close to the ceiling that I almost brained myself on a light fixture, then descended in a perfect arc. In a cruel twist of irony, I¡¯d actually ended up using the quadratic formula to help figure out and fine-tune the catapult trajectory. When my ninth-grade math teacher, Mr. Farris, had told me I¡¯d use it sooner or later, I bet that wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d had in mind.


    I slammed into the spell slinger like a wrecking ball.


    The landing was less than graceful, and I snapped my left index finger when it jammed into the spell slinger¡¯s cheekbone. The break sounded like a pistol going off, but I ignored the bright lance of pain capering through my hand. At this point, a broken finger was pretty much par for the course. And, thanks to my Human Cannonball title, the fall itself did almost no damage at all.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to make your blood boil,¡± the woman snarled as she rolled out from beneath me and leapt to her feet. Apparently, the furry¡¯s suppression spell had lapsed, because the spell slinger whipped a hand forward and hurled a bright bolt of red magic directly into my face.


    The agony was immediate and washed through every inch of my body all at once.


    True to her word, it felt like my blood was literally boiling inside my veins. My HP dropped at an insane rate, though interestingly hers was plunging as well. I¡¯d be long dead before that mattered, though. It was hard to see or think with the intense pain rampaging through my body like an angry Kaiju, but I knew what I needed to do. Gritting my teeth and pushing through the searing, blinding torture, I reached into my core and triggered Sterilization Field.


    Blue-white light erupted outward, forming a dome with me at its center. The blood boil spell guttered and died, vanishing instantly as the light encompassed the enemy spellcaster, abruptly cutting her off from her Mana. My Health stabilized at just above forty percent, and I looked up at the woman with murder etched into the lines of my face.


    Her eyes widened in terror, and she tried to quickly backpedal out of the suppression field¡¯s area of effect. But that wasn¡¯t happening¡ªnot if I had anything to say about it. I didn¡¯t have an ounce of Mana to use, but I didn¡¯t need it. I bolted forward and tackled her ass to the ground. I landed on top and quickly straddled her at the hips. In comparison to my bulky frame, she seemed painfully small and frail.


    She wore leather leggings and a denim biker vest, along with a mishmash of assorted armor, ranging from shin guards and hockey pads to a medieval chainmail. A steel gorget protected her throat and a weather-beaten steampunk hat sat perched on her head, concealing short hair that had been shaven down to the scalp on one side.


    Unlike all of the monsters I¡¯d killed so far, this was a real human being. She wasn¡¯t a horror clown or a giant slug or a gangly nightmare with a toilet for a head. This was a person. A person who had accidentally Noclipped into this living hell against her will just like me and everyone else who¡¯d inadvertently got stuck here.


    I had my hammer raised, ready to drive home the killing blow, but I hesitated.


    Despite my time in the sandbox, I¡¯d never actually killed a person before.


    I¡¯d killed plenty of person-shaped things since coming to the Backrooms, but this wasn¡¯t the same no matter what I told myself.


    I lowered my hammer.


    She had no such qualms. She pulled a dagger from her boot and shanked me in the ribs, driving the blade in until it hit bone. My Health took another nasty nosedive, dropping down to thirty percent, and that¡¯s when it clicked inside my head.


    Human or not, if I didn¡¯t kill her, she would kill me.


    Period. End of story.


    And though I still felt conflicted, I reminded myself that this lady had been ready to flay an innocent woman just because she might know where I was. The Backrooms changed people, and though she looked like me, the truth was that I had far more in common with Croc than I did with her. She¡¯d traded in her humanity a long time ago, and all that remained was a husk of the woman who¡¯d once been.


    Face Tattoos was back on his feet and barreling toward me, so I slapped the Slammer of Shielding down. ¡°Let¡¯s Pog, motherfucker!¡± I thundered, conjuring a cage of golden light. He bounced off the arcane dome and landed on his ass, completely unable to help his companion.


    ¡°Nope,¡± I growled, raising my hammer, ¡°this is a cage match. No getting out that easy.¡± Then I brought the hammer down on the side of her face.


    Once.


    Twice.


    A third time, until there was nothing but a pulped, bloody mess.


    [Level Up! x 1]


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Cold-Blooded Murderer


    Congrats, big guy! Looks like you¡¯ve finally popped your murder-cherry.


    Remember, guilt is just Experience Points for the soul. Be careful, though, because it gets easier every time you do it! Murder is sort of like riding a bike in that way¡ªexcept riding a bike doesn¡¯t usually leave you with lifelong night terrors. At least, not if you¡¯re doing it right. Anyway, sleep tight, I¡¯m sure this pivotal moment won¡¯t haunt you for the rest of your days!


    Reward: 500 Experience Points, 1 x Gold Marauder Loot Token


    Title: Cold-Blooded Murderer (E) ¨C Earn 2 X Experience Points for Delver Deaths. Like I said, this shit gets easier and easier every time. This is an (E)volving title.


    My chest constricted and my stomach clenched into a knot.


    I felt sick, but now wasn¡¯t the time to get all introspective. Now was the time to fuck shit up. I could deal with the weight of my guilt later, after we¡¯d survived this shitshow. I gritted my teeth and yanked the dagger from my ribs, blood gushing down my side in a warm, metallic rush. I tossed the weapon aside and pulled myself off the badly disfigured corpse, wiping a few drops of blood away from my face with the back of one hand.


    One down, four more ass-whoopin¡¯s left to go.

 Thirty-Nine – Knight in Scaly Armor

    My Health was critically low and though I¡¯d regained about eight points of Mana during the tussle, that wasn¡¯t even enough to fire off a single Drain-O Bolt. The Sterilization Field vanished but the golden protection granted by the Slammer of Shielding still had almost an entire minute left before it zeroed out. Not that I could stay in there that long. Croc was doing its best to hold down the fort against the three Brawlers¡ªwell, two now¡ªbut things weren¡¯t going well.


    One of the thugs was dead, ripped completely in half with his legs not far from Croc¡¯s paws while his torso was draped over the top of a bank of lockers, bits of gray intestine trailing down to the floor.


    But the mimic dog was in bad shape, its Health sitting at just above the twenty-five percent mark. Mohawk must¡¯ve chugged an elixir at some point, because his HP was back up above eighty percent and the other dickhead barely looked like he had a scratch on him. I couldn¡¯t just barrel in there, though. I was one stiff breeze away from keeling over, my Health was pitifully low, and my Mana was running on E, which meant I couldn¡¯t cast any of my most devastating attacks.


    Using the protection of the barrier, I ripped out a Jolt Cola, tilted it onto its side, punched a hole with my demolition screwdriver, then proceeded to shotgun the whole thing like it was 2009 and I was at a barracks party in Pendleton.


    It took me less than five seconds to drain the can, and by the time I was done, arcane power surged through my veins, practically begging to be used. I tossed the can aside and let out a thunderous belch, loud enough to shake the room and wake the dead. Then I picked up the Slammer¡ªmuttering ¡°That¡¯s so ¡¯90s!¡±¡ªand tucked it back into my pocket, dispelling the barrier of protection.


    Face Tattoos still had the baseball bat jutting out of his leg and Temperance was currently clinging to his back, her legs wrapped around his stomach, while she bit at his neck and savaged his face with gleaming black claws. His HP was down below fifteen percent, and I reckoned he didn¡¯t have long for this world. Mohawk, however, spun around at the sound of my gaseous war cry.


    His eyes slid around me and landed on the crumpled and bloodied form of the spell slinger, dead on the floor in a pool of blood and shattered skull fragments.


    ¡°Natasha,¡± Mohawk whispered, his lips trembling. ¡°No, no, no.¡± The words were equal parts denial and prayer. A supplication to whatever cruel god he believed in.


    I suppressed another small pang of guilt and used the brief pause to activate Pharmacist¡¯s Scales, swapping forty points of Mana for an equal amount of Health, which pushed me back up to seventy percent. I was still a long way from fully recovered, but it was good enough for government work.


    ¡°If you didn¡¯t want her to end up dead,¡± I taunted, raising my hammer and resting it against my shoulder, ¡°then maybe you should¡¯ve avoided the whole murderhobo angle. Turns out that actions have consequences, and the dildo of consequences rarely arrives lubed.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a dead man and you don¡¯t even know it yet,¡± Mohawk howled, and then he started to grow.


    His face turned cherry red and his whole body swelled, veins pulsing and muscles bulging obscenely. Bits and pieces of armor started popping off, until he stood in nothing but shredded camo pants that were so tight they looked like Daisy Dukes. Mohawk stood nine feet tall, half again as wide, and now had skin that was the blister red of a burn victim. Bony white spikes exploded out of his shoulders and horns jutted from his head while fangs filled his mouth.


    ¡°This is gonna blow,¡± I muttered, mind racing to form a plan. I was drawing a blank.


    And before I could do anything, the red monster was barreling toward me like an out-of-control freight train, enormous legs and arms pumping as he ran.


    I was sorely missing Slippery When Wet¡ªor any sort of crowd control ability for that matter. Hell, this guy¡¯s Resonance Score was probably scraping the bottom of the barrel, so even Bad Trip would¡¯ve been a lifesaver. But I didn¡¯t have any of those equipped, nor did I have time to swap out Relics on the fly.


    I¡¯d just have to make do with what I had.


    I pointed my hammer and activated Doodle Buddy.


    A blob of living ink rose from the floor, assuming the form of a five-foot-tall stick figure girl with a triangular dress, yellow pigtails, and a rough-drawn pitchfork clutched in one hand.


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    The summoned doodle lasted all of three seconds.


    The living drawing raised her weapon and dashed toward the lumbering, red-skinned titan¡ª


    And was immediately pancaked by a giant foot the size of a manhole cover.


    That was thoroughly disappointing, but not entirely unexpected.


    I slammed my hammer back into its loop, then raised both hands and unleashed a Drain-O Bolt from one palm and a concentrated beam of pressurized water from the other. The blue ball of potent corrosive bleach slapped against the giant¡¯s chest and immediately went to work, eating through unprotected skin and the muscle beneath, but the freak didn¡¯t even seem to notice.


    That or he didn¡¯t care.


    I lowered my left hand just a hair, so the water blast was aimed squarely at ol¡¯ boy¡¯s rod and tackle. That got his attention. Especially when Wild Surge triggered and a second stack of Water Erosion hit the son of a bitch in the nutsack. But Mohawk kept right on coming, powering through the stream of water undeterred.


    I idly wondered if he had a Relic similar to the Gremlin¡¯s Groin Guardian in place. It would make sense for a build like his.


    I danced back two steps and activated Moving Walkway, which violently dragged me away from the bright red murder machine. Unfortunately, I didn¡¯t see the wooden gym bench until the back of my legs slammed into its edge and I toppled over, landing on my back with a wheeze. I hit the ground like a sack of bricks, knocking the breath from my lungs, but thanks to the rush of pure adrenaline coursing through me, I hardly noticed.


    I gained my feet just in time to see a fist, larger than my head, driving toward me like a battering ram. I dove right, the fist narrowly passing over my head, then rolled upright with my demolition screwdriver in hand. I lunged, driving the head of the screwdriver into the giant¡¯s thigh, dropping his Health by a grand total of seven percent¡ªand that was with the Bloodletting bonus in effect. I wasn¡¯t sure what Relic he was using, but he seemed to be damn-near indestructible.


    I juked right, but I was too slow by half.


    A knee shot forward like a piston and nailed me in the chest.


    There was a bright flash of disorienting light and a wave of force ripped through my body. Something broke. Actually¡­ a lot of somethings broke all at once. It felt like half the bones in my body had just been simultaneously turned to shards of glass.


    I flew backward like a rag doll and slammed into the lockers with a resounding clang, then slid down into a rubbery heap. I couldn¡¯t stand and my right arm hung limp and useless at my side.


    Mohawk stomped forward with killing intent.


    Those were the footsteps of certain death approaching, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. The ride had barely begun, and it was already over. Looked like I would end up being just another cautionary tale for Croc to tell future Delvers.


    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder what he would say about me.


    ¡°One time, there was this Delver named Dan who had terrible hemorrhoids. Ended up having every bone in his body turned into Jell-O. A real shame. He was a good fella.¡±


    ¡°Any last words?¡± the guy asked, looming over me like a gravestone.


    ¡°Your Mohawk looks dumb as fuck,¡± I gurgled, blood frothing on my lips.


    He snarled and brought a foot screaming toward me face¡ª


    But before the killing blow landed, a leather sofa sideswiped Mohawk like a tractor trailer, knocking him into the nearby sinks. The sofa¡ªan actual, fully-fledged, honest-to-God love seat¡ªflipped over, cushions cartwheeling through the air, and landed at an odd angle against the lockers.


    It felt like a fever dream, and a host of questions raced through my mind.


    Most of those questions were furniture related.


    Like, why was there a sofa in here?


    And, where did it come from??


    Also, who the fuck threw the sofa???


    Before I could fully work through the flurry of questions, there was a blur of motion, followed in short order by a flash of pale scales, violet hair, and curling horns.


    I knew the figure even half-dead.


    Jakob the Scales.


    The level 25 Cendral had a hulking tower shield strapped to his right arm and another shield attached to his left¡ªthough that one was forged from crystalline blue light, which emanated from a large sapphire attached to his wrist.


    Mohawk shook his head, clearly dazed from the blow, then pushed away from the sinks and took a wild swing at the encroaching Cendral.


    Jakob effortlessly deflected the blow, knocking Mohawk off-balance, then smashed him in the teeth with the tower shield. Mohawk dropped to the ground as though his legs had spontaneously decided to call it quits at that very moment. Although Jakob carried no visible offensive weapon¡ªother than the bazooka slung across his back¡ªthat didn¡¯t seem to deter him in the least from laying the smackdown of the century on Mohawk.


    Using the dual shields strapped to his arms, the lizard man went to work with brutal, workmanlike efficiency. Jakob curb stomped one knee, shattering the bone with an audible crack, then proceeded to break Mohawk¡¯s other leg with the blunt edge of the heavy metal shield. The enormous thug howled in pain, raised a hand in retaliation, and unleashed a column of noxious green light. The spell hit the surface of the blue shield and evaporated in a harmless hiss of steam.


    Before Mohawk could fire off another blast, Jakob jammed the blue shield straight down, slicing off Mohawk¡¯s outstretched hand just below the elbow. The limb came away cleanly, almost as though the shield had cauterized the wound.


    The severed limb landed with a wet thump on the tiles.


    Mohawk caterwauled even louder¡ªunderstandable, given the circumstances¡ªand reached for Jakob with his other hand.


    That was a mistake. The last one the man was ever liable to make.

 Forty – The Odd Couple

    The burning blue shield vanished in an eyeblink and suddenly there was a bowie knife clutched in the Cendral¡¯s hand. Jakob gave the blade a quick twirl, then drove it through Mohawk¡¯s palm, pinning his hand to the floor.


    ¡°If you want to keep the rest of your body parts,¡± Jakob said coolly, ¡°you should just lie there and play dead.¡±


    Mohawk grunted weakly and made no further move to retaliate.


    Honestly, it was one of the most lopsided fights I¡¯d ever seen. Like watching a toddler go all out in a no-holds-barred fight against Mike Tyson.


    In less than thirty seconds, the hulk was nothing more than a lumpy sack of bloody meat with a badly misshapen head sticking out like a hitchhiker¡¯s thumb. He was still alive, however, and I couldn¡¯t, for the life of me, figure out why. Obviously, Jakob could kill the man in a heartbeat if he wanted to, yet instead he seemed to be playing with him. Jakob was looking down on the battered and broken Mohawk in pity or disgust. Maybe both. Then he sighed and tsked.


    What a shame, that expression seemed to say.


    I fully expected Jakob to put the man out of his misery, but instead he turned back toward the entryway, where a lone enemy still remained. Croc had killed one Brawler, and Face Tattoos was dead and thoroughly butchered not far from Temperance¡¯s furry white feet. Her boots and outfit were splashed with bright scarlet arcs of blood, which made her look even more feral than before. Croc was splayed out on the floor, a pool of sticky blue liquid spreading out like a halo.


    The mimic had reverted into its true form¡ªa nauseating mass of tentacles and eyes and too many mouths¡ªand didn¡¯t seem to be breathing.


    I felt cold panic as fear grabbed me by the throat.


    Was he dead?


    No, couldn¡¯t be. I refused to believe it.


    Croc had endured so much; there was no way he¡¯d go out like this.


    Then, just when I was about to give up hope, the dog that wasn¡¯t a dog took a ragged, hitching breath and I caught sight of its Health bar. There was just a sliver of red remaining, so small I¡¯d almost missed it entirely. But Croc was alive, though for how much longer, I couldn¡¯t rightly say.


    The last of the Red Hand thugs was loitering not far off, though he wasn¡¯t in much better shape than Croc. He had one hand pressed against an enormous hole in his side and half his face was just¡­ missing. As though it had been burned off by acid. Which was probably the truth, considering that was the douchebag I¡¯d hit with Drain-O Bolt.


    Jakob slowly made his way toward the man but stopped a few feet away. ¡°This is the part where you run very, very fast and reconsider all of your poor life choices while you do so, verstanden?¡±


    The color drained from what remained of the man¡¯s face, and he nodded frantically. Then without saying a word, he turned and sprinted back into a connecting corridor before the Cendral could change his mind.


    ¡°That will cause no small number of headaches, I expect,¡± Jakob muttered, watching the man¡¯s retreating back until he disappeared around a corner. With a resigned shake of his head, the tower shield collapsed in on itself until it wasn¡¯t much larger than a circular metal frisbee. He slipped it from his forearm and hooked it to his belt with practiced ease.


    The lizard man bent over and scooped Croc into his arms as though the rubbery mass of tentacles and eyes weighed no more than a small child.


    Meanwhile, Mohawk was stirring on the floor.


    His red skin had faded away and he¡¯d shrunken down considerably, though he was still enormous. The catastrophic damage he¡¯d endured was even more apparent. The man¡¯s face was a colorful mosaic of blacks and blues, intermixed with splashes of red. Although the white, bone-like spikes had disappeared, they¡¯d left a legion of deep lacerations in their wake. With a weak groan, Mohawk managed to prop himself up on his elbows and crane his neck toward the approaching Cendral.


    ¡°Please, let me go,¡± he wheezed, his voice weak and the words dripping with desperation. ¡°I¡¯m Hudson¡¯s right-hand man. You spare me and I can get you anything you want. Anything. You just name it. Loot. Relics. Women. Whatever.¡±


    Jakob growled at the man, the sound emanating from deep in his chest. ¡°Quiet,¡± he hissed. ¡°I will deal with you in a moment.¡±


    ¡°Or I could just deal with him now,¡± Temperance said.


    She leapt upward and sprinted across the air itself, closing the distance between her and the Mohawk in five long strides, never touching the floor once. I¡¯d seen the gunslinger perform a similar feat during his battle against the Monarch, so it must¡¯ve been a fairly commonplace Relic. She landed on Mohawk¡¯s chest and buried her cleaver right in the man¡¯s skull, splitting his head nearly in two.


    Mohawk was dead before Jakob could take two steps.


    ¡°Verdammt, Temperance,¡± Jakob said, though he sounded more exasperated than angry. Almost as though he¡¯d expected nothing less from her. ¡°Why did you do that?¡±


    ¡°Because I knew you wouldn¡¯t have the testicular fortitude to do it,¡± she replied, standing.


    ¡°I believe the correct phrase is intestinal fortitude,¡± Jakob corrected.


    ¡°I know what I said,¡± she replied, jerking her cleaver free. She regarded its bloodied edge, then casually banished the streaks of crimson from the blade with a flick of her wrist. ¡°We both know you weren¡¯t going to kill him, so I took care of the problem for all of us.¡± She paused and stared down the hallway where the other thug had retreated. ¡°You should¡¯ve let me kill the other one, too.¡± She pressed her lips into a thin line of disapproval.


    ¡°You know, there are places in the world where not murdering people indiscriminately is actually considered a virtue,¡± Jakob replied flatly.


    ¡°And none of those places exist inside the Backrooms,¡± she fired back. ¡°The man you let live? He¡¯s going to bring back others, and they will not be inclined to show you the same courtesy.¡±


    ¡°I cannot control the decisions or impulses of others,¡± Jakob said, shrugging his shoulders, ¡°only my own. But your point is well taken, which is why we¡¯d better mop things up here and get moving rather quickly, don¡¯t you agree?¡±


    ¡°What about him?¡± Temperance asked, waving her cleaver toward me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry your pretty little head about him,¡± the Cendral replied. ¡°You take care of the corpses, I¡¯ll take care of him.¡±


    I didn¡¯t much like the sound of that.


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    Jakob took one last long look at the dead brute, then sighed in disappointment and made his way toward me with Croc in his arms.


    His black boots clicked softly on the tiles as he walked.


    I braced myself, resigned that this was probably the end for me. I hadn¡¯t stood a chance against Mohawk, and Jakob had just ripped him a new asshole without breaking a sweat. He could probably kill me with an aggressive fart from across the room if he wanted to. Especially since my HP was under ten percent and I couldn¡¯t move my arms or legs.


    ¡°Just let Croc go,¡± I croaked out as the Cendral drew closer. ¡°He¡¯s a good boy.¡±


    Even speaking that much felt like running a marathon up the side of Mount Everest. While dragging a dump truck. With flat tires.


    Jakob snorted, little puffs of smoke lazily drifting up from his nostrils, then dropped to a knee beside me. He set Croc gently on the tiles.


    ¡°I am not here to kill you or your pet¡ª¡±


    ¡°Not a pet,¡± I barked, ¡°a friend.¡±


    ¡°Sehr gut, your friend, then.¡±


    ¡°Will he be okay?¡± I choked out through sheer force of will.


    ¡°Mimics are versatile and resilient creatures,¡± the Cendral replied. ¡°He will need time to recover naturally, but he will be fine. I would be more concerned about yourself.¡±


    He grimaced, evaluating me through hooded eyes. I felt a cool chill wash over me and knew he was scanning me¡ªthough what sort of information he could glean, I wasn¡¯t sure. Hopefully, he wouldn¡¯t be able to see the Emblem tucked away in my Spatial Core, or I was a dead man walking.


    Not that I could walk.


    ¡°Looks to be some sort of Bone Splinter effect. Nasty business.¡± He rubbed his chin, then reached into his coat and pulled out a pair of items. The first appeared to be a small tin of shoe polish and the other was a bottle of Zima. Probably one of the very elixirs I¡¯d sold him a few days earlier.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need to realign your skeletal structure before I heal you,¡± he said, his yellow, reptilian eyes boring into mine, ¡°or you¡¯ll be irreparably crippled for the rest of your short and unfortunate life.¡±


    He unscrewed the tin and scooped out a glob of black polish, which he smeared across my forehead without any fanfare or ceremony. The stuff smelled strongly of almonds, and it felt oddly refreshing against my skin. Jakob spread a little of the goop along his own forehead, then sealed the tin and stashed it back in his leather jacket. ¡°Brace yourself, this is going to hurt like a bitch, as you Americans say.¡± He pressed a scaly hand against my chest.


    I found it hard to believe that whatever he was about to do could possibly hurt worse than having half of my bones turned to dust in the first place, but as a wave of power flowed into me, I realized I¡¯d been so, so wrong. A swarm of angry fire ants crawled beneath the surface of my skin, acid burbled through my veins, and it felt like someone was breaking and rebreaking my bones a thousand times over all at once.


    The world trembled around me and black crept in along the edges of my vision.


    I was right on the edge of passing out¡ªwhich honestly would¡¯ve been a blessing¡ªbut then it was over, and the pain passed as abruptly as it had begun. My HP was still pitiful low, but it had finally stabilized, and I could suddenly move my limbs again.


    Jakob pulled away, suddenly looking drained and sickly. Bright lines of crimson and black sludge leaked from his eyes and ears and nose and mouth.


    ¡°You okay?¡± I asked.


    He waved away my question with one hand, then took out a linen rag and began to mop the gore from his face.


    ¡°Just one of the side effects of that particular Artifact,¡± he replied with a scowl. ¡°It¡¯s a transference salve. Unpleasant, but effective.¡± He lifted the Zima and popped the cap with a thumb, then pushed it into my palm. ¡°Now drink.¡±


    I accepted the bottle with a trembling hand. ¡°Seems like I owe you a debt of gratitude,¡± I said between gulps of delicious refreshing Zima, the number one bone juice on the market. ¡°Though I¡¯ve got a few questions. Like how the fuck did you find us? And also, did you throw a fucking couch at that guy?¡±


    Jakob grinned then reached up and affectionately patted the barrel of his bazooka as though it were a beloved pet. ¡°Sofa launcher,¡± he said by way of explanation. ¡°Most of my Relics augment strength or physical resilience, so it¡¯s always good to have a little ranged support. As to how I found you¡­¡±


    He dipped his fingers into the pocket of my bathrobe and pulled free a tiny bit of red yarn. A matching piece of yarn was wrapped around one of his fingers.


    ¡°I planted it on you back in the store,¡± he said. ¡°Between the Twinning string and my own racial abilities, it was easy enough to find you.¡± He paused, staring at me with unnerving intensity. ¡°I¡¯ve been following you for several days now.¡±


    My eyes narrowed and suddenly the scaly Delver was a little too close for comfort.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t exactly fill me with warm and fuzzies,¡± I said, voice hard. ¡°You saved our ass, but it¡¯s sorta offset by the fact that you¡¯ve also been stalking us for the better part of a week. I guess my question is, why? Why follow us at all, especially if you aren¡¯t planning to murder us and loot our bodies.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about him killing you,¡± Temperance interjected. ¡°He doesn¡¯t kill anyone. He¡¯s a pacifist, isn¡¯t that right, Jakey?¡±


    ¡°I told you not to call me that,¡± Jakob replied, glowering at her over one shoulder. ¡°And I¡¯m not a pacifist in the strictest sense of the word.¡± He waved at the battered Mohawk. ¡°I will remind you that I did break both of his legs and remove one of his hands.¡±


    ¡°Plus the knife thing,¡± I added.


    ¡°Plus the knife thing,¡± he agreed.


    ¡°But you would have let him live,¡± Temperance said, ¡°because you just don¡¯t believe in killing.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t believe in killing Delvers,¡± he corrected. ¡°Which is fine since you enjoy killing enough for both of us.¡±


    ¡°Someone has to do it,¡± she said, idly twirling her baseball bat.


    ¡°That still doesn¡¯t explain why you¡¯ve been following us,¡± I pressed.


    ¡°The answer is not so sinister as you might think,¡± he replied after a brief pause. ¡°I was simply curious about you. It should come as no surprise that I didn¡¯t entirely believe your story. Which is why I followed you. Watched you. To see where you would go. Who you would talk with. I fully expected to see you liaison with one of the sovereigns¡¯ emissaries. Which sovereign I wasn¡¯t sure, but one of them, certainly. Imagine my surprise when I turned out to be wrong.


    ¡°For several days you explored this floor, leaving your survival tips and bits of Twinning string. But no one ever came for you. Even still, I was not convinced. Not fully. Not until I saw this.¡± He reached into his coat and drew out the caricature sketch. There were droplets of blood splashed liberally across the paper. ¡°It seems you weren¡¯t lying about being hunted by the Skinless Court.¡± He tossed the wanted poster toward me and it flipped and fluttered to the ground.


    ¡°But that still didn¡¯t explain why you chose to help Temperance, here,¡± the man continued. ¡°You risked life and limb in a hopeless fight to save a person I am certain you have never met before.¡± A thoughtful look flashed across his face. ¡°I couldn¡¯t make sense of it. What does he have to gain by doing this? I asked myself as I watched you fight a battle you surely could not win. But I could think of no reasonable answer. And then it occurred to me. You were helping because you believe it was the right thing to do.¡±


    ¡°And that¡¯s why you saved our asses?¡± I asked, choosing my words carefully. Self-proclaimed pacifist or not, this guy could still mop the floor with my intestines if he wanted to. ¡°Because we helped out some rando who was about to have her ears cut off?¡±


    ¡°Among other things,¡± the Cendral replied. He stole a sidelong look at the barely recognizable corpse not far off. ¡°As I told you earlier, I have no great love for the Aspirants of the Court. And, as an added benefit, this gave me an opportunity to prove to you that I wish no harm on you or your strange companion.¡± He ran a hand along one of Croc¡¯s tentacles.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure you will have more questions, but perhaps those are best left for later. As Temperance so insightfully pointed out, the man I let go will likely return with reinforcements, and their leader, Hudson, will not be so easily dealt with as this lot. Best we not be here.¡± He turned an eye toward Temperance, who was crouched over Mohawk¡¯s corpse. ¡°Have you looted all the bodies?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Is the Pope Catholic?¡± she called back, standing with a strange Relic clutched in one hand. It looked like the bright red skull of a demon. She disappeared it through space and time, presumably depositing it into her own personal storage space.


    ¡°Very good,¡± Jakob said, helping me to my feet.


    Even after the salve and the Zima, my muscles were still sore and my joints felt oddly tender, but my legs were steady enough to keep me upright. I bent my arms a few times and flexed my hands, just to make sure everything still worked, then I bent over and scooped Croc up, cradling his rubbery body against my chest.


    A bleary eye blinked open at me from the mass of Eldritch limbs, then a mouth hole spoke.


    ¡°Dan?¡± the voice asked, hardly more than a murmur. Even though the thing in my arms didn¡¯t look like Croc the dog, it had its voice. ¡°Did we do good?¡±


    ¡°Did great, buddy,¡± I reassured it, squeezing the squishy mass tightly against me. It should¡¯ve been gross but wasn¡¯t. Croc may not have been human, but it was my friend¡ªmulti-mouth orifices and all. ¡°Now let¡¯s get you back to the shop.¡±


    ¡°Just promise me one thing, Dan,¡± Croc whispered again, its voice ragged.


    ¡°Anything, buddy.¡±


    ¡°Please make sure Princess Ponypuff doesn¡¯t watch me sleep. It¡¯s super creepy. Also, I¡¯d like more Froyo.¡±


    I snorted, rolled my eyes, and made my way for the nearest door. ¡°You got it, buddy. You can have all the Froyo you want.¡±

 Quick Announcement and Shoutout!

    Hey everyone! Sorry to bother y''all. I hate doing these announcement posts, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. First off, the first book is officially done at 55 chapters and I''m really happy with how it all came together. I''ll be starting book 2 right away, and posting here on RoyalRoad, so there shouldn''t really be a huge break in content. If you''re interested in joining my Patreon, we''re currently four chapters ahead and I''m trying to post three times a week instead of two.


    I also wanted to give a quick shoutout for another one of my stories, which is currently running here on RoyalRoad. It''s called Wasteland Warlords and it''s awesome, but hasn''t been getting as much attention as this story. It''s post-apocalyptic LitRPG, with a slight western vibe to it. Great action, cool world-building, zany characters. It''s got it all. Plus, there''s already 500 pages worth of content out and more coming all the time, so if you''re jonesing for something good to read, please, please, please consider giving it a read! The link for the story is down below, along with a brief blurb. Thanks for reading and for supporting me!


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 Forty-One – Old History

    I lounged in the breakroom across the cheap, circular table from Temperance the Murder Bunny.


    The gentle hum of voices drifted in through the open Employee¡¯s Only door, accompanied by the squeak and scuff of distant feet. The store was busy with the hustle and bustle of new customers. We had fresh meat from the Lobby as well as a handful of veteran Delvers, who¡¯d trickled in from other floors. Half of our cots were rented out for the night as well as two of the three private tents.


    One by Jakob and another by a grizzled level 18 from the fifth floor who had the thousand-yard stare of a man who¡¯d seen some truly disturbing shit.


    Taylor, the college girl from Oklahoma, was back, and she¡¯d picked up another stray along the way. A twenty-year-old named Stephanie from Fort Lauderdale. The two of them both wore haunted expressions and looked almost as shell-shocked as the level 18, but they were alive. That was the important thing. Apparently, they¡¯d made it down to the second floor, and were still recovering from the unfortunate decision.


    They had moved on to the third floor since then, which was an infinitely better choice.


    Taylor had acquired some riot gear along the way and had a hockey stick wrapped in barbed wire. Her friend was sporting baggy sweatpants along with a pair of hockey pads, looted from a sporting goods store. Taylor shelled out three silver Loot Tokens for one of the Molotov Cocktail Relics, while her friend used a combination of Shards, Relics, and Tokens to purchase a Basic Camo and the Complimentary Upgrade I¡¯d scored off the Receptionist in the Lobby.


    And though I was rooting for ¡¯em both, they were by no means unique. There were at least half a dozen Delvers with similar stories and experiences.


    Despite the Skinless Court¡¯s attempt to stifle my efforts, business was booming. Baby Hands was keeping the place neat and tidy and Princess Ponypuff was holding down the fort like a champ¡ªmostly because everyone was too terrified to cross her. Whenever someone tried to haggle, she would just shriek at the top of her lungs like a possessed bullhorn until they relented and paid the full sticker price.


    We¡¯d need to upgrade the facility before too much longer. Especially if I could get a foothold with the Delvers of Howlers Hold.


    I pulled my thoughts away from the store and back to Temperance, who was staring at me like I owed her money and she was about to collect by breaking my legs. The lady was weird, and it had nothing at all to do with her being a furry.


    Well, mostly not that.


    The quiet stretching between us was intense and unnerving and I felt an intense need to break the lingering silence.


    ¡°How do you and Jakob know each other?¡± I asked over a cup of coffee that smelled like happiness.


    ¡°He rescued me from a temporal distortion pocket,¡± Temperance replied. ¡°One of those classic boy-meets-girl, boy-saves-girl-from-the-maddening-torture-of-a-frozen-eternity scenarios. A tale as old as time.¡±


    That wasn¡¯t the answer I¡¯d been expecting to hear.


    Temporal distortion pockets were nasty traps with a wide variety of strange and horrifying effects. Some accelerated time, causing victims to wither away to nothing but dust and bones in a matter of seconds, while others froze time completely. Years or even decades could pass while the victim was imprisoned. Croc and I had even stumbled across one on the seventh floor that actually caused the victim to revert back to a baby.


    But only their head.


    Big ol¡¯ adult body, little itty-bitty baby head. Super fucked up.


    Needless to say, we had given all of the time distortion pockets a mighty wide berth. Since Temperance was A) alive, B) looked to be in her late twenties, and C) didn¡¯t have a baby head, I was guessing she¡¯d gotten stranded in frozen-time version.


    ¡°How long were you stuck inside?¡± I asked, genuinely curious.


    She frowned, her brow knitting in thought.


    ¡°Time is hard to track in the Backrooms, but Jakob and I did the math once. By his estimation, I was trapped for around three hundred and thirty years, give or take a decade or so.¡± She spoke offhandedly, as though she hadn¡¯t just dropped a nuclear-sized Truth Bomb.


    Three hundred and thirty years, frozen in a time pocket?


    I just stared at her in open-mouthed astonishment, the numbers tumbling around in my head. ¡°I call bullshit,¡± I blurted out. ¡°There¡¯s no way.¡±


    ¡°Oh, that you were right,¡± she said, a dash of anger and a hint of sorrow in the words, ¡°but I can assure you it¡¯s quite true. My grandparents arrived at Naumkeag with the first English settlers in 1626, and my family helped build the Massachusetts Bay Colony outpost from the ground up.¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re like a settler or something?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Weren¡¯t you listening? My grandparents were colonial settlers. My parents were farmers. As for me? I was a witch. At least that¡¯s what everyone in Salem said before they tried to hang me by the neck for consorting with the Devil.¡± A dark shadow flickered across her face, here then gone. ¡°Not that they managed to kill me. Not like the others. My parents gave me up to the church and my own fianc¨¦ swore he saw me communing with a familiar. The traitorous twat.¡±


    She faltered, drumming her fingers restlessly on her mug.


    ¡°I ran before they could kill me or force me to confess,¡± she said, the words a sneer of contempt. ¡°Better to die cold and hungry and alone in the woods than be tortured and murdered by all the people I trusted most in the world.¡± She looked at me, a deranged smile on her lips. ¡°That¡¯s how I ended up here. I got lost in the woods, but instead of dying I wandered into the Backrooms. They saved me,¡± she said with a feverish intensity.


    I wasn¡¯t sure if she was telling the truth or lying through her teeth, but one thing was obvious. This lady wasn¡¯t playing with a full deck of cards. She was kinda hot, too¡ªthough not even remotely hot enough to make up for the sheer level of crazy that was radiating off her in waves.


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    If the Marine Corps had taught me one thing, it was keep your dick away from crazy.


    ¡°So why did you and Jakob part ways?¡± I asked, trying to steer the conversation back onto slightly steadier ground.


    ¡°Nothing so complicated.¡± She took a long sip of coffee. ¡°Our personalities clash. He¡¯s thoughtful and doesn¡¯t like to kill things, while I¡¯m impulsive and strongly believe in indiscriminately murdering anything that crosses me for any reason. We¡¯ve always had something of a contentious relationship, as you might imagine. He and I decided it was better for everyone if we went our separate ways after he dropped me off with the Howlers.¡±


    ¡°How long have you been with the Hold?¡± I asked, finally circling around to the one topic I was keenly interested to learn more about.


    I didn¡¯t want her to feel like this was an interrogation, but this was the first chance I¡¯d really had to ask someone about the elusive Safe Harbor down on the seventh floor and I was dying for some more information. After all, information was power, and this lady¡ªcrazy or not¡ªhad intel I badly needed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been with them for the better part of three years,¡± she said. ¡°Some of the best years of my life.¡±


    ¡°What are they like?¡± I asked. ¡°The Howlers, I mean. I¡¯m hoping to get a foot in the door and establish a trading network with them, assuming they¡¯re open to the idea. One of those, I¡¯ll scratch your back if you scratch mine type deals.¡±


    She pondered my question for a long beat. Then a crooked grin spread across her face.


    ¡°Misfits and weirdos and outcasts and degenerates. Each and every one of them. Just like me. Well, maybe not just like me. Most of them are generally less stabby, though they aren¡¯t weak like Jakob. They¡¯ll do what needs doing. They¡¯re all wonderful. Except the ones I want to kill.¡±


    ¡°How many of them do you want to kill?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I have a list to help me keep track.¡± One hand darted into her skintight bunny suit and came back out with a worn and heavily creased piece of paper. She unfolded it with reverent fingers, as though it were a sacred text. Both sides were covered in names. Some scratched out, others underlined or written in all caps. It was a very long list. She tapped a finger against a small clump of names. ¡°Less than ten,¡± she said, scanning the sheet.


    ¡°Maybe I¡¯m wrong, but ten still seems like a pretty big number.¡±


    ¡°For Temperance that is an extremely small number,¡± Jakob said, slipping into the breakroom from the hallway. The soft squeak of rubber followed as Croc trailed in just behind the Cendral.


    I felt a weight lift off my shoulders that I hadn¡¯t even been aware was there.


    I¡¯d poured a Zima into one of the mimic¡¯s many mouth orifices as soon as we¡¯d made it back to the store, but the elixir hadn¡¯t done much for the Dweller. Even using the Pharmacist¡¯s Scales hadn¡¯t done shit. Turned out, Croc had been afflicted with a slew of nasty diseases and debuffs that actively prevented healing elixirs or Relics from working.


    Thankfully, Jakob carried an entire pharmacy worth of salves and potions around with him. He¡¯d managed to dig up a specialty brew called Super-strength Almond water, which dispelled the bulk of the most harmful ailments. The mimic was back in its very human dog form and looked significantly improved, even though it had only been a scant few hours.


    ¡°There are about two hundred or so members of the Hold,¡± Jakob continued, ¡°so that makes up less than five percent of the total population.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that doesn¡¯t make it sound any better,¡± I replied. ¡°Pretty sure wanting to kill five percent of a people group is a war crime.¡±


    ¡°When you consider that Temperance wants to murder ninety-nine percent of all people she meets, it¡¯s actually a rather impressive statistic.¡± He grabbed a beer from the fridge and collapsed into the seat beside me.


    Croc padded over, dropped onto his haunches, and rested his head on my knee, googly eyes staring up at me.


    ¡°Glad to see you¡¯re doing better, buddy,¡± I said, scratching behind one of his rubbery ears. ¡°Thank you,¡± I said, shooting the Cendral an appreciative glance. I still didn¡¯t fully trust the man, but he¡¯d saved my only real friend and for that I owed him a debt.


    ¡°Kein Problem,¡± Jakob replied, absently waving away my thanks. ¡°It is the least I could do, considering you saved this delinquent here. She and I may have radically different moral philosophies, but it would pain me to see something bad happen to her.¡± He frowned at Temperance. ¡°Not that I truly believe there is anything nasty enough on this floor to kill you, kleine Hase. Not even the Aspirants.¡±


    Temperance beamed and a small blush crept into her cheeks. ¡°That might be the sweetest thing you¡¯ve ever said to me, Jakob.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t intend it as a compliment,¡± he replied tersely, ¡°though I am glad you are alive.¡± He paused, frown deepening as he regarded her. ¡°But I do wonder why you were wandering around all by yourself when the Red Hands are obviously out in force.¡±


    Temperance wrinkled her nose and scrunched up her face. ¡°They kicked me out again,¡± she said.


    Jakob looked utterly unfazed by the revelation. ¡°What did you do this time, I wonder?¡±


    ¡°Hardly an offense worthy of expulsion. It¡¯s not even really my fault. Jackson got a little handsy with me, so I cut off his hands to teach him a lesson,¡± she said nonchalantly as though she were discussing the weather and not maiming another human being. ¡°He survived and the Skin Scribe managed to reattach both limbs, so I¡¯m not sure why everyone made such a fuss.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve learned that people can be funny about that sort of thing,¡± Croc agreed, slipping into the last open seat. ¡°A while back, I was helping this Delver named Francis and Francis had one of his arms ripped off in a machinery room on the second floor. I ended up eating the limb, because it was right there, and it was just going to go to waste. But with the way Francis reacted, you¡¯d have thought I was the one that ripped his arm off.


    ¡°Long story short, Francis freaked out, called me a ¡®fleshy abomination¡¯¡ªwhatever that¡¯s supposed to mean¡ªthen ran headlong into a ravenous pack of Skitters, who finished the job. It was a very confusing experience, overall, though I did learn some valuable lessons about human sensibilities and boundaries. Turns out they are extremely attached to their limbs, on account of the fact that they can¡¯t spontaneously regrow them the way a mimic can.¡±


    ¡°I can also regrow my limbs,¡± Jakob noted.


    ¡°This is why no one likes Cendrals, Jakob,¡± Temperance said, tossing her hands up. ¡°They always make everything about themselves. We all know you can regrow your bloody limbs and no one is impressed.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a little impressed,¡± Croc mumbled.


    Jakob stoically ignored her needling. ¡°How long did they excommunicate you for this time?¡±


    Temperance soured and folded her arms across her chest. ¡°Indefinitely, not that it¡¯s any of your business. Wraith was not at all pleased by my ¡®antics,¡¯¡ªshe air quoted the word¡ª¡°especially since Jackson happens to be his biological brother. Though how two people ended up Noclipping together is beyond me.¡± She scowled at the table as though it had personally offended her. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t matter. I have a way back in. Wraith gave me an assignment and said all will be forgiven if I can resolve a tiny issue they¡¯re dealing with.¡±


    ¡°It sounds like this Wraith guy is the person I need to talk to about setting up shop in the Hold,¡± I said idly, swirling my coffee.


    Temperance snorted. ¡°If that¡¯s what you¡¯re after down on seven, you might as well cut your losses and move on to a different floor. You¡¯ll never make it through the front gates.¡±


    ¡°Why is that?¡± Jakob asked, leaning forward, his interest piqued. ¡°It¡¯s been several years since I paid the Hold a visit, but I remember them being rather welcoming to outsiders.¡±


    ¡°Things change,¡± Temperance replied. ¡°Especially lately. Everyone is on edge. There are whispers of war brewing between the sovereigns. They¡¯ve locked down the Hold. No one in, no one out. Not for the foreseeable future, anyway. They might bend the rules for you, Jakob, but they¡¯ll never let him in. Especially since he¡¯s the one stirring up all the trouble.


    ¡°They hate the Aspirants as much as anyone, but Wraith isn¡¯t going to risk starting a war for an outsider. Although¡­¡± She trailed off, and I could see the wheels turning in her head. ¡°Maybe there¡¯s a way we could help each other.¡± A cruel, conniving smile stretched across her face and she steepled her fingers in a way that reminded me strongly of an evil villain about to start monologuing. ¡°Tell me, Discount Dan, what are your feelings on the Blight?¡±

 Forty-Two – The Assignment

    ¡°Obviously, I don¡¯t want to contract cancer-rabies or whatever in the fuck Blight actually is,¡± I said. ¡°But I¡¯m willing to listen if you think there¡¯s a way I can strike a deal with the Hold.¡±


    I briefly considered the golden Seal of the Researcher tucked away in my storage space. I was pretty sure that if I showed up at the gates and flashed that bad boy, the Howlers would welcome me in with arms open wide. But that was also a powerful single-use item, and once I used it, there would be no getting it back. If there was a way I could win their trust and hang on to the medallion as well, I was interested. Even if there were complications.


    ¡°They¡¯re having Blight issues,¡± she replied, her sour smile transforming into a mischievous grin. ¡°The Hold itself is located near one of the largest Loot Arcades on the seventh floor. That¡¯s why they built the Safe Harbor there in the first place. But something nasty has taken up residence and they¡¯ve been reluctant to send their own people out to deal with it, since the Aspirants are all out and on the warpath.¡±


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± I said, ¡°that¡¯s the job you¡¯re supposed to handle to get back into their good graces?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re more perceptive than you look,¡± she replied. ¡°If you help me, I suspect that good grace might extend to you as well. Plus, I¡¯d be willing to vouch for you.¡±


    I looked at her askew. ¡°Yeah¡­ I feel like having you vouch for me might do more harm than good. And even if that¡¯s not the case, there¡¯s no guarantee that helping you will get my foot in the door.¡±


    ¡°It certainly won¡¯t hurt your chances,¡± she replied, ¡°especially since it seems that you¡¯re at least partly responsible for all the trouble with the Aspirants. If you want to open trade with the Hold, this would be an excellent olive branch. The thing about the Howlers is that they never forget a debt.¡± She paused, boring into me with unflinching eyes. ¡°They also never forget a transgression. Knowingly or not, you¡¯ve brought trouble to their doorstep, but if you fix one of their problems they will remember.¡±


    I grunted, already knowing I was probably going to say yes.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just say for one minute that I¡¯m interested. What exactly are we dealing with?¡± I asked, before taking a long slug of coffee. It was lukewarm and bitter, which pretty much summarized my feelings about this whole operation.


    ¡°Hold on. I¡¯ve already accepted the bounty and have the details saved to my Grimoire.¡± She raised both hands, fingers flying through a complicated set of arcane gestures. ¡°I¡¯ll just share it directly with you.¡±


    After a few more intricate motions, she clapped her palms together, then pulled them apart in quick succession, revealing an enormous leather tome, floating in the air directly in front of her.


    ¡°What the hell is that?¡± I asked incredulously, gesturing toward the floating book. The cover appeared to be crafted from human skin and the book looked like it was meant to summon the Old Ones from the fathomless depths below.


    I wanted one.


    ¡°It¡¯s my localized VIRUS interface portal,¡± she said offhandedly while flipping through several pages.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t see anything about that anywhere in the Monolith.¡±


    She flipped another page and finally glanced up. ¡°That¡¯s because you¡¯re operating on the newest iteration of the VIRUS,¡± she said matter-of-factly. ¡°I¡¯m still using a much older version. Iteration 16.6. I could upgrade, but prefer the old ways.¡± She affectionately tapped the dusty parchment pages. ¡°I don¡¯t see the windows as you do. Instead, my localized familiar speaks to me through journal entries. There are a few compatibility issues with the newer Monoliths, but I find it¡¯s worth the occasional headache.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean the newer Monoliths?¡± I asked, confused. ¡°Are you talking about the ATMs?¡±


    She nodded. ¡°I¡¯m not sure when exactly those came around, but when I first Noclipped, the Monoliths resembled large standing stones with ancient glyphs carved into their surfaces. I¡¯m told you can still find some of those older versions if you go deep enough down. The Black Forest on floor seventy-four is supposed to have quite a few. Now, do you want to see the entry or not?¡±


    I had about a thousand questions, but I also really wanted to see the entry. Obviously, the Flayed Monarch was mobilizing his forces, so I was working against a shot clock and needed to make some friends of my own. And the faster the better.


    ¡°Yeah, fine. Show me the stupid entry,¡± I grumbled.


    She waved her fingers over the pages and they flickered wildly, as though caught in a strong gale. An otherworldly light emanated from the tome, conjuring ghostly green text that lazily backstroked across the air. There were clearly similarities between this and my own eight-bit notification system, but the differences were still fascinatingly stark.


    Even the language was old-timey and weird.


    Like something out of a Shakespeare play.


    If Shakespeare had been on Bathsalts.


    Funtime Frank¡¯s Jungle Gym Jamboree


    Peril Assessment Quotient: ???


    Current Geographic Position: 7.56.02.88-20 (Ye Seventh Floor, Quadrant 16, Sector 23)


    Once a youngling¡¯s paradise, a sanctum of swaying slides, cacophonous mechanick games, and delightful clockwork jamborees, now a den of pain and inequity of the most horrifying order. The provisions are abominable, the costs preposterous, and the cleanliness so dubious, it hath earned the scrutiny of the Plague Doctor¡¯s Consortium. Verily, thou wouldst never wish to sojourn here, yet fate hath other plans, for no child can resist the wonderous allure of this carpeted hellscape.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Twisted by the accursed Blight, the entertainments within this Mythic Trove of Trinkets have metamorphosed into hellish riddles, crafted with the sole aim of mauling, disarticulation or¡ªin the most blessed of circumstances¡ªincurable emotional scars. The orb pits are a nightmarish tableau of bladed playthings and venomous murk. The marionette shows? ¡¯Tis best to remain silent, for they instruct in matters most grotesque.


    As for Funtime Frank, the mechanical beast of yore, on him we shall not expound. He is a subject most ominous, to be considered only with dread and loathing.


    The sole redemption? Should thou survivest this dire excursion, the loot, in a twist most ironic, is nigh wondrous. Hark! When next ye hear the jingle, once a herald of merriment, know ye must confront Funtime Frank. And Frank shall bring ruin upon thy household for ten generations.


    Reward: 3,500 Experience Points, 15 x Copper Delver Loot Tokens, 3 x Silver Delver Loot Tokens, 1 x Golden Mercenary Loot Token, 1 x Sapphire Loot Token.


    Accept Quest? Yes/No


    I read the damned thing over three separate times, and it was like someone was talking in cursive at me. Still, I gleaned enough to get the gist of it. This was some kind of Chuck E. Cheese, Discovery Zone mashup, bursting at the seams with games, questionable food, plastic play tunnels, and a nightmarish animatronic band, which was presumably led by Funtime Frank.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be a party pooper,¡± Croc said, its eyes gliding over the text hanging in the air, ¡°but this seems like a terrible idea. I¡¯ve never personally seen Funtime Frank, but I¡¯ve heard of Funtime Frank. Also, anecdotally, several years ago I was working with a trio of Delvers who tried to raid that particular Arcade against my advice¡ª¡±


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± I interrupted, ¡°they were beaten to death with their own limbs?¡±


    ¡°Wait, did I already tell you about Maria, Chad, and Robert?¡± Croc asked.


    I sighed. Of course they¡¯d been beaten to death using their own limbs. ¡°We need to find a way to make friends with the Howlers, and this seems like the best way to do that. You love making friends,¡± I said, eyeballing the dog. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be on board.¡±


    ¡°Although my desperate need for friendship does haunt my every decision like an angry ghost I shall never be rid of, protecting my best friend forever is my top priority. And that¡¯s you, Dan. You are my BFF and I care about you even more than waterslides or Froyo or the critically acclaimed book and movie series Twilight, which is why I need to tell you that this is a very bad idea. Maria, Chad, and Robert died in minutes, and that was before Funtime Frank contracted the Blight.


    ¡°He¡¯ll be far more powerful now,¡± the dog continued. ¡°And this is a three-star job. That might not sound particularly ominous, since it¡¯s only one star higher than the MediocreMart, but the Threat Assessment Ratings aren¡¯t linear, they¡¯re exponential. A two-star rating is twice as difficult as a one-star rating, and a three-star rating is twice as difficult as a two-star rating. Whatever we¡¯re dealing with will be well above level twenty. Even level thirty isn¡¯t out of the question. This is a suicide mission.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not wrong,¡± Temperance admitted readily. She almost sounded happy about it, which was concerning. ¡°There is a reason why the Howlers haven¡¯t dispatched a strike force, and it¡¯s not just because they are shoring up their defenses in case the Aspirants decide to take a shot across the bow. Funtime Frank is dangerous and there is a chance we will die. With that said, it is not as hopeless as it seems. I have it on good authority that Frank is only level twenty-five. Tough but not impossibly so.¡±


    ¡°Then why such a high threat rating, I wonder?¡± Jakob asked, his claws clicking against the tabletop. ¡°Seems like a two-and-a-half-star bounty at most.¡±


    ¡°No, the three stars are warranted,¡± Temperance replied. ¡°Frank may only be level twenty-five, but he isn¡¯t alone. He may be the leader of the Funtime Jamboree, but he is not its only member. To take him out, we¡¯ll need to take out the whole band, too. And they are all at least level eighteen.¡±


    ¡°How many of them are there?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s a classic five-man band,¡± she said, ¡°including Frank, of course.¡±


    I glanced at Croc.


    An image of the mimic sprawled out on the floor, a single footstep away from death, cartwheeled through my thoughts. The mimic had warned me that picking a fight with Mohawk was a bad idea. I hadn¡¯t listened and it had very nearly cost Croc its life. I couldn¡¯t let that happen again, especially since the Researcher¡¯s Seal would likely grant me access to the Safe Harbor without any complications.


    The potential upside was worth the risk in my estimation, but I¡¯d only do it if Croc was fully on board.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± I asked the mimic in all earnestness. ¡°You know the stakes. Establishing a trade relationship with the Howlers is crucial, but if you sincerely think it¡¯s a suicide mission, we can try to find a different way instead. What do we do here, buddy?¡±


    ¡°You, Dan, are trusting me, Croc, to make the call?¡± Croc asked, its googly eyes suddenly the size of teacups.


    ¡°Maybe if Maria, Chad, and Robert had listened to you,¡± I replied with a shrug, ¡°they wouldn¡¯t have been bludgeoned to death with their own limbs. Friends trust their friends, and I don¡¯t aim to make the same mistake. So what do you think? Do we help her out or not?¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯ve just made me the happiest normal human dog in the whole world,¡± Croc said. ¡°I also still think this is a terrible idea.¡±


    ¡°What if he came with us?¡± I asked, nodding at Jakob.


    I liked the oddball German, but I still didn¡¯t trust him for shit.


    In his defense, I didn¡¯t trust anyone other than Croc at this point, although Baby Hands was slowly edging his way into my inner circle¡ªthat weirdo was a hard worker. My mistrust also extended to Temperance, but she was only two levels higher than me, and she didn¡¯t have a Mythic Emblem as an ace tucked up her sleeve. If push came to shove, I was confident I could at least get away from her, if not outright kill her.


    Jakob was another matter, entirely.


    Still, no man was an island, and if I was going to hold my own against the Monarch and the Aspirants, I wasn¡¯t going to be able to do it alone. I¡¯d need to trust other people eventually, and so far, the Cendral had proven himself to be reliable if nothing else. Maybe he¡¯d kill me the second he got the chance, or maybe not. But if I didn¡¯t take a few risks, the Monarch was one hundred percent gonna put me in a coffin. And I¡¯d probably be alive and without an ounce of skin on my body when he did.


    My question gave Croc a long pause.


    Finally, the mimic-dog bobbed its head, googly eyes jiggling wildly. ¡°Between the four of us, I think we¡¯d have a shot.¡± Croc turned the look at the Cendral. ¡°The real question is, will you help us?¡±


    Jakob regarded his talons for a moment, as though in deep consideration. Then, finally, he sighed. ¡°Wer A sagt, muss auch B sagen, as my countrymen say. I think the closest English expression is, In for a penny, in for a pound. I will help, but if we are going to do it, best to be smart about it. Getting the two of you¡±¡ªhe glanced between me and Temperance¡ª¡°up to level twenty must be our highest priority. If we can do that... Maybe we can beat Frank and clear the Blight.¡±


    ¡°Well fuck it,¡± I said with a grin. ¡°Let¡¯s go power-level our asses off then kill evil Chuck E. Cheese.¡±

 Forty-Three – Gear Up

    The plan was simple, elegant, and as insane as it was ballsy.


    Head over to Funtime Frank¡¯s Jungle Gym Jamboree and grind the lesser Blight-infected Dwellers who lurked within, until eventually we were strong enough to take on Frank and his animatronic jamboree posse. I had my reservations. Croc and I had visited one of the Loot Arcades on the third floor, and though I wouldn¡¯t want to fuck around with the Mobile Murder Muncher, it didn¡¯t seem like a great place to grind out loot or levels.


    The Arcade we¡¯d visited was just too small.


    Not much bigger than the arcade they had at the Kenwood Towne Mall in Cincinnati.


    Temperance and Jakob assured me that wouldn¡¯t be a problem.


    It seemed the Loot Arcades of the seventh floor were legendary for their size, and apparently Funtime Frank¡¯s Jungle Gym Jamboree was a legend even among other legends. Hell, it was the sole reason the Howlers had settled on this trainwreck of a floor in the first place.


    Frank and his animatronic band had always been bad news, but they mostly stayed in the Big Top, which was well away from the gaming floor and the prize booth. The other horrors that called the Jungle Gym Jamboree home, however, were also stronger and far more aggressive than they¡¯d ever been before. That¡¯s what the Blight did. It deformed the body with raw Mana and twisted the mind with so much pain that only rage remained.


    Which, according to Temperance and Jakob, made it a great place to grind. Tons of overpowered bloodthirsty Dwellers who would attack on sight? Check. Great access to loot? Double check. Plus no one else in a ten-mile radius would be stupid or crazy enough to step foot in there, so we wouldn¡¯t have to worry about the Aspirants¡ªnot inside the Arcade proper, anyway.


    There were a few things to take care of first, however.


    I¡¯d leveled up after our throw down with Mohawk and the others, and Jakob had given me my cut of the Relics from the Aspirants we¡¯d killed. They were distributed based on a ¡°keep what you kill¡± loot policy, so Temperance walked away with the majority of the trophies¡ªsince she¡¯d officially taken out both Mohawk and Face Tattoos¡ªbut I scored a few good items. The spell slinger I¡¯d killed had a few decent Relics, and even though most were a mixture of Common and Uncommon, she¡¯d had a pair of Rare-grade Relics as well.


    Four of the ten had been utility-based.


    Homing Pigeon was the Relic version of the Twinning String, and allowed the user to tag a single location, then find their way back, while Warning Bells was a vastly shittier version of my Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense. Similarly, Common Bestiary was a weak-sauce version of The Researcher¡¯s Codex¡ªexcept it only worked on Dwellers and only if they were under level 15. And, like Wikipedia, sometimes the info was just flat-out wrong, since all the entries came from Delver ¡°observations.¡±


    Her fourth Utility, Bed Rest, was a decent, if underwhelming, passive that let the user regain Health and Mana at an accelerated rate while sleeping.


    She had one physical attack Relic, with a similar effect to my Force Multiplier but for bladed weapons, and another that minorly increased Constitution. The last four were all arcane focused, which was fine by me. She had one low-level Common ranged attack spell, Sanguine Blast, which didn¡¯t even come close to the raw damage output of Drain-O Bolt or Pressure Washer. That one got put up for sale as soon as I could pass it off to Ponypuff.


    The other three were keepers.


    Insurance Pact was an interesting Uncommon-grade, Stamina-powered ability that allowed the user to make an ¡°insurance pact¡± with an ally, allowing both pact members to share up to twenty percent of their max Health Pool with the other for ten minutes. I couldn¡¯t see myself using that personally, but it would be great for someone who focused more on a support role. Like Jakob, who probably had an insane Health Pool, on account of his build and race.


    I¡¯d see if the Cendral wanted the item before putting it up for sale.


    The next was a skill called Cashback Rewards, which was much more useful than the name implied. It was Rare-grade and allowed the user to form a link with a single enemy in line of sight. While linked, twenty-five percent of damage dealt to the enemy from all sources healed you instead. Although the spell cost was high, it had a good duration and only a ten-minute internal cooldown timer. Overall, it was a stellar skill that would be great for a squishy damage dealer like myself.


    But that wasn¡¯t the most interesting thing.


    It synergized with the third Relic, an Uncommon-grade called Crimson Rain.


    Crimson Rain itself was an AoE spell that rained blood and dealt 10 points of damage per minute for two minutes to anyone inside the spell¡¯s effect radius. Good, but far from spectacular. Although Crimson Rain and Cashback Reward synergized, their compatibility was surprisingly low, clocking in at just forty-eight percent. But together, they also resonated with my Drain-O Bolt. When combined, the three Rare-grade Relics had a ninety-five percent compatibility rating.


    I ran the full Codex Compatibility Analysis and carefully read through the report on the Relic iteration, just to triple-check before I did anything hasty.


    StainSlayer Maelstrom: Industrial-Grade Cleansing Power


    Fabled Relic (Fully Tempered) ¨C Level 5


    Range: Line of sight


    Area of Effect: 30'' Radius


    Cost: 50 Mana


    Cast time: 10 Seconds


    Effect Duration: 1 Minute


    Cooldown: 2 Minutes


    Summon a torrential downpour of prescription-strength cleaning solution that falls with the subtlety of a sledgehammer in a glass factory. Instead of targeting a single mess, StainSlayer Maelstrom ¡°sanitizes¡± all organic matter in a thirty-foot radius in a nightmarish baptism of ¡¯roided-out, industrial-grade MegaBleach! Fuck yeah!


    This stuff might even be powerful enough to cleanse your soul of the innumerable war crimes you¡¯ve likely committed!


    Like purifying flame, StainSlayer is an indiscriminate cleanser. Anyone caught in the deluge without proper Personal Protective Equipment (PPE) suffers 125 points of Corrosive Burst Damage on contact. While in the ¡°Splash Zone,¡± they receive an additional 2 Points of Chemical Burn Damage per second and lose 1 point of Mana and 1 point of Stamina per second. Yeah, this¡¯ll fuck shit up.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    But wait, there¡¯s more!


    At any point during the duration of the spell effect, the caster may activate the secondary ability, pH Balance, to convert 25% of All Damage dealt by StainSlayer Maelstrom into sweet, sweet Health Regeneration for you, proving once and for all that cleanliness really is good for the soul. Side effects may include moral ambiguity, terminal regret, or a friendly visit from the EPA. This Relic enables Mana usage.


    I whistled through my teeth. Hol-ee shit.


    Although the two-minute cooldown time was less than ideal¡ªsince I wouldn¡¯t be able to spam the ability¡ªand the Mana cost was higher than I¡¯d like, it was still a phenomenal spell. It dealt some brutal damage and had powerful DPS to boot, not to mention the Mana and Stamina drain effect. And the ability to convert 25% of all damage dealt to Health? That was a literal lifesaver for someone as squishy as me. Plus, I wouldn¡¯t even lose any Relic levels, since Crimson Rain was at level 7 and Cashback Rewards was at level 4.


    There were still a few drawbacks, though.


    Just like with the original Bleach Bolt, this was only effective against organic material, so there was a good chance it would be worthless against Funtime Frank and his animatronic jamboree posse. Still, ninety-five percent of the Dwellers I¡¯d stumbled across so far were organic, so Frank was a short-term problem. The other major drawback was that the spell dealt damage indiscriminately. Anyone stuck in the downpour was going to get boned.


    Unless¡­


    Unless they had the right Personal Protective Equipment.


    With all the resources I had sitting around the store, there might be a way to deal with that particular problem. As a general contractor, my duct tape skills were without peer, and I also had access to plastic drop cloths, rain ponchos, and sunglasses.


    If I couldn¡¯t figure out a solution, no one could.


    The only other drawback¡ªthough, I wasn¡¯t entirely sure it was a drawback¡ªwas that doing this would Fully Temper the Relic. That meant no more forging. No more changes. No more upgrades. The skill would likely evolve and improve somewhat as I leveled it up, but the basic effects and functionality would remain the same from here on out. If I did this, I¡¯d end up with my first Fabled-grade Relic¡ªdiscounting the abilities inside the Emblem¡ªbut some small part of me wondered if I shouldn¡¯t hold out for just a little longer.


    Fabled was good, but it wasn¡¯t Mythic.


    But that was greed whispering into my ear, I knew.


    There were Delvers who would give their left nut for a Fabled Relic, and here I was, seriously considering whether to hold out or not, because there might be something minutely better somewhere down the road.


    Maybe.


    If I was lucky and didn¡¯t die first.


    I had a good thing here, and if I didn¡¯t act now, I knew I¡¯d regret it sooner rather than later. As my grandad said, better to have one in the hand than two in the bush, especially since there was no guarantee that I¡¯d ever even find a bush.


    I accepted, forging the new Relic.


    There was a potent rush of power when I added it to my Core. The sensation wasn¡¯t quite as intense as when I¡¯d equipped the Compass of the Catacomber, but it was in the same ballpark. StainSlayer Maelstrom was an object of real power. One that was on par with the abilities of the Flayed Monarch, and it was all thanks to the Compass. Without the Researcher¡¯s Codex, I never would¡¯ve smashed those three Relics together. The risk was simply too great.


    But now I had another power, worthy of a dark god of the Backrooms.


    With my shiny new Relic in place, I paid a quick visit to the Monolith and distributed the handful of Enhancement Points I¡¯d earned from my last level up. Since we were going into a Blighted hot zone, I decided to drop two points into Preservation, bringing it up to seven. Maybe that was overkill, but when it came to debilitating, life-ending super-diseases, I was in the better-safe-than-sorry camp. I dropped one point into Grit, bringing that up to thirteen, then split the two remaining points between Resonance and Perception.


    Dan Woodridge


    Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C


    Variant Assimilation Level: 17


    Race: Human, Archetypal


    Current Experience: 19,285


    Next Level: 23,500


    Personal Enhancement Points: 0


    __ __ __


    Health: 76


    Health-Regen/Hour: 3.55


    __ __ __


    Stamina Reserve: 41


    Stamina-Regen/Minute: 3.1


    __ __ __


    Mana Pool: 105


    Mana-Regen/Minute: 8.21


    Individual Adaptative Stats


    Grit: 13


    Athleticism: 12


    Toughness: 17 (9 + 8 Enhanced)


    Perception: 21


    Resonance: 40 (44 ¨C 4 Debuff)


    Preservation: 7


    Spatial Core - Active


    (C) Moving Walkway ¨C Level 1


    (C) Force Multiplier ¨C Level 1


    (C) Doodle Buddy ¨C Level 1


    (C) The Pharmacist¡¯s Scales ¨C Level 5


    (U) Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike ¨C Level 3


    (U) Baldree¡¯s Scale Mail Cuirass ¨C Level 7


    (R) Pressure Washer ¨C Level 1


    (R) Sterilization Field ¨C Level 5


    (F) StainSlayer Maelstrom ¨C Level 5 (Fully Tempered)


    (ME) Compass of the Catacomber (Fully Tempered)


    Current Titles ¨C Passive


    Out of Your League, Deathwish, Marked for Death, Weapon of Opportunity, Legend in the Making, Overkill Overlord, Fish in a Barrel (E), Human Cannonball, Cold-Blooded Murderer (E)


    My gaze lingered on my new title, carelessly tacked on to the bottom of my Specimen Bio-Report like a festering wound.


    Cold-Blooded Murderer.


    Natasha Anno, that was her name.


    I knew nothing else about her, but my mind clung to that detail. I felt the crunch of bone beneath my falling hammer. The coppery scent of blood filled my nostrils. Rage and anger, guilt and regret all surged through me in a confusing snowstorm of emotion. She would¡¯ve killed me. I knew that just as surely as I knew the sun rose in the east and set in the west.


    Somehow, that fact was cold comfort.


    Maybe it was that she¡¯d been a woman. Call me a chauvinist, but my dad had taught me that you never laid your hand on a woman. It just wasn¡¯t something real men did. I knew that was bullshit, and Iraq had taught me that lesson in the most painful way possible. We¡¯d been rolling through Ramadi when a woman in a midnight-black burka charged our convoy and triggered a suicide vest, secured beneath the flowing garment.


    There¡¯d been nothing anyone could do, and Sergeant Martin had ended up dead as a result, pieces of him scattered across the dusty road and hanging from the power lines overhead.


    Women could be just as dangerous as men, especially when backed into a corner with nothing to lose. But even though I knew that on an intellectual level, guilt still hung around my neck like heavy iron chains. You don¡¯t lay a hand on a woman, my old man¡¯s voice insisted in the back of head. Not ever. I idly wondered about him for a moment. Whether he was doing okay. How he and Mom would be coping with my disappearance.


    Knowing him, the crotchety old bastard was probably making a nuisance of himself with Cincinnati PD. It wouldn¡¯t surprise me one bit if he was down at department headquarters every single day, badgering the detectives or harassing the desk sergeant about my case. He was a retiree with nothing better to do, and he actively enjoyed being a pain in the ass.


    I pushed thoughts of my dad away, along with the lingering guilt over Natasha Anno. I had better shit to do than wallow in self-pity over something I couldn¡¯t change.


    Focusing on the task at hand, I toggled over to my storage space and reviewed the other Relics I had stashed away. These were the ones that weren¡¯t quite good enough for the Varsity Team but were still solidly in the JV Squad. Although none of them were currently equipped to my Spatial Core, I¡¯d be able to swap them out in under a minute if the need arose. The Monolith let me quickly search and sort through my inventory until only the Relics showed up on the display.


    <ul>


    <li>1 x (C) Basic Camo Kit ¨C Level 1</li>


    <li>1 x (C) Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding ¨C Level 1</li>


    <li>1 x (C) Gremlin Groin Guardian ¨C Level 1</li>


    <li>1 x (U) Erlenmeyer¡¯s Molotov Cocktail ¨C Level 1</li>


    <li>1 x (U) Burn, Baby, Burn ¨C Level 1</li>


    <li>1 x (R) Bad Trip ¨C Level 1</li>


    </ul>


    Of the six, only Bad Trip and Molotov Cocktail were likely to see any use, but it was still good to remind myself what I had on hand. It was a bit like the tools in my belt¡ªjust because I used some much more frequently didn¡¯t mean the others were worthless. A hammer was great, until you needed a Philips-head screwdriver or a socket wrench. In the right situation, any one of those Relics could be a value add.


    Even the disgusting Gremlin nut bucket.

 Forty-Four – Mana Displacement Effect

    It took us the better part of a day to get to Funtime Frank¡¯s Jungle Gym Jamboree¡ªthough between Jakob, Temperance, and Unerring Arrow, I¡¯d never had an easier or more stress-free trip. Temperance seemed to intuitively know every inch of the seventh floor, even though that was impossible given its sheer scope, and as a level 25, Jakob could swat down anything that looked at us funny.


    Well, not anything, anything.


    We still needed to say our prayers, lest Goosey goosey gander¡ªthat goose-bodied shitweasel¡ªthrow us down the stairs like disobedient children.


    But almost anything.


    Not that the Cendral did much killing.


    He seemed predisposed to nonviolence, even against the monstrous Dwellers, which was a mirror opposite of Temperance. She had a lady boner the size of Mount Everest for killing¡­ well, everything. The colonial settler turned furry¡ªwords I never imagined saying, not in a million years¡ªwas a force of nature and she had a Spatial Core full of Relics designed to help her commit Dweller genocide. She killed things so aggressively and so fast that there really wasn¡¯t much for me to do, other than navigate and scrawl survival tips on the walls in spray paint.


    My constant need to advertise seemed to annoy the shit out of Temperance, who only wanted to go, go, go as fast as humanly possible so she could kill more things. But I wasn¡¯t going to pass up a golden opportunity like this one, and for all her homicidal prowess, she couldn¡¯t navigate this place the way I could.


    The rather leisurely journey also gave me a chance to ask Jakob a few questions that had been bugging the absolute shit out of me for the past few weeks:


    Namely, why in the hell was everyone so low-level?


    It didn¡¯t make any sense.


    I¡¯d been in the Backrooms for a little over a month and I¡¯d already surpassed Delvers who¡¯d been here for years. Sure, I had advantages no one else did, but the Compass didn¡¯t make me inordinately stronger or faster than other Delvers.


    So why the weird disparity?


    Turned out, the reasons were legion, and the enigmatic German was only too happy to explain in excruciatingly comprehensive detail, which frustrated Temperance to no end. She was less interested in talking and more interested in stabbing.


    ¡°You must remember that your experience is quite atypical,¡± Jakob explained while Temperance looted the body of a Locker Lurker, which had tried to get the jump on us. The Lurkers were basically giant hermit crabs, who used the dilapidated lockers as makeshift shells. They were some of the weaker Dwellers on this floor, and easy enough to dispatch, so long as you didn¡¯t run into a cluster of the clawed sons a bitches.


    ¡°Finding a powerful Navigation Relic so early on was an exceptional stroke of good fortune for you,¡± the Cendral continued. ¡°Most new Delvers are not so lucky. And because of that, they cannot wantonly cavort across several floors over the span of a few weeks. It simply isn¡¯t done. Even finding a stairwell to the next floor can take months, and the risks of such exploration simply aren¡¯t worth it for most.


    ¡°Those lucky enough to survive the Lobby and find a way down often have a surprisingly simple list of goals: find a Progenitor Monolith, locate a reasonably reliable source of food and water, then carve out a space within close proximity to said food source. They will fight Dwellers who move into their territory if they must, but every battle is a terrible gamble. And most won¡¯t venture far from their base of operations, unless great need drives them to do so.


    ¡°To be honest, that is one of the reasons why this whole enterprise of yours so intrigues me,¡± he continued, stealing a sideways glance at me. ¡°The store is invaluable not only for its material resources, but for its ability to help Delvers transcend floors with relative ease. And the Twinning Rings allow even the newest Delvers to navigate with some fixed reference point. Intentional or not, you are single-handedly incentivizing exploration in a way I have not seen before.¡±


    I grunted.


    I hadn¡¯t thought about any of those points, but it all made a certain degree of sense. There were still a few holes in his explanation, however.


    ¡°Just assuming for the moment that everything you said is all true,¡± I replied after mulling it over for a beat, ¡°that still doesn¡¯t actually explain why people are so low level. Sure, it might take ¡¯em longer to level up, but even if someone hunkered down in one spot for a year and only killed Dwellers out of pure necessity, it should still only take a few months to hit level six or seven and then they could grind lower-level Dwellers without much worry about dying. Kill enough level-one and level-two monsters and you¡¯re bound to hit level ten. Or is there something I¡¯m missing?¡±


    ¡°There are still the traps to consider, Dan,¡± Croc said, its feet squeaking along beside me. ¡°Arguably, the traps are a bigger danger than the Dwellers, even for more powerful Delvers. Unless you have some sort of Trap Sense Relic, you just won¡¯t see those things until it¡¯s too late. Approximately sixty-three percent of all the Delvers I¡¯ve ever worked with died to traps or environmental hazards.¡±


    ¡°The mimic makes an excellent point,¡± Jakob agreed. ¡°Having the ability to navigate is only half the problem, and there is one other factor worth taking into consideration. Perhaps the biggest factor of all.¡±


    ¡°And that is?¡± I asked, curiosity piqued.


    ¡°The Researcher,¡± he replied, somber as the grave. ¡°Many Delvers assume, erroneously, that when you kill a Dweller you receive experience points from the creature itself. A common misconception, especially because that is the way that it works for Dwellers, like Croc.¡± He motioned at the dog. ¡°But you must remember that the Delvers and Dwellers are of an entirely different metaphysical nature. Dwellers are a product of the Backrooms, birthed by the Progenitor Engine, so their bodies are naturally compatible with the strange magic of this place.¡±


    ¡°If that¡¯s true, then why do the Dwellers get progressively stronger the deeper down you go?¡± I asked. ¡°Seems like strength would be a function of time, not location. The older a Dweller gets, the stronger they get. But Croc¡¯s been around for decades, and it was only level seven when we first met. If it can just kill other Dwellers and eat their power, Croc should be ridiculously OP by now.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a phenomenon called Mana Displacement Effect,¡± Croc said, chipper as ever. ¡°If we kill other Dwellers we can consume and absorb their essence, which has an effect similar to experience points, but our Spatial Cores are leaky. Filled with holes just like my body.¡± The dog waggled its bottom, showing off the assortment of dime-sized gaps punctuating its rubbery skin. ¡°And the less residual Mana there is on a given floor, the more quickly we leak until an equilibrium is reached.


    ¡°The floors furthest away from the God Box¡ªthat¡¯s what we call the Progenitor Engine¡ªhave the least amount of total residual magic. People think about the Backrooms like a cake with a bunch of different layers. The Lobby is on the top, like a delicious layer of frosting, and the God Box at the bottom is the crisp, tasty crust. Boy, do I wish that were true, because I love cake. Especially ice cream cake. But instead of normal ice cream the layers are all Froyo.¡±


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Are you hungry, Croc?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I am, actually. How did you know?¡± the dog asked.


    ¡°Just a wild guess,¡± I replied with a lopsided smile. ¡°Anyway, you were saying the Backrooms are like a cake?¡± I prompted.


    ¡°No, I¡¯m saying they aren¡¯t like a delicious Froyo cake, even though everyone thinks they are. It¡¯s actually more like a planet. And the God Box at the center is the source of all Mana and it pushes that Mana outward. The floors closest to the core have extremely high levels of Mana, and the layers furthest away don¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°So the Dwellers down deeper are proportionally stronger on every floor because there¡¯s more residual Mana¡ª¡±


    ¡°Which means the Mana Displacement Effect is weaker,¡± Croc finished. ¡°I.e., we leak less and can hold significantly more.¡±


    ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you ever move deeper down?¡± I asked the dog in all earnestness.


    ¡°Because then I wouldn¡¯t have been able to help new Delvers,¡± Croc replied simply, as though the answer should¡¯ve been as plain as the nose on my face. ¡°That¡¯s always been my purpose, Dan. I was stronger once, a long time ago. Made it all the way up to level fifteen.¡± The dog shuddered, its shoulder slumping, it ears drooping. ¡°That was far enough for me. It¡¯s bad down there, Dan. Ugly and mean and lonely. Though not anymore.¡± The dog brightened visibly. ¡°Because now I have a friend! And we can still help new Delvers no matter how deep we go! It¡¯s a win, win!¡±


    My smile broadened and I leaned over and patted the dog that wasn¡¯t a dog on the head.


    ¡°Okay, I guess that all tracks,¡± I said, straightening. ¡°So we don¡¯t absorb essence, but instead earn experience, which comes from the Researcher. Does that mean there¡¯s a Mana Displacement Effect equivalent, but for Delvers?¡±


    ¡°Yes and no.¡± Jakob shook his head firmly. ¡°Once a Delver advances, the levels remain. The stronger a Delver is, however, the less experience they receive from the Researcher for killing creatures sustainably below their level. The Localized Administrators even actively penalize Delvers for grinding levels against weaker creatures for too long. Have you, perhaps, received some sort of evolving title which limits your ability to earn experience from lower-level Dwellers?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Fish in a Barrel,¡± I said, feeling a prickle of unease race along my spine. ¡°I don¡¯t earn any experience for killing creatures beneath level five.¡±


    ¡°As I expected. I have a similar evolving title called Kinderspiel. Child¡¯s Play, in the English vernacular. I unlocked it shortly after hitting level twelve and it evolved once more when I hit level twenty. I no longer gain any experience for slaying creatures beneath level ten. Temperance has a similar title as well, Forgone Conclusion, which limits her in the same manner.¡±


    ¡°I hate it,¡± Temperance growled over one shoulder. ¡°They drop loot but don¡¯t give any experience.¡±


    ¡°That seems counterintuitive,¡± I said. ¡°Could be I¡¯m wrong, but the Researcher seems like he¡¯s actively trying to help us survive. At least that¡¯s the sense I got from the few messages I received. And my Localized Administrator is a colossal dick, but it still seems like it¡¯s in my corner. It seems like they¡¯d want us to be as strong as possible.¡±


    ¡°No one knows the answers for sure,¡± Jakob said, ¡°but there are a number of theories¡ªthough I find some are far more plausible than others. One camp, the Red Spectators, believes the Backrooms are a game. A giant, bloody colosseum designed for the entertainment of the Researcher, or perhaps some other distant superintelligence. They believe the system is thus designed to force Delvers to descend to deeper floors, where great threats wait.


    ¡°There are others¡±¡ªhe glanced briefly at Temperance¡ª¡°who believe the Backrooms to be a divine test of sorts. A proving ground, designed to sort the wheat from the chaff.¡±


    ¡°I can still hear you,¡± Temperance called back over one shoulder.


    A slight blush crept into Jakob¡¯s otherwise white cheeks, but he pressed on. ¡°The Roomkeepers, like our Temperance here, believe the chosen few who pass the trial by making it to the thousandth floor are whisked away to a distant paradise world, where there is no suffering or pain or misery. But to get there, you must first endure the inferno and come away purified. That or be purged.¡±


    ¡°You make it sound like the Christian Heaven,¡± Temperance growled from up ahead, ¡°but it isn¡¯t. It¡¯s more like Valhalla. Just an endless feast with food and beer and sex and violence. The Backrooms are here so that only the worthy may enter the Grand Hall.¡±


    That sounded like a bunch of pseudo-religious bullshit to me, but then what the fuck did I know? Maybe this Researcher really was some all-powerful Viking god. Though even if that was true, I wouldn¡¯t much want to worship a god who allowed this kind of butchery and tomfuckery to happen under his watch. Either he was an evil god or a breathtakingly incompetent one.


    ¡°The Cult of Noth believes all of this is some vast, global-governmental conspiracy called the Variant Research Division,¡± Jakob continued after a beat. ¡°Sort of a Men in Black type organization. Some in the cult hold that the Backrooms was built by the VRD as a prison, meant to contain dangerous and anomalous entities from other dimensions and realities, while another, smaller faction, believe the facility was designed to force human evolution through unethical experimentation.¡±


    Of the three theories so far, that sounded the most plausible, though I had a hard time swallowing most conspiracy theories. Not because I believed the government was morally above doing that kind of shady bullshit, but because logistically it seemed unlikely. I¡¯d worked in the military¡ªhad deployed to war zones¡ªand I¡¯d learned people had big fucking mouths. They couldn¡¯t help but talk and brag even when it endangered their own lives.


    Orchestrating a conspiracy on a smaller scale, where maybe only a dozen people were involved, seemed conceivable. But a conspiracy on the scale of the Backrooms? That would take thousands or tens of thousands of people to pull off, and some shitty, low-level lance corporal somewhere would run his mouth eventually. No way could they keep this kind of thing under wraps indefinitely.


    ¡°I¡¯m guessing you have a differing view?¡± I said, more statement than question.


    ¡°Indeed, I do. Though understand that it¡¯s all pure conjecture.¡± Jakob¡¯s lips stretched into a thin line and his eyes took on a hazy, distant appearance as though he were looking far off into some distant memory. ¡°As I said, no one knows the mind of the Researcher, and if there are true answers to be found, I suspect they are buried so deeply on the lower floors that none of us will ever likely find them.¡±


    ¡°As for me, however, I think it has to do with the Blight. I don¡¯t fully understand what the Blight is, or where it comes from, but clearly the Researcher is trying to eradicate it. The existence of the Job Board hints at as much. I believe his goal is not to find one champion, but to raise an army of champions capable of eradicating the Blight on the lower floors. The Job Board is the carrot¡ªclear the Blight, get rewards. The experience restrictions are the stick.¡±


    I turned his explanation over in my head, examining it from a dozen different angles. ¡°That doesn¡¯t track either. If the Researcher¡¯s goal is to make an army of champions, why not just power level everyone the second they Noclip into the Lobby? Then they could just wade through the lower floors and butcher everything that gets in their way.¡±


    Jakob pitched his voice low. So low, Temperance wouldn¡¯t be able to hear us. ¡°Because I unequivocally do not believe the Researcher to be some benevolent, all-powerful god. What if,¡± he whispered so quiet I needed to lean in to hear him, ¡°his resources are finite?¡±


    Huh. Now that was an interesting thought.


    ¡°If his resources are finite,¡± I said slowly, ¡°he can¡¯t afford to make bad investments. And we are the investments.¡±


    ¡°Precisely,¡± Jakob agreed, clapping me on the shoulder. ¡°The first twenty-five floors are a gauntlet designed to show which new arrivals are worth investing in. But there is an artificial level cap. And if you want to push past it¡ªto grow stronger and get better Relics¡ªyou will eventually be forced to go lower, which is also where the Blight is more pervasive.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re saying the people who camp out on these floors for years and years and years are the ones who¡¯ve what? Given up?¡±


    ¡°Something to that effect,¡± Jakob agreed with a shrug. ¡°And thus, the Researcher has given up on them. A crop that has yielded no fruit. Although, again, this is just my own speculation. Perhaps it is a cruel game for the amusement of some galactic audience. Or a vast conspiracy or an inferno, meant to purify the chosen for paradise. The only way to know for sure is to go deeper.¡±


    The conversation had given me a lot to noodle on, but I couldn¡¯t put the cart before the horse. If I wanted to live long enough to get actual answers, I¡¯d need to survive Funtime Frank first. And that? Well, that would be easier said than done.


    As we rounded a corner, I caught my first look at the Jungle Gym Jamboree and I instantly regretted the decision to come here¡­

 Forty-Five – Jungle Gym Jamboree

    Stepping into Funtime Frank¡¯s Jungle Gym Jamboree was like plunging into another dimension entirely.


    This place wasn¡¯t a simple mall arcade, like the place Croc and I had raided on the third floor. Nope. The Jamboree was a neon-drenched city that was like the bastard love child of Chuck E. Cheese and a traveling carnival. A vast ocean of arcade games stretched out for as far as I could see: video games, pinball, basketball shootout, claw machines, racing simulators, spin-n-win ticket machines, and enough skee ball machines to accommodate an army of rowdy kids, all hopped up on Mountain Dew and adrenaline.


    The aroma of pizza mixed with the sickly-sweet scent of funnel cake and cotton candy assaulted me like a closed fist to the nose. My stomach grumbled at the mere idea of hot food that hadn¡¯t been cooked in a microwave, but I pushed that thought away. We had business to handle.


    Rising up from amongst the games like impossible skyscrapers were janky carnival attractions painted in a variety of eye-searing colors. They clanked and dinged and hummed with a dizzying symphony of mechanical noises and discordant music. An old-school Ferris wheel turned off in the distance, its buckets empty, but the wheel rotating continuously all the same. There were garish, brightly lit carousels and bumper cars, a spinning teacup ride and an elaborate mirror maze.


    Even a full-sized train, which roared around the perimeter at insanely dangerous speeds.


    The real jaw-dropping wonder, however, was the incomprehensibly huge network of plastic play tubes that crisscrossed the city-sized fun zone, zigzagging through the air high overhead. Like the veins of some gigantic creature, they twisted and turned, rising high then plunging low, branching off into long curlicue slides, ball pits, and secret hideaways. It was an aboveground labyrinth with branches and entryways scattered liberally across the jamboree.


    Although it beggared the imagination, in theory a kid could enter the tubes on one side of the Arcade and emerge miles away without ever having to set one foot on the sticky purple carpet. In the center of the city was a huge, striped tent marked by a large neon sign that read Funtime Frank¡¯s Funhouse Jamboree Zone!


    ¡°Heavens to Betsy, it¡¯s absolutely breathtaking,¡± Croc whispered reverently from beside me, its googly eyes fixed firmly on the hundreds of different slides, all in various shapes and sizes. ¡°I mean, just look at all those slides. Sure, it¡¯s not a water park, but it¡¯s still a thousand times better than the Burger Barn Play Palace.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to go down any of those slides,¡± Temperance growled, her eyes continually roving for potential threats. ¡°Some have saw blades embedded in the tubes. Others are studded with nails or crisscrossed with piano wire or bombs. Even the relatively harmless ones aren¡¯t actually harmless. The Howlers lost a Delver to one of the ball pits a few months back. By the time they got to him, there wasn¡¯t enough left to fill a coffee mug.¡±


    Croc¡¯s tail wilted. ¡°What monster could do something so terrible¡­¡±


    ¡°The Backrooms are a hard place,¡± Jakob replied solemnly, ¡°and there are many dangers. The Delvers that come here know the risk.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯m not talking about the Delvers,¡± Croc replied. ¡°I mean, that¡¯s sad too, I suppose. But I was talking about the slides. How could someone ruin something so pure and joyous?¡± Croc shook its head, eyes sad. ¡°It¡¯s a travesty.¡±


    I snorted. Of course, Croc was concerned about the slides. I choked back a laugh and absently patted the mimic¡¯s head. ¡°I¡¯m sure we could find one that¡¯s safe to use,¡± I said reassuringly. ¡°But first we need to take care of Funtime Frank.¡±


    I eyed the interconnected plastic maze. It looked like the only way to access the big top was through the tube network. But that also meant we probably wouldn¡¯t have to worry about stumbling into Frank prematurely.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t ready for Frank,¡± Jakob said, almost as though he were reading my mind. ¡°Not just yet, anyway.¡± He unclipped the metal frisbee from his belt and secured it to one arm. There was a click and the disc unfurled, transforming into the large tower shield I¡¯d seen before. ¡°If we take him on as we are, we shall surely perish. Both of you¡±¡ªhe looked at me and Temperance in turn¡ª¡°need to level.¡±


    ¡°Where to first?¡± Temperance asked, idly twirling her meat cleaver, clearly eager to get to the butchery.


    ¡°We¡¯ll want to redeem Loot Tokens before we head into the Funhouse,¡± the Cendral said, ¡°but we¡¯ll want to get tickets first.¡±


    ¡°Tickets?¡± I asked, frowning. ¡°I don¡¯t remember seeing tickets at the last Loot Arcade we visited.¡±


    ¡°The Jungle Gym Jamboree is different than most of the other Arcades,¡± Temperance said. ¡°It¡¯s why the Howlers built the Hold here in the first place.¡±


    ¡°There are still vending stations, Gashapon machines, and temporary tattoo dispensers,¡± Jakob explained. ¡°But all the Arcades have those,¡± he added. ¡°At least above level one hundred they do. But the bigger Arcades, like this one, also have prize booths. You use the Loot Tokens to play the games and win tickets, then you can exchange those tickets for the prizes.¡±


    ¡°What kinda prizes are we talking about here?¡± I asked, eyes squinting in suspicion. ¡°Because gambling away Loot Tokens seems pretty fucking dumb, especially when the toy machines are a sure thing.¡±


    ¡°Trust me,¡± Jakob said, serious as a heart attack, ¡°the risk is worth the reward. They aren¡¯t cheap, but if you are both skilled and lucky you can win powerful Artifacts and even Uncommon or Rare Relics. And unlike the Gashapon machines, you know exactly what your prize will be¡ªassuming you earn enough tickets to secure your desired reward.¡±


    ¡°What about killing Dwellers?¡± I asked.


    Obviously, I was interested in the prospect of getting some cool new shit, but the primary reason we were here was to grind levels.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about that,¡± Temperance said with a sadistic grin and another twirl of her meat cleaver. ¡°The games that give the most tickets are the ones that involve killing. Lots and lots of killing¡­¡±


    I¡¯d never heard her sound more excited, which made me nervous. Although I hadn¡¯t known Temperance long, I¡¯d known her just long enough to realize that fun for her was a nightmarish, LSD-fueled hellscape for everyone else. But that probably did mean we were going to get some awesome experience.


    Weapons drawn, Jakob ushered us into the carpeted wonderland, quickly weaving through rows upon rows of classic video game cabinets, slipping past the racers, then heading toward one of those ol¡¯ timey shooting arcades, which had the pump-action BB guns. Except the weapons sitting on the tabletop weren¡¯t BB guns at all, but sleek AK47s with wooden stocks and dull, black metal frames.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± I muttered, picking one of the weapons up and running my hands appreciatively along the upper receiver. Although the Marine Corps didn¡¯t officially train or use AKs, we¡¯d learned how to use the weapons in preparation for our first deployment to Iraq. The Russian-made Kalashnikovs were the favored weapon of insurgents and foreign paramilitary groups across the world.


    Arcade AK


    Bonded Artifact


    Type: Ranged Weapon


    Created by Mikhail Kalashnikov in 1947 and adopted by the Soviet Army, the AK47 is a weapon forged in the fires of conflict, revered by warlords and revolutionaries alike, and single-handedly responsible for more deaths than any other weapon in human history. And it ain¡¯t even close. Is this thing sophisticated? Fuck no. But it¡¯s built like a brick shithouse, never jams, and will still work even if it¡¯s underwater, covered in mud, or rusted over. In short, this weapon will still be killing people long after you¡¯re dead.


    This Artifact is Locationally Bonded to the Funtime Frank¡¯s Shooting Gallery. It will not work if removed from its bonded venue.


    ¡°How good of a shot are you?¡± the Cendral asked, cocking a scaly eyebrow at me.


    ¡°Not as good as I used to be,¡± I said, idly pulling the charging handle back and checking the chamber. It was empty. ¡°But at this range,¡± I said, nodding my chin toward the shooting gallery, ¡°I should be fine.¡±


    ¡°Good, good. Then step inside.¡±


    Jakob directed me through a small batwing gate and into the shooting gallery itself. It was western themed, the ground covered in gritty sand facing what appeared to be the fa?ade of an ol¡¯ timey general store, built from weathered wooden planks with faint traces of peeling paint. There was a hitching post and water trough in front of the elevated wooden deck. Wooden whiskey barrels were lined up to the left of the batwing doors, while piles of crates were neatly stacked on the right.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    A wooden sign dangled in front of the building. The Rusty Spur Trading Post.


    ¡°Are you ready?¡± Jakob asked, from behind me.


    I grunted, nodded, and shouldered the weapon, tucking it tight into my shoulder pocket. I took a few deep breaths and rested my cheek against the buttstock, looking for the small circular targets that normally adorned such shooting galleries.


    There were none.


    What the hell am I supposed to shoot? I wondered.


    The metallic clunk of a coin dropping into a slot caught my ear. Surprised by the sound, I lowered the AK and glanced back over one shoulder.


    ¡°Good luck,¡± Jakob said, sliding another copper token into a slot I couldn¡¯t see. A hazy blue shield erupted around the perimeter of the gallery and the dusty jangle of an old-timey piano erupted all around me.


    You have entered a Mana Suppression Field. Relics requiring Mana will not function while in this zone. Your Bonded AK is now operational!


    Before I could even finish reading the message in full, I heard the sharp report of a firearm¡ªexcept I hadn¡¯t pulled the trigger. Something whizzed by my leg, missing by inches, and a round ploughed into the dirt beside me, kicking up a small plume of grit.


    I whipped my head forward, cheek pressed against the buttstock once more, and saw a small green man, maybe three feet tall, his head peeking out of a wood-slatted barrel.


    The creature had puke-green skin and a bald, knobby head. There was a black bandana tied across its nose and mouth. It wore a canvas duster, but no shirt. It also had a dusty six-shooter gripped in one long-fingered hand.


    Dweller 0.746D ¨C Shootout Gallery Goblin (Blighted) [Level 6]


    The Gallery Goblin cocked the hammer back on the antique Colt and fired again. Thank the good lord, the little shit was a terrible shot. It jerked the trigger¡ªclassic noob mistake¡ªand gun barrel kicked up in a belch of yellow fire and gray smoke. The round went wide, slamming into the energy barrier and disintegrating on contact. For a brief moment, I wondered whether the same thing would happen to me if I tried to leap through the shimmering wall of light.


    Definitely not worth the risk, I decided.


    Before the goblin could cock the hammer again, I leveled my weapon and let loose with a quick burst of fully automatic fire. AK¡¯s were reliable but notoriously inaccurate. At thirty feet, however, I mowed down the goblin like overgrown grass. The rounds tore through its frail body, decimating the barrel in the process. Green blood splashed against the general store wall. A Health bar appeared for an eyeblink but drained just as quickly.


    Another pair of reports rang out, one coming from my left, another from the right.


    A second pistol-wielding Gallery Goblin had popped out of the horse trough, while a third goblin¡ªthis one carrying a bolt-action rifle and wearing a dark brown Stetson¡ªfired at me from a second-story window. I dove right, but there was shit all for cover and I was too slow on my feet¡ªespecially without Moving Walkway to aid me.


    Pistol Goblin was as shitty a shot as Barrel Goblin had been, but it seemed Rifle Goblin up in the window knew how to lead a target. The Colt round hit the dirt, kicking up more debris, but the rifle round punched cleanly into my left thigh, tearing through the muscle like a surgeon¡¯s scalpel. I let out a cry of pain and landed hard on my shoulder, skidding a few feet through the dirt before coming to a stop.


    The pain from the gun wound was like a burning star nestled inside my leg.


    But I ignored the pain, rolled partway onto my back, and strafed the AK across the front of the building, not even bothering to aim the weapon. The gun barked and a spray of bullets riddled the goblin in the Stetson. My fire discipline was garbage, but that was one of the benefits of the AK. They proved that quantity had its own sort of quality.


    I squeezed the trigger again, screaming the whole while.


    Rifle Goblin went down in a gurgle of blood, and I managed to take out the second Pistol Goblin before it could get another shot off. Wincing, I pushed myself into a sitting position. The blood seeping from my wounded leg turned the ground a muddy red brown. It didn¡¯t look like the bullet had nicked the femoral or I¡¯d already be dead, but if this went on for much longer, I¡¯d bleed out anyway.


    Panting, with dust plastered to the sweat coating my face, I hefted the AK and scanned the front of the general store. Three more Gallery Goblins popped out in quick succession, two from the pile of crates, the last sauntering out from the batwing doors. The third was taller than the others by at least a foot and wore full cowboy attire. He had a pair of ivory-handled pistols slung low across his hips, though neither weapon was drawn.


    Dweller 0.748D ¨C Gallery Goblin Gunslinger (Blighted) [Level 8]


    The music jangled and changed, and a low whistle filled the air.


    I¡¯d heard this tune many times before. It was the same music old western films played for the Shootout at High Noon scenes. The gunslinger with dual pistols was obviously the big bad, and I had a feeling he¡¯d be a mite bit tougher to kill than the others. At least, he would be if I intended to play by the rules of the game.


    One of the lesser Shootout Goblins had a rifle, but the one closest to the general store entryway wore a crisscrossing bandolier filled with sticks of cherry red dynamite. He had a stick clutched in one hand, the fuse sparking and hissing like an angry snake as the goblin prepared to hurl the dynamite at me and turn me into meat confetti. Instead, I raised the AK, took a deep breath, and slowly squeezed off a solid grouping into the creature¡¯s chest and arm.


    Puckered wounds bloomed across the goblin¡¯s pitifully sunken chest, and its upraised arm fell limply to its side. The lit dynamite landed with a chunk, rolled a few feet to the left, and exploded just as the gunslinger drew his ivory-handled pistols. A bubble of orange and gold and red billowed up and out, enveloping the gunslinger and the other two goblins, who were still seeking cover in the stacked crates.


    I squinted against the intense blaze.


    When the fireball finally dissipated, there was nothing but charred remains and a dark, smoldering soot spot where the gunslinger had been moments before. The wooden sign, which had previously read, The Rusty Spur Trading Post, strobed with fire-engine red neon lights: Winner! Winner! Winner! The Arcane Suppression Field engulfing the shootout fizzled and died. When I tentatively tried the AK again, it had gone inert.


    Just a dull, lifeless hunk of metal and wood once more.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    High Noon Hijinks


    Howdy, partner! You just survived a rootin¡¯ tootin¡¯ gunslinger shootout against the notorious Gallery Goblins at Funtime Frank¡¯s Jungle Gym Jamboree. Most Delvers aren¡¯t crazy enough to dick around with these guys, but then you¡¯re no ordinary Delver. You¡¯re a fucking moron. But hey, you shot your shot and only got a little shot in return, so I guess it all worked out.


    Reward: 250 Experience Points, 1 x Gold Gambler Loot Token ¨C If you¡¯re willing to take a walk on the wild side, there are even better games out there. Just sayin¡¯¡­


    I dismissed the achievement, then used the gun as a crutch to gain my feet, sweating and shaking the whole time. With a growl, I wheeled on Jakob and the others, offering each one a look that could strip paint.


    ¡°What the actual hell, you blue falcon assholes!¡± I bellowed, hurling the weapon down in a puff of sand and dirt. ¡°I could¡¯ve died, you assclowns.¡±


    ¡°Oh my god, Dan,¡± Croc said, wilting under my stare. ¡°I am so, so sorry. I had no idea.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but these douche canoes did,¡± I said, shifting my glare between Jakob and Temperance¡ªthe latter of whom was grinning like a lunatic and actively trying not to laugh in my face. ¡°I got shot, you dickheads.¡± I gestured at my leg, still bloody and ragged from the wound.


    ¡°But you survived,¡± Jakob said, sounding unperturbed. ¡°And if you can¡¯t handle a little friendly fire from the goblins of the shooting gallery, then you certainly won¡¯t fare well against Funtime Frank.¡±


    I grumbled to myself, though I had to admit he was probably right.


    The gunshot had drained my Health Pool by thirty-five percent, but now that I had access to my Mana again, I used the Pharmacist¡¯s Scales to swap twenty-seven points of Mana for Health, topping off my HP bar.


    ¡°You still coulda warned me,¡± I muttered, experimentally putting a little weight onto the limb.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the fun in that?¡± Temperance asked.


    ¡°It is best if you experience it firsthand,¡± Jakob agreed. ¡°And the challenges will only get more difficult from here. All things considered, you did quite well for your first outing.¡± He raised a clawed hand, revealing a tangled string of tickets. ¡°You earned seventy-five tickets for that little performance, plus a decent amount of experience to boot.¡±


    I grunted, but realized he was right.


    I¡¯d earned the two hundred and fifty points for the research achievement, but another one hundred and fifty for killing the goblins¡ªthough the numbers seemed a little on the low side to me. The four basic goblins had each been level 6 and the Gunslinger had been level 8. I would¡¯ve expected accordingly higher experience payouts.


    When I asked Jakob about it, he simply waved away my doubts.


    ¡°That¡¯s quite normal. A Dweller¡¯s level isn¡¯t the only factor. Your level is also factored in, and then there is the quality of the creature itself to consider. Most of the Dwellers slaved to the Arcade Games are of the lowest quality. D-grade.¡±


    ¡°Eh, come again now?¡± I asked, looking sideways at the Cendral.


    ¡°All Dwellers are classified by a Letter-Ranking system, Dan,¡± Croc said, tail waggling. ¡°It ranges from S to D. S is for super powerful, basically god-tier Dwellers. If you see one of them, you¡¯re probably already dead. A-grade tend to be location bosses or store managers, like the Harmacist or the Rat King.


    ¡°B-grade are the basic iterations¡ªsemi-intelligent, with one or maybe two level-appropriate Relics. Then comes C-Grade and finally D-Grade, like those Gallery Goblins. D-Grade aren¡¯t actually considered true Dwellers at all. They¡¯re more like living Artifacts or summoned minions, conjured by A-class Dwellers. Sort of like the Doodle Buddies you can make. They look like the real deal, but die quicker and only operate on a basic set of scripts.¡±


    ¡°Although the Arcade creatures are all D-Grade,¡± Jakob said, ¡°they still give out decent experience and, more importantly, tickets.¡± He held up our prize. ¡°And there are other games. Better games. This one was just to get you warmed up and familiar with the idea. But the real games, the ones with the best experience and ticket payouts, cost substantially more to play.¡±


    A crooked grin stretched across Temperance¡¯s face. ¡°They are also far more deadly.¡±


    I withdrew the Gold Gambler Loot Token I¡¯d earned for unlocking the High Noon Hijinks Research Achievement and held it out. The gold glinted in the lights overhead.


    ¡°What kinda game could we play for something like this?¡± I asked, suddenly feeling an ember of excitement ignite inside my chest. True, tossing me unprepared into the shooting gallery had been kind of a dick move, but now that I was over the shock, I had to admit this place was pretty amazing. Even if it was also deadly as hell. Getting additional experience all while earning tickets for the prize booths sounded¡­ fun.


    Maybe Temperance¡¯s murderous ways were starting to rub off on me, because I honestly couldn¡¯t wait to see what was next.


    Temperance the Murder Bunny stared at the coin and the ghost of a wicked smile appeared on her lips.


    ¡°Whack-a-Mole?¡± she asked, shooting Jakob a look.


    ¡°Whack-a-Mole,¡± the Cendral agreed solemnly. He didn¡¯t sound nearly as enthusiastic.

 Backrooms Book 1 Title Poll!

    Hey everyone, I just wanted to conduct a quick poll about the title/rebranding change. Some people really seem to like it, other decidedly don''t like it, so I wanted to just run a poll and see what everyone thinks. The poll is below and I''m making it public so we can all see the results. A couple of things to consider. First, I think the new Backrooms Baron title goes better with the title for book 2, which is going to be Kiosk Kingdom. I''m in love with the title for book 2 and think Baron plays better with the Kingdom angle. The other consideration is that I wanted Backrooms in the title for marketing reasons later on -- I figure I might be able to pull in some folks who haven''t read the story and aren''t familiar with LitRPG but ARE interested in Backrooms related lore. I also included one other potential title, Backrooms Bargains (based on the store name), which I had initially discounted because it sounds like a weird sex act someone might do in a dark alleyway, BUT I''m including it here anyway, cause why not.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    With all of that said, The Catacomber is still a pretty solid title. So please, vote, and let me know what you think in the comments. I love this story and want it to do well so I can keep writing it indefinitely, which is why I really appreciate the feedback. Also, just a quick thank you to everyone who reads and comments in general. Your notes are extremely encouraging and so many of your ideas are amazing -- y''all are actively helping me to make this a better book than it ever would''ve been without you.


    EDIT: Adding one other option that someone mentioned. Discount Dan? If y''all like that better, let me know.


    Best,


    James Hunter

 Forty-Six – Fun and Games

    The four of us spent the next nine hours grinding through murder game after murder game, each more interesting and batshit crazy than the last. We started with Whack-A-Mole, which cost a Gold Loot Token to play. The price tag seemed awful steep, especially considering what kind of badass shit a Gold Loot Token could buy in the Gashapon machines, but Jakob hadn¡¯t led me astray so far, so I decided to trust him.


    Whack-A-Mole ended up being a Tower Defense game. Sort of. And this time I didn¡¯t have to play alone.


    Croc, Jakob, Temperance, and I all shuffled through a sliding door and into a large circular chamber which, in perfect Backrooms fashion, was significantly larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. Honestly, it reminded me of the colosseum in Rome, except instead of classical architecture¡ªwhite marble, graceful arches, and Ionic columns¡ªit was all strobing neon, grimy carpet, and insane carnival music.


    Thirteen doors dotted the perimeter of the circular room at even intervals. Each was labeled with a bright neon number, one through thirteen. They were also large enough for a grizzly to waltz through, which was extremely disconcerting.


    Directly in the center of the odd colosseum was a giant carrot.


    The carrot was person shaped, with knobby arms, stringy legs, and a mop of eye-searing green hair. The person-shaped carrot was also alive, though it didn¡¯t try to communicate with us in any meaningful way. Not even when Croc transformed into a giant blue carrot, covered in holes, to try to put the odd Dweller at ease. Instead, it sat in the center of the ring, weird arms clutched tightly around its equally weird legs, letting out distressed whimpers every few seconds.


    The Carrot Man flinched whenever anyone got to close to it.


    Dweller 0.754D ¨C Beta-Carotene Bitch Boy [Level 4]


    These poor, unathletic, ginger-body doofuses are among the most pathetic and miserable creatures in the Backrooms. For them, existence is pain¡ªquite literally since they¡¯re created for the sole purpose of being ripped apart over and over and over again. These guys are basically Prometheus but way less cool, since they never offended the gods by giving man the ability to produce fire.


    They¡¯re also as weak as newborn kittens and as useful in combat as a paper umbrella is in a monsoon. These things aren¡¯t built for fighting, they¡¯re built for fleeing. Not that they usually get very far. Their crunchy, vitamin-rich bodies are a tantalizing treat for the monstrous Tunnel Maulers, so often found in the Endless Cave of the Eighth Floor, and those things are fast. When the Tunnel Maulers show up for dinner, you¡¯re really gonna wish you were anywhere else¡­


    The goal of this particular game turned out to be surprisingly simple, if morbid.


    Protect the poor carrot schmuck from progressive waves of gargantuan moles. The aforementioned Tunnel Maulers.


    As expected, the Tunnel Maulers were each about the size of an angry hippo, built with thick, rippling muscle, and covered head to toe by coarse brown fur. Each paw was the size of a shovel and capped with three enormous claws, which could dig through the earth or eviscerate a victim with equal ease. The Tunnel Maulers had fleshy, tubular mouths, which made them look like oversized anteaters. That mouth, however, acted more like an elephant¡¯s trunk and was ringed with jagged teeth capable of sawing through damn near anything.


    The moles came in waves.


    A door would open, disgorging one of the monstrous creatures into the arena with us.


    One at first. Then two. Then three. Four. On and on and on.


    The first Tunnel Mauler started off at lowly level 5, but each successive Mauler added into the mix gained an additional level. Which meant the second wave had one level 5 Mauler and one level 6 Mauler.


    The creatures could dive into the earth and swim beneath the ground as though it were water, and their hide was so thick and tough that not even Temperance¡¯s meat cleaver could fully penetrate. They were slow, lumbering creatures, so their attacks weren¡¯t especially difficult to avoid, but when they did land a blow, they hit like sledgehammers. One emerged beneath Jakob¡¯s feet and knocked the Cendral across the room and into the far wall as though he weighed no more than a stuffed animal.


    There were a couple of saving graces.


    First, the creatures weren¡¯t after us at all. They were entirely fixated on the carrot man, who chaotically darted around the arena, trying his best to avoid the murderous behemoths. With that said, the Maulers would still obliterate anything that got between them and carrot guy. Which, unfortunately, was literally our only job. Get in the way. Save carrot man. Period. When the carrot died¡ªinevitably ripped apart and devoured alive by the moles¡ªthe game ended.


    The other saving grace was that, unlike the shootout gallery, my magic worked in this game. Even better, the Maulers were especially vulnerable to the Mana-based attacks.


    I got to try my shiny new StainSlayer Maelstrom spell for the first time, and it was exactly as awesome as I¡¯d been hoping for. The spell took longer to cast than I¡¯d like, but the effect was worth the wait. Violent, swirling blue clouds formed overhead and poured fat, sizzling drops of blue-white corrosive rain down on anything inside a fifteen-foot radius. It left melted bodies, chunks of bloody meat, and foaming blue puddles of corrosive devastation in its wake.


    Honestly, ensuring I didn¡¯t accidentally catch my teammates in the area of effect was the biggest drawback to the new spell.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    For close combat and single targets, Pressure Washer worked like a champ, easily carving through the layers of fur, fat, and muscle like a hot knife through a pat of butter.


    Still, even with Jakob, Croc, and Temperance, we only managed to get to the eleventh wave before one of the Maulers mangled the manic carrot.


    ¡°It¡¯s like he has no sense of self-preservation at all,¡± Croc noted as the carrot actively ran toward a group of encroaching Maulers.


    The dog was right.


    The carrot was almost as scared of us as it was of the Maulers, even though we were actively trying to save the dumb shit. It had all the brain function of an actual vegetable and was literally too dumb to live. It ended up blundering into one of the Maulers during the eleventh wave and was subsequently ripped apart, orange gore splashing across the arena floor as the carrot mewled in pain. That part left me feeling uneasy, and I ended up using a blast of pressurized water to put the poor bastard out of its misery.


    Its oddly human cries would probably haunt me until the end of my days.


    Although the Maulers didn¡¯t drop Relics or even Shards, they gave great experience points¡ªfar better than the bird-chested goblins from the shooting gallery. Plus, we got tickets. Seven hundred and fifty for making it all the way to the eleventh wave. Not too shabby, though we would¡¯ve earned an even thousand had we managed to win the game and survive all thirteen waves. We would¡¯ve played again, but each game had a twenty-four-hour cooldown period.


    There were plenty of other games, though. And they were all just as disturbing as Whack-A-Mole.


    Each was based on a classic arcade game or carnival attraction. Assuming those games were live action and produced by the director of the SAW franchise.


    I¡¯d played Duck Pond more than once as a kid. My parents would take me whenever the traveling fairs rumbled through during the hot summer months of southern Ohio. A legion of semis and RVs would roll in like the high tide, take over an abandoned section of parking lot, and set up their rusted rides and con games for a few weeks at a time. Then they¡¯d pack up and move on with heaps of cash, leaving before they had a chance to outstay their welcome.


    My family would go every summer, often more than once, and Duck Pond had been among my favorite games, mostly because you were guaranteed to win. All you had to do was fish out one of the floating rubber ducks from a plastic kiddie pool, then you¡¯d win whatever was stenciled on the bottom of said duck. Most of the prizes were terrible, but like I said, you always came away with something in hand.


    The Backrooms version of Duck Pond was more or less the same.


    Except the rubbery ducks were each the size of a Rottweiler. Some ducks were exactly what they appeared to be and awarded tickets.


    Other ducks were mimics¡ªsome as high as level 20.


    Others still were bombs.


    Or arcane traps.


    One just sounded like a car alarm going off, but there was no way to shut off the blaring racket.


    Thanks to Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense, though, I was able to easily avoid the terrible assortment of traps, so we cleaned up.


    We stopped just once to raid one of the many concession stalls that littered the vast arcade. There were several food courts scattered around the Jamboree, but they all required either tokens or tickets and I wasn¡¯t keen to spend my resources on food. Not when I had all the resources I needed back at the store.


    But the concession stalls were different.


    Those were guarded by Adolescent Snack Shack Sentinels, armed with cystic acne and razor-sharp spatulas. None of the zit-faced Dwellers were higher than level 10 and we put ¡¯em down in short order, giving us access to all the food we could eat.


    Most of the stands served soft pretzels, cotton candy, or other equally garbage food, but thanks to Unerring Arrow, we managed to find one with thick, cheesy slices of pizza, perfectly cut crinkle fries, loaded nachos, and charbroiled hotdogs that tasted like the ones you could get at the ballpark. Best of all, the food offered temporary buffs that lasted for up to four hours in some cases.


    Eating the pizza granted the Stuff-Crust Health Bar, which restored five points of Health over five minutes and increased Health Regen by 2% for four hours. Eating more than one slice restored additional Health, though the Regen bonus didn¡¯t stack, which sucked a wrinkled nutsack. Finishing an extra slice did renew the buff duration, however. The nachos came with the Carb Load buff, which had a similar effect but for Stamina. Those buffs could run concurrently, which made them even better, so long as you weren¡¯t afraid of packing on a couple thousand calories.


    The crinkle cut fries were just fries, but they were finger-licking good, so that was something.


    As for the delicious all-beef franks, they gave the Gas Station Hotdog buff, which prevented you from contracting food poisoning and reduced damage from disease by 5% for three hours.


    Although the bonuses were small potatoes in the grand scheme of things, in the Backrooms every little advantage mattered.


    While working my way through the better part of half a large pizza, I decided to use Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort to add the entire stall to the storefront. Sure, we had plenty of food already, but the sheer convenience of having hot pizza, loaded nachos, and ballpark franks on demand was too tempting to pass up. The rectangular metal box was also only ninety square feet of total space, which was next to nothing. Not compared to how much I stood to earn from the stand.


    I was positive my customers would happily pay a premium for the extra buffs, even tiny ones. We could also serve the piping-hot food with frosty cold beer, which we had plenty of.


    Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort


    You¡¯ve selected 90 square feet of eligible Progenerated Material Resource Space. Would you like to use Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort to convert the selected material into a Personal Superspace Dwelling? Proceed Yes/No?


    I¡¯d never accepted faster in my whole life.


    Fat and happy, we hit the bathroom, making sure to check for mimics before using any of the toilets, then got back to the grind.


    We played High-Striker¡ªthe carnie game where you use a mallet to send a puck flying toward a bell high overhead¡ªand Ring Toss. Balloon Darts, Space Invaders, and a real-life version of Frogger. Except we were the frogs and we had to duck, dodge, and dive our way through an army of sentient cars with a taste for human blood. We fought swarms of goldfish piranha and horrifying funhouse clowns. Clambered over tottering rope bridges, suspended high above lagoons filled with unholy crocodiles the size of Cadillacs.


    We burned through Loot Tokens and endured more nightmare games than I could count, and we still didn¡¯t get through even a fraction of all the possible games.


    By the time we were finished, every muscle in my body ached and throbbed, I could barely stay on my feet, and every inch of me had been splashed or splattered in blood, shit, vomit, or fluids even more unspeakable in nature.


    We¡¯d also earned just over ten thousand tickets, and I¡¯d jumped from level 17 to level 20, while Temperance had made it all the way up to 21. Even Croc had advanced and was now sitting at level 16. The mimic was still substantially lower than the rest of us, but Dwellers also leveled slower by nature and had to constantly kill things to keep from leaking like a sieve. Conversely, they could also absorb Mana passively, so once we made it down to the lower floors, Croc would probably blow past the rest of us in an eyeblink.


    Tickets in hand, we headed over to the prize redemption booth to pick out some swanky new prizes.

 Forty-Seven – The Prize Booth

    The prize booth was exactly what it sounded like.


    There was a long, glass-fronted cabinet filled with smaller, less valuable trinkets, while the bigger high-ticket items hung on the wall, grouped by price. Perched on top of the counter were small, computerized kiosks with colorful touchscreens and ticket eaters.


    Just Scan Your Hand to Begin! the pixelated screen flashed.


    My Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense didn¡¯t send up any sort of warning, but still I hesitated. Just because the computer wasn¡¯t overtly a trap didn¡¯t mean it couldn¡¯t bone me in the long run. Sure, it probably wouldn¡¯t explode or eat my hand when I touched it, but it could activate some asinine and improbable Rube Goldberg machine that would leave me running away from a sentient Indian Jones boulder that wanted to grind me into meat paste.


    I glanced at Croc, who simply bobbed its head. Nothing to worry about here, Dan, that gesture said.


    Reluctantly, I pressed my palm against the scanner and felt the familiar warm buzz I¡¯d come to associate with activating a Progenitor Monolith.


    The screen flickered and a message appeared.


    Welcome, Dan Woodridge, Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C, to the Loot Arcade Prize Gallery Redemption Kiosk. The Prize Gallery tab has been successfully added to your Progenitor Monolith Interface Menu. Loot Arcade Location: Funtime Frank¡¯s Jungle Gym Jamboree has been added to your Prize Gallery tab. Insert your tickets now to redeem amazing prizes!


    There was a rectangular slot on the side of the machine that I could feed the tickets into, but since it seemed the tickets would be permanently linked to my Specimen Bio-Report, we decided to split them first.


    I¡¯d paid for most of the games from my own pocket, but I wouldn¡¯t have been able to clear half as many games without Jakob, Temperance, and Croc to lend a hand¡ªor a tentacle, in the mimic¡¯s case. In theory, the tickets were mine by right, but hoarding them wouldn¡¯t win me any friends. Plus, I needed the others to be at the top of their game when we went toe-to-toe against Funtime Frank.


    Jakob politely declined when I offered him a share¡ªwhich didn¡¯t entirely surprise me¡ªand Croc wouldn¡¯t be able to use the Relics anyway. Dwellers evolved their own Relics as they advanced and crossed specific evolutionary thresholds.


    Temperance, on the other hand, was more than happy to accept. I graciously gave her a third of the haul¡ª3,091 tickets, in total. That left me 6,182 tickets to spend, which I promptly fed into the kiosk. They disappeared with a mechanized whirl, like a fat kid inhaling a fruit rollup, and a new ticket balance immediately appeared on the screen.


    The prize system worked a bit like a giant vending machine.


    Each item had a price tag along with a redemption code, prominently displayed on a little placard. All I had to do was punch the code into the computer and, assuming I had the tickets to pay, the item would instantly appear inside my storage space. Just like magic. I did idly wonder what would happen if I vaulted over the glass-fronted counter and started pulling Relics off the wall display, but Jakob strongly disabused me of the notion.


    Turned out, that was how Delvers earned a one-way ticket to Floor: You Cheated! And that was a floor no one ever came back from. Not ever.


    So, because I had no desire to die a horrific death stretched over the course of slow and painful years, I played by the rules.


    Smaller Artifacts and Insert Sigils, ranging from fifty to three thousand tickets, were held within the glass display case. On the lower end were Common Artifacts with empty Effect Slots, but the prize booth also had Uncommon and even Rare Artifacts with some genuinely badass abilities. A pair of Augmented Reality Glasses created a real-time HUD overlay that would allow the user to see traps and identify mimics, in a close approximation of my Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense.


    There was a pricey vial of Bioluminescent Tattoo Ink, which had unique properties. I got the sense that the ink itself didn¡¯t actually do anything, but rather was a component in some larger ritual. A pair of red-and-white high-top sneakers, Get-Air Gordans, allowed the wearer to literally walk on air for up to thirty seconds per day. There was even a pair of Silver EarPods, which instantly translated any foreign language in earshot. That item was extremely tempting. But at three thousand tickets, I had to reluctantly pass.


    An elegant brass key, appropriately called a Quantum Skeleton Key, had my name written all over it, even though it didn¡¯t have any immediate combat or survival utility. The key could be inserted into a wide array of locks and would quantum shift between realities until it found one where the object in question was already unlocked, then duplicate that status.


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    In essence, it was the ultimate lockpick.


    Apparently, it wouldn¡¯t work on things like Arcane Seals or Quantum Locks, but it would still work for ninety-nine percent of the other locks I¡¯d run across so far.


    I dropped 750 tickets on the key and didn¡¯t even bat an eye.


    Next up was a strange pry bar about the length of my forearm with an angled hook on one end and what appeared to be an engravers awl on the other. The Apprentice Trapsmith¡¯s Pry Bar. There were a wide range of different tools that would-be Trapsmiths used to disarm, move, or repurpose traps, and this was one of ¡¯em. Even though I didn¡¯t know how it worked, the potential was too good to pass up, and all for the low, low price of 150 tickets. Practically a steal.


    There was also a Common-grade weapon sigil for a measly two hundred and fifty tickets that caught my eye. Simply called Boomerang Bound, it could be attached to any melee weapon. When thrown, the weapon would automatically boomerang, returning to the thrower¡¯s hand after successfully hitting a target. Having a physical, ranged attack seemed like a great option on the off chance that I ran out of Mana in the middle of a fight and didn¡¯t want to wade elbow-deep into the battle.


    I even knew what I wanted to attach it to.


    My tactical speed square.


    The speed square was basically the poor man¡¯s version of a batarang, and if I could make it magically boomerang back into my hand, I¡¯d finally be able to live out my boyhood fantasy of transforming into Batman and curb stomping shitheads.


    Although there were countless other weapon and armor sigils I wanted to snag, I needed to choose carefully. This stuff was expensive with a capital E, and I still had Relics to pick through.


    The Common-grade Relics were all decent quality and had a standard price tag of 1,000 tickets per Relic. Extremely pricey, considering it had cost more than two Silver Loot Tokens to earn that many tickets. But Relics were the one thing you couldn¡¯t buy from the Gashapon machines, and you could examine the Relics at the prize booth before purchasing, so you knew exactly what you were getting.


    In my estimation, it was hard to put a price tag on that kind of convenience.


    The Uncommon-grade Relics were 2,000 tickets a pop, and the Rares¡ªwhich were few and far between¡ªranged from 3,000 all the way up to 5,000 tickets. There were several Relics that left me salivating, but I didn¡¯t want to risk changing my build too drastically right before facing off against Funtime Frank and his five-man band. Going into the big game with a bunch of untested abilities that I didn¡¯t really understand was a surefire way to end up dead.


    But there was one I couldn¡¯t pass up.


    Mental Micromanagement was a Rare-grade Relic that topped the scale at 5,000 tickets. Despite the high price, it had incredible potential for someone like me with high Resonance and abysmal Athleticism.


    Mental Micromanagement


    Rare Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Line of Sight


    Cost: 1 Mana/Minute


    Mind over matter isn¡¯t just one of those bullshit slogans found at the bottom of motivational posters. Not for you anyway.


    Those bestowed with Mental Micromanagement can weave invisible telekinetic strings around any object weighing less than forty-five pounds. Whether you¡¯re lifting a key from afar, guiding a blade through the air, or fetching a couple of cold brewskis from the fridge without getting up, this skill bridges the gap between thought and reality.


    Each new level enables you to control an additional object, turning this solo act into a full-blown telekinetic orchestra. Word of warning, though, trying to mentally control too many items at once is a good way to give yourself a brain aneurysm¡ªand no, that¡¯s not a joke. The Mana cost per minute also doubles with each additional item you telekinetically wield. This Relic enables Mana usage.


    The idea of actively giving myself a brain aneurysm was worrisome but gaining the ability to control objects with my mind offset any potential risk. The weight limit was a bit restrictive and meant I wouldn¡¯t be able to hurl my enemies through the air or use it to toss Croc across the field of battle, but that was fine. My hammer was only 19 oz after all, and if I could use it to beat the ever-living shit out of enemies a football field away, I¡¯d be happy as a pig in shit.


    Plus, the more I leveled the Relic up, the more weapons I¡¯d be able to wield from afar.


    I couldn¡¯t help but recall the battle between the Flayed Monarch and the Boundless Wanderer. In my head, I saw an army of bloodred weapons zipping through the air, hacking and slashing at the dusty gunslinger from a dozen angles all at once.


    Whatever Relic the Monarch had used to accomplish the feat was clearly leaps and bounds above this one, but they were clearly in the same vein. And if I could use the Codex to forge it with other powerful Relics, maybe I¡¯d be able to turn this skill into one that could rival the Monarch, given enough time.


    Buying the Relic would take up almost all of my remaining tickets, and I waffled for a couple of minutes. I could pick up two Uncommons and a Common for the same cost. But after looking everything on offer over for a second time, I decided I¡¯d rather have one super badass Relic that complemented my skill set instead of three mediocre ones that I probably wouldn¡¯t even end up using in the long run.


    Taking a deep breath, I pulled the trigger on Mental Micromanagement, leaving me with a grand total of 32 tickets. Not enough for jack-shit else¡ªthough the remaining balance stayed on my new Prize Gallery Tab.


    Loot in hand and feeling weary to the bone, I planted my VIP Doorway Anchor, and we made our way back to the store to clean up, gear up, and catch a little bit of shut-eye before our final showdown with Funtime Frank.

 Forty-Eight – Now Hiring

    The shop was bustling with activity, even though I was hearing more and more rumors about Aspirants poking around the various doorways scattered about the floors. It didn¡¯t seem to be stopping anyone from venturing into the storefront¡ªnot yet anyway¡ªbut that could change if the Aspirants managed to blockade all of the doors in and out. Although I could move the doorway anchors once every twenty-four hours, exiting through any of the given doorways could also drop me or my customers directly into an ambush.


    I¡¯d need to do something about those jerkoffs eventually. For now, though, taking down Funtime Frank and establishing a trade partnership with the Delvers of Howlers Hold was still my top priority.


    But there were a few logistical issues that needed to be taken care of before we headed back out. With foot traffic picking up, Princess Ponypuff and Baby Hands were having a tough time handling the influx of new customers. Baby Hands was still dumb as a painted rock, and even as capable as Ponypuff seemed to be, she could still only do so much. With the addition of the new concession stand, the simple fact was that I didn¡¯t have enough hands on deck to keep things running smoothly.


    I needed to scale up.


    There were a few options on the metaphorical table.


    I could add one new Cannon Fodder Golem for every 5,000 square feet of claimed space. But even with the addition of the Monolith and the new concession stand, I was still only at 14,291 square feet. Just over seven hundred square feet shy of what I¡¯d need to be able to forge a new minion. There was nothing preventing me from going out and tacking on enough space to spawn another golem, but that felt¡­ irresponsible.


    I wanted all of my square footage to count, and randomly slapping on something just for the added space seemed like a bad long-term choice.


    My other option was to destroy Baby Hands and craft a new, smarter minion, but I had reservations about that too. Sure, Baby Hands was dumber than a wet blanket. And yes, he wasn¡¯t actually a person at all. But Baby Hands was a hard worker, and I trusted the neckless garbage golem a hundred times more than Ponypuff. Plus, Croc would be devastated if I killed him. The pair of them really were like two peas in a pod, and when Croc wasn¡¯t hanging around with me, he was off playing with the taciturn golem.


    I couldn¡¯t kill Croc¡¯s second best friend in the whole world just because it was the smart thing to do. I mean I could, technically, but I wasn¡¯t a monster.


    Which left me with one option.


    Hire some extra help.


    I headed over to the cash register and took the visitor log from Ponypuff.


    The pony-headed minion was drinking a 40-ounce bottle of malt liquor, called Alley King Gold, while simultaneously chain-smoking cigarettes. Beside her, an ashtray held a small mountain of crumpled butts. Strictly speaking, Ponypuff didn¡¯t have lungs or internal organs, so I wasn¡¯t quite sure how she was managing to day drink and smoke like a chimney, but I¡¯d given up trying to figure out the physics of this place weeks ago.


    She idly bleated at me like an angry goat, but then went back to reading a glossy magazine as soon as she realized I just needed the guest logbook.


    I scanned the list of names and saw a few familiar ones as well as a couple of new ones.


    I dismissed the newcomers right away.


    The level 18 was still here, camped out in one of the tents. According to the log, his name was Michael Bolton, though I was pretty sure he wasn¡¯t the Michael Bolton¡ª¡¯80s pop-sensation superstar with classic hits, such as ¡°How Am I Supposed To Live Without You?¡± and ¡°Can I touch you¡­ There.¡±


    At least, I didn¡¯t think so. Though upon further reflection, there was a certain resemblance. The Michael Bolton hiding out in a tent had to be in his mid- to late sixties, which put him around the right age, and he had a mane of wild silver hair that cascaded down around his shoulders. Was it possible that the Michael Bolton was sleeping in my storage room?


    No. That was crazy.


    Probably.


    Didn¡¯t matter.


    Even if it was the Michael Bolton, the guy was level 18 and as jumpy as a Marine fresh home from an active combat zone. The guy had wicked PTSD and I wouldn¡¯t trust him with a pair of bootlaces. I definitely wasn¡¯t going to trust him to help run the store. Jakob was on the roster as well, but I needed his help to take out Funtime Frank, so that was no good.


    That left just two names.


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    I headed into the sleeping area and nudged Taylor, the college girl from Oklahoma, awake with the toe of my boot. She was snoring softly on one of the cots, while her friend Stephanie was asleep on the floor beside her, curled up in a thick sleeping bag that had probably come from one of the sporting goods stores. Taylor had managed to crawl her way up to level 7, while her friend had made it to level 6. Not too bad at all, considering they didn¡¯t have any of my obvious advantages.


    Taylor startled awake and shot up, eyes wide in a mixture of fear and rage, one hand thrust out while another dropped toward a knife stashed at her hip.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to do that,¡± I said, backing up a few steps and raising my hands to show they were empty. At the same time, I mentally prepared to cast Sterilization Field, which would neutralize any hostile magic she tossed my way. ¡°Not looking to hurt you. Just wanted to make you and your friend there a job offer.¡±


    She grunted, eyes darting left then right.


    Finally, when she seemed certain that I wasn¡¯t about to harvest her kidneys, she lowered her hand and shook her friend awake. She never took her eyes off me, though, which was smart. I mean, I wasn¡¯t going to do anything to her, but she didn¡¯t know that. And not trusting anyone in the Backrooms was survival rule 101.


    Her friend blinked and sat up after a moment, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with one hand.


    ¡°Everything okay?¡± Stephanie asked groggily. She didn¡¯t seem to be nearly as alert as her friend. Then something seemed to click inside her head and her eyes opened comically wide, gaze swinging back and forth between me and Taylor. ¡°Hey, you¡¯re the guy, right? Discount Dan? Like, this survival tip brought to you by Discount Dan?¡±


    ¡°One and the same.¡± I took a few steps back and lowered my hands. ¡°Like I was telling your friend, I¡¯m not here to hurt you. Just the opposite. I¡¯m wondering if the two of you might be interested in doing a little work around the shop?¡±


    ¡°What kind of work?¡± Taylor growled, swinging her legs out over the edge of the mattress. She looked like she was actively preparing to bolt if this conversation went sideways. ¡°We¡¯re not doing weird sex shit, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking.¡±


    ¡°What? Weird sex shit?¡± I asked, brow furrowed. ¡°No, I don¡¯t want you to do weird sex stuff. I want you to work the new hotdog stand¡­¡± I faltered.


    ¡°You want us to work a hotdog stand?¡± Taylor repeated, voice flat and dry as the Sahara.


    ¡°Yeah, you know what?¡± I replied. ¡°Hearing myself say that out loud, I can sort of see how you could get the wrong impression, but I can assure you that working the hotdog stand is not in any way a euphemism for weird sex stuff. It¡¯s an actual hotdog stand, though it has more than hotdogs. There¡¯s pizza, nachos, fries, and also hotdogs. The food gives slight buffs and comes premade. I just need someone to work the stand. Deliver the food, accept payment. That kind of thing.¡±


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you get one of your weird trash monsters to help?¡± Stephanie asked, standing from her spot on the floor. She looked a little more relaxed than her friend, but her hand had come to rest on the pommel of a hunting knife, dangling from a belt slung around her hips.


    ¡°It¡¯s complicated,¡± I replied, ¡°but the long and short of it is that I can¡¯t make another for a little while yet, and the store is getting too busy for the two golems I do have to handle everything. Point is, I need some extra hands to help around here. It¡¯ll come with pay and perks.¡±


    ¡°What kind of pay and perks?¡± Taylor asked.


    ¡°You can share a cot on the house,¡± I replied, ¡°plus you can take as much food as you want from the concession stand. I¡¯ll also give you a ten percent store discount on anything else, including Relics and Artifacts.¡±


    They shared a quick, subtle look between each other, but neither made a move to leave.


    ¡°Look, if you don¡¯t want the job, it¡¯s no sweat off my back.¡± I hooked a thumb toward one of the tents. ¡°I¡¯ll just go ask Michael Bolton. I bet he¡¯d be more than happy to take me up on the offer.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Taylor said, ¡°Michael Bolton¡¯s here? Like the ¡°My Secret Passion¡± Michael Bolton?¡±


    ¡°No, not that Michael Bolton,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°At least, I don¡¯t think so,¡± I amended after a moment.


    Finally, Stephanie reached over and squeezed Taylor¡¯s wrist. The motion was subtle, but I caught it out of the corner of my eye.


    ¡°Yeah, okay,¡± Taylor offered, finally pulling her hand away from the dagger at her belt. ¡°Show us what we have to do.¡±


    Before I could get the girls set up, I needed to do a little rearranging. When I¡¯d added the concession stand, it had randomly attached itself back by the pharmacy, which was no bueno. The placement made no sense, and once we got the pharmacy up and working, having both things shoved back in the corner would create floor congestion. Using the Blanket Fort Interface, I moved the electronics section, which had been located not far from the front checkout counter, and relocated the concession stand.


    The stand fit neatly between checkout and the photo booth. It was the perfect location. Good foot traffic and excellent visibility. Plus, Ponypuff would be able to keep an eye on Taylor and Stephanie without having to actively leave checkout.


    I had the two girls help me move a couple of plastic folding tables, previously stashed in the storage room, along with a couple of folding chairs. We set the two tables up in front of the stand so folks would have a place to sit and eat. It wasn¡¯t fine dining by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a damned bit better than eating a blistering hot Magma Calzone on a cot in the storage room.


    Once that was done, I spent a half hour or so walking the two college girls through the concession stand, showing them around and laying out what they would be responsible for. I had Baby Hands shadow me so he could act as their direct supervisor. I didn¡¯t have a lot of faith in the golem, but he seemed to pick up most of what I was laying down. The girls would work in eight-hour shifts, with an overlapping four-hour break between, so they could still go out and grind levels together for a few hours each day.


    The concession stand operations were extremely simple, and the stand itself generated the food without any need for cooking. Mostly, they would be there to serve the food and collect cash. Well, Shards anyway.


    Taylor still didn¡¯t seem like she entirely trusted me, but free food and housing was hard to say no to.


    By the time we were done, the food stand was already starting to draw a small crowd of hungry Delvers, all clamoring for a bite. Since Taylor and Stephanie had a handle on things, and I was dead on my feet, I slipped away to grab a bit of shut-eye.

 Wasteland Warlords Release

    Hey everyone, James Hunter here, just doing a quick plug for my new release, Wasteland Warlords Volume 1, which is out today on Amazon. If you want to support me, I''d greatly appreciate it! It''s not nearly as dark or absurd as Discount Dan, but its got some awesome characters, some cool LitRPG elements, and a crazy post-apocalyptic setting to explore. If you''ve read my Rogue Dungeon series, you might also see some familiar faces! You can pick up a copy for just $2.99 OR you can read it through Kindle Unlimited for free. Oh, and if you''re an audiobook fan, you can pick up the audiobook--narrated by the amazing Travis Baldree!--for FREE through the Audible Plus Catalog. No credits and it won''t cost you a dime so long as you''re already an Audible member and Travis does such an amazing job. You really can''t go wrong if he''s narrating the book.


    The other five Wasteland Warlords volumes will be dropping every three weeks or so, including audio, until they are all out in the wild, but I''ll be releasing the remainder of the series here on RoyalRoad first, so have no fears (check the link above)! For those new readers who are just starting, I hate pulling down the chapters from RoyalRoad, but its part of Amazon''s exclusivity policy and there''s not no way around it. If you don''t want to support Amazon or can''t use Amazon in your country, check out my Patreon account instead. If you''ve already read the first volume, please, please, please consider going to Amazon and leaving a short, honest review or even just a quick rating. Those early reviews and ratings are so unbelievable important for indie authors like me and are the lifeblood of new books. Thank you all so much for supporting me as an author, It means the world to me and I literally couldn''t do this without readers and listeners like you.


    The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Best,


    James Hunter

 Forty-Nine – Mana Hack

    Instead of beelining directly for my tent in the back, I headed over to the private Employee¡¯s Only bathroom to rinse off.


    I smelled like an unwashed armpit, and I was pretty sure there were chunks of something unspeakable stuck in my teeth. I brushed vigorously and nearly drowned myself with mouthwash, then wiped the blood, grime, and gore from my body. It took almost an entire pack of baby wipes to get the job done. I really needed to get some proper bathing facilities set up in here, complete with showers. Adding a washer and dryer probably wouldn¡¯t go amiss either, since my clothes smelled like rank butthole.


    Hell, my stench had probably freaked Taylor and Stephanie out more than anything else.


    I sprinkled a bit of medicated talc powder into my Daisy Dukes then added a fresh layer of deodorant to help combat the lingering stench. Using the extra deodorant probably wasn¡¯t the smartest idea since there were a fair number of Dwellers who hunted by smell. But I figured they¡¯d be able to smell my BO just as much as my deodorant, so it was one half dozen or the other. At least this way, the people around me wouldn¡¯t also have to suffer.


    Mostly clean, I quickly hit up the Monolith and distributed the fifteen new Personal Enhancement Points I¡¯d earned from leveling up. I dropped a single point each into Grit and Preservation, bringing my Grit up to 14 and Preservation up to 8. Resonance was still my most important trait by a country mile, so I added another nine points to that, which brought it to 49¡ªand that was accounting for the hit from the Cendral Scale Mail Cuirass Relic. The last four points went into Perception, bumping the stat up to 25.


    My Health and Stamina hardly budged at all, but my overall Mana Pool inched up to 110 and my Mana Regen Rate was just a hair beneath 9 Mana per minute.


    With my points taken care of, I finally slipped into my personal tent, which I¡¯d tricked out with goods from the Home D¨¦cor aisle.


    There was an extra-wide cot with a premium, full-sized air mattress on top. A gray area rug covered the otherwise cold floor. A folding camp chair sat in one corner beside a collapsible TV tray for meals. A small nightstand held a battery-powered lantern and a few other personal effects¡ªfresh underwear, clean socks, a few extra shirts. It wasn¡¯t exactly home sweet home, but I¡¯d certainly slept rougher. Hell, I¡¯d crashed at job sites with nothing more than a painfully thin iso-mat and an emergency blanket to cover me.


    Compared to that, this was practically a luxury resort.


    I kicked my boots off and plopped into the chair. I badly needed to catch a few hours of shut-eye, but I was too worked up over my shiny new prizes from the Arcade.


    After carefully looking through the Relics already stashed away in my Spatial Core, I decided to swap Force Multiplier for Mental Micromanagement. Then, after a long beat, I opted to exchange Doodle Buddy for Bad Trip. I was sad to see Force Multiplier go, but fighting up close and personal just didn¡¯t make a whole lot of sense with my current build. Had this been a video game or RPG campaign, I would¡¯ve been on the front line, swinging a sword or bare-knuckle brawling without a question.


    But this wasn¡¯t a game. This was my life.


    Truth was, spell casting was devastatingly powerful, and with the Compass of the Catacomber, the higher my Resonance and Perception, the better off I¡¯d be in the long run. It just didn¡¯t make sense for me to be hooking and jabbing.


    As for Doodle Buddy, I wasn¡¯t nearly as sad to see that particular Relic go.


    I planned to hang onto it, since there was a good chance it would synergize with something down the road, but as a stand-alone skill it was rather¡­ disappointing. A fact that had become painfully obvious during the battle against Mohawk and the rest of his Aspirant buddies. As a level 4, the summoned Doodle was little more than a speed bump to anything higher than level 10, which was just about everything on the seventh floor.


    And even though Bad Trip didn¡¯t deal any damage, it was a decent crowd control ability.


    A chilling tingle rippled through me when I equipped Bad Trip.


    When I added Mental Micromanagement, on the other hand, I started to actively bleed from my nose, eyes, ears, and mouth. On top of that, a pounding headache roared through the inside of my skull and an intense wave of vertigo washed over me. It felt like the whole room was spinning drunkenly beneath me. I acutely remembered the warning from the Relic description, ¡°this is a good way to give yourself a brain aneurysm¡ªand no, that¡¯s not a joke.¡±


    Despite the disclaimer, I had indeed thought the flavor text was just a joke.


    The sensation lasted for a solid five minutes before finally passing. I used a few more baby wipes to clean up the gore, but the fact that I was actively bleeding from several face holes was rather concerning. I was alive, though, and that was the important thing.


    I felt another wave of vertigo¡ªthough much less intense¡ªwhen I activated the effect for the first time.


    Although I couldn¡¯t see anything, I distinctly felt a thin, shimmering line of power extend outward from my chest. The invisible strand of energy was no thicker than my pinky finger and it almost felt like I¡¯d grown another limb. But it was a weak, clumsy limb. Uncoordinated and alien. Almost like a newborn infant flailing its tiny hand around for the first time.


    The strand of mental energy wrapped around the wooden shaft of my hammer, and it floated upward, hanging unsteadily in the air. It bobbed and weaved as great beads of sweat rolled down my face.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Holy shitballs. This took a lot more effort than I¡¯d been expecting.


    I¡¯d broken my right arm in the sixth grade, and I¡¯d ended up in a full arm cast that ran from bicep to palm.


    It wasn¡¯t a clean break and there were complications, which required a couple of surgeries to make things right. As a result, I¡¯d had to learn to write with my left hand. For the first couple of months, every motion was slow and awkward. My handwriting was so bad even I couldn¡¯t read it. And it wasn¡¯t just writing. Brushing my teeth. Eating with silverware. Even wiping my ass. I had to do all of it left-handed, which was a deeply humbling experience.


    Trying to use the hammer with the new mental limb was just like that.


    I flexed the limb, attempting to take a swing with the floating hammer, and instead I sent the tool careening across the tent. It slammed into the fabric wall and promptly slid down behind the air mattress.


    I sighed. Just perfect.


    Even though the spell had cost less than a single point of Mana, I felt mentally exhausted by the effort.


    Most of the Relics so far had simply conferred their abilities without much muss or fuss, but this one required genuine skill, it seemed. And that was with only a single strand of telekinetic energy. If I pushed this Relic up to level 15, I¡¯d be able to wield fifteen different strands simultaneously.


    Though, honestly, even the thought of attempting to wield two objects simultaneously left me queasy.


    I wasn¡¯t about to give up, though.


    I¡¯d never been the smartest, strongest, or fastest sumbitch around, but if I had a superpower, it was that I didn¡¯t know how to quit. Even when I probably should¡¯ve. The sheer thickness of my skull was the stuff of legends.


    Using nothing more than my mind, a trickle of Mana, and a truck worth of sheer willpower, I pulled the cot aside and forced the hammer back into the air.


    I wasn¡¯t going to let this spell beat me, especially not after spending five thousand fucking tickets on it.


    For the next several hours I used a combination of Jolt Cola Mana Elixirs and Pharmacist¡¯s Scales to keep that hammer aloft. It turned out to be a damned bit easier to keep my Mana topped off, thanks to an exploit I hadn¡¯t even thought of. The Mana Capacitor Sigil, baked into my stupid Versace Bathrobe. Not only did Mana Capacitor increase my maximum Mana Pool by 15% and my overall Regeneration Rate by 10%, but it had a secondary ability called Wild Surge.


    Every spell I cast had a 5% chance of triggering Wild Surge, which instantly replenished up to 50% of my Total Mana Pool, while simultaneously boosting my Mana Regen rate by 25% for two minutes. There was also an additional 50% chance of proccing a duplicate spell at no additional cost, though that mattered less in this instance.


    The cost of Mental Micromanagement was only one Mana per Minute¡ªwhich was dirt cheap¡ªbut I quickly realized something important about the spell: Even though I wasn¡¯t actively ¡°recasting¡± the spell every minute, the VIRUS interface acted as though I was. Which meant for every minute I had the spell running, there was a 5% chance of triggering Wild Surge.


    On average, running Mental Micromanagement for twenty minutes straight almost guaranteed that Wild Surge would activate, instantly restoring up to 50% of my Mana Pool.


    And that was only the beginning.


    After a little experimentation, I discovered that if I disrupted the spell¡ªquickly cutting off the telekinetic flow¡ªbut restarted it before the end of a minute passed, that counted as a new cast, but cost no additional Mana expenditure. Essentially, ¡°juggling¡± an item in the air¡ªstopping and restarting the telekinetic flow in rapid succession¡ªcould trigger Wild Surge almost once a minute. Best of all, the regeneration buffs stacked.


    Between Mental Micromanagement and my stupid fucking bathrobe, I¡¯d figured out a truly broken exploit to generate a nearly constant supply of Mana.


    Even though I was tired, my discovery only enticed me to practice even harder.


    For the first hour or so, I just held the hammer in the air. Working to keep it nice and steady and not bobbing drunkenly all over the place like a sailor returning to ship after a long night of debauchery. I also practiced starting and stopping the flow of energy while keeping the hammer airborne. Although it didn¡¯t cost much Mana, the sheer concentration required was insane. Like trying to do advanced calculus. While cooking pancakes. And giving a cat a bath. All at once.


    But the longer I practiced, the easier it got. Not easy. But easier.


    Once I could handle that, I tried doing stuff with the hammer.


    Move it across the room.


    Swing it.


    Hit things with it.


    I even tried tossing it straight up into the air, then catching it before it hit the ground. I failed more often than I succeeded, at least at first. By the third hour, I hardly dropped the hammer at all. As tired as I was, I moved into the store and started doing a little target practice. I had Croc toss throw pillows from the Home D¨¦cor aisle into the air and I¡¯d use the hammer to smack ¡¯em down.


    It looked ridiculous, but the practice helped hone my rudimentary abilities considerably.


    We progressively moved to smaller and smaller items, pillows to packets of ramen noodles, then finally tennis balls, looted from the seasonal aisle.


    ¡°You know, Dan,¡± Croc said, tossing a green ball heavenward, ¡°this reminds me of that whole montage in Breaking Dawn¡ªthe fourth and final volume in the international bestselling Twilight series¡ªwhere Edward patiently trains Bella in the use of her new vampire powers.¡±


    ¡°Dammit, Croc,¡± I growled, batting the ball away with a soft squeak. ¡°I thought we already talked about the Twilight thing. You¡¯ve got to stop comparing us to Edward and Bella. It¡¯s weird. Really, really weird.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing weird about loving the Twilight series, Dan. But if it makes you feel better, I could maybe compare this to the time when Edward and Jacob had to set aside their differences and work together to take down the Volturi¡ªthough really, that unlikely friendship more closely mirrors our current relationship with Jakob.¡± The mimic paused. ¡°I just realized Jakob the lizard man has the very same name as Jacob the werewolf. Oh what a twisted tale of love we weave, Dan.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°Just throw the damn ball.¡±


    Once I could hit an object out of the air eight out of ten times, I attempted to use the hammer at increasingly greater distances. The further away an object was, the harder it was to wield accurately. Although the spell description said the range was line of sight, I found my ability to keep the weapon airborne failed completely at about sixty feet. I also realized that at those further distances, utilizing my demolition screwdriver was actually much more effective.


    Swinging the hammer took a far greater degree of mental dexterity, while simply shanking something with a projectile was surprisingly simple. The mechanics of it were just easier.


    Still, progress was progress, and by the time I headed back to my tent¡ªa pressure headache building steadily behind my eye sockets¡ªI felt reasonably certain I could use the ability in combat without actively hurting myself or others. Plus, I could confidently trigger Mental Micromanagement frequently enough to ensure that Wild Surge procced, which meant I¡¯d be able to cast more spells, faster.


    Satisfied with my efforts, I collapsed onto my mattress and was asleep before my head even hit the pillow.

 Fifty – Welcome to the Funhouse

    Ten hours later, fully refreshed and with a stomach full of delicious breakfast pizza, we made our way back to the Jungle Gym Jamboree. Thanks to my VIP doorway anchor, getting into the Arcade was as simple as the press of an elevator button. Although I knew we were walking into trouble, I felt optimistic about our chances. I had no illusions that this was safe. Funtime Frank was level 25, infected with Blight, and had four other high-level Dwellers in his corner.


    There was every possibility that at least one of our team members wouldn¡¯t be walking away from the fight.


    Still, we were as ready as we were ever going to be. Everyone was rested. We¡¯d topped off our supply of medical-grade elixirs. My Slammer of Shielding had a full charge. And, after a decent night¡¯s sleep, my new Mental Micromanagement spell was working better than ever. Turned out physical and mental exhaustion made it substantially more difficult to use your mind to move shit.


    Who would¡¯ve guessed?


    We made our way through the labyrinth of plastic tubes that zigzagged through the Arcade. Those tubes spanned the entirety of the enormous Loot Arcade and were the only way to access the funhouse tent that waited at the heart of the Arcade like a fat spider sitting at the center of its web. Unlike the plastic play tubes that graced most kids¡¯ play places, these were the size of sewer pipes and were easily large enough to walk in.


    Even with the extra headroom, they were still claustrophobically cramped, swelteringly hot, and oddly echoing¡ªamplifying sounds in strange ways that fooled the ear.


    Because the spaces were so tight, we had to move in single file and engaging in physical combat would be difficult, if not impossible. There was no room to swing your arms, much less a baseball bat or giant shield. Thankfully, Temperance wasn¡¯t limited to strictly stabbing and smashing things. Although she focused on agility and dealing damage, she had a handful of useful Mana-based Relics that could pack a nasty punch even in close quarters.


    Her most disgusting spell, by far, was Ball of Spiders.


    It was exactly what it sounded like. Instead of hurling a ball of magic, she hurled a ball of magical spiders. The spiders all dealt a fractional point of poison damage with each bite, but there were hundreds of the long-legged critters. They served as a great distraction. Turned out, trying to concentrate on anything while being simultaneously swarmed by a couple hundred spiders was no easy task.


    Hell, walking through a single strand of spiderwebbing was enough to send me into a fit of panic for a few seconds. I couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine what I would do against a spell like that.


    Probably try to set myself on fire.


    She also had a DPS ability called Smallpox Blanket that afflicted anyone she cut with Super Smallpox. Lesions would erupt across the victim¡¯s body, dealing disease damage for five minutes or until they were healed. And healing was almost always necessary, because every time one of the pus-filled lesions burst, the effect duration would reset. Much like Temperance herself, the skill was super messed up on every conceivable level. But¡ªalso like Temperance¡ªit was very, very effective.


    She also had two crowd control abilities.


    Puritanical Chains conjured ghostly chains that would root a single target in place for twenty seconds. Her second crowd control spell was Witch Hunt Hysteria. If the target¡¯s Grit was low enough, relative to the caster, Witch Hunt Hysteria had a fifty percent chance of inducing a state of hysteria, causing enemies to turn against one another. The pair of spells made for an excellent, and devastating, combo.


    She took point, with me right behind her serving as the trap finder and navigator. Croc came next. The dog constantly tried to wedge itself between me and the wall so we could walk beside each other. There wasn¡¯t enough room for that, but Croc¡¯s attempts were both endearing and oddly reassuring. Jakob brought up the rear, ready to deploy his shields in case anything tried to flank us from behind.


    The tubes themselves were more disorienting than dangerous.


    There were hundreds of different branching pathways, and without Unerring Arrow to guide us, I had no idea how we ever would¡¯ve found our way through the warren of plastic.


    There was a smattering of traps along with a handful of different Dwellers, who all called the tube city home. The most prevalent were the packs of Feral Crotch Goblins. Two feet tall with pudgy legs and plump cherubic faces, they almost would¡¯ve been cute if not for the bloodred eyes, the jagged needle-like teeth, and a wailing cry both loud and persistent enough to drive anyone to madness. On top of all that, the crotch goblins were Blighted¡ªcancerous growths littered their tiny bodies¡ªwhich made them nightmares to handle.


    The worst residents by far, however, were the Ball Pit Barrys.


    We had to take several long, twisting slides on our way to the big top.


    Initially Croc was excited, but most of them were filled with traps of one kind or another. Nails embedded into the plastic. Or saw blades that popped up from the floor. Or razor wire, stretched tight across the tunnel, meant to decapitate riders as they flew past. Using my telekinesis and my new Trapsmith¡¯s Pry Bar, I managed to disarm the whole lot of ¡¯em with relative ease. But if slides were involved, there was simply no getting around the Ball Pit Barrys.


    Each slide dumped us into knee-deep pits filled with colorful plastic balls. Ball pits like that were a staple at every play place I¡¯d ever seen. Kids loved ¡¯em despite the pits being disgustingly unsanitary and cesspools of disease.


    Naturally, all of the balls were sentient.


    They were also all named Barry for reasons I couldn¡¯t fathom.


    The little shits spit acid and hurled the nastiest playground insults I¡¯d ever heard. One called me fat and another said, and I quote, ¡°You¡¯re what happens when a mommy drinks during pregnancy.¡± One of the Barrys told Temperance that she was the reason ¡°God didn¡¯t talk to humanity anymore,¡± and Croc had to endure a host of Twilight-themed insults.


    ¡°Edward should have cured cancer instead of going to high school!¡±


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    ¡°Jacob imprinting on Renesmee was the dumbest plot device in modern literature!¡±


    ¡°The writing in the Twilight series is only okay!¡±


    Croc was nearly reduced to tears.


    And killing the Barrys only made things worse, not better. For every Barry killed, two more would spawn, both even louder and more vicious than the original.


    They were like Hydras. Except plastic. And meaner.


    Thankfully, the Barrys wouldn¡¯t abandon their ball pits, so all we had to do was endure the weak acid spray and insult torrents long enough to clamber back into the tubes.


    It took us the better part of two hours, but finally we arrived at an enormous slide that reminded me of a yawning gullet. Hanging above the cavernous maw was a brightly lit sign that read Funtime Frank¡¯s Funhouse, This Way!!! When I cast Unerring Arrow, the ghostly blue line erupted from my chest and disappeared down the slide, quickly vanishing out of sight.


    ¡°Whelp, here goes nothing,¡± I muttered, sitting down on the platform then pushing my body into the darkness beyond.


    I braced my hands and feet against the slide walls to slow my downward descent. At the same time, I used my new telekinetic ability to keep my Maglite hovering in the air, its beam illuminating the darkened tube ahead of me. I went slowly, searching for traps. For the first time since entering the labyrinth, I found none. When I got to the bottom, I hollered back up the curving slide, giving the all clear for the others to follow.


    Once everyone had safely made it down, we pushed our way through a red-and-white-striped canvas flap and into what looked like the interior of a traveling circus tent.


    Old-timey light bulbs dangled from the peaked canopy, radiating outward, reminding me once more of a spider¡¯s web. The air was heavy with the sickly-sweet scent of cotton candy intermingling with stale popcorn and a musky scent that reminded me of the zoo. The floor was covered with hay and peanut shells, which cracked and crunched with each footstep. Temperance could move like a ghost when she had a mind to, and even she made a racket loud enough to wake the dead.


    Trying to be stealthy here would be next to impossible.


    Ahead, there were four raised platforms, each about five feet tall. Two on the left, two more off to the right.


    Resting atop each platform was a circus wagon. Garish red and gold things with huge wheels and open sides. The four wagons were empty, but I imagined they wouldn¡¯t stay that way for long. The far side of the tent was shrouded in a cloak of darkness so thick I couldn¡¯t see shit even when I turned on the Maglite. The beam simply hit the darkness and stopped as though the gloom were actually a solid wall, forged from pure shadow.


    I looked a question at Temperance and Jakob, hoping either might have some answers.


    Jakob frowned and shook his head, while the murder bunny simply shrugged and pulled her cleaver free with one hand.


    ¡°Any idea what we should do here, Croc?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Turn around and go get Froyo?¡± the dog offered, sounding both scared and apologetic.


    ¡°Sorry, buddy,¡± I replied with a sigh, ¡°we¡¯ve come too far for that.¡±


    ¡°Oh, fiddlesticks,¡± Croc replied, tail drooping in defeat. ¡°I was afraid you were going to say that.¡±


    ¡°Everyone stay close,¡± I said softly, ¡°and keep an eye on those platforms.¡±


    I kept my hands free, while my demolition screwdriver floated just above my left shoulder. I could send the thing flying forward like a spear with a thought.


    With Croc to my left, Temperance to the right, and Jakob once more bringing up the rear, I edged forward, using Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense to scan for traps, mimics, or any other nasty surprises looking to send us all to an early grave.


    I didn¡¯t see anything.


    No pit falls, pressure plates, or Mana snares.


    The peanuts and hay continued to crunch underfoot, not that it mattered much. There was still no sign of Frank or his animatronic jamboree. At least, not until we made it to the center of the room. Although I couldn¡¯t see any sort of pressure plate or mechanical switch, I distinctly heard an audible click, followed by the rumble of an unseen motor and the metallic clanking of great gears groaning into motion.


    ¡°It¡¯s a trap!¡± Jakob hollered, though it was already too late for the warning.


    A huge metal cage erupted from the hay-covered floor, shooting upward to form a dome that encompassed the entirety of the tent¡¯s interior. In a heartbeat, we found ourselves trapped inside a carnival version of the Thunderdome. The purpose of the cage was immediately obvious: it was there to cut off any attempt at retreat. We were trapped, and I had a sinking suspicion the walls wouldn¡¯t drop until either Frank was dead or we were.


    I winced as a terrible mechanical grinding noise filled the air and overhead spotlights kicked on. Buttery yellow beams of illumination fell on each of the circus wagons. Four animatronic figures rose from the pillar-like platforms in a hiss of multicolored steam, as though they¡¯d been hidden away in elevator shafts below, just waiting for a group of morons to blunder into their lair.


    Colorful neon signs flashed above the four wagons, proclaiming each of their names.


    On the left was Synthia Lynx, the Keytar Synthesizer, and Drumbo Chumbo, the Pachyderm Percussionist. Off to the right were Vex Vixen, the Foxy Violinist, and Bellatrix Black, the Bassist Bear. They were all level 20, which I¡¯d been expecting.


    Their appearance, on the other hand, was wholly unexpected. In my head, I¡¯d envisioned these things as sleek robots, meticulously crafted from chrome, rivets, and neon. Like something ripped out of Blade Runner.


    I couldn¡¯t have been more wrong.


    These horror shows looked like they¡¯d crawled out of a bad taxidermy shop. Synthia was the unholy bastard child of a human and a cyborg, all wrapped in the mangy fur of a lynx.


    Her fur had been dyed electric blue and was crisscrossed with splotchy green stripes, but even at a distance it was easy to spot the mangled seams and crude stitches crisscrossing her body and limbs. Her eyes¡ªwhich were strangely human¡ªburned with an unnatural blue fire, like bottled lightning. Her hands, a crude merging of human fingers and furry paws, danced effortlessly over a hot pink keytar¡ªhalf guitar, half piano¡ªwhich appeared to be a direct extension of her body. A mangy tail swayed rhythmically behind her.


    I¡¯d more or less made peace with the fact that Temperance was a furry. I wasn¡¯t comfortable with it exactly, but it didn¡¯t bother me either.


    But these things were the stuff of living nightmares personified.


    And it wasn¡¯t just Synthia the lynx. They were all like that.


    Horrible amalgamations of humanity, machine, and zoo creature.


    Drumbo Chumbo was an enormous gray elephant with pebbled hide tightly stretched over a metallic frame. A series of drumheads, each covered with pale tan skin, was embedded directly into the creature¡¯s gargantuan stomach, while a pair of brassy cymbals dangled from both tusks. He wielded a pair of heavy mallets in weirdly human-shaped hands. His eyes, like Synthia¡¯s, were oddly human and seemed to be crying out for help.


    Crying for a release from this cruel existence.


    Vex Vixen was bright crimson fox, much smaller than the others, and covered in uneven patches of fur and shiny copper plates. Her tail swished back and forth in time with the pounding beat of Drumbo¡¯s percussion work while a purple bow zipped and weaved over a zebra-striped violin.


    The last of the four was arguably the most disturbing of all. Bellatrix had the hulking form of a black bear¡ªred muscle and gleaming chrome peeking out from beneath her butchered fur¡ªbut the face of a human woman. This woman, whoever she¡¯d been, was beautiful. Her nose straight and refined, her jaw strong with high cheekbones. Unlike the rest, her eyes had been plucked out and replaced by gleaming yellow orbs that pulsed in time with the music. Her claws picked and thumbed at the thick strings of her bass guitar, driving the frantic rhythm of their song.


    Naturally, they were playing a synthwave remix of ¡°The Final Countdown,¡± because of course they fucking were. This whole place was like an ¡¯80s LSD fever dream.


    As the music crashed through the circus ring, another overhead spotlight, even larger than the others, burst to life, illuminating the far section of circus tent, previously cloaked in darkness.


    And there, standing at the precipice of a series of stadium-style seats, waiting for his grand reveal, was Funtime Frank.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be fucking shitting me,¡± I grumbled, running one hand through my hair.

 Fifty-One – Monkey Business

    ¡°Hey,¡± Croc said from beside me, ¡°Funtime Frank¡¯s a gorilla.¡±


    Funtime Frank was indeed a gorilla.


    Or at least, predominately gorilla shape. Frank was covered in grimy black fur, speckled with silver, and had beady, deep-set eyes that burned like hot coals. He was easily eight feet tall, four feet across the shoulders, and had arms that were bigger than my torso. An electric blue tie dangled from a neck as thick as a tree trunk, and a fat cigar protruded from the corner of Frank¡¯s all-too human mouth, letting out a constant plume of smoke.


    Stacked beside the gargantuan gorilla were colorful barrels. Some blue, others green. More fire-engine red or deep purple.


    The moment I saw those barrels, I realized the awful, terrible truth. Just as the Mobile Murder Muncher from the third-floor Arcade had been a nightmare version of Pac-Man, Frank was an acid-trip parody of Donkey Kong. Barrels included.


    ¡°I thought you said gorillas wouldn¡¯t be involved in any part of the process,¡± Croc added, tilting its head to one side as it regarded the Arcade Boss.


    ¡°Nope,¡± I replied softly, my eyes still locked on the massive simian. ¡°What I said was that if there are gorillas involved at any point in the process, things have gone wildly off the rails.¡±


    ¡°Oh, fiddlesticks. Does that mean things have gone wildly off the rails, Dan?¡±


    ¡°I think we¡¯re about to find out,¡± I replied as the Codex generated a new entry.


    Dweller 0.7824A ¨C Funtime Frank ¨C Arcade Boss (Blighted) [Level 24]


    Funtime Frank is a mad scientist¡¯s wet dream. The perfect blend of man and machine, all gift wrapped with the primal prowess of an embalmed silverback gorilla. Make no mistake, this monstrous neon-drenched mashup is a blast from the past who is ready to fuck up your future. Although the stage-dominating simian is more than happy to leave the spotlight and turn you into pink mist with his reinforced metal fists, he prefers to do his dirty work from a distance.


    Those barrels of his? They are far more than wood and nails.


    Some go BOOM! Others? They¡¯re full of skin-melting goo. But the best ones? Those are packed with hordes of horrific animatronic murder minions, all hell-bent on achieving a single objective: wrecking your shit.


    Killing Frankie-boy ain¡¯t easy, especially since he isn¡¯t a solo act. Frank¡¯s the charismatic front man of the Funtime Jamboree. You¡¯ll need to send Frank¡¯s bandmates¡ªVex Vixen, Bellatrix Black, Synthia Lynx, and Drumbo Chumbo¡ªpacking before you have a snowball¡¯s chance in hell of hurting him. Thing is, their beats don¡¯t just slap, they shield Funtime Frank with powerful buffs that make him¡­ well, not invulnerable exactly. But there¡¯s not really another good word that fits.


    Hope you¡¯re ready to dance, because Funtime Frank is here to party, and his parties involve copious amounts of cocaine and murder. Though mostly murder.


    Current Active Effects: Melodic Shield, Beat of War, String¡¯s Sorrow, Bass Boost


    My eyes raced over the words, quickly parsing between the flavor text and the actual meat of the description. The long and short of it was that Frank was one bad SOB. He had a host of ranged attacks, could summon minions, and was basically invulnerable until we took out the other four band members that were buffing him through the gills.


    The only upside¡ªand it was a big upside¡ªwas that my StainSlayer Maelstrom spells would likely affect the band, since they were at least partially composed of organic matter.


    ¡°What do we do here?¡± Temperance yelled to be heard over the pumping beat of the drums and the buzzing drone of the keytar.


    ¡°Classic arcade setup,¡± I called back. ¡°We need to take out the band first. Otherwise, attacking Frank won¡¯t do anything. But watch out for his barrels. They all have different effects. I¡¯m thinking we split up. There¡¯s four band members and four of us. Math makes it pretty simple.¡±


    Much as I hated to split the party, we couldn¡¯t afford to focus all of our attention on one single target. If we tried that, it would open us up to all sorts of nasty attacks. Especially with an invulnerable Frank chucking exploding barrels at us when we weren¡¯t looking.


    ¡°Fine by me,¡± Temperance said, gaze sweeping over the four members of the band. Her eyes narrowed when they landed on Synthia, the keytar playing lynx. ¡°The cat bitch is mine,¡± she growled, already prowling forward. She looked more like a hunting wolf than a timid bunny.


    I eyed up the elephant man, hammering away at his drums. He looked powerful but slow. As long as I kept that son of a bitch from landing a blow, I could probably take him. ¡°I¡¯ve got the elephant man.¡± I glanced right, at the other two remaining band members. The fox looked like the least dangerous of the four, while the bear was legitimately one of the most distressing things I¡¯d ever laid eyes on. And that included the Mobile Murder Muncher from the third-floor Arcade.


    ¡°Croc, you¡¯ve got the fox.¡±


    ¡°You can count on me, Dan,¡± the dog replied, taking off like a blue rocket. The mimic shifted as it moved, its body swelling up and out, until it was easily as large as any of the uncanny-valley robots. ¡°Jakob¡±¡ªI grabbed ahold of the Cendral before he could take off too¡ª¡°keep my dog safe, okay? I couldn¡¯t live with myself if anything happened to the big blue idiot.¡±


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    ¡°I¡¯ll do what I can,¡± the man replied with a shallow dip of his head. Then he turned on his heel and took off after Croc at a dead sprint.


    I turned my attention back toward Temperance, who was already rapidly closing the distance with Synthia Lynx. Although the striped keytar player was buffing Frank, she wasn¡¯t content to stand by while Temperance attacked. The cat woman turned toward the approaching murder bunny and let loose a jagged riff of discordant notes that sent chills racing along my spine.


    Power built and brilliant streaks of blue lightning lanced downward, stabbing at the ground with furious vengeance.


    The bunny was lightning fast herself, though, and easily dodged each of the attacks. The bolts of energy pockmarked the floor, leaving behind a series of smoking divots. As quick as Temperance was, however, she wasn¡¯t ready when Drumbo Chumbo, the elephant percussionist, brought a huge foot slamming down. The ground rumbled and a huge fissure zigzagged across the floor, threatening to swallow Temperance.


    The murder bunny dove to the right at the last possible moment, narrowly avoiding the crack spreading along the ground¡ª


    But she didn¡¯t avoid the purple barrel, which sideswiped her like a Mack truck.


    The barrel didn¡¯t explode on impact, which was a small mercy.


    Instead, it shattered, wooden shrapnel flying out in every direction as a score of butchered cyborg monkeys scampered out, screeching loudly and waving their arms in the air.


    Dweller 0.734D ¨C Reanimated Murder Monkey [Level 4]


    Ever wonder what happens to all the lab monkeys once the scientists are done with ¡¯em? Yeah, now you don¡¯t have to wonder.


    Monkeys in a barrel? Really?


    I shouldn¡¯t have been surprised, but I was anyway.


    It genuinely would¡¯ve been funny if not for the fact that the reanimated monkeys were about five seconds away from ripping Temperance¡¯s throat out. The creatures charged with reckless abandon before the furry could gain her feet.


    With a thought, I sent my screwdriver shooting forward like a bullet fired from a high-powered rifle. The tool punched into one monkey¡¯s throat with enough force to blast clean out the other side in a geyser of black gore. Two more monkeys had broken off from the pack and were attempting to flank me from the left and right. The floating screwdriver pirouetted in midair then slammed into the monkey on the left. I thrust my right hand out and unleashed a concentrated beam of pressurized water that sliced the other monkey clean in two.


    Three more monkeys had converged on Temperance, who was still struggling to gain her feet. They were scrambling all over her, teeth biting at her arms, claws raking at her skin. One was even yanking on her hair.


    But she wasn¡¯t taking things lying down¡ªeven though she was technically lying down. Her meat cleaver was a blur. She decapitated one monkey, then sliced the arm off another. She leveled her free hand and hurled a ball of spiders right into the face of the third. The monkey screeched in terror, showing far more emotion than I would¡¯ve expected as it stumbled back a few paces, swatting madly at the bugs.


    Temperance brought one boot up and slammed it into the creature¡¯s stomach, propelling it backward.


    I cut it down with another quick pulse of Pressure Washer, then rushed over and hauled her to her feet.


    ¡°I know you like to work alone,¡± I yelled, fending off yet another monkey with my screwdriver lance, ¡°but if we¡¯re going to survive this, we need to work together. And, in this case, that means staying together.¡±


    She rolled her eyes but nodded. ¡°Just try not to slow me down too much.¡±


    ¡°Back in the Marine Corps we had this saying. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.¡±


    She grinned. ¡°My people had a saying as well, fast is fast. But I suppose we can try it your way.¡±


    We¡¯d killed about half of the mechanical monkeys, but more were closing in.


    Temperance drew her bat and pointed it at the pack of feral apes like it was a magic wand. ¡°Venatus Veneficae Surgit!¡± A writhing ball of green light flashed from the tip of the blunt weapon and slammed into the encroaching wave of monkeys. When the ball hit, it exploded into a fine mist, tendrils of green magic boring into noses and eyes and mouths.


    Half the monkeys turned and violently hurled themselves at the other half, screeching frantically as civil war broke out among their ranks.


    We let them fight it out amongst themselves as we closed the distance with Synthia Lynx.


    Another barrel, this one bright red, arched toward us from the stadium seats, but this one I sniped from the air with a thread of water. Good thing too, since it exploded, releasing a billowing cloud of orange and red flames.


    Synthia jabbed at the keyboard once more, conjuring another discordant jangle of music.


    Energy built, but I cast Sterilization Field for 40 Mana. The dome of blue-white light rippled outward, enveloping both me and Temperance before Synthia¡¯s lightning lances had finished forming. The bolts of power still penetrated the shell, but passing through the wall of light reduced their strength by half. Temperance soaked up twenty damage, which shaved off seven percent of her HP.


    An errant bolt slammed into my shoulder for seven points of damage on contact, sending a jolt of electricity racing along my arm. I shook the pain away with a grimace.


    ¡°Get up there,¡± I yelled now that we were finally in range. ¡°I¡¯ll take out Tiny.¡± I waved toward the elephant man.


    Temperance nodded curtly, then backpedaled a few steps and sprang upward, running across the air, until she landed on the raised platform housing Synthia. A green nimbus flared to life around her as she lashed out with her baseball bat.


    Synthia met the blow with her keytar, turning the strike, then retaliated with a brutal front kick. Temperance danced away, just out of reach, then feinted left and rolled right, unleashing another spider bolt at the lynx.


    Much as I wanted to, I couldn¡¯t watch the fight.


    I had Drumbo Chumbo to deal with¡ªnot to mention several more incoming barrels.


    Funtime Frank had launched a trio of barrels in rapid-fire succession. One red, one purple, one neon green.


    Purple was more reanimated minions and red was a firebomb. The neon green was new.


    I raised my hand and launched another jet of water at the red barrel, silently praying the ensuing explosion would take out the other two barrels. But just in case they didn¡¯t, I launched my screwdriver at the green barrel like an antiair missile. In my book, there was no such thing as overkill. I even had the title to prove it.


    The beam of water triggered the firebomb barrel. It exploded in another room-shaking blaze of oranges, reds, and golds, but unfortunately the blast radius didn¡¯t take out the other two incoming projectiles. The screwdriver also ricocheted ineffectively off the side of the green container, spinning away then landing on the floor with a clatter.


    Well, shit.


    Drumbo was winding up for another stomp attack, and I didn¡¯t have time to take out both barrels with water pulse.


    Unless¡­


    A truly unhinged idea occurred to me, but I really had nothing to lose, so why not roll the dice?

 Fifty-Two – Barrels of Fun

    I aimed my hand like a finger gun and unleashed a jet of water, blowing the purple minion barrel to pieces. In the same instant, I cut the flows of telekinetic energy to my screwdriver and reactivated the spell, reaching outward toward the green barrel with an invisible limb of mental might. I¡¯d practiced this same maneuver with my hammer a hundred times before. This was no different, just on a bigger scale.


    My mental limb enveloped the barrel at the speed of thought, and I felt something groan in protest within my core. Mental Micromanagement could only move things up to forty-five pounds, and the green barrel was at the very edge of my limits.


    Perspiration instantly slicked my face and chest; my whole body trembled as though I were squatting at max capacity. But, by the good Lord Almighty, the barrel came to a wavering halt a handful of feet from the ground. Then with a roar, I hurled the barrel right at the lumpy, gray-skinned elephant drummer. It cartwheeled through the air and slammed into the wagon with a splintering crash.


    The barrel burst and a burbling green goo splattered all over Drumbo. The elephant man trumpeted in a combination of pain and rage. Whatever attack he¡¯d been preparing to launch was suddenly forgotten as he tried desperately to scrape away the face-melting acid.


    An achievement notice pinged in the corner of my eye, though thankfully, it didn¡¯t materialize. Just a small icon blinking on and off before disappearing.


    Drumbo was taken care of for the moment, but I had another problem to deal with.


    My water jet had effectively turned the purple barrel into a barrage of wooden shrapnel, but the monkeys inside had sustained only minimal damage.


    Several monkey corpses rained from the sky and splattered against the ground.


    Most of the monkeys inside had sustained only minimal damage, I amended. A few had been turned into ribbons of meat and fur.


    More monkeys hit the ground, but these ones were alive and pissed. To be fair, I also would¡¯ve been pissed had the circumstances been reversed.


    With a shrieking howl, the remaining apes charged, simian feet and hands scrambling for purchase, lips pulled back in a rabid rictus.


    I smirked, a feral gesture, and reached inward, tapping into my most powerful spell. Mana exploded outward and great blue-white clouds formed in a swirling, churning mass. Corrosive rain fell not in fits and spurts, but in a torrential sheet. Great fat droplets of super bleach drenched the reanimated monkeys. None of the minions were above level 7, and the spell reduced them to disgusting globs of gristle and fur in a matter of seconds.


    One lone monkey, on the very edge of the AoE spell, managed to escape with a handful of HP still intact, though its skin was already sloughing off.


    I snagged my screwdriver from the ground with Mental Micromanagement and sent it hurtling through the creature¡¯s skull, killing it instantly. The telekinesis spell procced Wild Surge, instantly boosting my available Mana from a mere 23 points all the way up to 78 points. Still a long way from full, but more than enough to kill Drumbo.


    The Sterilization Field around me guttered and died, but I ignored it as I skirted the fallout from the bleach Maelstrom and made my way toward the elephant man.


    Drumbo saw me coming and jumped from his wagon, landing on the ground with a thunderous rumble. The acid from the green barrel had chewed through much of the elephant¡¯s pebbly gray hide. Its hit points had dropped by a full third. Red muscle, glistening yellow fat, and the metallic glint of pistons and gears showed through its ruined exterior. Drumbo slammed an oversized mallet against one of the drumheads embedded in its stomach.


    Earthen spikes erupted from the floor beneath me.


    My Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense flashed a warning a heartbeat before it was too late. I scrambled to the right, but one of the rocky spears punched through the sole of my boot, skewering my foot. My quick reaction speed had kept me from being impaled through something vital¡ªlike my guts or spine¡ªbut the pain was still excruciating. The rocky spear also prevented me from running. The stone protrusion was only half an inch in diameter, but the damned thing was a good three feet long.


    Drumbo raised a foot, and I knew what was coming.


    He was going to split the earth again. Conjure a fissure to swallow me whole.


    I didn¡¯t give him the chance.


    I activated Pressure Washer and brought the beam of water slashing across his upraised shin. The acid from the green barrel had already chewed through his hide and the underlying muscle beneath. The beam of water severed the remainder of the tendons and connective tissue. The lower portion of Drumbo¡¯s leg fell off in a spray of scarlet blood and black motor oil.


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    An almost comically shocked expression flashed across Drumbo¡¯s face and then the elephant drummer tumbled like a felled tree. He landed hard enough to rattle my teeth. His Health had dropped to half and it didn¡¯t look like he could get up. That didn¡¯t mean he wasn¡¯t still a deadly threat. A rabid animal, with its back in a corner and no other options, was the most dangerous sort of monster.


    But his injuries bought me enough time to handle the shaft of rock piercing my foot.


    I pulled my hammer free, braced myself, then took a swing at the spear. I¡¯d been driving in nails for years and years, so my aim was true. The hammer shattered the rocky spear just above the top of my boot. It was a perfect hit. Didn¡¯t matter. A renewed wave of agony roared downward just from the sheer vibration of the hammer blow. The pain was so intense I thought I might pass out. That or puke. Maybe both.


    With the wound throbbing and screaming, I jerked my foot straight up. Blood gushed out the bottom of my boot, leaving a puddle on the hay below.


    I fished a lesser Zima from my tool belt and chugged it. Sweet, delicious relief spread through my foot like a soothing balm as my HP recovered.


    ¡°That really hurt, you cockwomble,¡± I growled, closing in on the downed elephant. Drumbo raised his mallet again, but before he could strike the drum, my screwdriver impaled his hand, pinning the appendage to the ground. ¡°Doesn¡¯t feel good, does it!¡± I screamed.


    Then I was on top of him, blinded by rage and pain and fear. My hammer fell again and again, giving me flashbacks to Natasha Anno. I¡¯d killed her the same way. I suppressed the internal revulsion and triggered Gavel of Get Fucked. Because Drumbo¡¯s HP had just dipped below the 10% threshold, the skill instantly triggered Killing Blow. Power erupted from the end of the hammer. What remained of the elephant¡¯s big fat head just exploded, splattering me with blood and bits of bone matter.


    But that wasn¡¯t all.


    Since I¡¯d effectively landed a Killing Blow with the Gavel, the cascading effect, Wave of Justice, triggered next.


    Wave of Justice applied the Gavel¡¯s primary effect to all enemy combatants within a twenty-foot radius. In this case, that meant dealing damage equal to 20% of the opponent¡¯s existing Health Pool¡ªwith a max cap of 250 Damage. Vex Vixen and Bellatrix Black were both outside of the spell¡¯s range, but Synthia Lynx wasn¡¯t.


    I turned in time to see crimson power wrap around the keytar player like the hand of an angry god. As it happened, Temperance had already dropped her below 10% HP as well, which meant Killing Blow triggered for a second time in as many seconds.


    The lynx¡¯s head just¡­ popped. Like an overinflated balloon filled with red paint.


    Gore splattered across Temperance¡¯s pink bunny suit, but she didn¡¯t even flinch. If anything, she looked happy as a clam. A psycho, bloodthirsty clam.


    She turned on a furry heel and surveyed the carnage.


    ¡°Not bad,¡± she said, before leaping lightly from the platform and landing in a crouch. ¡°Maybe I underestimated you. This level of destruction is truly impressive.¡±


    ¡°Appreciate it,¡± I replied, ¡°but we can pat ourselves on the backs once we take out gorilla boy, there.¡± I glanced in Funtime Frank¡¯s direction and a curious thing happened. His nameplate popped up again, but it had changed.


    Dweller 0.7828A ¨C Funtime Frank ¨C Arcade Boss (Blighted) [Level 27]


    Current Active Effects: Bass Boost


    Holy shit. The monkey-fucker had gone up a grand total of three¡ªcount ¡¯em, three¡ªlevels. That couldn¡¯t be good.


    The fact that he was down to a single active effect, Bass Boost, was a small victory, though. It probably meant that Croc and Jakob had killed one of the other band members.


    I turned and spotted the mangled remnants of the fox violinist in a lumpy pile. All that remained was a combination of guts and wires strewn out across the gaudy, gilded wagon.


    We weren¡¯t out of the woods yet, though.


    Croc and Jakob were going toe-to-toe with the final member of the band, Bellatrix Black the Bassist Bear. Things did not appear to be going well. Bellatrix was easily the largest and most terrifying of all the band members, and she¡¯d left the safety of her podium, apparently preferring to take the fight directly to Jakob and Croc. The bear¡¯s HP was still above 80% while Jakob¡¯s was below 70% and Croc was down by half.


    Fuck.


    There were also more barrels incoming.


    I grabbed Temperance by the arm and shoved her toward the colossal woman-bear. ¡°Go help them,¡± I yelled. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of Frank.¡±


    ¡°I thought you¡¯d never ask.¡± She offered me a Cheshire grin that seemed to spread from ear to ear, then bolted toward the bear without an ounce of hesitation.


    I turned back toward the stadium bleachers. There were four more barrels careening toward me this time¡ªtwo purple barrels, one red, and a final one that was cobalt blue. Clearly, I¡¯d pissed off Frank and now he¡¯d taken off the kid gloves. Taking out the purple barrels would be a waste of time, since it wouldn¡¯t stop the reanimated monkeys anyway. I had no idea what the blue one did, so I sniped that one first with a blast of water.


    The barrel shattered on impact and a cloud of blue gas swirled through the air but quickly dissipated. Even though the blue mist never touched the ground, the temperature in the tent dropped by at least ten degrees. Some sort of frost attack, then.


    I telekinetically snagged the final barrel from the air with a grunt of effort and a metric shitload of willpower. The barrel slowed, the liquid inside sloshing ominously around. Then, just for shits and giggles, I returned the barrel to the sender with a flick of my wrist. True, Frank was invulnerable as long as Bellatrix the bass-playing bear was alive and kicking, but I was hoping that protection didn¡¯t extend to the barrels stacked in a large pile beside the huge gorilla.


    King Kong let out a bellow and stretched a giant hand toward the incoming barrel, but he was just a hair too slow. The cherry-red bomb smashed into the other barrels, setting off a cascading series of explosions so loud and intense, I thought it was going to bring the tent down on top of our heads. I dropped to the deck, pressing my belly against the dirt, though I kept one eye out for any other inbound threats.


    A fireball, mixed with swirls of electric blue and neon green, billowed up like a miniature mushroom cloud, and Frank disappeared behind a wall of blinding light. The heat of the explosion singed my face and kicked up a hail of peanut shells.


    When the fireball finally receded and vanished entirely, I hesitantly gained my feet. I brushed my hands off and surveyed the scope of the utter devastation.


    The stadium seats were just¡­ gone. In their place was a smoking, char-black crater.

 Fifty-Three – Revenge of the Frank

    I whistled through my teeth.


    Huh, that had worked much better than I¡¯d anticipated. Honestly, I¡¯d seen some pretty gnarly explosions during my time in Iraq and on demo sites scattered across the greater Kentuckian planes, but this¡­ This was on a whole different level.


    The two monkey-filled purple barrels that Frank had hurled prior to the detonation had somehow survived the explosion. The remaining minions were picking themselves up off the hay-covered floor.


    Bellatrix and the others had also been far enough outside the blast radius to avoid taking any damage. The hulking bear with the horrific and all-too-human face was down below fifty percent now. She was bleeding from a legion of different wounds. Temperance danced and twirled around the lumbering creature like a manic pixie, hacking with her cleaver and bludgeoning with her bat. Croc had retreated from the front line, taking cover behind a sectional sofa while Jakob treated the mimic¡¯s injuries.


    A colossal roar pulled my attention away from the scene and back toward the blackened crater. It was hard to see anything thanks to the thick plume of smoke drifting up, but there was definitely something moving in there.


    I held my breath as the hulking form of Kong emerged from the curtain of black and gray.


    His Health bar hadn¡¯t dropped by even a single percentage point, which wasn¡¯t much of a shock since the Bassist was still alive. He hadn¡¯t come away completely unscathed, however, regardless of what his HP bar said. His black-and-silver fur had been almost entirely burned away, and smoldering ruined chunks of skin and meat hung from his thick frame.


    Frank threw his head back and issued another furious roar, rhythmically pounding at his chest with enormous fists. I stared on, completely dumbstruck, as the thirty-odd reanimated murder monkeys turned away from me and swarmed the gorilla. They leapt on him en masse, and before long he was buried beneath a veritable sea of simian bodies.


    What the Kentucky Fried Fuck is going on here?


    Horror dawned on me as I saw the small army of monkeys begin to melt¡ªtheir flesh turning into a gelatinous mess, which merged with Frank¡¯s own battered and broken body. The gorilla swelled in size.


    Nine feet, then ten.


    Twelve feet.


    Fifteen.


    Up and up he went, like Jack¡¯s beanstalk straining toward the heavens above.


    By the time the dark alchemy was finished, Frank stood at least twenty-five feet tall, his chest as big as a tractor trailer, his arms like a pair of juvenile redwoods. His entire body was covered with bits and pieces of reanimated monkeys. Simian arms and twitching tails poked out, seemingly at random. Distorted Monkey faces protruded from his shoulders, chest, and legs like cancerous growths.


    Uh-oh.


    ¡°Time to party!¡± Funtime Frank bellowed, his voice the sound of an industrial cement mixer. Then Franken-Kong charged me. He ran on all fours in a rolling, simian gait that ate up the ground at an incredible rate.


    ¡°Could use some help over here!¡± I hollered, stealing a quick glance at the others. Bellatrix was missing an arm, and ropes of intestine and sparking wires drooped from a slash across her abdomen. Her Health bar was strobing manically, warning, warning, warning, but she still had a little gas left in the tank and she wasn¡¯t going down without a fight.


    ¡°We¡¯ll be there when we can!¡± Jakob hollered back.


    Bellatrix exploited his moment of inattention and lunged forward, slamming a huge foot into the Cendral¡¯s metallic shield. The kick knocked Jakob back at least ten feet and left him gasping and wheezing on the floor.


    I turned back toward the charging Kong. I just needed to buy a little time here.


    That I could do.


    I pulled out my perpetual ace in the hole, the Super Slammer of Shielding, spiked it on the floor, and intoned the arcane ritual words of old. ¡°Let¡¯s Pog!¡±


    The golden birdcage sprang up around me, and the two-minute countdown timer appeared, tattooed on the air. Funtime Frank skidded to a stop a handful of feet before the edge of the shimmering barrier and let out a roar of impotent rage, so loud it dropped me to one knee. The huge eldritch monkey horror raised a fist the size of a monster truck tire and brought it crashing down on the top of the dome.


    This dome had seen some nasty shit over the past several weeks, but for the first time the bars of light flickered and trembled beneath the force of the strike. It was just for a moment. A flash, here then gone. But suddenly I wasn¡¯t feeling quite as confident. Maybe Frank¡¯s rage wasn¡¯t quite as impotent as I¡¯d first thought. I¡¯d read the Slammer item description more times than I could count and remembered the words with crystal clarity.


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    The Super Slammer of Shielding is a rare magical Artifact, which summons a mostly impenetrable dome of arcane power, capable of protecting all those within the confines from physical, arcane, and elemental attacks.


    Mostly was the key word there. Looked like Funtime Frank was going to put the resiliency of the shield to the test.


    Fists fell, one after another, like artillery blasts, the dome straining under the furious assault. The golden bars wavered and distorted. Cracking. The shield had only been in place for fifteen seconds and I had serious doubts that it would last another fifteen seconds at this rate. I needed to do something to get Frankie-boy to lay off or he was going to crush this thing like a soda can with me trapped inside.


    My spells couldn¡¯t pass through the arcane dome, but physical objects could.


    I had a couple of actual Molotov cocktails left over from my fight with the Harmacist and also my speed square batarang. Neither seemed like great options against a twenty-five-foot-tall cyborg gorilla covered in the melted corpses of reanimated lab monkeys, but I just needed to buy time, not kill this fucker.


    I pulled my speed square from my belt, wound my arm back, and let ¡¯er rip, aiming at the ape¡¯s face. My poor man¡¯s batarang flew true and sunk all the way into one of Frank¡¯s fist-sized eyeballs.


    There was a sickly wet pop and the gorilla screeched, stumbling back as he groped at his face. Unfortunately, the speed square didn¡¯t come back because it was lodged in Frank¡¯s eyeball.


    Without missing a beat, I pulled out three run-of-the-mill Molotov cocktails¡ªthese all made from bottles of Jack Daniels and stuffed with greasy rags, soaked in lighter fluid. With nimble fingers, I pulled out a Zippo and lit the first bottle. The rag went up in a blaze and I fastballed the bottle of Jack at the staggering monkey before he could get his bearings. There was a crunch of broken glass followed by a great woosh as the flames spread up Frank¡¯s stocky legs.


    I quickly lit the second and third bottles, throwing both in quick succession.


    The two bottles joined the first, one smashing against the ape¡¯s chest, the other splashing hungry flames across one arm. The ape howled, and a Health bar appeared above its head. The bar turned from a burnt gold to a bloody red and dropped for the first time. The last active effect, Bass Boost, loitering beneath Frank¡¯s nameplate had finally disappeared, though Frank¡¯s level had also ticked up by one.


    The Franken-Kong was now level 28. One level higher than the Murder Muncher from the Arcade on the third floor.


    Could we kill a level 28 blighted Dweller the size of an office building?


    I had no clue. But we were gonna give it the good ol¡¯ college try.


    ¡°Alright!¡± I yelled over one shoulder to the others. ¡°Let¡¯s wrap it and tap it!¡±


    Croc was busy eating Bellatrix¡¯s head, but the others were already scrambling to get into their new protective gear. They were moving quick, but I still needed to buy them a little more time. I didn¡¯t want to trigger StainSlayer Maelstrom prematurely and I was hesitant to use Pressure Washer on the overgrown ape. The flames were doing a good job of distracting Frankie-boy, and using water would only douse the inferno crawling across the creature¡¯s monstrous body.


    Time to do something stupid.


    With the golden protective shield still in place, I quickly swapped Bad Trip for a much more unstable Relic. Burn, Baby, Burn.


    The Uncommon, Flamethrower Relic clicked into my Spatial Core and I felt chaotic power surge outward through my veins like a raging forest fire. Death and Destruction sang inside me. Burn, Baby, Burn only cost 2 Mana per second¡ªan extremely cheap spell¡ªand dealt a nasty 30 points of Flame Damage on contact, plus 5 additional points of Fire Damage per second. Sure, it would also deal 2 points a second of Burn Damage to me as well and there was a chance I could spontaneously explode, but so what?


    Now wasn¡¯t the time to play it safe. Now was the time to set shit on fire.


    I deactivated the Super Slammer, then squared my shoulders, thrust both hands forward, and unleashed a red-hot column of flame as thick as a telephone pole. My skin started to crackle and blaze in the same instant, terrible heat spreading backward up my hands and along my arms. Scorching my chest and face in the process. My HP bar began to drop, and the pain consumed my world. It felt like touching a hot stove. But with my whole body.


    I didn¡¯t care.


    I just screamed and let the flames flow, because as much as they were hurting me, they were hurting Funtime Frank even more.


    I let the spell roar for a full ten seconds, until Frank blazed like a Yule log and his Health had finally dipped below 90%.


    My own Health had plunged by nearly a quarter and my skin felt raw. Like it had been stretched too tight across the muscle and bone beneath.


    While Frank raged and burned, I took a few seconds to spam Mental Micromanagement, starting and stopping the telekinetic flow in rapid succession like a burst of machine-gun fire. It didn¡¯t take long until Wild Surge activated, quickly boosting my Mana back up to 101.


    Unfortunately, the flames had started to die down, leaving burnt and blackened ruins in their wake. Funtime Frank wasn¡¯t looking like he was having a fun time at all. He looked pissed.


    The enormous ape opened its mouth and spit something wriggling and purple at me.


    The color drained from my face as I realized what it was. A writhing ball of monkey parts, all jumbled together. Arms and legs, tails and faces. I raised a hand and attempted to blast apart the incoming cannonball of fused lab monkeys, but the narrow beam of water just punched straight through. The ball of limbs and faces continued hurtling toward me undeterred. I took evasive actions, but my stupid boot caught on a piece of wooden shrapnel from one of the barrels.


    I stumbled and instinctively glanced down. It was only for a moment, but when I looked back up, the ball of monkey parts smashed into my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs. I doubled over, wheezing, and pitched onto my side, suddenly unable to breathe. The monkey ball didn¡¯t do much damage, but it did break apart on impact. Before I fully knew what was happening, a dozen or more severed monkey arms were somehow pinning me to the ground.

 Fifty-Four – Choke on This

    A lashing tail wrapped around my throat like a garrote, cutting off my already dwindling air supply. Seconds later, a decapitated monkey head rolled across the floor and latched onto my right bicep while another head bit down on my calf.


    I struggled to get up. To pry the grasping limbs from my body. They were strong and surprisingly nimble. It was like fighting an army of Things from the Addams Family.


    The bigger issue was the tail squeezing my neck like a boa constrictor. I reached up with my one free arm and tried fruitlessly to jam my fingers in between the tail and my neck. It was useless. My HP was steadily plunging. Cold, cruel realization washed over me. I¡¯d come all this way just to get choked to death by a disembodied monkey tail. That was the biggest load of bullshit I¡¯d ever heard in my life.


    Then I felt the tremendous thud of a colossal approaching footstep.


    Darkness was creeping in at the edges of my vision, but I still managed to catch a glimpse of Funtime Frank stomping toward me. The shadow of the creature stretched across me, and Frank raised his foot high. He was going to crush me like an insolent bug.


    Somehow, I wasn¡¯t sure if that was better or worse than getting choked out by a monkey tail. It seemed a little more dignifying, but only a little.


    I bucked and kicked, doing everything in my power to break the stranglehold of the grasping limbs, but they had me dead to rights. I braced myself, preparing for a quick and brutal end¡ª


    A trio of ghostly blue chains erupted from the ground, wrapping around Franken-Kong¡¯s leg. Two more snared the creature around the throat, tugging tight as though Frank were a dog on a leash being brought to heel.


    Temperance¡¯s Puritanical Chains.


    The spectral chains started to pop and snap. They wouldn¡¯t be able to hold the creature at bay for long. But long enough.


    A pair of hands slipped beneath my armpits, roughly yanking me backward. Then Croc was in front of me, its jaws yawning wide. Fleshy blue tentacles pulled the simian limbs free like giant leeches, slurping them down.


    ¡°You okay, Dan?¡± the dog asked as the last of the monkey parts vanished down its throat.


    ¡°Glad to see you guys,¡± I said. My voice was hoarse, and my throat felt raw. Bruised.


    Croc looked more or less the same as ever, but Temperance and Jakob had both donned rather curious attire over the top of their regular armor. Thick yellow rain jackets, with the hoods up. Heavy-duty rubber waders¡ªlooted from Open Sky Outfitters¡ªcovered their legs and feet. Yellow, Rubbermaid cleaning gloves protected their hands, and black plastic bandanas covered their noses and mouths. Both had on a pair of thick safety goggles to safeguard their eyes.


    It looked for all the world like they were wearing makeshift hazmat suits, which wasn¡¯t far from the truth.


    ¡°We all know what to do here,¡± Jakob said. ¡°I¡¯ll draw his attention. Temperance, you get close. Focus on tendons, wires, ankles. Break its mobility. Dan¡±¡ªhe glanced toward me¡ª¡°death from above.¡±


    ¡°And what should I do?¡± Croc asked.


    ¡°Keep Dan safe,¡± Jakob replied solemnly. ¡°None of this will mean anything if he dies.¡±


    The Cendral turned on a heel and bolted away from us. As he ran a terrible blaring siren emanated from his chest, ber-ber-ber-ber-ber. It was the sound of a broken smoke detector, wailing at full blast. The racket was like nails on a chalkboard and made me irrationally angry and irritated for reasons I couldn¡¯t quite explain. That was one of Jakob¡¯s Relics, I knew. It was literally called Faulty Smoke Detector and its sole purpose was to draw and hold the attention of hostile Dwellers.


    Annoying as fuck, and so loud it was impossible to ignore. It was the perfect aggro ability and it worked like a charm.


    The chains momentarily restraining Funtime Frank finally vanished. But instead of lumbering toward me or Temperance, the giant gorilla focused entirely on Jakob, hate and rage burning in the creature¡¯s eyes. Arcs of blue lightning flashed from the ends of Frank¡¯s fingertips, but Jakob easily absorbed the damage on his glowing shield.


    The monster was so thoroughly distracted, it didn¡¯t even notice as Temperance darted between its malformed feet. The killer furry immediately went to work with brutal efficiency, her meat cleaver carving deep, gruesome furrows in Frank¡¯s skin.


    Meanwhile, Croc¡¯s form shimmered.


    The mimic looked more or less like a bear. A bear drawn by a four-year-old, sure, but a bear all the same. Before I could do anything, Croc lumbered over and scooped me up in its arms then pulled me tight against its rubbery belly. Blue flesh crept over me, forming¡­ a giant baby holster. My arms and legs protruded from the bottom.


    ¡°What the fuck are you doing?¡± I yelled, feebly kicking my legs.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°Protecting you. You know what they say, Dan. Keep your friends close and your best friend in a Baby Bjorn made of flesh. Besides, you can barely stand. So, I¡¯ll be the legs, and you just focus on spell casting.¡±


    This was easily the most demeaning thing that had happened to me since Noclipping into the Backrooms. Maybe the most demeaning thing to happen in my entire adult life. Almost being strangled to death by a rogue monkey tail didn¡¯t even come close.


    But, I had to admit it was surprisingly comfortable.


    ¡°Fuck it,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°Let¡¯s Baby Bjorn this bitch!¡±


    Legs dangling down like an overgrown toddler, I activated StainSlayer Maelstrom for a second time, raining down corrosive death from above. Fat droplets of super bleach drenched Frank, melting through his fleshy exterior and dealing a devastating amount of damage while simultaneously eating through the monster¡¯s Mana and Stamina. The super bleach puddled on the ground, splashing onto Temperance, but between the waders and the raincoat, she was fine.


    More disgusting monkey balls peeled away from Frank¡¯s body¡ªeach one depleting a small portion of the creature¡¯s overall Health¡ªand rushed toward us.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Dan,¡± Croc called. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of them.¡±


    The mimic surged into battle. Tentacles kept the monkey balls at bay and huge feet and hands crushed anything that got too close. I trusted Croc completely and focused all my effort on Frank.


    I let Pressure Washer rip at full blast, the lance of water cutting through the creature¡¯s hide even more effectively than Temperance¡¯s meat cleaver. At the same time, my hammer sailed through the air, held aloft by a strand of telekinetic force. I pumped extra Mana into the weapon until it swelled to the size of a sledgehammer and burned with ghostly blue light.


    I brought the hammer screaming down in a wicked arc right into the side of Frank¡¯s hideously deformed face. The cooldown timer on Gavel of Get Fucked had reset, so I triggered the effect again, burning 20 Stamina in the process. Frank was well above sixty percent Health, so there was no chance Killing Blow would activate. But that didn¡¯t matter. The blow still landed for a total of 190 points of damage, knocking him down below 50%.


    Frank spun around, ignoring Jakob, and focused on me and Croc.


    The gorilla let out a thunderous roar and slammed a foot against the floor.


    A huge fissure zigzagged toward us¡ªthe attack identical to the one that Drumbo Chumbo had used earlier. Despite being the size of a bear, Croc was both fast and agile. The mimic easily danced away from the edge of the growing chasm while I continued to chip away at Frank¡¯s Health, smashing him in the face with my hammer and spamming Pressure Washer¡ªgarnering additional stacks of Water Erosion with each passing second.


    Temperance had managed to climb onto Frank¡¯s back and was currently riding him like an angry rodeo bull and not a twenty-five-foot-tall, reanimated cyborg gorilla. Her cleaver fell in rhythmic series of wet thwacks, each blow eating through a sliver of the creature¡¯s total HP.


    Burning green orbs of power shot from the gorilla¡¯s eyes, zipping toward us¡ª


    There was a thunderclap off to the right as Jakob summoned what appeared to be a black hole. The swirling black vortex was about the size of a manhole cover and hung, unsupported, in the air. The green orbs immediately veered off course, sucked into the black hole. The black hole vanished with a pop and Jakob surged forward in a nimbus of golden light¡ªhis Cow Catcher Charge, at work.


    The Cendral raised his blue shield up, then brought the burning edge straight down, slicing through one of Frank¡¯s toes. The shield cauterized the wound in passing.


    Frank howled in rage and spun like a top, one giant foot mule kicking Jakob in the chest, launching the lizard man across the room. He landed in a boneless heap, his HP bar critically low. He wasn¡¯t dead, but unless I could spoon-feed him a healing elixir, it looked like he was out of the fight for the time being.


    Then, to make matters worse, Funtime Frank reared up and huge earthen spikes erupted from his back. An army of spears, all identical to the earthen spike that had impaled my foot. In an eyeblink, he¡¯d transformed into a giant porcupine. And Temperance never saw it coming. Spikes pin cushioned the murder bunny in half a dozen places. She tumbled off Frank¡¯s back and landed in a spreading puddle of red¡ªblood hemorrhaging out at an astounding rate.


    She took a long, wheezing breath, her arms flopping weakly beside her.


    She was still alive, but for how much longer?


    Frank¡¯s HP was lingering just above twenty-five percent, and suddenly it was down to me and Croc. We needed to end this thing and we needed to do it yesterday if we had any chance of saving our friends. There was a good chance it was already too late.


    ¡°What do we do, Dan?¡± Croc yelled as he squashed another monkey ball with one foot, splattering bits of fur across the hay-covered floor.


    My mind raced but nothing was coming. My Mana was low. I had enough juice to cast one more StainSlayer Maelstrom but that wouldn¡¯t be enough. It might knock Frank below twenty percent, but then I¡¯d be running on empty. I was sure I could get Wild Surge to proc again, but even if I did, so what? Every spell in my arsenal wouldn¡¯t be enough.


    It was too bad I¡¯d destroyed all of his stupid barrels. If I had one of those explosive barrels, I could¡¯ve lodged the damn thing in Frank¡¯s throat and turned his head into pink mist.


    I froze¡­


    Wait. That¡¯s the answer.


    Although I didn¡¯t have a barrel, I had something else in my inventory that might do the trick.


    ¡°We need to get him to face us!¡± I bellowed. ¡°I just need a clear shot at his mouth.¡±


    Before the words were even out, Croc was already on the move.


    The mimic raced around the circus ring, straddling environmental hazards and leaping over scurrying monkey balls. The mimic skidded to a halt a handful of feet in front of Jakob¡ªstill down for the count¡ªthen wheeled to face Frank, who was staring at us with hate etched into the lines of his deformed simian face.


    I raised a hand and activated Pressure Washer, this time aiming right at Frank¡¯s¡­ frank and beans. The blast of water hit for 15 points of Slashing Damage, which barely moved the needle on Frank¡¯s HP bar. But getting blasted in the junk by a stream of water with 90,000 PSI of force behind it had to hurt like a bitch. Funtime Frank threw his head back and roared, which is when I acted. I reached through a jagged tear in the fabric of reality and pulled an Artifact from my Storage.


    It was small enough to fit into the palm of my hand.


    It wouldn¡¯t stay that way, though.


    I wrapped the object in a thread of telekinetic power and sent it flying with all the accuracy of a sniper round straight for Frank¡¯s yawning, cavernous mouth.


    The object glinted as it flew, flashing in the circus lights.


    It was a bright orange, die-cast, 1972 Ford Pinto. It looked like a Hot Wheel car.

 So stop, Collaborate and Listen!

    Hey y''all! I wanted to thank everyone for taking a look at the first few chapters of the second instalment. After sifting through all the feedback, I''ve decided to go back and do a little doctoring/rewriting.


    I don''t plan to scrape the Howler ARC--I still think it''s sold--but there are other changes that will make the book stronger overall. Most notably, I need to tweak the ending of book one. Nothing to do with the battle with Funtime Frank, but rather how I handled the aftermath of the battle. In the original version, Dan and company go straight from the fight to the Hold without divvying up the loot/relics or hitting a Progenitor Monolith first. This is a dumb move, especially because Dan knows that everyone and their brother is gunning for him. Sure, the Howlers MIGHT be friendly, but they might not be as well, so going in unprepared is a bad choice. Honestly, I knew this in my gut, BUT the book was just getting too long. Typically, 150K is a hard cut off for most single books (it mostly has to do with audio production costs because we pay "per finished hour" and ever 10K words is another finished hour).


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Adding in the loot and relics would''ve pushed me closer to 160K total which increases the cost to an already very expensive book, so instead of dealing with the loot, I pushed Dan to go to the Hold which was out of character and dumb.


    Which is why I''m just gonna bite the bullet and rectify that. It means I''ll need to rework the ending of book 1--maybe add an extra chapter or two--but it will 100% make it a better book. I''ll also need to rewrite the opening scenes for book 2 and tweak some of the other book 2 chapters, but ultimately that will let me launch into the action much more quickly with the second volume. I hate rewrites, but I firmly believe this is the right call. That does mean, it''ll might be a little longer (though hopefully not TOO long) before y''all get new chapters, but I think it''ll be worth the wait. Thanks again for all the feedback and support. I''ve written A LOT of books and I FUCKING LOVE writing Discount Dan. And because I love this series so much, and really want it to succeed, I''m dedicated to doing this thing the right way even if that means I have to take another pass and do some story-telling tune ups. Please stick with me a little longer and thanks again for all the feedback and support. Y''all are the best.

 Fifty-Five – Just Rewards

    As the die-cast Hot Wheels entered Frank¡¯s gaping maw, I yelled, ¡°It¡¯s Cruising Time, you no good monkey fucker!¡± and the car enlarged to its full size. At twenty-five feet, Frank was one big ol¡¯ chunky monkey. But his mouth wasn¡¯t large enough to contain a full-sized sedan. Not even a subcompact two-seater like the Pinto. Frank¡¯s head just¡­ exploded as the car reached its full size. Blood, bone, and bits of metal flew out in a geyser as Frank¡¯s body toppled to the side, landing with a thud, the twisted remains of Pinto right on top.


    And just like that, Funtime Frank was dead. So was my car¡ªan unfortunate casualty of war¡ªthough the heap of motorized shit had served me well.


    With Franken-Kong and the rest of the jamboree dead, the metal dome walling us in retracted and disappeared back beneath the debris- and gore-splattered floor. We¡¯d done it. Against all odds, we¡¯d won. Beaten the monster at the heart of this place and purged the Blight while doing it, though we weren¡¯t completely out of the woods yet.


    Temperance and Jakob were both in terrible shape¡ªthough Temperance had taken the worst of the punishment. Frank¡¯s spike attack had turned her into a furry pincushion. Right hand to God, it looked like someone had cut her down with a machine gun. Puncture wounds and lacerations dotted her body, and a great pool of blood was already congealing in a crimson halo by the time Croc and I got to her.


    By all rights, she should¡¯ve been dead. I legitimately couldn¡¯t understand how she had survived at all.


    Turned out she wouldn¡¯t have, if not for Jakob.


    Unbeknownst to me, the Cendral had equipped the Insurance Pact Relic I¡¯d given him back at the Mart. The same Insurance Pact I¡¯d received from the corpse of Natasha Anno, Aspirant of the Skinless Court. The Uncommon-grade ability enabled the caster to form an ¡°insurance pact¡± with an ally, sharing up to twenty percent of their max Health Pool with the other for ten minutes. Jakob had formed the bond with Temperance early on during the fight, an act which had saved her life without a shadow of a doubt.


    It was also the residual trauma from the pact that had knocked Jakob out cold and not getting mule kicked in the chest by Frank, as I¡¯d first assumed. The pact didn¡¯t just share the HP Pool, it also shared the pain both parties suffered while the ability was active.


    It was a nasty side effect, though again, without it Temp would¡¯ve died.


    A few Zima Health Elixirs¡ªand a little extra TLC, courtesy of Pharmacist¡¯s Scales¡ªsaw both the Delvers back on their feet and good as new. Mostly. Temperance¡¯s protective raincoat and rubber waders had been shredded beyond recognition. The items weren¡¯t Artifacts, which meant they wouldn¡¯t naturally recover over time. It was a small loss in the grand scheme of things, and nothing that couldn¡¯t be replaced with a few quick raids.


    Once I was sure my friends weren¡¯t going to die, I took a minute to wade through the sea of notifications that had rolled in like the high tide. There were a lot of ¡¯em, which came as a shock to no one.


    [Level Up! x 2]


    Research Achievement Unlocked¡­


    Research Achievement Unlocked¡­


    Research Achievement Unlocked¡­


    I¡¯d earned a broad swath of new achievements for a wide range of insane and borderline suicidal behavior.


    Friendly Fire for redirecting one of Frank¡¯s magical barrels directly into Drumbo Chumbo. Hit-and-Run for using a vehicle to murder an Arcade Boss. A third, called Barrel of Monkeys, for slaughtering more than fifty reanimated lab monkeys at once. I even earned one called Flame On! for setting myself on fire with my own Relic. I wasn¡¯t sure if I was the most or least proud of that particular research achievement, though it did come with a Silver Firebrand Loot Token, which was a nice touch.


    The fifth and final achievement was for clearing the Jungle Gym Jamboree Bounty. It came with enough loot and prizes to make all of the horrible, extremely traumatizing events of the past hour almost worth it.


    It also came with a new title, though I wasn¡¯t in love with the name...


    Monkey Fucker


    Slap my ass and call me a monkey¡¯s uncle!


    You did it, you crazy son of a bitch. You killed Funtime Frank and cleansed the Jungle Gym Jamboree of the encroaching Blight. Huzzah! And you didn¡¯t just kill him, you really fucked his shit up good. Using a Ford Pinto to explode his skull? Absolutely insane and a stroke of genius. But also, the work of a true master murderer. This kind of raw chutzpah deserves a round of applause and enough loot to fill a bathtub.


    Reward: 3,500 Experience, 10 x Copper Delver Loot Tokens, 3 x Silver Delver Loot Tokens, 1 x Silver Gambler Loot Token, 1 x Sapphire Binder Loot Token, 1 x Golden Kiosk Franchise Opportunity.


    Title: Monkey Fucker ¨C Deal 15% additional damage to opponents more than ten levels higher than you.


    Interestingly, another prompt appeared beneath the new achievement.


    Synergistic Resonance Detected!


    You have two active titles with extreme synergy. Would you like to Forge Out of Your League and Monkey Fucker into a new Title?*


    Yes/No?


    I hadn¡¯t realized that titles even could be combined like Relics.


    Croc had never mentioned the possibility¡ªalthough it was likely that Croc didn¡¯t know either. The one steadfast truth I¡¯d learned about the Backrooms was that no one knew everything. Hell, no one knew most things. And even the stuff they thought they knew was probably wrong.


    There was an asterisk next to the prompt, letting me know I could run an analysis of the new title using the Researcher¡¯s Codex. Because I wasn¡¯t an idiot, I hit yes and read over a rather dry but thorough report of the derivative title.


    The two titles basically did the same thing already, so combining them made sense for a variety of reasons. First, the effects wouldn¡¯t stack separately, which meant I¡¯d be wasting a title slot. Second, the two titles were far better together than they were apart. And last, but certainly not least, I wouldn¡¯t get stuck with a title called Monkey Fucker. That alone was enough of a selling point to persuade me to hit yes.


    I accepted and gleefully read over my new title.


    New Title Forged: Punch-Out!! Champion ¨C When facing an enemy 5+ levels higher than you, all damage you deal is magnified by 3n%, where n is equal to the level difference between you and your opponent.


    I cackled like a maniac, earning curious and concerned glances from the others. I didn¡¯t care what they thought. Even with a bit of quick and dirty mental math, that meant I¡¯d deal 15% additional damage to anyone five levels higher than me, and 30% more damage to someone ten levels higher. The Flayed Monarch was at least level 100, so did that mean I¡¯d be able to score 300% damage against him? Probably. Though even that might not be enough to put a dent in the monster¡¯s Health Pool.


    Unfortunately, that wasn¡¯t the only title that had changed.


    Listed just below Punch Out!! Champion was my Fish in a Barrel title. It had also evolved without my consent, just like Jakob had said it would. Perfect.


    Title: Barracuda in a Barrel (E) ¨C You exude an aura of pure carnage. Dwellers more than ten levels below you will actively avoid you and slaying any Dweller below Level 10 grants no Experience.


    This is an (E)volving title. This title cannot be unequipped. Is the little wah-baby sad because they can¡¯t murder Dwellers too weak to fight back? Well cry me a river, you murder hobo, because I don¡¯t give a shit.


    It took us another hour after that to mop up the scene and loot the corpses.


    Although the reanimated monkeys didn¡¯t have any Relics of their own, each had at least one Common-grade Shard a piece. We walked away with ninety-seven Shards in total. Even split three ways, it was a fantastic haul for half an hour¡¯s worth of work.


    Then there were the Relics.


    Each of Funtime Frank¡¯s badly taxidermied bandmates had at least two¡ªBeatrix the bass-playing nightmare-bear had three¡ªwhile Franken-Kong himself had four. That gave us thirteen in all. Split four ways, that was three apiece, though Croc didn¡¯t want a share. As a Dweller, the mimic didn¡¯t use Relics in the same way we did. All the dog wanted was ¡°the leftovers¡±¡ªa phrase and notion I had no desire, whatsoever, to investigate further.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    After a little haggling, Jakob and Temp ended up with four Relics each, while I got five since I¡¯d been the one to land the killing blow against Frank. The fact that the Pinto was trashed beyond repair also factored in. Artifacts like that didn¡¯t come along all that often, and scoring an extra Relic seemed like a fair exchange.


    Deciding which Relics to pick was a tough call because they were all amazing, each in its own unique way. Melodic Wall conjured a Mana Frequency Shield, capable of dispelling spells on contact, while Thick Fat boosted Toughness and soaked up physical damage like a sponge. Adaptive Immunity was a particularly interesting Relic that offered a unique form of resistance immunity. When activated, the caster developed 50% Resistance to the last type of damage they received for ten minutes.


    Like I said, they were impressive skills¡ªsome magical in nature, others physical¡ªbut most I passed over for a variety of reasons. In my opinion, Melodic Wall was a shittier version of Sterilization Field, and I already had a powerful Toughness-boosting Relic in the form of Baldree¡¯s Scale Mail Cuirass. Things like Adaptive Immunity or Thick Fat made far more sense for a close-combat tank like Jakob. There were a couple of ranged offensive spells as well, Harmonic Blade and Synthwave Shock, but neither was quite as good as Pressure Washer.


    Ultimately, I picked a more eclectic assortment of Relics. Not quite as traditionally straightforward, but useful in different ways.


    The first was a bizarre Rare-grade Relic called Unhinged Taxidermist. It was the same ability Frank had used to summon barrels overflowing with reanimated lab monkeys. Monkeys who had almost torn me limb from limb, I might add. It was a summoner Relic that worked in a similar fashion to my Cannon Fodder Minion ability, though with a few slight differences. As with Cannon Fodder Minion, I couldn¡¯t just conjure prefab minions from thin air.


    Instead, I needed to build them.


    The difference was, I couldn¡¯t use random garbage¡­


    I needed corpses. Corpses and machines.


    In true Doctor Frankenstein fashion, I could play with the powers of creation to smash together machine and flesh, forging unholy abominations not fit for the eyes of mankind. Pretty badass, honestly.


    Unhinged Taxidermist


    Rare Relic ¨C Level 1


    Cost: 50 Mana


    Cast time: 10 Minutes


    Material Components: 1 x Corpse, 1 x Relic (Common Grade or Better), Mechaniks


    Ever wanted to play God with a wrench and some spare monster parts? Well, now you can! Who needs friends when you can stitch together the leftover chunks of yesterday''s enemies with whatever scrap metal you have lying around? Not you, which is good, because people will actively avoid you when they see your grotesque entourage of Taxidermied Horrors.


    You may create up to 2 Minions for every Relic Level.


    Once forged, your minions can be summoned or banished to an extra-dimensional subspace container at will. If destroyed, vanquished minions will be instantly returned to their subspace container, and once repaired, they can be redeployed. Each Horror¡¯s stats and capabilities will vary wildly based on the quality of components used.


    This Relic enables Mana usage and comes with a complimentary tetanus shot.


    Reading over the description, I realized it was distinctly possible that Frank¡¯s bandmates had been human, once upon a time. Nowhere in the Relic description did it say the corpses had to be from Dwellers¡­


    It was impossible not to picture Synthia Lynx with her feline face, mangy electric blue fur, and the crude stitches crisscrossing her body. I couldn¡¯t get the thought of Drumbo Chumbo out of my head. Their eyes, strangely human and frozen in terror, would haunt my nightmares for years to come¡ªassuming I made it that long, which was no sure thing. Not here.


    It was a fucked-up skill, without a doubt, but it was also powerful. And I needed power.


    So, as gross as it was, I took Unhinged Taxidermist for myself and then harvested what remained of the band to my Subspace Storage System. The maximum weight allowance was only two thousand pounds, which meant I needed to be picky. I would¡¯ve loved to scoop up what was left of Frank in a bucket and haul him back with me, but the big ol¡¯ son of a bitch was four or five thousand pounds easy.


    With a little help from Croc and Temperance, I collected the serviceable bits and pieces from the rest of the slaughtered bandmates. Arms and legs. Animatronic innards. Vex Vixen¡¯s head was entirely gone, but the rest of her was mostly intact and Synthia Lynx was almost entirely in one piece. I also reclaimed whatever I could from the Pinto. It would never function as a motor vehicle again, but maybe with a little tinkering and elbow grease it would get a second life as a minion.


    When I was done salvaging what I could, Croc finished what was left.


    The next Relic, another Rare, also came from Frank and seemed to be part of a paired set with Unhinged Taxidermist. As twisted as the first Relic had been, the second was arguably worse.


    Much worse.


    Form FleshTron, Go! allowed the caster to temporarily ¡°absorb¡± all summoned Taxidermied Horrors, transforming them into a mech of meat and metal with the caster piloting the unholy abomination from the inside. Like Voltron but worse. That had to be the ability Frank had used during the finale of the battle. The one that let him suck up the scattered Reanimated Lab Monkeys like a Shop Vac and transform into a kaiju of fur and fangs.


    The cost of using the Relic was extremely high. Prohibitively so.


    It had a thirty-second cast time, a 120 Mana cost, and a forty-eight-hour cooldown period. Worst of all, once the spell guttered and died, I wouldn¡¯t be able to summon any minions at all for a full day. Obviously, it wasn¡¯t the kind of thing that I¡¯d want to have equipped regularly, but it would make one helluva Ace in the hole if things ever went truly sideways. In the Backrooms that wasn¡¯t a question of if, it was a question of when.


    I tucked that one away for later.


    Fault Spike was an Uncommon I¡¯d looted off Drumbo Chumbo.


    Fault Spike


    Uncommon Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Line of Sight


    Cost: 5 - 50 Mana


    Cast Time: 2 Seconds


    Duration: Permanent Terrain Alteration


    Taking the phrase ¡°get fucked¡± to a whole new level, Fault Spike summons between 1 and 10 razor-sharp earthen shafts capable of spit-roasting your enemies like a luau pig. Because luau pig is definitely what you were thinking when I said spit roast. Fault spikes are considered permanent terrain alterations and will stay put until the Backrooms decides to undo your handiwork, so don¡¯t place them anywhere you don¡¯t want them long term.


    Each spike deals 25 points of piercing damage on contact and the target is afflicted with 1 stack of Uncontrollable Hemorrhaging, dealing 2 points of Bleed Damage for each second they are impaled. Another stack of Uncontrollable Hemorrhaging is applied every five seconds. If five stacks of Uncontrollable Hemorrhaging accumulate, the target suffers Earthbarb and any attempts to remove the spear deals an additional 25 points of Tearing Damage. This Relic enables Mana usage.


    I¡¯d personally been on the receiving end of that particular technique, and Frank had used it to turn Temperance into a bona fide pincushion. It was a nasty AoE spell, which also had some solid crowd control potential¡ªone area where I was sorely lacking.


    It also happened to resonate with my Pressure Washer skill.


    In theory, the two items could be forged, though when I used Codex Analytics, I was less than impressed with the overall result. The two skills only had a twenty percent compatibility rating, which meant there was no telling what I¡¯d end up with. Hard pass.


    Frequency Modulator, on the other hand, I snagged specifically because it resonated with two of my other active Relics. On its own, Frequency Modulator let the caster ¡°shift vibrational frequency¡± for five seconds, making them semi-intangible and 95% resistant to all forms of physical damage. It was a damn good ability all on its own. When combined with Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike and Moving Walkway, however, the net result was mind-blowing.


    When forged, the three Relics created my second Fable-grade Relic, Neural Slip Stream. At its core, Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike was a camouflage spell with an added sneak-attack damage buff, while Moving Walkway was the Backrooms¡¯ version of a basic haste spell. Neural Slip Stream took the best parts of all three abilities and merged them into a single, powerful effect.


    When triggered, it transformed me into a being of pure thought. At level one, it made me both invisible and intangible for up to five seconds. No one would be able to see me, and while intangible, I was 90% resistant to all forms of damage, both melee and magical¡ªthough telepathic and psychic damage increased by fifty percent.


    On top of that, I¡¯d be able to move like the wind and phase through physical objects and terrain hazards. Basically, the damn thing turned me into an avenging specter capable of tearing across the battlefield and dodging even the deadliest attacks. With a thought, I¡¯d be able to effortlessly close the gap with my enemies or gain some breathing room, depending on the circumstance. It cost 25 Mana to cast and had a thirty-second cooldown, but that was nothing.


    The single biggest drawback was that I couldn¡¯t deal any damage while in Spectral Thought form.


    Still, for five seconds, I¡¯d be a ghost. And I¡¯d be the next best thing to invincible.


    As good as the other Relics were, the last was the one I was most excited for, even though it was only an Uncommon.


    I¡¯d finally earned my first Trap Relic, something I¡¯d been actively hunting for ever since my battle for the MediocreMart. As I read over the Relic description, I cackled with feral glee.


    Runic Resonance Trap


    Uncommon Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: On Contact


    Cost: 15 Mana


    Cast Time: 20 Seconds


    Duration: Until Activated


    Material Component: 1 x Runic Engraver¡¯s Awl (Artifact), 1 x Compatible Surface


    If you¡¯ve been in the Backrooms for longer than two minutes, you¡¯ve likely stumbled across, or been irreparably maimed by, one of these bad boys. This is the most versatile of the three Basic-Bitch Backroom traps: runes, tripwires, and pitfalls. Nothing fancy, but it¡¯ll get the job done. Some moron blunders along and BAM! It¡¯s raining men!


    Well, pieces of men, anyway. Or women. Or monsters. Or you! This thing doesn¡¯t discriminate.


    Use a Trapsmith¡¯s awl to inscribe an invisible conductor rune onto any compatible material surface and imbue said rune with a Mana-based effect. You must cast the spell to store it; all Mana spell costs remain the same, but the stored spell effect is reduced by 50%. That¡¯s called Mana Leakage for you technical sorts. How much Mana any given Rune can contain depends upon the Relic Level.


    This Relic enables Mana usage.


    Learning how to effectively use the new Relic would take some time, patience, and practice, but once I did, nothing would be safe.


    Not a Single. Damned. Thing.


    Flayed Monarch included.

 Epilogue – Beer and Pizza

    Prizes in hand and exhausted to the bone, the four of us slowly navigated our way out of the colossal Loot Arcade.


    Thankfully, leaving ended up being significantly easier than getting in. One enormous slide, completely free of traps, tripwires, and monsters, deposited us back near the very front of the Arcade. There weren¡¯t even Ball Pit Barrys waiting for us with vicious insults at the bottom. Croc was like a little kid on Christmas morning, over the moon by the sheer thrill of the ride.


    Temperance was understandably eager to get back to Howlers Hold, but I wasn¡¯t quite ready to jump in with both feet. Not just yet. I¡¯d leveled up twice, thanks to Frank and his merry band of psychos, and had Personal Enhancement Points to burn. I wasn¡¯t just going to sit on those points, especially since we were stepping into unknown territory. Jakob and Temperance had both saved my ass more than once, and though I trusted them, that trust wasn¡¯t ironclad.


    Like Croc said time and again, assume that everything, everywhere, all the time is both lying to you and trying to kill you.


    Temp was fun but clearly unstable, and I got the sense that Jakob was still keeping things from me¡ªthough what exactly, I wasn¡¯t sure. True, both were friends and, sure, both said the Howlers could be trusted and were generally welcoming to outsiders, but with so many enemies gunning for me, it paid to be cautious. Maybe the Howlers would welcome me with open arms, or maybe they¡¯d been infiltrated by the Skinless Court and were just waiting for a chance to turn me into meat paste.


    Maybe I was being a little paranoid. But was it actually paranoia if someone really was out to get me? Or was it just being smart?


    I wasn¡¯t sure, but either way, playing things close to the vest had kept me alive so far, and I figured the age-old axiom ¡°if it ain¡¯t broke, don¡¯t fix it¡± probably applied to this situation.


    Besides, it would be better to meet the Howlers on my own turf, assuming I could swing it.


    At level twenty-two, I had access to a grand total of eleven doorway anchors¡ªnot counting my personal VIP doorway¡ªand I¡¯d only planted nine so far. Three in the Lobby, one on the first floor, two on the third, and one more apiece on the fourth, fifth, and seventh floors. I hadn¡¯t planted one on six, because it wasn¡¯t technically a level at all, and I¡¯d also purposely avoided putting one on the second floor, The Devil¡¯s Asshole, because fuck that whole, inhospitable level on general principle.


    No one willingly visited the second floor and anyone unlucky enough to wind up there was probably already dead. Planting a door there would be like adding extra deckchairs to the Titanic: Pointless.


    But with three additional anchors at my disposal, I could afford to plant one here. It was both close to the Loot Arcade and in the same sector as Howlers Hold, which meant that even if the floor shifted, we¡¯d still be able to make it to the Hold without much trouble, and vice versa. Long term, I wanted to place one smack-dab inside the Hold itself, but this would work for now.


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    And now was all that mattered. All that other shit¡ªthe Howlers, the Monarch, the Syndicate¡ªwere worries for tomorrow.


    I took a deep breath and felt a palpable weight lift off my shoulders as we stepped through the freshly planted door and into the heart of my own personal paradise.


    I spotted Baby Hands mopping up a spill in the condiment aisle and heard an earsplitting goat-like squeal, which could only belong to Princess Ponypuff. Instead of being annoyed, I found myself grinning from ear to ear like a doofus. Seeing this place again felt like coming home, which was a genuinely surreal experience. A little more than a month ago, I¡¯d woken up with the worst hangover of my life, certain I was going to get disemboweled by an Eldritch horror from the deepest reaches of hell.


    I¡¯d never wanted to go home more. Now I wasn¡¯t sure I ever wanted to leave.


    Were the Backrooms a living nightmare. Yeah, obviously. Could they kill you in a heartbeat? Without a doubt. But as I looked at my friends and at the strange kingdom I¡¯d painstakingly carved out for myself, I realized I was happier than I¡¯d been in a long time. Maybe happier than I¡¯d ever been. I had purpose. Comradery. Adventure. All the free beer I could ask for.


    What more could a guy want?


    Plus, I was building something here. Something important. Something worth fighting for. Maybe even something worth dying for. There was no doubt this was a truly fucked-up place, but we were doing our part to unfuck it and helping a lot of people in the process. We¡¯d already saved dozens of lives, maybe more, and by the time we were through it could be hundreds or even thousands. If things went according to plan, we might even have a chance to kill that cockwomble who lived on the 999th floor.


    That had to be worth something.


    But again, those were worries for tomorrow. For Future me.


    All Present me wanted to do was celebrate with friends, and we had every reason to.


    Against all odds, we¡¯d not only killed Frank and his crew, we¡¯d made out like bandits and did it all without losing anyone. If that wasn¡¯t a good enough reason to get blackout drunk and badly sing karaoke, there¡¯d never be one.


    I made my way to the front of the store and clambered onto the checkout counter.


    ¡°Attention, shoppers!¡± I called out, cupping one hand around my mouth. ¡°This is your friendly neighborhood shopkeeper, Discount Dan.¡±


    The store fell quiet, and an unsettling pressure seeped into the air like an angry storm cloud taking shape. It was fear. I could see it in their faces and read it in their eyes. Fear of the unknown. Fear of starvation. Of death. Of me. Every inch of the Backrooms was stained with fear, but this place could be different. This was a place built on hope.


    ¡°I know we¡¯re all far from home,¡± I continued, scanning each of the faces staring up at me. ¡°Scared out of our minds, wondering if we¡¯ll ever see our friends or our families again. Wondering whether we¡¯ll live to see another day at all. I wish I had answers for you, but I don¡¯t. Truth is, we might all die¡ªripped apart, bludgeoned to death, or skinned alive. But not tonight. Not right now.


    ¡°Right now, we¡¯re alive, we¡¯re safe, and we¡¯re together. We all come from different places and backgrounds. Some of us don¡¯t even speak the same language, and some of us dress up in animal costumes for reasons I¡¯ll probably never understand.¡± I glanced pointedly at Temperance in her skintight bunny suit. ¡°But none of that matters. What matters is that we¡¯re a community and tonight we¡¯re gonna celebrate like one.¡±


    I reached through space time and pulled out a frosty beer. I cracked the top with one nimble finger then hoisted the can into the air.


    ¡°Tonight, we drink. Tonight, we celebrate. Tonight, beer and pizza are on me!¡±


    THE END OF DISCOUNT DAN ¨C BOOK 1

 One – Franchise Opportunity

    ¡°Are you sure about this, Dan?¡± Croc asked, not even attempting to conceal the worry in its voice. ¡°Because me? I have concerns. I told you about Fritz, right? German fella. Very polite. He was also a mite headstrong and overconfident. Wouldn¡¯t listen to me either.¡± The rubbery blue dog offered me a sidelong glance with its oversized googly eyes. ¡°Might be a few parallels between Fritiz and a certain Delver whose name may or may not rhyme with man.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re very obviously just talking about me,¡± I said, never looking away from the kiosk. It sat beside a pair of motionless escalators, which connected to the upper level of the vast shopping mall that comprised the third floor.


    ¡°No, I never actually said it was you,¡± Croc replied with a sniff. ¡°So maybe that¡¯s just your conscience¡¯s way of saying ¡®Listen to Croc because he is a good boy and people should really listen to him more, so they don¡¯t die horrifically in easily avoidable accidents.¡¯¡±


    I rolled my eyes.


    ¡°Fine, remind me what happened to Fritz? Was he the guy who had his limbs ripped off or the one who got turned into meat slurry? It¡¯s hard to keep track, considering how high your body count is.¡±


    ¡°Hey, that¡¯s not fair, Dan.¡± The dog, who wasn¡¯t really a dog, sounded genuinely wounded. ¡°You know I didn¡¯t intentionally kill any of those Delvers. And, for the record, maybe they wouldn¡¯t be dead if they¡¯d listened to me. Like Fritz. Who had his face eaten off by sentient hand cream, which then proceeded to crawl into his lungs and lay thousands of eggs inside his torso. Took him weeks to die. Ugly business. I¡¯m telling you, Dan, the kiosks are not to be truffled with. Not unless you fancy your ribcage being transformed into a monster incubator.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure the word is trifled with,¡± I corrected. ¡°And consider me duly warned. I appreciate your wisdom, oh mighty Croc dog, but I¡¯m guessing ol¡¯ Fritz wasn¡¯t a level twenty-two with enough magical firepower to level a city block with toxic sludge. Besides¡±¡ªI glanced at the boxy mall kiosk, some thirty feet away, then down at the strange item in my hands¡ª¡°I¡¯m pretty sure this is right where we¡¯re supposed to be.¡±


    The item in question resembled an ugly wooden plaque with a burnished bronze faceplate that had the words Kiosk Franchise Opportunity engraved into the metal. I¡¯d earned it as a reward for taking down Funtime Frank and cleansing the Jungle Gym Jamboree of the seventh floor from a nasty case of Blight.


    I¡¯d seen plenty of Artifacts since noclipping into the Backrooms, but I¡¯d never seen one quite like this.


    I focused on the placard and a semi-transparent, mustard-yellow text box appeared in the air for what felt like the hundredth time. The pop-up resembled one of those eight-bit Nintendo Game notifications from the late eighties.


    Kiosk Franchise Opportunity


    Fabled Artifact


    Type: One-Time Use


    So, you¡¯re tired of the whole ¡°valiant hero¡± gig and want a little slice of that tasty, tasty capitalist pie, huh? Can¡¯t say I blame you. Work smarter, not harder, amiright? And if the 21<sup>st</sup> century has taught us anything, it¡¯s that the real money is in franchising and brand licensing deals. That and real-estate.


    This Kiosk Franchise Opportunity is arguably the best and worst parts of both. Nice little plot of land and brand recognition.


    Just slay the current ¡°franchisee¡± of any kiosk connected to the Franchisor Network, then slap this placard on and BOOM, you¡¯re in business faster than you can say transaction fee!


    The kiosk location acts as physical interface terminal for a Secure Superspace Mass Storage Facility. Which is a really just a fancy way of saying it¡¯s like a giant Progenitor Monolith, but for all the shit you want to sell.


    As the new kiosk franchisee, you¡¯ll be able to store any compatible items within and shoppers will be able to purchase or bid on those items directly through the kiosk terminal. Once the deal is done and the price paid, all purchased items will be instantly deposited into the customer¡¯s Personal Subspace Storage System. No muss, no fuss, no shipping, handling, or waiting! It¡¯s the perfect scheme.


    There¡¯s one tiny little catch, however.


    All transactions conducted through a Franchise Kiosk are subject to an 85% Franchisor Fee. As the corporate office is wont to say: ¡°You¡¯ll take the crumbs, and you¡¯ll like it, bitch!¡± Welcome to the fast-paced, cutthroat world of franchising!


    I dismissed the prompt with a wave of one hand then glanced back at the kiosk loaded down with bullshit Health and Wellness products no one could possibly want or need. Clunky massage guns and sleek ¡°smart band¡± fitness trackers. Yoga accessories and essential oil diffusers. Bottles of ¡°Premium Grade¡± holistic supplements and, yes, skin care creams.


    Hopefully, none of those creams were sentient.


    There was no one manning the kiosk, but that didn¡¯t mean anything.


    Just because I couldn¡¯t currently see anyone, didn¡¯t mean there wasn¡¯t anyone there.


    That was Backrooms survival 101.


    Hell, the entirety of the third floor looked completely dead. Not a soul in sight. But that was a lie. A lie that could kill if you weren¡¯t careful. All around us were equally empty glass-fronted stores with names like Pandora''s Music Box and Neon Nightmares. Sure, some of those places were probably abandoned, while others were miniature, nightmarish fiefdoms, filled with horrors that would be only too happy to gut any Delver idiotic enough to trespass onto their territory. I wasn¡¯t worried about any of them, though.


    At this point, most of the monsters here were more afraid of me than I was of them.


    ¡°Now just hear me out,¡± Croc said hopefully. ¡°What if instead of purposely provoking the unholy wraith of whatever nightmare lives inside that kiosk, we went back to the store and ate pizza together? You can drink all the beer you want, and I¡¯ll eat Froyo until I can¡¯t feel my legs. Doesn¡¯t that sound like it would be way more fun?¡±


    ¡°If this goes well, I promise, you can eat froyo until we run out or you contract diabetes, but we need to handle this first.¡± I grimaced, lips stretching into a thin line. ¡°We¡¯ve got to do something about the Aspirants of the Skinless Court. Those dickweeds are fucking up everything, but this might be a way to fix things. At least temporarily.¡±


    The placard in my hands wasn¡¯t a chance drop from one of the Gashapon loot machines or some random item, harvested from the corpse of a dead Dweller. I¡¯d been purposely given it as a Reward. The Researcher wanted me to have it. The Researcher wanted me to be here. I could feel it.


    I wasn¡¯t entirely sure why, though I had a working theory.


    It was just a hunch, but my gut told me the Researcher didn¡¯t like the Flayed Monarch any more than I did, and this was his way of offering me a helping hand. Or, at least, his way of pointing me in the right direction without getting too overtly involved. Right now, I was little more than a fly buzzing around the head of a dark and vengeful god, but with a little help and enough time, it was possible I could become strong enough to rival even something as powerful as the Flayed Monarch.


    The Researcher knew it and was looking out for me. In small ways, at least.


    But the Monarch knew it too, which is exactly why he was dispatching his bootlickers to try to cut me down before I could become a legitimate threat. I was a pawn in a cosmic game of chess and one side was trying to promote me while the other was doing their damnedest to remove me from the board entirely. So far, the Monarch¡¯s thugs hadn¡¯t been able to breach my shop directly, so instead they¡¯d been targeting my customers and attempting to blockade my doors. Laying medieval siege to my shop.


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    Unfortunately, the tactic was working.


    Fewer and fewer customers were getting through the blockade, and moving the doorway anchors was a deadly risk since it meant actively confronting the Aspirants.


    But maybe the strange wooden placard could change that. If I could set up an independent Discount Dan Pop-Up Shop, which would serve as an extension to the storefront, maybe I could break the Court¡¯s stranglehold. True, one dinky little kiosk probably wouldn¡¯t be enough to shift the tides of war, but it was a place to start. And it stood to reason that if I could perform a hostile takeover of one kiosk, then maybe there was a way to take over others?


    Hell, maybe there was a way to take over all of them.


    ¡°We¡¯ve put this off long enough,¡± I said, tucking the wooden placard back into my storage space. ¡°Let¡¯s just roll up our sleeves and get ¡¯er done.¡±


    ¡°Can we at least wait for Jakob or Temperance?¡± Croc pleaded.


    Both Delvers had left a week ago, bound for Howlers Hold, the safe harbor of the seventh floor. I was hoping to strike up a business partnership with their leader, Wraith, but I¡¯d made a lot of enemies since waking up in the Lobby with the hangover to end all hangovers. Although both Jakob and Temp vouched for the Howlers, I wasn¡¯t going to take any unnecessary chances where other Delvers were concerned.


    Maybe I was just being paranoid. But was it actually paranoia if someone really was out to get me? Or was it just being smart?


    Either way, better to let them come to me instead.


    That¡¯s what my friends were doing¡ªpaving the way for our trade alliance. At least, I hoped that¡¯s what they were doing.


    ¡°Relax, Croc.¡± I patted the dog on its blue nose. ¡°Everything¡¯s gonna be alright. This is the third floor, not the thirtieth. Doesn¡¯t matter what we¡¯re dealing with, there¡¯s no way that whatever¡¯s in there is tougher than Funtime Frank or half of the other things we murdered on the seventh floor. Remember Harold the Terror Clown or the Sisters of Silent Shadows? Trust me, we got this. And in the very unlikely event that things go tits up, we can always jump ship.¡±


    I jerked a thumb over one shoulder, toward a glass door with a rectangular plastic plate tacked onto the front that read, Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains. Once upon a time that door had connected to a boutique video store called the VHS Vault, but thanks to a little interdimensional spatial magic, it now led to my own personal retail empire.


    ¡°Besides, we don¡¯t need ¡¯em,¡± I added. ¡°We already have reinforcements.¡±


    I brought my hands together in a thunderclap and activated one of my newest Relics, Unhinged Taxidermy. Mana poured from my core as two inky-black rifts in space opened, one to my left, another to my right. A single nightmarish abomination shambled out from each portal, flanking me like a pair of Frankenstein bodyguards.


    The first resembled a sickly humanoid, cat-like creature with electric blue fur, crisscrossed with toxic-green strips and mangled seams that held her tattered hide together. This thing was all that remained of Synthia Lynx, the former Keytar player for the Jungle Gym Jamboree. Her instrument was missing, and I¡¯d replaced one arm with a coppery limb, taken from Vex Vixen. Her other hand was also gone¡ªchopped off by Temperance¡ªand I¡¯d grafted on a magically powered Artifact chainsaw in its place.


    The second minion had the body of a huge animatronic black bear, red muscle and gleaming chrome peeking out from beneath badly butchered fur. Sitting on top of the bear¡¯s stocky body was the head of Drumbo Chumbo, the Pachyderm Percussionist. He had a riot shield strapped to one arm and carried an enormous sledgehammer, designed for punching through masonry, in his free hand. A weapon like that was built to be used with two hands, but Drumbo easily wielded it like a baseball bat.


    Both creatures were horrifying beyond words and made my skin crawl.


    Turned out, being a pseudo-necromancer was way less cool in real life than it was in books or videogames. There were so many moral conundrums to tackle, to say nothing of the fluids involved or the eye-watering stench that lingered around the abominations like a cloud. A small part of me hated that this was what I¡¯d become, but they say ¡®beggars can¡¯t be choosers¡¯ and I sure as shit couldn¡¯t afford the luxury of being choosy. Not with so many threats arrayed against me.


    Fact was, both Horrors were Level 12¡ªhalf of what they¡¯d been in life¡ªand could likely kill anything on this floor without batting an eye. That was too good to pass up, even if it was both morally and physically repugnant on several fronts.


    ¡°Oh fiddlesticks. Fine,¡± the dog finally muttered while side-eyeing my Taxidermied Horrors. ¡°We can attack the kiosk. I still want to go on record and say that I¡¯ve got a bad feeling about this, but I trust your judgment, Dan. If you think this is the right move, then I¡¯m behind you one hundred percent.¡±


    This is the right decision, I silently repeated over and over again, trying to convince myself more than anyone else. Finally, I nodded to the dog, then drew my Vaughn rip claw hammer from the tool belt slung low around my hips. With a thought and a whisper of mana, my demolition screwdriver rose into the air, held aloft by an invisible tether of telekinetic force.


    A twisted version of that same power connected me to my Horrors.


    The summoned monsters had rudimentary intelligence and could act of their own volition to a limited degree, but neither had any sort of personality. Not like Baby Hands or Princess Ponypuff¡ªthe two Cannon Fodder Golems who helped run the shop. No, these things were shuffling, automatons of meat and machine connected to my mind. They were undead weapons, guided by my raw will.


    Without needing to speak, I directed them forward and they obeyed instantly.


    I padded toward the kiosk with Horrors accompanying me on either side, while Croc brought up the rear. My Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense warned me about potential traps, dangers, and pitfalls and the kiosk burned in my vision with a halo of red light. A blazing road flare that screamed Do Not Fuck With Me at the top of its lungs.


    I was absolutely gonna fuck with it. As my high school career counselor could confirm, making good life choices was never my strong suit.


    I stopped just short of the kiosk, took one more deep breath to calm my nerves, then reached out one hand and plucked a slim ¡°massage wand¡± from one of the shelves.  The wand was obviously meant to double as a personal vibrator, but it was also a surprisingly decent Artifact. It had one open Effect Slot and a primary ability called Good Vibrations, which could be used once a day to ¡°massage¡± away up to twenty-five points physical damage.


    I absently placed it into Subspace Storage while I waited for something bad to happen.


    For a long moment nothing did.


    I shot a questioning look at Croc, who was already backing up a few paces.


    ¡°Something¡¯s coming, Dan,¡± the dog said. ¡°Trust me, I can feel it.¡±


    As if on cue, the ground began to shake and rumble, and the wooden storage doors encircling the base of the kiosk chattered like teeth. It felt like a small earthquake, or the floor shifts that occasionally happened. There was a deep groan and an odd scraping noise that reminded me of a churning cement mixer. Then the kiosk lurched straight up into the air amidst a whirlwind of dust and flying debris. I danced back a handful of paces as a pair of enormous, multi-segmented legs emerged from a cavernous sink hole in the linoleum-covered floor.


    The color drained from my face.


    Those alien limbs looked like spider legs, each as thick as my thigh and covered in spiky protrusion. They weren¡¯t black, though, but rather a deep purple at the tips which gradually faded to a vibrant orange. It almost would¡¯ve been pretty if it wasn¡¯t so terrifying.


    ¡°What the hell is that?¡± I yelled at Croc to be heard over the clatter. ¡°I thought you said there were Sales Sirens inside these things?¡± I waved toward the kiosk, which was now suspended a good twenty feet above the ground. ¡°You never said anything about Sales Spiders.¡±


    More insectoid legs emerged from the dust cloud.


    ¡°It¡¯s the Backrooms, Dan! The only ironclad rule is that that everything, everywhere, all the time is both lying to you and trying to murder you. Also, I hate to be that dog, but I told you we shouldn¡¯t mess with these things. Not to be truffled with I said. Had a bad feeling in my tummy, I said. But does anyone listen to Croc? No. And now you¡¯re going to die, and it¡¯ll take me months to get over it.¡±


    As the swirling dust plume began to settle and disperse, we got our first good look at the monstrosity.


    Not a spider at all.


    Nope. It was a giant fucking hermit crab.


    It was also wearing the kiosk on its back like a shell. The creature turned, hateful black eyes locking on us as its scythe-like mandibles opened and closed like a pair of giant scissors.


    Well shit. Giant, kiosk-wearing hermit crab had definitely not been on my Bingo card.


    A tag flashed above its head, followed in short order by a racial description¡ªcourtesy of Researcher¡¯s Codex.


    Dweller 0.3328A ¨C Keke the Kiosk Crab [Level 28]


    Behold Keke the Kiosk Crab, the current franchisee of this particular kiosk location¡ªnot to be confused with its hatchmate Kelsei the Kiosk Krab, who is a racist piece of shit. These things are the reason why the other Dwellers stay out of the main corridors.


    Its massive claws can crush concrete and its beady eyes are always on the lookout for its next victim, which, if you¡¯re reading this, is probably you! Although this pile of meat and chitin is as brainless as the kiosk it inhabits, it is fiercely territorial and an apex predator of the third floor. But don¡¯t worry, it probably won¡¯t eat you.


    Not at first, anyway.


    These things lay like a thousand eggs, and it turns out those eggs need somewhere warm and wet and gooey to incubate. Fun fact, the living human torso works great, so you have that to look forward to. And stay frosty, because even after the babies hatch, many will stay with mama until they¡¯re big enough to branch out and find shells to call their own.


    Huh, apparently Croc was right about that whole egg incubator thing.


    Maybe, I owed him an apology. Assuming we survived this battle¡­

 Discount Dan Book 2 Cover Art Reveal!

    Hey, fellow shoppers. I''ve got a bunch of chapters done and I''ll post a new one tomorrow, but in the meantime I thought I''d share this ridiculously awesome art for book 2 which I just got back. It''s... I don''t have words for how much I love it. Still, I''d love to hear your thoughts in the comments.


    Also! While you''re waiting for more Discount Dan, please head over to Amazon and check out Wasteland Warlords. Episode 4 just dropped yesterday, and Episode 5 will be out in a few weeks. Just a heads up, these aren''t full length novels (most are around 35K), which is about a third of a novel, but there are a bunch of them. You can read them in KU or (if you''re an audiobook listener) you can snag the audiobooks completely for FREE through the Audible Plus Catalog. They''re even narrated by Travis Baldree! I''ve got the links below. Please consider giving them a try.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

 Two – Kiosk Crab

    The kiosk crab scuttled toward us with a warbling screech, lashing out with a pair of enormous claws big enough to cut me in two.


    Synthia 2.0¡¯s chainsaw hand screamed as she charged with no regard for her own safety. A pincher darted toward her, but she was surprisingly nimble, and ducked the attack, before laying into one of the crab¡¯s legs with her blade. Orange sparks flew as chainsaw met chitin. A health bar appeared above the crab¡¯s head, but it didn¡¯t drop even a fraction of an inch.


    Drumbo and Croc both circled right, trying to outmaneuver the creature, while I unleashed my screwdriver and activated Pressure Washer all at once.


    Pressure Washer was my best single target ranged attack, and I¡¯d finally sacrificed enough Relics to push it up to Level 5, unlocking the first threshold ability in the process. The Mana per second had increased from 5 to 7, but that was offset by the hefty surge in damage output, which jumped from 15 to 27 points of Slashing Damage on contact, while the additional scalding damage doubled from 5 to 10 points.


    Hitting the first threshold also unlocked a secondary effect called ¡°Dual Nozzle,¡± which let me simultaneously cast two streams of water at once¡ªthough doing so cut the damage in half for each stream.


    My beam of pressurized water slashed across one of the crab¡¯s flexing claws, but like Synthia 2.0¡¯s chainsaw, the attack failed to even scratch the creature¡¯s bulky exoskeleton.


    That didn¡¯t mean the crab was invulnerable, however.


    The Backrooms was a hard and unforgiving instructor, but it had taught me many lessons since I¡¯d first arrived. One of those hard-won lessons was that everything had a weakness if you survived long enough to find it.


    The crab¡¯s armor was tough, but its deeply recessed eyes looked awfully squishy. The screwdriver shot forward on strands of telekinetic power and slammed directly into one eye with a sickening pop. Blue blood spurted out in a high arc and the creature¡¯s health bar dipped for the first time, dropping from 440 down to 390. The creature squealed in rage and pain. Its mandibles opened wide, and a blue fog bank rolled out.


    For a second, I thought the crab could breathe fire¡ªbecause that would be just my fucking luck¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t flame. No. It was a cloud of incense that smelled like lavender.


    The creature dropped low and spun like a top, the cloud quickly filling the courtyard with its potent aroma. The gas clawed its way into my nose and mouth. In an instant, my lungs were a furnace and my eyes felt like they were being stung by a swarm of fire ants. A muddy yellow notice, embossed with a black exclamation point, strobed in the corner of my vision.


    You have been afflicted with Essential Oil Cloud (Lavender Barrage) and suffer from 50% reduced vision, painful breathing, and sluggish reaction speed for two minutes or until cured.


    Back during my days in the Marine Corps, I¡¯d been volunteered¡ªentirely against my will, obviously¡ªfor the Non-Lethal Weapons Combat Course. It was a grueling month-long slog, designed as a way to legally haze Marines. The course ultimately culminated in what was called the Non-Lethal Weapons Gauntlet. First you were tazed for unspecified ¡°reasons.¡± Then, before fully recovering, you were blasted in the face with bear mace and forced to run an obstacle course, where you had to fight off ¡°assailants¡± who all had riot gear and gasmasks.


    It was exactly as bad as it sounds.


    This was just like that.


    As terrible as that training had been, however, it helped me now. Despite the pain, I stayed cool and kept a level head. Although I couldn¡¯t cure myself, I knew this was just uncomfortable but not life threatening. It would pass.


    Squinting against the pain, I forced my way through the haze and lethargy, and recalled my screwdriver with a slight mental tug. It zipped back to me and stopped on a dime, hovering just above my left shoulder once more.


    The rest of my team was faring much better against the noxious blue fog, which was already starting to dissipate.


    Neither Synthia 2.0 or Drumbo Rebooted were technically living creatures, so they didn¡¯t have to worry about inconvenient things like breathing or pain, and the toxic cloud seemed to minimally affect Croc. The second the crab finally stopped its mad spin, all three darted in again. This time Synthia jammed her roaring chainsaw into the crab¡¯s leg joints, which were more vulnerable than the armor itself, while Drumbo laid into the monster with his huge sledgehammer.


    The blunt force trauma seemed far more effective than Synthia¡¯s slashing blades.


    As for Croc, the rubbery dog was now easily the size of a bear. While the crab had been busy break dancing across the courtyard, the mimic had taken an escalator to the second level, which overlooked the battlefield below.


    ¡°Bombs away!¡± the dog cried as it vaulted over the railing and cannonballed straight down onto the kiosk hut, which served as the crab¡¯s shell.


    The dog-bear tore at the kiosk itself while fleshy blue tentacles slithered out, searching for any weakness in the creature¡¯s armored hide.


    I let loose with another concentrated blast of water, targeting a claw joint, just like Synthia 2.0. My attack hit true, and this time the beam of water sawed through the limb. One huge claw clattered to the floor and blue blood spurted like a fountain as the crab¡¯s total health dropped by another ten percent.


    In retaliation, the crab reared up like a bucking bronco, easily tossing Croc from its back though inadvertently exposing its belly. Jackpot. There didn¡¯t seem to be any armor there at all. That had to be its weakness. Before I could exploit the opening, the crab dropped back down and the kiosk storage doors shot open, disgorging a horde of smaller crabs.


    Though smaller didn¡¯t mean small.


    Dweller 0.335D ¨C Juvenile Kiosk Crab [Level 5]


    Thuds and thumps hit the floor as a horde of crabs ranging in size from chickens to rottweilers filled the courtyard. All were too small for proper kiosks of their own, so instead they sported a wide range of discarded mall items as shells. Some wore pedicure foot baths or metal cookware. Others, plastic trash bins, glass fish tanks, and clay flowerpots¡ªlikely looted from a garden supply shop. One even protruded from a comically oversized bong.


    The smaller crabs swarmed Synthia 2.0 en masse.


    Synthia backtracked away from the larger kiosk crab, hacking at the encroaching tidal wave of legs and claws, but for every crab she cut down another took its place. In seconds, they buried her in scuttling limbs and armor-plated bodies, tearing away pieces of meat and machine with ruthless pincers and powerful mandibles. More of the crabs were bum rushing Croc, though that was the last mistake they would ever make.


    The mimic was substantially stronger than either of my summoned Horrors and ripped the crabs apart with pitiful ease. Its formidable bear-like claws shredded exoskeletons while fleshy tentacles pulled the crabs into the cavernous, teeth-studded maw that filled Croc¡¯s entire chest cavity.


    With a thought, I redirected Drumbo Rebooted away from the larger kiosk crab and toward Synthia 2.0. The Horror responded without a moment of hesitation, spinning on one oversized heel, then charging into the writhing mass of crustacean bodies with his sledgehammer swinging for the fences. Now that Croc wasn¡¯t riding the kiosk crab like an insane rodeo cowboy hopped up on Redbull and truck-stop caffeine pills, I had a few more options to work with.


    I thrust my hammer forward as though I were wielding Mj?lnir¡ªand not a Vaughn, 19oz rip claw¡ªand cast my most powerful AoE ability, StainSlayer Maelstrom. The spell conjured a hurricane of industrial grade bleach, so potent it could strip flesh from bone like a school of hungry piranha. The only drawback was that it didn¡¯t discriminate between friend and foe. Anything unlucky enough to get caught in the blast would be picking its skin up off the floor.


    With Croc and the others away from Mama Crab, I wasn¡¯t going to get a better shot.


    Mana poured out of my core as violent, swirling blue clouds formed overhead. Great beads of sweat rolled down my forehead and slicked my chest as my Mana Pool dropped by thirty-five points. Fat, sizzling drops of frothy blue rain fell on the gargantuan crab in a torrential downpour. The corrosive super bleach splashed harmlessly against the kiosk itself, but viciously bit into the crab¡¯s exoskeleton. The Dweller¡¯s HP bar continued to drop slowly but steadily as the spell extracted its terrible price.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    The gargantuan crab let loose an undulating screech that felt like the metaphysical equivalent of nails on a chalkboard and turned its attention fully on me for the first time. The kiosk crab put on an impressive burst of speed and shot forward, her remaining claw rocketing toward me like a piston.


    Working on pure combat instinct, I activated Neural Slip Stream, my newest Fable-grade Relic¡ªforged by combining Moving Walkway, Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike, and Frequency Shift.


    The last remaining dregs of my Mana vanished as cold power surged through me. My limbs went oddly numb as my body turned both translucent and incorporeal, as I transcended the material realm. For five seconds, I was a Spectral Thought, 90% resistant to all forms of damage, capable of phasing through physical objects and terrain hazards, all while moving at six-times my normal speed.


    Except, it didn¡¯t feel like I was moving fast.


    Instead, it felt like the world was moving slow. Everything took on an iridescent shimmer and those five seconds stretched out like a breath held too long.


    The world wasn¡¯t frozen by any stretch of the imagination, but it was the easiest thing in the world to leap backward, avoiding the incoming claw attack. Although I couldn¡¯t technically deal any damage while in Spectral Thought form, there were still plenty of other things I could do. Notably, any item on my person transformed with me, and they remained completely functional during the phase shift.


    I pulled a Mana Restoration Elixir¡ªwhich took the form of a too-sugary Jolt Cola¡ªand shotgunned that son of a bitch. I¡¯d been chugging beers like this for the better part of fifteen years, and it was second nature at this point. Whoever would¡¯ve thought my borderline alcoholism would prove to be such a tactical combat advantage? Certainly not my Battalion CO, that¡¯s for sure.


    I crumpled the empty can and tossed it away as the spell ran its course and the world finally managed to catch back up with me.


    ¡°Gonna have to do better than that, you cantankerous cockwomble!¡± I crowed while lashing out with my screwdriver again. It sailed through the air and smashed into the crab¡¯s other eye, popping it like a swollen zit.


    Just like that, another chunk of HP went right down the drain.


    The Kiosk Crab went berserk, huge legs tap dancing across the floor, leaving tiny craters in its wake. The lesser crabs turned as one and rushed toward me, Croc and my minions momentarily forgotten.


    I was the new number one target, and the Kiosk Crab was sending everything it had against me.


    The Jolt Cola hadn¡¯t completely topped off my Mana Pool, but I still had more than enough juice for a few nasty surprises. I stretched my left hand toward the floor, palm down, fingers splayed outward, and activated another new Relic I¡¯d picked up after my battle with Frank and his Jungle Gym Jamboree, Fault Spike. This one, I¡¯d looted off the original Drumbo Chumbo. The same Pachyderm Percussionist, currently hammering at the Kiosk Crab with an oversized construct maul.


    Well, a version of him, anyway.


    This was my first time actually using the Relic in a life-or-death combat scenario.


    Talk about baptism by fire¡­


    The floor trembled and ten rocky spikes, each as thick as my wrist, erupted upward at various angles, forming a natural half-moon barrier around me. Several spikes ripped through encroaching hermit crabs, killing them on the spot. The rest retreated a few paces, giving me enough room to cut ¡¯em down with Pressure Washer. And unlike Keke the enormous hermit crab, my beam had no problem slicing through their shells.


    More crabs were scampering at me from all sides, but these things were level fours and fives. The power gap between us was a gulf as wide as the Grand Canyon. There were a lot of them, sure, but so long as they didn¡¯t bury me, I could kill ¡¯em all.


    I slipped back as the smaller crabs crested my spike barrier and rushed toward me, then I darted forward, cackling madly. I pumped mana into my Vaughn and it swelled until it was the size of a medieval warhammer. The weapon sang in my hands as I crushed makeshift shells and snapped overextended limbs. I fired beams of water with my left hand, cutting the crustacean shitheads down by the boatload. All the while my screwdriver darted back and forth through the air, killing the creatures with quick, precision strikes.


    Blue blood covered the floor in puddles. It was a massacre.


    While I handled the mini-crabs, Croc and my minions resumed their assault on Godzilla-Crab. Synthia 2.0 wasn¡¯t looking so hot¡ªthe junior crabs had reduced her total health pool to less than ten-percent¡ªbut Croc and Drumbo Rebooted were holding their own. The two worked in tandem, one drawing the Kiosk Crab¡¯s attention while the other smashed or hacked at one armored limb or another.


    Going that route would take forever, though.


    We needed to end this before something invariably went wrong, and I had a plan.


    The internal cooldown for Neural Slip Stream had finally lapsed, so I activated the ability for a second time. Icy power washed through me once more as I temporarily faded from material reality. Instead of retreating like I had before, I bolted forward as the world slowed to a crawl. A giant leg flashed out, but the limb passed through my chest¡ªdealing only a few points of damage¡ªthen continued onward, swatting Drumbo across the courtyard like a ragdoll.


    My Taxidermied Horror cartwheeled through the air and crashed through the large glass window of the Neon Nightmares storefront. The boutique store appeared to be some sort of 80s themed fashion outlet, filled with brightly colored tops, ridiculous pleather coats and skirts, and far too many feather boas. A trio of mannequins, who¡¯d been motionless in the display window just moments before, lurched to life and threw themselves at the temporarily incapacitated Drumbo.


    Like the smaller crabs, they were only level four. Nothing the hulking pachyderm couldn¡¯t handle.


    I repositioned myself until I was directly beneath the giant crustacean. The creature was heavily armored just about everywhere and even at level 5, my Pressure Washer skill simply wasn¡¯t powerful enough to pierce through the creature¡¯s formidable, armored exterior.


    Its belly was another story entirely.


    The flimsy particle board of the kiosk was the only thing protecting its undercarriage and if this thing actually reflected real hermit crab anatomy, then the interior portion of its body would be extremely vulnerable.


    Although I couldn¡¯t personally deal any damage or launch any offensive spells while in Thought Form, that limitation didn¡¯t extend to Mental Micromanagement which was technically classified as a utility spell. And because my demolition screwdriver wasn¡¯t on my person¡ªbut rather floating in the air several feet away¡ªit was still completely solid and one hundred percent locked, cocked, and ready to rock. This was a particularly useful exploit I¡¯d discovered after a little experimentation.


    The screwdriver shot upward with the force of a fifty-caliber rifle round.


    It punched through the kiosk flooring just as the effects of Neural Slip Stream ended and I phased back into material reality. Lucky me. A fist sized hole appeared in the creature¡¯s belly and a geyser of fetid blue blood drenched me like a firehouse. I gasped and gagged as some of the goop accidentally went into my mouth.


    I forced down the desire to vomit up every single thing I¡¯d ever eaten and focused on the job at hand: killing this big ol¡¯ sumbitch. I raised one hand and let loose a concentrated beam of water with 90,000 PSI of sheer force behind it. The crab¡¯s natural chitin had deflected Pressure Washer easily enough, but the thin kiosk flooring offered no such protection. The beam cut through the crab¡¯s defenseless stomach, and the monster¡¯s health bar flashed and plunged below ten percent.


    More gore rained down, soaking every square inch of my body.


    Didn¡¯t matter. Not now anyway. All that mattered was survival. Was killing this thing.


    Hammer in hand, I wheeled in a circle and smashed the blunt head into one arachnoid appendage, triggering Gavel of Get Fucked in the process. Normally, the attack burned 20 Stamina and dealt damage equal to 20% of the opponent¡¯s exist Health Pool. But, because the enormous murder crab was already below 10% total Health, its secondary execute ability, Killing Blow, triggered instead. That also activated the cascading effect Wave of Justice, which applied the Gavel¡¯s primary damage dealing effect to all enemy combatants in a twenty-foot radius.


    Most of the smaller crabs caught in range of the blast were dead before they even knew it. Meanwhile, a tsunami of power flowed out of the hammer and the crab¡¯s insides just¡­


    Exploded is the only word that really fit.


    A trickle of gore turned into a flood as its innards dropped onto me.


    The crab stumbled and swayed then, with an almost languid motion, it pitched over onto one side. I dove, narrowly clearing the crab¡¯s toppling corpse, then rolled back to my feet as a notification pinged in my ear.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Bloodbath


    Usually when someone says, ¡°Wow, what a bloodbath,¡± it¡¯s a figure of expression. But not you. No, no, no. Clearly, your brain is far too smooth for the nuance of simile or metaphor. You took the assignment literally and just backstroked through a pool of blood and guts. Good job, I guess? I don¡¯t know, I have mixed feelings about this. I will say, though, wearing the entrails of your enemies is a great way to dissuade future adversaries. Just ask the Flayed Monarch.


    Reward: Yeah, no. I really don¡¯t want to reinforce this kind of behavior, I¡¯ve seen where that goes.


    Title: Bloodbath ¨C Increase in your Health Regeneration by 5% for 8 hours after bathing in the blood of your enemies.


    I dismissed the achievement, then surveyed the courtyard.


    It was a scene of pure carnage. There was blood and body parts everywhere. Crab legs and bits of plastic mannequin strewn about haphazardly. Croc was hurriedly stuffing the last crab into its cavernous belly-maw while Drumbo Rebooted was swaying drunkenly in place. Synthia was face down on the floor, her limbs twisted in unnatural ways, her health bar at zero. She glimmered then vanished in a flash of light¡ªreturned to the extra-dimensional subspace container where she resided when not in use.


    I would need to repair her before I could summon her again, but she¡¯d served admirably.


    ¡°What a fucking mess,¡± I grumbled, plucking at my gore drench outfit. Bloodbath was right. I¡¯d never be able to get the smell or stains out of my clothes. Not if I scrubbed at ¡¯em for a year.


    ¡°Hate to say it, Dan,¡± Croc offered, lumbering toward me, ¡°but I did tell you so.¡± The mimic shook its head before shrinking down into the unassuming guise of a rubbery blue dog with googly eyes. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t have messed around with the kiosk.¡±


    ¡°Duly noted,¡± I replied, letting the edge of my grimy bathrobe fall in disgust. ¡°Now help me loot these corpses and clean this mess up. And remember to keep any bodies you can,¡± I added, scanning the sea of pinchers and segmented legs. ¡°I have a feeling these things could come in handy down the road.¡±

 Three – Variant Kiosk Network

    It took me and Croc most of an hour to loot the corpses, sort through the various Shards and Relics, and harvest the salvageable body parts. That last bit was the worst by far and made me feel like a ghoul. Still, as incredibly distasteful as my new ability was, it was too powerful to ignore. I could summon two Taxidermied Horrors for every Relic level and even at level 1 it was already paying massive dividends.


    So, even though it made me sick to my stomach, I wrapped a piece of cloth across my nose and mouth to help with the stink and did what needed doing. Just imagine what kind of monstrosities I could build with all these crab pieces. I even had a few ideas rattling around in my head that had nothing at all to do with combat.


    The loot was also great.


    All of the younger crabs had at least one or two Shards¡ªsome of the chonkier ones even carried Uncommon shards¡ªand most also carried a Common-grade Relic. They were basic-bitch tier stuff. Quick-Stitch Kit looked like a gas-station first aid kit and offered a very slight bump to overall Health Regen while Survival Can Opener was a Stamina-based Relic that minutely boosted physical attacks while using a bladed weapon. Nothing I could personally use, but better than most of the shitty Relics on the third floor.


    I¡¯d be able to sell or trade them for a pretty profit, especially if I could get a trade alliance with Howlers Hold nailed down.


    Keke the Kiosk Crab had two Uncommon Relics stashed away in its core.


    The first, Chitin Armor, was a physical Relic that significantly boosted Toughness. Unfortunately, equipping it also caused the user to grow an exoskeleton that drastically slowed movement speed and would become permanent overtime. That was a hard pass for me. I for one preferred skin over hardened plate armor, even if skin was less combat effective.


    The second, Prismatic Essential Oil Diffuser, looked exactly like its namesake and was the source of the strange breath weapon the crab had used during the battle. It dealt decent damage but was also wildly unpredictable, just like every Boss Babe who swore by the power of Essential Oils.


    Prismatic Essential Oil Diffuser


    Uncommon Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Line of Sight


    Cost: 10 Mana


    Duration: Lingering Effects up to 2 Minutes


    Cooldown: 2 Minutes


    Ever walk past a mall kiosk and get a whiff of Essential Oils so intense it feels like your nose is being physically assaulted? Yeah, this is the weaponized version of that. But watch out, because this chaotic cloud of fragrant bullshit is a double-edged sword that can cut both ways and you¡¯ll never be sure what you¡¯ll end up with.


    Randomly unleash one of the following effects upon casting:


    Lavender Barrage: All enemies in the Area of Effect are partially blinded and afflicted with painful respiratory discomfort for two minutes.


    Peppermint Palsy: All enemies in the Area of Effect receive 15 points of Cold Damage and are slowed by 20% for one minute.


    Eucalyptus Bliss: All allies in the Area of Effect are engulfed in a swirling cloud of eucalyptus vapor, causing extreme lethargy while simultaneously restoring 25 points of Health and Mana for 49 seconds.


    Chamomile Bedlam: All allies in the Area of Effect become disoriented and randomly switch allegiances for 10 seconds, attacking friend and foe alike.


    Tea Tree Burn: All creatures in the Area of Effect receive 20 points of Fire Damage and are afflicted with an additional point of Burn Damage per five seconds for 55 seconds.


    Bergamot Frenzy: All creatures in the Area of Effect are enveloped in a noxious hallucinogenic mist that causes terrifying illusions for two minutes.


    This Relic enables Mana usage.


    Using the Relic was insane since it was just as likely to hurt as to help, but there was no denying it was powerful. Maybe I could Forge it with something else to make it a little less unpredictable and liable to blow up in my face.


    The last Relic was a Rare which appeared to be an upgraded version of the Quick-Stitch Kit the other crabs had. It was called Molt and Mend which, much to my horror, allowed the user to ¡°molt¡± injured body parts and regrow new, healthy appendages over the course of several weeks. I was definitely going to hang onto that one just because it was one of those things I¡¯d rather have and not need, than need and not have. Still, it was extremely disturbing.


    The real prize, however, wasn¡¯t the Shards, Relics, or even the Experience.


    It was the kiosk itself.


    The hut was in bad shape from the battle, but I knew it would self-repair over time, and the cosmetic damage didn¡¯t seem to affect its functionality in any way. When I tacked the ugly Franchise Opportunity placard onto the kiosk, there was a flash of cerulean light followed by a prompt.


    Congratulations, you¡¯ve just filed an application claim for an eligible kiosk terminal currently connected to the Franchisor Network! If your application is approved, you will be able to freely use the kiosk interface terminal to buy, sell, and store compatible items, including but not limited to Artifacts, Relics, and other qualifying Progenerated Material. Note, all transactions conducted through a Franchise Kiosk are subject to an 85% Franchisor Fee to be paid in full at the time of transaction to the Steamboat Studios corporate office on the 99th Floor.


    Proceed? Yes / No


    The deal was terrible, but I accepted out of sheer curiosity more than anything else. That and my gut intuition, which was still telling me that the Researcher was actively trying to help me in some way. He¡¯d awarded me the Franchise Opportunity Placard for a reason.


    I was sure of it.


    I was also curious to learn more about the Franchisor, and whatever the hell Steamboat Studios was.


    Croc had mentioned the Franchisor ages ago, but I hadn¡¯t paid much mind at the time. There were so many strange and fascinating things inhabiting the Backrooms that if something wasn¡¯t actively trying to murder me, it just ended up as a footnote inside my brain, filed away for later. But the Franchisor was no longer some nebulous being. Some myth or legend like so many of the other entities I¡¯d heard whispered about like ghosts around a campfire.


    It was real. And it lived down on the 99<sup>th</sup> floor.


    Information was power inside the Backrooms, and that little tidbit felt significant even if there wasn¡¯t anything I could do with it right now.


    After a few minutes, another prompt came through, notifying me that my Franchisee application claim had been approved by Steamboat Studios. Why was I not surprised?Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    I immediately accessed the kiosk terminal and started poking around at the various options. After only a few minutes, I realized that it was even better than I could¡¯ve hoped for. Other than that whole 85% transaction fee for using the damned thing, of course.


    In many ways, the kiosk terminal was remarkably similar to the Progenitor Monoliths that dotted each Floor.


    Welcome to the Variant Kiosk Network, owned and operated by the Steamboat Studios Corporation of the 99<sup>th</sup> Floor! As the current kiosk Franchisee, you have several options not visible to kiosk customers. To explore those features, please select from one of the available options below!


    <ol>


    <li> Secure Superspace Mass Storage Facility</li>


    <li> Deposit/Remove Franchise Inventory </li>


    <li> Set Inventory Pricing</li>


    <li> Manage Kiosk Affiliates</li>


    <li> Auction House System Administration</li>


    </ol>


    Basically, the thing was a giant interdimensional storage vault and unlike my personal Subspace Storage System, there didn¡¯t seem to be any weight restrictions, though there were a few prohibited items. Namely, living creatures. The biggest catch was that I couldn¡¯t access the kiosk Storage System from anywhere at any time like I could with my personal Subspace Storage System. Instead, I needed to use the physical terminal to deposit or remove items.


    Interestingly, other Delvers could use the terminal to view any items I had listed and make purchases. On top of the flat ¡°buy it now¡± feature, I could also implement a bidding system, which would allowed Delvers to bid against each other, potentially driving up the price of certain coveted Relics or Artifacts. Then, after concluding the transaction, the item in question would be instantly whisked away from the Kiosk Superspace Storage and deposited into the buyer¡¯s Personal Subspace Storage System.


    It really was like magic.


    The best feature, by far, was the one tacked on at the very bottom¡ªalmost as though it were an afterthought. Auction House System Administration. That was the real game changer. It allowed Delvers other than me to list items through the kiosk, like some sort of giant interdimensional eBay, which could then be bid on by other kiosk users through the interface terminal. And, just like eBay, I got a percentage cut on every transaction.


    I could even directly adjust the percentage amount through the Affiliates Tab¡ªthough I had no intention of gouging sellers with a ridiculously high transaction fee, the way the Franchisor was gouging me. That 85% cut made the Kiosk almost worthless, since I was doing all of the work, taking all of the risk, and reaping so little reward. But so far as I was concerned, that was just another little speedbump to navigate.


    It might take me a while, but I¡¯d figure out a solution eventually.


    In the meantime, I wanted to see how the system worked, so I went ahead and deposited some run-of-the-mill survival gear, a few extra Common-grade Artifacts I had tucked away in Storage, and a handful of the Quick-Stitch Kit and Survival Can Opener Relics I¡¯d looted off the junior Hermit Crabs. I had to triple the price of what I would¡¯ve normally sold the items for inside my shop, and I was still barely turning a profit.


    That was just the price of convenience, I guess. Though if I could find a way to reduce the Franchisor¡¯s exorbitant fee, the kiosk had the potential to be a gold mine.


    I took a few extra minutes to spray paint the kiosk stall¡ªDiscount Dan¡¯s Pop-Up Shop!¡ªand leave a few of the twinning rings behind, then Croc and I left the stall where it was and headed home. I was tired, sore, and surprisingly hungry, despite the fact that I was still covered in blue crab blood and smelled like rotten sea scallops.


    ***


    The store buzzed with activity.


    Delvers shopping, others eating enchanted pizza or hotdogs, one even making an extremely bold choice to haggle with one of my Cannon Fodder Golems, Princess Ponypuff, devourer of worlds, and self-proclaimed servant of Vor¡¯ghel, the Devouring Maw who Dwells Beneath. I still wasn¡¯t entirely certain who or what that was. Hell, I wasn¡¯t even certain Vor¡¯ghel was a real entity at all.


    The negotiations were not going great.


    Ponypuff was currently screeching like a wounded goat while the customer flinched and folded in on themselves like a dying star. That¡¯s how pretty much every negotiation with Princess Ponypuff went. Now there was someone not to be trifled with.


    ¡°Hey good, you¡¯re back,¡± Taylor said, hustling over from the concession stand I¡¯d acquired from the Jungle Gym Jamboree.


    She was one of my two new human employees¡ªa twenty-something year old college student from Oklahoma State University who¡¯d Noclipped in after a drunken sorority rager. Against all odds, she and her friend, Stephanie, had survived long enough to stumble into the shop, and now the pair worked split shifts at the concession stand in exchange for room and board, along with all the food they could eat and a small in-store spending stipend.


    She slowed as she got closer, covering her mouth and nose with one hand as she eye-balled my outfit with open disgust. I could feel judgment radiating off her in waves.


    ¡°Oh my god, what happened to you?¡± she asked, voice muffled by her palm.


    ¡°Ah, she cares about you, Dan!¡± Croc said, tail happily waggling from side to side.


    ¡°Only because I¡¯m pretty sure this¡±¡ªshe gestured at my whole person¡ª¡°is how you end up with airborne super dysentery, and I for one have no desire to die while on the Oregon Trail. Now can you please tell me why you smell like that?¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± I asked, playing dumb.


    ¡°Like the inside of a sushi dumpster.¡± She squinted, studying me closer. ¡°It looks like a giant squid exploded all over you.¡±


    ¡°Giant hermit crab, actually,¡± I replied, ¡°but good guess. Now what do you need? I could really use some alone time with a bathtub full of hand sanitizer and enough bleach to drown a moose.¡±


    ¡°Best you¡¯re going to get is baby wipes and Febreze,¡± she replied taking a few steps back from me, ¡°and I doubt that¡¯ll do the trick. But maybe try to do something to freshen up because we¡¯ve got a visitor. Temperance and Jakob are here with some guy from Howlers Hold. His name is Wraith. Or Wrath, maybe. I can¡¯t remember, but it¡¯s something super edge-lord like that.¡±


    That got my attention.


    ¡°How long have they been waiting?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Hour or so?¡± she replied, shrugging one shoulder. ¡°Not too long. The three of them are in the breakroom.¡±


    ¡°Perfect,¡± I said, rubbing my palms together.


    This was great news. I¡¯d been genuinely starting to worry that something bad had happened to my friends. Maybe the Aspirants had gotten to them. Or maybe the Hold wasn¡¯t as friendly a place as they¡¯d remembered. I¡¯d even entertained the possibility that the two of them had simply abandoned me to my fate, like rats bailing off a sinking ship. I still wasn¡¯t entirely sure what Jakob¡¯s motives were for helping me, but I didn¡¯t think he would up and leave like that.


    Temperance was another matter.


    I considered her a friend of sorts, but she was also crazy, wild, and unpredictable. Now that I¡¯d helped her get back in the good graces of the Howlers, there was every chance she would leave me twiddling my thumbs like a jackass.


    I¡¯d also been worried that the Howlers wouldn¡¯t meet me on my own turf. It was a huge risk and one I hadn¡¯t been willing to take. At the moment, I was actively being hunted by some of the most powerful beings in the Backrooms, so just strolling willy-nilly into a settlement filled with potentially hostile Delvers was one step short of suicidal. Coming here was equally dangerous for them, though. It was a bold move and showed that the Howlers were both open to a partnership, and that they were dealing in good faith.


    ¡°Send back a couple of pizzas and case of beer. Good whiskey, too. And some of those cigars Princess Ponypuff likes to smoke.¡±


    ¡°Anything else?¡± Taylor asked, arching an eyebrow. ¡°Maybe I could raid the Blighted Carpet Emporium over in Quadrant 13 and find some red carpet we could roll out for this guy.¡±


    ¡°Har, har,¡± I shot back. ¡°Joke all you want but this is a big deal. If we can lock down an alliance with the Howlers, it could change everything. More customers. More loot.¡± I cracked a lopsided grin. ¡°I might even be able to give you a raise.¡±


    ¡°Gee, I don¡¯t know how you could possibly top a camp cot I have to share with another person and all the pizza I could eat.¡±


    I snorted. Say what you will, but Taylor had spunk. I liked that. ¡°Just do it, okay? Beer, pizza, whiskey, cigars.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± she grumbled, ¡°but only if you promise to do something about the smell. It¡¯s seriously gross.¡±


    ¡°Aye, aye, Captain.¡± I offered her a small salute, then marched into the personal hygiene aisle. I grabbed a packet of baby wipes¡ªevery Marine¡¯s best friend while out in the field¡ªa can of Old Spice body spray, a stick of deodorant, a bottle of hand sanitizer, and a jug of mouth wash. Supplies in hand, I beelined for the employee¡¯s only private bathroom.


    I spent fifteen minutes fruitlessly trying to clean myself up. That blue blood stained worse than ink, and even scrubbing at my hands with dish shop and hand sanitizer didn¡¯t get it entirely off my skin. I picked off all the visible chunks, baby wiped the rest of my body, and splashed a liberal amount of water over my face and hair. It was a losing battle. I needed to acquire a shower, damn it. That and a decent washer and dryer.


    My clothes were beyond salvageable.


    I regarded myself in the bathroom mirror and grimaced at what was staring back at me.


    My brown hair had grown shaggy. Not long, but not the usual mid-fade that would¡¯ve passed Marine Corps muster. Instead of stubble, I had a short beard, peppered in a few spots with gray hair. My face looked much leaner, almost gaunt. Between my heightened Athleticism score and walking for ten or more hours a day, I¡¯d lost almost thirty pounds all while packing on lean muscle. I felt better than I had in years, but I looked like a bag of dried dog shit. Especially in my red and gold bathrobe, Daisy Duke jorts, and stained wife beater undershirt, which was tastefully accented by my tool belt.


    Anyone meeting me for the first time would assume I was an insane murder hobo, but there wasn¡¯t anything I could do about that.


    I finished cleaning up the best I could, slapped on a new layer of deodorant, then chugged some mouthwash in a desperate bid to get the taste of rotten fish off my tongue. Like my clothes, it was a losing battle.


    As ready as I was ever gonna be, I left the bathroom behind and headed for the Employee¡¯s Lounge, ready to cut a deal with the leader of Howlers Hold.

 Four – Wraith’s Invitation

    Even though I¡¯d mentally prepared myself for just about anything this place could throw at me, Wraith still caught me off guard. Quite impressive, considering I¡¯d literally just murdered a giant hermit crab using a mall kiosk as a shell. At this point, I was convinced nothing could surprise me anymore, yet somehow the Backrooms still had a way of proving me wrong.


    Turned out, Wraith was a furry. Just like Temperance.


    In hindsight, I probably should¡¯ve seen that coming.


    Especially since God seemed to hate me.


    Unlike Temperance, who was mostly normal looking with a few oddities¡ªskintight bunny suit, fluffy white boots and gloves, and a pair of floppy ears¡ªWraith was the real deal. A furry¡¯s fury, if you will. He wore a deep blue fur suit with a patch of silver covering his chest and stomach, and a huge bullhead with pair of curving horns and oversized anime eyes. He also had tactical police riot gear strapped on over the outfit. Shoulder pads, chest plate, shin and forearm guards.


    The whole nine yards.


    Wraith being a furry wasn¡¯t even the weirdest part, though.


    The real kick in the teeth came when the leader of the Hold pulled off his mask and set it on the table. He wasn¡¯t human and, just like his fursona, the dude had the head of an honest-to-God bull. His fur was so black it looked like he¡¯d been dipped headfirst into an inkwell, and he had a set of wicked horns that jutted up from above a pair of floppy black ears. A tag popped up, along with a brief racial description, courtesy of my Researcher¡¯s Codex ability.


    Delver #07T - 01 - B07DXD332M ¨C Ecliputaur, Transmog [Level 29]


    Imagine a high school football star who hit a goth phase during their junior year and decided to get really, really into Wicca as a giant fuck you to their overbearing WASP parents. That¡¯s your basic Ecliputaur in a nutshell. Born on a world that exists in the constant veil of a never-ending cosmic eclipse, these guys are as good with a mana as they are with a battle axe.


    Although Ecliputaurs are both powerful warriors and adapt spellslingers, they tend to have all the dexterity and hand-eye coordination of a hangry toddler. They¡¯re also the most likely to get drunk at a wedding party and hit on the bride-to-be, just FYI. Also, maybe don¡¯t mention their height. Being on the shorter side, Ecliputaurs tend to get a little touchy and will often launch into this whole spiel about the six-six-six rule, and how¡¯s it¡¯s a bunch of fucking bullshit.


    Still, in battle, these are the guys you want on your front line and in your back pocket. Just don¡¯t ask them to grab the dinner plates off the top shelf.


    The bull man sat across from me in his plastic folding chair with an easy confidence, almost as though it were a throne, and this was his kingdom instead of mine. This was a guy who was used to being in charge. Used to being obeyed. His dark, inhuman eyes cataloged every inch of me¡ªfrom the scraggily beard to the stained bathrobe¡ªfiling away the details. I got the sense that he was weighing me. Judging me. Deciding whether I was worth his time and energy. Whether I was worth his trust.


    ¡°I can see you have questions,¡± Wraith said without preamble. ¡°Let me save you the trouble and just answer the first one that you¡¯re definitely thinking, but are probably too afraid to ask because you think you¡¯re gonna offend me¡ª¡±


    ¡°Why are you wearing a bull fursuit if you¡¯re an actual bull person?¡± I offered.


    ¡°Why am I wearing a bull fursuit if I¡¯m an actual bull person,¡± he agreed with a nod.


    ¡°How do you know that was going to be my first question?¡±


    ¡°Because it¡¯s everyone¡¯s first question,¡± Wraith replied with a thin smile. ¡°Not all that surprising, either, since this all seems a bit redundant.¡± He gestured at the bull mask on the table then to his own bovine face. ¡°The answer isn¡¯t complicated, though. And I suspect that I¡¯m stuck wearing this fursuit for the very same reason you¡¯re stuck wearing that ugly bathrobe and those delightfully charming jean shorts.¡±


    I snorted. At least he had a sense of humor.


    ¡°The suit¡¯s an Artifact,¡± I said, more statement than question.


    ¡°A powerful one,¡± he replied, ¡°and loaded to the tits with sigils that I can¡¯t reclaim. I¡¯ve also had the suit a lot longer than I¡¯ve been a Transmog. Keep that in mind before you decide to jump with both feet into one of those Variant Helix Splicers.¡± He paused and leaned forward as though confiding a great secret. ¡°If you think you look dumb now, just imagine how dumb you¡¯ll look as a giant toucan in a goddamned bathrobe and jorts.¡±


    That coxed a genuine laugh out of me.


    Wraith leaned back and grabbed a clear plastic cup from the table, half-full with bourbon. The pizza was sitting between us on the table, completely untouched, but the alcohol was seeing some use. Jakob was leaning against the counter, sipping on an amber ale, while Temperance was drinking straight from a plastic jug of vodka. She had a cigar in her other hand and was taking languid puffs between drinks.


    My stomach let out an audible gurgle, so I grabbed a slice. It was probably bad manners to hold diplomatic negotiations while stuffing your face with pizza, but I didn¡¯t give a shit. I was hungry and this was my home.


    ¡°Bathrobe aside,¡± Wraith continued after a beat, ¡°I gotta admit, this is a damned impressive place you have here. It¡¯s small, still. Smaller than the Hold by a fair margin, but the potential.¡± He rubbed thoughtfully at his square, bovine jaw. It was an oddly human gesture. ¡°Well, the potential is undeniable. Even if the only thing you offered was a way to easily move between floors, this place would be worth its weight in gold. It¡¯s not hard to see why so many people want you dead.¡±


    ¡°Not sure if that¡¯s a compliment or not,¡± I replied.


    ¡°Oh, it definitely is,¡± Wraith said. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you plainly, the Howlers are no fan of the Skinless Court or the Black Harbor. And at the moment, Discount Dan, you¡¯re the most wanted man in the Backrooms. That¡¯s no mean feat. Color me impressed.¡±


    Wraith reached into his suit and pulled free a caricature sketch of me and slapped it down on the table.


    Reward ¨C 20 x Gold Loot Tokens, 1 x Diamond Loot Token, 1 x Ruby Loot Token, 1 x Jade Loot Token, 1 x Mythic-Grade Relic


    I whistled. Holy shit. That was a veritable fortune. I was half-tempted to turn myself in for that price.


    ¡°Not even the Boundless Wanderer has such a high price tag on his head,¡± Wraith said sounding genuinely amazed. He tapped the edge of the poster with one finger. ¡°Word on the street is that the Skinless Court is actually offering three times that amount if someone can bring you in alive. The fact that you¡¯ve managed to piss both groups off to such a spectacular degree is inspiring as hell. Between you and me, most of the other Howlers are in awe.


    ¡°You¡¯ve also generated a substantial amount of good will by helping cleanse the Jungle Gym Jamboree,¡± Wraith continued. ¡°That and saving Temperance.¡± His gaze drifted toward the murder bunny leaning against the counter. ¡°She told everyone who would listen about what you did for her. Putting your life on the line to save someone you didn¡¯t even know¡ªand a furry no less. That means something to us. Even though Temperance is a murderous psycho with both trust and anger issues, she¡¯s also one of us.¡± He canted his head to one side. ¡°We owe you one.¡±


    Temperance glowered at Wraith, puffing furiously on her cigar, as she absently caressed the meat cleaver strapped to her hip.


    ¡°With all that said¡­¡± He faltered, took a long sip of his bourbon, and swallowed with a gulp. ¡°I¡¯ve gotta be honest with you, there is a small but very vocal minority that wants nothing to do with you or this war of yours. They think it¡¯ll bring ruin down on all of us.¡±


    Jakob openly scoffed ¡°That is underselling it, a bit, I think.¡± He sounded rather heated, and small curls of smoke drifted from his nostrils. A sign of his racial lineage.


    Like Wraith, Jakob wasn¡¯t a human. Humanoid, sure, but not human. He had pale white serpent scales, shimmering violet hair, and upward curling horns that made him look like a demon, plucked straight from the pages of the Old Testament. He wasn¡¯t a Devil, though. Like Wraith, he was a Transmog.


    A genetic half-breed.


    He¡¯d been human once upon a time, but he¡¯d opted to voluntarily run his body through the DNA equivalent of an industrial woodchipper. Now he was a Cendral, the distant offspring of the long dead Dragon Lords of Vytharia. Admittedly, that sounded super badass, but I wasn¡¯t quite ready to trade in my humanity for some neat horns and some extra fire resistance. I¡¯d already given up damn near everything else¡ªfriends, family, job, home¡ªand my humanity was the one thing I had left.


    That and my name.


    ¡°Unless I am badly misremembering,¡± Jakob added, and I could feel the anger in his words, ¡°that small but very vocal minority was openly advocating that the Howlers storm the shop, capture Dan, and turn him over to the highest bidder. They also detained Temperance and I against our will until the Tribunal acquitted us of wrongdoing.¡±


    I grunted. That certainly explained what had taken so long. It also made me angry. What right did these people have to treat my friends like that?


    Wraith wilted under the weight of the accusation but didn¡¯t bother denying it. ¡°I¡¯ve already apologized,¡± he said tersely, ¡°and I¡¯ll remind you that I¡¯m the one who got you out.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°You act as though we should thank you,¡± Jakob shot back, which struck me as strange. Jakob was rarely angry. Hell, the guy was a pacifist in a world actively trying to murder him at every turn. He¡¯d always vouched for the Howlers¡ªsaid they were the good guys, the Rebel Alliance fighting against the Empire¡ªand yet he¡¯d never counted himself among their number. I had to wonder why.


    Just what was Jakob''s connection to the Howlers?


    ¡°He¡¯s right,¡± Temperance barked. ¡°It never should¡¯ve come to that.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, none of this is giving me the warm and fuzzies,¡± I said. ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong, I am interested in striking a trade alliance, and you seem like a good enough guy, but I¡¯m also not looking to take stupid risks. I¡¯ve already got enough enemies lining up to kill me. I don¡¯t need to invite a bunch of people into my home who are gonna try and shiv me the second I let my guard down.¡±


    ¡°I understand your hesitation,¡± Wraith replied earnestly, ¡°and if you decide to keep your distance and stay away from the Hold, I¡¯d understand that too. But from one rebel leader to another, I¡¯m telling you, if you don¡¯t take a few risks, there¡¯s a good chance you¡¯re gonna end up dead. And, for the record, that¡¯s not a threat. It¡¯s just reality. The Flayed Monarch is more powerful than you can possibly imagine and even though he rarely ventures above the 900<sup>th</sup> floor, he¡¯s got an awfully long reach.


    ¡°The Aspirants are already out in force and believe me, with the bounty on your head, more will come. A lot more. And they won¡¯t be low-level shit heads like Hudson and his Red Hands. I promise you, the things that crawl up from the Deep Downs will give you nightmares every time you close your eyes. You want to survive, you¡¯re gonna need friends. Or, at the very least, allies. And the Howlers could end up being both, given time¡ª¡±


    ¡°Save for those who seek to murder us,¡± Temperance cut in. ¡°Like your brother, Jackson.¡±


    Wraith sighed. ¡°Yes, like my brother.¡± He faced Temp. ¡°Though, the fact that you¡¯re supporting Dan isn¡¯t helping things any. Jackson always was a petty little shit, even as a kid. I¡¯d bet money that he¡¯s doing all of this just as a way of getting back at you for rejecting him.¡±


    As Wraith spoke, a few things started to click into place.


    Temperance had been summarily excommunicated and cast out from the Hold for disarming someone¡ªquite literally¡ªwho¡¯d gotten a little too ¡°handsy¡± with her. At least that¡¯s the way she told the story. The lady had quite the temper and knew her way around a meat cleaver, so it wasn¡¯t hard to believe. She¡¯d also been given a way to redeem herself: kill Funtime Frank and cleanse the Jungle Gym Jamboree of Blight.


    ¡°Wait a minute,¡± I said, holding up one hand, ¡°so you¡¯re saying the guy who¡¯s stirring up all this shit is the same guy who has a grudge against Temperance for chopping off his hands?¡±


    ¡°More or less,¡± Wraith replied.


    ¡°Well that changes things,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m not worried about one jackass with an axe to grind, who managed to recruit some of his buddies to help cause trouble.¡±


    ¡°If only it were that simple,¡± Jakob said, swirling his beer.


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Jackson isn¡¯t just some inane, pompous fool,¡± Temperance said with a scowl. ¡°He¡¯s one of the three Tribunes who govern the Hold.¡±


    ¡°Wait a minute, I thought this guy ran the Hold?¡± I shot back, hooking a thumb toward Wraith.


    ¡°Yes and no,¡± Wraith said, see-sawing his head from side to side. ¡°It¡¯s complicated. Strictly speaking, the Hold isn¡¯t governed by any one person, it¡¯s governed by a Tribunal comprised of three judges, or Tribunes. Me, Jackson, and a guy named Ajax. We each have different responsibilities and fulfill different roles, but we come together to vote on major issues that affect the entire Hold.


    ¡°I¡¯m the Chief Security Officer. I run security for the settlement and handle any mission that takes place outside the wire¡ªincluding all the resupply runs and dealing with outside factions. Like yours, for example, or the various Delver gangs who love to come out of the woodwork to harass us. Ajax, the Second Tribunal, is our Quartermaster. He keeps track of supplies. Makes sure everyone has what they need. Deal with maintenance issues inside the Hold. That kind of thing.¡±


    ¡°And Jackson?¡± I asked.


    Wraith was silent for a second. ¡°His role is a bit more¡­ nebulous,¡± he finally finished. ¡°He¡¯s our Chief Spiritual Advisor.¡±


    I squinted, unable to believe what I was hearing. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, he¡¯s your Chief Spiritual Advisor? What the fuck is that? Sounds like a fake title you give to someone who doesn¡¯t actually do anything.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t Wraith who answered this time, but Jakob, ¡°Do you recall me mentioning a group of Delvers who believe that the Backrooms are a divine test? A proving ground, designed to separate the wheat from the chaff?¡± He quickly shot a glance at Temperance.


    ¡°Yeah, that rings a few bells,¡± I replied. ¡°The Roomcallers. Or Roomcleaners. No that¡¯s not it. It was definitely the Room-something-or-others.¡±


    ¡°The Roomkeepers,¡± Temperance corrected sharply. ¡°And we do not see it as merely a test. Rather, we believe the Backrooms serve as a purifying crucible for the mind, body, and soul. It is our steadfast belief that the chosen few who reach the thousandth floor will be rewarded by the Researcher¡ªgranted passage to a realm of unending feasts, carnality, and bloodshed.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like a blast,¡± I said, not wanting to offend her.


    What it really sounded like was a heap of bullshit, whipped up by a bunch of desperate people looking for an explanation and a little solace¡ªthough I would never say that to Temperance.


    I was finally starting to get a better picture of what had really happened.


    Temperance was an adherent to this weird faith and the local cult leader had used his position of authority to take liberties. He wouldn¡¯t be the first or last religious leader to try that. Temperance had violently rejected his advances¡ªwhich should¡¯ve come as a shock to no one¡ªand had been kicked out of the Hold in retaliation. It was a completely fucked up situation, made even worse because of Temperance¡¯s background.


    Unlike me or Jakob, Temperance was an old soul. Quite literally. She¡¯d noclipped into the Backrooms in the late 1600s, during the height of the Salem Witch Trials. After being accused of witchcraft by her fianc¨¦ and sentenced to burn, she¡¯d fled into the woods and had somehow ended up here. For her the Backrooms weren¡¯t a curse, but a blessing. They¡¯d saved her from certain death. Given her another shot at life. It wasn¡¯t hard to imagine why she might wind up with a cult like the Roomkeepers.


    She had trust issues for a good reason, and now she¡¯d been betrayed again. Cast out of her community again.


    Croc, who¡¯d been sitting quietly in the corner, spoke up for the first time.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got to admit, I don¡¯t much like the sound of this Jackson, fellow,¡± the dog said. ¡°First, he tried to hurt Temperance and now he¡¯s threatening to hurt you, Dan. I don¡¯t like it when people try to hurt my friends. Maybe it¡¯s not my place to say anything, but I¡¯d like to float an idea. It seems to me that maybe the easiest thing to do is for me to sneak into the Hold and just eat him?¡±


    I sighed. ¡°You can¡¯t eat him, Croc.¡±


    ¡°No, I absolutely could, Dan. Didn¡¯t you see how many of the hermit crabs I ate? There¡¯s no way this Jackson fellow is bigger than fifteen dog-sized hermit crabs. There¡¯s just no way. I could sneak into wherever he lives, disguise myself as a chair, then just wait for him to sit down. A couple quick bites and the problem¡¯s all gone. I¡¯ve even been working on my chair disguise.¡±


    The mimic¡¯s form burbled and shifted. The rubbery blue dog was abruptly replaced by a blue wingback chair. An obvious mouth formed where the chair cushion met the frame and a pair of black buttons served as the mimic¡¯s eyes. Admittedly, it really did look more convincing than the last time Croc had revealed his ¡°chair form,¡± but any Delver with a working pair of eyes would see through the ruse.


    ¡°Sorry, let me clarify,¡± I corrected, ¡°It¡¯s not a logistics question, Croc, I¡¯m sure you could physically eat him. This is more of a moral question about whether you should eat him. And for the record the answer is that no, you should not eat him.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, I think the idea has real merit,¡± Temperance said. Murder flashed in her eyes. ¡°Would it truly be so awful to hear the dog out?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Wraith and I both said at the same time.


    ¡°Killing this guy will cause way more problems than it solves,¡± I added. ¡°But maybe we¡¯re making a mountain out of a mole hill. You said Jackson and the other Roomkeepers are in the minority, right? Just how minor we talkin?¡±


    ¡°Less than a tenth of the Hold follows the Path,¡± Wraith said quickly, ¡°but those who do are zealots and consider my brother to be a prophet. Though, I should note, so you don¡¯t get the wrong idea, that Jackson isn¡¯t the founder of the Roomkeepers. Best I¡¯ve been able to find, the religion was around for decades before he or I ever Noclipped. They have a presence in many of the major settlements, and rumor has it there¡¯s even a Conclave of believers somewhere below the 800<sup>th</sup> floor.¡±


    ¡°And what about you?¡± I asked pointedly. ¡°Any chance you¡¯re one of these Roomkeepers?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Wraith replied, his face screwing up in evident disdain. ¡°Jackson and I might be family, but I know who and what my brother is. He¡¯s a weasel. I¡¯ve already come out in open support for an alliance with you, and I¡¯ve made that stance publicly known. Personally, I think this could be a great opportunity for both of us. With direct access to your supplies, I could save countless lives. But much as I might want to, I can¡¯t just make a ruling here.


    ¡°Striking a deal with you is tantamount to declaring war against the Skinless Court,¡± he continued. ¡°If we do that, things will get ugly. It¡¯s doubtful the Monarch will care enough to do something to us personally, but he''ll almost certainly send his enforcers to set an example. The Red Hands are all Aspirants, and they¡¯ve already been sniffing around our territory. Taking a poke at our security. Point is, I don¡¯t have the authority to make a decision like that on my own. Like it or not, it¡¯s a matter for the Tribunal. Obviously, you have my vote, I wouldn¡¯t be here otherwise¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªBut you need two of the three Tribunes to rule in your favor,¡± Jakob said.


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Wraith replied, ¡°and even if Dan were the second-coming of Backrooms Jesus, Jackson still wouldn¡¯t judge in his favor.¡±


    ¡°What about the other guy you mentioned, Ajax?¡± I asked. ¡°Where do his allegiances lie?¡±


    ¡°With himself,¡± Wraith said. ¡°Ajax isn¡¯t a bad man. Not exactly. He¡¯s competent, outgoing, and pragmatic. He¡¯s also selfish, self-centered, and a world-class degenerate of the highest magnitude. But most of all, he¡¯s a survivor. At the end of the day, he¡¯s going to do whatever is best for Ajax.¡±


    ¡°Do you think we¡¯ll be able to persuade him?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Persuade?¡± Wraith replied, as though testing the word out. ¡°No. I think you might be able to bribe him, though. Like I said, he¡¯s very pragmatic. And by pragmatic, I mean corrupt. I¡¯ve known him for the better part of twenty years, and he has all the moral integrity of a televangelist with a cocaine addiction. You¡¯ve already got my vote, and if you can buy Ajax, you¡¯ll have all the votes you need to make our trade alliance official. If it all goes according to plan, you¡¯ll never even have to talk with Jackson.¡±


    ¡°So what¡¯s the catch?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Why do you think there¡¯s a catch?¡± Wraith asked, quirking an eyebrow.


    ¡°Because there¡¯s always a catch,¡± I said.


    Wraith grinned and he looked less like a bull and more like a wolf.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got good instincts.¡± He nodded in approval. ¡°That¡¯ll serve you well. The catch is that Ajax won¡¯t leave the Hold. Not for any reason. He¡¯s our quartermaster not a raider. He hasn¡¯t made it this long by taking risks and, make no mistake, coming here is a big risk. If you want to strike a bargain with Ajax, you¡¯re going to have to go to him. It¡¯s the only way. I can promise you safe passage while inside the Hold, but you have to choose to trust me and that¡¯s a gamble, too.¡±


    I was silent for a moment while I mulled over my options.


    Paying a visit to the Hold was probably a dumb idea, especially considering there was a non-insignificant portion of people there who wanted to murder me and/or turn me over to the malevolent god-like deity looking to flay me alive. Unfortunately, Wraith was also right. I did need allies. As great as Croc, Jakob, and Temperance were, I was at war with a nation. I needed an army, not a fireteam. Working with others was always going to pose some risk, but the truth was, I liked Wraith.


    Yeah, he was a furry which kind of weirded me out, but he was also level-headed and seemed like a straight shooter.


    My turret gunner in Iraq¡ªa guy named Wheeler¡ªwas into Japanese Hentai so graphic I¡¯m pretty sure transporting it across state lines constituted a war crime, but I¡¯ll be damned if he wasn¡¯t also the best Marine I¡¯d ever known. Saved my ass more than once while running resupply routes through Fallujah. As long as Wraith made good on his promises, his personal life was none of my business. I was going to have to trust someone at some point¡ªmight as well be here and now.


    ¡°What the hell,¡± I said, ¡°Let¡¯s go see if we can¡¯t buy a little goodwill.¡±

 Five – Howlers Hold

    ¡°Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,¡± I muttered in shock as Wraith escorted me and my teammates through a set of reinforced steel gates and into Howlers Hold, which sat in the belly of an enormous indoor sports complex and gymnasium.


    We strode into a broad courtyard hemmed in by stacks of towering shipping containers, which had been converted into apartments and shared living spaces. Huge ladders and rickety wooden staircases lead to a series of metal catwalks that zigzagged through the air overhead, running from everywhere to everywhere else. Connecting the sprawl of quadcons like strands of metal spider webbing. The Howlers had turned the place into a Mad-Max, post-apocalyptic city, which was as depressing as it was impressive.


    All of that, however, paled in comparison to the true revelation:


    ¡°They¡¯re furries,¡± I said mostly to myself. ¡°They¡¯re all furries.¡±


    Once again, the Backrooms had managed to Chuck-Norris-roundhouse-kick me right in the teeth.


    Loitering in the courtyard and moving languidly along those catwalks were furries of every shape and size and description. There were owls and leopards. Multicolored wolves and foxes with dopey, oversized eyes. The Howlers existed on a spectrum, some wearing only cat ears or a fluffy tail, while others were decked out from head to toe in elaborate outfits that covered every inch of skin. There was even someone dressed in one of those inflatable dinosaur costumes.


    I was genuinely at a loss for words. Just¡­ Why, though?


    ¡°Of course they are,¡± Wraith replied over one shoulder. ¡°Howlers Hold is a furry settlement. Didn¡¯t anyone tell you?¡± he asked, sounding amused by my obvious discomfort.


    ¡°Guess it never came up,¡± I replied sheepishly, trying not to openly ogle at the odd assortment of inhabitants, casually going about their business. Several Howlers nodded or waved to Wraith, but other than a few curious glances, most didn¡¯t pay us much mind. This was just another day in paradise for them.


    ¡°That¡¯s not going to be a problem is it?¡± Wraith asked on a more serious note.


    I only had to think about it for a heartbeat before answering. ¡°Nope, not a problem at all,¡± I replied with a thin smile. ¡°Not even a little bit.¡±


    They said war made strange bedfellows and I¡¯d never realized how true that was until this exact moment. Sure, furries may have weirded me out on general principle, but Temperance was a friend, and Wraith seemed okay. Would I ever fully understand their choices? Nope. But so long as they were trustworthy, good in a brawl, and loaded down with disposable income that they were willing to spend at my store, I didn¡¯t need to understand them. Especially since they were willing to help me fight a bunch of Hellraiser rejects who enjoyed flaying the skin off their bodies.


    Give me furries any day of the week over that tomfuckery.


    ¡°Though I do have questions,¡± I said, as Wraith ushered us through the courtyard and into a manmade canyon that cut between the towering stacks of shipping containers, which comprised the bulwark of the makeshift Delver city. Though, on closer inspection, it became evident that these weren¡¯t your run-of-the-mill everyday shipping containers. They¡¯d been heavily modified; fitted with windows and sliding doors. Some of the upper units even had small patios, crafted from slabs of concrete and rebar or wooden slats.


    ¡°So, so many questions,¡± I added, glancing through some of the windows as we walked.


    There were furries here and there, but there were also plenty of regular, non-fur-clad folk as well. They were just going about their lives. Cooking or cleaning. Playing board games or reading novels. Everything was so shockingly mundane, it was disorienting.


    A dizzying array of tags flickered above their heads, here then gone, listing out Biotag ID Numbers and Delver levels. Most of ¡¯em were pitifully weak and only a handful were above Level 15. It was like they¡¯d survived long enough to find their way here¡­


    Then just never left again. And why would they?


    It was dangerous and scary out in the Backrooms. A thousand evils waited around every corner to kill the unwary. Traps and monsters. Blight and other Delvers. Vengeful deities and warring factions. Death lay outside these walls. But here¡­


    Here was safety. Normalcy. In a manner of speaking, anyway.


    ¡°What question is at the top of your list?¡± Wraith spoke loudly to be heard over the constant hum of generators, which powered strings of patio lights and the bulky AC units which jutted from the containers like metal tumors.


    ¡°For starters, how in the hell did y¡¯all end up here?¡± I asked, racking my brain, desperately trying to figure out how so many furries had noclipped into the Backrooms. It just didn¡¯t seem possible.


    ¡°That¡¯s a funny story, actually,¡± Wraith replied. ¡°Although we¡¯ve collected a few stragglers since we founded the Hold, most of us simultaneously Noclipped together from Westercon 52, back in July of 1998. There were three hundred and seventeen of us. Most of us were furries, though there were thirty or so regular con goers mixed in as well. We all went to a party in the basement of a San Diego Marriott and woke up in the Lobby the next day. No one could quite remember what had happened or how we¡¯d gotten there.¡±


    ¡°Wait, so all of you just¡­ disappeared?¡± I snapped my fingers. ¡°Gone, just like that and no one noticed?¡±


    Wraith snorted and rolled his eyes. ¡°Of course, people noticed. I have no doubt that the disappearance of so many senior software engineers and programmers directly contributed to the Y2K scare.¡± He shrugged broad shoulders. ¡°Mostly it got swept under the rug, though. Back in the late 90s, openly being a furry was a good way to get the shit kicked out of you, so most of us hadn¡¯t told anyone where we were going or why. Plus, we were all from over different parts of the country, so no one really put two and two together.¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    We slipped past a series of large planters, which lined the rather cramped walkways. They were filled with a riot of vegetables. Fat red tomatoes and bulbous green cabbage. Climbing green beans and vines budding with fist-sized bell peppers. Grow lights, mounted to the exterior container walls, served to keep the foliage healthy. There were also quite a few fruits and vegetables that I¡¯d never seen before. One in the perfect shape of a star. Another that pulsed with eerie green light.


    They looked like something harvested from a different world entirely.


    Wraith¡¯s answer left me with more questions, not less. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but how in the hell do three hundred and seventeen people all simultaneously noclip?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s called a Mass Displacement Event,¡± he replied, all the while guiding us through a confusing warren of interconnected streets and claustrophobic cut throughs. ¡°It doesn¡¯t happen often, but it does happen. Why it happens, no one seems to know. What I can tell you is that we weren¡¯t the first and I doubt we¡¯ll be the last. Legend has it that the same thing happened to the colonists of Roanoke and the legionnaires of the Ninth Roman Legion.¡±


    ¡°Are you shitting me? The Ninth Roman Legion?¡± I asked, squinting skeptically. ¡°That can¡¯t be right. Didn¡¯t they disappear like two-thousand years ago?¡±


    ¡°Closer to twenty-three hundred, actually,¡± Jakob offered without prompting. ¡°According to historians, they vanished in 108 AD.¡±


    ¡°You really think the Backrooms have been around for that long?¡± I asked.


    ¡°No idea,¡± Wraith replied, shaking his shaggy head. ¡°Like I said, it¡¯s just a long-standing legend. I¡¯ve never personally seen any proof. Could all be a bunch of bullshit¡ªthough I wouldn¡¯t be completely shocked if it turned out to be true. Weirder things have happened, and the Progenitor Ship¡¯s been feeding on our reality for an awfully long time. You¡¯re still new here, but if you survive long enough, you¡¯ll see for yourself. The deeper down you go, the older things get.


    ¡°Best we can figure, the Backrooms runs a few decades behind the real world. That¡¯s why a lot of the shit up near the Lobby looks like it got ripped straight out of the 80s and 90s. Because it did. Head down twenty or thirty floors, though? Things start to look more like the sixties and seventies. Below that? Who knows. I¡¯ve heard stories about ancient pyramids and Arthurian castles. We had one guy pass through here about five years or ago who claimed he¡¯d found the entire lost city of Atlantis. He was insane, so take that with a grain of salt.¡±


    ¡°What about the 99<sup>th</sup> Floor?¡± I asked, thinking about Steamboat Studios and the kiosk I¡¯d just acquired. ¡°Know anything about it?¡±


    ¡°Never made it that deep myself,¡± Wraith said, ¡°but I¡¯ve heard a few people talk about that floor. Unless I¡¯m wrong, that¡¯s where the Franchisor lives. I don¡¯t know anything about it except this: people who go there don¡¯t come back. I know you¡¯re out here taking wild chances and slaughtering sacred cows like you¡¯re getting ready to throw a neighborhood block party, but between me and you, stay the hell away from the 99<sup>th</sup> Floor.¡±


    I grunted noncommittally in reply.


    The winding pathway dumped us unceremoniously into an open space that served as a makeshift park. There were several benches of varying designs arrayed around a patch of fake turf with one of those backyard playhouses assembled at the center. This was the first time I¡¯d seen anything that came close to grass since Noclipping. Even though I knew it wasn¡¯t real, a small part of me wanted to flop down and stare up at the sky.


    But there was no sky, I reminded myself. Just the domed ceiling of a sports complex.


    Truth was, I¡¯d probably never see the sky again. I shook the morbid thought away as the sound of laughter caught my attention.


    Holy shit balls. There were kids here. A whole mess of ¡¯em. Some as young as two or three¡ªdoddering around on unsteady legs¡ªothers as old as twelve or thirteen. I even spotted a mother cradling a newborn, not far off. Meanwhile, the older kids were chasing each other around, screaming and giggling wildly as they ducked outstretched hands and hurdled over the playground equipment.


    ¡°This is nowhere near the Muzzle and Mast,¡± Temperance commented offhanded.


    ¡°No, no it isn¡¯t,¡± Wraith agreed with a nod, ¡°but this was something I needed Dan to see.¡± All of the humor and easy smiles were gone now. Instead, there was a somberness to the man that hadn¡¯t been there before. There was a vulnerability etched into the lines of his bovine face, as though he were offering me a glimpse at something precious but fragile. ¡°I wanted to show you why we¡¯re doing this. What we¡¯re fighting for. What I¡¯m fighting for.


    ¡°You¡¯re new here, Dan, new enough to still be ambitious. To think about getting answers or finding a way out. But us?¡± He shook his head. ¡°Most of us have made peace with the fact that we¡¯ll never leave the Backrooms. That this is where we¡¯re going to die. And that¡¯s okay. We¡¯ve been here long enough to settle down. To carve out a life for ourselves. To have kids.¡± He stretched out a hand and motioned to the sea of smiling and laughing faces, darting across the turf. ¡°None of these kids noclipped into the Backrooms. Every single one of them was born here.


    ¡°The Hold, it isn¡¯t just some temporary survival camp. Not for us. For better or worse, this is our home now. We fought tooth and nail to make this place a reality and we lost lots of good men and women to do it. It¡¯s my job to keep this place and these people safe, and partnering with you puts all of this in jeopardy. Making an alliance with you is going to bring war to our doorstep and even if everything goes right, people are going to die.¡± There was a sad glimmer in his eyes. ¡°Their parents might die.¡±


    ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Because I believe in you, and I believe in what you¡¯re doing, but I also want you to believe in us. To know what¡¯s on the line. This is what I¡¯m risking by putting my trust in you, Dan.¡± He paused, and locked eyes with me. ¡°Make sure you¡¯re worth it.¡± He fell silent for a long moment. ¡°Now, as much as I¡¯d love to chaperon you,¡± he continued after a beat, ¡°I¡¯ve been gone too long already. I need to do the rounds. Make sure nothing is on fire. I¡¯m sure Temperance can show you to Ajax, but if you need anything else, don¡¯t hesitate to reach out. I¡¯ll be here.¡±


    He extended a furry hand as a peace offering.


    I gave it a firm pump without a second thought.


    The bullheaded Tribune snorted, then turned and made his way across the turf, stopping to ruffle a kid¡¯s hair in passing, before trundling up a rickety staircase and disappearing into the maze of metal catwalks above.


    ***


    Jakob and Croc chit-chatted amicably¡ªthe dog telling the Cendral about my new Taxidermied Minions and our close encounter with the Kiosk Crab¡ªwhile Temperance guided us to the Muzzle and Mast, where she assured us Ajax would be waiting. Apparently, he never strayed far from the place.


    For my part, I was quiet.


    Seeing those kids had hit me harder than I¡¯d expected, which was probably the reason Wraith had shown them to me in the first place. These were real people with real lives and real families and the choices I made would affect them all. Even though this was a world with stats and levels and magic, I needed to remind myself that it wasn¡¯t a game. If I fucked this up, I wasn¡¯t the only one who would end up skinned alive.


    Before, I¡¯d been fighting to save my own hide. But now? Now the stakes were even higher.


    For the first time, I began to seriously entertain the idea of killing the Flayed Monarch. Until this point, my primary goal had been to simply survive against the crimson monster with unspeakable power and far too many legs. Now, though, I was starting to rethink my goals. Maybe survival wasn¡¯t enough. The idea of killing something as powerful as the monstrous creature I¡¯d seen in the Lobby seemed laughable and yet¡­


    Was it really so ridiculous?


    The Boundless Wanderer had nearly managed to do it. Why not me?

 Six – A Little Favor

    I was still lost in thought when Temperance finally shepherded us out of the sprawling labyrinth and right to the doorstep of the Muzzle and Mast. With a name like Ajax, I¡¯d half-expected the place to resemble a Thunderdome-esque murder arena, where post-apocalyptic warriors battled each other for sport in front of a cheering crowd of bloodthirsty spectators. But nope. The Muzzle and Mast turned out to be the Hold¡¯s only tavern, and it sat in the belly of a bonafide pirate ship.


    The ship looked like something ripped straight off the high seas and stranded on a sandbar. Except the sandbar in question was an enormous high school gymnasium in a backwards Alice in Wonderland murder world.


    The planks were graying and weathered as though the ship had seen long years on the tossing waves and dried barnacles peppered the worn hull. Three huge masts jutted upward like skeletal fingers, nearly brushing the ceiling high above. There was no sign of the sails or rigging, but a giant masthead, carved to resemble a snarling wolf¡¯s head, protruded from the prow.


    Where in the hell they¡¯d found a pirate ship was a mystery I couldn¡¯t even begin to hazard a guess at. How they¡¯d managed to get the damned thing in here was an even bigger head scratcher. Though, I suppose, it couldn¡¯t have been much tougher than moving in all the shipping containers.


    A wide variety of Howlers partied on the ship¡¯s upper deck, dancing and drinking as thumping music blared from a pair of huge speakers affixed to the various masts. There was no obvious way to get to the upper deck from the outside, so instead I shouldered my way into the lower hull through a pair of wooden batwing doors that looked like they¡¯d been pilfered from the ol¡¯ West Saloon Shoot Out in the Jungle Gym Arcade.


    The air inside stopped me dead in my tracks.


    The whole place was musky and eye-wateringly sour.


    The reek of pungent hookah smoke, stale beer, and overwhelming body odor hit me like a fist to the nose. I staggered at the reek, actively suppressing the urge to throw up in my mouth. A flash of regret washed over me and suddenly I had a desperate and intense desire to turn around and go anywhere else. Someone needed to air drop a bathtub worth of Febreeze into this place.


    Not that I had much room to talk. Even after all that scrubbing and a fresh coat of deodorant, I still smelled like a North-West Pacific fishing boat left too long in the sun.


    ¡°I think something might¡¯ve died in here, Dan,¡± Croc whispered, just loud enough to be heard over the murmur of the crowd and the lonely twang of a guitar. ¡°It smells worse than the sewers on the second floor.¡±


    I shuddered just thinking about the claustrophobic and disgusting jumble of tunnels that comprised the second floor, which I¡¯d affectionately labeled the Devil¡¯s Asshole.


    The whole level was dank, gross, filled with suffering, and overflowing with literal shit. I¡¯d contracted a nasty case of Sludge Lung while tromping around in the pungent waterways, and the disease had damn-near killed me. I¡¯d spent the better part of day in a nightmarish delirium, vacillating between a blazing fever and teeth-chattering chills, all while projectile vomiting and hallucinating my ass off.


    Fuck that whole level.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that bad,¡± I muttered, eyeballing the crowd. ¡°Now let¡¯s just stay focused and get this over with.¡±


    Nearly a dozen Howlers lounged on giant bean bags or stuffed couches, both of which looked wildly out of place inside of the hold of a sixteenth century pirate ship. Several were smoking Hookah pipes, unleashing plumes of blue-gray smoke so thick they clouded the air and made it difficult to see. The skunky scent of weed also lingered, warring with the sweeter aroma of tobacco. There were a handful of Howlers clustered around a circular table, where another pair sat across from each other locked in a fervent battle of¡­ Magic the Gathering.


    I was in no way shocked.


    A woman wearing a pair of cat ears and a skintight body suit sat on the stage, picking at a battle-worn acoustic guitar that had seen better days. She plucked out a slow and melodic version of Hotel California. Her sultry voice was almost as smokey as the air.


    Temperance sauntered up beside me and hooked one arm through mine, then pointed across the crowded interior to a lone figure, loitering behind a polished, hard-wood bar that ran along the length of the far wall. The man wore a shaggy crimson fox suit with large ears, black forearms, and a tuft of black hair that resembled a mohawk.


    ¡°That would be Ajax, proprietor of the Muzzle and Mast, and one third of the Tribunal of Howler¡¯s Hold. All we need to do is win him over to lock down the vote and cement the alliance. Wraith is right about him. He¡¯s a drama queen of the highest order and a bit of an ass, but as long as you know that going in, we should be fine.¡±


    I had my doubts about that.


    Knowing how these things tended to go, I had a strong suspicion that securing his vote wouldn¡¯t be as easy as it sounded. These things never were. If Ajax really was as selfish and self-serving as Wraith made him out to be, it almost certainly meant he was going to ask me to do something stupid and or dangerous¡ªprobably both¡ªto secure his support.


    ¡°Great. Perfect. Awesome,¡± I grumbled. ¡°I¡¯m sure this is not at all going to be a herculean task of hellish proportions.¡± Taking a deep breath, which I immediately regretted, I squared my shoulders and strode toward the bar with the others in tow.


    There were a couple of Howlers lurking at the counter. Both offered me questioning glances as I approached, but quickly moved away with beer mugs in hand. More of the tavern goers had finally taken notice of our arrival, and there was a palpable tension gathering in the air which hadn¡¯t been there before. Almost as though they suspected violence might break out at any moment and they were all collectively preparing to break for cover.


    Couldn¡¯t say I blamed them.


    As the most infamous and wanted man in the Backrooms, I was sure there were a lot of rumors flying around about me. Some of them were probably true, and others were undoubtedly false. These people wouldn¡¯t know the difference, though. All they would know for sure was that I was dangerous with a capital D. After all, if the Skinless Court was willing to pay top dollar for my head, then surely there had to be a damned good reason.


    A quick scan with the Researcher¡¯s Codex also revealed that none of the bargoers were above level 13¡ªsave Ajax who was level 19¡ªwhich also helped explain their obvious apprehension. If we had a mind to, we could kill everyone in here and it wouldn¡¯t even be hard.


    I sidled up to the bar and slipped onto one of the stools, while Croc wedged its body between the counter and my legs. Then the mimic spun in a tight circle and plopped down, staying silent but facing the crowd, which gave me some small measure of comfort. I didn¡¯t much like having my back exposed to a room full of potentially hostile Delvers¡ªeven if they were all relatively weak. Knowing Croc had my six eased my worry.


    Jakob slipped onto a stool on my right, and swiveled, so he too had eyes on the bar¡¯s patrons. Temperance took the stool to my left and leaned up against the bar, a wide grin spreading across her face.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take a gin and tonic,¡± she ordered without a preamble.


    The fox pulled a glass from beneath the bar, then fished out a bottle filled with sapphire blue liquor from the shelf behind him. The bar was surprisingly well stocked, the shelves loaded with Rum and Vodka, Tequila and Bourbon, Gin and Whiskey of a dozen different varieties.


    ¡°It¡¯s good to see you survived your excommunication, darling,¡± the fox replied, sliding the drink to Temperance. ¡°Jakob,¡± he said, nodding respectfully at the Cendral.


    ¡°Ajax,¡± Jakob replied with a curt dip of his head, though he kept one eye glued on the crowd.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°It¡¯s been years,¡± Ajax said to the Cendral. ¡°And you¡¯ve made it to Level 26. Impressive. It seems your time away has served you well. Any chance you¡¯ve finally decided to put down roots? Last time you were here, they offered you a job as a Tribune to get you to stay. It¡¯s a shame you turned them down. Jackson has become an unbelievably pretentious twat since he took the post. Absolutely unbearable.¡±


    ¡°Das ist sehr net. I appreciate the sentiment,¡± Jakob replied evenly, ¡°but I never was one for local politics. Besides, there are still so many answers yet to find and I¡¯m not ready to stop looking.¡±


    Ajax harrumphed and crossed furry arms across his chest. ¡°I forgot how boring you are. So polite and well-mannered. Like watching wet paint dry.¡± He turned his gaze on me. ¡°And who are your new friends, hmm?¡± The fox gave me a once over, then glanced over the counter at Croc. ¡°They look¡­ interesting.¡±


    Temperance rolled her eyes. ¡°Do we really need to do this song and dance, Ajax? We both know you have eyes and ears everywhere. Nothing happens in the Hold that you do not already know about.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true, dear, but the least you could do is play along and let me have a little fun.¡± He sighed and sniffed in disapproval. ¡°Since our dearest Temperance insists on sucking all the joy out of everything. Allow me to introduce myself, I¡¯m Ajax the Fabulous, proprietor of the Muzzle and Mast, the finest bar and club in Howlers Hold¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªthe only bar and club in Howler¡¯s Hold,¡± Jakob corrected.


    Ajax ignored him, completely unphased, ¡°Charmed to meet you,¡± he finished, extending a paw.


    Not wanting to be rude, I accepted and gave it a shake. ¡°Good to meet you too, I¡¯m¡ª¡±


    ¡°Discount Dan,¡± the fox interjected before I could get my name out. ¡°It doesn¡¯t take a genius to see who you are, especially in that delightful ensemble you¡¯re wearing. You might not be aware, Daniel, but you¡¯re the buzz of the Hold. From what I hear, our dearest leader Wraith even decided to play diplomatic envoy and personally paid you a visit. You should feel honored. Plus, Jackson positively loathes you, which is another mark in your favor. I dare say, you might end up being quite a lot of fun.¡±


    ¡°Oh, he¡¯s loads of fun,¡± Croc said from the floor. ¡°Have you ever been on the big slide at the Jungle Gym Jamboree? The one that takes you from the Big Tent all the way to the exit? Well, Dan took me and honestly, it¡¯s the closest thing to heaven on earth I¡¯ve ever experienced. He also lets me eat as much Froyo as I want and, eventually, we¡¯re going to visit one of the water parks on the lower floors. Plus, he¡¯s a big fan of the Twilight books series, just like me¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªBig fan is an overstatement,¡± I grumbled. ¡°I only read the first one. And only because I was on deployment and there was nothing else to read.¡±


    ¡°Well look at you,¡± Ajax beamed. ¡°Aren¡¯t you just the sweetest, dumbest creature on God¡¯s green earth. You must be Croc.¡± He scanned the dog, taking in the rubbery pockmarked texture of the mimic¡¯s skin and its huge googly eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve heard about you too, though you are much less¡­ murdery than I was expecting.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what pretty much everyone says about me,¡± Croc replied. ¡°Usually, people scream when they see me and call me things like ¡®an Eldritch Nightmare¡¯ or a ¡®fleshy Abomination unto the Lord¡¯ before trying to kill me with fire. But not Dan! He saw that I¡¯m really a good boy, who occasionally gets a little peckish for the flesh of my enemies.¡±


    ¡°Oh my god, you¡¯re so adorable it¡¯s physically painful,¡± the fox gushed at the mimic. Then he shot a sideways glance at me. ¡°I always did like a man who can look past an entire dump truck worth of red flags.¡±


    ¡°Sorry buddy, there¡¯s not enough booze in the world to make me look past all the red flags you¡¯re waiving,¡± I said. ¡°But, Temperance did mention that we might be able to cut a business deal.¡±


    ¡°Great banter,¡± the fox said, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. ¡°I¡¯m a slut for good banter. Yes, you might be a little fun indeed, Daniel.¡±


    ¡°¡ªJust Dan,¡± I tried to say, but Ajax had already moved on.


    The barkeep turned toward the crowd and raised his voice. ¡°Out, all of you.¡± The playful tone of moments before was gone. These were the words of a man who expected to be obeyed. The music from the stage cut off with a sharp jangle and the words died in the singer¡¯s throat.


    Although there were a few muttered protests, the bargoers packed up their belongings and shuffled out, leaving the place empty, save for us and Ajax. I could still hear the thump of EDM flowing down from a set of rough-hewn stairs that led to the upper deck, but Ajax didn¡¯t seem to notice.


    Once Ajax was sure there was no one else around, he pulled the fox head off and set it on the countertop with a long sigh of relief.


    ¡°That thing gets positively stifling without AC.¡± He paused, a dreamy look flickering across his face. ¡°God, I¡¯d give my left nut for proper a fan inside this thing.¡±


    After dealing with Wraith, I was half-expecting Ajax to be an actual fox or some other kind of Transmog, but he was human¡ªalthough he did have surprisingly fox-ish features. The man had a swath of sweaty red hair that drooped onto his forehead, a pale complexion dusted with freckles, and high cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. Green eyes regarded me with strange intensity.


    ¡°Now, let¡¯s not beat around the bush,¡± Ajax said, leaning against the edge of the bartop, ¡°you¡¯re here, gracing my lowly doorstep because you need my blessing if you want to open shop here in the Hold.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m assuming that means Wraith has already paid you a visit?¡± Temperance asked, idly swirling her Gin and Tonic.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t need to,¡± Ajax replied. ¡°He announced that he was supporting your endeavor over the PA system. Everyone and their brother knows exactly where he stands. Say what you will about Wraith, but the man has conviction. Someone else did come stomping by, however. I¡¯ll give you one guess who it was.¡± He sounded supremely unamused.


    ¡°Jackson,¡± Temperance replied flatly.


    ¡°Indeed, darling. And he wasn¡¯t alone. He came with a whole troop of his goons. They broke one of my tables, by ¡®accident,¡¯ of course.¡± He air quoted the word. ¡°They also strongly implied that more misfortune might befall my humble establishment unless I cast my vote against a certain bathrobed entrepreneur. I¡¯ve never seen Jackson this worked up.¡± He paused and stole a knowing glance at Temperance. ¡°I suspect it has far less to do with Daniel here¡±¡ªhe reached over and patted me on the hand¡ª¡°and far more to do with getting back at you. He is very upset that you managed to worm your way back in here, after what you did to him.¡±


    ¡°As far as I¡¯m concerned, he brought it upon himself,¡± Temperance said. ¡°I warned him more than once not to lay a hand upon me. He should¡¯ve heeded my words more carefully.¡±


    ¡°Wait, I¡¯m sorry. So let me see if I have this right,¡± I said. ¡°This douchebag assaults Temperance, and she¡¯s the one who gets kicked out, and now he¡¯s actively trying to shake you down and everyone is just¡­ okay with it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s complicated,¡± Ajax replied, ¡°and political. For better or worse, this is like one of those CW shows where everything boils down to one big popularity contest. Unfortunately, Jackson is popular. And maybe you should climb down off your high horse, Daniel. Unless I am very much mistaken, you¡¯re here to actively bribe me. You and Jackson are both trying to accomplish the same thing, even if you¡¯re going about it in different ways.¡±


    Even if I wanted to refute his point, I couldn¡¯t. Not really. Much as it pained me to admit, Ajax was right. Not that it mattered. This was about survival and although there were certainly some ethical lines I wasn¡¯t willing to cross, a little bribery wasn¡¯t one of ¡¯em.


    ¡°It just turns out,¡± Ajax continued after a beat, ¡°that I respond better to honey than to vinegar¡ªespecially because I happen to think this little enterprise of yours is absolutely fabulous. I sent out one of my retainers, and he¡¯s been singing your praises ever since he got back. Honestly, having one of your doorways here will make my life so much easier. With that said, even though I think a potential partnership is great for the Hold and for me personally, it¡¯s still going to cost you.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± I asked instead, brow furrowed in confusion. ¡°You said it yourself, this benefits both of us.¡±


    ¡°Yes, but it doesn¡¯t benefit both of us equally, Daniel,¡± Ajax replied with a mischievous smile. ¡°You¡¯re still quite new here, so perhaps you haven¡¯t learned this lesson yet. Please allow me to be your sensei: in the Backrooms, there is no free lunch. You want something, and I have the power to give it to you. You need me far more than I need you in this equation, which is why you¡¯re going to do a few things to guarantee my cooperation.¡±


    I ground my teeth in frustration but nodded. This was just the cost of doing business, I reminded myself.


    ¡°So glad you¡¯re amendable. First, I will need someone to help protect me and my establishment until this all blows over. Jackson doesn¡¯t have the manpower to bully me indefinitely, but he can certainly make a nuisance of himself for a few weeks. If you want my vote, you¡¯ll need to keep Jackson and his band of miscreants off my back until you take care of my other requests.¡±


    ¡°I would be delighted to handle that,¡± Temperance replied, a malevolent smile curling her lips. ¡°Jackson may be a lost cause, but perhaps I can beat a little common sense into the others.¡±


    ¡°I thought you might be open to helping,¡± Ajax said with a lopsided smile. ¡°But a little extra protection isn¡¯t all I require. I also want a fifty-percent discount on all in store purchases.¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± I shot back straight away. ¡°Not going to happen. If I let you do that, what¡¯s to stop you from coming in, buying everything you can carry at a steep discount, then reselling here and undercutting my prices. What I can do is offer you a ten percent personal discount, plus I¡¯d be willing to negotiate a cheaper wholesale price for certain goods, but only if you buy in bulk.¡±


    Ajax pouted and drummed his fingers on the countertop. ¡°Fine, I suppose I would be amenable to those terms. I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d be willing to discuss selling some items on consignment?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, we could work out an arrangement,¡± I said, ¡°though I¡¯m not ready to nail down commission percentages just yet.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Ajax replied, waving away the comment as though things were already decided. ¡°Then there¡¯s just one other tiny little thing. A small favor really.¡± The man steepled his fingers like a Bond villain.


    The way he said small favor, made me think it would be anything but.


    ¡°What else do you need?¡± I asked, already bracing for impact.


    A feverish light washed across Ajax¡¯s face as he leaned closer. ¡°I want access to laundry services.¡±


    ¡°Laundry services?¡±


    ¡°Oh yes, Daniel, laundry services¡­¡±

 Seven – Runic Resonance Trap

    Laundry services.


    It wasn¡¯t the strangest request I¡¯d ever heard.


    That achievement belonged to Croc, who¡¯d once asked for Froyo right after narrowly escaping a nightmarish Pac-Man creature the size of a Volkswagen. It was a strong contender for second place, though. After hearing Ajax rant for the better part of a half hour, however, his request started to make more sense. Turned out, getting fur suits clean even under ideal circumstances was a tricky business.


    Getting them clean inside the Backrooms? Yeah, that was almost impossible.


    The suits couldn¡¯t be steam cleaned and though the Hold had a small suite of washing machines, they were always backed up. Plus, many of the most delicate accessories, like the head and paws, needed to be gently hand washed. Hand washing sweat out of a fur suit was one thing. But blood? Vomit? Oil? Shit? A thousand other unspeakable fluids and substances? Nope. No way. Living in the Backrooms was akin to receiving a doctorate in disgusting, and the Howlers were more acutely aware of that than anyone.


    Most of the suits were also powerful Artifacts, which meant they were extremely durable and would self-repair overtime. But they didn¡¯t self-clean, and blood was real hard to scrub out.


    On this issue, at least, the Howlers and I had common ground.


    My shirt was a tie-died swirl of pink blood and blue crab-viscera, my ratty bathrobe smelled like the inside of a hot porta shitter, and my shorts were so matted with sweat and grim they could stand up on their own.


    I could only imagine how much worse it was for the Howlers, who were all trapped inside what amounted to fur-covered hazmat suits. And they couldn¡¯t ditch their outfits any easier than I could ditch mine, no matter how much they might want to. Like my stupid fucking bathrobe¡ªwhich I hated---¡ªthe suits were simply too powerful. Trading them would be like Tony Stark sticking his Ironman armor in the closet.


    Which is why, with the cloying stench of my own body odor assaulting my nose, I listened to Ajax¡¯s rant with keen interest.


    According to the Fox, there existed a very special place. A laundry room, nestled deep in the bowels of the fifth floor, which contained a pair of locationally-bound Artifact Washers. Washers capable of cleaning anything. Many of the Howlers made a pilgrimage there once every couple of years or so, as though visiting some sacred shrine. But it was a perilous journey and many who set out in search of cleaner pastures never made it back.


    Rumor had already spread far and wide about my unique ability to acquire bits and pieces of the Backrooms, so naturally, Ajax wanted me to find the sacred laundry room of the fifth floor and tack it on to Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains. Not only would doing so make me extremely popular with the Howlers, but it would also buy me enough goodwill to win Ajax¡¯s vote. Two birds, one stone.


    It was a big ask, though, not only because I¡¯d have to find the location and kill whatever lived there to lay a claim, but because I only had so much square footage to work with. Adding the laundromat meant I wouldn¡¯t be able to add something else down the road. Still, as the rancid stink of my own clothes tickled my nostrils, I found myself happily agreeing. Truthfully, I¡¯d been meaning to add some sort of laundry service to the store anyway, and if it would lock in a lucrative partnership with the Howlers at the same time, it would be more than worth it.


    I¡¯d hardly spent any amount of time on the fifth floor, and though I doubted it was any more dangerous than the seventh floor¡ªhome to both Howlers Hold and the Jungle Gym Jamboree¡ªI didn¡¯t want to take anything for granted. Back in Iraq, our Convoy Commander, Captain Donahue, had one simple mantra that he¡¯d repeat ad nauseam: Complacency kills. Only the paranoid survive. That advice was right on the money and had saved my ass more than once.


    Hell, despite Croc¡¯s very vocal warnings, I¡¯d gotten complacent about taking on the Kiosk Boss and it had nearly cost me my life. It was on the third floor for Pete¡¯s sake. It had never occurred to me that there might be something as powerful as Frank dwelling in plain sight. I¡¯d been dead wrong.


    In theory, the fifth floor would be far more dangerous than the third, and there was no telling what I might end up facing in a sacred laundry mat with powerful Artifacts. I couldn¡¯t afford to take stupid chances or go in unprepared¡ªespecially since I¡¯d be venturing into the floor shorthanded. I¡¯d have Jakob and Croc with me, as well as my disgusting new minions, but Temperance was staying behind at the Hold. Pulling guard duty to ensure Jackson and his zealots left Ajax in peace.


    So, before we delved into the twisting hallways of the fifth floor, I had some business to take care of.


    I had to restock my cache of potions and elixirs, level up a few of my Relics, and I also needed to spend some time familiarizing myself with one of the Relics I¡¯d received from Funtime Frank and the gang, Runic Resonance Trap.


    Despite only being an Uncommon-grade Relic, it was the first and only Trap Relic I¡¯d come across since venturing into the Backrooms. Given how common traps were, I was sure there were others floating around, but so far, they¡¯d been tricky to find. I suspected that was because the majority of the floor traps weren¡¯t set by Dwellers or other Delvers, but by the Backrooms themselves. They were just another part of the floor design, like carpet, or wallpaper, or drinking fountains.


    I¡¯d previously picked up a Trapsmith¡¯s Pry Bar at Prize Booth on level seven, so I had everything I needed to get started. The real problem was that I hadn¡¯t had enough time to properly master the fundamentals of the Relic. Most Relics were relatively simple to use and rather intuitive in design. All an intrepid Delver had to do was pop one into their Spatial Core, and boom, they had instant magic at their fingertips.


    In most instances, the Relic¡¯s themselves imprinted a certain level of knowledge directly into the user¡¯s head. Like Neo, plugging into that badass Kung-Fu machine in the Matrix.


    I called those Set-¡®Em-And-Forget-¡®Em Relics.


    There were exceptions to that rule, however.


    Some Relics had a rather steep learning curve and required a fair degree of practice or experimentation to use effectively. Mental Micromanagement was a good example, and so was my other new Relic, Unhinged Taxidermist. That one was as much art as it was science. I couldn¡¯t just summon a minion all willy nilly. I needed to cobble them together from the left over remains of enemies, but I also needed to counter-balance the organic material with an appropriate amount of mechanical material.


    It had taken me days to figure out how to use the crafting overlay interface, and even longer to get a working version of my first minion, Synthia 2.0. Getting a handle on the process had consumed so much of my time, I hadn¡¯t gotten around to Runic Resonance Trap. I aimed to remedy that oversight before thoroughly exploring the fifth floor, known by most as Hotel Hell. Every time I ventured out into the wild expanse of the Backrooms, it was a calculated risk.


    I wanted to make sure as shit that I was doing everything in my power to increase my chances of survival, and that meant getting a handle on my newest ability.


    I let Jakob know I would be indisposed for the better part of a day to prepare for the Delve, then stopped by the checkout counter to grab a few extra Zima Healing Elixirs. Playing with extremely volatile magical traps was a dangerous proposition, all the more so because I had no idea what in the hell I was doing.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    I really needed to add a dedicated ¡°practice¡± space to the store, but sadly I didn¡¯t have anything like that just yet. So instead, Croc and I cordoned off the Home D¨¦cor aisle with some bright yellow caution tape someone had traded in and then¡ªbecause I really didn¡¯t want any accidental casualties¡ªI had Baby Hands post up at the end of the aisle, to shoo away prospective rubberneckers.


    I pulled out the Runic Resonance Trap Relic, which looked like a rusted beartrap with nasty metal teeth. The description popped up as I examined the item more closely.


    Runic Resonance Trap


    Uncommon Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: On Contact


    Cost: 15 Mana


    Cast Time: 20 Seconds


    Duration: Until Activated


    Material Component: 1 x Runic Engraver¡¯s Awl (Artifact), 1 x Compatible Surface


    If you¡¯ve been in the Backrooms for longer than two minutes, you¡¯ve likely stumbled across, or been irreparably maimed by, one of these bad boys. This is the most versatile of the three Basic-Bitch Backroom traps: runes, tripwires, and pitfalls. Nothing fancy, but it¡¯ll get the job done. Some moron blunders along and BAM! It¡¯s raining men!


    Well, pieces of men, anyway. Or women. Or monsters. Or you! This thing doesn¡¯t discriminate.


    Use a Trapsmith¡¯s awl to inscribe an invisible conductor rune onto any compatible material surface and imbue said rune with a Mana-based effect. You must cast the spell to store it; all Mana spell costs remain the same, but the stored spell effect is reduced by 50%. That¡¯s called Mana Leakage for you technical sorts. How much Mana any given Rune can contain depends upon the Relic Level.


    This Relic enables Mana usage.


    The Relic description only gave me broad brushstrokes of how the ability worked, but when I swapped out Baldree''s Scale Mail Cuirass¡ªa Rare-grade Relic, which boosted Toughness¡ªand added Runic Resonance Trap to my Spatial Core, a wave of insight flooded my mind, unfurling in the back of my skull like some strange flower. A rather simple symbol tattooed itself directly onto my brain.


    A basic trap rune. I also had a rough idea of how the sigil functioned.


    The rune itself acted as a rudimentary mana battery capable of holding a magical charge. But it wasn¡¯t just the energy it held; it was the shape of that energy. I hadn¡¯t realized it until now, but in that moment, it occurred to me that there was no essential difference between the mana that created my Sterilization Field and the mana that summoned a storm of corrosive super bleach, capable of melting organic matter into a pile of burbling goo.


    It was all the same essence.


    The only difference was the ¡°shape¡± the essence took and that was the purpose of the Relics. They molded mana in a specific pattern, forcing it to move in certain ways and take certain forms, like molten metal flowing into a casting die. Despite what they looked like on the outside, on the inside, each Relic was really just a complex construction of different runes and sigils that told the energy channeled through it what to do. How to behave.


    It was supernatural programming code.


    That explained why Relics that superficially looked different¡ªsay a Camo Kit and an Invisible Ink Pen¡ªhad the same end result: Basic Camouflage. Because they had the same internal ¡°programing¡± structure.


    That¡¯s also why I needed to cast the spell to set the trap in the first place. The Trap Rune wasn¡¯t capable of shaping mana¡ªit just held the current configuration, storing it for later use. I wasn¡¯t sure what to do with any of that information, but somehow, I knew the revelation was vitally important.


    It was also something for future me to worry about.


    Once the imminent threat of death and war weren¡¯t hanging over me like a headman¡¯s axe, I could afford to be a magical armchair philosopher. For now, though, the important thing was that I could use these runes to kill shit, and there were a whole lot of things in the Backrooms that needed killing.


    At face value, the inscription process was quite simple.


    Step one, use the Engraver¡¯s Awl to carve the conductor rune into a ¡°compatible surface.¡±


    Step two, cast a ¡°compatible spell¡± and the rune would soak the magic up like a dry sponge, storing it for later use.


    Step three, profit.


    In theory, easy.


    In reality? Well, that was quite a bit more complicated.


    What exactly constituted a compatible surface or spell? Could I store effects fueled by Stamina? How temperamental were the runes and under what conditions would they activate? Did the activation conditions change based on the type of spell stored? If I carved the rune incorrectly, would the whole thing blow up in my face?


    I had a dozen or more questions and no answers, which is exactly why I needed to experiment.


    The first thing I quickly discovered was that the runes were, in fact, wildly unstable and finicky. In many ways, they reminded me of my ex-girlfriend Sheila, who¡¯d once set fire to my underwear drawer and slashed my truck tires for reasons I still didn¡¯t fully understand. And, just like my ex, the conductor runes were just as liable to blow up in my face as they were to blast an enemy.


    There didn¡¯t seem to be a safe way to practice until I figured out that offensive spells weren¡¯t the only ones that could successfully be stored. Relic effects fueled by Stamina didn¡¯t work at all, but everything else was fair game, including things like Pharmacist¡¯s Scales, Bad Trip, or even Mental Micromanagement. It took a little trial and error, but eventually I worked out the kinks.


    First off, the size of the ¡°mana battery¡±¡ªwhich is how I¡¯d come to think of the runes¡ªwas directly proportional to the Relic Level. The rune could hold approximately 10 Mana worth of energy for every level. So, at level one, the rune could only contain spell effects that cost ten Mana or less to cast. If I tried to pump in more mana than that, boom. The rune became unstable, and the spell would detonate on the spot, blowing up in my face and doing a decent chunk of damage in the process.


    I damn near lost a finger learning that particular lesson.


    I¡¯d made quite the scene. Hunched over, clutching the ruined stump of my thumb while blood spurted across the floor every time my heart thumped. The whole aisle soon looked like a scene out of one of those SAW movies. Thankfully, my thumb had stayed attached by a thin thread of skin, and a Greater Healing Zima fixed me up without issue. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure I¡¯d permanently traumatized my other new hire, Stephanie, who¡¯d come running when she heard me caterwauling like a wounded baboon.


    She¡¯d puked all over the blood covered aisle, before darting off to get help. Some of the barf splashed onto my bathrobe, reminding me once again why getting a magical laundry mat was so worthwhile.


    Thankfully, Baby Hands was made of sterner stuff and had a much stronger stomach. Well, he didn¡¯t have any stomach, technically. With the golem¡¯s help, we had the aisle back to normal in less than twenty minutes.


    Still, not my finest moment.


    After that, I decided upgrading the Relic was at the tippy top of my priority list.


    The store had acquired forty-seven trash-tier Relics over the past several days. Things like the Beer Goggles, which distorted depth perception and made the user¡¯s vision slightly blurry while offering no tangible benefit. Or a Relic that resembled a plastic bottle of medicated foot powder called, Powder of Persistent Itching. That one caused the user to experience an incessant itching sensation at random intervals and in random places.


    One moment the itching might be between your toes, the next it felt like super crabs crawling all over your crotch. I genuinely couldn¡¯t fathom why it existed.


    Needless to say, the Relics were so utterly worthless that I couldn¡¯t even forge them into something less shitty¡ªnot even with the Researcher¡¯s Codex to assist me. The only thing they were fit for was sacrifice.


    I burned through twenty of ¡¯em, cannibalizing the power contained within. That brought my shiny new Trap Relic up to level five, allowing it to store up to fifty points of Mana. Enough to accommodate even my most heavy hitting spells like StainSlayer Maelstrom or Sterilization Field¡ªnot that I planned to practice with those spells. I had no desire to set off a chemical monsoon inside my store. But the upgrade meant I wouldn¡¯t have to worry about accidentally overcharging the conductor rune and subsequently losing more body parts.


    That wasn¡¯t the only benefit either.


    Level five was the first advancement threshold and whenever a Relic surpassed a threshold, it evolved in some fundamental way. Sometimes it became more powerful. Other times it would unlock an additional effect or secondary ability. The results were unpredictable and dependent on the Relic itself, but the changes were always an improvement in some way.


    In this case, I unlocked a new secondary ability called, Runic EOD Handler. It allowed me to safely touch or handle any Runes I¡¯d personally carved without setting them off. It also granted me a ten-percent increased chance to safely dismantle Runic Traps crafted by someone else.


    With the Relic upgraded, the secondary ability unlocked, and a tsunami of fun and deadly ideas dancing through my head, Croc and I took another stab at things.

 Eight – Magical Munitions

    Engraver awl firmly in hand, I oh-so-carefully carved the twisting, hook-shaped rune directly into the white linoleum of the Home D¨¦cor aisle. As I finished, the Rune sank into the floor, disappearing to Croc, but remaining semi-visible to me. The fresh sigil was ghostly in appearance and glistened with a watery opal light. I tossed a pillow onto the Rune to see if anything would happen.


    Nadda.


    Croc went next, placing a tentative paw on the invisible trap, its body ridged and braced for impact. But once again, the sigil was completely inert. When I placed my hand against the rune, however, a subtle tingle passed through my palm and the hairs along the length of my arm stood at attention.


    Taking a deep breath, I cast Pharmacist¡¯s Scales, exchanging 10 points of Mana for 10 points of Health. My Mana gauge appeared in the corner of my eye and dipped accordingly as the spell leeched directly into the rune and vanished. Although the sigil stayed invisible to Croc, as the spell took hold, the pattern changed from shifting opalescence to a subtle gold hue.


    We tried the pillow trick again, tossing it onto the rune from a safe distance, but ended up with the same result. A whole lot of nothing. When Croc cautiously stepped onto the rune, though, there was a brilliant flash of light and the effect activated, instantly transferring a grand total of five points of health into my four-legged friend.


    When Croc stepped away, the rune was gone, no sign it had ever been there at all.


    Once I understood the basic mechanic, I tried a wider range of spells. Mental Micromanagement was the first. That time, the sigil glowed with an etheric blue light. Once again, the pillow produced no tangible result but, curiously, when Croc tried, the rune flashed, but promptly fizzled and disappeared without any obvious effect either.


    The mimic had felt nothing, which was puzzling at first.


    But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made.


    Mental Micromanagement could only lift things that weighed less than forty-five pounds. And, thanks to the issue with Mana Leakage, the spell effect was further reduced by 50%, meaning it could only lift objects up to twenty-two and a half pounds. Croc weighed substantially more. It was a simple math equation. Even though the trap activated, it didn¡¯t have enough metaphysical umph to get the job done, so nothing had happened.


    That discovery had broader implications.


    Although I could use spells like Bad Trip, if the target¡¯s Perception score wasn¡¯t lower than mine, chances were high the trap would gutter and die. A complete waste of resources. And I had no idea how the Mana Leakage would factor into the equation.


    Spells with guaranteed effects, like Pharmacist¡¯s Scales or Erlenmeyer''s Molotov Cocktail, were best.


    I¡¯d picked up several Molotov Cocktail Relics from the Pharmacy Techs that had previously called the MediocreMart home, and I¡¯d kept one in my personal stash for emergency situations. The Relic was basically a rudimentary fireball spell¡ªquick, easy, and dirty¡ªthat dealt a flat 15 points of damage on contact and 5 points of additional burn damage while within the Area-of-Effect. The spell damage and duration were cut in half, but they worked every single time.


    Croc and I tested out a wide variety of different Relics with plenty of elixirs on standby in case things went south. Time and time again, we saw that inanimate objects failed to trigger the runes¡ªalthough, the rules seemed strange and somewhat arbitrary. I took off my boot and tossed it onto a sigil. Not a damned thing happened. But if there was a foot inside said boot? Boom. The trap worked like a charm.


    There were rules to it, I was sure, but I felt too dumb to figure ¡¯em out.


    My big takeaway from the initial round of experimentation was that Delvers and Dwellers would trigger the runes every single time they made direct contact. Sure, it was possible there were exceptions to that rule, but ninety-nine out of a hundred times, when a living object made contact the rune activated. Period. End of story.


    But my official and very scientific research didn¡¯t end there.


    The Relic description said that I could scrawl the rune onto any ¡°compatible material surface¡± but it didn¡¯t actually specify what that was. The floor was the most logical choice¡ªI¡¯d seen loads of runic pressure plates embedded into the floors, after all¡ªbut the question had to be asked, what other items qualified? This Relic had originally come from Frank, who¡¯d hurled magical barrels at me from a distance. Was it possible that all of those barrels had simply been runic resonances traps, inscribed onto the wooden barrel slats?


    With that thought kicking around inside my skull, Croc and I began a second round of experimentation, and we had a whole store worth of items to work with.


    We once again started with the throw pillow, then moved on from there. Cereal boxes, notebooks, tools from the hardware section. Hell, I even etched individual slices of bread. We found that almost anything could be engraved with a handful of notable exceptions.


    First off, the surface area had to be large enough to accommodate a detailed sigil. The material didn¡¯t matter so much, but the size sure did. Trying to squeeze a rune onto the face of a quarter just wouldn¡¯t work because my awl was too big and clunky for that kind of precision work.


    Second, I couldn¡¯t carve Relics, Artifacts, or living creatures.


    I managed to etch a sigil onto a slice of ham from the grocery section, which told me it might be possible to carve dead things, which boded well for me since my Taxidermied Horrors weren¡¯t technically living. I conjured Drumbo Rebooted and had no issue carving a sigil right into his belly. That had real, long-term potential. As unsettling as it was, I foresaw Taxidermied suicide bombers in the not-too-distant future.


    I couldn¡¯t carve anything with an active pulse, though.


    I¡¯d learned that lesson firsthand when I tried to etch a rune into my leg just for pure shits and giggles. Not only did the rune fail to take, but the process hurt like a real son of a bitch. Felt like brushing up against a hot stove burner even though it didn¡¯t leave a mark on my body or drain my Health Bar by even a sliver.


    My working theory was that anything that already contained mana of some form¡ªRelics, Artifacts, people¡ªdisrupted the stability of the sigil, preventing it from holding the correct spell configuration.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    Still, the ability to inscribe damn near anything else opened a whole new world of interesting and murderous possibilities. Although setting a runic trap on the floor had its uses, turning a loaf of bread into a magical hand grenade was way more practical.


    And cool.


    So that¡¯s exactly what I set out to do next.


    The seasonal aisle had a shit ton of bright green tennis balls. Up until now, they hadn¡¯t really served any obvious purpose, but they were perfect for what I had in mind. Lightweight, just the right size, easy to throw, and plentiful.


    If not for the secondary Runic EOD Handling ability, this plan never would¡¯ve worked¡ªthe traps were just too volatile. Because I could safely touch them without activating the conductor rune, however, it took no time at all to transform the mountain of useless tennis balls into a not-so-useless arsenal of magical munitions. Motion didn¡¯t trigger the runes at all; chucking the things wouldn¡¯t set them off and they wouldn¡¯t explode unless they contacted a living target.


    They were the perfect ranged weapon for a spell caster like me, who relied almost entirely on mana-intensive skills and abilities. That was even more true once I realized I could manipulate and move my impromptu magical hand grenades with telekinesis, just like I¡¯d done with Frank¡¯s barrels. The tennis balls went from simple ranged weapons into honest-to-God homing missiles. They also gave me an incredible amount of versatility. The hard truth was that my Spatial Core could only hold ten Relics at any given point, but nothing prevented me from exchanging those Relics at will.


    But there was a catch. There was always a catch.


    Trying to swap Relics during the middle of a battle was both insane and impractical, but with this, I could store a wide array of additional spell effects and, because the spells were all cast beforehand, they wouldn¡¯t affect my available Mana Pool. I¡¯d need to be proactive, sure, but that was fine. No one would ever accuse me of being the next Albert Einstein but thinking ahead had always been one of my strong suits.


    I made my way over to the cosmetics aisle and grabbed three of the basic Delver kits we¡¯d prepared for new arrivals.


    Each kit consisted of a backpack, looted from the nearby Style-for-Less department store, crammed full of the bare necessities for survival. Basic toiletries, a first aid kit, and a flashlight. Machete or survival knife and rope. Bottles of water and bags of beef jerky and protein bars. Things like that. The backpacks lined the shelves of aisle 4 and every Level 0 Delver who stumbled through the doors got one free of charge.


    I couldn¡¯t afford to give away Artifacts and Relics, my resources were too limited for that, but I could afford to give away the Delver kits and I knew they¡¯d already saved dozens of people. Including my two new human employees, Taylor and Stephanie.


    I grabbed three backpacks¡ªone red, one purple, one yellow¡ªand dumped the contents; Baby Hands would repack them later.


    Bags in hand, I went back to the cordoned off Home D¨¦cor aisle. I carefully spread a tarp across the floor, then systemically laid out two dozen tennis balls in a neat four-by-six grid. The last thing I wanted to do was accidentally set one of my friends on fire by mixing up grenade types in the heat of combat. To prevent that, I spray painted all twenty-four of them purple then set to work with my engraver¡¯s awl once the paint was dry.


    It took the almost two hours to imbue each of the tennis balls with Health Regen, but it was worth the effort.


    I¡¯d maxed out the amount of Mana I could invest in the individual conductor runes, which meant each grenade could heal for twenty-five points of damage. They were almost as good as a lesser healing Elixir and way faster to use on the fly. I put all of those into the purple backpack and then, just to make it idiot proof, I slapped a strip of silver Duct tape across the front of the bag and wrote Health Grenades.


    I would¡¯ve loved to craft some Mana Regen Grenades, but my Runic EOD Handler skill worked against me on that front. Thanks to the threshold ability, I couldn¡¯t actively set the runes off even if I wanted to. True, I could make all the Mana Grenades I wanted, but I¡¯d only be able to use them on others and that just seemed like a waste of time and effort.


    Instead, I crafted twenty-four more tennis balls then imbued them with the effects from one of my most volatile but powerful relics, Burn Baby Burn. Those I spray painted fire-engine red so they would stand out in sharp contrast with the purple healing grenades. After accounting for the mana leakage, each fuzzy, red IED dealt just shy of 20 points of Flame Damage on contact, and an additional 10 points of Burn Damage for one minute. Individually, that wasn¡¯t overly impressive, but if shit really went sideways, I could use all of them at once.


    That was 720 total points worth of damage, plus getting set on fire doubled as one helluva nasty distraction. It was hard to focus on fighting when your skin was burning.


    That backpack I labeled Firebombs.


    I repeated the process once more, this time spray painting and filling the yellow backpack with tennis balls imbued with the spell effects from Fault Spike.


    Fault Spike


    Uncommon Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Line of Sight


    Cost: 5 - 50 Mana


    Cast Time: 2 Seconds


    Duration: Permanent Terrain Alteration


    Taking the phrase ¡°get fucked¡± to a whole new level, Fault Spike summons between 1 and 10 razor-sharp earthen shafts capable of spit-roasting your enemies like a luau pig. Because luau pig is definitely what you were thinking when I said spit roast. Fault spikes are considered permanent terrain alterations and will stay put until the Backrooms decides to undo your handiwork, so don¡¯t place them anywhere you don¡¯t want them long term.


    Each spike deals 25 points of piercing damage on contact and the target is afflicted with 1 stack of Uncontrollable Hemorrhaging, dealing 2 points of Bleed Damage for each second they are impaled. Another stack of Uncontrollable Hemorrhaging is applied every five seconds. If five stacks of Uncontrollable Hemorrhaging accumulate, the target suffers Earthbarb and any attempts to remove the spear deals an additional 25 points of Tearing Damage. This Relic enables Mana usage.


    In theory, each one of the balls would summon a single razor-sharp javelin of rock from the ground, capable of impaling an enemy. I was particularly excited to see those bad boys in action. Another strip of Duct tape went across the front. I wrote Spikes of Go Fuck Yourself in big blocky letters.


    I jammed two tennis balls of each color into the oversized pouch on my toolbelt, then deposited all three backpacks into my Subspace Storage for later. In total, the entire process¡ªexperimentation, severing my thumb, learning the ropes, and mass producing the tennis balls grenades¡ªhad taken about nine hours. After everything that had happened over the past day, I should¡¯ve been exhausted to the bone. But I wasn¡¯t. I was too keyed up to sleep. All I really wanted to do was head down to the fifth floor and look for something to try my shiny new runic bombs on.


    Far as I was concerned, I could sleep when I was dead.


    I took a few minutes to splash some water on my face, then I scarfed down a couple of hotdogs from the concession stand, earning myself the coveted Gas Station Hotdog buff in the process. For the next three hours, I was safe from food poisoning and all damage from disease was reduced by 5%. I also took a moment to adjust the Relics in my Spatial Core.


    Now that I had an ample number of both healing elixirs and Healing Grenades, I opted to swap my Level 5 Pharmacist¡¯s Scales for Bad Trip¡ªone of the few crowd control abilities in my arsenal¡ªthen I double-checked my Active Relics.


    Spatial Core - Active


    (U) Bad Trip ¨C Level 1


    (U) Fault Spike ¨C Level 3


    (U) Runic Resonance Trap ¨C Level 5


    (R) Unhinged Taxidermist ¨C Level 1


    (R) Mental Micromanagement ¨C Level 1


    (R) Pressure Washer ¨C Level 5


    (R) Sterilization Field ¨C Level 5


    (F) Neural Slip Stream ¨C Level 5


    (F) StainSlayer Maelstrom ¨C Level 5 (Fully Tempered)


    (ME) Compass of the Catacomber (Fully Tempered)


    Satisfied with my current load out, the only thing left to do was find Jakob, then make our way to Hotel Hell. I had a magical washing machine to find.

 Nine – Hotel Hell

    The Fifth Floor, often referred to as Hotel Hell, was a huge expanse of claustrophobic interconnected corridors, interspersed with lavish bedrooms, opulent lounges, and gaudy ballrooms. Of all the levels I¡¯d visited so far, it reminded me most of the Lobby¡ªthough instead of a bland office building this level looked like a posh luxury hotel.


    Still, it had the same foreboding atmosphere. It was the press of the walls. The endless sea of monotonous wallpaper. The disorienting hallways that all looked the same and all went nowhere. A miasma of paranoia seemed to hang in the air like a cloud and it felt like we were being watched by a sea of invisible onlookers.


    Gaudy gold and crystal chandeliers dangled from frescoed ceilings, casting warm light across polished marble floors. The soft, distant sounds of a piano drifted through the air, mingling with the muffled chatter of unseen patrons. Crushed velvet drapes framed arched windows that looked out into nowhere, while plush armchairs, ornate tapestries, and gilded mirrors hinted at an era of unparalleled luxury. It was impossible to miss the earthy scent of cigars waltzing with a hint of floral perfume.


    The whole floor was like stepping into a Stephen King novel.


    And, like any good Stephen King novel, there were monsters here. They weren¡¯t as plentiful as the Dwellers on the third floor or the seventh, but they made up for their lack of numbers with extreme violence and wild unpredictability.


    We¡¯d already taken out a handful of mimics, disguised as everything from mirrors to high-back chairs¡ªall of which were far more convincing than anything Croc could pull off. We even had a chandelier mimic with a hundred mouth orifices drop down on us from overhead. I¡¯d been so busy searching the floor for traps that I didn¡¯t see the mean ol¡¯ son of a bitch until it landed on me like an angry gorilla.


    It took a bite out of my thigh the size of an apple before Jakob used his blue plasma shield to cut the monster in two. An ice-cold Zima stopped the bleeding and Jakob used some strange salve that smelled like fermented nutsack to regrow the missing chunk of flesh.


    Good times.


    Most of the mimics, I killed at a distance.


    The bastards didn¡¯t show up on my minimap¡ªone of the perks of their camouflage ability¡ªbut thankfully Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense helped me spot the things long before they ever became a real threat. I cut ¡¯em down with Pressure Washer or skewered them with my telekinetically controlled demolition screwdriver. They dropped like swatted flies, dark blood and goopy ichor splattering across the walls and carpeted floor.


    Most were level 8, which meant no Experience for killing them, and only the chandelier mimic was above level 10.


    Still, I managed to collect a bunch of Basic Camouflage Relics and a few shards, not to mention a handful of Common-Grade Relics called Ambush Instinct, which served as a watered-down version of my Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense. I didn¡¯t need them for obvious reasons, but I had no doubt those things would sell like hotcakes at the store. The chandelier shithead also dropped an additional uncommon Relic called Health Eater, which I¡¯d never seen before.


    At first, I assumed it would be some sort of Leech Life ability which, in one sense, it was. Unfortunately, the way you gained life was by literally devouring your enemies. The Relic converted physically consumed mass into Health. Apparently, this was one of the many abilities Croc had tucked away in its spatial core. In theory, it was an extremely powerful skill and perfect for a monster with a mouth the size of trash compactor and a hankering for some long pork.


    It was far less appetizing for me.


    We¡¯d also run across several Hotel Porters, who were not so different from the Greeters that roamed the endless Lobby of Level 0. They were gangly, potbellied creatures with luminous eyes, stringy hair, and unnaturally wide smiles filled with far too many teeth. The Porters wore tattered red hotel uniforms and conical bellhop caps perched on mishappen heads. Most were level 7 or 8 and should have run away, but instead they attacked on sight with reckless abandon and extreme violence.


    Not that their enthusiasm for carnage helped them much.


    Killing Frank and the others had finally pushed Jakob up to level 26, while I was at level 22. Although Croc was still only level 19, the mimic was still more than powerful enough to kill damn near anything on this floor without breaking a sweat.


    Nine out of ten times, I killed the flabby goons before they ever got within spitting distance. Pressure Washer carved through their rubbery flesh as though it were made of tissue paper, and I had ample opportunity to test out my tennis balls. The yellow Fault Spike Grenades were ruthlessly effective. A single well place tennis ball to the throat could one shot the dopey monsters and drop ¡¯em where they stood. As for the Firebombs, turned out all that greasy hair was extremely flammable.


    Like the low-level mimics, they didn¡¯t give us any experience, but they all carried a combination of Shards and Relics. Silent Step and Baggage Handler were the most frequent drops.


    Silent Step allowed the caster to move forty-five percent more quietly, but only on carpeted surfaces, while Baggage Handler offered a small boost to Athleticism and increased total Storage Space capacity by five hundred pounds. I idly wondered if that was how Wraith and the Howlers had acquired all those shipping containers. Although Baggage Handler was only a Common-grade Relic, it stood to reason that there were probably Uncommon or even Rare-grade versions of the ability, which would let someone store substantially more.


    At one point, we tangled with a Blight-Infected level 15 Nightshift Manager¡ªa multi-armed horror decked out in a pristine black suit and a silver bell hop cap. That one dropped an Uncommon-grade Relic called Baggage Strike, which encumbered all those in the AoE radius by increasing the weight of all worn items by forty percent for the duration of the spell. The nightmarish creature also carried an Uncommon Artifact called Hotel Maintenance Key, which served as a master key for every single door on the fifth floor¡ª


    Including the Employees Only Service Doors, which connected to the floor¡¯s maintenance corridors. Instinct told me that¡¯s where we would eventually find the laundry mat.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Then, there were the things that lived inside the rooms themselves.


    The Lodgers.


    They were, far and away, the most traumatizing horrors inhabiting the Hotel. Mostly because they were far more unique than their counterparts, who roamed the halls. They were all labeled simply as Lodgers and had the same basic description, provided courtesy of the Codex.


    Hotel Lodger


    The poor, unfortunate guests who checked in but never quite managed to check out. Be careful or you might end up just like them¡­


    Like the Faceless Ghouls who inhabited the first floor, I had a terrible suspicion that these things hadn¡¯t always been Dwellers. And that was because most of them looked like people. Some tall, others short. Men and women, both. Even a few kids, which was worst of all. They¡¯d been changed by the Backrooms, of course. Pale and oddly bloated as though they¡¯d been submerged in water for too long. Their limbs were stretched in unnatural ways. Their jaws, elongated to accommodate for all their extra teeth.


    It made me sick to think about, but I was betting money that these were the poor schmucks who¡¯d accidentally wandered into Hotel Hell and never found an exit. Instead of simply dying, the Hotel had kept them as eternal guests, never to depart.


    They rarely left the rooms, but we still had to deal with them occasionally because I was actively on the hunt for something other than the sacred laundry mat.


    I mean, sure, that was my number one priority, but I¡¯d finally discovered a floor that had access to both decent beds and, most importantly of all, bathrooms with working showers. It was an opportunity I couldn¡¯t afford to pass up. True, most of the beds were actually enormous flytraps, which would slowly eat you as you slept, while most of the showers rained acid instead of water, but most wasn¡¯t all.


    I was certain that there was at least one normal room in this God-forsaken place.


    It took more tries than I¡¯d like to admit, but Unerring Arrow had finally guided us to a room that fit my needs. And it wasn¡¯t one of the run-of-the-mill rooms, either¡ªthe kind with a couple of full beds and a bathroom so small you could hardly take a shit without bumping your knees against the wall. Nope, this was one of the deluxe suites, which came stock with a separate master bedroom, a sitting and dining area, two different bathrooms, and even its small kitchenette edged on one side by a bar top, complete with high-top stools.


    It was nice. Not even remotely my style, but nice.


    The chairs were leather, the sofa velvet, and there were mirrors absolutely everywhere. Too many mirrors for good taste, in my opinion, plus it had one of those fancy crystal chandeliers suspended above the dining room table. I couldn¡¯t help but think about the mimic who¡¯d taken a chunk out of my leg when I saw that monstrosity, but thankfully it was just furniture.


    There was, however, the current Hotel Lodger to consider.


    ¡°It jumped into one of the paintings!¡± Jakob called out, surveying the room with reptilian eyes. Searching for any sign of movement.


    ¡°You see anything Croc?¡± I called out, even as the hairs along the back of my neck stood at attention.


    ¡°Oh fiddlesticks, Dan! I lost track of it,¡± the dog called from the master bedroom.


    ¡°Just great,¡± I muttered, turning in a slow circle. ¡°Stay in the bedroom, Croc,¡± I called, already backtracking from the sitting room and toward the kitchen. ¡°We don¡¯t want this slippery shit to get away.¡±


    Not if I wanted to claim the room, anyway. The only problem with my Blanket Fort ability, was that I couldn¡¯t claim a territory which was currently under the control of a hostile Dweller. Naturally, each and every Lodger counted as a ¡°boss¡± for their individual room.


    ¡°Just be careful, Dan,¡± Jakob called from the room¡¯s larger foyer. ¡°This thing is nastier than the others. Tricky.¡± The Cendral was currently camped out by the front door, making sure the monster didn¡¯t slip away and that we had a clear exit in case things went sideways.


    Which tended to be the rule instead of the exception.


    ¡°Don¡¯t need to tell me twice,¡± I called back.


    I slowly padded through the room, taking time to peek behind furniture and under the table, but I didn¡¯t see anything. I hadn¡¯t seen any sign of the Lodger yet, but I was sure that would change before too much longer. Honestly, these things were more annoying than dangerous, but holy shit did they have a tendency to jump scare you at the worst possible moment. And even with badass magic powers, a good jump scare was still a good jump scare.


    There was a blur of movement in the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look¡ªhammer raised and ready to strike¡ªwhatever had been there was already long gone.


    I moved past the table and around the edge of the bar. My steps faltered when I caught sight of a large painting hanging on the wall. It was out of place, and the sight of it sent goosebumps racing across my arms.


    I inched forward to get a better look at the thing and froze.


    The painting showcased an oceanside harbor at twilight with a small fleet of boats moored against the encroaching darkness of the night. The sky was a brilliant canvas of purples and blues, reflecting off the white-tipped waves. Honestly, there was nothing special about the painting. It looked like the kind of thing an airport Marriot might have in the lobby. Corporate and uninspired.


    The figure, frozen near the weathered dock, on the other hand, stood out like a like a road flare.


    Like the other Lodgers we¡¯d run across, he was man-shaped and rail thin¡ªalmost skeletally so¡ªand seemed to be made almost entirely of arms and legs. He wore plated gray slacks and a gray sports jacket with a scarlet vest beneath. Shiny gold buttons ran up the front of the vest and what looked like a gray tie dangled down from its neck. Except, upon closer inspection, I realized it wasn¡¯t a tie at all, but a length of frayed noose.


    Its head was pale, round, and maggot white, which reminded me of a peeled hardboiled egg. Beady black eyes stared at me from above a vicious maw bristling with hundreds of needle-sharp teeth. Sitting on top of that egg-shaped skull was a gray bowler hat that matched the jacket and trousers. Gangly arms stretched all the way down past its knees and spidery fingers, with far too many joints, continued to the wooden slats of the dock.


    All I could do was stand there and stare at the monstrosity. Captivated by how horrifying it was.


    I felt¡­ frozen was the only word that came to mind. My limbs were oddly numb and too heavy to lift. My right arm went slack and my hammer thudded to the floor. It all happened in slow motion, almost as if I were in a dream, but there was nothing I could do about it. I¡¯d felt this sensation once before, back during my battle against the Blighted Photophage, who occupied the photo center in the MediocreMart.


    Which meant I was under psychic attack but now, just like then, there wasn¡¯t a damned thing I could do about it.


    This son of a bitch was using some sort of Relic that specifically targeted my Grit, which was one of my lowest stats, sitting at only 17. Absolutely nothing, especially when compared to my highest stat, Resonance, which was currently at 55. Grit was closely related to willpower and measured overall ability to resist psionic attacks and psychic influence. Clearly, I needed an upgrade in that department.


    ¡°Behind you, Dan!¡± Croc bellowed from the other room.


    The sound of the mimic¡¯s voice jarred me out of my momentary stupor, but my body still felt sluggish and unresponsive. I spun at the warning, but it felt like I was moving through a wall of molasses. I finished turning just in time to see the lanky figure from the painting leap out from a nearby mirror. The noose encircling its throat shot out like a serpent, growing to an absurd length as it wrapped around my arms, pinning them to my sides. And as the rope constricted, my renewed sense of willpower drained away like sand running through my fingers.


    This is hopeless, my brain screamed. You never should¡¯ve come here. Now you¡¯re going to die, and no one will even care.


    I wanted to argue, but the voice was right. This was hopeless.


    Another coil of rope looped around my neck, and I knew I was done for. What in the hell was the point of even trying to fight back? Any attempt at resistance was an exercise in futility. All I could do was stand and watch in frozen horror as the creature unhinged its lower jaw and moved forward to swallow my head whole¡­

 Ten – Upgrades

    Before the monster could decapitate me, Croc came roaring out of the master suite and pulled an epic Uno Reverse, decapitating it first.


    One moment I was watching the yawning jaws of inevitable and certain death approach, and the next the creature¡¯s whole head disappeared down the maw of an even more dangerous predator: a rubbery blue dog, the size of a bear.


    The monster¡¯s HP immediately hit zero and its oppressive mental spell was abruptly broken. I gasped, shaking my head to clear away the haze, and took a few tentative steps backward. The length of gray rope went slack and fell into a disorderly pile on the floor in front of me and suddenly I could think again. The Lodger had been inside my head, but now its presence was gone. Banished.


    ¡°Holy shit that was close,¡± I said, rubbing a trembling hand against my throat. Even though the creature was only level 13, I got the sense that it had come very close to killing me. If not for Croc, my skull would probably be lining that things gullet at this very moment.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be more careful, Dan,¡± Croc admonished sternly, letting the rest of the creature¡¯s body fall to the floor with a wet thump. ¡°And you¡¯ve really got to do something about that low Grit score, especially if you have any hope of taking a run at the Sales Sirens or the Franchisor.¡± The dog looked at me with serious, googly eyes. ¡°Those things are all about the mind games, Dan, and I might not always be close enough to pull your bacon out of the fire.¡±


    I grunted and rubbed a hand across my throat once more.


    I could almost feel the rough strands of the noose against my skin. Croc was right. That had been too close. It was a humbling experience and a firm reminder that no one was invincible. That everything had a weakness, if you lived long enough to find it. This wasn¡¯t the first time my low Grit score had nearly cost me my life, but I¡¯d work to make sure it was the last.


    ¡°Thanks, Croc. You¡¯re a good boy.¡±


    ¡°Ah, thanks, Dan! Does that mean we can have Froyo?¡± the mimic asked, waggling its tail hopefully.


    ¡°As much as you want,¡± I agreed with a nod. ¡°Let me just get what we came for.¡±


    I dropped down to one knee beside the dead Dweller and looted its core, recovering an Uncommon Shard and an intriguing Uncommon-grade Relic, forebodingly called Bleak Outlook. When activated, the Relic caused its victim to develop¡ªI shit you not¡ªsevere seasonal depression, capable of temporarily immobilizing the target for a short while and making them too depressed to fight back. The Relic itself was an eight-by-ten painting of a bleak winter scene, bordered by an expensive golden frame.


    Quiet fitting, all things considered.


    It wasn¡¯t as good as Bad Trip¡ªthe spell was too expensive, the cooldown too long, the effect not quite as powerful¡ªbut it was a close second. Definitely worth hanging onto for later.


    I tucked the Relic away, then got to work, quickly enlarging my mini-map until it dominated my field of view. I used one shaky finger to trace the desired area before finally activating my Blanket Fort ability.


    You¡¯ve selected 720 square feet of eligible Progenerated Material Resource Space. Would you like to use Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort to convert the selected material into a Personal Superspace Dwelling? You will have 39,989 available square feet remaining at your current Variant Assimilation Level. Proceed Yes/No?


    Researcher¡¯s Codex Note: Doing so will amputate the selected material from its current Spatial Location, and transfer it to an extradimensional Superspace pocket, accessible only through a designated Doorway Anchor. Additional sequestered Progenerated Material can be grafted onto the current space at any time. For a full list of Blanket Fort features and options, please see the Blanket Fort DYI Operations Manual, available after claiming your first section of the Backrooms.


    Before accepting, I took a moment to plant a Doorway Anchor on a hotel room across the hall from the one I was preparing to annex, then I made sure Jakob and Croc had their arms, legs, and tentacles safely inside the ride. Wouldn¡¯t want anyone to accidentally lose a limb in the process, even if Croc could regrow missing appendages. Once everything was squared away to my satisfaction, I braced myself and hit yes.


    The room rattled and rumbled, the mirrors vibrating violently against the wall for a beat. Thankfully the sensation didn¡¯t last long. When the tremors finally subsided and died completely, I took a deep breath, crossed my fingers and opened the door. I let out a sigh of relief. The entryway door to what was formerly room 5519 no longer let out into the hallway, but instead connected to the storage room, which was filled with camp cots, private tents, and a handful of customers who were looking at me like I¡¯d just grown a dick on my forehead.


    ¡°Nothing to see here,¡± I said, waving them away, before slamming the door and locking the deadbolt with a large grin.


    The room was a mess thanks to the scuffle with the Hotel Lodger, whose body was still sprawled out in the sitting room, but I didn¡¯t really care. I mean, yeah, I¡¯d have to take care of the corpse eventually, but after fifteen hours of trudging through Hotel Hell and slaughtering countless horrors, there was only one thing I wanted to do¡­


    ***


    I found Croc and Jakob, made sure both were okay, then hustled them out of the room without an ounce of ceremony and turned toward the only thing that mattered in the whole world at this exact moment: the glorious, wonderous, miraculous invention known as the shower.


    I stripped out of my clothes¡ªthough, honestly, it felt more like peeling them off since they were so sticky and grimy. My jorts were so stiff they could¡¯ve stood up on their own, and my wifebeater was just a gory mess. Even though it was a largely useless endeavor, I took a few minutes to fruitlessly dunk my clothes in the bathroom sink along with a dose of extra-strength detergent. It was a losing battle and by the time I finally gave up and called it quits, the water was still a frothy pink and my clothes were still disgusting.


    At least there weren¡¯t any visible ¡°chunks¡± left behind.


    I laid the clothes out, added some anti-fungal foot powder to my boots, then crawled into the luxury stand-up shower. And when I say luxury, I mean luxury with a capital L. The thing was big enough to hold a party of five and it had one of those overhead waterfall shower heads plus a full stainless steel wall panel with four separate body message jets. Hell, it even had one of those handheld attachments for getting to those hard-to-reach places.


    The water pressure was strong enough to strip paint, just the way I liked it, and the shower had hot water for days. It didn¡¯t ever seem to run out, even though I stood there for at least half an hour, getting sandblasted by water just a smidge less hot than scalding. This was the first time I¡¯d taken a real, full body shower in almost two months. Up until now, it had been washcloth bathes in a sink, or hasty Baby wipe showers in a toilet stall.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Compared to that, I was in heaven on earth.


    After what felt like days, I killed the water, toweled dry, and brushed my teeth since my mouth tasted like a dirty litter box. When I glanced at myself in the enormous circular mirror mounted above the sink, I grimaced. I still looked like a giant pile of horseshit, but at least I wasn¡¯t visibly ¡°dirt-caked¡± anymore, which was a huge win in my book. My dad always said, take your victories where you can get ¡¯em.


    My clothes were still drying, so I pulled on a clean white bathrobe, which had been conveniently tucked away in the linen closet with the other towels, then shuffled out of the steamy bathroom and over to the sitting room. I was dog tired, but I wanted to sort my loot before hitting the rack for a bit of well-deserved shuteye.


    Even after splitting Relics and Shards with Jakob, the day had been a huge success. I¡¯d walked away with forty-three new Relics and fifty-seven Shards, most Common¡ªthough a few Uncommon as well. I set aside a few of the better Relics for the Store¡¯s Inventory, pulled out the ones I wanted to keep for myself, then used the rest to power level a few of my equipped abilities.


    Most of my core Relics¡ªlike Pressure Washer, StainSlayer Maelstrom, and Sterilization Field¡ªwere already at level 5, but some of my newer Relics were lagging behind. Fault Spike was only at level 3, so I sacrificed ten common-grade Relics to push it up to level 5, unlocking the first threshold ability in the process.


    Although the Mana cost sharply increased¡ªjumping from 5 to 10 Mana per spike cast¡ªthe damage each earthen spike dealt also doubled from 25 to 50. Hitting the first threshold also unlocked a secondary effect, called Stone Skewer, which let me hurl a single rocky javelin composed entirely of razor-sharp obsidian, which dealt 35 points of piercing damage on contact. The added ability gave the skill considerably greater versatility, since I could now use it at range. Plus, it would be awesome against heavily armored foes like the kiosk crab, who were resistant against the slashing damage of my Pressure Washer spell.


    When I got to Bad Trip, I paused and pulled out the Bleak Outlook Relic, examining the two in closer proximity.


    They had an incredibly strong resonance, which wasn¡¯t much of a surprise considering how similar their effects were. Together, they were much stronger than either one was apart, but I was truly surprised to find that when I added a third Relic into the mix the synergy went off the charts. That third item was a simple Common-Grade Relic called Tinfoil Hat, which I¡¯d picked up more than a month ago from Barry¡¯s Black Light Emporium on the third floor.


    It wasn¡¯t particularly powerful or even good, yet it seemed to bring out strength of the other two in fascinating ways.


    Synergistic Resonance Detected!


    Would you like to Forge Tinfoil Hat (Common ¨C Level 1), Bad Trip (Uncommon ¨C Level 3), and Bleak Out (Uncommon ¨C Level 1) into a new Relic?*


    Yes/No?


    Right below that, like a footnote tacked on at the bottom of a textbook page, was a much smaller line of text.


    * Run Researcher¡¯s Codex Compatibility Analysis - Yes/No?


    Even though I was extremely excited, I wanted to do my due diligence, so I selected yes and ran the compatibility Analysis first.


    Based on historic data sets and extensive Forging models, Tinfoil Hat (Common ¨C Level 1), Bad Trip (Uncommon ¨C Level 3), and Bleak Outlook (Uncommon ¨C Level 1) have an estimated 98% resonance compatibility, meaning the number of possible Relic Iterations is Extremely Low. The most probably outcome is Existential Dread (Rare ¨C Fully Tempered), or a closely adjacent derivative. Would you like to view additional report records for the Existential Dread ability? Yes/No?


    I took a quick look at the additional report and was pleased with what I saw, even though the upgraded Relic was still only Rare-grade.


    Existential Dread


    Rare Relic (Fully Tempered) ¨C Level 1


    Range: Single or Multi-Target, Line of Sight


    Cost: 25 Mana


    Cooldown: 30 Seconds


    They say when you stare too long into the void, sometimes the void stares back. And now, thanks to the Variant Research Division, you too can harness the power of the Void! Unleash the harrowing vastness of the cosmos upon your foes, casting them into a downward spiral of their own existential insignificance. Force your foes to confront the fathomless abyss within their soul, paralyzing them with the overwhelming realization of their own fleeting existence in an otherwise indifferent universe.


    Existential Dread can be cast simultaneously against up to five enemies within line of sight¡ªthough each additional target reduces the overall efficiency of the spell by one fifth. Effected targets are completely immobilized for between 15 and 30 seconds as they grapple with debilitating thoughts of their own mortality. During this period, the afflicted individual is rendered incapable of action, completely frozen in a state of terrifying introspection.


    Those effected by External Dread also have an additional 20% chance of suffering from a Nihilistic Breakdown, causing them to fly into a fit of futile rage and attack other hostile foes in range. Existential Dread is only effective against sentient beings capable of self-awareness.


    This Relic Enables Mana Use.


    I burst out laughing as I finished reading through the skill description. Holy shit, this place sure had a fucked-up sense of humor. And the fact that I found it funny made it even worse somehow. I mean, what did that say about me?


    Despite the off-color skill description, I had to admit the Relic was good. Better than Bad Trip, which had a significantly lower chance of immobilizing enemy targets¡ªnot to mention, it only worked if the enemy in question had a lower Perception Score than I did. This spell had guaranteed stopping power, and the secondary Nihilistic Breakdown was a helluva nice bonus.


    I only had to consider it for another minute or two, before finally forging the three Relics into one. And since I was already upgrading things, I decided to burn another twenty Relics and push it right up to level five, which added another threshold effect:


    All additional psionic or psychic attacks are 50% more effective during the duration of the spell effect.


    Not too shabby at all.


    With that done, I used the remainder of my excess Relics to nudge Mental Micromanagement up to Level 2. The only obvious effect was that I could now lift two objects with my mind at the same time¡ªthough I was more than a little anxious about trying it.


    Of all my spells, that one was the most difficult and the most dangerous to use.


    The first time I¡¯d equipped Mental Micromanagement, I¡¯d spontaneously started bleeding from my eyes, ears, and nose all at once. Thanks to constant practice, I could now send my demolition screwdriver careening through the air like an artillery round with the same amount of effort it took to toss a baseball, but it had taken a lot of work to get there. In a lot of ways, that strand of telekinetic power felt like a new hand that I¡¯d grown rather comfortable with over the past few days.


    I had a feeling that adding a second item to the mix would be like starting all over again.


    The moment I upgraded the Relic, my head immediately began to throb, and I felt something stretch and strain inside my chest. Gritting my teeth in pain, I extended two wispy, invisible strands of telekinetic energy, hoisting my screwdriver into the air with one, and a small throw pillow with the other. I couldn¡¯t hold both for long and even doing that much felt like dragging a semi up the side of Mount Everest with my teeth. Both objects fell to the ground after only a few seconds and a renewed wave of exhaustion rolled through me like the incoming tide.


    Even though a part of me wanted to get back out there and find that stupid washing machine, my body simply refused to cooperate. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak.


    Instead, I pulled myself from the chair with a heavy groan and beelined for the cushy king-sized mattress in the adject master suite. I flopped down, face first with a sigh of sweet relief, not even bothering to remove the fluffy bathrobe. The sheets were silky soft and nicer than anything I¡¯d ever slept in back home. The bed itself embraced me like a cloud.


    I¡¯d barely managed to get under the sheets before I was snoring like a freight train rumbling through the night.

 Eleven – Berliner Backstory

    After eight or nine hours of shuteye followed by a couple of Magma Calzones to start the day off right, Jakob, Croc, and I were back at it, following Unerring Arrow through the twisting halls of Hotel Hell once again. Clearing Dwellers, harvesting useful body parts for my future Taxidermied Horrors, and marking traps with almost religious devotion.


    I also left behind ample survival tips, along with ever more Twining Rings. The red yarn I¡¯d made the rings from was an Uncommon Artifact that I¡¯d first picked up as a prize in the third-floor loot arcade. I¡¯d posted a sign by the front checkout counter offering to buy the stuff at well-above market rates and, as a result, I now had enough spools to last me for months without ever having to worry about running dry.


    Don¡¯t forget to look up! The chandeliers are not to be trusted!


    ¡ªThis Survival Tip, brought to you by Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains.


    I¡¯d drive a nail into the wall beside each survival tip, then drape five or so of the Twining Rings along with a short note.


    Bad news, you¡¯re in the Backrooms. Worse news, everything is trying to kill you. Better news, I¡¯m not trying to kill you. Take one of the yarn rings, put it on your finger, and follow where it takes you. Or don¡¯t and die¡ªthe choice is yours. I¡¯ve got supplies, intel, and a Progenitor Monolith waiting.


    ¡ªDiscount Dan


    It was slow going, but important work. Always be advertising, I reminded myself. What I really needed to find was a computer and printer, then I could mass produce some snazzy flyers, which would save me loads of time and hand cramps. Until then, I¡¯d just have to do it the good ol¡¯ fashion way.


    Wandering the labyrinth halls of Hotel Hell also gave me a chance to catch up with Jakob. We hadn¡¯t really had much time alone since returning from Howler¡¯s Hold, and there were a few outstanding questions that needed answering.


    I trusted the Cendral for the most part, but I couldn¡¯t get rid of the idea that he was hiding things from me. Although he¡¯d shared bits and pieces with me about his history and background, no one would ever accuse him of being an oversharer. I didn¡¯t mind that he tended to play his cards close to the vest, we were a lot alike in that way, but there were things he wasn¡¯t telling me.


    Like what exactly his relationship with the Howlers was. Or how Jackson¡ªthe Hold¡¯s resident cult leader¡ªfit into the picture.


    I knew that Jakob had been stranded in the Backrooms for seven or eight years and that at some point, he¡¯d saved Temperance from a temporal distortion pocket¡ªa particularly elaborate trap that froze its victim in time, keeping them alive while slowly driving them mad for decades or even centuries.


    Based on my short conversation with Ajax, however, it was clear Jakob had also spent a fairly significant amount of time with the Howlers. Enough that they¡¯d offered him a job as a Tribune. I was pretty sure they didn¡¯t just hand out important political positions to mysterious wandering hobos. Despite that, Jakob had only mentioned the Hold a few times in passing and had never gone into any significant detail about his relationship with the Howlers. Hell, he''d never even bothered to bring up the fact that they were all furries.


    There were just too many red flags for me to ignore, and I was hoping that without Temperance around, eavesdropping on our conversation, that he might be more willing to open up.


    ¡°So what¡¯s the deal with you and the Howler¡¯s anyway?¡± I asked nonchalantly as we made our way down a seemingly abandoned hallway that stretched off into the distance.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean,¡± he replied off-handedly.


    ¡°Come on,¡± I said, stealing a sidelong glance. ¡°Despite the way I look¡±¡ªI gestured at the bathrobe and jort combo¡ª¡°I¡¯m not an idiot. From the way Ajax made it sound, you were with the Howlers for a long time. Long enough that they wanted to put you in charge of shit.¡± I shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m just a little surprised that you never mentioned that before.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t think it was relevant,¡± he replied, sounding uneasy by the direction of our conversation.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t think it was relevant?¡± I asked, quirking an eyebrow. ¡°Now why don¡¯t I believe you?¡±


    ¡°I left the Hold in good standing,¡± he said, ¡°and my past involvement with them didn¡¯t have any bearing on our current situation, so I didn''t think it was worth mentioning. We simply had¡­ differing ideologies, but we parted on amicable terms. It was nothing personal if that¡¯s what you think.¡±


    I snorted and rolled my eyes. ¡°Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself it wasn¡¯t personal.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± He sounded slightly offended but was clearly trying to hide it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t try to bullshit and bullshitter,¡± I said. ¡°I saw the look on your face when Jackson¡¯s name came up. Trust me, whatever happened was definitely personal. I know you¡¯re not a big fan of needless violence, but if looks could kill, I think that son of a bitch would be dead where he stands.¡±


    He didn¡¯t say anything for a long time, and I didn¡¯t push. I wanted answers, but I also knew that Jakob would tell me eventually so long as I gave him a little breathing room.


    ¡°Fine,¡± the Cendral groused, folding arms across his slender chest. ¡°Maybe it was a little personal.¡± He sniffed dismissively. ¡°Although, I don¡¯t know why such old history should matter to you.¡±


    ¡°Because that old history is potentially trying to murder me,¡± I replied, ¡°which is why I feel like it would be good if you just laid all your cards on the table. Until now, you¡¯ve mostly kept your own council, which is fine by me. A little paranoia never hurt anyone. But at this point, what I don¡¯t know might kill me.¡± I held his gaze and refused to look away. ¡°I understand that it might be uncomfortable, but I need to know what happened between you and the Howlers and I need to know why you hate Jackson so much.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t a question. I wasn¡¯t asking, I was telling.


    Jakob sighed and seemed to deflate a little, folding in on himself like a kicked dog.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Jakob,¡± Croc reassured the Cendral. ¡°This is a safe space. I mean, not the floor itself, of course. Anything, anywhere, at any time could potentially kill you. Figuratively speaking, however, it¡¯s a safe space. We¡¯re your friends. You can tell us anything.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Fine, if you really must know, then yes, my dispute with Jackson is of a rather personal nature. I told you a little about my history with Temperance, but I may have neglected to mention a few rather¡­ painful points.¡± He took a deep breath, then sighed heavily and ran a hand through his violet-colored hair. ¡°I¡¯d been staying with the Howlers for almost three years when I discovered Temperance trapped inside that temporal distortion pocket. After I rescued her, the two of us were inseparable for a quite a while.¡±


    ¡°Were you romantically involved?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Nein. Not at first, anyway,¡± he said slowly. ¡°This may come as something of a shock to you, but Temperance and I are cut from a very different cloth.¡±


    I suppressed the urge to laugh.


    That was the understatement of the century. I¡¯d never met two people more drastically different. He was logical, level-headed, and a pacifist¡ªat least when it came to killing Delvers¡ªwhile she was insane, hot-headed, and had a murder-boner the size of Mount Everest for killing everything she could sink her meat-cleaver into.


    ¡°Yet, as they say in German, gegens?tze ziehen sich an. Opposites attract. She felt safe with me, and I will admit I developed a certain affection for her. Over time, those feelings morphed into something more. It would be a stretch to say we were romantically involved, but we certainly felt a kinship toward one another. Perhaps even love.¡±


    ¡°Oh fiddlesticks, you and Temperance were like a real-life Edward and Bella, from the internationally best-selling Twilight series¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªYou really don¡¯t have to mention that Twilight is an internationally best-selling series every time¡ª¡± I muttered.


    The dog ignored me and steamrolled right on ahead. ¡°Two star-crossed lovers, completely wrong for each other, but simultaneously so right.¡± The dog visibly swooned. ¡°But then a competing love interest showed up¡­ Jacob, the dreamy werewolf. Which is quite confusing in this specific case, since your name is also Jakob but in the analogy you¡¯re Edward¡ªa pale skinned and thoughtful outsider who doesn¡¯t like to hurt people. I bet Jackson was just like Twilight-Jacob, wasn¡¯t he? Wasn¡¯t he?!¡±


    Croc¡¯s tail was waggling so intensely I thought the dog might lift off and take flight.


    ¡°In a manner of speaking, I suppose,¡± Jakob reluctantly admitted. ¡°Though it was far more complicated than a silly book series about a teenage love triangle¡ª¡±


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± Croc interjected. ¡°Was there old history involving religion and science and territorial disputes?¡±


    Jakob frowned. ¡°Yes, actually.¡±


    ¡°Yep, just like I thought,¡± Croc said. ¡°Classic Twilight love triangle. I¡¯ve said it before and I¡¯ll say it again, oh what a tangled web we weave. I want you to know I was always team Edward. If you want me too, I¡¯d be happy to eat Jackson¡¯s feet. If I disguised myself as a rug, I bet I could do it.¡±


    Jakob chuckled and patted Croc on the head. ¡°That is a very thoughtful sentiment, but as Dan said earlier, killing him would only cause greater problems.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t think he would die,¡± Croc said matter-of-factly, ¡°he would just be irreparably maimed.¡±


    ¡°Danke f¨¹r den lieben gedanke,¡± Jakob replied with a thin smile, ¡°but still, I must politely decline. And just to be perfectly clear, it wasn¡¯t Jackson personally, so much as what he represented.¡±


    ¡°The Roomkeepers,¡± I said.


    Jakob nodded. ¡°In the end, I couldn¡¯t provide Temperance what she really needed. Community. Answers. A higher purpose. Although she has adapted rather well to this peculiar environment, you must remember that Temperance is a woman out of time. Although you wouldn¡¯t know it to look at her, she is a woman of deep religious conviction. Yet, her own religious community was the very one that betrayed her while this place, the Backrooms, became her salvation.


    ¡°It was only natural that she would eventually gravitate toward the Roomkeepers. Jackson and his ilk gave her the things her soul most craved. Obviously, the tenants of their faith are irrational and the answers they provide are absurd fictions, but sometimes comforting lies are more palatable than uncomfortable truths. True, Jackson indoctrinated her, but the Roomkeepers also accepted Temperance and gave her the purpose she so desperately needed.


    ¡°In her heart of hearts, Temperance longed to know why she had been spared all those years ago. For what purpose the Backrooms had chosen her. She needed a way to make sense of the pain and suffering and tragedy she¡¯d endured. I could give her none of that. I have no concrete answers. No certain truth to offer. If anything, I am now less certain about the nature and purpose of the Backrooms than when I first arrived.¡± He sighed deeply. It was the sound of a defeated man. ¡°The Roomkeepers may be a cult, but they do not lack in conviction, and such conviction can be oddly reassuring.¡±


    ¡°If it¡¯s any consolation,¡± Croc said, ¡°I don¡¯t know anything either, except that the Kiosks are not to be truffled with and that Stephanie Meyers¡ªinternationally bestselling author of the Twilight series¡ªis the voice of a generation.¡±


    ¡°At least I am in good company,¡± Jakob said, though there was a sad lilt to the words.


    ¡°And that¡¯s why you left the Hold?¡± I asked. ¡°Because Temperance joined up with the Roomkeepers?¡±


    Jakob shook his head, ¡°That was only part of it. The final straw, perhaps. I was considering leaving the Hold even before I¡¯d rescued Temperance. You must understand, the Howlers are good people¡ªor as good of people as you¡¯re likely to find in a place as unhospitable as the Backrooms.¡±


    Jakob paused. Hesitated as though carefully thinking through his words.


    ¡°But¡­¡± I prompted.


    ¡°But the Howlers are a people resigned to their fate,¡± he finally said. ¡°They have worked hard to carve out a place for themselves and although what they have accomplished is admirable, it is not enough for me. To my mind, they have given up hope of ever finding a way out. Of ever trying to comprehend this place. I am not content to eke out a living on the seventh floor, orchestrating supply raids until something eventually kills me. The Howlers have traded in their curiosity for contentedness. One and all, they have lost their sense of wonder. But not me. Never me.¡±


    He fell silent, clearly lost in some distant memory.  ¡°Did you know I was a scientist before I noclipped?¡± he asked after a long beat.


    I shook my head.


    ¡°I was. A junior pharmaceutical researcher working for a company called Berliner Biochemie AG. It was my job to create and test new drug therapies. My department was focused on oncology.¡±


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± I said, ¡°you were trying to cure cancer?¡±


    He nodded solemnly. ¡°Although I may no longer be human, I never stopped being a scientist. I¡¯ve never stopped wondering about this place. I want answers. And not the ridiculous lies the Roomkeepers are so willing to peddle. I want the truth. I want to know what this ship is. Why it is here, attached to our world. My purpose is to understand its purpose.¡± His eyes flashed with a feverish light. ¡°And then I intend to find a way back.¡±


    He¡¯d reached into his coat and pulled out a Greater Healing Elixir.


    ¡°Most Delvers see this as a means to an end: survival. But me? I look at this and see the fulfillment of my life¡¯s work. This is a cure for cancer, Dan. A cure for Alzheimer¡¯s. For Parkinson¡¯s, MS, Sickle Cell, and AIDS. Don¡¯t you see? The progenitive technology inside this ship could eliminate world hunger. It could solve global warming. It could save our species and our planet. I will get to the bottom floor. I will uncover the truth behind the God Box. Then I will find a way out. That or die trying. And that is why I left.¡± He shrugged. ¡°Because without Temperance, there was nothing left to keep me there. Without her, the Hold was just a place, not a home.¡±


    He dropped his gaze, a blush creeping into his pale cheeks.


    I could tell he was embarrassed and that he thought he¡¯d said too much. I didn¡¯t want to make things worse, so instead of asking any more questions, or poking at old wounds that obviously hadn¡¯t yet healed, I slapped his shoulder, ¡°I appreciate the honesty. Like Croc always says, friends tell each other the truth, but I think that¡¯s enough truth for one day. Besides, if we¡¯re going to get you to the bottom floor, we¡¯re gonna need help and that magical laundromat isn¡¯t going to find itself.¡±


    Still, as we picked up the pace, leaving the awkward conversation in our dust, I felt better than I had in a while. I trusted Jakob, but now it felt like he trusted me too¡ªand not just with his life. With his history. His soul.


    In a war zone, it wasn¡¯t uncommon to entrust your survival to someone you hardly even knew¡ªanyone in the same trench was your brother in arms, at least until the fighting stopped. But sharing your past, your secrets, your burdens? That was something else entirely.


    Those were the things you only shared with a friend.

 Twelve – Maintenance Corridors

    ¡°One more on your left,¡± Jakob called out, his voice lazy. Almost bored.


    I pivoted at the hips, raised one hand, and fired off a javelin of stone that skewered the last of the Baggage Handlers who¡¯d been ballsy enough to assault us this go around. This was the fifth or sixth wave that had tried their luck in the past few hours. There were so many of the little shitheads I couldn¡¯t even keep count at this point.


    The stone spear punched clean through the Dweller¡¯s chest, killing the creature instantly, and pinning its gangly torso to the wall like an obscene party decoration.


    ¡°Hey, Dan?¡± Croc asked, trotting over from across the ballroom, ¡°you want to keep any of these bodies to play with?¡±


    I grimaced at the choice of words and pinched the bridge of my nose. ¡°Creating Taxidermied Horrors is not the same thing as ¡®playing¡¯ with dead bodies, Croc.¡±


    ¡°If you say so, Dan,¡± the dog replied, shrugging rubbery shoulders, ¡°though it seems like playing to me.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not,¡± I growled, ¡°and to answer your original question, no, I won¡¯t be saving any of these creatures for scientific and totally legitimate reanimating purposes.¡±


    Croc, Jakob, and I had been grinding our way through the fifth floor for the last two days and I officially had more bodies and body-parts than I knew what I do with. I¡¯d spent some time the night before repairing Synthia 2.0 back at the shop, so she was up and running again, but my entire personal Storage Space was now officially full of dead things. Crab limbs, mimic tentacles, Baggage Handler torsos.


    Thankfully, the Subspace Storage Space was time-locked, so the corpses would stay fresh until I needed them, but even still¡ªmy inventory was turning into a full-blown meat market and I was quickly running out of carrying capacity. Before much longer, I¡¯d either need to find a way to expand my storage space capacity, or I¡¯d need to acquire a walk-in freezer to help¡­ store my goods.


    So far, the trip through Hotel Hell had been fruitful, if rather tedious.


    I was starting to realize that was par for the course inside the Backrooms. Although there were plenty of monsters willing to rip you a brand-new asshole, the vast majority of this place was just¡­ empty and boring. A yawning, endless cavern devoid of life or resources. Ninety-five percent of the time, wandering through the twisting hallways was about as exciting as watching paint dry, while the other five percent was a chaotic, terror-fueled, life-and-death battle for survival.


    It took us another fifteen hours of what felt like aimless wandering until Unerring Arrow eventually led us to a bloody red door, marked Proibido! Apenas para Funcion¨¢rios do Hotel. I was pretty sure that was Portuguese, not Spanish, and though I wasn¡¯t sure exactly what it said, I got the general gist of the message: Employees Only, Stay the Fuck Out. The door was locked, but the Hotel Key Artifact I¡¯d picked up from the Nightshift Manager let us through and into a series of maintenance corridors.


    Unlike the rest of the hotel, with its slick veneer of wealth and opulence, these hallways were sparse and barren, designed for service staff and never meant for the guests to see.


    There were no chandeliers. No paintings or crushed velvet sitting chairs.


    Just plain gray brick, exposed pipes, and storage rooms filled with bed sheets or cleaning supplies. The maintenance halls were also eerily devoid of life. Not even mimics seemed to inhabit this particular section of the fifth floor, which was rather disconcerting. There were always mimics. In fact, we didn¡¯t see any Dwellers as we made our way through the claustrophobic passageways¡ªthough we did find a shit ton of ingeniously hidden traps.


    Magical pipe bombs. Pressure plates and trip wires that would impale the unwary with sharpened metal rods or jettison geysers of flesh-melting steam. I marked all the ones we found with spray paint, but I also took a little extra time to examine them in passing.


    My Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense had always allowed me to spot traps a mile off, but with the Runic Trap Relic in place, I could see far more than before. It was no longer just a pervasive red aura, warning me of the danger. Now, more often than not, I could see the sigils powering the traps. Most had the same basic base pattern¡ªthe mana battery component, which held the spell form shape¡ªbut there were a bunch of other ruins layered over each other, until they created a mosaic of complicated interlocking lines, shapes, and segments.


    I wasn¡¯t sure what each of the added layers did, but I was sure they were commands of some sort, telling the magic stored within the basic rune how to behave.


    As far as I could tell, all of the traps relied on runes and sigils of one kind or another, though many worked in a significantly different fashion than the runes engraved on the tennis balls in my tool pouch.


    For trip wires, there were actually two separate runes, typically placed across from one another on adjacent surfaces. Sometimes two walls. Sometimes the floor and ceiling. Hell, I even found one strung through a doorway at neck height. One rune served as the transmitter, the other as the receiver, and together they created an invisible mana tether that acted almost like a laser light. The trap wasn¡¯t activated by touching either sigil plate; rather, when something broke the mana tether, both sigils detonated simultaneously, releasing whatever spell was stored in each half.


    In some ways, that made the tripwires more powerful than the basic resonance plates, because two spell forms could be stored in a single trap, but it also made them less versatile.


    The pitfalls and environmental hazards were the strangest of the lot and operated on an entirely different set of mechanism than the other traps. Those were runes, too, but of a kind I didn¡¯t even remotely recognize. From what I could figure, they didn¡¯t seem to store or release mana at all, but instead manipulated the physical structure of the Backrooms itself. Those left me scratching my head in confusion.


    Still, I was making progress.


    Superficially, the Backrooms were chaos and madness¡ªa lawless world where things happened without rhyme or reason. Once I finally got a peak beneath the hood, however, it became apparent there was an underlying set of rules that governed this place and if I could understand those rules, then I could start to bend them or even break them in my favor.


    We passed by a large industrial kitchen, decked out in tile and stainless steel that had everything anyone would ever need to service a large hotel. Industrial mixers and huge prep tables, alongside commercial range stoves and bulky combination ovens with a whole range of cooking functions. There were deep fryers, lined up against one wall like a squad of soldiers waiting for orders, a hefty meat slicer with gleaming blades, and several stainless-steel sinks capable of holding piles of dishware or dirty pots and pans.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    There was no food though. Not a single crumb to be found.


    We checked the walk-in fridge¡ªthe damn thing was larger than my bedroom back home¡ªbut the shelves were covered with nothing more than a thin ream of white frost. The pantry was equally barren. It was a stark reminder that one of the biggest dangers in the Backrooms was not the monsters or the traps, but the sheer lack of survival resources.


    Just because there wasn¡¯t anything to eat didn¡¯t mean the place was useless, though.


    Hell, I¡¯d just been complaining about all the corpses filling up my Subspace Storage like stacks of cord wood, and here was the answer to my problems. A badass, full-sized refrigeration unit. I could keep a lot of bodies in a space like that¡ªa sentence I never thought I¡¯d utter, and one that one-hundred percent made me sound like a serial killer. Which I wasn¡¯t. At least not strictly speaking since I was pretty sure Dwellers didn¡¯t technically count as people. Not even the humanoid ones.


    At level 22, I could use my Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort ability to claim a total of 55,000 square feet worth of Backrooms real estate¡ªthough, I¡¯d already used 15,013 square feet to claim the MediocreMart, the concession stand, my swanky new hotel room, and the single Progenitor Monolith. The freezer itself was a rectangular 10¡¯ x 12¡¯ stainless-steel box with ample storage shelving and even meat hooks hanging from the ceiling. Adding the unit would only cost me one-hundred and twenty square feet worth of floor space, which was nothing in the grand scheme of things.


    Not to mention that I¡¯d finally get my personal storage back.


    No more carrying around disgusting monster parts like some kind of ghoulish, traveling morgue. That alone was worth the price of admission. Before I annexed the space, I took the liberty of looting the kitchen, grabbing anything that wasn¡¯t bolted down to the floor, then shoving it all into the cooler. I didn¡¯t have any plans to open up a restaurant anytime soon¡ªnot with the concession stand doing such robust business¡ªbut who the hell knew what the future had in store?


    Plus, I didn¡¯t just need corpses for my experiments in the taxidermical arts, I needed non-organic parts, too. I could already imagine a Horror with an exposed blender attached to its wrist, or one that was also part deep fryer. There were a lot of interesting and horrific possibilities to work with. Once I¡¯d taken everything of value from the kitchen, I used my finger to select the desired area on my mini-map, then activated Blanket Fort and watched in morbid satisfaction as the whole refrigerator rumbled and quivered, before sinking through the floor and disappearing completely.


    It left no trace that it had ever been there at all.


    The walk-in cooler wasn¡¯t the only awesome thing we found while wandering the Maintenance Corridors in search of the sacred Laundry Mat of Hotel Hell. Nope, turned out the whole place was a treasure trove. In hindsight, it seemed so obvious. This area contained all of the items and materials necessary to service an enormous hotel and in many ways, Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains, was also a hotel of sorts¡ªeven if an unconventional one.


    We found a variety of empty management offices with plain, blocky desks cluttered with old phones, fax machines, and computers that had been cutting edge in 1993. They were clunky, ancient things compared to the sleek laptops, tablets, and cellphones everyone had these days, but when I tried one of the computers, it booted right up¡ªthough, admittedly, it was a long, long process. I snagged the computer, along with its connecting printer, and tossed both into storage for later.


    There were also housekeeping storage rooms with piles of blankets, sheets, and stacks of fluffy pillows. They had several roll-away beds as well, which were quite a bit nicer than the camping cots we¡¯d looted from Open Sky Outfitters. Looked like the store¡¯s sleeping quarters would be getting a few snazzy upgrades in the not-too-distant future.


    Additionally, I stumbled upon a large maintenance closet that was overflowing with precious loot. There were enough tools to open up a neighborhood hardware store. Plenty of basic things¡ªhammers and screwdrivers, levels and wrenches¡ªplus a handful of delicious power tools. A few drills, an angle grinder, a Sawzall, and a large air compressor. There was even a cordless nailgun that had my name written all over it. None of the tools were Artifacts, which was disappointing, but a guy like me could never say no to a good angle grinder.


    I looted the whole lot along with a mess of baseboard trim, some two-by-fours stacked up in one corner, and a pile of spare hotel room doors.


    The real jackpot, however, was a small security office with a bank of monitors and a cardboard box of common-grade Artifact security cameras¡ªtwenty in all.


    The cameras were the blocky rectangular outdoor kind, which were so common at office parks or shopping centers. The cameras could be placed anywhere and would broadcast a grainy black and white picture, though they only worked with the old school CCTV screens filling up the far side of the room. The room wasn¡¯t large. A ten-by-ten cube, which came complete with a desk, rolling chair, and an empty safe.


    Neatly lined up on top of the safe were a dozen long-range DeWalt Walkie-Talkies. I¡¯d used ones just like them on damn-near every job site I¡¯d ever worked on, though these were Backrooms specials.


    DEWALT Etheric Walkie Talkies


    Type: Reusable


    Better than a pager but not quite as good as a cellphone, Walkie Talkies truly are the white bread of communication devices: Bland, boring, and plain, but dependable as fuck. And these babies are extra dependable. The battery never runs low, and they work no matter where you are, allowing intrepid Delvers to communicate in between floors.


    There are those who say that using them too often allows you to hear voices from beyond the Void, slowly eroding your sanity until you¡¯re a husk of a man, offering blowies behind the Wendy¡¯s dumpster in exchange for pocket change, but that¡¯s probably bullshit. Right? I mean, what the fuck do ¡°they¡± know anyway? I¡¯m sure these are fine and not at all cursed in any way.


    I briefly considered trying to scoop up all of the individual items within the room, but I didn¡¯t have the carrying capacity.


    In the end, I finally decided to throw caution to the wind and liberate the entire security space just like I¡¯d done with the cooler back in the kitchen. With all the bullshit going down with the Skinless Court and the Black Harbor Syndicate, it was high time I beefed up my security system anyway, and the added benefit of the surveillance equipment would serve me well moving forward.


    I burned through another 100 square feet of available space. I¡¯d have a lot of stuff to sort out once we made it back to the storefront, but I wasn¡¯t leaving this level until I had what I came for¡ªthe stupid, fucking laundry mat.


    We made a short pit stop inside a Maintenance Staff breakroom, taking a few minutes to rest our feet and grab a quick bite to eat. The breakroom had a few plastic tables, some dented metal folding chairs, and a small kitchenette devoid of anything that resembled food or sustenance. Just dusty cupboards and a fridge that smelled like moldy cheese. That was fine though, because we were always prepared.


    I fished out an entire pizza for Croc, a plate of nachos for Jakob, and a pair of jumbo hotdogs slathered in ketchup for myself. Thanks to the storage system¡¯s temporal lock, the food was still piping hot. Almost as if it had just come straight from the convenience stand. I desperately tried not to think about the fact that the food had come from the very same storage space where I was currently keeping a dump truck¡¯s worth of dead bodies.


    When I couldn¡¯t shake the thought, I decided to add an ice-cold six pack of Budweiser to the mix, since it was never too early for day drinking.


    I cracked a can and slid one to Jakob, then popped the top of another and took a long slug. I closed my eyes for a second, then pressed the cool can against my forehead, enjoying the beads of icy condensation that rolled down my skin. If there was one bad thing about these maintenance halls¡ªother than the traps and the lingering existential dread¡ªit was the godawful heat. The AC that kept the Hotel at a balmy 72 degrees didn¡¯t work so well back here, and the temperature was sweltering.


    The inside of my jorts were swampy in the worst way and I¡¯d need to use a substantial amount of Baby powder once I got back to the store.


    We finished eating and I may or may not have slammed back two or three more beers, then we hit the road, following Unerring Arrow ever deeper into the level. After another couple hours of relentless trudging, we turned into a short corridor which came to an abrupt dead end after about thirty feet or so. Except, on closer inspection, it wasn¡¯t actually a dead end at all.


    There, inset into the wall, was a metal access panel that resembled a small door.


    Marked above the panel in blocky white letters were the words I¡¯d been waiting to see for days. Laundry Chute.

 Thirteen – Sacred Laundry Mat

    ¡°That was not nearly as fun as the slides in the Jungle Gym Jamboree,¡± Croc grumbled as we wrenched Jakob free from the laundry chute, which had ushered us from the bleak maintenance corridors to¡­ somewhere else.


    The metal slide had been a tight squeeze, barely large enough to accommodate my broad shoulders, and had been rigged with a pair of insidious booby traps. I was fairly certain one of those traps would¡¯ve somehow rerouted us to a different location entirely while the other would¡¯ve transformed the entire duct into a blazing incinerator. The first trap I marked with spray paint, then carefully avoided. The second I disarmed entirely with a little help from my Prybar and my Runic Resonance Trap Relic.


    The chute must¡¯ve dropped us down forty or fifty feet, and though I was certain we were still on the fifth floor, the location displayed in a strange way on my mini map. Almost as though it were somehow disconnected from the larger level. Like an island, floating in a sea of black.


    Now we found ourselves in a short corridor with gray concrete floors and dim halogen lights that buzzed and flickered sporadically. Large commercial laundry carts piled high with horrendously stained sheets and distressingly bloody hotel comforters lined the hallway.


    Ahead were a pair of gray doors, each inset with a small circular window like the portholes on a ship. A sign beside one door read, Hotel Florentine, Bulk Laundry Service ¨C Employees Only. That gave me pause. In my experience, the Employee Only sections were always the most dangerous areas in the Backrooms. I¡¯d encountered the Janitorial Handyman in an Employee¡¯s Bathroom in the Lobby, and the MediocreMart Harmacist had also been bidding its time in an Employee¡¯s Only section.


    There was nowhere else to go, however, and when I cast Unerring Arrow, the ever-reliable blue light disappeared through the doors, dispelling any doubt about whether we were in the right place or not.


    I looked at Jakob and Croc, then nodded grimly as I pulled out my hammer and flooded the tool with mana. It burned with angry blue light and quadrupled in size. With a thought, my demolition screwdriver rose into the air alongside a bright red tennis ball, imbued with a potent dose of melt-your-face-off fire magic.


    Jakob pulled a metal buckler no larger than a frisbee from his hip and attached it to his left arm. The Cendral muttered something under his breath and the buckler expanded outward, forming into a kite shield of gunmetal-gray steel. Then he slapped one hand against a blue gem attached to his right arm and a brilliant plasma shield erupted to life. Although, strictly speaking, Jakob didn¡¯t fight with any sort of offensive weaponry, the edge of that plasma shield could sever limbs better than any sword and cauterize the wounds in the process.


    It was the perfect tool for an avid pacifist stuck in a murder world.


    Croc, now the size of a bear, took point as we shouldered our way into the laundry room beyond.


    The doors swung inward on silent hinges to reveal a cavernous space filled with rows of hulking, derelict washers and dryers. Their circular doors all hung open like yawning mouths. Those holes were big enough for a full-grown man to crawl through, and the interiors were all pitch black. Anything could¡¯ve been hiding inside, just waiting for some hapless moron to walk by.


    Hell, half of the things were probably bloodthirsty mimics.


    The washers and dryers were arrayed in ruler straight lines that zigzagged back and forth, transforming the room into an intricate maze of silent machinery. The air was heavy, saturated with the musty scent of damp fabric and the sharp tang of rust. The distant clank of gears and the steady drip, drip, drip from a leaky pipe sent chills racing along my spine. Most of the overhead lights were broken, casting the whole place into eerie, unnatural gloom.


    Whatever I¡¯d been expecting, it wasn¡¯t this.


    It was hard to imagine how this rundown shithole could possibly be the sacred laundry mat, capable of miraculously cleansing even the most formidable of stains. If the Backrooms had taught me anything, though, it was to never judge a book by its cover.


    On high alert, we followed Unerring Arrow deeper into the laundromat labyrinth, winding our way back and forth, back and forth as I inspected each of the machines in passing. My gut told me we were in the right place, but my doubts intensified the longer we walked. None of the machines were Artifacts. Not one. They were just hunks of crap from a bygone era. Most of ¡¯em probably hadn¡¯t worked in fifty years or more.


    After wandering for half an hour without making any real progress, I decided to climb on top of the washers to get a better vantage. Turned out, this wasn¡¯t just a solitary room attached to the maintenance corridors, it was an endless warehouse that stretched out of sight in every direction. The place was enormous and there must¡¯ve been miles of washers and dryers in here. It could take days or weeks to scour the cavernous space though, thankfully, I doubted it would come to that.


    Off in the distance there was an oddity that stood out like a sore thumb¡ªa blazing pink sign that read, The Spin Cycle. Directly below the sign was a bright rectangle of light, which could only be another doorway.


    That light drew my eye like a moth to the flame and I knew exactly where I needed to go. There was no question in my mind.


    Instead of dropping back down, I pulled Croc and Jakob after me, then we maneuvered along the tops of the machines, easily leaping over the gaps as we beelined toward the neon sign.


    It took us another twenty minutes or so to get to the patch of welcoming light and as we drew closer an entire building materialized out of the inky gloom. It wasn¡¯t a particularly large structure, but there was no mistaking it for anything else. Standing before us was a standard neighborhood laundromat. The kind you might find in any decent-sized city scattered across the face of America¡ªthough what it was doing down here, I had no idea.


    The Spin Cycle had a white brick exterior, painted with splashes of muted pastels, and a bright green awning which covered a pair of sliding glass doors. Meticulously clean windows ran along its face, showcasing a bank of bulky orange washers and dryers within.


    I hopped down and the clatter of my boots against the concrete floor reverberated off the high ceilings. I winced and instinctively wanted to kick my own ass. If there was anything nasty for us waiting inside, it would know we were coming.


    ¡°Next time,¡± Jakob said, quietly climbing down beside me, ¡°you can just announce our presence with a bullhorn. Maybe set off a few fireworks as well, to really dazzle them.¡±


    Even though the delivery was completely deadpan, I could hear the joke in his words.


    I shrugged and offered him a lopsided grin, ¡°Sorry about that. Though to be fair, stealth never was my strong suit, anyway. I prefer the wrecking ball approach.¡± I picked up one of my firebomb grenades and gave it a little toss. ¡°Even better if the wrecking ball is on fire.¡± I jerked my head toward the door. ¡°Come on. That fancy washing machine isn¡¯t gonna loot itself.¡±


    The sliding glass door slid open as I stepped into the laundromat with Jakob on my left and Croc on my right, ready to kick all the asses and take all the names.


    I came to an abrupt stop a moment later and squinted in confusion, desperately trying to figure out just what in the Kentucky fried fuck I¡¯d gotten myself into. I¡¯d been fully prepared for some kind of laundry-based freak-show to come barreling at me like a freight train¡ªmaybe a sentient washing machine with a rotating drum full of teeth or a giant dungeon slime made entirely of corrosive laundry detergent. Thematically, any one of those options would¡¯ve made logical sense.


    I was in no way prepared, however, for the circle of tiny, GI Joe-sized creatures arrayed in what appeared to be an elaborate summoning circle not far from the entryway.


    ¡°Behold!¡± one of the creatures croaked as I stepped over the threshold and blinked against the light. The speaker wore priestly white robes and stood directly in the center of a runic circle, which burned with an otherworldly light. ¡°At long last the ritual has worked!¡±


    Twelve more miniature men, all wearing ornate purple and gold vestments, stood at even intervals around the circle with tiny arms upraised in supplication. Each wore a pointed conical hat that made them look like old timey wizards. That or garden gnomes.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Praise be to the Researcher, for the Deliverer has come at last!¡± another one squeaked. ¡°The day has come! Salvation walks among us!¡±


    ¡°Praise be to he who shall banish the Unclean One!¡± the group intoned in a chorus of high-pitched voices.


    Although they were humanoid in appearance, like so many things in the Backrooms they weren¡¯t human, and it wasn¡¯t just the size. They were rather stout creatures, with powerfully built frames, broad shoulders, pointed ears, and long braided beards. At first, I thought they might be Transmogs or some other sentient race entirely¡ªlike the Cendrals who lived on the floors far below¡ªbut a tag popped up, quickly dissuading me of that idea.


    These things were Dwellers.


    Dweller 0.51011A ¨C Bertrim, Laundry Brownie - High Priest [Level 11]


    If OCD and Dependent Personality Disorder had an unholy lovechild with an obsession for laundry so intense that it bordered on the sexual, you would have a Laundry Brownie. Standing no taller than a well-used detergent bottle, these pint-sized purveyors of cleanliness live to scrub, fold, and mend, taking an almost perverse joy in the eradication of stains and the smoothing of wrinkles.


    Despite their, let''s say, unique erotic proclivities, Laundry Brownies are inherently nonaggressive and would much rather dart into the shadows of a sock drawer than confront a potential threat. And wherever you find one Brownie, you¡¯re bound to find more, since they are social creatures who dwell in small communities with rigid hierarchical class structures, governed by a myriad of seemingly inscrutable religious traditions.


    Although Brownies are largely harmless to outsiders, they are incredibly superstitious and, if left to their own devices, are prone to extreme sectarian violence.


    ¡°What the fuck,¡± I said to no one in particular as I finished reading the description.


    ¡°The Holy One speaks,¡± the high priest in the white robes intoned, ¡°he graces us with his heavenly benediction!¡±


    The other laundry brownies fell onto their faces in adoration as they all began to mutter the words ¡°what the fuck¡± as though it were a religious mantra.


    I stole a look at Croc, ¡°What the hell is happening here?¡± I growled under my breath. ¡°What are these things?¡±


    ¡°This is quite the pickle, Dan,¡± the dog said, seemingly as mystified as I was, ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of Laundry Brownies before. This is uncharted territory for me. Jakob?¡± the dog asked, redirecting the question.


    The Cendral grimaced and shook his head.


    I closed my eyes and sighed as their refrain of ¡°what the fucks¡± morphed into a complex Gregorian chant, sung in unison.


    What a mess. I quickly ran through the available options in my head. These things were small and weird but didn¡¯t seem to be an immediate threat. True, they were Dwellers, but as Croc had proved a thousand times over, not all Dwellers were bad. Only most of them. And the Codex had clearly indicated that these things weren¡¯t inherently dangerous; the fact that they weren¡¯t currently trying to kill, dismember, or eat me lent additional credibility to that notion.


    Although it wouldn¡¯t be hard to slaughter them, I wasn¡¯t a murder hobo and I didn¡¯t want to nuke these things from orbit until I figured out what in the name of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph was going on here.


    ¡°Stop that,¡± I finally said, waving at the Brownies. ¡°Stop chanting, all of you.¡±


    Slowly the singing guttered and died, though all of the Brownies were still lying face down in apparent reverence. ¡°Bertrim,¡± I said, snapping my fingers at the one in the white robes, before motioning for him to stand.


    ¡°The Deliverer calls me by name,¡± the white robed Brownie said, peeling himself from the floor with a look of ecstasy. His face was pinched, his cheek bones too high, his nose far too bulbous for his face, and his pointed ears were so long they actually drooped down at the tips instead of pointing upward like a typical elf.


    ¡°We live to serve exalted one,¡± Bertrim said, bowing deeply at the waist. ¡°Long have we performed the great ritual of summoning as entrusted to us by the ancients and now, in our hour of need, you have arrived from beyond the great darkness to cleanse our land.¡±


    ¡°The great darkness? Is that the other part of the laundry room?¡± Croc asked, glancing back over one shoulder.


    The brownie nodded vigorously. ¡°Oh yes, blessed traveling companion of the exalted one. Those are the dark lands where we do not venture. The darkness is a realm of vile evil, ruled by the Profane Corrupter. A blasphemous perversion that must not be named. It is you who shall deliver us from its vile, putrid, filthy, dirty ways. Oh yes, it will be so.¡±


    The other brownies had risen their heads and were nodding fervently in agreement, several muttering ¡°vile¡± and ¡°evil¡± under their breath in turns.


    ¡°Okay, so let me get this straight,¡± I said, ¡°you think you summoned me here to fight some monster that lives out there?¡± I hooked a thumb back toward the maze of derelict laundry machines.


    There was an energetic round of ¡°Oh yeses,¡± mixed in with a few ¡°What the fucks.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, fellas, hate to burst your bubble,¡± I replied apologetically, ¡°but I have no idea what in the hell y¡¯all are talking about. All I want is one of those fancy Artifact washing machines you have back there¡±¡ªI nodded toward the bulky orange washers lined up neatly at the back of the laundromat¡ª¡°then I¡¯ll be on my way.¡±


    A curious look flashed across Bertirm¡¯s face. ¡°Forgiveness, Holy One,¡± he said, bending low at the waist once more, ¡°it is not my place to correct one such as you, but the machines of which you speak have no such arcane enchantments.¡± He flinched and folded in on himself a little bit. ¡°They are but the instruments of your humble servants.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean, they aren¡¯t Artifacts?¡± I growled before carefully examining one of the machines more closely. This was it. It had to be it. We¡¯d come all this way. Surely, at least one of them had to be an Artifact. Right?


    Econowash EWS40M2 Hard Mount, Front-Loading Washer


    With a thirty-inch drum diameter and a fifty-pound load capacity, this is a big ass washing machine. That¡¯s it. It¡¯s a washing machine.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± I muttered again, which set off a whole new round of chanting.


    I ignored the Brownies as I inspected each of the six machines in turn, hoping to find one that might be different from the others. But they were all the same. Just regular run-of-the-mill washers and dryers¡ªthough, admittedly, they were impeccably well cared for and far larger than anything I was likely to find elsewhere. I focused my intention and cast Unerring Arrow once more, thinking that maybe I¡¯d made some sort of mistake.


    Nope.


    Blue light filled the entirety of the room¡ªan indication that we had, indeed, arrived at our intended destination. Which is when the truth smacked me in the teeth like a baseball bat. I looked down at the robed weirdos. The Laundry Brownies. I groaned. Of course. They weren¡¯t just funny little creatures who happened to live inside a magical laundry mat. Nope, they were the source of its miraculous powers.


    Those tiny miscreants were the Artifact I¡¯d come in search of.


    It was the only explanation that fit.


    Well, shit. That certainly complicated things. Though I shouldn¡¯t have been surprised.


    Nothing ever was as easy, straightforward, or as simple as it seemed in the Backrooms. Now, if I wanted to fulfill my deal with Ajax and broker a trade alliance with the Howlers, I was going to need to recruit these little dinguses to help me. Although, on the positive side, I had a feeling that wouldn¡¯t be too difficult. I mean, they were actively worshiping me. Why exactly they were worshiping me was still a bit of a mystery, but I could figure that out later.


    Before I could fully think through all of the various implications, however, there was a distant groan of metal followed by a thunderous crash and the thud of approaching foot falls.


    ¡°It comes,¡± the Brownies screeched as one, rushing around in utter terror and panic.


    ¡°What is coming!?¡± I shouted to be heard over their fearful wails.


    ¡°The profane corrupter,¡± Bertrim replied in utter panic.


    ¡°That which must not be named.¡± Another acolyte in purple and gold caterwauled, not even attempting to compose himself.


    ¡°That which cannot be cleaned!¡± A third added. Dual streams of tears were pouring down his tiny face as he ripped at his own robes in distress.


    At least Bertrim had the good graces to try and keep his shit together.


    ¡°It has sensed your presence. It has come to feed. To defile.¡± Bertrim faced me with trembling hands outstretched. ¡°Please, Chosen One, in the name of all that is good and holy, you must deliver us from this peril. This is the reason we have summoned you and your companions. Do this one thing and we shall serve you heart and soul, unto a hundred generations.¡±


    I hesitated. Even though we were only on the fifth floor, I had no desire whatsoever to fight whatever horror called this place home. Not if I could avoid it. Yeah, extra experience was always great, but I wasn¡¯t down here chasing Relics. I was down here to acquire the laundromat. Period. End of story. That was the mission, and the mission was the only thing that mattered.


    So, instead of just agreeing to help them like a moron, I tried to do the smart thing and just annex all of The Spin Cycle using my Blanket Fort ability. If I could get the Brownies clear of the danger, I figured that would probably be good enough to win them over to my side. And, if not¡­ Well, I could always try to bribe them with pizza. Everyone loved pizza. That would work, right? Probably. Maybe. Whatever. I didn¡¯t really give a shit.


    I selected the laundromat in my mini-map, but received an error prompt when I tried to activate the skill.


    Error Report #13F963201B


    Whoopsie! You¡¯ve selected 2,170 square feet of Progenerated Material Resource Space, currently claimed by a hostile party! To convert and annex the selected material, you must first establish a valid claim by purging the current owner. Good luck!


    I quickly read and reread the message, while beads of sweat rolled down my face. Perfect. That meant this profane corrupter dickhead was essentially the Area Boss for the entirety of this laundry complex, and I wouldn¡¯t be able to liberate the Spin Cycle until it lay dead at my feet.


    That certainly simplified my choices.


    Sure, staying to fight was a gamble, but I couldn¡¯t just leave the Brownies to die to whatever nightmare was trundling toward us like a slow-moving avalanche. Well, technically I could¡¯ve done that, but helping them was the right thing to do. Plus, we¡¯d come so far and there was no way I was leaving empty handed. Not after everything we¡¯d endured. I needed that trading alliance with the Howlers, and I also badly wanted my clothes cleaned.


    I was tired of smelling like a fermented armpit.


    ¡°What do we do, Dan?¡± Croc asked anxiously, glancing toward the sound of the encroaching footfalls.


    ¡°The only thing we can do,¡± I said, mind made up. ¡°We help save these little weirdos.¡± Reluctantly, I turned my back on the Brownies and headed through the sliding glass doors with my hammer in hand. ¡°Let¡¯s go clean house.¡±

 Fourteen – Profane Corrupter

    Even though most of the lights were broken in the main warehouse, there was just enough illumination to make out the colossal shape shambling toward us. It stood fifteen feet tall and was easily ten feet wide at the shoulders. Although I could make out the rough shape of arms and legs, the approaching Dweller looked more like an amorphous blob than it did a man.


    Instead of carefully threading its way through the maze of washers and dryers, the creature simply carved its own path, pushing through the clunky old machines as though they were made of cardboard instead of solid steel. Clearly, the creature was strong, but it was slow as balls, which gave me enough time to summon Synthia 2.0 and Drumbo Rebooted.


    Drumbo looked more less the same as the last time I¡¯d conjured him, but I¡¯d made a few upgrades to Synthia. Her limbs had been badly damaged during the skirmish with the kiosk crabs, so I¡¯d reinforced her with chunks of crustacean exoskeleton. Rigid orange and purple plates covered her thighs and shoulders like armor, and I¡¯d crafted a rudimentary chest plate to protect her torso. Her right arm still ended in a whirling chainsaw, but I¡¯d replaced her left with a large crab claw.


    I¡¯d also fashioned crude plastic suits for each Horror, made from strips of blue construction tarp, old rain ponchos, and copious amounts of Duct tape. Hopefully, the shoddy upgrades would help protect them from the splash damage of my StainSlayer Maelstrom spell.


    As the two Horrors stepped through the void and into reality, I instantly felt my mental tether click into place. My minions were extensions of my will, just waiting for instructions. I directed Drumbo to stand guard over the tiny laundromat behind us. Didn¡¯t want whatever nightmare we were dealing with to accidentally kill the Brownies.


    Then, instead of waiting for the monster to get in range, I reached down into my tool bag, fished out a single red Firebomb Grenade and fast balled it right at the gargantuan son of a bitch. The tennis ball flew true and nailed the monster directly in the chest with a soft thud. As expected, the rune activated on impact and bright tongues of orange fire exploded outward, quickly crawling across the monster¡¯s torso, finally giving us enough light to get a good look at what we were dealing with.


    An iteration tag flashed above the monster¡¯s head, and I instantly regretted my decision to help the Brownies.


    Dweller 0.5826A ¨C Shart Stain Golem ¨C Laundry Maintenance Manager [Level 26]


    We¡¯ve all been there at some point: caught in the grips of a long road trip or bewitched by a night of partying and heavy drinking. Everything is all sunshine and rainbows until one sneaky little fart slips out, which is more than it seems¡­ With trembling fingers, you reach down to inspect the damage. Yep, you¡¯ve just sharted yourself¡ªa misadventure which will leave its mark on fabric and pride alike.


    Ever wonder what happens to all those skid-marked, shart-stained undergarments?


    Well, let me tell you, they rarely make it into the laundry basket.


    Instead, most wind up in a trashcan or shamefully buried in a hole on the side of the road. A special few, however, slip through the cracks in reality, and eventually find their way to the Backrooms. And when enough shit-streaked underwear glom together, a Shart Stain Golem is born. Forged in the fires of deep shame and digestive despair, these things are unstoppable juggernauts. Cross one and you¡¯re in for a very shitty day.


    HAHAHAHA. But seriously, puns aside, this thing will fucking murder you.


    ¡°Yeah, fuck this noise,¡± I said. ¡°I did not sign up for this.¡±


    Much as I wanted to turn tail and run, however, there was no place to go.


    The creature, still lit up like an Iraqi burn-pit, took one more lumbering step, then bent over and ripped a nearby washer from the floor. With a great billowing roar, it hurled the machine at us like an angry toddler discarding a toy. The industrial washing machine had to weigh half a ton, at least, and there was no way I¡¯d be able to stop it with raw telekinetic power.


    ¡°Look out!¡± Jakob shouted, but I was already moving.


    I bolted left and dove, rolling back into a crouch.


    I avoided the projectile by inches as the bulky machine smashed into the gray concrete with a deafening rattle, kicking a plume of dust and debris. Drumbo hadn¡¯t been quite so quick or so lucky. The washer had turned his legs into a pair of meat pancakes and was now pinning the Horror to the floor.


    Drumbo¡¯s health bar was already critically low and draining faster by the second.


    With a grimace I banished the minion before it flatlined completely.


    The Horror wouldn¡¯t be ready for combat any time soon, but better to recall it than let it die slowly under the weight of an industrial-sized washing machine. No one, not even a mindless minion crafted from the body parts of a monster, deserved to go out like that.


    Jakob and Croc had both managed to get clear of the attack, while Synthia 2.0 had leapt onto a row of washers and was sprinting, balls to the wall, across the tops of the machines. She closed the distance with insane speed and leapt at the golem with her chainsaw roaring. She didn¡¯t hesitate for a second and didn¡¯t seem to care that the monster we were fighting was a sentient made of soiled underwear. I was glad she was up for the job, because I certainly didn¡¯t want to get close enough to touch that thing.


    No amount of showering would ever let me feel clean again.


    Jakob seemed to have similar sentiments, since he¡¯d pulled a strange weapon from his Storage Space so that he could fight at range. The weapon resembled a bazooka¡ªthough it was covered with so much colorful graffiti that it looked like something yanked straight out of Fortnite.


    Jakob levelled the ranged weapon and shouted ¡°Fire in the Hole¡± as he depressed the trigger. There was a whomp and instead of unleashing a rocket, the colorful bazooka launched¡­


    A leather love seat through the air.


    The sofa slammed into the golem with the force of a car crash but only managed to knock it back a step or two, while doing minimal damage in the process. The flames covering the monster¡¯s body had started to dwindle, and though the fire damage had put a small dent into its overall HP, the golem hardly looked phased.


    The creature had turned its attention to Synthia 2.0, who was standing atop a dryer, swiping at the golem with her chainsaw. Her screaming blade bit effortlessly into the fabric, but the creature¡¯s health pool was so vast, it hardly seemed to do a damned thing.


    Since Croc was still out of range, I figured it was time to break out the big guns. I wasn¡¯t going to get a better opportunity.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Mana surged out from my core as caustic clouds formed overhead and great drops of blue death rained down from above, splattering the golem. The creature howled as the super bleach went to work with deadly efficiency. Even better, the spell triggered one of my most powerful passive abilities, Wild Surge. It instantly replenished my Mana Pool, increased my Mana Regeneration rate by 25% for 2 minutes, and procced a cascading effect that duplicated another round of StainSlayer Maelstrom at no additional Mana cost.


    The creature¡¯s health bar dipped below eighty-five percent as torrents of bleach pummeled its huge, disgusting form. Despite my best efforts to waterproof her, Synthia 2.0 took some superficial splash damage as well. Still, she kept battling, undeterred, lashing out with both her chainsaw and crab pincher.


    I thrust my free hand outward, palm up, and cast Stone Skewer.


    A spear of glinting black rock, as long as my arm and as thick as my wrist, flew toward the monster like an artillery shell. The creature was so distracted with Synthia that it didn¡¯t even try to avoid the attack, and the stone spear effortlessly punched through the golem¡¯s soggy exterior. Between the bleach storm and rock spear, I¡¯d already dropped the disgusting son of a bitch down to the eighty-percent mark and was feeling surprisingly optimistic about this battle.


    After the debacle with the Kiosk Crab, I¡¯d mentally prepared myself for the worst, but so far, this thing wasn¡¯t so bad. I mean, it was gross, sure, but everything in the Backrooms was gross.


    Jakob launched another sofa, this one a boxy, 1960¡¯s puke-green three-seater. With a ground shaking roar, the golem whirled around and snatched the sofa from the air with one enormous hand. Then, without missing a beat, the creature turned and used the couch as a makeshift baseball bat, swatting Synthia away. The blow landed with a crack-¡ªthe sound of breaking bones and crunching metal¡ªand my reanimated horror cartwheeled through the air like a ragdoll, over half her HP gone in a heartbeat.


    I pulled free several purple Health Grenade tennis balls from my Storage Space and used telekinesis to transform them into healing homing missiles. Even though Synthia wasn¡¯t technically alive in the strictest sense of the word, the grenades still worked like a charm. One of her legs¡ªwhich had been bent at a shockingly grotesque angle¡ªstraightened as she gained her feet and her HP rose back above the 60% mark. Another pair of Healing Grenades brought her back up to 90%.


    As my bleach-storm finally tapered off, I grabbed several additional Firebombs from my storage space and sent them flying, two at a time, toward the monstrous Dweller. The bright red tennis balls exploded on contact, spewing more fire across the creature¡¯s rumpled form. The blaze spread at an alarming rate, devouring the creature¡¯s HP, quickly dropping the monster below seventy-five percent.


    I prepared another round of Firebombs, ready to burn this literal shit-stain to a crisp, when something sliced through my bathrobe and punched directly into my kidney. It felt like getting shanked with a red-hot fire poker. I gasped in agony, temporarily blinded by the ungodly pain, and dropped to the floor, clutching at my side.


    You have been afflicted with Toxic Shock Syndrome and will suffer from increasingly debilitating effects until cured! All effects from Toxic Shock Syndrome are temporarily reduced by 5%, due to the passive effect, Gas Station Hotdog.


    Stage 1: Extreme headaches, high fever, and mild disorientation.


    Stage 2: Countdown until additional onset symptoms 02:57


    What the hell is happening to me, I thought, though everything felt mildly jumbled inside my head. I rolled over, one hand groping uselessly at the puncture wound, and caught sight of my assailant.


    This wasn¡¯t the Shart Stain Golem at all, it was something else entirely.


    The creature was tall and whip thin, its body and limbs insubstantial and made from a greenish gas that seemed to shift as the creature moved. A pair of burning red eyes, like hot coals, sat in a face otherwise devoid of features. Other than those hellish eyes, the only thing solid about the creature was the sleek black dagger it carried in one wispy hand.


    Dweller 0.5715D ¨C Silent-but-Deadly Gaseous Assassin [Level 15]


    They say where there¡¯s smoke, there¡¯s fire. The same is true of farts and shit. You never get one without the other.


    I grimaced. I couldn¡¯t believe it, I was going to be killed by a sentient, malevolent fart. Given my life, that was a surprisingly fitting end. But I wasn¡¯t ready to die. Not here.


    I wanted to go out the way God intended: black-out drunk at the age of ninety-three, sandwiched between a bed and a beautiful woman. That was my destiny, dammit.


    It was hard to think straight, though. The inside of my head was fuzzy and dull. My thoughts, sluggish. Still, I knew I couldn¡¯t just lay there. If I did, this thing was gonna gut me like a trout.


    With a garbled warcry, I sent my Demolition Screwdriver hurtling toward the creature¡¯s face. The monster didn¡¯t even bother to move, and the tool passed harmlessly through its head without an ounce of resistance. It didn¡¯t deal even a single point of damage. Of course, this thing would be completely immune to physical attacks.


    Should¡¯ve guessed, considering it was a sentient gas cloud.


    The assassin lunged, its deadly black dagger aimed at my throat. Although the creature itself was intangible, its weapon wasn¡¯t, and I managed to get my hammer up in time to deflect the blow. Thanks to a bit of wild luck, my counterstrike knocked the dagger from the creature¡¯s hand and sent it clattering to the floor some ten feet away. On reflex, I took a swipe at the assassin with my hammer and was surprised when the weapon smashed into the creature¡¯s spindly leg with a flare of brilliant blue light.


    A health bar appeared, dropping by a quarter, which is when it occurred to me: The hammer was filled to the brim with Mana. Although this thing may have been invulnerable to physical damage, it was susceptible to Mana-based attacks. I took another swipe, but the assassin danced back a few feet, easily avoiding my strike. And, thanks to the terrible pain throbbing in my side, I couldn¡¯t gain my feet to follow. That was fine, though. I had ranged attacks up the wazoo.


    I activated Pressure Washer and sliced the creature in half with a beam of water. The spell carved another chunk of the monster¡¯s HP but didn¡¯t do much long-lasting damage. The two halves simply merged together again as the creature slipped back another few paces, opening additional distance between us. Then the creature raised one ghostly hand, and an orb of sludgy black goop formed in its palm. I wasn¡¯t sure what the spell was, or what it would do if it hit me, but I doubted it would be good.


    I activated Sterilization Field and a ring of blue-white light rippled outward, forming a dome with me at its center. Although Sterilization Field had a number of significant limitations, overall it was an incredibly powerful spell which reduced all incoming magic and elemental attack damage by 50%. That wasn¡¯t the only thing it did, however. Any spellcaster trapped inside, who had a lower Resonance Score than me, couldn¡¯t activate any Mana-Based Relics. Not until they left the area of effect.


    This backstabbing, turd-burglar was firmly inside the AoE.


    Its sludge spell fizzled and died, but the effect of the Sterilization Field didn¡¯t end there.


    The white light washed over the creature like holy fire. In less than a handful of seconds, the gaseous monster was just gone, scrubbed from the fabric of existence. The only sign that the monster had ever existed at all was the dagger, laying several feet outside the dome.


    I just stared, slack-jawed at the place where the monster had been standing just seconds before, trying my damnedest to figure out what in the hell had happened. I¡¯d used the spell plenty of times before and it had never had an effect quite like that.


    Since the Dweller didn¡¯t have any physical form to speak of, maybe it had been composed entirely of Mana? That was the only thing that made any sense, given the circumstances. Or maybe it was something else entirely. I wasn¡¯t sure, but maybe the why didn¡¯t matter so much. Not right now, anyway. All that really mattered was that the spell had been unbelievable effective. And if it had been that effective against the Silent-but-Deadly Assassin, there was a good chance it would also work against the golem.


    I just needed to get into range first.


    With a grimace of pain, I pushed myself into a sitting position and chugged a healing elixir which stopped the hemorrhaging in my side and restored my missing HP. Unfortunately, the elixir didn¡¯t banish the Toxic Shock Affliction still rampaging through my body like an angry T-Rex. Almost as though to emphasize the point and mock me in the process, I received another notification.


    Toxic Shock Syndrome has metastasized, and new symptoms have evolved. You will suffer from increasingly debilitating effects until cured! All effects from Toxic Shock Syndrome are temporarily reduced by 5%, due to the passive effect, Gas Station Hotdog.


    Stage 1: Extreme headaches, high fever, and mild disorientation.


    Stage 2: Full body aches and crippling muscle weakness. Athleticism and Toughness are reduced by 25%. Health and Stamina Regeneration are reduced by 50%.


    Stage 3: Countdown until additional onset symptoms 9:59


    Well, screw me sideways. That couldn¡¯t be good.

 Con Season is Upon Us!

    Hey, folks!


    Sorry it''s been a little quite around here lately. Con season has started and things always get a little hectic. A couple of weeks ago we were manning a booth and selling books at Lexington ComicCon, and then we had a very short reprieve before GaryCon, in Lake Geneva, which happened last week/weekend.


    Both were awesome, though GaryCon was especially amazing. I did a couple of signings but mostly I got to play lots of DnD--and for the first time I did it as an attending Guest of Honor! Plus, I got reinvited back to the Celebrity DnD game and we continued our session from the previous year. Blood and battle, monsters and mayhem. What more could you ask for? Attending players this year included Joe Manganiello, Vince Vaughn, the Big Show, Tom Morello (Guitar Player for Rage Against the Machine), Chris Prynoski of Titmouse Studios, and Luke Gygax (son of legendary DnD inventor Gary Gygax). My good buddy Dakota Krout also got to come this year, which made it even better. It was a wild and surreal experience, to say the least.


    And now that I''m finally back from that... The kids are going on Springbreak, so we''re taking a little camping trip for a few days. And once we get back, it''s off to Atlanta for JordanCon. Looking forward to that as well, but me word count has definitely taken a hit this month.


    I''ve also been spending an inordinate amount of time doing audio recording. I''ll admit, I might have a little problem. I have ADHD and though a lot of people tend to think that folks with ADHD have short attention spans (which can be true), a more accurate definition might be someone with a "disregulated attention system." For me, I often get hyper-fixated on stuff -- to the exclusion of almost pretty much everything else in the world. I tell people my wife is like a Swiss Army Knife -- she can do a million different things, often all at once. Me? I''m a meat cleaver. I can only do one thing at a time, but I tend to do that one thing pretty well.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    That focus is part of what has helped me write so many books, but it can also work against me.


    In this case, I''ve got hyper fixated on narration. I was having a really hard time with it and it was really kicking my ass there for a while. Naturally, my stubborn streak kicked in and I started hyper focusing like some kind of messed up super power. I spent hours (maybe days) working through online courses to try and get it right. It ate up a lot more brain space (and time) than I''d like to admit, but I have finally emerged like a moth from a cocoon and now I feel like I have a better handle on things.


    At least, enough so that I can think about other things again.


    Anyway, I''ve got the first eight chapters of Discount Dan recorded. I haven''t sent them off for mastering (that''s sort of like the audio version of editing), but they are still pretty clean and I''m finally happy-ish with the result. I wanted to share the end result and get some additional feedback for anyone who likes audiobooks. The bookfunnel link above will allow you to download the files all at once and if you have the bookfunnel app, you can just listen through as though it were a normal audiobook.


    Again, it''s only the first eight chapters, but I want to make sure this is worth doing before I sink even more time into it. Please let me know what you think. If there''s anything you would change (is the pacing too fast, do you like the character voices etc) and if you''d listen to an entire audiobook! Anyway, that''s all I''ve got for now, though I promise I''ll drop a new chapter tomorrow. I''ve got it finished and I just need to do a quick editing pass.

 Fifteen – The Great Cleansing

    Although regular health elixirs could heal even the most debilitating physical injuries, they did shit-all to fix ailments or long-term afflictions from Mana-based attacks. I¡¯d learned that lesson on the second floor after contracting Sludge Lung. Jakob always traveled with a small pharmacy of advanced elixirs and curatives, but he was currently contending against another of the Silent-But-Deadly Assassins, and he wasn¡¯t faring much better than I had.


    His bazooka was nowhere to be seen and he¡¯d resorted to a melee brawl with the gaseous killer. His regular kite shield had no effect against the monster, but his plasma shield seemed to be able to keep it at bay. At least for now. I was sure the Cendral would win the fight eventually, but he wasn¡¯t in a position to help me at the moment.


    As for the Shart Golem, it was still on its feet, and hardly looking any worse for wear. Croc and Synthia 2.0 were working together to whittle down its health, but the process was slow and the creature¡¯s HP was still sitting above sixty percent. The hulking monster fought with its fists and feet, delivering devastating blows that smashed through washing machines and left craters in the concrete.


    I needed medicine, but that could wait.


    Though painful and debilitating, the Toxic Shock Affliction wasn¡¯t lethal. Not yet, anyway. I had fifteen minutes until the next round of symptoms kicked in. That should be more than enough time to finish the golem, especially since my gut told me that the monster would also be susceptible to my Sterilization Field.


    There was just one little problem.


    I needed to get close enough to the creature to activate the spell and my legs didn¡¯t seem to be working¡­


    Like, at all.


    Although I could bend my knees and flex my muscles, every time I tried to get back to my feet, my legs just gave out and flatly refused to hold my weight. I ground my teeth in frustration. That had to be the crippling muscle weakness effect at work, and I didn¡¯t have anything tucked away in my personal storage that could help.


    Assuming I made it out of this alive, I planned to rectify that oversight. I had an entire pharmacy lab just sitting there, unused, and in Jakob I had access to a chemist who could make advanced elixirs capable of removing disease and curing even the nastiest afflictions. Those elixirs were far harder to get a hold of than the standard Health and Mana variety and I planned to put the Cendral to work the second we made it back. Or, barring that, have him show me how to make some of the disease curing salves.


    Before I could do that, though, I needed to kill the golem.


    Since my legs wanted to be a couple of little bitches and there was no one close enough to lend me a hand, I¡¯d have to do this the hard way. With a grimace of pain, I flipped onto my belly and began to pull myself across the floor toward the monster. The golem was only sixty feet away, but the bigger issue was that there were a bunch of washing machines in my way. Even the most determined, hard-charging Marine couldn¡¯t low crawl over rows and rows of industrial washing machines.


    Maybe I could go through ¡¯em, though.


    It was an enormous risk, because if I didn¡¯t time it right, there was a very real possibility that I would get stuck inside one of the machines, which was exactly as horrific as it sounded. If I did nothing, however, there was a good chance I would die anyway. I¡¯d much rather take fate into my own hands, than leave it in someone else¡¯s.


    As I came to the edge of the first washing machine, I activated Neural Slip Stream and the world slowed down around me as ice washed through my veins. I only had a handful of seconds, but as time stretched thin none of that seemed to matter. I pushed through the horrendous pain of my injuries and used every ounce of my heightened Athleticism to drag my body with its useless legs across the cold concrete.


    I phased through the first row of washing machines, then adjusted my angle, and crawled through a second and third row in quick succession, swiftly narrowing the distance between me and the monstrous golem. Sweat poured down my face and my arms quivered from the effort. A wave of nausea rolled through me, but I didn¡¯t stop. Couldn¡¯t stop. Refused to stop. I was not going to die in some stupid laundromat on the Fifth Floor.


    I had too much to do and there were too many people counting on me.


    Who would feed Croc Froyo? Or make sure that the cockwomble, known as the Flayed Monarch, got some well-deserved karma? Plus, if a super skid-marked killed me, I¡¯d never live it down. Like Icarus, I¡¯d forever be the guy who flow too close to the sun and burned for it¡ªexpect, in my case, instead of the sun it would be a sentient ball of dirty tighty-whities.


    That was just unacceptable.


    With a heave, I pulled my feet free of a rusted out washing machine just as Neural Slip Stream timed out and my body phased back into material existence. I was still thirty feet away from the monster, but now there was nothing other than a field of debris and loose machine parts barring my way. I pulled several more Firebomb balls from storage and sent the flying with my mind¡ªlighting the son of a bitch up at a distance as I continued to inch forward, one hand at a time.


    Bits of broken glass and chunks of twisted metal dug into my arms and legs and chest, opening up fresh wounds with every new foot of ground I covered. Still, I kept moving, hurling Firebombs and Fault Spike grenades at the creature using Mental Micromanagement until I ran dry of both. Some of the earthen spikes punched holes clean through the creature¡¯s fabric torso while others peppered its body, making the monster look like a giant, walking pincushion.


    The whole while, the Golem burned, and its health finally dropped below fifty-percent for the first time.


    Despite the pain, I smiled.


    My victory was short lived, however.


    With a floor-shaking bellow, the golem raised a hand and let loose a writhing black ball from one oversized palm. The orb shot toward Synthia. The Horror tried to dodge the incoming attack, but the black ball swerved mid-air then circled around and sideswiped her like a Mac Truck. The writhing orb burst apart on impact and ten thousand tiny black specks swarmed my minion.


    They were flies, I realized in horror.


    Hungry, carnivorous flies.


    Temperance had a similarly disgusting Relic called Ball of Spiders, which¡ªas the name heavily implied¡ªlet her hurl a ball of spiders at her enemies. I wasn¡¯t scared of much, but the idea of ten thousand angry bugs scurrying across my bare skin was grade-A nightmare fuel. The conjured flies started dropping dead a second or two later, but their grisly work was already done. A heap of insect corpses formed around Synthia, but they¡¯d stripped the meat and fur from her metallic frame.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Temperance¡¯s spiders only dealt a minute amount of poison damage, while these things were as ravenous as a pack of hungry piranha.


    Synthia¡¯s HP had dipped below ten-percent but she was still, miraculously, on her feet, even though at this point she resembled a badly damaged furry terminator robot. She would fight to the bitter end, but if I let the golem kill her, putting her back together would take substantially more time and effort. Plus, it would cost me another Relic. As with my Cannon Fodder Minions, it wasn¡¯t my Mana that powered the Taxidermied Horrors, but a Relic. And the more powerful the better.


    Every time they perished, the Relic powering their core was destroyed and needed to be replaced before the Horror could be called upon once again. That was why¡ªeven though it pained me to do it¡ªI recalled her just like I¡¯d done with Drumbo, removing another valuable pawn from the game board.


    In a fit of rage, the golem spun and hurled another fly ball, this one aimed at Croc¡ª


    The attack never landed.


    Jakob shot into view and summoned a swirling black vortex about the size of a manhole cover. The spell hung, unsupported in the air, strobing steadily with waves of black and purple light. The ball of carnivorous flies immediately veered off course, pulled into the miniature black hole, where it promptly disappeared. That was Jakob¡¯s Gravity Well Relic at work, which literally hoovered up all ranged attacks in its Area of Effect like a magical Shop Vac.


    A very handy spell.


    There was no sign of the other Silent-but-Deadly Assassin, which meant Jakob had killed the creature, and now he was doing his job as the party tank. The Cendral darted forward, surrounded in a nimbus of golden light, and as he moved the blare of a siren emanated from his chest, ber-ber-ber-ber-ber. It sounded like a broken smoke detector being amplified through a bullhorn. The Relic¡¯s sole purpose was to draw aggro and hold the attention of hostile Dwellers, and boy-oh-boy did it work well.


    The golem spun toward the approaching Cendral, but instead of immediately attacking, the creature threw its misshapen head back and roared once again. This time, a geyser of sludgy brown liquid blasted up into the air like Old Faithful. All I could do was lay there, face down on the floor, completely unable to stand as a tsunami of liquid shit hit the ground and surged toward me. I was starting to wish I¡¯d just let the fart assassin finish the job and save me from the indignity of drowning in the equivalent of a hot porta john.


    Seconds before the poo-nami washed over me, however, a trio of fleshy pinky tentacles hoisted me from the floor and pulled me up to the top of a nearby washing machine.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Dan,¡± Croc said, cradling me like a newborn kitten, which did not in any way help my dwindling self-esteem. ¡°I¡¯ve got ya!¡±


    ¡°My legs aren¡¯t working,¡± I grunted. At this point, even talking hurt.


    ¡°Do you need an elixir?¡± Croc asked, ¡°because I¡¯ve got plenty of those stored inside my chest cavity if you need one.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t work,¡± I mumbled through clenched teeth. Also, I hated that Croc stored things inside its ¡®chest cavity,¡¯ though I kept that opinion to myself. ¡°Poison.¡± I stole a look at the golem. ¡°Get me closer,¡± I wheezed. ¡°Need to be in melee range.¡±


    ¡°Say no more, Dan.¡± Croc pressed me tight against its rubbery belly and tendrils of blue crept over me, forming a giant Baby Bjorn made of flesh. My useless legs dangled down, hanging several feet above the floor, though the impromptu baby holster didn¡¯t restrict my arms which was nice.


    Croc took three steps, then leapt from the top of the washing machine and hit the ground running. The metaphorical mudslide had receded, but the floor was still slick, and every footfall sent up a disgusting little splash of unspeakable liquid. I really hoped those Brownies were miracle workers or I was never going to be able to get the stink out.


    The golem was entirely focused on Jakob, but Croc still angled right, circling around until we were in the creature¡¯s blind spot.


    As soon as we were in range, I activated Sterilization Field again, conjuring a dome of blazing blue-white light that encompassed the monster. The spell¡¯s effect went to work instantly. The magic ball of flies forming in the golem¡¯s hand fizzled and simply winked out of existence, but that wasn¡¯t all the spell did. My guess about the golem was right. The Mana holding the monster together began to unravel and as it did, soiled tighty whities and brown-streaked boxer briefs rained down en masse.


    The creature howled and desperately tried to get clear of the dome.


    It didn¡¯t get far.


    Glowing tendrils of multicolored light erupted from the floor and emerged from the air itself, wrapping around the monster¡¯s arms and legs, neck and torso. Mooring it in place. I¡¯d only seen Jakob use this particular ability a handful of times¡ªmostly because it was extremely mana intensive and Cendrals, as a race, had famously low Mana Reserves and even worse Mana Regeneration. Still, it was badass to watch in action.


    Quantum Entanglement was a powerful crowd control ability that conjured unbreakable cables of quantum string, capable of rooting enemy targets in place.


    Although the root spell wouldn¡¯t last long, the golem was losing HP like the Titanic taking on water. The monster was literally falling apart, and its health was already down below twenty percent. Time to finish the job. Although I was out of Runic Grenades, I still had Mana to burn, so I raised one hand and activated Pressure Washer, zigzagging the beam across the monster¡¯s chest and face.


    The golem let out one more frustrated roar as its health hit zero and then, in an eyeblink, it simply crumbled, the magic animating its body bled dry by the Sterilization Field.


    [Level Up! x 1]


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Profane Purifier


    Are you proud of yourself? Because you shouldn¡¯t be.


    I mean, sure, you won, but at what cost? Your dignity, that¡¯s what. Still, I¡¯ll hand it to you, when the going got rough, you rolled up your sleeves and just¡­ dove right in there.  That''s either incredibly brave or you''ve got some weird fetishes we don''t want to explore. Anyway, just remember, what doesn''t kill you makes you stronger. Or gives you dysentery. I can¡¯t remember which. Both, it¡¯s probably both.


    Reward: 750 Experience Points, 5 Copper Delver Loot Tokens, 1 Silver Medic! Loot Token, 1 x Gold Septic Loot Token


    Title: Profane Purifier ¨C 20% Disease Resistance because, after this, what germs would dare to touch you?


    Notice: You have earned 11 Titles! You may only have 10 Active Titles Equipped at any given time. Visit the nearest Progenitor Monolith to curate your titles, via the Title Tab located in your Specimen Bio-Report (SBR).


    As I waved away the notifications, all that remained of the golem was a mountainous pile of dirty laundry.


    Fitting.


    With the golem finally dead and the threat eliminated, Jakob wasted no time in breaking out his advanced first aid kit and taking care of my Toxic Shock Affliction. Unfortunately, he wasn¡¯t quite quick enough to cure me before the next Stage took hold.


    Toxic Shock Syndrome has metastasized, and new symptoms have evolved.


    Stage 3: Delirium, rapid onset anxiety disorder and broadscale hallucinations. Grit and Perception are reduced by 25% and the user is 50% more susceptible to psionic attacks and psychic influences.


    Stage 4: Countdown until additional onset symptoms 29:59


    The psychedelic effects kicked in at once, and suddenly it was no longer Jakob standing over me. Instead, it was an enormous, fire-breathing cyberpunk dragon wearing a red pleather jacket and vintage wraparound sunglasses. From the corner of my eye, I spotted Croc, who now stood eighty feet tall and most closely resembled an Eldritch Voltron Robot made of writhing tentacles and unblinking googly eyes.


    Just another Tuesday in the Backrooms.


    After rubbing a weird lotion on the sight of the knife wound and force-feeding me a putrid concoction that tasted like burnt rubber, the god-awful affliction vanished, taking the host of terrible aftereffects with it.


    Thank sweet baby Jesus for small miracles.


    With my affliction cured, all that was left to do was loot the corpses¡ªa task no one was overly keen about¡ªthen deal with the Brownies, still hiding away in their tiny laundromat kingdom. Considering what I¡¯d just endured, however, that didn¡¯t seem so bad anymore. Say what you will, but low crawling across broken glass while fighting a sentient turd certainly has a way of offering a little perspective.


    It felt like I¡¯d finally hit rock bottom, which meant the only way to go from here was up.

 Sixteen – Resonant Mana Signature

    The three of us immediately started to pick over the corpses, all with varying degrees of success. Unfortunately, the Silent-but-Deadly Assassin I¡¯d fried with my Sterilization Field hadn¡¯t left any Relics behind. It seemed my spell had obliterated the creature so thoroughly that not even its spatial core had survived the attack. The only trace of its existence was the putrid black blade, which had almost killed me.


    All in all, I wasn¡¯t too upset, though, since the blade was the real prize anyway.


    Septic Shiv


    Rare Artifact


    Type: Bladed Weapon


    Effect Duration: Until Cured


    Cooldown: None. It¡¯s a knife, dipshit.


    The Septic Shiv is an uncommonly nasty piece of work that looks like it was forged in fires of Isengard. Except, in this case, Isengard is an Eastern-European hostel where organ smugglers harvest kidneys from unsuspecting backpackers.


    As sharp as a dirty hypodermic needle, this thing was made for stabbin¡¯! Every successful hit has a 15% chance to afflict the unlucky shmuck on the other end with Progressive Toxic Shock Syndrome. Trust me on this, it¡¯s real bad. Maybe wash your hands after touching this thing? Just to be on the safe side.


    Stage 1: Extreme headaches, high fever, and mild disorientation.


    Stage 2: Full body aches and crippling muscle weakness. Athleticism and Toughness are reduced by 25%. Health and Stamina Regeneration are reduced by 50%.


    Stage 3: Delirium, rapid onset anxiety disorder, and broadscale hallucinations. Grit and Perception are reduced by 25% and the user is 50% more susceptible to psionic attacks and psychic influences.


    Stage 4: Organ failure and hemorrhagic fever causes bleeding from eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and rectum. Suffer 2 points of Bleed Damage and 2 points of Putrification Damage per second until cured.


    The rate of Stage Progression is based on the victim¡¯s relative level and overall Toughness.


    No fuss, plenty of muss. Hold the power of good ol¡¯ fashioned biological warfare right in the palm of your hand!


    I whistled through my teeth.


    Jesus, Mary, and Joseph the dagger was brutal. And to think I¡¯d been a mere half hour away from total organ failure and hemorrhagic fever. I mean, what in the hell? I was pretty sure using this thing counted as a war crime against the Hague. Stage four dealt 4 points of damage per second, for a total of 240 points of damage per minute. I only had 77 total HP to my name. I would¡¯ve lasted all of thirty seconds had the affliction finished metastasizing.


    The only silver lining¡ªif there was one at all¡ªwas that each stage of the illness took progressively longer before activating, though even that depended on several different factors.


    The Artifact was diabolical and abhorrent, which is why I planned to immediately add it into my arsenal. I didn¡¯t like having it used on me, but I¡¯d be more than happy to use it against other people. Especially any of those shitheel Aspirants from the Skinless Court. Fuck all of those guys. Maybe if they started spontaneously bleeding from their rectums, they¡¯d finally get the message and leave me the hell alone.


    Interestingly, the summoned assassin Jakob had killed didn¡¯t have a Septic Shive but did drop a single Uncommon-grade Relic called Gaseous Form. It was a similar, but worse version of Neural Slip Stream, and allowed the user to assume an intangible gaseous form for three seconds, rendering them immune from all normal weapons. The drawback was that it gave the user intense IBS so long as it was equipped. Still, a case of the runs seemed like a small price to pay for intangibility and damage immunity.


    Since Jakob had made the kill, he hung on to the reward¡ªthough I couldn¡¯t imagine he would keep it long term.


    The Golem had three different Relics, two Uncommon, one Rare.


    Since Croc and I had done the bulk of the heavy lifting, I ended up keeping the Rare Relic and one of the Uncommon-grade Relics, though I gave Jakob first pick. Only seemed far since he¡¯d saved me from getting pancaked by a flying washing machine.


    He wisely took the better, and somehow less gross- of the two Relics, Ball of Flies.


    The Relic looked like one of those hanging fly strips and it was covered with tiny black bodies with iridescent wings. Although the conjured flies didn¡¯t last long, they were gluttonous little bastards who ate living flesh and dealt a single point of slashing damage each before dropping dead. The spell cost forty-five Mana to cast and had a one-minute cooldown, which was a lot. But it also summoned one-hundred flies, which made it a terrifyingly powerful ranged weapon and well-worth the cost.


    I idly wondered if it would be possible to merge Ball of Flies with Temperance¡¯s Ball of Spiders Relic to form something greater than the sum of its parts. That seemed reasonable, though I wasn¡¯t sure Temp would be open to the idea. She took an almost perverse delight in hurling spiders at people.


    The other Uncommon-Grade Relic resembled a dirty plunger and was appropriately called Mudslide. It was also a powerful ranged attack that allowed the user to conjure a putrid geyser of sludge that dealt a combination of bludgeoning and disease damage. Aside from being objectively disgusting, in a lot of ways it was also shockingly similar to Pressure Washer. It had the same general range and dealt a similar level of base damage.


    I had absolutely no desire, whatsoever, to add the rancid item to my spatial core¡ªfor what should¡¯ve been fairly obvious reasons¡ªbut my gut told me that I might be able to forge it with some of the other Relics I had lying around and turn it into something truly formidable.


    The most interesting Relic by far, however, was the last.


    Collective Consciousness


    Rare Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: 100 MetersIf you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Cost: 1 Mana/Minute


    Buckle up buttercup, because it¡¯s time for a hive-mind hootenanny!


    Those fragmented golems you see wandering around? Well, they¡¯re not just a pretty pile of rocks, or a hive of sentient man-shaped bees, nor even a meat-kaiju composed entirely of rotting corpses. Nope, they¡¯re what we in the Biz like to call a Collective Consciousnesses¡ªthe ultimate mind-melding club, which utilizes a rudimentary mana-link to share their thoughts and feelings to become a big, bad unified force of nature.


    Think of it as the metaphysical equivalent of a worker''s union, but with more telepathy and less picketing.


    With Collective Consciousness, you get to play puppet master by entering a powerful trance that allows you to mentally merge with a summoned minion, seeing what they see, doing what they do, and maybe even figuring out why they never laugh at your jokes. The catch is, while you''re out on your cerebral joyride, your body is in a catatonic state, just sitting there like a loaf of moldy bread. Word to the wise, be careful where you activate this bad boy¡­


    This Relic Enables Mana Use.


    After reading over the Relic description, I realized why my Sterilization Field had been so extremely effective against the golem. The creature wasn¡¯t a single entity at all, but a large collective literally held together by pure mana. The Sterilization Field had effectively nullified the effects of Collective Consciousness, causing the creature to fall apart, unable to hold itself together any longer.


    Although the Relic itself had some serious drawbacks, it would definitely be going into my private collection.


    Although I could already control my Horrors with a limited form of telekinesis¡ªdirecting them much the way I could my demolition screwdriver¡ªthis ability was far more potent. More visceral. It sounded like I¡¯d be able to mentally slip into their bodies, piloting my minions from a distance like a horrific meat mech. It was just like being a Warg from Game of Thrones, but cooler because of chainsaw hands.


    With that said, I still wasn¡¯t completely gungho about adding it to my Spatial Core, for two major reasons.


    First, the spell was Line of Sight only, which meant I needed to physically be able to see the meat-mech in question, and having my actual body slip into a coma in the middle of a battle seemed like a terrible idea. It was possible I could work out a short-term solution, but then there was the second problem to consider: I just didn¡¯t have any more room in my spatial core.


    In the early days, the thought of finding ten useful Relics seemed like an impossible goal, but now I was swimming in powerful Relics, and I just didn¡¯t have enough slots for ¡¯em all. Thanks to Runic Resonance Trap, I now had a clever workaround for some of my active spell-based abilities, but to properly employ an ability like Collective Consciousness, I¡¯d need to have it equipped.


    As I examined my newest prize, however, I realized there might be another potential solution. This new Relic had a strange sort of synergy with several of the other Relics I already had. Existential Dread, Mental Micromanagement, Unhinged Taxidermist, Form FleshTron, Go!, and Neural Slip Stream.


    Instinctively, I knew I couldn¡¯t just combine all of these into one super Relic. They were all wildly different from one another, yet somehow, they were related. They shared a similar purpose. Like puzzle pieces that belong together in a way I couldn¡¯t quite understand. I stared at them for a long moment, brow furrowed, when something finally clicked, and a new prompt swam into view.


    Resonant Mana Signature Detected!


    Would you like to Forge Existential Dread (Rare, Fully-Tempered ¨C Level 5), Mental Micromanagement (Uncommon ¨C Level 2), Unhinged Taxidermist (Rare ¨C Level 1), Form FleshTron, Go! (Rare ¨C Level 1), Neural Slip Stream (Fabled, Fully-Tempered ¨C Level 5), and Collective Consciousness (Rare ¨C Level 1) into a new Emblem?*


    Yes/No?


    My mouth dropped open in disbelief, and I was tempted to select Yes out of pure, unadulterated excitement.


    The only Emblem I¡¯d ever seen was the Compass of the Catacomber, and it had come courtesy of the Flayed Monarch. It was also so insanely powerful that the Monarch was willing to go to war to get it back. It wasn¡¯t hard to understand why.


    Emblems were rare with a capital R.


    Hell, they were more than rare. They were legends spoken about in whispers. They were myths like Bigfoot or the Chupacabra that only conspiracy theorists and rednecks believed in. Most Delvers never even got a glimpse of one and those that did usually didn¡¯t live long enough to tell anyone else. Emblems were shrouded in mystery, but the one thing everyone agreed on was that they didn¡¯t occur naturally. They were made.


    Forged by combining a group of powerful Relics, which all served a related purpose.


    I assumed there was some truth to that, based simply on the type of Relics contained within the Compass of the Catacomber. They all dealt with navigating, manipulating, or altering the Backrooms themselves in some fundamental way.


    As I examined the highlighted Relics, I realized they also shared a unifying function: each Relic dealt with the mind in one capacity or another. Existential Dread allowed me to manipulate the minds of others. With Mental Micromanagement, I could telekinetically move things with my mind, while Unhinged Taxidermist, Form FleshTron, Go!, and Collective Consciousness touched on expanded states of mental awareness in one way or another. Hell, Neural Slip Stream literally let me become a creature of pure thought, at least for a short while.


    Although Emblems didn¡¯t enhance the individual Relics within, they offered one huge benefit. Emblems only took up a single Spatial Core slot. If I could forge these into an Emblem, it would allow me to equip additional Relics, which was the next best thing to a cheat code in this place. As excited as I was, however, I didn¡¯t accept. Instead, I ran a Compatibility Analysis first¡ªjust to hedge my bets.


    Researcher¡¯s Codex Compatibility Analysis


    WARNING! UNSTABLE EMBLEM CONFIGURATION DETECTED!


    Based on historic data sets and extensive Forging models, the Codex Analytics Model predicts that attempting to combine the designated Relics into a unifying Emblem has a 12% chance of success. With such a low resonance compatibility, creating a predictive Forging model is not possible at this time. Combing these Relics will likely result in an unfavorable outcome, including the total destruction of all forged materials.


    To increase the chances of success, consider performing the following action items:


    <ol>


    <li> Utilize Relics of Rare-Grade quality or higher to decrease potential progeneration decay. </li>


    <li> Utilize fully-leveled Relics to decrease the likelihood of negative runic interactions. </li>


    <li> Utilize Fully-Tempered Relics to drastically increase the chance of total resonance compatibility while further reducing undesirable iteration deviations.</li>


    </ol>


    Would you like to proceed with the Emblem forging process? Yes/No?


    With a frown, I selected no and waved away the prompt while a thousand thoughts sprinted through my head.


    Well shit. Easy come, easy go, I guess.


    Based on the new information provided by the Codex, it seemed I wouldn¡¯t be forging an Emblem any time soon, but it did open a whole new realm of possibilities. Until now, I¡¯d been selecting Relics based on pure survival utility without any broader strategy. Now, however, I had an active goal to work toward. Finding or forging fully-tempered Relics wasn¡¯t exactly a walk in the park, but thanks to the Codex I already had three¡ªStainSlayer Maelstrom, Neural Slip Stream, and Existential Dread¡ªwhich was far more than most Delvers. With this new insight, I could now actively search for anything that had either a mental or telekinetic component and make even more¡­


    Still, as exciting as this was, I needed to pump the brakes. At least for now.


    I couldn''t afford to get distracted when I was so close to the goal line. I needed to deal with the Brownies so I could get back and finalize things with Ajax. That was the priority. That was the mission. And the mission always came first. Everything else would just have to wait. I deposited the new Relics into my storage space, then turned on one heel and picked my way over the debris-covered floor and back to the tidy and well-lit laundromat.

 Seventeen – Land of Plenty

    We found Bertrim and the rest of the priests celebrating in the laundromat, and this time they weren¡¯t alone. There had to be at least three hundred or more of the laundry brownies¡ªsome wearing baggy overalls, others wearing floral dresses.


    ¡°Well now, this is certainly an unexpected turn of events,¡± Jakob said, as we eyed the gathering of brownies from a distance. The Cendral sounded both shocked and mildly amused.


    He wasn¡¯t the only one.


    Bertrim¡¯s Codex description had mentioned that Brownies were communal creatures, but I¡¯d been expecting a dozen. Maybe two, tops. Certainly not three hundred or more. The sprawling city, tucked away inside of a large Employee¡¯s Only Utility closet, was also something of a gut punch.


    The homes were made from old plastic detergent bottles, bits of assorted metal, and a variety of other salvaged garbage. Beer bottles. Machine Cogs. Wooden clothespins. Canvas from the laundry carts. That sort of thing.


    The smaller, simpler homes covered the closet floor, while larger, more elaborate manors were perched higher up on storage shelves, overlooking those below. Even here, it was clear there was a pecking order to be followed. Barbie doll-sized wooden ladders and rope bridges crisscrossed the space¡ªreminding me of the intricate Howler catwalks¡ªand strings of white Christmas lights festooned the closet, casting the tiny village in an otherworldly glow.


    Looming above the city, perched on the highest shelf like some ever-watchful gargoyle, was a massive cathedral that dwarfed the rest of the tiny buildings. The temple was carefully crafted from the innards of a washing machine. Rivets ran along the face of the building, and cogs and gears¡ªpolished to a mirrored sheen¡ªserved as ornamental decorations. Intricate stained-glass windows were inset into the cathedral¡¯s walls, and a brass handbell sat in the building¡¯s central steeple.


    Even though the city was small in stature, I had to admit it was damn impressive, and so was the sheer craftsmanship on display. Honestly, I was wondering how in the hell a bunch of laundry brownies had managed to accomplish the task.


    As I surveyed the crowd, though, I began to realize that not all of the Brownies were Laundry Brownies at all. There were Housekeeping Brownies, Maintenance Brownies, Metalsmith Brownies, Seamstress Brownies. Hell, I even spotted an Electrical Engineering Brownie. There were a few Brownies that had no class at all, and as I inspected them a little more closely, I realized those were probably what passed for kids.


    Interestingly, though, the Laundry Brownies were the most powerful of the lot; all level ten or higher and dressed in significantly nicer clothes than the rest of their kin.


    ¡°Oh my god, Dan,¡± Croc crooned from beside me. ¡°They are so cute. Can we keep ¡¯em all, Dan? Please, please, please. They¡¯re just so adorable. My heart is melting. They look just like those precious little porcelain Hummel figurines that are in the Keepsake Cove on the third floor. I love those little things. But these ones are even better because, they¡¯re real!¡± The mimic¡¯s whole body was vibrating in sheer excitement.


    ¡°These things aren¡¯t toys, Croc. This is an entire society of sentient beings we¡¯re talking about here.¡±


    ¡°I know, Dan. But I promise, I¡¯ll help take care of them. I¡¯ll make sure to feed them every day and take them for walks. I even know where there¡¯s a pet store. I could get a bunch of exercise wheels, or maybe some of those plastic tubes? Can you imagine, Dan? A tube city, just like at the Jungle Gym Jamboree¡ªexcept it would be Brownie sized? Imagine how many slides I could make for them! And I promise I¡¯ll never eat them, even if they do smell delicious. Please, Dan? Please?¡±


    I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Of course, Croc wanted to keep them like a bunch of pet hamsters. Why was I not surprised?


    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± I said, ¡°but first we need to convince them to come back to the store with us.¡±


    Up ahead, Bertrim had ascended a set of tiny stairs and was now standing on a small wooden podium. He raised a tiny golden chalice, filled wine. A human-sized bottle of cheap Merlot¡ªeasily as large as any of the Brownies¡ªwas on its side with some sort of beer tap mechanism affixed to the top. One of Bertrim¡¯s purple robed acolytes filled glasses, which were quickly picked up and whisked away by serving Brownies, carrying silver trays.


    ¡°Let us drink and be merry!¡± Bertrim caterwauled to the assembled crowd. ¡°After performing the sacred summoning ritual, once a day, every day, for more than four years, the prophecy foretold has at last been fulfilled, and the Researcher has sent to us the chosen one. The Deliverer! He who has vanquished the Profane Corrupter!¡± He paused, his tone darkening. ¡°Although many of you despaired on account of all the false prophets who came before, we chosen few kept the faith and have been rewarded for our unwavering belief!¡±


    A raucous cheer went up as the Brownies hooted and hollered, lifting thimble-sized mugs in salute. They drank in great gulps, slapping each other on the backs and doing little jigs as a band took to a raised stage and started playing what could only be described as polka music. They had someone playing a miniature tuba and another Brownie, decked out in lederhosen, sawing back and forth on an actual, working accordion.


    I had so, so many questions and didn¡¯t even know where to begin. Watching their celebration unfold was like watching an LSD-fueled, fever dream directed by David Lynch.


    I really didn''t want to ruin their good time, but I had shit to do and places to be. With a sigh, I left Croc and Jakob standing by the entryway and begrudgingly tromped over to the Brownie shindig, not bothering to muffle my footfalls. Somehow, the Brownies still didn¡¯t hear my approach over the blaring polka music. Honestly, these little critters had all the situational awareness and self-preservation of a drunk toddler. It was a wonder they¡¯d survived as long as they had.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    I raised a hand and cleared my throat to get their attention.


    Finally, a few of the little weirdos noticed my presence. The accordion music cut off with an abrupt jangle, followed in short order by the tuba and the cowbell player. The Brownies in the crowd began to turn toward me, only a handful at first, but more and more by the second. Soon a harsh silence settled over the gathering. The quiet didn¡¯t last long as they fell to their knees in waves, some prostrating themselves completely, a few openly crying, others chanting ¡°what the fuck¡± over and over again like a sacred prayer.


    In less than a minute, only Bertrim remained on his feet, hands raised toward me. ¡°Deliverer, you have returned, victorious from battle against the Profane Corrupter,¡± the high priest of laundry services intoned formally. ¡°Praise be to you and to the Researcher, who sent you from above. Long have we waited for your glorious reign to begin in earnest¡ª¡±


    ¡°Uh, come again now?¡± I asked, caught off guard. Long and glorious reign?


    Bertrim dry washed his hands and nervously licked his lips as though this might be some sort of test of faith. ¡°Surely, you but jest with your humble servant,¡± the priest replied, dipping his head low. ¡°The prophecies of old tell that one day a savior will come, sent from the Researcher to deliver us from the Profane Corrupter. Then, once the Deliverer has struck the killing blow, he shall usher in a golden age of endless prosperity.¡±


    Huh. Maybe convincing them to come back to the shop would be easier than I thought.


    Clearly, these guys were in some weird cult and although I really didn¡¯t want to feed into their delusional bullshit, I also needed them if I wanted to fulfill my deal with the Howlers. Plus, the idea of having a bunch of laundry minions, scampering around and cleaning my gear, was strangely appealing. I hated doing laundry.


    The question was, did I hate doing laundry enough to become the de facto leader of a Brownie cult?


    I only had to mull it over for a second.


    Yes.


    Yes, I did hate doing laundry enough to become the de facto leader of a Brownie cult. Inside, I wouldn¡¯t feel good about it, but outside I¡¯d feel great because I would no longer be forced to walk around in a gore-soaked bathrobe.


    ¡°It was in fact a test,¡± I intoned somberly, channeling my best Sunday Preacher voice. ¡°And you have passed, my faithful ones. The Researcher has indeed sent me as you can see by this sacred seal, which bears his mark.¡± I pulled free a golden medallion from my storage space. On one side was a giant thumbs-up. On the back were the words, ¡°Researcher Approved!¡±


    I¡¯d gotten the seal out of a gashapon machine in a third-floor loot arcade.


    The metal glimmered in the glow of the Christmas lights and the Brownies oohed and aahed appropriately.


    ¡°Yep. Researcher approved,¡± I continued, stashing away the medallion. ¡°He sent us here to defeat the darkness and usher in an age of plenty, just like your prophecy said. And what an age it¡¯ll be,¡± I added. ¡°Have any of you ever heard of pizza?¡± I asked, cocking an eyebrow.


    Some muttered ¡°no¡± while others shook their heads in confusion.


    By way of explanation, I pulled an entire pepperoni pie from my storage¡ªthe bottom of the box already soggy from all the accumulated grease. The pizza was still piping hot and when I flipped the cardboard lid, a thick, aromatic wave rolled out. I set the pizza down and scooted it toward the Brownies with the toe of a boot.


    Hungry gazes fixed on the pizza like a pack of predatory wolves.


    ¡°Never in all my years, have I ever smelled something so rich. So savory,¡± Bertrim said, voice quivering as he spoke.


    ¡°That¡¯s not all either,¡± I replied, fishing out an ice-cold six pack of Bud-light. I yanked a can from the plastic holder, expertly cracked the tab with one finger, then shook it and let a spray of beer rain down on the party goers. ¡°That right there, Bert, is one hundred percent, all-American beer. Or, as I like to call it, the elixir of the gods. It¡¯s a thousand times better than that shitty wine y¡¯all are drinking. In the paradise I will take you to¡ªa land overflowing with beer and pizza¡ªyou shall never want for a hot, fresh slice of pie or a frosty cold one. This, I swear.¡±


    ¡°And what would you ask of us in return for such a plentiful bounty, oh great one?¡± Bertrim asked, awe evident in his voice.


    ¡°Simple,¡± I replied with a shrug. ¡°I just need you to do some laundry. And maybe a couple of other routine housekeeping tasks,¡± I added, glancing at the group of assembled brownies. As good as laundry service would be, I could get a lot of milage out of three hundred highly motivated workers.


    ¡°It would be our honor to serve, oh great one,¡± Bertrim replied, falling to his knees. ¡°It is for this very purpose that we were fashioned and formed. This day, a covenant is struck between our people. We shall not disappoint you. On this, I give my solemn word.¡± The tiny priest removed a blackened dagger from the baggy folds of his robes and slashed the blade across his forearm. A tiny stream of purple dribbled down.


    Huh. That was a little disconcerting.


    ¡°Cool, cool,¡± I said nodding, while a tight knot of worry formed in the pit of my stomach. ¡°I¡¯m sure this is not going to blow up in my face in any way,¡± I grumbled under my breath. Then, more loudly for the assembled Brownie cultists, ¡°Well, no point in waiting. Let¡¯s get this show on the road. The land of pizza and beer awaits, and I¡¯ve got a shit ton of laundry to get done.¡±


    A cheer went up at the proclamation.


    I expanded my mini-map and selected the entirety of the laundromat, then activated Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort.


    You¡¯ve selected 2,170 square feet of eligible Progenerated Material Resource Space. Would you like to use Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort to convert the selected material into a Personal Superspace Dwelling? You will have 40,097 available square feet remaining at your current Variant Assimilation Level. Proceed Yes/No?


    I hit yes and waited patiently as the Backrooms worked its strange magic.


    The laundromat¡ªonce buried deep beneath the fifth floor¡ªrattled and shook, the lights flickering and strobing madly. Then, just as quick as the tremors had come, they subsided. I headed over to the sliding glass door and stepped into the blazing light of my shop.


    I took a deep sigh of relief, glad that everything had finally come together.


    All that was left to do now was get back to the Hold and make sure everything was squared away with Ajax.


    First, though, I wanted to see these guys in action. I gingerly peeled off my bathrobe and tossed it on the floor, not far from the entrance to their hidden city in the closet.


    ¡°Let¡¯s start with that and see how you do. And make it quick. I¡¯ve got important Chosen One stuff to be about.¡±


    ¡°Of course, Deliverer. Your will be done.¡± Bertrim clapped his hands sharply and the others jumped to comply.


    I watched in smug satisfaction as a hoard of Brownies rushed over to the crumpled robe and whisked it off toward one of the washers, while others hustled to grab detergent, fabric softener, and other powders I couldn¡¯t immediately identify.


    I left them to their work and headed over to the breakroom, bound for my private quarters. It hadn¡¯t even been a full day since I¡¯d added the hotel room, but holy hell did I need another shower.


    After the battle with the golem, it was possible I¡¯d need to take two.

 Eighteen – Upkeep

    The Brownies were every bit the miracle workers that Ajax had made them out to be. They were zealots of the highest order, their religion was laundry, and there were none more devout. By the time I made it back to the Spin Cycle, my bathrobe had been washed, dried, pressed, and neatly hung with care. Unfortunately, it was still an ass-ugly knock-off Versace, which made me weep for humanity, but now it was only hurt my eyes and not my nose.


    The robe was¡­ spotless. Immaculately clean.


    There was no sign of any damage whatsoever, and the high priests of laundry had even blessed the garment, adding two temporary buffs, which both lasted for twenty-four hours. The first was a non-stackable passive called Fabric Fortification, which increased armor rating and item durability by ten percent for the duration of the spell. That wouldn¡¯t do much for me personally, since my gear offered virtually no physical protection and naturally repaired itself over time, but it would be worth its weight in gold to Delvers like Jakob and Temperance, who fought up close and personal.


    The second buff was even better.


    GrungeGard Extreme repelled liquids, prevented stains and, most importantly, diminished the effects of elemental spells by five percent. Now, five percent may not have sounded like a whole lot, but unlike Fabric Fortification this effect stacked up to twenty-five percent total resistance. Five percent for each item blessed. Honestly, I was sad I couldn¡¯t just cheat the system and gain total immunity to elemental attacks by waddling around in three pairs of pants, twenty t-shirts, and a couple of winter jackets.


    Still, twenty-five percent was pretty damned good.


    Originally, I¡¯d been planning to offer laundry services free of charge as a public safety initiative, but now that I knew about the buffs, there was no reason I couldn¡¯t charge a modest and totally reasonable fee. Under Croc¡¯s diligent supervision, I even had Baby Hands create a punch card reward system. Do nine loads at regular price and get the tenth load free.


    As for the Brownies themselves, they seemed completely content with our new arrangement. They worked happily, I paid them in pizza, beer, and gummy worms taken from the candy aisle. Turned out, they really liked gummy worms. To an almost unnatural and unhealthy degree. But so long as the laundry got done, I didn¡¯t care about what they chose to shove in their tiny little face holes.


    Things were finally coming together, and I was feeling significantly more optimistic about the future than I had in a long while. I was almost ready to venture back over to the Hold and make good on my bargain with Ajax, but before I did, I wanted to make a few upgrades around the store. Square everything away before I officially opened the doors to a few hundred new shoppers.


    My storage space was damn-near overflowing with body parts, and I wanted to unload them into my newly acquired freezer unit. I also needed to make some repairs to both Synthia 2.0 and Drumbo, plus it was probably time to level up my Unhinged Taxidermy Relic and add a few new minions to my combat roster. Especially considering how much raw material I had to work with.


    And, speaking of minions, with the addition of the hotel room, freezer, and laundromat, I had officially claimed over 15,000 square feet of floor space. Which meant I could add another Cannon Fodder Golem to help run the store. Help I would absolutely need with all the new customers we were about to get.


    Then there was the security office to consider, with its cameras and monitors. Typically, those types of security measures would be used in the store itself, but I wasn¡¯t really worried about shoplifting. Not with Babyhands and Princess Ponypuff on perpetual duty. And woe to the unlucky son of a bitch who got caught stealing by Princess Ponypuff. She¡¯d probably go all Flayed Monarch and wear their face as a mask to deter future thieves.


    With those changes in mind, I pulled up my Blanket Fort Interface and got to work.


    The Interface served much the same function as the Progenitor Monolith¡ªbut for the store instead of for me. With it, I could view a staggeringly long list of available resource materials, plus it granted me access to a set of 3D interactive schematics, which allowed me to manipulate and even reconfigure the space as I deemed fit.


    The doorway to my personal hotel room was currently located in the overflow storage area, which we¡¯d turned into temporary lodging for visiting Delvers. Although it made sense to have it there, I decided it would work better, long-term, to have some additional space between myself and the customers. With a few quick shifts, I uprooted the entire room and attached it to the employee breakroom instead, which would now serve as the operations hub for the store¡¯s staff.


    Working on that same principle, I relocated the new Security Office from the front of the store to the breakroom as well.


    I retrieved the ancient computer and bulky printer I¡¯d looted from the Maintenance Corridors on five, then took a few extra minutes to set both up in the security office. Surprise, surprise, the computer was a piece of shit, but it also had a copy of Microsoft Office 95 installed and¡ªfor reasons I couldn¡¯t even begin to explain¡ªa copy of DOOM. I didn¡¯t have much time these days for video games, but it was hard to say no to OG DOOM.


    It took me longer than I¡¯d like to admit to hook up the printer, but eventually I got things connected and even printed out a handful of marketing flyers that I could post around. I¡¯d still need ample access to spray paint, but the flyers would save me countless hours of writing.


    Next, I turned my attention to the ten DEWALT Etheric Walkie Talkies sitting on top of the safe beside the desk. Although there was a distinct possibility they were cursed, I still planned on using them. There was virtually no reliable communication network within the Backrooms¡ªnot that I¡¯d seen, anyway¡ªso the ability to talk with my friends, even when we were on different floors, was worth the risk of potential insanity.


    I slipped one into my toolbelt, then gave one to Croc and another to Jakob. I idly considered handing over one more to Ponypuff, because it would be nice for someone in the store to have access, but eventually decided against it. I was pretty sure she would either A. use it to try and raise her Dark Lord, Vor''ghel the Devouring Maw that Dwells Beneath or B. constantly screech inarticulate goat noises at me.


    Neither was a great option.


    In theory, I could give one to Baby Hands, but there was no way the golem had the necessary IQ to work something as complicated as a walkie talkie. I once saw the poor bastard mopping a patch of carpet. Croc loved that moron and Baby Hands was one helluva hard worker, but with the mental prowess of a deflated basketball, he would never do much more than stock shelves or clean up spills.


    Giving one to either Taylor or Stephanie was also a potential option, but that was an even bigger gamble than handing it over to Ponypuff¡ªalbeit for very different reasons. For the most part, I trusted the two girls not to screw me over, but I didn¡¯t want to hand them a weapon that could potentially be used to betray me.


    Walkie talkies like these weren¡¯t encrypted devices. They relied on radio frequencies to communicate, which meant anyone with one of the walkies would be able to eavesdrop on other conversations. Since we¡¯d be relaying sensitive info over those walkies¡ªlike our location and movements¡ªand I couldn¡¯t afford one of the devices ending up in the hands of an Aspirant.


    What I really needed was someone manning the store who was as unflinchingly loyal as Baby Hands and as smart as Ponypuff, but not completely batshit insane. The question I needed to answer now, was what role would this new golem fill? I learned that here in the Backrooms, intention mattered.


    If this was going to work, I needed a clear plan in mind.


    I briefly considered crafting another golem to help Ponypuff at the checkout counter but dismissed the idea after mulling it over for a bit. Truth was, Ponypuff was great at her job, but she did not play particularly well with others. Adding another golem into the mix was just asking for trouble. Besides, if she really needed extra help manning the front desk, I could always ask Taylor and Stephanie to pick up the slack.


    Ponypuff seemed to tolerate the two of them, more or less.


    No, what I really needed was someone completely trustworthy to run security while I was away from the store. Someone who could monitor the CCTV screens, call in any emergencies, and keep the peace between Delvers when tempers invariably got hot. Right now, Babyhands was doing the bulk of the heavy lifting in that department, but I needed a minion who could deescalate tensions and who could make critical decisions in my absence.


    What I needed was a Security Chief.


    Although Cannon Fodder Golems could literally be crafted from almost anything, the material used in their creation played a key role in shaping the minion¡¯s personality. When building Ponypuff and Baby Hands, I¡¯d used the random left-over garbage that had been lying around the store. Stuff I didn¡¯t want to keep and saw no other use for. The results spoke for themselves and this time around I planned on making better choices.


    And, even more important than the physical material, was the Relic that powered the creature.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    I¡¯d used Gremlin¡¯s Groin Guardian for Babyhands¡ªa passive, Common-grade Relic that looked like a dirty jockstrap and granted additional protection to the user¡¯s junk.  As a result, Baby Hands had the intellect of dirty jockstrap. For Ponypuff I¡¯d used a Mind-based Relic called Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding, which increased Grit and offered a resistance against hypnotic psionics. It was decent enough Relic but also something I could easily see an insane conspiracy theorist using.


    Metaphorically, Princess Ponypuff was the spitting image of a conspiracy theorist wearing a tinfoil hat. Smart, sure, but zero interpersonal skills.


    For this new golem, I wanted a better-quality Relic which also resonated with the idea of security. Then, I further wanted to reinforce that notion by using physical materials that thematically fit with the outcome I had in mind.


    To that end, I ventured into the store and raided the survival aisle first, grabbing a wide assortment of items including a camouflage poncho, a green tactical jacket, and a backpack loaded with more survival supplies: A compass and a machete, a spool of nylon 550 cord, a small entrenching shovel and a fire starter. A pair of heavy work boots went into the mix, followed by a simple first aid kit, jumper cables, and a couple of reflective roadside warning triangles.


    Someone had traded in a clear riot shield, a matching police helmet¡ªthough neither were Artifacts¡ªand a common-grade Artifact Taser, which dealt 15 points of shock damage on contact, but had a two-minute cooldown timer between uses. It dealt too little damage for me to use, but it would be perfect for some in-store muscle.


    All of it went into a large pile in the security office.


    I took a gamble and decided to add one of the security cameras as well, hoping it would still function even after I brought the minion to life.


    I paid Princess Ponypuff a visit and riffled through the available Relics we had on hand, but nothing really jumped out at me. The majority were Common-grade, though we had a decent mix of active spells, physical abilities, and even a few passive and utility skills. There were a few Uncommons as well and even a single Rare, but none of them screamed ¡®Security¡¯ to me. Thankfully, I didn¡¯t need to rely on the Relics we had, because I could forge something to fit the bill.


    Working off a hunch, I took a Basic Camo Kit, then grabbed Sucker Punch which was another plentiful Common-grade Relic from the third floor. Basic Camo allowed its user to ¡°moderately¡± blend in with their environment, while Sucker Punch dealt additional physical and emotional damage when striking an opponent first¡ªthough I still wasn¡¯t entirely certain what in the hell emotional damage even was.


    Not that it mattered. I didn¡¯t intend to leave the Relics the way they were.


    When forged, Basic Camo Kit and Sucker Punch created a vastly superior Relic called Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike, which allowed the user to blend with the shadows and deal additional damage on any preemptive strike while concealed. It was a solid skill, which had saved my ass more than a few times. Hell, it was even one of the base Relics I¡¯d used to forge Neural Slip Stream. Even though Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike was only an Uncommon-grade, it was perfect for what I had in mind.


    I tossed what appeared to be a cheap mall katana onto the pile of survival equipment, then focused on the items with intention, which conjured a floating prompt.


    Would you like to transform the selected material into a Cannon Fodder Golem? Doing so will destroy the Uncommon Relic, Mall Ninja¡¯s Strike. Proceed? Yes/No?


    I mentally selected ¡°Yes.¡± The floor immediately began to rumble while the lights flickered frantically for a few seconds.


    Unlike most of my spells, this one drew power not from me, but from the store itself. Although the Cannon Fodder Golems seemed rather simple in nature, I was beginning to realize just how far from the truth that was. Sure, in a lot of ways, my Taxidermied Horrors were more physically powerful, but none of them could think or talk or reason. Even though the golems were limited in some regards, I was starting to suspect they were actually closer to Dwellers than summoned minions.


    Was this the same process the Backrooms used to spawn the myriad of creatures who inhabited its many levels? I couldn¡¯t be sure, but there was a certain logic to it.


    When the shaking finally ceased and the overhead fluorescents stabilized, the assorted pile of survival gear was gone and in its place was a hunched creature crafted from assorted camping gear, held together by patches of inky black shadow, and swathed in camo. It looked far more human than either Ponypuff or Babyhands, though the similarities were superficial at best.


    A pair of deep purple eyes regarded me somberly from behind the clear plastic face shield of the riot helmet. It didn¡¯t have any visible mouth or even face, but those eyes burned with intelligence. ¡°What is my purpose?¡± the creature asked slowly. Its voice was gruff by soft. Contemplative, even.


    I thought about it for a long beat before answering.


    ¡°To protect,¡± I finally replied. ¡°To protect me. To protect my store. To protect my friends and my customers. I created you to be my chief security officer¡ªto keep an eye on things and make sure everything stays safe in my absence.¡± I regarded the golem closely, searching for any sign of hesitation. ¡°You up for the job?¡±


    The creature grunted in reply then broke eye contact and spun in a slow circle, taking in the security room and the bank of monitors. As it moved, I noticed that one of the CCTV screens was lit up, the feed displaying whatever the golem was looking at. I couldn¡¯t help but grin.


    Finally, the creature finished surveying the office and its purple gaze returned to me.


    ¡°Affirmative, I can do what you ask. This¡±¡ªthe creature swept a hand toward the security office¡ª¡°is an adequate start. Scaling your security protocols will be a challenge, though. You only have enough cameras to cover nineteen entryways and that doesn¡¯t leave any for an internal surveillance system.¡± It fell quiet for a moment, face shield quizzically cocked to one side. ¡°Still, you already have some decent countermeasures in place, and the Temporal Restriction Field on the doorway anchors are an effective sorting mechanism.¡±


    I squinted, studying the newly formed golem with curiosity.


    I¡¯d hoped using a higher-grade relic would increase the minion¡¯s capabilities, but this thing seemed far more competent than either Baby Hands or Princess Ponypuff¡ªnot that I would ever say that to Ponypuff¡¯s face. I had no desire to be murdered and sacrificed to the dark god she claimed to serve.


    ¡°You seem different than the others,¡± I offered without preamble. ¡°Smarter. Why?¡±


    The creature tapped at its chest with an inky finger. ¡°This helps. The more powerful the Relic, the more powerful we become.¡±


    ¡°Just like Delvers?¡± I asked.


    It shrugged then shook its head. ¡°Such knowledge is beyond me.¡± It faltered. ¡°I suspect there are similarities, though. Regardless, I sense the purpose behind my creation. I can feel your intention radiating inside my being. Such intention gives me clarity of thought. Clarity of action.¡±


    I mulled over the creature¡¯s words.


    Croc had told me long ago that the earliest Dwellers were not birthed, but rather thought into existence by the God Box on the bottom level of the Backrooms. As a Mythic-grade Relic, Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort was insanely powerful, and I was starting to realize it was more than it seemed at first glance. Unlike all of the other Relic¡¯s I¡¯d run across so far, Blanket Fort wasn¡¯t powered by Mana. No, it was powered by the Backrooms and allowed me to manipulate and create much in the same way the Backrooms did.


    Like the creatures it created, I had the growing suspicion that the Relic and its strange abilities were in some way connected to the Progenitor Cube on floor 1,000. Almost as though the Relic was a tiny shard of the Cube itself. I had no proof of that, but it was the only thing that made any sense.


    ¡°You got a name?¡± I asked, pushing away thoughts of the God Box buried deep below.


    The creature shook its head. Not too surprising.


    I didn¡¯t have to think about it for long, before offering up a suggestion.


    Back during my first deployment to Iraq, our convoy security commander had been a hard charging Sergeant who everyone called Camo Joe. Camo, because the guy was so motto that everyone joked that he bled camouflage, and Joe because he chain-smoked enough cigarettes to put even Joe Camel to shame. Turkish Golds were his poison of choice, and I¡¯d never seen Camo Joe without a half-burning cigarette hanging from his lips.


    Hell, I¡¯d watched him run the three-mile PFT, puffing like a chimney the whole time. Funny part was, even smoking, he outran everyone else in the company and it wasn¡¯t even close.


    For reasons I couldn¡¯t quite put my finger on, this shambling pile of survival gear reminded me of that hard-nosed Sergeant.


    ¡°Camo Joe,¡± I said, slapping the newly forged golem on the shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s what we¡¯ll call you.


    ¡°Camo Joe,¡± the golem said as though testing the name out. ¡°That is adequate.¡±


    I had no doubt I¡¯d created the right guy for the job, but clearly his sense of humor was on the same level as Baby Hand¡¯s overall intellect. That was fine, though. It took all kinds to run a place like this and having a no-nonsense security chief would serve me well. Now it was time to see just how sharp this thing really was. Sure, it could follow directions, but could it think on its own in the same way Croc could?


    ¡°With the resources we have on hand,¡± I asked, ¡°what changes would you make?¡±


    Camo Joe considered the question for a second, its purple eyes growing fuzzy and distant. ¡°It will take time,¡± Joe finally replied, ¡°but after accessing the current fortifications, there are several modifications we can implement to further harden the facility and upgrade its security capabilities. First, I recommend we build a series of emergency response protocols. Situational scenario SOPs.


    ¡°Following that, we can install additional environmental traps and restricted access points throughout the store. Should someone or something manage to infiltrate and successfully launch an assault, that will mitigate the damage they can do.¡± It gestured at the break room and the connecting security office. ¡°Turning this into an actual fortified command center will help reduce the risk as well. We can also implement a watch schedule, patrol routines, and create holding cells for any hostile forces we apprehend.¡±


    The golem¡¯s answers were methodical and well-reasoned.


    Honestly, it was unnerving.


    Hell, this creature hadn¡¯t even existed ten minutes ago, and now it was standing here, breaking down my entire security system, all while offering a variety of insightful fixes. Maybe I¡¯d made this thing too smart.


    I pushed away my unease.


    Although I had reservations about my newest minion, I¡¯d also felt the same way about Ponypuff and she¡¯d done an admirable job as store clerk. For the most part. I mean, sure, she liked to watch people while they slept. And yes, she screamed like a banshee at anyone who tried to haggle with her. Also, I was pretty sure she¡¯d set up a malevolent shrine inside one of the employee lockers in the storage room.


    Other than all of those things, though, she¡¯d done a bang-up job.


    Hopefully, Camo Joe would do the same.


    ¡°Sounds like you know what needs doing,¡± I said. I pulled out one of the walkies and pushed it into Camo Joe¡¯s hands. ¡°Use that to get in touch. Let me know if you need any help and if you can¡¯t find me, look for Croc, Jakob, or Taylor. Worst case scenario, go to Princess Ponypuff.¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± the walking pile of survival gear said before offering me a precise salute then executing a sharp about face. I watched its back shimmer as it headed through the breakroom and out into the store. A second later, shadow wrapped itself around the golem and it disappeared completely.


    A shiver raced along my spine. This is fine, I told myself, which was probably true. I¡¯m sure that thing isn¡¯t going to go all Skynet, eventually staging a mutiny, then trying to assassinate me. That was just paranoia talking.


    And if things did go sideways¡­


    Well, I¡¯d cross that bridge when I came to it. Then I¡¯d set it on fire with a Molotov cocktail and dump industrial-grade super bleach on top for good measure.

 Nineteen – Doctor Frankenstein

    While Camo Joe went about his business, I snagged the rest of the security cameras and shoved the whole lot of ¡¯em into my personal storage. My new Security Chief¡¯s assessment was right¡ªscaling up my security would be a challenge, especially with finite resources. But after seeing how well the first camera had integrated with Camo Joe, I had a new idea about how I might be able to use them. To put my plan into action, however, I needed additional materials.


    Corpses to be exact.


    I headed over to my shiny new freezer unit, which I¡¯d tacked onto the pharmacy using the Blanket Fort Interface. The dark gray Employees Only door, separating the lab from the rest of the store was normally locked, but it swung right open for me.


    One of the many perks of being the owner.


    I rarely came here, and when I did, it was mostly to restock the elixirs that routinely spawned in the lab fridge. Every single time I stepped through that door, though, I felt a small stab of pride. I couldn¡¯t help but recall my glorious victory over the Harmacist and its crow-faced Lab Tech cronies. I¡¯d used a good ol¡¯ fashion Molotov Cocktail¡ªone made from liquor and lighter fluid instead of magic¡ªto burn most of them to death inside the cramped confines of the lab. The fire had destroyed most of the equipment, though everything had regenerated long since.


    That was one of the great thing about the Backrooms.


    Although this place looked like a room filled with inanimate objects, in reality it was all part of a vast living being. A giant, organic cell inside the body of a colossal, reality-warping beast.


    I fumbled for the switch and flipped on the lights when I found it.


    The fluorescents buzzed to life, bathing the room in bright white light, casting sharp shadows around the furniture and equipment. Centrally placed was a worktable with a large fume hood, rising into the ceiling. Long, stainless steel counters ran along the walls and covered much of the floor space, their surfaces cluttered with an assortment of pharmaceutical equipment: Digital scales and Bunsen burners, a sleek compound microscope and some sort of high-tech pill counting machine. I spotted a centrifuge and a bulky contraption labeled ¡°gas chromatography system.¡±


    No idea what that was for¡ªthough I¡¯d seen Jakob use it a few times while working on various potions and salves. The Cendral sure knew his way around a lab, which made sense given his background.


    There were also a variety of mortars and pestles, along with a multitude of scoops, spatulas, and other mixers. Glass beakers, testing vials, and flat-bottoms flasks were meticulously arranged on metal shelves, alongside neatly labeled containers filled with strange powders, liquids, and granules. I recognized a few of the compounds¡ªEthanol, Glycerin, Formaldehyde¡ªbut there were a helluva lot more that I didn¡¯t. Some of the stuff sounded completely made up.


    Biomimetic Paste, Fluxine Gels, Chronosalt Powder. Quantum Silica, whatever the fuck that was.


    I ignored all that stuff and headed over to the fancy new freezer, which was a third the size of the pharmacy itself. Croc helped me move all the pilfered kitchen equipment to one of the overflow storage rooms, then I started emptying my inventory of bodies. And parts of bodies. There was a disturbing amount of material to sift through. Plus, I¡¯d harvested a good number of mimics, and a lot of their anatomy just didn¡¯t seem to fit into any convenient category.


    Still, as gory and disgusting as the work was, it went quickly enough, especially with a little help from Croc, who was only too happy to ¡°dispose¡± of any excess material I didn¡¯t need.


    By the time I was done, I had huge crab legs and chitinous carapace stacked up along the shelves and sorted into several large crates. I suspended the gangly bellhops and the nightmarish Hotel Lodgers from the meat hooks, until they hung like slabs of beef ready for the butcher¡¯s block. As for the mimics¡­ Like I said, those were a bit harder to deal with. After they died, a lot of their ¡°mass¡± turned into a weird, gel-like goo, leaving behind a vicious assortment of tentacles, eyes, and teeth.


    I moved one of the stainless-steel tables from the lab into the freezer and went to work, carving what remained up like a disgusting Thanksgiving turkey. But not before I changed into some clothes I¡¯d raided from Style-for-Less and tossed a rain poncho over the top, just for good measure.


    Once I was done with the initial butchery, I took some extra time to patch up Drumbo Rebooted and Synthia 2.0. Both had survived the battle against the Shart Golem but had sustained some serious damage in the process.


    I summoned Drumbo and had the rather grotesque creature clamber onto the steel table and lay flat on its back, like a patient preparing for surgery, which was more or less the truth. Once the creature was in place, I accessed a secondary interface, appropriately called the Minion Masher, which let me directly remove and graft both flesh and metal onto Drumbo Chumbo without having to use a chainsaw or sutures.


    A holographic overlay appeared directly on top of the mangled creature. It looked like a tight grid of blue squares, which perfectly contoured the creature¡¯s body. Hanging in the air above the Horror was an eighth-scale 3D avatar, which slowly rotated in place. The avatar¡¯s legs glowed with angry red light and percentile bars appeared beside each limb, indicating their durability.


    Both read 0/100, which meant they couldn¡¯t be salvaged and would need to be replaced entirely. Almost all injuries, even severe ones, could be mended through the use of elixirs or restoration spells like Pharmacist¡¯s Scales, but once the durability of a limb hit zero¡­ That was it. Game over. End of story. With a grimace, I reached out and tugged at each leg in turn. The limbs effortlessly popped off, almost like pulling the legs off an action figure. There was no blood or gore, which was a small mercy.


    Since the limbs could no longer be repaired, I tossed them to Croc, who swallowed them down in between bites of Froyo. I was no longer shocked by the disgusting juxtaposition of it all.


    I replaced them with a pair of gangly bellhop legs, then added additional pieces of orange and purple exoskeleton from the juvenile kiosk crabs to create greaves. Although those chitinous plates were typically as hard as rocks, they became completely pliable while under the influence of my Unhinged Taxadermist ability. With the Minion Masher Interface active, they were like clay that I could mold and shape until the pieces perfectly fit the bellhop legs, which were now attached to Drumbo¡¯s torso.


    Once I was finished with that, I decided to add a few more plates to Drumbo¡¯s shoulders, creating spiked pauldrons and wrap-around forearm bracers. They looked badass and would also serve as excellent armor. One of Drumbo¡¯s hands had also been severely damaged by the tumbling washing machine¡ªthough not so badly that I couldn¡¯t repair it with a little TLC. Instead, though, I decided to swap it for one of the cordless angle grinders I¡¯d picked up in the Maintenance Corridors.


    As a general contractor, I¡¯d seen exactly how much damage an angle grinder could do, and I pitied the poor sucker who ended up on the business end of that thing.


    Finally, I took another few minutes to inspect the Relic sitting at the heart of Drumbo¡¯s Spatial Core. Just like Babyhands, Ponypuff, and the newly created Camo Joe, the Horrors were powered by Relics, which made perfect sense now that I had a better understanding of how both Relics and Mana worked. Trying to power something as large and powerful as Drumbo would drain my own reserves in a matter of seconds, but the Relics themselves were a constant source of energy.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Even those that used Stamina as a fuel source instead of Mana, acted like a battery.


    The one currently powering Drumbo was called Solitary Confinement and looked for all the world like a broken pocket watch. Despite the cool name, it was a cursed, shit-tier Relic someone had traded in for store credit. It wasn¡¯t hard to guess why. The spell had a one-minute duration and, when activated, it caused the user to perceive time at an excruciatingly slow pace, transforming seconds into hours, and hours into years. Problem was, your body didn¡¯t move any quicker.


    In essence, it turned your body into an inescapable meat prison, which was genuinely horrifying.


    The Horrors couldn¡¯t actually use any of the Relic effects, though. They were just batteries so, in theory, it didn¡¯t really matter. Still, I had to wonder if using a more powerful Relic would have any sort of proportional effect on performance. Out of sheer curiosity, I decided to swap the Solitary Confinement for the Uncommon Health Eater Relic I¡¯d looted from the Chandelier Mimic.


    With Drumbo looking good as new¡ªrelatively speaking, of course, since he was actually an unholy Frankenstein amalgamation of monster corpses¡ªI banished him back to storage and took some time to patch up Synthia 2.0. With her, the damage was largely superficial, though her fur would never look the same again. I grafted on more orange and purple crab pieces, until she looked less like an animatronic furry and more like some kind of futuristic space soldier in a chitin mech-suit.


    One with a chainsaw hand, of course.


    I banished her back into the void, just as I had with Drumbo Chumbo, but I didn¡¯t leave the freezer. I had more work to do yet.


    Did I love being a Mad Scientist Necromancer? Absolutely not. I never would¡¯ve willingly picked an ability like this. Not in a million years. But sometimes you just had to play the hand you were dealt, and this was an ace in the hole, even if it was an ace slathered in guts and gore.


    I took a quick pitstop at the checkout counter to collect a few sacrificial Relics, then popped by the concession stand for a platter of nachos and one¡ªor maybe three¡ªbeers, before resuming my grisly task. I definitely needed to be at least a little drunk for this next part.


    I sacrificed the assortment of Relics to bring Unhinged Taxidermist up to level five. I could summon two Horrors per Relic level, which meant with the upgrade I could now summon up to ten Horrors at once. Whether or not I¡¯d be able to control ten horrors was another story entirely. Just like with Mental Micromanagement, each minion took a certain mental toll and with that many running around, I was liable to end up in a coma. Still, that was a problem for Future Me to deal with. Current Me was just excited to have so many meat shields at my disposal.


    The upgrade also pushed the Relic over the first Threshold, unlocking Necrotic Embalming which better preserved the Horrors, slightly increasing their speed, strength, overall Health Pool, and regeneration rate. Even better, it also increased each Horror¡¯s level cap. Before the upgrade, my summoned Horrors were automatically reduced to half of whatever level they¡¯d been before dying. In the case of Synthia, for example, it cut her down from level 24 to a lowly level 12.


    With Necrotic Embalming, though, the level cap was raised to two-thirds what they¡¯d been in life. For Synthia, that automatically bumped her up to level 16.


    Now that I¡¯d upgraded the Relic, I could finally forge a new batch of minions and I knew exactly where I wanted to start.


    I quickly scrolled through my storage and grabbed what I was looking for. A door. A hotel room door to be exact. There¡¯d been a dozen spare doors sitting in one of the maintenance closets on the fifth floor, and I¡¯d snatched all of ¡¯em. The door was solid wood and far heavier than anything in a residential home. Pretty standard as far as hotel doors went, though. Typically, they were designed with solid core construction, which made them more secure, offered better sound insulation, and helped prevent the spread of fires in case of an emergency.


    It was perfect for what I had in mind.


    The only problem was it was just a door. Frame not included.


    Thankfully, I happened to know a half-decent general contractor with a whole pile of two-by-fours and access to a Sawzall. It took a handful of minutes to get the measurements I needed and another twenty to cut the boards to length, angling the corners, then nailing them together and attaching the hinges. Sure, the frame wouldn¡¯t be nearly as durable as the door itself, but it would serve my purposes well enough.


    With the door finally mounted, I set the whole thing on the worktable and raided the freezer for the necessary body parts.


    I grabbed a bunch of crab legs, a pair of bellhop arms, and some various mimic pieces. Using the Taxidermist Overlay, I attached six spindly legs to the bottom of the doorframe. Adding the bellhop arms was even easier. One poked out from each side of the frame as though the door itself were a long, rectangular torso. A malformed bellhop head went on top, complete with its circular red cap. Then, I committed an unspeakable atrocity by embedding one of the security cameras into the creature¡¯s fucked up face.


    By the time I was done, the bellhop¡¯s eyes and nose were missing, and all that remained was a rectangular camera poking out from above the monster¡¯s crooked smile.


    The last part was the trickiest and took an hour or more to get right¡ªmostly through a system of trial and error. Mimics had the unique ability to conceal and change their shape, molding organic matter into a hundred different forms. I wanted to see if I could replicate that process. Especially since I had so many mimic corpses to experiment with. I had to pick through the gooey remains for a while before finally discovering what I was looking for. Buried beneath the sea of eyes, tentacles, and rubbery flesh was a small organ no larger than a walnut.


    It was firm to the touch and had had the appearance of a naturally occurring crystal deposit. When I examined it in closer detail, a Codex entry popped up, providing me with additional information.


    >>> Research Inquiry: Initializing <<<


    Test Supervisor: Junior Astrobiological Researcher, Iteration 1.9371A


    Test Date: 05.13.3019 BCE (Julian Standard, Updated for User Preference)


    Subject: Dissection and Analysis of the Mimicore Node in a Juvenile Polymorphic Mimic (Mimicae Polymorpha) Specimen #13941


    Introduction


    The focus of today''s dissection was a peculiar, crystalline structure, herein referred to as a ¡°Mimicore Node,¡± which is found almost exclusively in Dwellers within the Mimicae Polymorpha family (Mimics). When active, this small, bioluminescent organ appears to be the keystone in the mimic''s ability to undergo complex transformations, allowing it to assume the form and texture of inanimate objects with astonishing precision.


    Observations


    Generally, the Mimicore Node is embedded within the creature''s central nervous system. In some case studies, particularly among older and more evolved Mimics, there may be more than one Node which allows for a greater range of transformative properties. Its luminescence fluctuates in correlation with the mimic''s transformational activity, suggesting a direct link between the organ''s function and the mimic''s shape-shifting capabilities.


    Upon closer examination, the organ appears to be comprised of a series of intricate, interwoven fibers, pulsating with Mana. It seems to resonate on the same dimensional frequency as the Progenerated Environment produced by the Variant Exploration Surveyor Ship (VESS), possibly explaining how mimics can so accurately replicate the texture and coloration of their chosen forms.


    The dissection revealed that the Mimicore Node is further connected to a network of what can be termed as ''sensory receptors'' located throughout the mimic''s body. This network likely provides the necessary feedback for the mimic to maintain its disguise even under close inspection. Additionally, Mimics possess an enlarged visual cortex which also interfaces directly with the Node. It is suspected that the mimic¡¯s multitude of eyes may act as a rudimentary video loop relay, providing real time environmental data to the Node, facilitating a more seamless integration with its natural environment.


    Hypotheses


    The Mimicore Node operates as a magical resonator, absorbing ambient magical energies to fuel the mimic''s transformations. Its bioluminescence could be a byproduct of this energy conversion process.


    The intricate structure of the organ suggests a high level of adaptability, possibly allowing the mimic to learn and store information about different forms and textures for future use.


    Interruption or removal of the Mimicore Node may result in the mimic''s inability to change form, offering a potential method for dealing with these creatures while in the field. Additionally, trauma during the early pupa stage of the mimic lifecycle, may prevent the Mimicore Node from forming properly, further reducing the creature¡¯s capacity to accurately transform.


    Conclusion


    The Mimicore Node represents a fascinating evolutionary adaptation, providing mimics with a survival mechanism unparalleled in the natural world. Further studies are required to fully understand the extent of its capabilities and the specific magical principles governing its operation. Understanding this organ not only sheds light on the mimics themselves but also opens new avenues in the study of magical biology and transformational magic.


    >>> Research Inquiry: Complete <<<

 Twenty – Title Change

    Although the Codex regularly provided me with valuable insights about the Dwellers who inhabited the Backrooms, this was the first time I¡¯d seen a direct research report. It lacked the general assholishness of most of the entries, which meant it probably wasn¡¯t being delivered by my Localized Administrator. This was also the first time I¡¯d ever seen an inquiry directly contributed to the Researcher¡ªthough interestingly, it was marked as a Junior Researcher.


    I¡¯d always just assumed there was only one Researcher, but according to the date on the report, this entry was over five thousand years old. What if, once upon a time, there had been more than one Researcher? I wasn¡¯t exactly sure what the broader implications of that would be, but it would help to explain why everything was such a shit show now.


    There was also an interesting tidbit about early trauma inhibiting the proper formation of the Mimicore Node, which probably explained why Croc was the way it was. There was nothing I could with that information at this point, but I tucked it away for later.


    Now I had a working idea of how mimics were able to do what they did, though, I was reasonably confident I could reproduce that effect with my fancy new door minions.


    First, I harvested all of the Nodes I could find. Although many had been badly damaged or outright destroyed, I found thirteen that were still intact. More than enough for what I had in mind. Next, I started collecting mimic eyes. The report had mentioned that those eyes served an important role in the creature¡¯s ability to ¡°more seamlessly integrate with its natural environment,¡± so I figured the more the merrier. And I had a lot of mimic eyes to work with.


    I added them to Horror¡¯s arms and legs, then shaped pieces of crustacean exoskeleton for extra protection. By the time I was done, the door looked like some kind of biblically accurate angel. Which is to say, absolutely fucking terrifying. In this case, however, that was actually a plus. As a boy, I¡¯d read the Bible cover to cover at least one time through on the insistence of my mother. Honestly, a lot of it hadn¡¯t made a lick of sense, but if I¡¯d learned one thing, it was that no one¡ªand I mean no one¡ªwanted to fuck around with a biblically accurate angel.


    Figuring out how to attach the Mimicore Node took a lot longer than I¡¯d like to admit, but eventually I found a way to integrate it with the creature¡¯s broader nervous system. All it required was a little open head surgery and a very strong stomach. Once I was reasonable sure everything worked properly, I added a Basic Camo Kit Relic to power my newest Frankenstein monstrosity.


    The Undead Doorway Sentinel was¡­ Horrifying didn¡¯t seem quite strong enough. Keeping with the whole biblical theme, an Abomination unto the Lord seemed like the only phrase that truly fit.


    But thankfully, my scheme worked like charm, and the creature was able to transform just like a normal mimic would. With a command, its gangly arms and segmented crab legs disappeared, and its malformed head merged seamlessly with wood, until all that remained was a single, freestanding hotel door. Then, to finish off my masterpiece, I slapped one of my available Doorway Anchors to the front, and mumbled a soft prayer that this would work.


    The anchor plate attached without an issue and when I tested the door, I couldn¡¯t help but feel an overwhelming sense of smug satisfaction as it connected to the shop¡¯s main entryway.


    It was¡­ Perfect.


    A thing of true beauty and wonder.


    Now, instead of simply plastering my anchors on random doors, I¡¯d be able to plant Doorway Sentinels. To most casual observers, the Sentinels would look like an ordinary doorway, but they¡¯d also be able to serve as added security against the Aspirants who were busy trying to blockade my entryways. If any Aspirants showed up to fuck with my customers, the doors would simply go into attack mode and start butchering anything that got in their way.


    And, if the Aspirants managed to kill one of the Sentinels. So what? It would simply return to its own storage container, where I could repair it and redeploy it elsewhere. The Sentinels would also be able to relocate at will, moving locations when one spot became compromised. Best of all, the security camera still worked even while the Sentinel was ¡°cloaked,¡± which meant I¡¯d have real time surveillance monitoring of all of my entries and exits. This wouldn¡¯t fix all of my problems, but it was certainly a step in the right direction.


    With my proof of concept complete and functional, I spent the next eight hours painstakingly crafting more of the Sentinels.


    I only had enough material for four more, but that was plenty for now.


    Once the gory work was complete, I spent another hour removing previously established doorway anchors, then plastering them onto my new security team. I planted one Doorway Sentinel in the Lobby, and another on floors one, three, four, and five. I skipped the second floor entirely, because that whole level could suck a bagful of dicks, and decided against planting one on level seven, since that door was already close to Howlers Hold and I planned to relocate it inside a safe harbor before much longer.


    At my current level, I had eleven total Doorway anchors plus my personal VIP anchor, so I still had several regular doors scattered across the floors. Thankfully, I also had enough security cameras to go around. Installing them was a gamble, since it was possible my enemies could destroy the cameras, but that was a risk I was willing to take. Until I could get more Doorway Sentinels up and running, I needed a way to keep an eye out for potential threats and this was the easiest way to do it.


    I also installed five of the remaining eight security cams inside the store as well, just to be on the safe side. I doubted the Aspirants would be able to get inside but in my experience, people could get up to all kinds of trouble even if they weren¡¯t part of a demonic death cult. I placed one up by the checkout counter, another in the pharmacy, one more in the employee breakroom, then two inside the storage-room-turned-Delver-hostile.


    Once I was finally finished, I walked Camo Joe through my new upgrades and gave the golem standing orders to radio me if he spotted any of those twatwaffles from the Skinless Court screwing around with my doors.


    Satisfied with the changes I¡¯d made, the only thing left to do now was take care of my personal stats. I¡¯d leveled up after obliterating the Shart-Stain Golem and I still needed to deal with my outstanding Titles situation. The mysterious VIRUS system that governed the Backrooms allowed me to amass Titles like a prepper hoarding rolls of toilet paper, but I could only have ten active title effects at any given time. Thanks to my new Profane Purifier Title, I now officially had eleven, which meant it was time to cull the herd.


    The store only had a single Progenitor Monolith, located at the front of the store. Sandwiched right between the checkout counter and the concession stand. It was a blocky, slate-gray box which resembled an old-school ATM. The machines were extremely dated but despite their rather humble appearance, they served as the sole access point to the VIRUS Upgrade Interface Portal. Having one in my store was a godsend for newer Delvers who couldn¡¯t finish integrating without access to a Monolith.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    I pressed my hand against the scanner and waited as a faint thrum of arcane power surged through my arm. The sensation was warm, but not altogether unpleasant.


    The customary welcome message flickered across the digital display.


    Welcome to your Personal Upgrade Interface Portal, Dan Woodridge, Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C! As always, the VRD is dedicated to making the best version of you through the multidimensional technological innovations of the VIRUS (Variant Individual Registry Upgrade System, Iteration 21.2). Please use the Monolith Keypad to select an available option from the menu below:


    <ol>


    <li> Subspace Storage System</li>


    <li> Delver Interface Portal</li>


    <li> Research Department Job Board</li>


    <li> Learn About the Variant Research Project!</li>


    <li> Prize Gallery</li>


    </ol>


    I pressed number 2.


    The menu disappeared, quickly replaced by my Specimen Bio-Report.


    Every Delver had their own SBR, which was a comprehensive personal file, containing dozens of different tabs documenting everything from biometric and medical readouts to meta-reality information¡ªwhatever the hell that was¡ªand completed Research Achievements. I didn¡¯t pay much attention to any of that garbage, though.


    Instead, I toggled over to the Overview Screen.


    A floating 3D avatar of myself appeared above the Monolith; beside it was my Specimen Tab, which was basically a fancy-ass character sheet. It listed all of the most pertinent information I needed¡ªname, race, attribute stats, equipped Relics and, of course, Titles. I had five Personal Enhancement Points to spend, and even though I¡¯d been putting most of them into Resonance and Perception, I decided to drop the whole lot directly into Grit, bringing it up from 12 to 17.


    Maybe it was a rash choice, but I was tired of getting kicked in the metaphorical teeth by psychic attacks and after tangling with the Hotel Lodger on the fifth floor, I¡¯d made a pact to do something about it. An increased Grit score would help me do exactly that.


    Dan Woodridge


    Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C


    Variant Assimilation Level: 23


    Race: Human, Archetypal


    Current Experience: 36,250


    Next Level: 41,500


    Personal Enhancement Points: 0


    __ __ __


    Health: 77


    Health-Regen/Hour: 3.35


    __ __ __


    Stamina Reserve: 47


    Stamina-Regen/Minute: 3.75


    __ __ __


    Mana Pool: 122


    Mana-Regen/Minute: 9.75


    Individual Adaptative Stats


    Grit: 17


    Athleticism: 16


    Toughness: 15


    Perception: 24


    Resonance: 55


    Preservation: 8


    Spatial Core - Active


    (U) Runic Resonance Trap ¨C Level 5


    (U) Fault Spike ¨C Level 5


    (R) Unhinged Taxidermist ¨C Level 5


    (R) Mental Micromanagement ¨C Level 2


    (R) Existential Dread ¨C Level 5


    (R) Pressure Washer ¨C Level 5


    (R) Sterilization Field ¨C Level 5


    (F) Neural Slip Stream ¨C Level 5 (Fully Tempered)


    (F) StainSlayer Maelstrom ¨C Level 5 (Fully Tempered)


    (ME) Compass of the Catacomber (Fully Tempered)


    !!! Current Titles ¨C Passive !!!


    Punch-Out!! Champion, Deathwish, Marked for Death, Weapon of Opportunity, Legend in the Making, Overkill Overlord, Barracuda in a Barrel (E), Human Cannonball, Cold-Blooded Murderer (E), Bloodbath, Profane Purifier


    I quickly scrolled to the bottom of the SBR, where my Current Active Titles were displayed. That whole section of the report was an angry red color and strobed like a police siren. A new message appeared immediately below the title section.


    You have earned 11 Titles! You may only have 10 Active Titles Equipped at any given time. Please select a title to remove. You have twenty-four hours to comply. Failure to do so will result in all of your titles being rendered inactive until the issue is resolved. Please note that Barracuda in a Barrel (Evolving Title) cannot be unequipped at this time.


    I scanned through the list and whenever my gaze lingered a little too long, a description would populate.


    Overkill Overlord ¨C Gain a 2x Experience Bonus when dealing more than 10 times the amount of damage necessary to kill any opponent.


    Flicker¡­


    Marked for Death ¨C Deal 15% additional damage to all Aspirants of the Skinless Court!


    Flicker¡­


    Weapon of Opportunity ¨C Deal 5% additional physical damage when using a melee weapon that can also be classified as a tool.


    All of the titles were zany and insane. Some were basically worthless, like Human Cannonball¡ªwhich decreased fall damage, but only when I was bodily used as a projectile weapon¡ªwhile others, like Punch-Out!! Champion, were considerably overpowered. But this wasn¡¯t a hard choice to make. I knew exactly what title I wanted to do away with.


    It stood out like a festering wound.


    Cold-Blooded Murderer (E).


    I¡¯d earned that one by killing my first Delver¡ªa member of the Red Hands, named Natasha Anno. She was an Aspirant and one of the shitheads who¡¯d tried to murder Temperance for the unforgiveable crime of having one of my Twinning Rings. Despite being in the Marine Corps and serving overseas in an active warzone, I¡¯d never actually taken a human life before. I¡¯d been a truck driver, not some hard-charging grunt, kicking in doors and tossing frag grenades.


    Natasha had been my first kill and I still saw her face in my nightmares.


    I couldn¡¯t take back what I¡¯d done, and I wouldn¡¯t even if I could. Natasha had been a bad person, and there was no doubt in my mind that she would¡¯ve killed me if I hadn¡¯t killed her first. Despite the unsettling dreams, I had no regrets. I¡¯d done what I had to do. Period. End of story. Still, I wasn¡¯t proud of killing her either and seeing that title, Cold Blooded Murderer, every single time I opened my SBR felt like having someone stick a knife into an unhealed wound.


    The worst thing was, the title was powerful. Far better than most of the others.


    Cold-Blooded Murderer (E) ¨C Earn 2 x Experience Points for Delver Deaths. Like I said, this shit gets easier and easier every time. This is an (E)volving title.


    Not only did it grant double experience for all Delver kills, it was an evolving title, which likely meant the more Delvers I killed, the better the Experience Point boost would become. Honestly, getting rid of it was probably a stupid idea. I was at war, after all. But it didn¡¯t matter. It was the right choice. I was more than happy to engage in some light bribery with Ajax and, unlike Jakob, I would absolutely kill other Delvers if push came to shove.


    This, though, was a line in the sand for me.


    Natasha Anno hadn¡¯t always been a bad person. Once upon a time, she¡¯d been a hapless newb like me. Just another poor schmuck who¡¯d had the terrible misfortunate to noclip into the Backrooms. Before that, she¡¯d had a life of her own. Probably, a normal life with a nine to five job, a boyfriend or a husband, and a few hobbies she liked to do on the weekends. Maybe she¡¯d enjoyed knitting or playing tennis. Maybe she¡¯d volunteered at her local foodbank.


    I¡¯d never know for sure.


    But she ended up becoming a monster, and if I leaned into the Cold-Blooded Murder Title, I had a feeling my road would lead to the same destination. Make no mistake, I would do what was necessary to survive, but I also needed to be able to look at myself in the mirror at the end of the day. Better to die as a man with some semblance of honor, than to live as a monster with a conscience so dirty not even a bunch of Laundry Brownies could get it clean.


    Removing the Cold-Blooded Murderer Title didn¡¯t permanently get rid of the thing¡ªin theory I could restore it at any point¡ªbut watching it disappear from my Current Titles was rewarding as hell.


    With a self-satisfied grin, I closed out of the Monolith Interface and went to find Croc. It was finally time to pay the Hold another visit and settle up with Ajax. I had a trade empire to build and the sooner I could settle things with the Howlers, the better off I¡¯d be.

 Twenty-One – Grand Reopening

    There were furries everywhere.


    In a past life¡ªone before the madness of the Backrooms¡ªthis would¡¯ve been my worst nightmare. In fact, I was pretty sure I¡¯d actually had a nightmare just like this once or twice in the before-fore times. Instead of being horrified, however¡­ I was elated. One word I never would¡¯ve associated with furries. Not in a million years. Yet here I was, over the moon, as countless Howlers perused my store.


    Every aisle was crowded with fur covered bodies and there was a line, two dozen long, just for the laundry services.


    More were loitering at the makeshift dining area outside the concession stand¡ªfurry head masks sitting on the tables and floors as they binged on nachos, pizza, and hotdogs. More had candy and soda and several appeared to be drunk, though Camo Joe was keeping a close eye on anyone who got too shitfaced. This was a store after all, not a nightclub. There were even a handful who had asked about renting cots in the storage area, though why they would want to stay here instead of the Hold was beyond me.


    Honestly, as long as they paid, I didn¡¯t care what the reason was.


    According to my personal tally, there were a hundred and twenty-three Howlers currently inside the store. Over a third of the entire Hold¡¯s population. I¡¯d left one doorway anchor outside of Funtime Franks and I planted another inside of Ajax¡¯s tavern, the Muzzle and Mast. The line for my grand reopening had wrapped around the repurposed pirate ship twice over. Aside from the Raiders, many of the Howlers hadn¡¯t left the safety of the Hold in years and most of the kids had never put so much as a single toe outside its fortified walls.


    Several of those kids were currently in the candy aisle, while a few more were playing with Princess Ponypuff. The kids seemed to be obsessed with the golem cobbled together from off-brand toys like an unholy Voltron-robot. Even more surprising, Ponypuff didn¡¯t seem to mind. Her general disdain for humanity at large seemed to have an age cap, and anyone who fell below eleven or so avoided her prickly tongue and banshee wails.


    Right hand to God, I even saw her give out lollipops¡­ for free. She never haggled and she never gave out anything for free.


    Croc was also having a grand ol¡¯ time with the children of the Hold, all of whom absolutely adored the mimic. And unlike most of the other Delvers who still gave Croc a rather wide berth, the children were all over the dog. Scratching behind the mimic¡¯s rubbery ears, offering an endless stream of Froyo, or riding the dog like a large pony. I¡¯d never seen Croc so happy. Not even after taking him down the big slide at the Jungle Gym Jamboree. The look on its face was pure joy.


    It was the look of an outcast who¡¯d finally found all the friends they could ever want.


    For my part, I constantly roamed the store, introducing myself and glad-handing my new customers or helping cover the front counter when things got too backed up. It was exhausting given the sheer volume of new shoppers we had, but compared to murdering bloodthirsty Dwellers for fifteen hours straight, it was a cakewalk. Especially since I could grab a few beers while I worked. In most places, drinking on the job was frowned upon, but I owned this shop, so I could do whatever the fuck I wanted.


    Just one of the many perks of being self-employed.


    Even though drinking on the job was one helluva great benefit, the real prize was all of the metaphorical money the Howlers were spending. I¡¯d offered a 20% Grand Re-Opening Discount for all first-time shoppers, and they were taking advantage of all the bargains to be had. Hell, a good chunk of ¡¯em acted as though they¡¯d never be able to shop here again. The toilet paper was already gone as was most of the meat and dairy from the refrigeration units. My stock of Healing, Mana, and Stamina elixirs had run dry within the first twenty minutes.


    Wraith himself had been first in line for those.


    We¡¯d already sold every single Artifact we had on hand, though we¡¯d acquired a ton more in return. It was the same thing with Relics. My inventory was flying off the shelves as though the stock had wings, but we were replacing our supplies even faster. Even though many of these Delvers were lower level, none of ¡¯em were newbs. They¡¯d been around for years¡ªeven decades in some cases¡ªand they¡¯d all acquired a healthy stockpile of loot which they were only too happy to trade.


    I sold beer, whiskey, food, potions, common household appliances and a thousand other odds and ends, and reaped a windfall of powerful items in return. Honestly, it was a shock to my system. I never would¡¯ve traded away even shit-tier Relics or Artifacts for something as common as a loaf of bread or a frozen pizza, but the Howlers weren¡¯t like me. Most had no desire to go deeper. They also weren¡¯t fighting a war against one of the most powerful entities in existence.


    All they wanted was to be comfortable.


    For someone who never ventured outside the walls of the Hold, a nice coffee pot, a panini press, or a box of their favorite cereal was way more valuable than some random-ass Relic, which had sat unused in their personal storage for years.


    Although building a relationship with the Howlers had been a nightmare of epic proportions, I was finally seeing the fruits of my labors. And by God was it a glorious sight to behold. I wasn¡¯t entirely sure how much our total for the day would be, but I fully expected to have enough Relics, Tokens, Shards, and Artifacts to backstroke through, Scrooge-Mcduck-style.


    When I wasn¡¯t assisting customers on the floor, I spent most of my time behind the register helping Ponypuff. Other than a few eccentricities, Ponypuff was generally a great employee, but if there was one area she struggled in, it was customer service. As in, she hated customers and loathed serving others. She also didn¡¯t negotiate. Ever. Under any circumstances. Anyone who attempted to haggle or bargain was met by the ululating wail of a demonic goat, which lasted until the person either caved or slunk away with their tail tucked between the legs.


    Normally, I was fine with that.


    Generally, no one wanted to hold up the line while arguing with a nightmarish horror show, crafted from discarded children¡¯s toys. Having a bunch of angry and impatient people silently judge you at the cash register was one of the most awkward and uncomfortable experiences on the planet, and most people would do anything to avoid a situation like that. Even if it meant paying a little more for something.


    Most of the time that worked out great for my bottom line. But with so many customers running around, I just couldn¡¯t afford to have Ponypuff scream at every single customer for five minutes apiece. Not without eating through potential revenue. I needed to keep the line moving. So instead, she handled the more straightforward trades¡ªanything that involved set pricing¡ªwhile I took care of the more delicate and nuanced cases. The ones that required a softer touch and a bit of finesse.


    That also gave me a front row seat to pick through the best Relics as they came across the counter.


    We received scores of Common-grade Relics like Basic Camo Kits or Sucker Punch, Force Multiplier and Moving Walkway. Things I¡¯d seen a dozen times over or more. None of them did me any good, but they weren¡¯t completely useless and would be great resale items for newer Delvers just starting out. There were also several Common and Uncommon-Grade Relics, which I hadn¡¯t come across until now that were surprisingly awesome.


    Chick-nado resembled a colorfully painted easter egg. It conjured a small whirlwind filled with angry chickens, who dealt both piercing and slashing damage and had a five percent chance of afflicting its victim with Avian Syphilis. I had no desire to learn what Avian Syphilis was, but I was sure it was the stuff of nightmares. An Uncommon Relic, appropriately named Reality Skew, warped the laws of reality in a thirty-foot radius, causing things like gravity, motion, and even time to work unpredictability for the duration of the spell. It was crazy powerful, but too unpredictable to be effective in the field.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Minor Mend magically repaired inanimate, non-Artifact objects while Beard Bond allowed the user to instantly grow a thick and luxurious beard, which could be controlled like an extra limb. Great for grappling opponents or holding an extra can of beer during a drunken rager. Squirrel Agility was an Uncommon Relic that significantly boosted Athleticism and granted the unparalleled dexterity and nimbleness of a squirrel. Unfortunately, it also came with a side of extreme ADHD and a compulsive need to hoard small objects. Nuts, in particular.


    I was pretty sure that given enough time, I could forge some of those with other Relics to help eliminate the egregious side effects.


    There was also a flood of lesser support Relics that were invaluable for navigating through the ever-shifting landscape of the Backrooms. Both The Delver¡¯s Wiki and Pawnshop Appraisal served a similar function as my Researcher¡¯s Codex¡ªthough neither were near as good. Lesser Trap Detection resembled one of those old school metal detectors and allowed the user to locate physical traps. Homing Pigeon was the Relic version of the Twinning String, and allowed whoever used it to tag a single location, then find their way back to that spot no matter the distance.


    There were also a couple of decent Rare-grade Relics that offered some significant combat firepower. AC Spike unleashed a javelin of ice as thick as my wrist and Tesla Field created a passive aura that dealt shock damage to anyone, friend or foe, who got within ten feet while the spell was active. Sharp Dressed Man passively amplified the effects of all Artifacts by 10% while equipped, and Conman¡¯s Charisma fortified Grit and boosted the effectiveness of illusions and mind-based spells for a short time.


    None were better than my current line-up, but I stashed all of those away for later.


    Of course, all of the awesome Relics were counterbalanced by the tsunami of worthless shit-tier garbage that wasn¡¯t fit for anything but the metaphorical burn pit. Night Hearing, Summon Sock, Involuntary Jazz Hands. Irredeemable, one and all.


    Those I also set aside. Fuel to level my other abilities.


    If I wanted to Forge Emblems¡ªwhich was damn-near at the top of my priority list¡ªI was going to need fully-level Relics, which meant I needed a lot of worthless bullshit to sacrifice. It cost five Relics to move up even a single level, but once a Relic hit the first threshold at level five, the number of necessary sacrifices doubled. Ten Relics to move from level 5 to level 6, and ten more for each subsequent level. And once a Relic hit level ten, that number doubled again.


    In total, it cost a jaw-dropping one hundred and seventy sacrifices to move a single Relic from level 1 to level 15. Even though I¡¯d advanced many of my current core Relics past the first threshold, I¡¯d barely even scratched the surface.


    There were two other extremely interesting Rare-grade Relics and one Uncommon Relic that immediately caught my attention.


    The first was just¡­ Badass. I couldn¡¯t really think of a great use for it yet, not with my current build, but it was too cool to let go of.


    Voodoo Doppelbanger looked like one of those weird cornhusk dolls from a horror movie about dark magic down in the Bayou. With it, the caster could summon an imperfect physical replica of themselves. The clone absorbed twenty percent of the damage dealt to the caster for the duration of the spell. Then it turned into a fleshy suicide bomb. The inert clone would charge the nearest enemy, wrap ¡¯em up in a big ol¡¯ bear hug, then explode for the entirety of the absorbed damage.


    It was as twisted as a pretzel, and I loved it for that exact reason. Needless to say, I tucked it away for later because I couldn¡¯t bear to see it sold off to some other shlub.


    The Uncommon-grade Relic, Erratic Levitation, took the form of one of those cheap circular drones you could buy at any toy store. The kind that zipped through the air at Mach-ten speed, then bounced off the walls like a hyper-active toddler before invariably flying directly into the TV or the ceiling fan. The spell effect was almost exactly the same. Essentially, it would allow me to levitate into the air¡ªproblem was, I wouldn¡¯t be able to control how high I went, what direction I went in, or how long I stayed airborne.


    In reality, it would¡¯ve been a completely useless Relic, but it had extremely strong synergy with Mental Micromanagement. When I ran a Codex Analytics Report, I found the most likely outcome was a Rare-grade Relic called Mystic Suspension. It acted as a stable form of the base Levitation spell. The biggest issue was it would only work on me, meaning I¡¯d no longer be able to telekinetically control my tools.


    The juice wasn¡¯t worth the squeeze, but I saw potential.


    The final Rare-grade Relic, Quicksand Terraform, was a powerful AoE ability that instantly transformed a ten-by-ten patch of floor or ground into a pit of bog-like quicksand. It was great on its own, but that¡¯s not why I liked it so much. Nope. Just like with Erratic Levitation, I grabbed it because it synergized with Pressure Washer, my best ranged spell.


    After a little tinkering, I discovered I could forge Pressure Washer, Quicksand Terraform, Burn Baby Burn, and a practically useless Common-Grade Relic called Arsonist Accelerant into something new and truly terrifying.


    Hydro Fracking Blast


    Fabled Relic ¨C Level 2


    Range: Single Target


    Cost: 12 Mana/Sec


    Sometimes, the solution isn''t subtlety, but a high-velocity water jet of pure destruction. Even better if that water also happens to be on fire. And that¡¯s where Hydro Fracking Blast comes in, brought to you by the good folks at the Variant Research Division!


    That¡¯s right, friends. Unleash a beam of water, skinny as a noodle but mighty enough to punch through a fucking mountain. Oh, and thanks to a little gasoline and some completely safe and totally natural dissolved gaseous methane, this water¡¯s also on fire. It¡¯s the best of all worlds! Water and flame in a perfect ying-yang of death and destruction. What more could you possibly ask for?


    Moving at 100,000 PSI, Hydro Fracking doesn''t just erode, it annihilates. The target receives one stack of Scorching Erosion, suffering 25 points of Piercing Damage and an additional 20 points of Fire Damage per second as the fiery water eats into anything in its path.


    Each additional second under the stream adds more fuel to the fire. In this case, literally.


    For every three consecutive seconds spent in the water stream, an additional stack of Scorching Erosion is added, dealing an additional 25 points of Piercing Damage. When an enemy receives five stacks of Scorching Erosion, all damage dealt triples for each subsequent stack thereafter.


    As the VRD is wont to say, go Frack yourself!


    Right hand to the Good Lord, it was a thing of true beauty.


    Aside from the distressing political commentary on the nature of sustainable fracking, this was basically the best parts of both Pressure Washer and Burn Baby Burn, combined into one magnificent spell. It kept all the piercing damage from the Pressure Washer, but now I could also simultaneously set things on fire without accidentally setting myself ablaze in the process. Even better, this new Relic was Fabled-grade, but not Fully-Tempered, which meant there was the possibility I could still improve it in the future.


    The description was right, it really was the best of both worlds.


    I forged all four Relics without a second of hesitation, then sacrificed a few of the trash-tier Relics to bring it up to level 5. Based on past experience, I fully expected to unlock some version of Split Cast, which would allow me to split the attack into two streams, capable of targeting two enemies simultaneously.


    I was wrong.


    Instead, it added an additional effect I¡¯d never seen before. One even more terrifying than the base spell.


    When an enemy receives five stacks of Scorching Erosion, all damage dealt triples for each subsequent stack thereafter and a new Affliction is added, Water Table Contamination. Once afflicted by Water Table Contamination, any liquid within the victim¡¯s body will spontaneously ignite, burning them alive from the inside out.


    I felt a little sick as I read over the new addition. Although I had no doubt it would be extremely effective, it was also legitimately horrifying. I couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine how painful it would be to have all the liquid inside your body spontaneously burst into flames.


    Did that mean their blood would be on fire?


    The fluid inside their eyeballs? Or their brains?


    I couldn¡¯t even fathom it, but one thing was for sure: Having your blood set on fire would be one helluva deterrent.


    Although I had no desire to kill anyone, if someone backed me into a corner, I¡¯d do what I needed to, and this new Relic would certainly help get the job done. When faced with the threat of existential annihilation, only a fool overlooked a tool as powerful and destructive as this one. I was a lot of things, but a fool wasn¡¯t one of ¡¯em. I wouldn¡¯t feel good about it, but I¡¯d burn my enemies to the ground and dance in their ashes if it meant living to see another day.

 Twenty-Two – Backrooms Bullshit

    Even though my Grand Reopening was going as smoothly as could reasonably be expected, it wasn¡¯t all sunshine and rainbows. This was the Backrooms after all, and in the Backrooms, there was always bullshit of one sort or another to deal with.


    This particular bullshit had a name.


    Jackson.


    Tribune of the Hold, cult leader, minor local celebrity, and the same brohole who¡¯d assaulted Temperance and had purposely torpedoed our initial attempt to form a trade alliance with the Howlers. Although I¡¯d never had the displeasure of meeting him in person, Temperance, Wraith, and Ajax had told me plenty about the guy, so it wasn¡¯t hard to figure out who he was the second he walked up, hellbent on making my life more difficult.


    Without question, the guy was a douchebag of the highest magnitude, but I had to give it to him. He had a pair of brass balls to show his face around here, especially after everything he¡¯d done. That or he had zero social awareness and a sense of entitlement the size of Mount Everest.


    Either way, it was perfectly in character for a guy who couldn¡¯t take no for an answer.


    Jackson was level twenty-five and unlike his brother, Wraith, he was still fully human.


    The guy was tall and broad-shouldered with blue eyes, blond hair, and a jawline chiseled enough to carve marble. Unlike most of the Howlers, decked out in full-on fur suits, the leader of the Roomkeepers wore gleaming silver plate mail and actual wolf hides like some kind of Viking cosplayer at Ren-fest. A great sword protruded above one shoulder and a flanged mace sat at his hip. The guy might¡¯ve been a jackass, but the way he moved¡ªthe way he casually wore those weapons¡ªtold me he was dangerous.


    This was a man well-accustomed to violence and one who wouldn¡¯t hesitate to gut me if he had the chance.


    Despite the vague air of menace, however, Jackson looked more or less like the stereotypical hero of every fantasy novel ever. There were those who would no doubt call him handsome, and he wore charisma like a cloak. It wasn¡¯t hard to see why Temperance had been taken in by him, once upon a time. Me, though? I could see right through his self-righteous veneer. His eyes were cruel, and he didn¡¯t even attempt to hide the disdain he clearly felt for every person who wasn¡¯t part of his ¡°flock.¡±


    Nope, this guy wasn¡¯t a hero. He was the popular jock in every teen movie. The arrogant young master, just begging to get curb stomped for his general douche-baggery.


    Naturally, a gaggle of bootlicking sycophants trailed behind him.


    Jackson and the rest of his poser-paladin squad cornered me in the breakroom of all places while I was taking a short lunch. I wasn¡¯t surprised. By all accounts, Jackson was a petty, self-serving narcissist who no doubt intended to either harass me, intimidate me, or both. One thing was certain, though: he wouldn¡¯t want anyone else to see what he was up to. Despite the clearly posted ¡°Employees Only¡± sign on the door, Jackson and his cronies crowded into the room and formed a loose ring around me, blocking off the entryway.


    If things really went sideways, I could always backpaddle into my private hotel room or into the newly added security office, but I was pretty sure it wouldn¡¯t come to that. In my experience, guys like Jackson were mostly bluster and noise. All bark, very little bite. Unless they were one-hundred percent sure they could win the fight, anyway.


    Which is probably why he hadn¡¯t come alone.


    Fair fights were for suckers and there was strength in numbers.


    His posse consisted of five other Roomkeepers, though none were above level eighteen. At level twenty-five, Jackson was the biggest threat by a country mile, and I was sure that was by design. Assholes like Jackson could never abide anyone being better than them. They always needed to be the biggest fish in the pond, even if it meant starving the smaller fish in the process.


    Truthfully, Jackson was probably the reason Temperance was at such a relatively low level. She¡¯d been with us for less than a month and had already leveled up three times. I¡¯d never met a harder worker and Temp was as fearless as she was insane. With her bloodlust and general zeal for murdering anything that walked, she should¡¯ve been leagues ahead of the witless loser in front of me. So why wasn¡¯t she?


    Because Jackson ego wouldn''t allow it, plain and simple.


    Chances were, he¡¯d probably assigned Temp to a bunch of shit-tier raiding details where there was a snowball¡¯s chance in hell that she¡¯d actually level up. Starve the competition. Keep ¡¯em in their place. It was one of the oldest tricks in the playbook.


    ¡°You¡¯re not supposed to be in here,¡± I said, pushing away my half-eaten hotdog and standing from the plastic table. ¡°Not sure if you can read,¡± I said, unable to keep my tongue in check, ¡°but the sign on the door says Employees Only. Unless I¡¯m missing something and Ponypuff hired you to clean the toilets, none of you work here.¡±


    Jackson¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°Of course we can read and we would never debase ourselves by working in a dump like this.¡±


    My blood was already starting to simmer, but I kept a lid on my anger for now. Dollars to donuts, he was trying to provoke me, so that I¡¯d attack him first. Then he could beat the shit out of me and claim it was self-defense.


    Not that I thought he could actually beat the shit out of me.


    Between StainSlayer Maelstrom and my new Hydro Fracking Blast spell, I was basically a walking war crime waiting to happen. Still, I wasn¡¯t going to give him the satisfaction.


    ¡°Cool, well I¡¯ll give you the benefit of the doubt and just assume you missed the sign then,¡± I said. ¡°But this is an Employees Only area so if you could kindly leave, that¡¯d be great.¡± I made a little shooing gesture with my ketchup splattered hand.


    ¡°I assume you¡¯re Dan, the owner of this establishment?¡± Jackson asked, ignoring my completely reasonable request. He eyeballed me with open disgust like a piece of chewing gum he¡¯d accidentally stepped on.


    The feeling was mutual.


    ¡°Unless there¡¯s someone else running around in a knock off Versace bathrobe and a toolbelt, that¡¯s a safe bet,¡± I replied, already exhausted by this guy. There was a reason I worked in construction and not retail. People like this were the reason. I actively suppressed the urge to dropkick him into an active volcano and offered him a tight-lipped smile instead. ¡°What can I help you with?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to lodge a formal complaint,¡± the man said in a huff.


    ¡°Of course you want to lodge a formal complaint,¡± I muttered under my breath, rolling my eyes so hard I was afraid they might fly out of their sockets.


    ¡°I was told you would have elixirs available for sale,¡± he said matter-of-factly, missing both my eye roll and obvious sarcasm, ¡°but when I checked at the pharmacy, there weren¡¯t any left. My Knights and I are responsible for the safety and protection of the Hold, so I find that unsatisfactory. Your pharmacist¡ª¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°¡ªYou mean Jakob, the guy you¡¯ve met a bunch of times before?¡± I interjected.


    ¡°Your pharmacist,¡± he said again, refusing to speak Jakob¡¯s name, ¡°said you were out, but I know you must keep extra stock in the back. There is always extra stock in the back.¡± He gestured toward the closed security room door as though that¡¯s where I was hiding all the really good stuff. ¡°I understand that you can¡¯t just give out your reserves to the general population, but you should make an exception for us. We provide an invaluable service to the community and we¡¯re good friends to know.¡±


    ¡°Sorry for the inconvenience,¡± I said with a shrug, not sounding the least bit sorry, ¡°but I don¡¯t know what to tell you, pal. Our inventory isn¡¯t an endless bag of holding. This isn¡¯t a Walmart Superstore. Some items are limited, and it takes time to restock. What we¡¯ve got out on the shelves is what we have available. And everything we have is first come, first serve. If you wanted to get elixirs maybe you should¡¯ve showed up early, just like everyone else.¡±


    The sneer on his face turned into an open scowl.


    ¡°Surely you¡¯re joking,¡± he replied sourly. ¡°Perhaps I¡¯m not making myself clear. We are important and our time is precious. My men and I don¡¯t have time to wait around in line.¡±


    I scratched my chin, unimpressed. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure your brother, who is also a Tribune and the de facto leader of the fur-brigade, managed to get a bunch of potions, and he didn¡¯t need preferential treatment,¡± I said after a long moment. ¡°But maybe I¡¯m missing something. Maybe his time is less valuable than yours. Either way, there¡¯s nothing I can do for you. Our stock is out. Try back in a few days.¡±


    His brow furrowed as he scowled at me.


    ¡°In that case, I would like an additional discount on all your wares and services for me and my men,¡± he said. ¡°For the inconvenience. And I would also like to request that you set aside some portion of your elixirs for us in the future.¡±


    I tried to suppress a laugh in his face but couldn¡¯t help myself any longer.


    This guy had to be joking. Had to be.


    Jackson didn¡¯t seem to think what he¡¯d said was particularly funny because the scowl had morphed into a full-on glower. If looks could kill, I¡¯d be dead where I stood.


    I tossed my hands up. ¡°Alright, I can¡¯t anymore with this. You really want me¡ªthe guy you actively tried to fuck over¡ªto give you and your cronies preferential treatment?¡± I shook my head, unable to believe what I was hearing. ¡°Temperance told me a lot about you, but she neglected to mention that you also moonlight as a circus clown.¡±


    I crossed my arms and glared at him, not even attempting to mask the contempt I felt.


    ¡°Just so there¡¯s no confusion,¡± I continued, ¡°let me make it abundantly clear: I¡¯m not giving you a discount and I¡¯m setting aside jack shit for you. In fact, everything in the store is now ten percent more expensive for you and all your gaggle of chucklefucks here.¡± I waved a hand at his followers. ¡°If you¡¯ve got a problem with that, then maybe you should just save yourself the trouble and not come back.¡±


    ¡°You might think you¡¯re untouchable because you¡¯re Wraith¡¯s newest favorite pet,¡± Jackson said coldly, ¡°but I promise you, I am one enemy you don¡¯t want to make.¡±


    I snorted and chuckled again, which really pissed him off.


    ¡°You think I¡¯m scared of you, dipshit?¡± I asked after a beat. ¡°I¡¯m at war with the Flayed Monarch. Compared to him, you¡¯re a gnat. The Black Harbor Syndicate is offering a king¡¯s ransom for my head on a platter, and you think I¡¯m scared of a Ren-fair cosplayer with delusions of grandeur? News flash, pal, in the Hold you might be hot shit, but here you¡¯re less than a brand-new delver, fresh in from the Lobby.


    ¡°The only reason I didn¡¯t put you and your buddies on the Restricted Access List was because Temperance asked me not to. For some reason, she still seems to think there might be something redeemable about this stupid cult of yours. Me? I couldn¡¯t disagree more. But either way, you¡¯ve officially worn out all the grace I was willing to extend. Now kindly get the fuck out of my face and out of my store, before I make you.¡±


    Something dark and nasty rippled just beneath the man¡¯s face.


    ¡°No one talks to me like that,¡± he growled, and I could tell he¡¯d finally hit his breaking point. This guy was used to getting what he wanted, and just like with Temperance, he wasn¡¯t going to take no for an answer.


    ¡°Last chance,¡± I said, not even bothering to reach for the hammer at my side. ¡°Turn around and walk away before you make the worst mistake of your life. Might even end up being the last mistake you ever make.¡±


    In reply, Jackson snapped his fingers, and everything seemed to happen all at once.


    Two men charged me, though neither had drawn their weapons, which was lucky for them. Probably the only thing that saved their lives


    Camo Joe materialized from the shadows and descended on one of the attackers like an avenging angel. The golem lashed out with an aluminum baseball bat, knocking one of the thugs unconscious before spinning in a wide arc and zapping the other with his inbuilt Artifact taser. I caught the angry crackle of electricity and then the second assailant slumped to the floor, all the fight gone out of him.


    Jackson advanced on me in the same instant, one hand going for my wrist to prevent me from drawing a weapon. I smirked and didn¡¯t even try to stop him. I didn¡¯t need to. The second he made contact, there was a brilliant flash of white light and the whole store rumbled in protest. The light was so bright it left purple afterimages swimming across my eyes for a moment. When I finally blinked away the violet streak, I found Jackson standing in front of me, still as a statue.


    His eyes moved frantically, so I knew he was still fully aware of everything that was happening, but the rest of his body was completely unresponsive and would be for an entire minute. That was the effect of Stasis Halo, one of the store¡¯s primary security protocols.


    As the owner of this little slice of paradise, this entire store was built to protect me at all costs while I was within the confines of its walls. Anyone who was stupid enough to launch an attack against me would be instantly trapped within a temporary statis field. This was my first time seeing the ability in action, and it was exactly as satisfying as I¡¯d imagined.


    I slipped closer until I was inches away from Jackson¡¯s froze face.


    ¡°I warned you not to do this, dickweed. I tried to be the bigger man, to play nice, even though I think the world would be better off if you just voluntarily jumped into a woodchipper. But you couldn¡¯t leave well enough alone. You just had to fuck around and now you¡¯re gonna find out.¡±


    Although I had no intention of executing him in cold blood, I did plan to make an example out of him. Especially since Statis Halo wasn¡¯t the only store ability I had at my disposal.


    I pulled my hand back above my shoulder, then let loose with all the strength I could muster, slapping him across the face with the force of a bomb blast. As my palm landed against his cheek, I activated Ban Hammer.


    Ban Hammer was my most complicated in-store ability and served as an advance moderation tool. As my slap landed with the sound of a thunder crack, Jackson just¡­ blinked out of existence. Here one moment, gone the next. Such was the power of the Ban Hammer; it had the ability to banish rule breakers from the store at will. To instantly teleport them to a random location on a random floor, so long as it was my currently connected to my shop, via a Doorway Anchor.


    In effect, it was a giant ¡°get fucked¡± ejection button. As with Statis Halo, this was my first time seeing it in action and it was exactly as awesome as I¡¯d hoped for.


    There was no telling where exactly he¡¯d end up, but as long as it wasn¡¯t here, I didn¡¯t care. I had no doubt Jackson would survive the ordeal, no one made it to level 25 without some serious survival skills and at least one rudimentary Navigation Relic. Still, depending on where he landed, it could take him weeks or even months to make it back to the Hold. That would give him plenty of time to reflect on all the poor life choices he¡¯d made.


    The rest of his thugs backed away slowly, terror etched into the lines of their faces.


    They had no idea what I¡¯d just done, but from their perspective it would¡¯ve looked like I¡¯d just bitch slapped Jackson out of existence itself. I knew there were a lot of rumors swirling about me¡ªabout who I was and what I could do¡ªand although most of them were wild exaggerations, there was often a nugget of truth at the heart of every lie. So far as they were concerned, I¡¯d just dispatched a level 25 without drawing a weapon or breaking a sweat.


    These guys may have been loyal, but in the Backrooms the ultimate loyalty was to survival.


    ¡°Your boss is strong. He¡¯ll be fine in a couple of weeks,¡± I growled at the remaining Roomkeepers, ¡°but I can¡¯t say the same for the rest of you. So unless you want to get personally acquainted with the Hotel Lodgers on the Fifth Floor, take your buddies and get out. Now.¡±


    That finally did the trick.


    It was like a dam broke as the remaining Roomkeepers scooped up their unconscious and injured members, then beelined for the exit like the Devil himself was at their heels. Maybe he was. I¡¯d have to tell Wraith about what had happened, but thankfully I had the whole incident recorded on the security tapes. This might still cause trouble down the road, but no one could say I hadn¡¯t done my best to try and find a peaceful solution.


    All in all, it was a great first day. The Howlers were happy with the store. I racked in a metric ass load of new items. I finally got a chance to see both Stasis Halo and Ban Hammer in action and, as an added bonus, I got a little well-deserved retribution on Jackson. Banishing him to a month or so of random wandering would never make up for what he¡¯d done to Temp, but it was a nice start. Very cathartic.


    It was basically a perfect day.


    At least until the Aspirants showed up on my doorstep¡­

 Twenty-Three – Party Crashers

    Six Aspirants to be exact.


    All congregating around one of my third-floor doorway anchors. The one closest to my fancy new kiosk.


    There was no doubt about who we were dealing with, since I could see them clearly on the CCTV screens in the security office. The whole lot of ¡¯em looked like extras from a Mad Max flick¡ªcrude body armor, tacky mohawks, and spike-studded leather. All of them were also missing wide swatches of skin along their hands and forearms. That marked them out as both Aspirants and members of the Red Hands. There were several gangs that called the top ten floors home, but Hudson¡¯s Red Hands were one of the most powerful and numerous.


    They also happened to be the same chucklefucks who¡¯d nearly killed Temperance, not so long ago. Although, I had a deep-seated hatred for anyone who swore allegiance to the Flayed Monarch, I had an extra special dislike for those twatwaffles.


    This particular group also had spectacularly bad timing.


    The store was still filled with paying customers and my crew could barely keep up with the demand. Taylor and Stephanie, my two human employees, were running back and forth between the front check out and the concession stand, Princess Ponypuff had a line that stretched all the way down aisle five, and Baby Hands was busy mopping up a carpet, bless his stupid heart. Thanks to the Blanket Fort¡¯s ¡°Admittance Credentialing System¡±¡ªaka the Shithead Spam Filter¡ªthey couldn¡¯t actually get inside, so under normal circumstances I¡¯d probably just leave them alone for now and deal with them once things slowed down.


    That, or I¡¯d take my fancy new Doorway Sentinel out for a test drive. These mooks had the supreme misfortune to pick a door I¡¯d replaced with one of my new Horrors and I was eager to see how it would hold up in combat. There was one minor hiccup, though.


    The Aspirants weren¡¯t alone. Because of course they weren¡¯t.


    They¡¯d cornered a young woman who had the looks of a new Delver about her. I mean, I couldn¡¯t tell for sure because I couldn¡¯t see Delver tags through the CCTV footage, but it was a safe bet. She looked maybe twenty-five, was short and slender with long hair, braided and thrown over one shoulder. She wore an ankle-length dress that looked like a stage prop for a Shakespearean play, and unlike her would-be assailants, she didn¡¯t have on armor and wasn¡¯t carrying any kind of visible weapon.


    Although I wanted to unleash my Doorway Sentinel and simply watch the carnage and mayhem unfold from a safe distance with popcorn in hand, I couldn¡¯t risk it. The Sentinels were tough, but tough enough to take out six Aspirants? Yeah, that was a stretch. Plus, there was every chance that the girl would get caught in the crossfire and end up in a body bag. I wouldn¡¯t be able to live with myself knowing I¡¯d let an innocent bystander die because I¡¯d been too lazy to drag my ass to the third floor and take care of business.


    So, much as I didn¡¯t want to, I rounded up Croc and Temperance and we quickly made our way to the elevator.


    I decided not to grab Jakob, even though leaving him behind was a risk.


    He was busy in the pharmacy cooking up some new brews, and though he would¡¯ve come if I asked, I didn¡¯t want to force him into a compromising situation. The Cendral was more than happy to slaughter Dwellers by the truckload, but he wouldn¡¯t kill other Delvers. Not even ones who clearly had it coming. He¡¯d hurt ¡¯em. Incapacitate ¡¯em. Even maim ¡¯em if there was no other option. But killing other people¡ªeven asshats like the Aspirants¡ªwas his line in the sand.


    He was like Batman that way.


    If Batman were a thoughtful German biochemist, who liked to read poetry, and had access to a bazooka that fired sofas. So not really like Batman at all, I guess.


    Still, I wasn¡¯t too worried.


    True, six against three weren¡¯t great odds, but that was before considering all the extra help we¡¯d have. Drumbo and Synthia 2.0 were good to go and since I¡¯d upgraded Unhinged Taxidermist, both were now effectively at level 16. The Doorway Sentinel was just as powerful, which gave us even odds. Plus, Croc, Temperance, and I were all a helluva lot stronger since the last time we¡¯d gone toe-to-toe with the Red Hands, and I had some extremely nasty new Relics in my arsenal.


    Besides, if things did go sideways, which was unlikely, we could always retreat into the store, regroup and grab some reinforcements, then take another stab at it. I¡¯m sure a few of the Howlers would be willing to lend a hand if we really needed the help. Most of them didn¡¯t like the Aspirants any more than I did.


    I laid out the quick and dirty gameplan and summoned my Horrors while the service elevator trundled toward the third floor. Temp and I would take out the Red Hands, while Croc¡¯s job was to protect the new Delver and get her to safety. Once she was out of harm¡¯s way, the mimic would circle back around to help us mop up whatever remained of the Aspirants¡ªthough I doubted there would be much left at that point.


    It was a simple plan. Straightforward.


    Hit fast and with overwhelming force. Use the element of surprise to take ¡¯em down before they even knew how well and truly fucked they were.


    The elevator finally came to a rumbling stop and as the doors slid open, Drumbo and Synthia charged out into the familiar courtyard where we¡¯d previously battled the Kiosk crab and its murderous offspring. Temp and I were right on their heels, with Croc not far behind.


    There was no talking. No attempts to reason with these assholes. I was officially done trying to convince people to make good life choices. They¡¯d made their bed and now it was time to lie in it.


    Now was the time for extreme and total violence.


    I planted my feet the second I was clear from the doorway and thrust one hand forward, then activated Hydro Fracking Blast. Mana surged through my body and all the frustration and anger that had been building up inside me for the past few days came roaring out as a narrow beam of water, wreathed in a halo of flickering blue flame. I¡¯d targeted a level thirteen Delver with a large mohawk and a machete in one hand. The man was wearing what appeared to be Motocross body armor, spray painted and covered with metal studs.


    The armor didn¡¯t save him.


    My attack hit him square in the back, right between the shoulder blades, and drilled straight through his torso, then exploded out the other side. I cut the beam short, momentarily shocked by the sheer brutality of the Relic. Although the beam had only been the size of my pinky, it left behind a hole as large as my fist. I could literally see through him, though bits of stringy meat dangled down, partially obstructing my view.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Hol-ee shit. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d been expecting, but it wasn¡¯t that.


    Despite the devastating injury, my attack hadn¡¯t killed the Aspirant outright. Though his health was pitifully low, he was somehow still alive, though he wouldn¡¯t be for long. The man began to scream¡ªa tortured, high-pitch keening sound¡ªas roiling blue-white fire poured out of the jagged wound in his back and raced over the rest of his body. He dropped to his knees, weakly swatting at the flames in a fruitless attempt to put them out.


    That lasted for all of five seconds, then he let out a final gargled choke and pitched over to one side, his corpse blazing like yule tide log.


    I glanced down at my palm and stared at it for a moment in horrified wonder. I¡¯d only hit the poor bastard for a second. Maybe two, tops. If that was what happened with a single stack of Scorching Erosion, I couldn¡¯t even imagine what five stacks of Scorching Erosion would do to a person.


    Probably turn them into a puddle of steaming goo, if I had to guess.


    Off to my left, there was another roar of pain as Drumbo sideswiped a petite female Aspirant like a Mac-truck then drove his new angle grinder hand attachment directly into her face. As a contractor, I¡¯d spent hours cutting tile, sanding wood, and sharpening tools so I knew exactly how dangerous angle grinders could be. They were versatile and powerful, but I¡¯d seen the aftermath of a shattered disk and the damage they left behind could be ugly.


    This, though, was devastation on another level.


    Skin and bone just vanished beneath the roaring circular blade and a fine mist of pink and red materialized above Drumbo while chunks of meat splattered the ground. The woman screamed, but it quickly turned into a wet gurgle as the Horror effortlessly knocked her to the floor and shoved the grinder into what remained of her mouth. I had to physically suppress the urge to vomit right then and there. I¡¯d seen a lot of gruesome shit since noclipping, but that¡­


    That was next level.


    The sound of crunching teeth would haunt me until the day I died.


    On my right, Temperance had hurled her trusty ball of spider right into the face of a non-human Aspirant with delicate features and a pair of gossamer dragon fly wings jutting from their back. A prompt flickered to life above the strange Delver¡¯s head.


    Delver #05T - 01 - B07PMLKR4Y ¨C Iride, Transmog [Level 17]


    Meet the Irides, the prettiest little porcelain figurines in the Backrooms.


    With their fine elf-like features and dazzling dragonfly wings, these magical powerhouses look like they belong in a fairytale. Not the nice kind, though. The twisted, fucked-up kind from Germany where the monsters win, and the hero gets chopped up into little pieces and eaten by birds. The Irides consider themselves ethereal beings of pure magic.


    Honestly? They¡¯re not wrong.


    These glitter-skinned dickwads can blast out magic like a goddamned confetti cannon. But what they make up for in mana capacity, they lack in pretty much every other arena. They have the upper body strength of a seven-year-old and are complete glass cannons. Literally, since their bones are made from hallow tubes of crystal. It makes them light enough to fly, but the downside is that they¡¯re about as durable as a soggy paper bag.


    Have you ever seen glass bones punch through paper-thin skin? It ain''t pretty, I can tell you that much, though they do bleed iridescent, which is kinda cool.


    I dismissed the Codex entry with a wave of one hand and it disappeared just in time for me to watch Temperance run across the air itself and lunge at the winged spellcaster. The Iride Transmog was so busy trying to dispatch the horde of angry, scuttling spiders that they didn¡¯t see Temp coming until it was too late. Temperance lodged her cleaver into the meat between Delver¡¯s neck and shoulder. The blade sunk all the way to the collar bone accompanied by a splash of shimmering iridescent blood.


    The Codex entry was right. It was kinda beautiful.


    Like watching a rainbow bleed.


    Temperance yanked her blade free and drove it home again, this time directly into the Delver¡¯s skull. The Transmog¡¯s HP hit zero and her legs folded. I pulled my gaze away from the grisly scene, scanning the field for another Aspirant to unleash my new war crime on. I found one off to the left. A stocky, spark-plug of a man wearing what looked like a latex gimp suit with chrome chains draped across his shoulders and chest.


    The bondage freak was currently squaring off against Synthia and the two seemed evenly matched.


    He fought with a long meat hook attached to the end of a chain like some kind of cenobite reject straight out of a Hellraiser flick. He twirled the chain with expert precision, lashing out and tearing away chunks of meat with the hook end. Synthia did her best to fend off the blows with her crab arm, but it was a losing battle. He was just too damned fast. And every time she landed a hit with her chainsaw, a rancid aura the color of an old scab would envelop his body like a second skin.


    The magic, whatever it was, completely negated her attack damage. In fact, every time she hit him, his total Health Pool increased.


    With a thought my demolition screwdriver shot toward the Aspirant like a javelin fired from the business end of a fucking Howitzer.


    My screwdriver was inches away from punching through the guy¡¯s throat when suddenly it hit¡­ something else. A force field was my best guess, though it was totally invisible to the naked eye. A bright lance of pain slammed into my skull and a sensation that I could only describe as psychic feedback ripped its way through my body, searing every nerve ending at once and chewing through a fifth of my HP in the process.


    I¡¯d never experienced anything even remotely like it. It almost felt as though some greater psychic force had neatly sliced through my telepathic link to the screwdriver. I dropped to one knee and reflexively clutched at my head as the world reeled drunkenly around me. Blood streamed from both nostrils and my stomach lurched, an army of butterflies dog fighting inside my belly. It was all I could do to keep my lunch down.


    After a handful of seconds, the sensation began to fade, and I blinked away the dizziness. When I focused on the Aspirant in the gimp suit, I abruptly discovered that he wasn¡¯t where he¡¯d been just a moment before. Instead, he hung in the air, surrounded in an otherworldly halo of purple light. And not just him, I realized with a start. All of the remaining Aspirants floated six or seven feet above the courtyard floor, their arms and legs stretched out so they looked like giant human X¡¯s.


    ¡°Dan, help!¡± came the cry of an all too familiar voice. ¡°I can¡¯t move, Dan. Something¡¯s holding me in place.¡±


    I clumsily gained my feet and spun in a slow, unsteady circle. The breath caught in my throat when I saw Croc hovering in the air along with the Aspirants. The mimic wasn¡¯t stretched out like the others, but the dog-turned-grizzly was surrounded by the same unsettling glow.


    My mind raced as I considered my options. None of them were good.


    The best I could do was trigger Neural Slip Stream, then hopefully get close enough to activate Sterilization Field and neutralize the¡ª


    Before I could even finish the thought, the Aspirants started to scream, the chorus of shrieks accompanied by a terrible, wet ripping noise. I watched in shocked dismay as the Aspirants¡¯ arms and legs were crudely torn away. The limbs dropped to the floor, leaving the wailing torsos alive and hanging in the air. Wire-fine purple lines, which formed a grid of one-inch squares appeared on each Aspirant, as if cast by a projector. There was one final cry of agony and then the screams abruptly stopped, as though cut short with the edge of a knife.


    What was left of the Aspirants simply fell apart.


    One-inch cubes of skin and meat, hair and bone, tumbled to the floor forming three gory piles.


    Croc was mercifully alive, though the grizzly dog still hung in the air, supported by the light. For the first time, I noticed that same violet glow surrounded the woman we¡¯d come to rescue. The Delver with the long braid and the odd, Shakespearean dress. The one who looked like she¡¯d stepped off the dusty streets of a county Ren-Fair.


    A tag flashed above her head.


    Delver #03V - 04 ¨C B0D3FMDBS2 ¨C Human, Variant [Level ???]


    Well shit. The fact that I couldn¡¯t even tell what level this lady was, probably wasn¡¯t a great sign. Chances were, this was a trap, and we¡¯d walked right into it.

 Twenty-Four – Sharks and Minnows

    ¡°If you hurt my dog,¡± I growled, blood still dripping from my nose, ¡°I swear to the good Lord above, it¡¯ll be the last thing you ever do.¡±


    The woman responded with a tight-lipped smile, her expression as sharp as a razor.


    ¡°Why would I ever want to harm your poor, sweet, precious pet?¡± she asked, raising a single eyebrow. ¡°I know how much the beast means to you. I was merely trying to ensure it came to no harm during this... unfortunate altercation.¡± She gestured with a slender hand toward the carnage around us. The courtyard was now a butcher¡¯s block, soaked in blood. ¡°But since the danger has passed,¡± she added almost playfully, ¡°there¡¯s no need for such precautions anymore.¡±


    Her words were pure bullshit, and we both knew it.


    Croc didn¡¯t need protecting¡ªnot from the Aspirants, anyway. She¡¯d done this to prove a point. To show that she could do to us what she¡¯d done to the Red Hands if she felt like it.


    With a casual wave, she released her hold on Croc. The mimic, suspended in the air, drifted to the ground, its bear-like hind feet touching down softly before the violet glow around it winked out. The same energy enveloping the woman vanished as well, leaving her looking pale, almost fragile. But after her little display, I knew she was more dangerous than any of the Aspirants we¡¯d come to save her from. I wasn¡¯t sure what kind of Relics she had, but clearly this woman wasn¡¯t just dangerous¡ªshe was apocalyptic.


    A biblical plague wrapped in silk.


    ¡°Croc,¡± I barked, never taking my eyes off the woman, ¡°get back to the door. If I tell you to run, you run. Got it?¡±


    ¡°But, Dan¡ª¡± Croc started.


    ¡°Just do it, okay?¡± I snapped, pulling my hammer free from my belt while simultaneously preparing to hit the woman with a concentrated geyser of Hydro Blast. She might¡¯ve been tough, but I doubted she could shrug off 100,000 psi of scalding water.


    She raised her hands in mock surrender. ¡°There¡¯s no need for that,¡± she said calmly. ¡°I have no intention of harming you or your friends. Quite the opposite, actually. Hard as it may be to believe, I harbor no ill will toward you. I come in peace.¡±


    Peace? Yeah right. I¡¯d just watched her turn three Aspirants into meat cubes without so much as lifting a finger.


    Still, I held my ground. Running would only make things worse. This lady was a predator, pure and simple, and you never turned your back on a predator. Never. They could smell fear, taste weakness, and if I projected anything other than complete go-fuck-yourself-confidence there was every chance that she¡¯d attack, despite her promise to the contrary.


    ¡°This doesn¡¯t look especially peaceful to me,¡± I said, gesturing to the corpses scattered around the courtyard.


    She tilted her head and smiled, though there was nothing even remotely friendly in the gesture. ¡°Perhaps I should clarify¡ªI mean you no ill will. These wretched creatures, however, were monsters. Less than human.¡± Something dark and nasty flashed behind her eyes. ¡°They deserved their fate.¡± She paused and cocked her head to one side. ¡°Surely you agree, no?¡±


    Her gaze darted toward the Aspirant I¡¯d killed.


    It was impossible to miss the smoldering hole punched all the way through his chest. The flames had continued to burn, reducing him to a blackened shell.


    I hadn¡¯t even gotten the guy¡¯s name. I¡¯d just murdered him where he stood.


    The thought hit me like a dull weight in my chest. And yet, I felt... nothing. No guilt. No remorse. Just a faint thread of relief. It wasn¡¯t like when I¡¯d killed Natasha¡ªthat had been messy, haunted by hesitation and regret. This was different. Cold. Clinical. That scared me almost as much as the woman standing before me.


    I shoved the thought aside, though. Emotions could wait.


    Right now, I had bigger problems to deal with.


    ¡°Yeah, but I didn¡¯t slap-chop ¡¯em into stew meat,¡± I shot back, sounding more defensive than I liked. ¡°What you did was just¡­ excessive.¡±


    The woman shrugged. ¡°You say excessive, I say efficient. Besides, the only reason you didn¡¯t do it is because you lack the power. But if I gave you my Relic...¡± She tapped her nose knowingly. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you have done the same?¡±


    Her words hit a nerve, and I hated that she was probably right.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter either way,¡± she continued after a beat. ¡°In the end, dead is dead. Whether it¡¯s a meat cleaver, angle grinder, or a jet of supercharged water¡ªthe result is the same.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± Croc interrupted, padding over to sit beside me, its voice firm and unyielding. ¡°Sorry, Dan, but friends don¡¯t leave friends behind,¡± the mimic whispered softly to me before turning back to face down the woman. ¡°Intent matters. Maybe the end result doesn¡¯t change, but why you do something does. You wanted to kill those people. I can see it in your eyes. You enjoyed it. But I¡¯m not going to let you do that to Dan. He¡¯s my best friend and if you want to hurt him, well, you¡¯ll have to go through me first.¡±


    The mimic moved forward, positioning itself firmly between me and the woman.


    The move caught me completely off guard. But I was even more surprised when Temperance joined. Together, the two of them formed a wall in front of me. Well, they tried too. Temperance was all of five feet nothing and Croc was down on all fours, so it wasn¡¯t much of a wall, but it was the sentiment that counted.


    ¡°If I tell you to run, Dan,¡± the dog whispered, throwing my words from before right back in my face, ¡°you do it. Think about all those kids up there. The ones playing with toys and eating Froyo. If something happens to me, it¡¯ll be sad. If something happens to you, everything we¡¯ve built will die. I can¡¯t let that happen.¡±


    I¡¯d known Croc long enough to tell that there was no reasoning with the dog. But Temperance was smarter than that.


    ¡°Temp,¡± I urged under my breath, ¡°you don¡¯t need to do this.¡±


    She shrugged, her floppy bunny ears bouncing from the motion. ¡°I won¡¯t run from a fight.¡± She smiled and twirled her meat cleaver with a flourish. ¡°Especially not one that promises to be so very entertaining.¡±


    ¡°Adorable, truly,¡± the woman said, clapping softly. ¡°But all very unnecessary, I can assure you. As I said, I have no intention of harming you. Surely you must realize that if I wanted to kill you, I would¡¯ve done so already. Or do you doubt I have the power to dispatch the three of you just as easily as I dispatched the three of them?¡±


    ¡°Maybe, maybe not,¡± I said, cracking my neck. ¡°But we won¡¯t go down without a fight.¡±


    ¡°Why fight at all?¡± She asked, spreading her hands in welcome. ¡°Why not extend a modicum of trust instead?¡±


    ¡°Trust is in short supply around here,¡± I growled, ¡°and you haven¡¯t given us much reason to give you any. Hell, you haven¡¯t even told us who you are or what you want. It¡¯s like Croc always says, the number one survival rule in the Backrooms is to assume that everything, everywhere, all the time is both lying to you and trying to kill you.¡±


    ¡°That is a good rule of thumb,¡± the woman replied, folding her hands behind her back, ¡°and one, which you would do well to follow more closely in the future. You¡¯re getting stronger, Dan, but that strength is already leading you to be overconfident,¡± she chided, sounding almost disappointed in me.


    ¡°You made assumptions about me,¡± she continued. ¡°Dangerous assumptions that could¡¯ve gotten you killed in a most untimely manner if my intentions weren¡¯t pure as the driven snow. You took one look at me on those security monitors and believed you were rushing in to help a wayward damsel in distress.¡±


    The words were a gut punch.


    I was positive this lady had never paid a visit to the store¡ªthe level cap alone would¡¯ve kept her out¡ªso how could she possibly have known about my security system? She was telling me, without using so many words, that she had eyes and ears inside my store. That she was watching me.


    ¡°Admittedly, it was quite the heroic gesture,¡± she said, ¡°but foolish all the same. You¡¯ve made waves, Dan. And even though you are a tiny, insignificant minnow swimming at the top of a very large pond, I can promise you that the monstrous fish below have finally taken notice.¡± She paused and leaned forward ever so slightly. ¡°And I¡¯m not just talking about the Flayed Monarch. They are watching, Dan. All of them.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡°Moving forward, paranoia is your best friend,¡± she said, her tone cold and absolute. ¡°Trust nothing. No one¡ªexcept me of course.¡± She flashed me another cold smile. ¡°Although it is supremely unlikely that any of the Dark Lords and Ladies will waste their time accosting you directly, believe me when I say they will dispatch agents of their own. And I¡¯m not talking about buzzing gnats like these worthless creatures.¡±


    She spit at the gory remains of a very dead Aspirant.


    ¡°They will send real emissaries with real power. You need to have a plan to kill everyone you meet and, if you value your life, always be ready to run.¡± She directed her stony gaze directly at Temperance. ¡°Violence is admirable, but sometimes escape is the better part of valor.¡±


    ¡°Is that what you are?¡± I asked, feeling more unsure of myself by the moment. ¡°An emissary to some powerful faction?¡±


    She dropped her hands to her sides, lifted her dress, and gave us the smallest of curtseys.


    ¡°Indeed, I am.¡± she admitted, inclining her head ever-so-slightly. ¡°You may call me the Director. Unfortunately, I¡¯m not at liberty to disclose who I serve, but suffice it to say, they are... formidable. You would be wise not to cross them. Not when you have already made so very many powerful enemies.¡±


    My gut twisted.


    ¡°Formidable¡± was just a polite way of saying terrifying. In the Backrooms, power wasn¡¯t measured by titles or words¡ªit was measured by the ability to enforce your will and command the respect of others. This woman was scary and anyone who could command her allegiance was trouble. It could only be one of the Sovereigns who ruled over the lower floors, which narrowed the possibilities dramatically.


    From what I¡¯d learned, there were seven Sovereigns, each with the powers of a small-g god. The Lord of Coin, Dark Geppetto, and the Iron Tyrant. The Sorority Queen of Kappa Nu Theta and Riot Roy, who ruled over the Badland Boys down on floor seven hundred and thirteen. And, of course, the Flayed Monarch of the Skinless Court and the Boundless Wanderer¡ªwho was the only Sovereign without a kingdom to call his own.


    The only question was, who did this lady owe fidelity to?


    It could¡¯ve been any of them, even the Flayed Monarch¡ªthough that seemed less likely.


    ¡°As for what I want,¡± she continued, her tone almost casual, ¡°I¡¯m here to help you, Dan. To prepare you for what¡¯s coming.¡±


    ¡°And what¡¯s that, exactly?¡± I asked, not bothering to mask my skepticism.


    ¡°War, of course. What else?¡± She answered as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. ¡°Great things are transpiring, Dan, and you happen to be a fulcrum. A turning point. As I said, you are a minnow, but one with the potential to grow into a shark. Perhaps even a legendary kraken.  It seems you have acquired something valuable. Something that belonged to the Monarch.¡± Her voice was soft now, the words were hardly more than a whisper. ¡°Something that has effectively crippled his empire.


    ¡°Before your arrival,¡± she said, her eyes boring into my chest as though she could see right to my core, ¡°the Monarch had a web of doors that connected his Kingdom to virtually every floor. It was one of the things that made him so very dangerous. But his web is gone, while yours is spreading.¡± She offered me a conspiratorial grin. She knew. Knew my secret. Knew about the Compass of the Catacomber. ¡°Needless to say, his forces are coming for you. To take back what belongs to him. To restore the glory of his kingdom.


    ¡°And although you have made some admirable strides, make no mistake, you are running out of time. Soon it won¡¯t be level 16 Aspirants loitering on your doorstep, it will be level 60 outer disciples. Or level 100 court nobles. You won¡¯t survive them. None of you will. Not as you are.¡± Her smile stretched wider, though it never quite reached her eyes. ¡°But there¡¯s a way to turn the tide.¡±


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± I said dryly, fighting to suppress my own fear, ¡°that way just so happens to align with whatever your boss wants?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± she said, unbothered by my sarcasm. ¡°Mutual benefit, Dan. That¡¯s what I¡¯m offering. What my employer is offering you. You grow stronger, my employer¡¯s enemies grow weaker, and everyone wins. Except, of course, for the Flayed Monarch.¡± She chuckled softly, as though sharing a private joke. ¡°He will lose. And isn¡¯t that what you want?¡±


    Her words sank in like jagged hooks that I couldn¡¯t shake.


    As much as I hated to admit it, she had a point. That was exactly what I wanted. The Monarch was gunning for me, and I wasn¡¯t strong enough to face him¡ªnot yet. But accepting her help meant stepping into a game I didn¡¯t understand, one with rules written by people far above my pay grade. And in the Backrooms, pawns didn¡¯t usually make it to the endgame.


    ¡°Why us?¡± Temperance asked, her tone as sharp as her cleaver. ¡°If this employer of yours is so powerful, why not simply handle this themselves, I wonder?¡±


    ¡°Politics,¡± the Director replied with a sniff and a resigned sigh. ¡°With these things, dear Temperance, the answer is always politics. Unfortunately, my employer cannot openly move against the Skinless Court. Not yet, at any rate. Which is why they must find proxies to do it for them. There is a tenuous balance of power between the Sovereigns and should my employer act openly, it could invite incursions and reprisals. But you, Dan?¡± She traced a fingernail along her bottom lip as she watched me. Appraised me. Judged me. ¡°You¡¯re a wild card, aren¡¯t you? A variable no one accounted for. That makes you valuable.¡±


    ¡°Or disposable,¡± I replied.


    ¡°Perhaps both,¡± she admitted with a shrug. ¡°But even a disposable tool can carve a path to greatness. A simple hammer becoming more than what it once was.¡± Her gaze darted to the tool in my hand. ¡°The question is, will you do what is necessary to seize it?¡±


    I glanced at Croc and Temperance.


    The mimic was watching me with unshakable trust. Temperance, ever the cynic, looked ready to fight but willing to listen. Their faith in me was both grounding and suffocating. Whatever decision I made, it wouldn¡¯t just affect me¡ªit would affect them, too.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I finally said, my voice firm. ¡°Let¡¯s say, just for the sake of argument, that I believe you. Let¡¯s say I¡¯m interested. What exactly are you offering?¡±


    ¡°Information, first and foremost,¡± she replied. She slowly made her way toward my kiosk then rested a hand against the counter. ¡°What do you know about these?¡± she asked. ¡°About the kiosk network?¡±


    I shrugged. ¡°I know they serve as trade hubs, and I also know they¡¯re all owned by someone or something called the Franchisor.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s more than most,¡± the Director said, ¡°though far from the whole picture. As I mentioned, you have crippled the Skinless Court¡¯s logistical capabilities. The Monarch cannot effectively move his forces¡ªwhich is the only reason you¡¯re still alive. Even for powerful Delvers, it takes a great deal of time to move from the 999<sup>th</sup> to the seventh. To make up for this painful shortcoming,¡± she continued, ¡°the Skinless Court has been relying on the kiosk network to handle supply chain issues. The Monarch is using the Auction House System as his own personal trade depot, transferring vast stores of resources between floors.


    ¡°That, however, is not the only thing the Court is using the network for. Although it isn¡¯t common knowledge, the kiosk network is not just metaphysical in nature. It can also serve as a physical transit system, allowing individuals¡ªor even whole armies¡ªto quickly travel between floors. Although the Franchisor¡¯s layer is on the ninety-ninth floor, the Network itself extends all the way to floor three hundred and fifty-five. The Monarch has allied himself with the Franchisor and is using the network as a way to move his forces. But if something unfortunate should happen to the Franchisor¡­¡± she trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken.


    ¡°Then the Monarch would no longer be able to use the network to navigate through the Backrooms,¡± I finished, seeing exactly where this conversation was going.


    ¡°Brilliant insight,¡± she said. It was impossible to miss her patronizing tone. ¡°Now, it just so happens that it would also be in employer¡¯s best interests if an accident were to befall the Franchisor, but once again politics prevent them from acting openly. The Franchisor is allied with the Monarch, but it also has ties to a Sovergin called the Lord of Coins. His Lordship has a tenuous truce with my employer and the Network has made the Lord of Coins an extremely wealthy man. As you might imagine, he would not be well pleased if my employer were to intervene directly. It could spark open conflict which would get messy for everyone.¡±


    ¡°But if we do it,¡± I muttered, ¡°then your boss has plausible deniability. We¡¯re the fall guy.¡±


    ¡°I never promised the path the greatness would be easy or safe, Dan,¡± the Director said. ¡°Yes, going after the Franchisor is a risk. Yes, you are courting trouble with the Lord of Coins, but failing to act now is as good as a death sentence. When you find yourself falling off the edge of a cliff, you grab for whatever lifeline you can, even if that lifeline is serpent coiled among the rocks.


    ¡°I am just such a serpent. Now, I won¡¯t lie to you, killing the Franchisor will be hellishly difficult, especially considering your level. And you must act quickly if you wish to stop the Monarch¡¯s forces before they are kicking down your door.¡± Something malicious twinkled in her pale eyes. ¡°It isn¡¯t impossible, though. You already have several advantages working in your favor.¡± She patted the kiosk. ¡°I¡¯ve also left several powerful items for you, including a map that will help you quickly reach the Franchisor¡¯s lair using a series of spatial kiosk gateways.


    ¡°Still, I must offer you a word of warning. The spatial gateways are guarded by powerful creatures, eternally loyal to the Monarch and the Skinless Court.¡± She paused and grimaced. ¡°The Dweller who rules the twenty-fourth floor is a particularly insidious foe. Getting past it will likely prove to be problematic.¡± A grimace briefly flashed across her face. ¡°Consider it a test of sorts. If you can survive what¡¯s on twenty-four, you might just have a chance at surviving what¡¯s to come. And, fortunately for you, my employer¡¯s gifts should help¡ªassuming you are bold enough to take my advice and expand your own budding kingdom by removing the Franchisor.¡±


    ¡°And you mean to simply give these items to us?¡± Temperance asked, sounding as suspicious as I felt. ¡°As a gesture of good will?¡±


    The woman¡¯s laughter rang out like shattering glass.


    ¡°What is astonishing to you,¡± she said, as her laughter subsided, ¡°isn¡¯t worth getting out of bed in the morning for someone like my employer. These are baubles, trinkets, and a very small price to pay when considering the potential return on investment. And if you chose not to pursue the Franchisor¡­¡± She paused and shrugged, apparently uncensored. ¡°Well, it¡¯s no skin off my teeth. Besides, I have faith that you¡¯ll do the right thing, Dan. By which I mean the thing that serves your own self-interest. You¡¯re both too smart and too desperate to do anything else.¡±


    Then, without another word, she turned on one heel, snapped her fingers and simply disappeared. I¡¯d felt a strong pulse of mana, but there¡¯d been no flash of light. No fancy portal.


    She¡¯d been here one moment, then gone the next like a bad fever dream. Her disappearance was so abrupt, it was almost possible to think I¡¯d imagined the whole thing.


    The cubed bodies disabused me of that notion.


    So did the items she¡¯d left behind in the kiosk.

 Twenty-Five – The Vote

    ¡°There¡¯s no way we can trust her,¡± I said, staring at the items spread across the table in my hotel room: A Rare-grade Relic called ESP Amplifier, a pair of strange Artifacts, an impressive Sigil Stone, and a spherical iron ball covered in glyphs.


    ¡°Obviously,¡± Jakob confirmed with a nod, ¡°but that doesn¡¯t mean you should avoid these gifts either. ¡®Einem geschenkten Gaul schaut man nicht ins Maul.¡¯ One should not look a gift horse in the mouth.¡±


    He picked up one of the artifacts and turned it over in his hands. It looked like a cheap, knock-off paper Burger King crown, made from dull yellow cardboard with the words Burger Baron printed in bold across the front. At first glance, it seemed like garbage, but I¡¯d learned long ago that appearances meant nothing in the Backrooms.


    Despite its somewhat lackluster curb appeal, the Crown of the Burger Baron was a Fabled-grade Artifact with a shitload of awesome abilities. It boosted Grit, scaled with Variant Assimilation Level, and had a passive effect called Mental Fortress, which granted partial immunity to Charm-like spells and increased resistance to psychic damage.


    This thing was a powerhouse, and the Director had just¡­ given it to me.


    ¡°Her motives are clearly suspect,¡± Jakob added, setting the crown back on the table carefully. ¡°It¡¯s possible she is setting you up. Setting all of us up¡­¡± he faltered for a moment. ¡°Still, these items are powerful. Regardless of where they came from, you¡¯d be foolish not to use them.¡±


    ¡°I believe we are all in agreement on that front,¡± Temperance said. ¡°Dan isn¡¯t a buffoon. There was never any doubt about whether he would use them. The real question is what do we do about this?¡±


    She picked up the metal sphere and channeled a thread of raw mana into a small divot at the bottom of the object. The glyphs etched across its surface flared to life, glowing bright white, as a dazzling projection burst from the top.


    It was a map¡ªbut not like any map I¡¯d ever seen.


    The projection showed a sprawling, three-dimensional web of connections, like a cast mold of a termite colony. Thousands of diamond-like nodes glittered in the air, linked by thin strands of energy. Each point represented a kiosk, and the kiosks acted as entry and exit points to a vast network spanning hundreds of floors. Using that network, anyone with the know-how could easily travel between kiosks.


    Some kiosks connected laterally, allowing for quick travel within the same floor. Others connected vertically to adjacent floors¡ªor even skipped several levels entirely, much like the double-decker stairwells. The rarest of the bunch, however, were marked with pulsing orange light. Those were spatial gateways and, much like my own doorway anchors, they defied the laws of space and time.


    All a prospective Delver had to do was go through one and then they¡¯d instantly step out of its paired gateway. With the right knowledge, someone could use the network to travel from floor 75 to floor 225 in the blink of an eye.


    Sure, they¡¯d have to reach level 75 first, but this map made it clear how much easier the network could make things. The deepest node reached floor 355¡ªnot even close to the 999th floor¡ªbut still far deeper than I¡¯d ever been. Honestly, I was surprised more Delvers didn¡¯t use these things. The kiosks were everywhere. From the look of things, they were far more numerous than stairwells.


    There was a catch, though. Because there was always a catch.


    Almost all of them were guarded by Dwellers. Dangerous ones. Getting past them was no easy feat, as I¡¯d learned firsthand with the behemoth kiosk crab.


    But the Director had left instructions¡ªand a solution.


    Turned out, the Dwellers inhabiting the kiosks were all oath bound to the network¡¯s owner. In this case, the Franchisor.


    They did its bidding.


    Well, maybe did its bidding, was a bit of an overstatement.


    They were still more or less feral murder hobos, but they begrudgingly let any Delver with a special Club Card pass through the network unmolested. That was the second Artifact the Director had gifted us with. A small stack of temporary tattoos emblazoned with ¡°Kiosk Club Card¡± in blocky neon-red lettering.


    Jakob recognized them immediately. ¡°These are incredibly expensive,¡± he said, running a finger along the edge of one. ¡°The Black Harbor Syndicate sells them, but they charge a small fortune. Most Delvers simply can¡¯t afford to pay their fees. It¡¯s possible that Wraith has one, though I doubt it.¡±


    According to Jakob, the tattoos lasted for a month and granted access to both the auction house and the network. With them and the map, we could easily navigate the labyrinth of kiosks without getting lost or having to worry about the Dwellers.


    The Director had even charted a route for us, just like she¡¯d promised.


    We could catch a spatial kiosk gateway from the third floor, which would immediately take us to the 24th, where the first real threat awaited. Assuming we could make it past whatever freak show was guarding the exit, another gateway would whisk us away to floor 49, then onward to floor 75, and finally to the 99th floor¡ªthe Franchisor¡¯s domain.


    And if we managed to kill the Franchisor, we¡¯d gain access to three-thousand different kiosks, all of which would be converted to Discount Dan popup locations. Creating a massive, interconnected array of auction houses and trading posts, scattered across more than three hundred floors. A certifiable trading empire that would allow Delvers to buy and sell Relics or Artifacts while I took a reasonable cut of the profits. Plus, we¡¯d cripple the Monarch in the process, which was the icing on the cake.


    The rewards were undeniable. The only problem was, I didn¡¯t trust the Director for shit.


    This felt like a set up. One that would blow up in my face.


    ¡°If the Monarch really is mobilizing his forces and preparing to strike,¡± I said, grabbing a pair of Bud Lights from the fridge, ¡°we can¡¯t just sit here and twiddle our thumbs. We need to act. But the way I see it, we¡¯ve really only got three options.¡±


    I popped the top of the beer and slid another can toward Jakob. He nodded his thanks, cracking it open with practiced ease. There were a lot of things I didn¡¯t see eye-to-eye with Jakob about, but the one thing we¡¯d always agree on was that it was never too early for beer.


    ¡°Option one,¡± I said, before taking a long drink, ¡°we take the Director¡¯s gifts, call it a stroke of good luck, and pretend nothing happened. Go right back to business as usual.¡±


    ¡°Excellent, let¡¯s get rid of the terrible suggestions right away,¡± Temperance said. ¡°I often say there is no such thing as a bad idea while brainstorming, but that one is the glaring exception. You might as well just stroll down to the 999th floor and petition the Monarch to fashion your skin into a fine pair of boots.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± I conceded with a nod. ¡°Which brings us to option two¡ªwe trust the Director, head down to the 99th floor and try to kill the Franchisor, who is probably forty or fifty levels higher than we are. Best case scenario? We survive, somehow manage to kill the Franchisor, but also royally piss off the Lord of Coins in the process.¡±


    ¡°The risks are significant,¡± Jakob agreed, leaning forward, ¡°but in my mind, the rewards far outweigh them. Taking over the entirety of the kiosk network would dramatically increase our reach. Imagine what we could accomplish with so many kiosks. Think about what we will learn and all the people we could help.¡± He rested his arms against the edge of the table as he peered at the sea of floating lights.


    He jabbed a finger toward a glimmering mote.


    ¡°Unless I am mistaken, that is floor 185. There is an enormous Cendral colony there.¡± He pointed at another cluster of lights. ¡°Floor 250. There are more archives and laboratories there than anywhere else below floor 500. If there are any answers about what the Variant Research Division is¡ªabout what they were doing here, or what the Backrooms are¡ªI¡¯m sure we¡¯ll find it there.¡± A feverish light burned in his eyes like a smoldering tire fire.


    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you see any floors that have water slides, do you?¡± Croc asked.


    The Cendral smiled and nodded. ¡°There,¡± he said. ¡°Floor 119. I¡¯ve never been there myself, of course, but they say there are swimming pools as far as the eye can see and waterslides so high, not even the bravest men will dare to go down them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d go down them,¡± Croc said, its googly eyes reflecting the lights from the map. ¡°I even have a water tube form, meant just for slides like that.¡± The light seemed to fade from Croc¡¯s eyes after a second thought. ¡°I still have reservations about this, though. That Director lady was scary, Jakob. There was something off about her. And that¡¯s coming from me, a mimic, who occasionally likes to eat people. I mean, it¡¯s hard to put my finger on¡ªmostly because I don¡¯t have fingers¡ªbut I¡¯m telling you there¡¯s something wrong with her.¡± The dog pursed its lips into a thin line and shook its head. ¡°I don¡¯t know, maybe she was being honest, but I don¡¯t want to do anything she tells us to.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Then, there¡¯s this Lord of Coin fellow to consider,¡± Croc continued. ¡°If we do this, he¡¯s going to be really mad at us. I don¡¯t like the idea of making more enemies when we could make friends instead, you know? What if we tried to find a way to get in touch with him and tell him what happened? I dunno, maybe there¡¯s a way to make some kind of deal with him instead? I mean, the Lord of Coin might also be bad, but he isn¡¯t actively trying to use us like a weapon. Not like the Director is.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s actually the third option,¡± I said, setting my beer down. ¡°I don¡¯t think walking into the Lord of Coin¡¯s stronghold is a great idea either, but maybe we could seek out one of his proxies? There¡¯s got to be a way to get in contact with him.¡±


    ¡°Ja,¡± Jakob said, though his expression darkened noticeably. ¡°Through the Black Harbor Syndicate. The Lord of Coin heads the entire organization.¡±


    ¡°Oh fiddlesticks.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± Jakob replied. ¡°We¡¯re not exactly on good terms with them, and I very much doubt they would accept us with open arms.¡±


    Temperance snorted. ¡°That¡¯s putting it mildly. They¡¯re pit vipers. Not as bad as the Aspirants, maybe, but I wouldn¡¯t turn my back on one, for fear that they would try to steal my kidney and sell it on the black market.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not a joke, either,¡± Croc said. ¡°The Black Harbor also traffics in organs and rare bio upgrades. If you want to become a Transmog like Jakob, you have to go through them to get an appropriate Helix sample.¡±


    The room fell into uncomfortable silence.


    ¡°Maybe we could go to the Franchisor directly?¡± I finally said, half question, half statement. ¡°See if we can¡¯t strike some kind of deal with it instead? That¡¯s probably a long shot, but it might be worth trying?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Dan,¡± Croc said, its voice low and uncertain. ¡°If the stories are true, the Franchisor¡¯s not human. And not friendly. Plus, he¡¯s made a deal with the Monarch, so there¡¯s no way we could trust him.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s a fair point,¡± I replied idly running my fingers over the slick surface of my beer can. ¡°Hate to say it, but it sounds like the only real option we have is to trust the Director and hope she¡¯s not trying to dick us over.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine by me,¡± Temperance said, before pausing. ¡°Just to be clear, that is the plan that involves killing things, right? I want to leave a trail of carnage behind me as wide as the Nile.¡±


    I exhaled slowly, nodding despite the unease still gnawing at me. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s the one that involves overwhelming violence,¡± I said, trying to inject some confidence into my voice. The truth was, I still had my doubts, but doing nothing just wasn¡¯t an option. The Marine Corps had pounded into my head that any decision, even a bad one, was better than no decision at all.


    I glanced at Croc, who looked even less sure than I did. The mimic¡¯s shoulders were slumped as though the dog were folding in on itself and a faint tremor ran along its body. If I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d say Croc was afraid.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, bud?¡± I asked, nudging the mimic with my elbow.


    The dog fidgeted nervously.


    ¡°It¡¯s nothing,¡± Croc said before wilting under my gaze.


    ¡°Bullshit,¡± I immediately declared. ¡°Friends don¡¯t lie to each other, Croc. There¡¯s something you¡¯re not telling us.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just, now that we¡¯re here,¡± Croc said, rather sheepishly, ¡°on the verge of descending¡­ Well, I¡¯m not sure this is what I want anymore, Dan. I thought I wanted to go deeper¡ªI mean floor 119 does sound amazing¡ªbut now? Now, I¡¯m scared. Some part of me knows we need to go deeper, but another part of me is terrified that if we do this, we¡¯re going to lose everything. That I¡¯m going to lose you, Dan¡­¡±


    The dog faltered and stared down at the floor, unable to look at me a moment longer.


    ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t think I can handle that,¡± the mimic said. ¡°Gertrude was the closest thing I¡¯d ever had to a mother. She saved me and if it wasn¡¯t for her, I wouldn¡¯t be here. When the Aspirants killed her, I thought I was never going to have a family again. I was sure I¡¯d never be happy again. Even though I tried to help other Delvers, most of them were terrified of me. Or disgusted by me.


    ¡°They treated me like a monster, because that¡¯s what I was to them. A monster. But not anymore. For the first time ever, I have friends. I have a community where people don¡¯t hate me. Where they aren¡¯t afraid of me. Those little kids from Howler¡¯s Hold were playing with me, Dan. They were laughing with me, instead of screaming at me or running away in terror. That¡¯s never happened before. It¡¯s just¡­¡±


    The dog slunk over and dropped its head onto my leg. Its huge plastic, googly eyes stared up at me. ¡°I¡¯ve seen so much death, Dan. And I couldn¡¯t bear to lose you. Even thinking about it makes my insides hurt, like when I¡¯ve eaten too much Froyo. Only worse. And with less gas.¡±


    ¡°I think you might be lactose intolerant,¡± Jakob muttered. ¡°I have a pill that can help with that.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate that,¡± Croc said seriously, ¡°but I already have enough toes.¡±


    I snorted and didn¡¯t bother to tell the dog that lactose had nothing to do with lacking toes.


    ¡°Change is always hard,¡± I said, patting Croc¡¯s muzzle, ¡°and because friends tell each other the truth, I¡¯m not going to sugar coat things and say this won¡¯t be dangerous. Just the opposite. There¡¯s a good chance we could get hurt. Theres even a good chance we could all die. But staying here is a guaranteed death sentence. If we want what we¡¯ve built to last, we need to go deeper. Need to get stronger. There¡¯s no other way.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not the only thing,¡± Croc said, nuzzling my knee. ¡°I¡¯m also afraid that if we go down deeper that you won¡¯t need me anymore. That you won¡¯t want me anymore. I¡¯ve never been below the seventeenth floor, which means I won¡¯t know what the dangers are. I won¡¯t be able to warn you about the traps or tell you about the other Dwellers. I¡¯m not as smart as Jakob, I¡¯m not as good at killing as Temperance, and I¡¯ll never be as handsome as you are in that luxurious robe.¡±


    The dog stroked the edge of my bathrobe with one paw.


    ¡°Knowing about the floors is my thing,¡± Croc said softly. ¡°It¡¯s what I bring to the team. If I don¡¯t have that, Dan, I don¡¯t have anything to offer. I mean my knowledge of Twilight is admittedly impressive and my chair impersonation is getting pretty good, I suppose.¡± The mimic¡¯s form burbled, and a blue wing backed chair replaced the dog. It still didn¡¯t look normal, but it was more convincing than it had been, once upon a time. ¡°But,¡± the chair said, the seat cushion forming its mouth, ¡°I feel like this is pretty situational. Will you still want me around, even if I don¡¯t have a thing anymore?¡±


    ¡°Friendship isn¡¯t transactional,¡± I replied without missing a beat. ¡°I want you around because of who you are, not because of what you can do for me. This place is bleak and lonely and miserable, but you make it less bleak and lonely and miserable. That¡¯s what you bring to the team.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Dan,¡± Croc said, still in chair form. A tear leaked down from a black button eye set into the backrest. It would¡¯ve been sweet if it wasn¡¯t so viscerally disturbing.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, bud. But you¡¯re also right. This is dangerous and even if we survive, things will change, which is why we should vote on it. I¡¯m not the Flayed Monarch and this isn¡¯t a dictatorship. I won¡¯t force anyone to go. For better or worse, we¡¯re in this together and this is our decision, not my decision.¡± I lifted my hand. ¡°With that said, I vote we go.¡±


    Everyone was quiet for a long beat as the full weight of the situation sank in.


    Although both Temperance and Jakob had said they wanted to descend, talk was cheap. Easy. Walking the walk was another thing entirely.


    A lesson Croc was coming to terms with in real time.


    Jakob was the first to break the tense silence. ¡°I haven¡¯t changed my mind. I will go, too.¡± He nodded, his jaw set into a hard line. ¡°I already told you, I mean to make it to the bottom. To find answers, then find a way out. I¡¯ll never get another chance like this one. Mitgehangen, mitgefangen, or as you would say, in for a penny, in for a pound.¡±


    ¡°If he goes, then so shall I," Temperance declared, a wry smile tugging at her lips as she glanced at Jakob. ¡°I simply cannot allow myself to be outdone by a pacifist. The 1000th floor beckons, and I mean to prove myself worthy of its summons, even if no one else believes it.¡±


    That last remark caught me momentarily off guard.


    Temperance normally seemed so self-confident, yet underneath her reckless, devil-may-care attitude, I had a sneaking suspicion that she was deeply insecure and unsure of herself. It wasn¡¯t hard to guess why. She¡¯d been betrayed by her family, abandoned by her fianc¨¦e, and sentenced to a cruel and ugly death for a crime she didn¡¯t commit.


    She wanted to belong. She wanted to be valued just as badly as Croc did.


    ¡°You know you don¡¯t have to prove yourself to Jackson or the rest of those assclowns with the Roomkeepers, right?¡± I said, more statement than question.


    ¡°It¡¯s not about proving myself to him,¡± Temperance replied, dismissing my comment with a wave of her hand. ¡°I didn¡¯t become a Roomkeeper because of Jackson. I did it for myself. If not for the Backrooms, I¡¯d be dead. They saved me. Choose me.  I¡¯m proving to them that I was worth the effort. And I¡¯m proving it to myself as well. The core belief of the Roomkeeper faith is simple: strength is the most important thing in the world.


    ¡°I will make myself strong, so no one will ever again do to me what my family did. What Jackson tried to do to me. I¡¯ve been weak my whole life and I refuse to remain that way. Besides.¡± Her expression softened. ¡°You won¡¯t last long without me.¡± She stole a sidelong look at Jakob. ¡°You need someone who isn¡¯t afraid to get their hands dirty.¡±


    Jakob sighed and rolled his eyes but said nothing. He was smart enough to know that wasn¡¯t a conversation he could win.


    ¡°What about you, Croc?¡± I asked. ¡°And before you say anything, I want you to know that no matter what you decide, you¡¯ll still be my best friend. If you want to stay behind and help run the store, I won¡¯t be upset at all.¡±


    The blue chair melted into a puddle of writhing limbs and mouths and eyeballs, before finally reforming into the familiar dog shape.


    ¡°I still have reservations, Dan,¡± the dog said, ¡°but if you¡¯re set on doing this, I¡¯m with you all the way. I won¡¯t tell you that I like it, because friends don¡¯t lie to each other, but friends don¡¯t abandon each other either. And you¡¯re my best friend, Dan. Also, between you and me, I can¡¯t stay in the store.


    ¡°Ponypuff is clingier than ever, and I keep finding her staring at me when she thinks I¡¯m not looking. It¡¯s unsettling, Dan.¡± The dog grimaced. ¡°Also, I can¡¯t technically prove this, but I suspect she might be considering trying to sacrifice me to her god. I found her building an altar in one of the supply closets which is very upsetting to look at.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but laugh. The irony was just too much coming from a mimic who actively watched me sleep and constantly battled with its insatiable desire to eat me.


    ¡°We are agreed then,¡± Jakob said. ¡°I am feeling a profound sense of angstlust. You do not have a comparable English word, but it means a mixture of fear and excitement.¡±


    ¡°Oh, we have a comparable word, alright,¡± I said, nodding enthusiastically. ¡°It¡¯s fearboner.¡±


    ¡°Meine G¨¹te,¡± the lizard man replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°I work with idiots.¡± He sighed then pulled out a small notepad from his jacket. ¡°Hilariously mistranslated phrases aside, if we are going to do this, we must be smart. Cunning. I¡¯ll need a day to prepare. Perhaps two.¡± He began furiously scribbling down notes in neat German. ¡°There are a few elixirs we will very much want to have on hand. I don¡¯t know if we can trust this Director or not, but she was telling the truth about one thing¡ªthe twenty fourth floor is, indeed, dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Why? What¡¯s on the twenty-fourth floor?¡± I asked.


    ¡°The Everlasting Suburbs,¡± Jakob replied, sounding grim and not at all enthusiastic. ¡°Home of the lawnmower men, the Kannibal Kids, and the worst thing of all. The Sunnyside Home Owners Association¡­¡±

 Twenty-Six – Gift Horse Offerings

    We spent the next day preparing for the descent.


    Jakob was the only one who¡¯d visited the twenty-fourth floor but surprisingly, he only had a few vague tidbits to share which basically boiled down to be ready for anything. Especially mind-fuck games. The entire floor was what the Cendral referred to as a ¡°Cognition Hazard.¡± Apparently, some levels were so incredibly toxic to life, they came with their own warning labels.


    Floors with Spatial Hazards distorted or manipulated space in some way, while Biohazard floors were generally riddled with so much Blight that they were unsuitable for Delver habitation. There were Temporal Hazards and Spatial Hazards, Thaumaturgic Hazards and Cryo Hazards. So many different hazards, it was hard to keep track of ¡¯em all. Floors marked as Cognition Hazards typically contained a bunch of bullshit that adversely effected perception and the mind, which was part of the reason Jakob couldn¡¯t tell us more.


    Because he¡¯d forgotten more than he could remember.


    Suddenly, the inclusion of the Burger Baron Artifact Crown made a whole lot of sense.


    Temp was thrilled at the prospect of killing new and interesting things, while Croc spent most of its time worrying endlessly about what kind of nightmarish traps and horrors would be waiting for us. The mimic kept pestering Jakob, grilling him for any detail, no matter how small, which the Cendral might¡¯ve overlooked. What we knew for sure was that the level was some sort of sprawling suburban nightmare filled with endless cookie cutter housing developments and unnerving Dwellers who were always more than they appeared to be on the surface.


    For my part, I spent less time worrying and more time prepping. As my old company commander used to say, success came down to the Six Ps: Prior Preparation Prevents Piss Poor Performance.


    The first item on my to-do list was to sort through the strange offerings the Director had left behind.


    The Kiosk Club Cards were completely self-explanatory and there were enough to go around, with extras to spare. I had more than a few doubts about how effective the network passes would actually be, but after reading over the description, I figured having them wouldn¡¯t make things worse.


    Kiosk Club Card - Temporary Tattoo


    Uncommon Artifact


    Type: Single Use


    Duration: 2 ¨C 3 Weeks (Longer if you don¡¯t wash, ya filthy animal!)


    Stamped with the soul-crushing emblem of commercial damnation, the Kiosk Club Card is your one-way ticket through the monster-infested tunnels of a consumerist hellscape where survival is just another transaction.


    That¡¯s right, slap this baby onto your skin, and suddenly, you¡¯re untouchable. Kiosk Dwellers will see the brand and instantly recognize you as one of their own, a fellow denizen of the corporate meat grinder. Just another poor schmuck, bound heart and soul to the Franchisor.


    No one escapes the grind. No one.


    The idea of wearing the tattoo didn¡¯t sit especially well with me, since I resented the idea of being bound to the Franchisor in any meaningful way. There was something about the idea of branding myself that just felt gross, but it wasn¡¯t a hill I was willing to die on. I¡¯d already made so many questionable life choices, that this wasn¡¯t even in the top twenty. I slapped one of the tattoos onto the back of my hand so it would be completely visible without having to pull off my bathrobe every time a hostile Dweller caught a glimpse of me, then I tucked the rest into Spatial Storage for later.


    My other Artifact, the Crown of the Burger Baron, was ridiculously overpowered, and I didn¡¯t think twice before putting it on¡ªthough, I started second guessing the choice when I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflective door of the breakroom microwave. Thanks to the bathrobe, toolbelt, and jort combo, I already looked like a hobo contractor. With the paper crown in place, I now looked like an insane hobo contractor. One who panhandled outside a Burger King in the bad part of town.


    The sigil stone was as equally powerful as the Burger Baron¡¯s Crown, but it was even more useful in its own way.


    Split Personality


    Fabled Sigil


    Type: Cloth Armor Sigil


    Ever feel like your brain is just a soggy, single-core processor struggling to run the latest version of Life.exe? Well, you¡¯re in luck, friend-o, because the Scientists at the Variant Research Division have outdone themselves! With this bad boy, you can finally transcend the stifling limitations of your pathetic human mind and tap into a grander cosmic consciousness¡ªor at least fake it convincingly.


    Unfortunately, this ability doesn''t actually boost your IQ or make you any smarter. Rather, it creates a powerful Psychic Reservoir by carving your delicate psyche into partitioned sub-pockets, each capable of focusing on different tasks simultaneously! Split Personality transforms your very mediocre brain from a meat cleaver into a Swiss Army knife with lots of cool widgets and attachments, except the mini tweezers are your childhood trauma and the corkscrew is your crippling self-doubt.


    Split Personality increases reaction speed and drastically reduces the strain on your delicate grey matter when wielding telekinetic- or psionic-powered Relics, plus it lets you do what few others can: juggle multiple Mana-based Relics at the same time without turning your meat-sponge into a bowl of hot mush. Perfect for multitaskers, overachievers, and anyone desperate enough to trust their sanity to a sigil marketed like a late-night infomercial.


    Disclaimer: Use at your own risk. VRD is not responsible for any identity crises or sudden urges to monologue about the futility of existence.


    It was better than anything I possibly could¡¯ve hoped for, and it seemed to be handpicked just for me and my current skill set. I didn¡¯t love the idea that some rando Delver with the power to turn me into meat cubes knew what Relics I had in my Spatial Core, but like Jakob had said, I didn¡¯t plan to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. It was a Cloth Armor Sigil and though I only had one empty slot left in my Bathrobe, I didn¡¯t think I was gonna find a more fitting Sigil.


    There was a brilliant flash of white light as I merged stone and fabric.


    For a long moment, time seemed to slow and every one of my senses sharpened as a sudden wave of mental clarity unfurled inside my skull like a flower opening its petals to the sun.


    Although I didn¡¯t feel any smarter, everything felt sharper. Crisper. Almost as if I¡¯d just woken up from a great night¡¯s sleep and pounded a cup of good coffee.


    Curiously, I reached out with a thin thread of telekinetic energy and lifted my screwdriver into the air then plucked the hammer from my tool belt a moment later. For the past week, I¡¯d been actively working to telekinetically control two weapons at once, and though I could technically do it, the mental strain was insane. Felt like trying to write an essay with one hand while simultaneously dribbling a basketball with the other.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Possible, but not easy.


    Now, though, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Easy. Effortless.


    The screwdriver and hammer danced in the air, twirling and spinning in complex patterns that I never would¡¯ve been able to pull off before. I didn¡¯t even have to actively think about it anymore. They instantly responded to my will and did what I wanted as though they were a natural extension of my body.


    I immediately burned through five shit-tier Relics to upgrade Mental Micromanagement to level 3, allowing me to telekinetically hold up to three items at a time. The last time I¡¯d done this, it had taken me the better part of two days to even lift two tools simultaneously, and even then, I¡¯d nearly had a brain aneurysm in the process. I extended another thread of telekinetic power and braced myself, fully expecting to get mule kicked in the teeth with mental agony.


    But when I lifted my twelve-inch adjustable wrench from its familiar slot in my tool belt, it rose into the air without issue and just floated there. I didn¡¯t feel a single ounce of additional mental tension. Not even when I added the wrench into the delicate ongoing dance between the screwdriver and hammer. The three tools circled in an endless loop, zigzagging this way and that.


    I experimented with ¡°juggling¡± all three tools at once¡ªquickly cutting off the flows of mana, then reactivating them in quick succession¡ªwhich was a trick I¡¯d used to proc the Wild Surge effect more quickly. Mental Micromanagement only cost one Mana per minute, per item, which was dirt cheap, but if I disrupted and restarted the spell before the end of a minute passed, the system counted that as a new cast but didn¡¯t cost any additional Mana. It also increased the likelihood of activating Wild Surge, which instantly replenished my total Mana Pool by 50% and increased Mana Regeneration by 25% for two minutes


    Wild Surge only had a 5% proc rate, but using the technique, I could generally get it to trigger once a minute, essentially ensuring I had a nearly endless supply of Mana. Problem was, ¡°juggling¡± an item took considerable brain space and I couldn¡¯t do it continuously without real effort. That wasn¡¯t the case anymore. With Split Personality, I could perform the task subconsciously¡ªand not just with one item, but with all three. It was as easy as blinking. As breathing. Just a passive task, running in the background of my mind.


    I marveled as Wild Surge activated every twenty seconds or so, ensuring my Mana Pool never dropped by more than a few points.


    I whistled through my teeth as the implications set in. So long as I always had Mental Micromanagement activated, I¡¯d be able to rapid fire spells without ever truly worrying about running out of Mana. Instead of a bolt action rifle, I was now a spell-firing machine gun.


    It was like Split Personality had been custom created to amplify this specific spell.


    I pulled out the last item I¡¯d received, a Rare-grade, fully-levelled Relic called ESP Amplifier. It was a support ability which, on its own, didn¡¯t seem to be all that impressive. Not bad, of course, but nothing to write home about either. When equipped, it passively increased Grit, but lowered Athleticism as a side effect. It also significantly boosted the effects of all mind-based Relics equipped and lowered the cooldown time by fifteen percent.


    Like I said, good.


    Not so good, however, that it would be worth adding to my spatial core on its own.


    But my gut told me it wasn¡¯t meant to be used on its own. The Director knew I had the Compass of the Catacomber, which meant she also knew I had access to the Researcher¡¯s Codex. That could only mean one thing¡ªI was supposed to forge it with a Relic I already had. While Neural Slipstream and Existential Dread were both mind-based Relics, when I took Split Personability into consideration, it wasn¡¯t hard to guess what I needed to do.


    Using the Researcher¡¯s Codex, I spent the next half hour experimenting with potential configurations, looking for the best possible combo. Forging Mental Micromanagement and ESP Amplifier directly resulted in a Fable-grade Relic called ForceFlux Wave, which released a powerful burst of pure telekinetic power. It didn¡¯t inflict any direct damage, but it did lift all enemies within a fifty-foot radius into the air, effectively immobilizing them for the twenty-second duration of the spell.


    Although it was powerful ability, it wasn¡¯t Fully-Tempered and it lacked the finesse, nuance, and versatility of Mental Micromanagement. I liked the skill as it was, and with the addition of Split Personality, it was more powerful than ever. It was also possible to resist ForceFlux Wave with a high enough Grit score, which made it an uncertain gamble at best.


    By adding in a third Relic¡ªthis one an Uncommon-grade called BlinkBlade which allowed the user to summon a magical box knife¡ªI could create another powerful iteration. The result was Phantom Arsenal, a Fully Tempered ability that let me conjure an entire arsenal of weapons, all crafted from pure mana that I¡¯d be able to telekinetically control. The spell immediately reminded me of the Flayed Monarch, who had used a strikingly similar ability during his battle with the Boundless Wanderer.


    The Monarch¡¯s spell had been more powerful, though. His army of floating weapons had been crafted from caustic blood that could burn through damn near anything.


    Still, I was sorely tempted to forge the Relic even if it wasn¡¯t quite as strong as the Monarch¡¯s version. Being able to summon a cloud of magical swords to murder my enemies was badass to the max. Like something out of an old kung fu movie.


    Reluctantly, however, I decided against it.


    Although the conjured weapons had significantly higher damage output than my telekinetically controlled tools, that¡¯s all I could do with the spell. It was a one trick pony, even if it was a really badass pony. One with armor and spikes who could also breathe fire. With Mental Micromanagement, I could lift anything that weighed less than fifty pounds, which meant I could use it offensively or defensively. Upgrading to Phantom Arsenal would also cost me the ability to effortlessly proc Wild Surge, eliminating my potentially unlimited Mana Hack.


    There were several other decent possibilities as well.


    By adding in Collective Consciousness, I could forge a nasty Fable-grade Relic called Dominatrix, which would allow me to mentally dominate the will of any Delver or Dweller who was half my current Variant Level Cap or lower. That one was extremely dangerous, but the heavy restrictions wouldn¡¯t help us down below and I wasn¡¯t in love with the skill name. The thought of constantly using a skill called Dominatrix made me feel dirty on the inside.


    Even dirtier than accepting the Kiosk Club Card temporary tattoo.


    The best option by far was combing ESP Amplifier with both Mental Micromanagement and Erratic Levitation. The three Relics created a far more powerful version of the original skill but made them better in every conceivable way.


    Psychic Sovereignty


    Fabled Relic (Fully Tempered) ¨C Level 10


    Range: 50 Meters


    Cost: 10 - 200 Mana/Minute


    In a world where might makes right, Psychic Sovereignty is your crown. Wear it well, King, and remind your enemies that sometimes brains really are better than brawn. Especially when you can use your brain to punch things in the face. Psychic Sovereignty is the ultimate flex of your mental muscles, allowing you to weave invisible telekinetic strings around any object or objects weighing less than a combined total of two-thousand pounds.


    Wield an army of weapons or turn your mind into a weapon of its own and bitch slap your enemies across the room with the sheer power of your mental disdain. Hell, you can even tell gravity to go and eat a big ol¡¯ bowl full of dicks as you cast off the shackles of the earth and rise above the fray. You are literally bridging the gap between thought and reality, and the results are nothing short of awe-inspiring.


    Mana cost scales with total weight, adding 10 Mana per 100 pounds (rounded up), rather than the number of items. Sapient creatures with a Grit score equal to or higher than yours can resist being lifted via Psychic Sovereignty, and the Mana cost doubles for each sapient creature lifted simultaneously. Just, don¡¯t let your ambition outpace your skull¡¯s capacity, unless you¡¯re okay with having your brain splattered all over the wall.


    This Relic enables Mana usage.


    Psychic Sovereignty was exactly what I needed, especially since my goal was to eventually forge a new mind-based Emblem. Paired with Split Personality this Relic would turn me into a force to be reckoned with. I could already envision myself, hovering above the battle like Superman, raining down death and destruction while my army of weapons hacked my enemies to pieces. Although the Relic wasn¡¯t nearly as flashy as StainSlayer Maelstrom or as unequivocally devastating as Hydro Fracking Blast, this was a skill that would be invaluable for its raw versatility.


    I forged the new Relic then took a second to equip it.


    A feral smile split my face as my feet rose effortlessly from the floor. Fuck yeah. I couldn¡¯t wait to take this baby for a test drive.

 Twenty-Seven – Runic Upgrades

    As eager as I was to immediately head down to the twenty-fourth floor and turn some Dwellers into meat paste with my new abilities, Jakob was still hard at work in the lab, and I had a few more provisions to prepare.


    I only had a handful of Health Grenades left and I¡¯d burned through all of my offensive Spell Grenades during the showdown against the Shart-Stain Golem. Although the store¡¯s tennis ball selection had naturally regenerated over the past few days, I opted to go in a slightly different direction this time around. The tennis balls were great for physically throwing, but carrying around so many was awkward and took up too much space in my toolbelt.


    Besides, with my newly upgraded telekinetic abilities, I didn¡¯t really need to throw ¡¯em at all. Hell, I could have several orbiting me like small moons, ready to unleash whenever something looked at me the wrong way.


    With a new plan in mind, I raided what remained of the game aisle, snagging several packs of plain ol¡¯ Bicycle playing cards. They weren¡¯t fancy, but each individual card was large enough to contain a single rune and each pack came with fifty-four cards. Again, trying to toss ¡¯em at my enemies was a terrible idea, but utilizing my telekinetic powers made it a walk in the park. A single deck of cards also took up way less space than a sleeve of tennis balls and gave me substantially more bang for my buck.


    With enough time and patience, I could transform a deck into a self-contained arsenal, with a single type of spell assigned to each card. Croc had doubts, but as far as I was concerned, the move was a stroke of genius. I¡¯d finally be able to live out my fantasy of turning into Gambit from the X-Men. Well, Discount Gambit, since I had a bathrobe instead of a badass trench coat, but maybe I could add some fingerless gloves to complete the look.


    Picking which spells to use was a bit trickier, though.


    I¡¯d used Burn Baby Burn to forge my new Hydro Fracking Blast Relic, and the only other decent fire-based Relic I had on hand was Erlenmeyer''s Molotov Cocktail, which was a significant step down in terms of raw damage output. The mana leakage further reduced the fire damage by 50%, until the juice just wasn¡¯t worth the squeeze.


    The same thing was true for the Spike Grenades.


    Although they worked okay, they didn¡¯t really offer me any extra versatility if things got dicey. Sure, they were handy to have in case my mana pool ran dry, but thanks to Wild Surge, I wasn¡¯t too worried about that. Not anymore. Plus, Fault Spike was actively equipped to my Spatial Core, so it wasn¡¯t like I lost access to the spell itself. There was no telling what we¡¯d be facing below, so I wanted greater flexibility, not more of the same thing.


    That was the key. Flexibility.


    I needed to be able to improvise, adapt, and overcome, just like the Marine Corps taught me.


    Although Runic Resonance Trap wasn¡¯t my most powerful skill by a country mile, the one thing it offered in spades was adaptability. On paper, it made sense to upgrade some of my most hard-hitting spells like Hydro Fracking Blast or StainSlayer Maelstrom, but some deep-seated instinct told me that leveling Runic Resonance Trap would serve me better in the short term.


    Raising the Relic from level five to level ten¡ªthe next major threshold¡ªwould take an eye watering fifty Relics, ten per each level, but thankfully I had a lot to burn. Our Grand Reopening had netted us nearly three hundred new Relics in total and though many ended up on the shelves for resale, there were a shit ton of duplicates and trash-tier Relics that I could afford to sacrifice in pursuit of greatness.


    Even though it pained me a little on the inside, I bit the bullet and did what needed doing.


    After a long and rather tedious process, Runic Resonance Trap finally hit the level ten threshold, unlocking several new upgrades.


    For starters, the cast time dropped from twenty seconds to ten and the mana leakage improved drastically. Now, all the runes I crafted could contain 75% of the original spell effect. But the real payday was a shiny new secondary feature called Runic Triggering Mechanism, which was even better than Runic EOD Handler. With it, I could add a specialty trigger sigil, specifying under what circumstances the core runic trap would activate.


    That didn¡¯t sound all that impressive, until I realized the trigger was only limited by my imagination. I could create a trigger condition so that the Trap Rune only activated when I said a specific word or phrase. Or when someone else said a specific word or phrase. That effectively allowed me to create Health and Mana Replenishment grenades, which I could use on myself.


    I could also craft runic traps with extremely complex triggering mechanisms, capable of discriminating between Delvers and Dwellers, or even activating based on level or organization affiliation. It was even possible to add timer delays or turn the runic bombs into proximity mines, so they only went off when a target creature entered a certain range.


    That opened a whole new world of interesting and horrifying possibilities.


    Before departing for the lower floors, I planned to plant several old fashion floor traps right outside my doorway anchors that would only go off if an Aspirant of the Skinless Court got within ten feet. Between that and the Doorway Sentinels, those fucksticks were gonna learn the hard way why they should leave me alone.


    The only drawback was that I needed to have Runic Resonance Trap actively equipped to my Spatial Core for the triggering mechanism to stay intact. As far as I was concerned, though, that was a small price to pay for the unrivaled versatility the spell now offered. In essence, I could basically create one-off Artifacts, so long as I had the appropriate Relics needed to fuel my desired effect.


    I enlisted Croc¡¯s aid, then spent the next twelve hours building a plethora of fancy new grenades¡ªthough now they resembled spell cards more than grenades.


    I started off with the easy ones and constructed a red-backed deck of Health Regen spell cards using Pharmacist¡¯s Scales. Just like the original design, the spell cards would activate the second they touched any living creature other than me, but I also added a secondary trigger word, Tactical Triage, along with an additional condition, which would allow me to use the spell cards on myself.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Once I ironed out all the kinks, I repeated the process again, this time creating Mana Regen cards using a blue-backed deck, though I changed the trigger word to Rip-It and Whip-It.


    I stowed both decks in my toolbelt for easy access, then Croc and I started tinkering around with some new and improved offensive spell options. First up was Voodoo Doppelbanger.


    Rare Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Line of Sight


    Cost: 50 Mana


    Duration: 20 Seconds


    Cooldown: 2 Minutes


    Voodoo Doppelbanger is the physical incarnation of that old saying, ¡°I¡¯m rubber your glue, whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you.¡± Except with less glue and more meat explosions. With the flick of your wrist, you can summon an imperfect but disturbingly lifelike clone of yourself¡ªone with explosive anger issues and a total disregard for its own earthly existence.


    For forty seconds, Voodoo Doppelbanger absorbs 20 percent of all damage dealt to the caster. Then, in an unbridled fit of primal rage, your disgusting clone launches the ultimate kamikaze attack, unleashing all the absorbed damage in a glorious burst of flesh and fury! Because sometimes the best revenge is actually an unhinged suicide bomber wearing your face like a cheap Halloween mask!


    This Relic enables Mana usage.


    Even accounting for the mana leakage, the spell was still ridiculously strong. When I uttered the activation phrase, Comatose Clone, the spell card summoned a deeply unsettling replica of me.


    I mean, it was obvious that I was the template, but each clone was uniquely terrifying in their own way. They were just¡­ wrong. That was the only word that fit. Some were wildly malformed¡ªtheir backs hunched, their arms too long or legs too short. Others had melted flesh, as though they¡¯d been made from wax then left too long in the sun. Some didn¡¯t have ears or mouths. A few even had bits of straw poking through papery skin or protruding from eye sockets, as though they were giant corn husk dolls.


    One and all, the horrifying clones were twisted things that just stood there, staring at the world with glassy, dazed eyes and slack faces.


    For thirty seconds, fifteen percent of all damage dealt to me was instantly transferred to the slouching, comatose copy. Then, as soon as the timer lapsed, the cursed doppelganger¡¯s eyes filled with a murderous, unbridled rage and it took off like a bat out of hell. Transforming into a fleshy, suicidal homing missile that wrapped its arms around the nearest enemy like a python, before erupting in a blast of meat and bone, leaving only a pink stain behind.


    Even though I consciously knew the clones weren¡¯t sentient, it was still a tough thing to watch. The only redeeming mercy was that the doppelganger chunks dissolved after a minute or so, which meant there weren¡¯t just random bits of Dan confetti forever strewn across the ground.


    Thank Jesus, Mary, and Joseph for that.


    I had no desire to scrub pieces of myself off the floor with a mop.


    There were several other unexpected benefits to consider as well. Benefits that I hadn¡¯t initially anticipated.


    Turned out, the clones seemed to be completely impervious to most types of physical damage. You could wail on the doofuses with a hammer or set ¡¯em on fire and they just took it like champs, remaining in place until the end of the spell duration. And that meant the clones could effectively be used as impenetrable meat shields. Just take cover behind one of the Doppelganger Dans and let it soak up punishment like a dirty kitchen sponge.


    The second unexpected benefit was that the ability stacked.


    If I summoned two clones simultaneously, they both absorbed fifteen percent of any damage I received. Add a fourth or fifth clone into the mix and any damage was almost entirely offset by the clone army.


    As with all things, there were still a few notable limitations.


    The biggest drawback was that the doppelgangers didn¡¯t deal any damage at all unless something hit me first, and I wasn¡¯t real keen on turning myself into a punching bag, considering that the pain didn¡¯t transfer. Only the damage. Although I had thirty-six years of poor life choices tucked beneath my belt, I wasn¡¯t a masochist by any stretch of the imagination.


    Still, the skill could be a literal lifesaver, though there was some potential risk. If something dealt greater than one hundred percent damage¡ªsay 100 points of damage when my health pool only had 80 points¡ªthat extra 20 points would bleed over to me. If I wasn¡¯t careful, it would be easy to get over-confident, wade into a genuine shitstorm, and wind-up dead as a doornail. In theory, though, if I had enough active doppelgangers, I would effectively be invincible for thirty seconds, even if I¡¯d feel every single blow.


    This exploit shouldn¡¯t have been possible¡ªthe Relic had a two-minute cooldown between casts. But by storing them in trap sigils ahead of time, I could summon them in waves or unleash them all at once. And when the spell finally ended, my army of Dans would turn into a meaty avalanche of mindless, ambulatory death drones. It was one of the most gloriously fucked up things I¡¯d seen in months, and I planned to put it to good use.


    I created an entire pack of Voodoo Doppelbanger playing cards, then painted the card box completely black because it was easily the darkest skill I had in my arsenal¡ªeven worse than Unhinged Taxidermist.


    And speaking of my Taxidermied Horrors, I decided to add a few sigils on them as well.


    Although I couldn¡¯t inscribe runes on living flesh, the Horrors didn¡¯t technically qualify as living, so the sigils took without a hitch. I didn¡¯t relish the idea of turning my disgusting but faithful minions into undead bombs, but if things really went to shit it would be an excellent back up plan. Even better, I could inscribe multiple Trap Runes onto each Horror. One sigil onto each limb, another onto the torso, and a final one on the head for a total of six Runes, all with different effects.


    I loaded the Horrors down with my most devastating spells¡ªHydro Fracking Blast, StainSlayer Maelstrom, Sterilization Field, and Fault Spike¡ªthen bound all of them with a single unique activation phrase, so they wouldn¡¯t accidentally go off.


    Lastly, I fished out an old Relic that I¡¯d been hanging onto since before killing Funtime Frank, called Balloon Menagerie. I¡¯d looted it off the corpse of a particularly nasty Dweller named Harold the Terror Clown on the seventh floor. Created from the damaged psyche of a neglected twelve-year-old boy, Harold was exactly as disturbing as his name implied, and the Relic I¡¯d pulled off his corpse wasn¡¯t much better. With it, I could conjure five slow-moving balloon-animal, homing-bombs.


    The Relic was wildly unstable¡ªeven more so than Burn Baby Burn¡ªand it had a horrendously long cast time, but that didn¡¯t matter when making Runic spell cards. The fact that they were unstable was actually a bonus, and though they didn¡¯t deal nearly as much raw flame damage as my original grenades, that was counterbalanced by the fact that they dealt significantly more concussive force damage. I created an entire deck, which I painted bright green, the same color as Harold¡¯s stupid clown hair.


    I was tempted to create even more spell card varieties, but begrudgingly decided against it. I¡¯d already spent more time than I should have crafting the damned things, and Jakob had finally finished up his own preparations. It was time to get our asses in gear and head down to the twenty-fourth floor, where the mother of all HOAs waited for us.

 Twenty-Eight – Way Down We Go

    Using Unerring Arrow and the Variant Kiosk Network Map, it only took us a few hours to make our way to the first entry point, which would bring us all the way down to floor twenty-four.


    I¡¯m not sure whether it was the Barracuda in a Barrel title driving all the natives away or the fact that I floated a few feet above the floor and looked like I was itching to murder something, but we didn¡¯t see a single Dweller along the way. Sure, there were a few mimics hiding in plain sight, disguised as mall benches or vending machines, but nothing that even remotely posed any sort of threat to us.


    Not anymore.


    That didn¡¯t mean we let the mimics live, though.


    Although killing ¡¯em didn¡¯t grant us any additional experience, those incognito-mode murder machines were a deadly threat to any other low-level Delvers who unwittingly stumbled onto the third floor for the first time. Chances were, more would spawn, but that didn¡¯t matter. With the exception of Croc, the only good mimic was a dead mimic. Plus, I couldn¡¯t say no to free Relics, even if they were only Common-grade.


    I always needed more fuel for the sacrificial fires of my advancement.


    Our destination was a kiosk sandwiched between what appeared to be a knock off Brookstone selling a bunch of vibrating foot massagers and other equally useless travel bullshit, and a retro comic shop called Time Warp Comics.


    We were on a mission and the mission always came first, but I was sorely tempted to venture into Time Warp just so that I could read up on the adventures of Captain Carnage or Blitzkrieg Steve. Obviously, those were twisted backrooms versions of real Marvel and DC characters, but they honestly sounded kinda awesome. I¡¯d be lying if I said I wasn¡¯t morbidly curious about what I might find in a graphic novel featuring a depressed billionaire named the Nihilist Knight.


    Sadly, that would have to wait for another day.


    The kiosk itself sold a variety of skin creams, face masks, and hand lotions, which didn¡¯t come as much of a surprise. Those were among the most common types of kiosks located on the third floor and were almost always guarded by Sales Sirens.


    Up until now, I¡¯d given the things a wide berth because the Sales Sirens were notorious for their mind fuckery and early on, Grit had been my dump stat. But this was the only way down. I also wasn¡¯t worried about anything on the third floor¡ªnot with the Crown of the Burger Baron on my head and the Kiosk Club Card Tattoo stamped prominently across the back of my hand. I was the monster these creepy fucks needed to fear.


    I took point, preparing to blast anything unfriendly with either a concentrated dose of literal fire-water or slice ¡¯em to pieces with one of the tools, slowly spinning around me. Between the demolition screwdriver, my rip-claw hammer, and the Septic Shiv, I was ready to slay some bodies.


    As I approached, a storage hatch beneath the kiosk creaked open, and two lanky figures unfolded themselves from within, scuttling into view. They were humanoid in shape¡ªone male, one female¡ªbut crawled on unnaturally long limbs with too many joints. It was like watching that weirdo from the Ring lurch out of the TV screen.


    Their movements were disturbingly fluid, their bodies twisting unnervingly as they finally rose to stand, knees and elbows popping with each shift. Though they had the general outline of people, they were skeletal and emaciated, clad in glossy black latex bodysuits that hugged their androgynous forms. Both had smooth featureless crotches like a pair of walking Ken Dolls¡ªsomething I was deeply grateful for. The last thing I needed was the imprint of a grotesque moose knuckle seared into my memory.


    The male had short hair and a chiseled, strong-jawed face, while the female¡¯s flowing brunette hair and softer features gave her a faintly feminine air. Yet something about them felt off. Artificial. Their faces were too smooth, too tight, like celebrities frozen mid-expression after a bad Botox binge.


    Dweller 0.368B ¨C Sales Siren [Level 8]


    If a plastic surgery clinic and a used car lot birthed an unholy eldritch lovechild, you¡¯d get the Sales Siren. These creatures might look like men and women at first glance, but don¡¯t let the cheap veneers and gallons of spray tan fool you¡ªthere¡¯s not a shred of humanity beneath their glistening, plastic skin. Their smiles are as fake as the promises on a late-night infomercial, and those vacant, glassy eyes only hide one thing¡­


    Predatory cunning.


    Sales Sirens are masters of manipulation, luring their prey with whispers of unbeatable deals, exclusive offers, and bargain-basement prices you simply can¡¯t afford to miss. But don¡¯t be fooled. Behind their cloying charm lies a voracious hunger, feeding on your doubts, your greed, and¡ªultimately¡ªyour willpower. Accepting their ¡°deals¡± rarely ends in your favor, and once you¡¯re hooked, they¡¯ll drain you dry faster than you can say ¡°Buyer¡¯s Remorse.¡±


    I skimmed the description but quickly dismissed it as I felt an outside presence brush up against my thoughts.


    It was a subtle thing.


    So subtle I was sure that if my Grit were lower, I probably wouldn¡¯t have noticed at all. Thanks to my fancy new Crown, however, it was the equivalent of stepping face-first into a spider web. The strands of telekinetic power were gossamer thin, but they weren¡¯t powerful enough to hold me. Although the wide smiles never faltered for even a moment, a voice whispered in the back of my head.


    Come, they urged. Come and peruse our wares. We have such sights to show you, traveler. Such wonderous tonics for the flesh and the mind. Potions that will bathe you in glory. Elixirs and creams that will remake you anew.


    ¡°Yeah, cut the bullshit,¡± I said without batting an eye. ¡°Your party tricks aren¡¯t gonna work on us and we have every right to be here.¡± I raised my arm and showed off the tattoo branded against the back of my hand. The others mirrored the motion, showing off their own temporary ink.


    Although those eerie too wide smiles never faltered, both Sales Sirens flinched back as though they were vampires, and I¡¯d just brandished a cross at ¡¯em. If I didn¡¯t know any better, I¡¯d say they were afraid of the tattoo. Or maybe they were afraid of what the tattoo represented.


    The Franchisor.


    Either way, they moved away from the kiosk, bowed at the waists, then waved us toward the open cabinet door and made no further attempts to fuck with us. Hopefully, it would be that easy at every step, though somehow, I doubted it.


    ¡°Watch my back,¡± I growled over one shoulder as I dropped down onto my hands and knees and inched my way through the cramped cabinet opening, which should¡¯ve connected to under kiosk storage, but didn¡¯t.


    Instead, I wriggled my shoulders through and suddenly found myself in a large cavern with rough, craggy stone walls that stank to high heavens. It wasn¡¯t hard to guess why. Several butchered corpses lay in a large pile, the flesh moldering, the meat rancid and decomposing as flies buzzed about in lazy circles. Bones littered the ground, though many of those didn¡¯t look entirely human. There were misshapen skulls. Arm and leg bones that were too long. Several mutilated skeletons that looked like they belonged to wolves or giant rats.


    Probably the Mall Rats who so frequently haunted the open corridors of the third floor.


    These things didn¡¯t just eat Delvers, it seemed. They ate everything. It was a firm reminder that in the Backrooms, only the strong survived. And the Sales Sirens, for all of their frail appearance, were clearly survivors. Hungry ones.


    I stood and scanned the room for traps using Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense, but didn¡¯t see anything out of place. Well, everything was sort of out of place and extremely disturbing, but nothing that was inherently dangerous. Other than the smell, maybe. I scrunched up my nose at the sour stink, then pulled free a small green container of Vick¡¯s Vapor Rub, which I¡¯d grabbed earlier from the store¡¯s medicine aisle. I dabbed a dot or two beneath each nostril and breathed in deeply, filling my sinus cavity with the intense scent of menthol.


    The stuff was so overwhelmingly powerful that it burned my eyes, but that was still way better than the alternative.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°It¡¯s clear,¡± I called out through the tiny door as I stowed the Vicks.


    Croc was the next one through, followed in short order by Temperance then Jakob. All three had odd expressions on their faces as they surveyed the room, which¡ªlike so many things in the Backrooms¡ªwas far larger on the inside than on the outside. Temperance looked outright disgusted, which mirrored my own feelings, while Jakob cataloged every detail with the cold dispassionate eye of a scientist.


    Croc, on the other hand, looked like a hungry Marine pulling up to an All-You-Can-Eat buffet after a month of running field ops and eating tasteless MREs.


    ¡°Oh my god,¡± the dog said, practically drooling. ¡°What is that heavenly scent?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s dead bodies,¡± I replied with a grimace.


    ¡°Not just dead bodies,¡± Croc corrected. ¡°Dry aged dead bodies. The age really bakes in the flavor, Dan. Gives the meat a sort of an oaky after taste.¡± The mimic glanced left then right, obviously searching for any sign that the Sales Sirens had followed us in. But no, they were still outside. ¡°Do you think those fellas would mind terribly if I took just a nibble or two?¡± Croc asked in a low, conspiratorial whisper. ¡°It¡¯s been ages since I¡¯ve had a really good dry aged corpse.¡±


    ¡°Gonna be honest with you, bud, I don¡¯t think they¡¯d be happy about it,¡± I stated flatly. I couldn¡¯t believe that this was the conversation I was having


    ¡°But, Dan, I¡¯m so hungry,¡± Croc lamented, its googly eyes staring at me like huge moons.


    I hated saying no to Croc, but I wasn¡¯t sure what the rules were for the Kiosk Club Card, and I didn¡¯t want to risk violating some unspoken TOS and getting mauled by all the Dwellers inside the network.


    ¡°When we get to twenty-fourth floor,¡± I said like a parent reassuring an anxious child, ¡°I promise we¡¯ll find you something to munch on. A whole pile of bodies, if that¡¯ll make you happy.¡±


    ¡°Promise, Dan?¡± Croc asked, wagging its tail. ¡°Promise you¡¯ll get me a whole corpse pile? Because friends don¡¯t lie, Dan,¡± the dog added, its voice dead serious.


    ¡°Pinky promise,¡± I said, feeling a little grossed out by my own words. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how inhuman Croc was, but reality always had a way of reminding me sooner or later. ¡°If Jakob¡¯s right, floor twenty-four is gonna be a bloodbath. By the time we¡¯re done down there, you won¡¯t be hungry for a week.¡±


    At the far side of the cavern was a pool of deep shadow, which concealed a jagged fissure gouged into the surface of the rock.


    The passageway was so dark and well concealed, that I might¡¯ve missed it if not for my mini-map. Upon closer inspection I saw that the crevice continued onward, quickly disappearing out of sight as it was swallowed by inky darkness. There was no telling how deep that fissure went or what might be waiting for us inside, but Unerring Arrow confirmed that was indeed the way forward. I fished out my Maglite with unsteady fingers and used a thin strand of telekinesis to keep it aloft directly in front of me.


    The beam carved through the gloom, but there wasn¡¯t much to see. Just gray stone walls and a low ceiling¡ªthough not so low that I¡¯d have to crouch, thank the lord.


    Once again, I opted to go first so that I could scan for traps, but almost immediately regretted it. The passageway was cramped, narrow, and claustrophobically tight. I¡¯d never struggled with enclosed spaces before, but something about the fissure, cutting through the earth, left me feeling shaky and sick to my stomach.


    I kept envisioning the level shifting positions and the floor opening beneath my feet. That or the walls crunching together, turning me and my friends into red smears and smashed intestines. Worst of all, I could easily envision poisonous spiders or cave centipedes with a thousand legs scuttling out of the hidden crevices and into my bathrobe. Even though I knew that was irrational, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that there was something crawling along my skin or slithering through my hair.


    ¡°You okay, Dan?¡± Croc asked from behind, its voice echoing strangely off the stone.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I grunted, even though I wasn¡¯t really.


    Truth was, I was scared shitless for reasons I couldn¡¯t quite put my finger on.


    Sometimes fear could be good. It was a valuable survival mechanism honed through thousands of years of evolution. Yet those evolutionary instincts hadn¡¯t really caught up to the modern world and as a result, they could end up getting you killed if you weren¡¯t careful. Over the span of millennia, white tailed deer had developed the ability to go almost completely motionless when they sensed the approach of a dangerous predator.


    That worked great against bears or mountain lions. It worked much less well against semi-trucks hauling ass along I-80.


    This wasn¡¯t so different. My instincts were screaming at me to stop. To turn around. To find another way. Any other way. My senses screeched that the darkness was dangerous and that bad things waited for me beyond, but my head knew this was the way forward. As counterintuitive as it felt, charging into the breach was the path toward survival.


    So, even though I didn¡¯t want to, I grit my teeth, sucked it the fuck up, and pushed onward. The earthen fissure zigged and zagged, rarely going in a straight line, though the floor gradually sloped downward as we moved. No one talked and the only sounds to be heard were heavy breathing and the scuff of boots along stone. We inched along at a snail¡¯s pace, but after half an hour or so, the fissure finally widened, dumping us into an underground tunnel.


    The tunnel was less claustrophobic but equally unnerving in its own uniquely fucked up way.


    The walls were studded with countless bones. Rows of yellowing skulls were arranged into macabre patterns that yawned into the distance before disappearing out of sight. Unlike the fissure, which was deathly dark, a soft green witchlight seeped from the legion of skeletal eye sockets, casting the hallway with eerie shadows which seemed to dance and flicker in the corner of my vision.


    Although I¡¯d never visited the catacombs beneath Paris, I¡¯d seen pictures on the web.


    This place looked identical.


    Other than the creepy glowing skulls, of course, which made me wonder how much of this was real and how much of it was actually progenerated material, fabricated from scratch by the God Box down on floor one thousand.


    Intellectually, I knew that tens of thousands of people had noclipped into the Backrooms. Maybe even hundreds of thousands of people. But what were the chances that each and every one of them had ended up here, lining the walls of this obscure passageway in the kiosk network? That stretched the limits of plausibility, which made me think none of this was real. At least not real like me or Jakob or Temperance.


    That revelation robbed the cramped corridor of its creepiness, though that didn¡¯t mean the things living here were any less dangerous. The mimics weren¡¯t ¡°real¡± in a materially significant way, and neither was Funtime Frank or the ghastly Hotel Lodgers on the fifth floor, but they¡¯d all be more than happy to rip me a new asshole given half a chance.


    It was important I remember that fact.


    Complacency kills, I reminded myself for the thousandth time. That was an axiom I¡¯d learned to live by during my time in Iraq and those who forgot it came home in body bags if there was enough left to come home at all. I suspected the same was true for the Backrooms. Those who grew comfortable and minimized the dangers of this place ended up dead.


    Although there were several branching pathways that lead only God knows where, we followed what I¡¯m come to think of as the central boulevard. That main pathway turned out to be circular¡ªa giant corkscrew slowly but surely drilling down, down, down into the earth. The air grew noticeably cooler as we walked, and after almost an hour it was so cold I needed to pull my bathrobe tight around my shoulders to keep my teeth from chattering.


    Against my better judgement, I swapped out Existential Dread for one of the Uncommon-grade Erlenmeyer''s Molotov Cocktail Relics I had sitting in my Subspace Storage. The Relic wouldn¡¯t deal much damage against Dwellers down this deep, but it allowed me to conjure a small fireball, which floated above my palm, offering some scant warmth. That wasn¡¯t really what the spell was meant for, and under normal circumstances it would¡¯ve been a huge drain on my Mana Reserves, but with Psychic Sovereignty equipped that wasn¡¯t an issue.


    The only saving grace was that whatever called this place home stayed the hell away from us. And there were definitely things down here with us. Red dots occasionally flashed on my map and strange things crept along the side corridors. Things with too many legs and huge claws scraping against bone and stone as they trundled by. A few times, I caught glimpses of coarse fur and once I saw the chitinous scales of some giant bug, which sent a chill racing down my spine.


    Yeah, fuck that noise.


    They seemed content to let us be, though. I wasn¡¯t sure if they left us alone because we had Club Cards or because we were all level twenty or above with titles that actively repelled lower-level Dwellers, but in the end, I didn''t give a shit.


    The only thing I cared about was that we didn¡¯t have to murder a bunch of cave-dwelling giant centipedes or deformed spiders made entirely out of human bones. I mean, I wasn¡¯t sure that¡¯s what was lurking down here, but if it wasn¡¯t that it would be something equally awful. The Backrooms never failed to deliver when it came to serving up mentally traumatizing freak shows that defied the scope of human imagination.


    Eventually, the endless corkscrew levelled out and the catacombs disappeared, replaced by a large earthen cavern filled with piles of literal garbage. We¡¯d walked into what could only be an underground landfill¡ªone overflowing with the ghostly remnants of American suburbia.


    There were rusted bicycles and a solitary trike, missing one wheel. Used mattresses, ripped up and left to rot, alongside heavily stained couches and broken furniture. Piles of old clothing, busted toys, and equally broken dishware. Pots, pans, and kitchen appliances galore, plus a whole mess of As-Seen-on-TV bullshit. A derelict riding lawn mower with the engine ripped out sat precariously perched on a heap of discarded sheets and blankets.


    We were getting close to the twenty-fourth floor. I could feel it in my bones.


    A narrow pathway threaded its way through the teetering mounds of debris and came to an abrupt halt at a free-standing door. Not a normal door either. This was a slab of thick metal, which reminded me of the walk-in freezer I¡¯d acquired from the abandoned kitchen in Hotel Hell. I cast Unerring Arrow, and a beam of blue pointed straight at the door like a hound with the smell of blood in its nostrils.


    This was it.


    We¡¯d been playing on easy mode for the past three or four weeks, but all that was about to change. On the other side of that door lay death and lots of it. Hopefully we¡¯d done enough to prepare.


    I took a deep breath and gave the others one last look.


    I saw my resolve mirrored in each of their faces. Well, except for Temperance.


    She looked like a kid, getting ready for a shopping spree in a candy store. She¡¯d cranked the crazy all the way up to eleven and there was a hungry zeal in her eyes that was a little bit frightening. As for the others, whatever reservations they might have once had, they were gone. We¡¯d made our decision and now it was time to kick ass, commit war crimes, and God help anything that got in our way.

 Twenty-Nine – Ice Cream

    I pushed my way through the metal freezer door, fully expecting to step out into a kitchen or maybe a school cafeteria. That sort of fit with what I was expecting of a level called the Everlasting Suburbs. I was willing to bet dollars to donuts that there were at least a few school zones. But nope. I was dead wrong. Instead, I stepped out into the cramped confines of an ice cream truck. One of those old-school boxy ones from the late eighties or early nineties.


    There were stainless steel counters, but the interior itself was a muted yellow color, which was a dead ringer for the awful wallpaper in the lobby. Additional rectangular refrigeration units lined the wall opposite the large sliding glass window where the attendant would serve ice cream to all their prospective kids lined up outside.


    Except there were no kids, and from the look of things, this ice cream truck hadn¡¯t seen any action for a decade or more.


    There were stains everywhere and patches of black mold clung to the corners and inched along the ceiling. Pieces of broken glass, courtesy of several busted beer bottles, crunched underfoot as I took a few tentative steps forward to make room for the others. Odd, snaking vines that looked almost like fleshy veins crawled over the countertops and curled around the seat and steering wheel at the front of the truck.


    A rancid stink, even worse than the stench in the Sales Siren lair, radiated from the freezer units. It smelled like rotten meat mixed with burnt hair. I¡¯d had a buddy die in Iraq, blown to pieces by a daisy-chained IED left on the side of the road outside Ramadi, and seeing it happen over and over again left me feeling queasy to my stomach. As awful as the ensuing carnage was¡ªand it was fucking horrendous¡ªthe smell was the thing I¡¯d never been able to shake. This was just like that, only worse, somehow.


    The odor crawled into my nose like a living creature, and I found it harder to think. As though my thoughts were dull around the edges.


    ¡°Mein Gott and I thought the Howlers reeked,¡± Jakob said, stepping through the door behind me, his nose wrinkled in disgust. ¡°What do you think died in here, hmm?¡±


    ¡°No clue, but I¡¯m pretty sure whatever it is, it¡¯s inside that ice cream freezer,¡± I said, hooking a thumb toward the rectangular box pushed up against the wall.


    The fridge was off-white with colorful stickers plastered across its surface. Serendipity Swirls, Frosty Fantasy Creamery, Polar Pals Crunch Cones. They all looked like ice cream brands, though none I¡¯d ever heard of before.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome to check,¡± I offered, while shuffling over to the driver¡¯s compartment, ¡°though you¡¯d have to pay me in gold bricks to open that thing up.¡±


    ¡°No, I think not. We Cendrals have a much better sense of smell than humans and this is already overwhelming. I wonder what happened here? This is all much more¡­ widerlich than I remember,¡± he remarked with a grimace. ¡°My time here is fuzzy, but I remember everything being clean. Almost spotless. Perhaps the Blight has spread?¡± he offered in answer to his own question, though he didn¡¯t really sound convinced.


    ¡°No idea,¡± I replied with a shrug. ¡°And honestly, I don¡¯t really care. I don¡¯t want to get dragged into another bullshit mission like we did with the Howlers. Let¡¯s just keep it simple. Grind some levels, loot some bodies, and find the next kiosk. In and out, quick and easy.¡±


    I dropped into the driver¡¯s seat, which was upholstered with faded, multicolored polka-dots, and found the keys were still in the ignition. That was interesting. The derelict vehicle looked as though it¡¯d been sitting here, abandoned and unused, for years, but I figured it didn¡¯t hurt to try. I mashed the brake and turned the keys over. The engine rumbled to life with a guttural growl, followed by the distorted crackle of an old timey Ice Cream jingle, blaring through a pair of external loudspeakers.


    Oh shit.


    I fumbled with the key and killed the engine, cutting the music off abruptly, though I was afraid the damage was already done. As I focused on the steering column, a prompt swam into view.


    The truck was an Artifact, because of course it fucking was.


    Twilight Treats Ice Cream Truck


    Rare Artifact


    Type: Enchanted Vehicle


    Cost: 15 Miles / 1 Relic Shard


    Most kids end up with a part-time summer job. Maybe they work at the rec-center as a bright-eyed lifeguard or pick up shifts at a fast-food joint. A few get a paper route while others work weekends at the local movie theater. Then there¡¯s the neighborhood ice cream truck¡­ Seemingly, the perfect summer job for a teen, yet invariably it¡¯s always a middle-aged man with thinning hair and dead eyes slinging cones from behind the counter.


    His name is usually Gary or Dave or Stu and he always reminds you of your best friend¡¯s divorced dad who says he¡¯s fine, but definitely isn¡¯t.


    If you¡¯ve found yourself behind the wheel of this bad boy, you¡¯ve clearly made some poor life choices and things have gone horrendously wrong. I¡¯d say I feel bad for you, but let¡¯s be real: you probably deserve this awful fate. On the plus, this is one mean machine. Instead of running on gasoline like the pitiful 2004 Ford Fiesta you probably drive, this thing runs on the power of shattered dreams¡ªerr, I mean Relic Shards.


    Yep, just pop a few into the Shard Port and BAM! You¡¯re good to go.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    And go you shall, because this thing has a beastly engine block and one helluva need for speed. Which you¡¯ll absolutely need to outrun the legion of screaming crotch goblins who will come wriggling out of the woodwork when you fire this thing up and the Ice Cream Jingle starts blaring over the loudspeakers. The Kannibal Kids sure do love their ice cream, and they are hungry, hungry, hungry.


    ¡°Wonderful. So much for any advantage of surprise we might have held,¡± Temperance said in cold judgement as I waved away the Artifact description.


    ¡°Guys, I don¡¯t want to concern anyone unduly,¡± Croc added while staring out the serving window with a very concerned expression on its rubbery face, ¡°but it looks like we¡¯ve got company headed right for us. And there are a lot of ¡¯em.¡±


    ¡°Screw me sideways,¡± I grumbled, scrambling from the driver¡¯s seat, then squeezing by Temperance, so I could get a good look at what was coming.


    The serving window was streaked with rust brown smudges, which may or may not have been dried blood, and so much caked on grime that it was almost impossible to see through. I yanked the window open with the power of my mind and finally got my first good look of floor twenty-four.


    We were in a sprawling residential neighborhood, flat as an ironing board, which was the kind of place you might find in any suburban area across the American Midwest. Cookie cutter two story houses stretched off in either direction, hemmed in by neatly manicured lawns. Tiny sapling trees, freshly planted and too young to provide any real semblance of shade lined the sidewalks. Like the bizarre ice cream truck, however, everything about those houses were wrong.


    Hell, everything about the entire neighborhood was wrong.


    Problem was, I couldn¡¯t exactly put my finger on what or why. It was just some core, gut feeling that screamed at me like a gibbering chimp, angrily hurling feces. A hazy sheen seemed to coat everything, making it hard for me to focus. Almost as if the landscape itself didn¡¯t want to be seen. The sky overhead was deep crimson, the color of a fresh nosebleed. When I squinted and really tried to look at the houses dotting the road, they didn¡¯t really look like houses at all, but rather fleshy, house-shaped growths protruding from the ground.


    I shuddered at the notion and the terrible images seemed to swim out of focus again, replaced by a legion of unobtrusive and unremarkable homes. It was like my eyes were refusing to work while my mind was actively rejecting the horrors it saw.


    That¡¯s when I heard the faint sound of bells.


    Ring-ring. Ring-ring.


    It wasn¡¯t the ring of a doorbell or the thunderous chime of church bells tolling the hour. This was the soft, unmistakable trill of bicycle bells. Dozens of them. The kind little kids liked to mount on their handlebars.


    The sound brought back a sudden flood of nostalgic memories.


    Me and my brother tearing across the sidewalks, sweat beading on our foreheads as the scorching July sun beat down on us like a hammer. Except we didn¡¯t give a shit about the heat, because we were just kids and the only thing that mattered was that school was out for another month and we were on our way to Nick McCready¡¯s house. Nick had a whole bunch of left over bottle rockets from the 4<sup>th</sup> and we loved to shoot ¡¯em at each other from the ends of old beer bottles.


    My brother even had a special rig mounted to his bars so he could fire them while riding through the neighborhood.


    The memory hit so hard that I swayed on my feet, and when the moment finally passed, I blinked a few times and had to steady myself against the counter. What the hell was that? I wondered, shaking my head before refocusing on the encroaching threat.


    Riding toward us was a gang of what I assumed were children. Most were on bikes, though a few moved along on scooters or roller skates.


    They were still too far off to see clearly, but even at a distance I could tell Croc was right. There were a lot of ¡¯em. Twenty? Could be as many as thirty. Enough that I knew we were in a metric ass-load of trouble. Clearly, these creatures weren¡¯t in any way deterred by our Titles, which meant they were all at least level twelve or higher. And since we were on the twenty fourth floor, I was guessing it might be a lot higher.


    Even with our upgrades, we might not come out alive. Not if they rushed us all at once.


    I quickly consulted my mini-map and noted that the approaching kids weren¡¯t marked the bright red of enemies; instead, they were a cool white. Neutral. It was possible they were human, though I doubted it. The fact that they were white, however, told me they weren¡¯t inherently hostile. Not yet, anyway, though that could change in a heartbeat.


    ¡°Alright, what do we do here?¡± I asked, turning away from the window.


    ¡°Ach du meine G¨¹te,¡± Jakob grumbled. ¡°I was really hoping we wouldn¡¯t have to use these so quickly.¡±


    He pulled an elixir from his coat pocket and shoved it rudely into my hands, then quickly handed identical potions to both Temperance and Croc. Unlike the elixirs and potions that the store generated, these didn¡¯t look like Zima bottles or cans of soda. They were glass test tubes, quirked with rubber stoppers, and crudely labeled using masking tape and a sharpie. The potion was sludgy brown in appearance, and I could make out the words Cognition Booster in Jakob¡¯s blocking writing.


    ¡°What is this, pray tell?¡± Temp asked, shaking the vial with extreme skepticism.


    ¡°A special brew of my own design. Although the inhabitants of this floor can be physically dangerous, the greatest threat they pose is to the mind.¡± Jakob tapped one finger against his temple. ¡°They emit powerful psionic auras that can have devastating long-term effects on the psyche. It is quite possible they will not attack us. Not at first, and not directly.


    ¡°They play a longer game here,¡± he continued. ¡°Their attacks are less overt but far more insidious. This¡±¡ªhe shook the vial¡ª¡°will temporarily boost Grit and should help inoculate us against the contagion they carry.¡± He paused and grimaced. ¡°At least, I hope so. I haven¡¯t had an opportunity to test it yet, so there¡¯s no telling how effective it will be. Still, it is the best hope we have. Quickly, now. Zum Wohl.¡± He popped his vial and threw it back in one long pull.


    I examined the elixir with the same skepticism Temperance seemed to have.


    Gross Looking Mystery Brew


    Uncommon Elixir


    Type: One-Time Use


    It¡¯s brown, sludgy, and gross looking. I¡¯ve got no idea what¡¯s in here. Could be mud or literal shit. Hope you trust whoever made this stuff¡­


    That didn¡¯t exactly inspire me with great confidence, but I did trust Jakob.


    The Cendral had saved my ass more times than I could count, and he was the only one who¡¯d survived an encounter with the twenty-fourth floor. With a grimace, I chugged the vial. I was pleasantly surprised to find the sludge didn¡¯t taste half as bad as it looked. A little bitter, like a cup of day-old coffee, with just the faintest whiff of dark licorice. I slipped the empty vial into my toolbelt, then wiped my mouth clean with the back of one hand.


    A moment later, the goop landed in my stomach like a shot of Everclear and a comforting warmth spread outward from my belly and along my arms and legs. I blinked a few times as the legion of bicycle bells chimed again. The bikes were so close I could hear the crunch of rubber on asphalt and the squeak and squeal of brakes. I mentally prepared myself to Hydro Blast these little shitheels into the next century, but paused when I heard the sweet, chipper voice of a child.


    ¡°Heya, mister? We¡¯d like to buy some ice cream if you¡¯re open.¡±

 Thirty – You Scream

    I inched my way over to the window, heart thumping like a jackhammer.


    When I glanced out, the breath caught in my chest. I¡¯d been fully expecting a hoard of nightmare goblins conjured from the deepest pits of hell, ready to rip the flesh from my body and wear it around like a cheap costume fished out of the Spirit Halloween bargain bin. Instead, I found a pack of completely normal looking kids, just sitting on their bikes, staring at us with big, eager eyes. The ringleader was a little blond boy of maybe twelve with long coltish legs and a broad, almost infectious smile.


    Timmy 0.19725B ¨C Normal Human Boy [Level 25]


    This is just a normal human kid. Nothing remotely suspicious about this. If June Cleaver and an All-American Apple Pie had a baby, it would be little Timmy here.


    I just stared at the kids in bewilderment.


    Clearly these things were Dwellers. They had to be. Right? But if that was true, then why were they patiently asking for ice cream instead of trying to rip our arms off or skip rope with our intestines?


    Also, I¡¯d never seen a tag like that before.


    It didn¡¯t explicitly list the kid as a Delver or a Dweller, and it gave him a proper name which was weird. Also, normal human boy? Yeah, that sounded like a load of steaming horseshit. Exactly the kind of thing that a monster, pretending to be a normal human boy, would say. The description beneath the tag was also as strange as a three-dollar bill. Although the Codex entries often erred on the side of snarky or darkly morbid, I¡¯d never seen the Codex be just flat-out wrong about something before.


    Although now that I thought about it, something similar had happened once before.


    With Croc.


    The first time I¡¯d run into the mimic, its tag had read Normal Human Dog. Croc had been able to actively fool the identification system, which meant the thing standing outside the window was probably some sort of shapeshifter, too. Maybe even a mimic of some kind. Still, I¡¯d met Croc before I¡¯d equipped the Compass of the Catacomber to my Spatial Core, so that couldn¡¯t explain everything. There was something wrong here. Something that set my teeth on edge.


    I dismissed the tag and eyeballed the kid a little more closely.


    Unlike Croc, who never even remotely resembled a real dog, this little hump dumpling looked perfectly normal¡ªquintessentially All-American, just as his description claimed.


    He wore denim jeans, ripped at the knees, and a white T-shirt with the words Sunnyside Community Radio plastered across the front. There was a large cartoon radio right in the middle, with huge white eyes, a smile even wider than the kid¡¯s, and one cartoony hand raised in a wave. Behind the mascot was a radio tower silhouette with what appeared to be a bloody eye perched at the top. Beneath was the station¡¯s tagline, which set shivers racing down my spine.


    Always Watching. Always Listening. The Signal Never Sleeps.


    The rest of the kids were all spread out behind little Timmy in a wide arc, staring at us with a hungry light glimmering in their cold eyes. They all just stood there, completely silent, which was disquieting in its own way. Although I didn¡¯t have kids of my own, I¡¯d spent enough time around other people¡¯s kids to know they rarely, if ever, stopped talking. These things¡ªbecause I was certain they weren¡¯t human¡ªhad the Children-of-the-Corn vibes cranked all the way to thirteen.


    When I scanned the crowd of faces, though, all the tags were just like Timmy¡¯s.


    Exactly like Timmy¡¯s, in fact.


    Turned out, all the little boys were Timmys while all the little girls were Tammys. Each and every one a Normal Human Boy or a Normal Human Girl. That was enough to tell me that we were definitely dealing with Dwellers. Still¡­ I was hesitant to light these little fuckers up like a Christmas tree for a lot of reasons.


    Strategically, we weren¡¯t in a great position.


    Although we could always retreat into the kiosk network if things went sideways, trying to fight twenty bloodthirsty shapeshifters inside the ice cream truck was suicide. Jakob needed a lot of space to work his magic, and I was just as likely to hit my allies as my enemies inside the close quarters. Plus, there was a shitload more of them than there were of us, and the weakest ¡°Timmy¡± among them was still level twenty-two.


    Between my army of Taxidermized Horrors and all my new spells, I figured we might have even odds if push came to shove, but they didn¡¯t seem to be violent. They also remained neutral white on my mini-map.


    Croc had told me more than once that not all Dwellers were inherently evil and violent. That originally, they¡¯d been created as a way to help Delvers¡ªthough I wasn¡¯t sure whether I believed that. Still, maybe there was a solution other than murder.


    ¡°Mister,¡± the first Timmy said again, though this time a guttural inhuman growl reverberated beneath the word. ¡°We want ice cream. We want it real bad. We¡¯re hungry, mister. Very, very hungry.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure you want anything from this truck,¡± I replied nervously. ¡°Pretty sure it¡¯s all gone bad.¡± I thought about the horrendous odor wafting from the refrigerator unit.


    ¡°Can you just check for us?¡± the boy asked.


    Something malevolent rippled beneath his features, and for a thin moment it was like I was seeing double. A pair of Timmy¡¯s layered right over the top of each other. One was the little blond kid with the ripped jeans, and the other was something unspeakably grotesque. Spidery eyes dotted the creature¡¯s bulbous head, and its wide, circular mouth bristled with undulating teeth.


    ¡°Sure,¡± I said, my fake smile faltering even as the horrific overlay vanished. I braced myself, preparing to get sucker punched in the nose by the rankest odor on the planet, then opened the cooler.


    The lid clicked and as it did, an odd weight seemed to settle over me. The sound drained from the room, the light dimmed, flickered, and a wave of vertigo washed over me like the incoming tide. The world seemed to wobble unsteadily beneath me but then, just as quickly as the sensation had come, it vanished. It felt like my ears had finally popped after being in plane for too long and some small measure of my worry melted away.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    I blinked as I looked down into the ice cream cooler and found that it was meticulously clean, with pints of ice cream sitting at the bottom. Confused, I glanced back and noticed that the interior of the truck had changed as well. The broken glass was gone and so was the mold and the odd, fleshy vines that had previously covered the walls. Everything looked to be in perfect, pristine condition.


    Beside the cooler, right on the stainless-steel counter which had been mostly barren before, were small paper bowls and boxes of vanilla cones, just ready to receive a scoop. My mouth went dry as my thoughts raced. I still had no clue what was happening here, but if slinging a few ice cream cones could get us out of this van alive, that was a small price to pay.


    There was a metal scoop inside the freezer unit. It was warm to the touch, which struck me as odd, but that was the least weird thing happening at the moment.


    I picked it up and got to work.


    ¡°Croc, Jakob, Temp,¡± I called over one shoulder. ¡°Help me serve these little buckets of joy, huh?¡±


    I was in a minor state of shock and my hands seemed to move with a life and purpose of their own, quickly doling out cones filled with chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry ice cream. Croc took orders, while Jakob and Temperance helped pass cones out to eager customers. For their part, the kids waited patiently, forming a neat line to place their orders, then standing in absolute silence the rest of the time. If any of the totally normal human children found it odd that there was a blue talking dog working the window, none of them mentioned it.


    In less than ten minutes, we¡¯d served each of the children. I watched from the flimsy safety of the truck as they devoured the cones like rabid wolves, getting a meal for the first time in months. Every once in a while, my vision would swim out of focus and I¡¯d see more of those strange overlays: a normal Timmy or Tammy eating a simple ice cream cone with a gusto while, simultaneously, a deformed abomination with too many eyes slurped fetid chunks of meat from a stained bowl.


    They weren¡¯t violent, though, and that was the important part.


    Once the kids finished their meal, the leader of their feral pack¡ªthe same level 25 Timmy who¡¯d done most of the talking¡ªtipped me a nod, offered me a wide smile filled with too many teeth, then mounted his bike, wheeled about, and took off down the street without a look back. The rest of the demon children followed in his wake, the sound of their wheels humming over the pavement as they quickly disappeared into the distance.


    We just watched them go, until we were certain it wasn¡¯t some trick or an ambush.


    ¡°That was quite¡­ unexpected,¡± Jakob noted with frown and a shake of his head. He pressed his eyes closed and furrowed his brow in a combination of concern and thought. ¡°I vaguely remember the children, but there are so very many holes in my recollection. I didn¡¯t spend long here, and I¡¯m already thinking that was probably for the best.¡±


    ¡°Well, I despise it,¡± Temperance declared, crossing her arms disgruntledly across her chest. ¡°I loathe everything about this place. The dull, monotonous houses. The prim little yards. The peculiar children. And the violence¡ªor rather, the lack thereof.¡± She rounded on me, her hands planted on her hips. ¡°I was promised violence, Dan. Carnage. You said there would be a mountain of bodies, and instead, I¡¯ve been reduced to serving ice cream to children. If I¡¯d wanted a life as a simple shopkeeper, I¡¯d have stayed behind at the store.¡±


    ¡°I think we should count ourselves lucky,¡± I said, absently rubbing at my jaw. ¡°I have no doubt there¡¯s gonna be bloodshed before this is all over, but we want to pick our battles if we can.¡± I squinted and messaged one temple, trying to alleviate the pain from the massive headache building just behind my eye sockets. ¡°The longer we can play nice, the better off we¡¯ll be. Let¡¯s just see if we can find the kiosk we need, then you can pick all the fights you¡ª¡±


    Before I could finish the words, the truck¡¯s radio squealed to life in a burst of static, followed shortly by the chipper voice of a radio announcer.


    ¡°Good afternoon, Sunnysiders. This is Seth Nickles, the voice of WBSC ¨C Sunnyside Community Radio, coming at you with a few friendly reminders from the HOA Board. This is a reminder that tomorrow night, there will be a lunar eclipse which could last for several weeks. Please note that during the eclipse, the moon will appear to bleed. This is normal. Do not be alarmed. If you hear knocking on your door at precisely 3:33 AM, do not open it. The knocking will be persistent and may mimic the voice of a loved one. Ignore it. They cannot come inside unless you invite them. Do not invite them.


    ¡°In other news, the Fireworks Pop-Up tent at the corner of Needlerush and Oak Avenue has been declared strictly off-limits by the HOA Board. Residents are reminded that the tent is now under quarantine, and access is prohibited for the sake of community safety. No further details have been provided at this time, but the board assures us there is no danger, provided everyone respects the flesh barrier and remains at a respectful distance.


    ¡°And lastly, a quick update on the noise complaints coming from the cornfields: The sounds of children laughing at midnight are just that¡ªsounds. There are no children there, nor should there be. Please ignore them and continue with your evening. If the laughter persists, seek shelter immediately. Once again, this is Seth Nickles, reminding you to trust the HOA. Obey the HOA. We are always watching. Always listening. The signal never sleeps.¡±


    The radio buzzed with static once more than promptly clicked off, casting the truck back into silence.


    ¡°I am so confused,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°Not a single thing on this floor makes any sense? I mean, what the hell was that just now?¡± I asked, gesturing toward the radio.


    ¡°Helpful public announcements?¡± Croc offered, wagging its tail. ¡°I don¡¯t know about the rest of you, but frankly I¡¯m relieved that we don¡¯t have to worry about the lunar eclipse tomorrow night. And if they hadn¡¯t told me not to answer the door, I probably would have. It seems very rude not to open the door for a guest, especially if they¡¯re stuck outside so late at night.¡±


    ¡°What? No,¡± I said, shaking my head. ¡°Those weren¡¯t helpful, they were creepy as fuck. And vaguely threatening.¡± I suppressed another shiver. ¡°Everything about this place gives me the heebie jeebies. It¡¯s like the Stepford Wives only worse.¡±


    ¡°Agreed,¡± Jakob said, ¡°but I think there might¡¯ve been something unintentionally helpful buried within that broadcast. The radio announcer mentioned a Fireworks Pop-Up Tent. That seems rather odd, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°The moon might start bleeding, and we should ignore any laughter coming from the cornfields, but the fireworks tent is what jumped out at you?¡± I asked, lifting an eyebrow.


    ¡°Think about it, Dan,¡± Jakob urged. ¡°I for one am not sure what a kiosk on this floor might look like, but a Fireworks Pop-Up Tent seems like it would be a good fit, don¡¯t you think? The fact they it¡¯s been cordoned off is also rather peculiar to me.¡±


    I grunted and mulled his words over.


    The Director had made it abundantly clear that the Dweller in charge of this floor was both extremely dangerous and ¡®eternally loyal to the Monarch¡¯¡ªher words. While there were at least a dozen kiosks scattered across the floor, only one served as a spatial gateway capable of taking us all the way down to the 49th floor, where we could then catch a ride to the 75th. It stood to reason that the only way out would be heavily guarded.


    Maybe the Monarch couldn¡¯t directly stop us from accessing the kiosk network, but his bootlickers could certainly ensure we never got close enough for that to matter.


    Honestly, this whole thing smelled like a trap, but that had always been a possibility. So far, the Director had been true to her word. We needed to be cautious, but we couldn¡¯t run back to the shop and hide every time something weird happened. The only thing I believed beyond a shadow of a doubt was that the Monarch was coming for me, and if we played things too safe, we wouldn¡¯t be strong enough to survive once he arrived.


    Sometimes, you just needed to roll the dice.


    ¡°Okay, that¡¯s a fair point,¡± I finally agreed, idly plucking at a thread on my robe. ¡°That probably isn¡¯t just a random coincidence. But we aren¡¯t going to get any answers sitting inside this truck. Let¡¯s go find out exactly how boned we really are.¡±

 Thirty-One – Sunnysiders

    Climbing out of the truck, I realized my eyes were lying to me again. Instead of a bloody-red sky, a vast field of robin¡¯s egg blue stretched out above us in every direction. Not a single cloud marred the horizon, and the air carried that fleeting perfection you only get once or twice each summer. The sun blazed overhead, cooking the freshly laid asphalt beneath my boots, but for once, I didn¡¯t mind.


    After months stuck under buzzing artificial light, there was something deeply refreshing and satisfying about being outdoors again, even if it was hot as balls. If I didn¡¯t know any better, I would¡¯ve sworn we¡¯d noclipped back into reality.


    We were right in the beating heart of an up-and-coming housing development¡ªa patchwork quilt of freshly built homes, large empty lots waiting for construction, and sprawling green spaces that seemed to stretch forever. Far to the east, a dense wall of green marked the beginning of the cornfields. From my experience, most small towns in America were like that. Human habitation, just plopped down in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by farmland in every direction.


    The floors I¡¯d visited so far had been vast, but this beat them all by a country mile. I knew the Backrooms could play tricks with perception and space, but how could something like this even exist?


    It was impossibly large.


    And it all looked so real. Felt so real.


    Like I could hop in my pickup, drive ten minutes, and be at the local bar for a cold beer¡ªor maybe grab a steak at the nearest Outback. The air was thick with humidity, carrying the scent of fresh-cut grass and the smoky aroma of a distant barbecue. A gentle breeze tugged at the edges of my bathrobe, and I caught a whiff of sunscreen and chlorine.


    It smelled like being home again.


    ¡°Wow, this is beautiful,¡± Croc said, padding over, then dropping down beside me.


    I almost had a heart attack when I got a good look at the mimic. Croc wasn¡¯t blue anymore. The dog¡¯s odd, pock-marked, rubbery skin was gone and so were the ridiculous googly eyes. Even though it seemed to defy any sort of rational explanation, Croc now looked exactly like the golden retriever it had always pretended to be.


    And the mimic wasn¡¯t alone.


    Jakob¡¯s scales and horns were gone too, and though his facial features were the same, he looked¡­ entirely human. Even his clothes had changed. The duster had disappeared, replaced by a douchey-looking knit cardigan, while someone or something had swapped his combat boots for boat shoes. Temperance suffered a similar fate¡ªthough she was stuck wearing a yellow sundress and black flats. The glower on her face told me she was none too happy about the changes.


    The twenty-fourth floor hadn¡¯t spared me either.


    Although I could feel the coarse fibers of my bathrobe rubbing against my arms and the leather suspenders of my tool belt digging into my shoulders and back, I couldn¡¯t see them. I was in a pair of plain khaki shorts with a collared golf shirt, tucked neatly into my waistband. My heavy work boots were still there¡ªI could feel them against my toes¡ªbut now they looked like a pair of New Balances, complete with calf-high white socks.


    ¡°Amazing,¡± Jakob wondered aloud, examining his own appearance and clothes much the same way I was examining mine. ¡°It must be some sort of massive illusion. One cast over the entirety of the floor. That¡¯s the only reasonable explanation. It¡¯s no wonder this floor is considered a Cognition Hazard.¡± He shook his head. ¡°You cannot even trust your eyes.¡±


    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t make any sense,¡± I said. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t my fancy new Crown of the Burger Baron make me immune to this type of mind-fuckery?¡±


    Jakob shrugged and offered me an apologetic smile. The expression looked genuinely weird on his now-human face.


    ¡°Perhaps there is more at play here than we understand. Those potions we drank, in theory, they should fortify Grit by approximately twenty percent for the next thirty-six hours or so.¡± He faltered, unsure of himself. ¡°Yet here we are, mass hallucinating all the same. I cannot explain it.¡±


    ¡°They made me wear a dress,¡± Temperance growled, her hands balled into angry fists. ¡°I have not worn a dress in two-hundred years. When I find the culprit responsible for this indignity, I¡¯m going to gut them like a pig and stuff their carcass with ten thousand spiders.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure what to think or believe, but I wanted to find the next kiosk and I wanted to do it fast. Even though this was the most ¡°normal¡± floor I¡¯d seen so far, there was something about it that I hated to my core. Despite the sunshine and clear skies, there was something dark and cancerous here, festering like an open wound.


    I cast Unerring Arrow, this time focusing on the kiosk that would eventually teleport us down to the 49th floor. The blue beam of light exploded outward from my chest, unseen to everyone but me, and disappeared down the street before doglegging sharply to the right a few blocks up.


    ¡°We¡¯re going that way,¡± I said, waving in the general direction the arrow had gone.


    ¡°What about the ice cream truck?¡± Croc asked, even as I started to trudge across the blistering hot blacktop.


    ¡°What about it?¡± I called back.


    ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we try to do something with it?¡± the dog asked. ¡°Clearly, we can¡¯t drive it around without summoning an army of those hungry kiddos, but I don¡¯t think we should just leave it here.¡±


    ¡°Croc brings up an excellent point,¡± Jakob added with a nod. ¡°Finding a working vehicle is a rarity, and one that doubles as a mobile access point to the kiosk network? Could be quite valuable and handy, especially if we can find a way to disable the external speaker system.¡±


    I cursed under my breath but conceded that they maybe, probably, kinda had a good point. In the Backrooms, resources were scarce and when you came across something like this, it was never a smart move to let it sit idle. The floors were temperamental and could shift at any moment. Attempting to backtrack to the ice cream truck¡ªeven using the kiosk network¡ªcould add days or even weeks of time, assuming I could manage it at all.


    The problem was, I didn¡¯t really know what to do with the damned thing.


    The truck had to weigh two tons, easy, which meant it was too big to fit inside my personal Storage Space. And Croc was right, I didn¡¯t really want to drive the monstrosity around, blaring that godawful ice cream music. The one thing we absolutely didn¡¯t need was a massive bike gang of hangry children dogging our trail, demanding that we sling SoftServe every ten minutes.


    In the loosest sense of the word, the vehicle likely qualified as a ¡°structure,¡± which meant I could probably use my Blanket Fort ability to tack it onto the store just like I¡¯d done with the concession stand from the Jungle Gym Jamboree Arcade. But that left me with a laundry list of other questions and concerns, which I didn¡¯t have any answers to.


    Like, what would happen if I randomly amputated a piece of the kiosk network?


    Or what if this thing was infected with some kind of mind virus?


    Or, most importantly of all, would those with access to the kiosk network suddenly be able to pop into my store without having to go through the normal screening protocols? The last thing I wanted was to bring a Trojan Ice Cream Truck into my store, which could be then used by agents of the Flayed Monarch.


    I just didn¡¯t know how it would work, but I didn¡¯t want to leave it behind either. Which left me with only one viable option. My Unhinged Taxidermist Relic. Although I couldn¡¯t put this thing into my regular Subspace Storage, maybe I could Frankenstein the son of a bitch. Transform it into a Horror. Then I¡¯d be able to summon and banish it from a unique Subspace Storage area, which¡ªlucky for me¡ªdidn¡¯t have any effective weight limit.


    It was a bit of a stretch but was worth a shot, at least.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I finally said, pulling a few key items from my storage space.


    Although I¡¯d moved most of the corpse parts to the refrigeration unit back at the store, I still had a few odds and ends lying around. Some spare mimic pieces. A couple of spare limbs I¡¯d plucked off some of the bellhops on floor five.


    With parts in hand, I opened my Taxidermist Overlay and quickly added a variety of gangly arms and misshapen legs to truck¡¯s exterior. They jutted off from the sides at odd angles that didn¡¯t really make any logical sense. But that was fine. This was just a Pass/Fail assignment, and the truck didn¡¯t have to be structurally sound. By the time I was done, the truck was festooned with mismatched, left over body parts that I didn¡¯t have any better use for.


    ¡°Well, that is truly awful, Dan,¡± Croc noted, appraising my work with totally normal eyes. ¡°Honestly, I am as dismayed as I am impressed.¡±


    Croc wasn¡¯t wrong. The truck was¡­


    Gross. Was the kindest word I could come up with.


    When I finally brought the monstrosity to life, it let out anguished moans through the speaker system. I quickly banished it back to spatial storage until I had the time and resources to do a more thorough job.


    ¡°You wanted me to save the truck,¡± I grumbled, ¡°I saved the truck. You have no one else to blame for that abomination. Now, if everyone is done complaining, can we please get our asses in gear?¡± The hair on the back of my neck was standing stiffly at attention. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure there¡¯s something watching us.¡± I glanced toward the closed blinds of a nearby house and thought I saw a brief flicker of movement. ¡°Maybe a lot of somethings.¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    ¡°By all means, do lead on,¡± Temperance said, brandishing what looked to be a cast iron skillet. Except I could tell from the way she swung the weapon that it was really her meat cleaver. Like everything else, it had been cleverly disguised to blend in with the surroundings.  ¡°I should very much like to find and murder all of those ¡®somethings¡¯ you speak of.¡±


    ***


    With the truck gone and no new dangers in our immediate vicinity, we set off down the street, following the path Unerring Arrow had laid out for us. As we made our way deeper and deeper into the suburban hellscape, the feeling of unseen eyes only became more intense, until I was sure we were being watched from almost every house we passed. I didn¡¯t see any activity on my map, but I still couldn¡¯t shake the feeling.


    For the time being, though, the unseen watchers left us alone.


    Something I was immensely grateful for.


    As much as we needed the experience, a small part of me relished the peace, quiet, and relative boredom. If I could shove my deeply ingrained paranoia to the side and avoid looking too closely at anything, I could almost trick myself into believing I was back home. Just an ordinary person, walking my normal, human dog¡ªwho absolutely didn¡¯t talk or make bizarre comments about the Twilight series.


    Occasionally, we caught glimpses of roving bicycle gangs, just like the one that had accosted the truck. There were a lot of them and as time wore on, I got the sickening feeling that they were keeping tabs on us. Like the watchers, though, the kids kept their distance and never got too close for comfort. As the sun carved its way toward the horizon and the blue sky gave way to the bruised purple of evening, we started to see the faint stirrings of life inside the houses themselves.


    It was subtle at first.


    Shades opening.


    Lights flicking on inside.


    Automatic garage doors rumbling in the distance.


    Then when twilight was finally and fully upon us, radios in every single house blared to life. There must¡¯ve been external speakers hidden somewhere, because the sound came from everywhere all at once, reverberating off the houses and bleeding from the air itself.


    ¡°Good evening, all you Sunnysiders getting ready to unwind after a long day of work. As always, this is Seth Nickles, the voice of WBSC ¨C Sunnyside Community Radio. For those in Quadrant 13, a friendly reminder that we have out-of-towners visiting. Make sure to keep an eye out for them and please be sure to roll out those welcome mats and show them a big ol¡¯ dose of Sunnyside hospitality. Remember what the HOA always says: outsiders are just future neighbors we haven¡¯t converted yet.¡±


    A cold trickle of fear washed over me.


    The announcement confirmed what I already suspected. We were being watched. Strangely, knowing the truth didn¡¯t comfort me. If anything, it made me feel worse. Whenever I wandered the Backrooms, I always operated on the assumption that something was out there, watching. Waiting. Patiently biding its time for me to let my guard down so it could strike¡ªwhether it was a mimic, an Aspirant of the court, or some nameless Dweller looking for an easy meal.


    This was different, though. This wasn¡¯t random. This was organized.


    I was sure the things that lived on this floor were Dwellers, no matter how human they might¡¯ve appeared at first glance. But I¡¯d never known Dwellers to act like this. Although the denizens of the Backrooms might share tiny little fiefdoms with others of their species, for the most part, they were chaotic and violent¡ªprone to infighting and cannibalizing their own as often as attacking outsiders. The Sales Sirens were perfect examples. But an entire floor, where all the Dwellers obeyed a single entity? Where they all worked together as a community?


    Now that was something to be scared of.


    True, these things had been friendly so far, but if whatever was calling the shots here decided it wanted us dead, it could mobilize every single Dweller and bury us in bodies.


    Period. End of story.


    ¡°Also be on the lookout for Mr. Edward Myrl,¡± the radio announcer said interrupting my train of thought, ¡°the former Sunnyside maintenance worker. Mr. Myrl is still missing after last month¡¯s incident outside of the Sunnyside Tiny Tots Preschool facility. I repeat, he is still missing. Despite all appearances to the contrary, he is not the same and has been deemed a contamination risk by the board for thought crimes. If you see the man formerly known as Mr. Myrl, do not engage him in conversation. Do not make eye contact. Do not accept anything he offers you. Nod politely, move on as quickly as possible, and report his location immediately. Trust the HOA. Obey the HOA. We are always watching. Always listening. The signal never sleeps.¡±


    The radio signal cut off abruptly, leaving the air buzzing with the sharp crackle of static. It lasted only a few seconds before another sound took its place. As someone who¡¯d spent years working alongside countless landscaping crews, I recognized it instantly.


    Lawn mowers.


    A whole army of lawn mowers, all firing up at once.


    I watched in mute fascination as a garage door slid open and a man, who could¡¯ve been the poster child for ¡°normal suburban dad,¡± trotted out with a meticulously pristine lawnmower rolling in front of him. Just like with the kids from the ice cream truck, his icon displayed as neutral on my map. A tag appeared above the man¡¯s head, though it told me almost nothing of any real value.


    Kevin 0.19731B ¨C Normal Human Dad [Level 31]


    This is Kevin, just a totally normal human dad. You know Kevin, right? Or was it Steven? Kurt, maybe? Eh, doesn¡¯t really matter. Kevin, Steven, Kurt, Bob, Bill. They might have different names, but these guys are all the same. Just normal dads doing normal human dad stuff. He probably works in IT or maybe he sells insurance, though you¡¯re not sure which.


    It¡¯s definitely something boring like that, however.


    Despite living next door to him, you don¡¯t really know Kevin all that well. When you see him out mowing his lawn or hauling the trash cans to the curb, you¡¯re obligated to wave and offer a tightlipped smile while simultaneously praying that he doesn¡¯t try to talk to you. Don¡¯t worry, he won¡¯t. He¡¯s praying just as fervently that you won¡¯t try to talk to him, either.


    Kevin nailed the part of normal human dad.


    He wore khaki shorts, a generic golf shirt almost exactly like mine, and those same eggshell white sneakers with too high white socks. True to the description, Kevin offered us a tight-lipped smile and a small wave, then he fired up his mower and was off to the races, cruising along the edges of the yard with expert precision.


    We crossed the street on principle, but that didn¡¯t help much.


    More Kevins were streaming out of garages all along the block, each pushing their own lawn mowers. Just like the Timmys and Tammys, they were all Kevins. Even though they had the same name, they all looked slightly different from one another. Still, there was a generic ¡°sameness¡± about the Kevins that made them all look like NPCs in a weird Sim City game.


    Although lawn mowing seemed to be the most common activity amongst the totally normal human dads of the twenty-fourth floor, we quickly discovered that other past times included building completely unidentifiable furniture in the garage, painting the house exterior, or cruising around on golf carts with a beer clutched in one hand.


    Honestly, cruising around on a golf cart with a cold beer didn¡¯t sound half bad.


    Ten minutes later¡ªas though the universe were eavesdropping on my thoughts¡ªwe stumbled across an unoccupied golf cart sitting in an open lot with a For Sale sign propped in front. It wasn¡¯t an Artifact, but it ran like a dream and would sure help us cover ground a lot quicker. Best of all, unlike the god-awful ice cream truck, it didn¡¯t stick out like a sore thumb.


    Just the opposite, in fact.


    Turned out, the residents paid us even less attention once we were mounted and cruising through the neighborhood. Almost as if the cart were some sort of suburban camouflage. As we drove, we got a glimpse of even more of Sunnyside¡¯s residents.


    The Normal Human Moms were all named Kathy. Most puttered around in small gardens or spent time walking dogs so tiny they barely qualified for the name. Sometimes a handful of Kathys congregated together on back patios, which were invariably decorated with string lighting.


    There were no kids, though. Not one.


    I wasn¡¯t sure where exactly they¡¯d gone, but it seemed the setting sun had driven them away, leaving their parents to free roam the streets in their place.


    All things considered, the situation was¡­ strangely, almost unnervingly, good.


    Suspiciously good.


    The weather was gorgeous, the residents were quirky but nonthreatening, and, most importantly, nothing had tried to kill us yet. It felt like a trap waiting to be sprung, and despite knowing the dangers of this floor¡ªwarnings we¡¯d received in no uncertain terms¡ªI let my guard down. It was like the floor had cast a spell over me and the eerie banality of Sunnyside slowly lulled me into a false sense of security.


    Aside from the occasional glance, the Kathys and Kevins were so disinterested in us that it was hard to imagine them as dangerous. They just went about their routines¡ªmowing lawns, walking dogs, living their dull, mundane lives.


    After a few hours, we settled into an easy rhythm, and I started doing what had become second nature over the past few months¡ªleaving Twinning Rings and survival tips for other Delvers who might stumble across this level. Honestly, I doubted anyone would see them. The floor seemed full of life on the surface, but I had a nagging suspicion Delvers didn¡¯t linger here for a damned good reason.


    Still, if we helped even one person it would be worth the effort.


    Every few blocks, I¡¯d pull over, check for any nearby Delvers¡ªjust to be on the safe side¡ªthen leave a message on a storage shed or house wall.


    Don¡¯t trust your eyes, things are not what they seem.


    The bicycle gangs only come out during the day.


    The adults are nonviolent if unprovoked.


    The first dozen or so stops went without any issues, which was probably why I didn¡¯t think twice before pulling onto the lawn of a corner house at Maple and Park. As usual, I left a hasty message in red spray paint, then pounded in a nail to hang a couple of Twinning Rings. I almost didn¡¯t hear Croc over the thud, thud, thud of my hammer.


    ¡°Dan,¡± Croc said behind me, its tone uneasy, ¡°maybe you should stop doing that.¡±


    ¡°Almost done,¡± I replied, hanging the last ring then pulling out one of the flyers I¡¯d printed using the salvaged computer from the maintenance corridors.


    ¡°I think it might be best if you listen to Croc,¡± Jakob urged, his normally calm voice edged with uncertainty¡ªmaybe even fear.


    I frowned, flyer in hand, and turned around.


    I froze.


    A Kevin stood fifteen feet away, his lawnmower sitting silent and forgotten beside him. His head tilted oddly to one side as he stared at the painted warning on the wall, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration. His eyes darted frantically from word to word, reading them over and over, as if trying to wring some hidden meaning from them, but finding nothing. His expression slowly morphed from confusion to one of dawning horror and terrible rage.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have done that,¡± the Kevin growled, his hands balling into tight fists. ¡°Red is an unauthorized color. Everyone knows RED IS AN UNAUTHORIZED COLOR. The HOA Board won¡¯t approve of alterations that fall outside the community guidelines. Especially if you don¡¯t have a permit.¡± He paused, staring at me with a furrowed brow. ¡°Do you have a permit?¡± he asked, the question sounding almost earnest.


    ¡°Yes?¡± I replied, trying to bluff my way out of a potentially deadly confrontation.


    Apparently, Kevin knew I was full of shit, though, because he absolutely lost his mind a second later.


    ¡°Liar!¡± He screeched, now sounding utterly inhuman.


    The transformation happened in the space of an eyeblink.


    One second, we were standing on a perfect green lawn beside a boring, but typical two-story subdivision house. The next, the grass beneath our feet became a thick carpet of what I could only assume was hair. Human hair. The house, though still technically house-shaped, was a fleshy mass that sprouted from the ground like an enormous, cancerous tumor.


    Worst of all¡ªworse than the lawn hair or the house made of meat¡ªwas Kevin.


    The illusion masking the congenial neighborhood dad had been dispelled in an instant.


    In his place stood a hulking figure with malformed arms, gangly legs, and pale gray flesh covered in yellow boils that looked like they were on the verge of popping at any moment. Like the kids, Kevin had too many eyes and a huge gash for a mouth, studded with needle-like teeth. And the icing on the cake? Kevin¡¯s torso had been entirely replaced with the lower portion of a lawn mower.


    A rusted blade screamed inside the man¡¯s grotesque belly as he charged straight at us.


    ¡°Oh Fiddlesticks,¡± Croc sighed in resignation.

 Thirty-Two – Lawnmower Man

    Kevin lumbered forward with an incoherent roar. As he closed the distance, a blade of blue light exploded outward from his belly, whirling toward me with the force of a canon blast. Although the physical lawnmower blade continued to spin away inside his torso, this projectile appeared to be a perfect replica.


    I acted on instinct and reached out with a strand of telekinetic power, attempting to intercept the projectile before it could decapitate me. Unfortunately, there was nothing for me to grab. Although the blade appeared to be a physical object, I quickly realized it was forged from hardened air and reinforced with mana.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± I grumbled as I dove into a forward roll. The blade narrowly passed over me before it smashed into the side of the meat house. The conjured blade dissipated on impact, though it left behind a nasty, oozing gash in its wake.


    I rolled to my feet, activated Fault Spike, and hurled a spit of razor-sharp rock right at the deformed monstrosity. The earthen spear slammed straight into the Kevin¡¯s shoulder, sinking all the way down to the bone and very nearly amputating the arm in the process. The limb dangled by a few grisly strands of red meat, but Kevin didn¡¯t seem to register the damage or the pain. An explosion of red light enveloped the monster in a bloody aura, and I could feel the rage radiating off the creature as though it were a physical thing. Kevin¡¯s muscles bulged and a huge vein began pulsing in his forehead.


    If looks could kill, I¡¯d be dead where I stood.


    ¡°How many times have I told you not to throw things inside the house!¡± Kevin bellowed, even though we weren¡¯t inside the house at all. ¡°You¡¯re gonna pay for that, you little shit! I told you next time this happened I¡¯d get the belt.¡± He reached toward his waist and pulled free a belt that was easily seven feet long and covered in nails and wrapped in barbed wire.


    Cold fear washed over me, and the blood drained from my face.


    Kevin charged, whip in hand, his torso blade screaming. I backpedaled and sent my tools streaking forward to meet the enraged homeowner head-on.


    My small arsenal whirled around the misshapen man like a dust devil of wood and steel, stabbing at his eyes and face, bludgeoning his limbs with bone breaking force. He shrugged off the onslaught as though the tools were nothing more than buzzing mosquitoes. A red health bar flickered to life above the creature¡¯s head, but it was draining at an alarmingly sluggish rate. It wasn¡¯t hard to figure out why.


    Kevin¡¯s wounds were healing at an impossibly fast speed.


    Tiny yellow tentacles wriggled from the deep gouge in the man¡¯s mangled arm, pulling the limb back into place and sealing the wound. More tendrils were quickly mending the damage my tools were dealing as well.


    The only saving grace seemed to be the Septic Shiv, which I¡¯d looted off the corpse of the Silent-but-Deadly Assassin. The blade sliced and diced better than a Ginsu knife, leaving deep lacerations all along Kevin¡¯s chest and arms. But these weren¡¯t regular wounds. Jagged black lines of infection crept outward from each nick and slash, eating through Dweller¡¯s HP and slowing his god-like healing factor.


    On my left, Temperance hurled a ball of spiders directly into Kevin¡¯s face, but as with so many of my attacks, the monster didn¡¯t even notice. With a snarl, Temperance jumped up and sprinted along invisible currents of air, then launched herself at the man with her meat cleaver.


    The edge of her blade carved off chunks of flesh, which landed on the grass with wet thwaps, but they didn¡¯t stay put for long. Each slab of meat immediately sprouted a legion of tiny yellow tentacles and crawled back toward their host like a dog returning to its master.


    ¡°Disease,¡± I hollered. ¡°Use Smallpox Blanket!¡±


    Even though the name was incredibly fucked up, Smallpox Blanket was one of Temp¡¯s best DPS abilities. It was a Rare-grade Relic that afflicted anyone she cut with a strain of Super Smallpox. At my urging, her cleaver¡¯s blade suddenly burned with a nauseating green glow. She snarled and brought the weapon down with a thwack, burying it deep in the man¡¯s collarbone. Immediately, new boils rippled outward from the sight of the wound, going to war with the open lesions that were already present.


    Kevin¡¯s HP took a significant hit but, once again, he didn¡¯t seem to notice or care.


    Hell, he didn¡¯t even try to stop her. The truth was, he barely even seemed to realize she existed. Kevin only seemed to have eyes for me, the rule breaker.


    As the monstrous Dweller closed the distance and swiped at me with the belt-whip, I put my Physic Sovereignty ability to good use and shot straight up into the air, out of the monster¡¯s reach. I came to a stop a good ten feet up, not far from the edge of the roof.


    That was my next big mistake.


    My Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense didn¡¯t flash a warning until it was almost too late. Crouched low on top of the roof was one of the many Kathys¡ªthough like her male counterpart, she barely resembled the army of soccer moms I¡¯d seen so far.


    Dweller 0.19728B ¨C Symbiotic HOA Thrall [Level 28]


    She had far too many eyes and a circular, lamprey-like mouth lined with jagged teeth. Unlike Kevin¡¯s massive, muscular frame, however, the ¡°new and improved¡± Kathy was emaciated and eerily skeletal. Oozing syringe needles protruded from her cheeks and her skin hugged every single bone, transforming the woman into a living ghoul in too tight yoga pants. She rose into the air, suspended by massive tentacles of hair that cascaded down from her scalp.


    Kathy let out a shrill shriek then hurled herself at me, her hands outstretched and reaching for my throat. She had broken pieces of wine bottle lodged into the ends of each finger, replacing her nails completely.


    I shot back through the air, raised one hand, and activated Hydro Fracking Blast¡ªunleashing a jet of industrial-strength fire water right into her stomach. The beam of burning liquid drilled a hole through her middle and cut her cleanly in two. Well, that¡¯s not true. There was nothing clean about it. It didn¡¯t kill her either. Like her male counterpart, this lady was tough as old boot leather with a healing factor that could rival Deadpool.


    Even worse, my Hydro Blast didn¡¯t stop her either. Not completely.


    Newton¡¯s First Law of Motion held true, and the top half of Kathy kept flying straight toward me while the bottom half toppled twelve feet to the ground.


    Unlike with the previous injuries, the magic seemed to do far more lasting damage.


    Still Kathy was level 28 and although she looked as weak and frail as a newborn kitten, she had the strength of a silverback gorilla all hopped up on cheap wine and Xanax. What was left of her collided with me and sent us into a chaotic tailspin, spiraling straight toward the ground. We crash-landed a heartbeat later and tumbled across the hair-covered lawn. Something in my shoulder popped as we finally came to a halt, her upper body sprawled on top of mine.


    She didn¡¯t have legs and what passed for her guts dangled out from the grievous wound.


    She should¡¯ve been dead.


    She wasn¡¯t. She was just pissed.


    Kathy jabbed at my throat with her broken wine bottle fingernails. I was ready and called out my activation word as I palmed two cards from my black deck. ¡°Comatose Clone, Comatose Clone!¡± I shouted in a panic.


    The cards blurred and suddenly there were two deformed and glassy eyed Dans standing a few feet away, their jaws slack, their arms hanging limply by their sides. Kathy¡¯s nails sunk into my throat and pain erupted as white spots danced across my vision. A wrist-thick strand of tentacle hair shot forward like a cobra and punched through my flimsy shirt and into my stomach.


    The pain was enormous. A handful of red-hot coals shoved into my intestines.


    True, the clones soaked up most of the damage, but I still endured one hundred percent of the pain. Kathy was literally eviscerating me while frantically attempting to rip my throat out and she wasn¡¯t doing a half-bad job. I wheezed, struggling to breathe, while the tentacle continued to jiggle around inside my guts. My HP was plummeting, and I couldn¡¯t survive this for much longer, even with the Clones. With a snarl, I hit the former soccer mom with a blast of concentrated Existential Dread, hoping to stop her in her tracks.


    The spell failed. Miserably. A prompt flashed in the corner of my eye.


    While connected to the greater HOA Hive mind, Symbiotic Thralls are immune from all psionic-based spells and abilities.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Well shit. Resistant to physical attacks and immune from mind-based spells.


    That sucked a bag full of dicks.


    But then I realized how stupid I was being.


    Although monster Kathy was stronger than me, she only weighed like sixty pounds, max. Especially since she was only half a person. I reached out with a strand of telekinetic power, yanked her ass off of me, then casually fast balled her across the yard and right into the side of the house. She hit headfirst and her neck snapped with a crunch. That took another hefty bite out of her HP, though it didn¡¯t kill her. She just pushed herself up onto her hands and glared at me with her head twisted oddly to one side.


    ¡°You¡¯re the reason mommy drinks!¡± She shrieked at me, before spitting¡­ something at me, though I had no idea what.


    I quickly activated Sterilization Field, hoping to rob the spell of its magic, but the projectile sailed right through the shimmering white dome and slammed into my chest, knocking the air from my lungs.


    It was a giant orange hairball.


    Or, at least, that¡¯s what I thought until it started hissing and clawing at me.


    Nope. Not a hairball at all. A ball of cats.


    And when I say ball of cats, I don¡¯t mean several cats shoved together. No, this was a basketball sized lump of fur and flesh made from assorted cat pieces. There were at least a dozen blinking cat eyes, several fang-filled mouths, and feline limbs poking out at random angles. This was just like Temp¡¯s Ball of Spiders spell, but infinitely worse somehow. The orange hairball was a vicious, living thing driven by rage and hate and unbearable pain. Tiny claws scratched at my arms and face, trying frantically to gouge my eyes out.


    You are afflicted with Cat Scratch Fever, reducing your Health Regeneration by 25% for two minutes.


    Perfect. That was just what I needed.


    I yanked free my tactical speed square then drove the triangular tip right into the ball of writhing tails and limbs. The blow managed to knock the living hair ball off, then I punted the damned thing a few feet away. It growled and rolled toward me again, but this time I picked it up with a strand of telekinesis and hurled the fury abomination straight at Kevin. Or more precisely, into Kevin¡¯s whirling lawnmower stomach.


    In an instant, the screaming mower blade turned the ball of cats into meat confetti.


    Meanwhile, what remained of Kathy was still pulling her legless body toward me. The only mercy was that she was moving with all the speed and intensity of a wounded slug.


    I took advantage of the brief reprieve and yanked free a few Healing Cards, activating them with a few whispered words. Pent up mana rolled through me, rearranging my insides and knitting my skin back together in real time. Then I gained my feet with a grimace, lined up my next shot, and let loose with another Hydro Blast.


    My aim was true.


    Kathy wailed in agony but didn¡¯t even attempt to avoid the jet. She just kept crawling straight into the spray, determined to murder me at all costs. The water beam tore her apart an inch at a time while stacks of Scorching Erosion built and built and built. Then, all at once, she burst into flames. Tongues of orange and red and yellow erupted from her eyes, ears, nose, and mouth as her blood boiled and she blazed from the inside out.


    She was dead in a matter of seconds. Sometimes I felt bad about killing the things that called the Backrooms home, but not this time. As far as I was concerned, Kathy fully deserved every ounce of pain she¡¯d experienced.


    That just left Kevin.


    The malformed Dweller was still putting up one helluva fight, even though he was handily outnumbered. He was under fifty-percent health, but just barely.


    Amazingly, the enraged Dweller was still trying to get to me. Thankfully, half a dozen blue, spectral shackles¡ªcourtesy of Temperance¡¯s Puritanical Chains Relic¡ªwere binding him in place. One of his arms had transformed into an enormous tentacle as thick as my leg, which he currently had wrapped around Temperance, holding her in the air by the waist.


    Temp hacked furiously at the limb with her cleaver but couldn¡¯t seem to drive it deep enough to cut all the way through. Every time her blade landed, the creature¡¯s exceptional healing factor kicked in, patching him right up in seconds. With the addition of her smallpox ability, Temperance was doing lasting damage, but it was a two-steps-forward-one-step-back kinda situation.


    Croc was having just as little luck.


    The mimic, now in the form of a giant bear, split down the middle by a huge maw, was attacking Kevin¡¯s back. Croc¡¯s claws and teeth opened huge gashes, but the creature shrugged the blows off as though they were paper cuts.


    That was the real problem.


    These things seemingly felt no pain and they could take an obscene amount of physical damage without batting an eye. Although other types of magic seemed to work okay, my three companions mostly relied on beating shit to death with brute force. Jakob was having slightly better luck¡ªthanks to his fiery-hot plasma shield which could sever limbs and cauterize wounds¡ªbut if we were going to survive down here, it was clear that my teammates were going to need a few upgrades.


    I could worry about that later, though. After we¡¯d killed this son of a bitch.


    My two Comatose Clones, left over from my battle with Kathy, sprang to life with maddening fury and took off toward Kevin like linebackers, fresh off the snap. Without even a single moment of hesitation, one clone hurled himself right into the whirling lawnmower blade at the center of Kevin¡¯s torso. It all happened so damned fast that there was nothing I could do about it, except stand there and watch as the mower turned the clone into Dan slurry.


    The second Dan shouldered his way past Jakob, latched onto Kevin¡¯s leg like an unruly toddler, then promptly exploded in another shower of blood and bone fragments. The damage was minimal, but the force of the blast was enough to send Jakob flying backward, ass over teakettle.


    I rose into the air on strands of telekinetic power, circled right until I had a clear shot, then let loose with Hydro Blast, being careful not to accidentally hit Temp or Croc in the process. The beam or water sheered through Kevin¡¯s tentacle arm, and Temperance tumbled to the ground with a wheeze. I plucked a trio of Balloon Menagerie spell cards from the deck in my tool belt, then sent all three flying straight toward the spinning blade.


    The cards triggered on contact, unleashing a dozen or more colorful animal balloons. The balloons bubbled outward, seemingly innocuous. Then the mower blade shredded the first few, setting off a powerful chain reaction which quickly detonated more and more balloons in turn. A massive fire ball roared upward, and the sheer force of the concussive blast rippled outward in a ring, sending Croc and Temp flying backward.


    The explosion was so loud it left my ears ringing and a purple afterimage temporarily stained across my retinas. I coughed a few times as I tried to blink away the blur. When the smoke finally cleared, there was a smoldering crater and body parts scattered across the lawn.


    Amazingly, Kevin was still, somehow, alive.


    He was little more than a torso and head, but it seemed that was enough for these freaks. Temperance, gained her feet with a glower, trudged over to the almost-corpse then looked down on the dying monster with cold contempt. Without a word, she drove her cleaver directly into Kevin¡¯s skull. The creature let out a final gasping hiss¡ª¡°stay off my lawn¡±¡ªthen his lawnmower blade stopped spinning as his HP bar finally, mercifully, hit zero.


    [Level Up! x 1]


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Like a Good Neighbor¡­


    Like a good neighbor¡­ you burn it all down, purging the world of this suburban hellscape and the corrupt HOA that rules it with an iron fist. That¡¯s how the saying goes, right? Right?! Today, you struck a blow against the establishment, turning a picturesque neighborhood into a scene from a Wes Craven flick. Good for you! The trail of viscera you left behind really ties the neighborhood together, though I doubt the powers that be will appreciate your, uh, ¡°landscaping improvements.¡±


    Reward: 1 x Gold Outlaw Loot Token, 1 x HOA Citation (two more citations and very bad things will happen to you)


    I grimaced as I read over the new Research Achievement.


    The Gold Outlaw Loot Token was excellent, but the Citation was deeply troubling. It seemed the HOA adhered to a three-strikes-and-you¡¯re-fucked policy and after our skirmish against these two, I wasn¡¯t entirely optimistic about the outcome.


    Now that we had a rough idea of what we were dealing with, we¡¯d be much better prepared for our next encounter, but there were a lot of Dwellers on this floor. We¡¯d already seen hundreds of Kevins and Kathys. And who knew how many Timmys and Tammys were out there in the wild or what kind of powers they might have at their disposal. If they all mobilized and came after us at once, our only real option would be to run as fast as we could in the opposite direction.


    ¡°That was a real shitshow,¡± I said, running a hand through my hair. ¡°Did you know these things were more or less immune to physical attacks?¡± I asked Jakob.


    The Cendral shook his head.


    ¡°As I said before,¡± Jakob replied softly, ¡°I didn¡¯t spend long on this floor, and I certainly didn¡¯t fight any of the residents. No one does. That¡¯s the rule if you want to survive. The best you can do is hope to live long enough to escape to an adjacent floor. When I made my trek down to twenty-five, two other people accompanied me. The first was a lovely woman named Adella Andersen Rodrick, who hailed from Sydney.


    ¡°The second was a level twenty-five American, who everyone called ¡°Two Cup¡± Dave. Two Cup Dave reminds me of you in some ways, Dan,¡± Jakob said, eyeing me thoughtfully. ¡°He was a construction worker and a former Army Ranger. One of those no-nonsense types. Very tough. Never met an alcoholic beverage he didn¡¯t like and never ran from a fight. Not even when he should have.¡±


    This time he paused and glanced at Temperance.


    ¡°We were close to a stairwell when one of those roving bike gangs found us,¡± he finally finished, though I could tell he was troubled. As though there was more he wasn¡¯t saying. ¡°One of the things you must understand about this floor is that the residents don¡¯t mind you being here. Not so long as you follow their rules¡ªthough, that can be a challenge in its own right. But¡­¡± he faltered again. ¡°But they very much mind if you try to leave.¡±


    ¡°Two Cup stayed behind to buy me and Adella enough time to make it down the stairwell. I told him to run. Pleaded with him. I was confident the Dwellers wouldn¡¯t follow us, but Dave didn¡¯t agree. He also wasn¡¯t particularly worried. The man was overconfident to a fault. The Dwellers were higher level than him, but how dangerous could a group of children be, he reasoned? I caught a glimpse of those kids eating him alive. Tearing away pieces of skin while they drank his organs. Dave¡¯s screams chased us down that stairwell and I still hear them in my nightmares sometimes.¡±


    He shook his head and pursed his lips into a thin line.


    ¡°Well, that got real dark,¡± I said feeling sick to my stomach. Thanks to Croc, I¡¯d become somewhat accustomed to hearing all about horrific Delver deaths, but there was something in Jakob¡¯s eyes that made the story worse. Genuinely haunting. ¡°You could¡¯ve just said you didn¡¯t know, dude.¡±


    Jakob offered me a small, sad smile. ¡°Apologies. I didn¡¯t really remember the incident until now. It all came flooding back quite suddenly. Almost as though the floor itself is trying to warn us not to leave. But the answer to your question is no. I wasn¡¯t aware of how physically resilient these creatures are. In truth, what little I know about this level is mostly from stories that I¡¯ve cobbled together from other Delvers. My firsthand experiences are limited and hard to recall.¡±


    Temperance, in a surprising moment of humanity, placed a hand on Jakob¡¯s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. It was such a small gesture, but it seemed to offer some measure of comfort to the Cendral.


    ¡°Come on,¡± I said surveying the two mangled corpses splayed out on the hair covered lawn, ¡°let¡¯s loot what we can and get gone before more of these things show up.¡±

 Thirty-Three – Pyro Emporium

    As per the Keep-What-You-Kill rule of the Backrooms, Jakob and Temperance took the liberty of looting Kevin, while I picked through the eviscerated Kathy¡¯s spatial core.


    The haul was better than I could¡¯ve hoped for and after wading through the same type of low-level Relics for weeks on end, it felt good to finally get something new. Kathy had three Relics¡ªa single Rare-grade and a pair of Uncommons¡ªas well as one Rare Relic Shard. So far, the Shards had mostly served as currency, but in theory they could be used to craft actual, bonafide Relics. I hadn¡¯t had much luck with it and everything I¡¯d attempted to make resulted in trash-tier garbage, which was usually more of a curse than a blessing.


    If I could start crafting my own Uncommon or Rare Grade Relics, however, I¡¯d need to take another stab at it¡­ Not now, obviously, but once I had a little downtime and wasn¡¯t in a hostile deathscape filled to the brim with murderous Dwellers who might try to feed me into a whirling lawnmower blade.


    The Rare-grade, fittingly called Eldritch Hair Tonic, was a bit of a mixed bag. It took the form of a bottle of cheap MLM shampoo that promised ¡°super-human hair roots with the strength of ten full grown chimpanzees¡± right on the label. Apparently, it was the Relic responsible for the batshit crazy leg-tentacles that had been growing out of Kathy¡¯s skull. When equipped, the user would sprout powerful tentacles capable of acting as extra limbs. The more levels the Relic had, the more tentacles you grew and the more autonomous they became.


    On paper, it wasn¡¯t half-bad assuming you didn¡¯t mind looking like a nightmare version of Doc Ock. Problem was, if you equipped the Relic for long enough, eventually the changes became permanent, and it was impossible to remove the Relic from your Spatial Core.


    I¡¯d picked up something similar on the first floor called Mask of the Faceless. It increased sound and smell sensitivity by 10% each day, while simultaneously decreasing eyesight by 10% each day. Eventually you ended up without a face. No eyes. No mouth. Just pasty skin stretched tight over empty sockets. Seriously fucked up. I also had a sneaking suspicion that it slowly transformed Delvers into Dwellers, but that was pure speculation at this point.


    Needless to say, the Hair Tonic was a hard pass for lots of reasons, though it had potential assuming I could find the right Relic to forge it with.


    The real prize, however, was one of the Uncommons, which looked like a ball of orange cat hair mixed with a generous heaping of old phlegm. I¡¯d been around the block long enough to know a giant hairball when I saw one.


    Feral Hairball


    Uncommon Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Single Target


    Cost: 35 Mana


    Cooldown: 2 Minutes


    What is the opposite of pspsps? No idea, but you¡¯re definitely gonna want to figure that out before you cast this. What begins as an innocent enough cough quickly escalates into a hacking wheeze that echoes across the battlefield, as you summon a grotesque mass of writhing flesh, matted with orange fur and studded with a disturbing array of twisted cat limbs.


    This sentient hairball latches onto enemies with its razor-sharp claws and teeth, delivering a barrage of frenzied attacks that leave deep, festering wounds behind. Each attack has a 25% chance to inflict Cat Scratch Fever¡ªa truly nasty debuff that deals 1 damage/sec for 30 seconds and further reduces the target¡¯s Health Regeneration by 25% for two minutes.


    The cooldown period was on the longer side, but the ability dealt decent damage, plus it also had a certain disturbing psychological je ne sais quoi that was hard to quantify. It immediately reminded me of Temperance¡¯s Ball of Spiders and also brought to mind the Uncommon Ball of Flies Relic Jakob had received from the Shart-Stain Golem. As far as I knew, Jakob hadn¡¯t done anything with that particular Relic, and I idly wondered if he might be willing to let me experiment on it.


    I was certain the three Relics would synergize well and thanks to the Researcher¡¯s Codex, I could quickly and easily run an Analysis to see what the final product was likely to be. Temperance was due for a few upgrades anyway, and that seemed like a good option.


    The last Relic I pulled from Kathy¡¯s corpse was an Uncommon which resembled a basic smart phone, with only a single app labeled SporeFeed. It was by far the strangest Relic I¡¯d ever seen. It didn¡¯t enable Mana Usage nor was it a purely physical Relic that utilized Stamina. As far as I could tell, it didn¡¯t actually do anything. Not by itself. As the title suggested, it seemed to be an amplifier for some other, more powerful Relic.


    SporeFeed Amplifier


    Uncommon Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Linked Neural Network


    Welcome to the future of perception management, because reality is a dystopian nightmare, and the real-world sucks donkey dick!


    Embrace the power of the SporeFeed Social Filter, which seamlessly smooths out the rough edges of reality, applying a virtual airbrush to everything around you. Ugly truths? Gone! Past traumas? Numbed! The inherent messiness of human experience? Eradicated! Stretch marks, unpleasant blemishes, even unsightly face tentacles¡ªall erased right before your very eyes. What more could you possibly ask for?


    While the SporeFeed Amplifier itself doesn¡¯t create new illusions, it does boost the power of all existing SporeFeed illusions within a 50-foot radius, making those illusions brighter, more dangerously convincing, and easier to lose yourself in. Those under the Amplifier¡¯s influence for extended periods may begin to experience lingering effects, such as an inability to distinguish between what¡¯s real and what¡¯s not, even after leaving the Amplifier¡¯s range.


    The more linked Amplifiers in a given area, the more powerful this Relic becomes.


    The SporeFeed Social Filter: Showing life the way it should be!


    It came as no surprise when Jakob reported that Kevin also had a SporeFeed Amplifier tucked away inside his spatial core. The existence of the strange Relic explained some of what was happening around here. Jakob had been right. There was a mass illusion in play and although the Dwellers weren¡¯t the source of that power, they served as mobile wifi routers that boosted the signal. Assuming every single Dweller on this floor had one of these Amplifiers, then it wasn¡¯t hard to understand why the illusion was so powerful and pervasive.


    I still wasn¡¯t entirely sure why the Burger Baron¡¯s Crown wasn¡¯t doing more to protect me, though. It was a Fabled-grade Artifact, for shit¡¯s sake.


    Maybe the illusionary magic of this place just really was that strong? Although I couldn¡¯t discount that possibility, I felt like there was still more to this story than I fully understood.


    Aside from the SporeFeed Amplification Relic, Kevin had also had two other Relics¡ªone Rare, the other Uncommon.


    Unsurprisingly, Lawnmower Wind Blade launched a razor-sharp blade of hardened air. But just like with Kathy¡¯s Eldritch Hair Tonic, the downside was that equipping it radically altered your physical appearance. In this case, by replacing your chest cavity with the underside of a lawnmower. I wasn¡¯t sure how that was anatomically possible¡ªI was pretty sure you still needed things like organs to live¡ªand I had no intention of finding out, especially since the change would become permanent after just a few hours.


    The second Relic, Whiskey Fists, was an Uncommon Stamina-based ability that allowed the user to fly into an uncontrollable drunken rage, drastically increasing Athleticism, Toughness, and Health Regen, while tanking Perception, Resonance, and Grit. Using it also left you with a monstrous hangover, which could linger for an hour or more. Under the flavor text, it read: You know how I get when I drink. Still, I wouldn''t have to use the belt if you just behaved better... If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The words hit uncomfortably close to home.


    My dad had never hit me or my brother, but I¡¯d grown up in small-town Ohio, where more than a few of my friends showed up to school with black eyes or broken arms. ¡°Ran into a doorknob¡± or ¡°fell down the stairs¡± were the usual excuses, though everyone¡ªincluding the teachers and the town sheriff¡ªknew the truth. They just didn¡¯t give a shit. It was one of those dark, unspoken realities of suburban life that no one liked to acknowledge.


    None of the Relics fit with my current build, and a small part of me hesitated to even sell the damned things. There were more than a few Delvers who¡¯d be stupid¡ªor desperate¡ªenough to use something like the Wind Blade or the Hair Tonic and wind up as a monster for their trouble. At the same time, I also wasn¡¯t anyone¡¯s babysitter. I wanted to help other Delvers, but it sure as shit wasn¡¯t my job to decide what was best for them.


    I didn¡¯t know what the right thing to do was, but I also didn¡¯t need to decide right now. I still had some time to noodle on things and there was always a good chance that I¡¯d die horrifically before it ever became an issue at all.


    I did, however, bring up my idea about attempting to forge Temperance¡¯s Spider Ball into something newer and better. She was extremely hesitant at first. The lady took an almost perverse pleasure in hitting things in the face with a ball of spiders, but once I explained how much more lethal the spell could be, she perked right up. Jakob still had the Uncommon Ball of Flies Relic sitting in his Storage Space and was more than happy to donate it to the cause. We were a team, after all, and what was good for one of us was good for all of us.


    Besides, it didn¡¯t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the three would form an unholy abomination of mass destruction¡ªa suspicion the Codex Compatibility Analysis quickly confirmed.


    Writhing Ball of Dire Mosquitoes


    Rare Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Single Target


    Cost: 35 Mana


    Cooldown: 30 Seconds


    Statistically, mosquitoes kill more people than any other creature of earth.


    Dire Mosquitoes make regular mosquitos look like little bitches. Just imagine a mosquito the size of a Japanese Murder Hornet with eight legs, quarter inch fangs, and the disposition of a rabid alley cat. Now imagine a hundred of them attacking all at once. Crawling beneath your clothes. Burrowing their way beneath your skin. Laying their young inside your flesh while they eat you alive.


    Yeah, that¡¯s a fucking Dire Mosquito.


    They¡¯re basically nature¡¯s way of telling you to go fuck yourself.


    Ball of Dire Mosquitos inflicts 90 points of Bleeding Damage over 30 seconds, with a 5% chance to trigger Infestation with each cast. When an Infestation occurs, Juvenile Dire Mosquitos burst from the Afflicted victim¡¯s skin, dealing an additional 25 points of Hemophilia Damage and starting the cycle anew at no additional mana cost. Dire Mosquitos also radiate Aura of Pestilence, amplifying disease and poison damage from all other sources by 25% for two minutes.


    Aura of Pestilence can stack up to three times. This Relic enables Mana Usage.


    Everything about the spell was so utterly god-awful that I almost felt bad unleashing it upon the world.


    Temperance had different feelings on the matter.


    ¡°It is truly a thing of horrid beauty,¡± she said, tearing up a little, before insisting that I forge the Relics. It was hard to fault her. Ball of Dire Mosquitoes was a significant improvement over her current Relic, and it would pair perfectly with her Smallpox ability. Three stacks of Aura of Pestilence would increase her Disease Damage output by double¡ªmaybe more. I¡¯d never been much of a math guy, but I knew numbers going up was a good thing.


    By the time we were done raiding the bodies and upgrading Temp¡¯s Relic, the massive illusion that lay over the entirety of the floor had snapped back into place. In a blink, the sky was once more robin¡¯s egg blue, the grass was deep green, and the houses were no longer fleshy tumors. The illusion didn¡¯t banish Kevin or Kathy¡¯s corpses, though. They looked normal again¡ªthe tentacles were gone and there was no sign of the lawnmower torso¡ªbut they were still, very dead and very dismembered.


    ¡°Don¡¯t suppose you want to clean that up?¡± I asked Croc, nodding toward the corpses. ¡°I mean, I¡¯ll take what¡¯s left to Taxidermy if you don¡¯t want ¡¯em, but I did promise you a heap of bodies. This could be a good downpayment.¡±


    The dog, back to looking like a normal golden retriever, grimaced and shook its head.


    ¡°You know, Dan, I never would¡¯ve thought I¡¯d turn down a free meal of delicious corpse meat, but I think I¡¯ll have to pass. And honestly, I think you should leave them here.¡± The mimic padded over to what remained of Kevin and sniffed. Its tail dropped down between its legs. ¡°These things are sick, Dan. It¡¯s not Blight¡­¡± the mimic hesitated. ¡°But it smells almost the same. Rancid, but not in a good way. I¡¯m not the resident expert, but I don¡¯t think you should bring these things back to the store. They could be dangerous.¡±


    Huh, now that really was unexpected. Croc was rarely wrong about stuff like this, though, so if it said to leave the corpses be, that¡¯s exactly what I planned on doing.


    We jumped back into the golf cart, and I cast Unerring Arrow before we took off, determined to find a way out of this suburban hellhole.


    I was a little worried that the rest of the floor¡¯s residents might now be hostile toward us, but just like with the illusion, everything went right back to normal. Most of the Kevins were still out mowing their lawns or tinkering around in the garage while most of the Kathy¡¯s walked their dogs or drank wine in pairs of two or three. When the sun finally dipped below the horizon and halogen streetlights kicked on in earnest, most of the Kevins stowed their mowers and moved on to other tasks.


    More often than not, that meant grilling.


    Although most of the houses had patios out back, everyone grilled on their driveways, swathed in aprons with spatulas or tongs in one hand.


    There was usually a single Kevin tending to the meat while others loitered about in lawn chairs, sipping generic off-brand beer while they chatted about the local college sports team¡ªin this case, the Sunnyside Wild Cats. The Grill Kevin always seemed to be the Alpha of the group, clacking his tongs authoritatively while the other lesser Kevins trickled by, asking about the doneness of the meat, or suggesting the Cook Kevin flip the burgers.


    It would¡¯ve been a fascinating sociological study if it wasn¡¯t so batshit crazy. Like watching some kind of docuseries on the habits of the North American male, as narrated by David Attenborough.


    Much as I hated to admit it¡­ The food smelled good.


    Great even.


    The tang of barbeque sauce and the sizzle of meat left my mouth watering. I had no intention of partaking, but I caught Croc sniffing at the aroma with a longing expression plastered across its doggo face. Even Temperance seemed half tempted to pull over and grab a bite and it was impossible to miss the outsized growl of her petite stomach. I fished out one of the concession-stand hotdogs from my Spatial Core and offered it to her, but she just screwed up her nose and shook her head.


    The All-Beef Frank was still piping hot, since my personal Subspace Storage System was time-locked, but compared to the rich, heady fragrance of barbeque, the dog smelled terrible. I was hungry but the thought of eating anything other than what the Kevins were grilling was nauseating.


    After another thirty or forty minutes of driving, we finally found ourselves in a cul-de-sac on the edge of the development, bordered only by vast cornfields that stretched out for miles beyond sight. There was a huge cookout in full swing with both Kevins and Kathys swarming all over the place like worker bees, but that wasn¡¯t what caught my eye.


    Nope, we¡¯d finally found the next kiosk and Jakob had been right on the money.


    A huge swatch of cornfield had been flattened and rudely cleared away and in its place was a striped tent in shades of red and yellow with a sign that read Pyro Emporium unfurled along one side. More signs hung from the canvas walls proclaiming one simple word over and over and over. Fireworks!


    I spotted the narrow flap that served as the entrance, but there was no way to get inside. Surrounding the Pyro Emporium Fireworks Popup tent was a solid wall of residents, packed four bodies deep¡ªthough these weren¡¯t your typical Sunnysiders.


    The men were noticeably bulkier than their counterparts and wore denim jeans and Carhart jackets instead of khakis and polos. Most were level 35, and every single one of them was named Kyle. The women, all fittingly name Karen, were also level 35 and looked like they spent their weekends doing an aggressive combination of Crossfit and Hot Yoga. There must¡¯ve been a hundred of them in total, all standing silent sentinel around the kiosk.


    Dweller 0.19735A ¨C Symbiotic HOA Thrall ¨C Alpha Kyle [Level 35]


    The Alpha Kyle is the HOA¡¯s enforcer class¡ªa walking middle finger to decency, reason, and drywall everywhere. Unlike the aimless Beta-Bitch Kevins who haunt Eternal Suburbia, this guy is a prized attack dog. A roided-out shitkicker extraordinaire fueled by a diet of Monster Energy, gas station boner pills, and pure, uncut testosterone. If overcompensation were an art form, the Alpha Kyle would be its Mona Lisa.


    Physically, Alpha Kyles are terrifying. They can punch a hole through 5/8ths inch drywall like it¡¯s wet tissue paper¡ªand will happily prove it, especially if you accidentally make eye contact with their girlfriend, the Feral Karen. While Alpha Kyles aren¡¯t exactly tactical geniuses, what they lack in strategy, they make up for in raw aggression. They¡¯re fast, relentless, and maddeningly difficult to take down, especially when hopped up on their signature ¡°Kyle Juice.¡±


    Unlike the party goers, just a few houses down, the Kyles and Karens didn¡¯t talk. Didn¡¯t move. Didn¡¯t even seem to blink.


    I wasn¡¯t entirely convinced they were even breathing.


    It was like they were fleshy mannequins or maybe robots, who¡¯d been set to standby mode. But I was certain that they wouldn¡¯t stay that way if we tried to get inside that kiosk. Something Jakob had said earlier tickled at the back of my mind, ¡°the residents don¡¯t mind you being here. But they very much mind if you try to leave.¡± Whatever was calling the shots around here knew we were trying to get out and it was trying just as hard to make sure we didn¡¯t.

 Thirty-Four – Mr. Myrl

    ¡°Heya, neighbors,¡± a voice called out, not far from where we were lurking on our golf cart. A man in khaki shorts and a golf polo ambled over toward us with his hand raised in greeting. Looked like he was a straggler from the nearby cookout. ¡°I¡¯m Tyler, Tyler Edenson,¡± he said with a chipper smile.


    The name caught me off guard.


    Tyler Edenson? No, that had to be wrong for a dozen different reasons.


    For one, this guy was clearly a Kevin. Same goofy ass shirt, same stupid shorts, same bright white tennis shoes and calf-high socks. For another, Tyler Edenson was the name of my best friend growing up¡ªthough, admittedly, I hadn¡¯t seen Tyler in years. He¡¯d always had bigger ambitions than me and put Ohio in the rearview mirror the second he got a chance. Last I heard, he was out in California, working as a software engineer and making more money in a year than I¡¯d likely see in ten. Probably just a coincidence. At least, I hoped so.


    I focused on the newcomer and a tag briefly flickered to life above his head.


    Tyler Edenson 0.24731B ¨C Human Software Engineer [Level 31]


    This is Tyler. You know Tyler. You went to middle school and high school with this guy. Hell, he lived three blocks away. The first time you ever got drunk was with Tyler. Remember how he stole that pack of Natty Ice from his dad¡¯s garage, and then you got so hammered you threw up in the bushes outside Layla Dawn Catwell¡¯s house? Man, Layla was so hot. Way out of your league.


    What in the ever-living fuck was going on here?


    There was no way this was Tyler Edenson.


    It wasn¡¯t possible.


    But I¡¯d also never told anyone other than Tyler about throwing up in those bushes outside of Layla¡¯s house. This place¡­ It was inside my head. Reading my thoughts somehow, then projecting them onto this creature who was clearly not my former best friend.


    ¡°You okay, Dan?¡± Kevin¡ªand definitely not Tyler¡ªasked, a curious expression creeping across his face. ¡°You look like you just saw a ghost.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, fine,¡± I lied, before clearing my throat. ¡°You just remind me of someone I used to know, is all.¡±


    ¡°Ah, I have one of those faces,¡± he said, nodding good-naturedly in understanding. ¡°This is me right over here.¡± He hooked a thumb toward the house hosting the giant cookout. ¡°Me and my wife, Brittany, are throwing a block party for some of the neighbors. You¡¯re new here, right? To the neighborhood, I mean? Just don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen you around before.¡±


    ¡°Ja,¡± Jakob said, stepping in to cover for me since I was still clearly shaken by the encounter. ¡°We haven¡¯t been here long, but it seems like a lovely place. I am Jakob, and these are my friends, Dan, Temperance, and our dog Croc.¡± Jakob extended a hand in polite greeting. The man accepted and gave it a firm pump.


    ¡°Well, we¡¯d love to have you come join us. It¡¯s like my wife always says, ¡®strangers are just future neighbors we haven¡¯t converted yet.¡¯¡± Tyler barked out a sharp laugh, but his smile never quite reached his eyes. ¡°There¡¯s a new lot that just opened up down the street, I bet it would be perfect for you. Very spacious, open floor plan, huge master bedroom and enough space for a couple of kiddos.


    ¡°Are you thinking about kids?¡± he asked, directing the question at me instead of Jakob. ¡°We¡¯ve got a lot of young families in the area, and I couldn¡¯t imagine a better place to raise kids. Just turn ¡¯em loose in the cornfields and let the strong sort themselves out. Circle of life, amiright?¡±


    It took me a full two seconds before that last sentence sank in.


    Did they really turn their kids loose in the cornfields or was that some sort of suburban euphemism I¡¯d never heard before?


    ¡°But enough about that,¡± Tyler/Kevin said. ¡°Let¡¯s get some food in you. I bet you¡¯re famished. Ravenous even. Me? I could eat a horse. Or a school bus full of toddlers.¡±


    He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, then gently pulled me toward the cookout.


    I didn¡¯t in any way want to go with this thing.


    Every cell in my body violently protested at the thought, and my survival instincts were screaming that this guy was going to lure me into his woodshed then chop me into little pieces, which he would then toss onto the grill. As much as I didn¡¯t want to go with him, though, I also didn¡¯t want to refuse his hospitality and run the risk of accidentally unleashing his wrath. If this creature turned on me, I had no doubt the others would follow suit.


    These things weren¡¯t violent as long as you played by the rules, I reminded myself. If I indulged him, just like I¡¯d done with the Timmys and Tammys who¡¯d wanted ice cream, then I¡¯d survive.


    Probably. Maybe.


    Fine, it was a coin toss at best.


    But without a better plan, I let Tyler steer me over to his front lawn where other party goers waited with large smiles and drinks in hand.


    ¡°Hey, if I could have everyone¡¯s attention for a moment,¡± Tyler loudly declared as we drew nearer, ¡°I want to introduce some new friends. They¡¯re just visiting Sunnyside, but it turns out they¡¯re thinking about putting down roots. Dan here¡±¡ªhe patted me on the good naturedly on the back¡ª¡°mentioned they were interested in the new plot at the end of the street.¡±


    I¡¯d done no such thing, but I kept my mouth firmly shut as everyone politely clapped.


    ¡°Let¡¯s make sure to give them all a warm welcome,¡± Tyler continued. ¡°I believe we have one of the best, most welcoming blocks in all of Sunnyside. Let¡¯s make sure they know it, too!¡±


    That provoked another round of applause and light cheering, followed by a gaggle of smiling faces flocking toward us like hungry sharks smelling blood in the water.


    ¡°I think we should kill them all,¡± Temperance hissed under her breath.


    ¡°Show a little patience,¡± Jakob urged. ¡°Besides, they would murder us before we got within ten feet of the kiosk. Just play nice, Kleiner Hase. Mingle. Do a little small talk. This should give us a good opportunity to investigate more thoroughly.¡±


    Temperance offered Jakob a withering stare of contempt. ¡°Need I remind you that I don¡¯t play nice with others? And the only thing I hate more than mingling is the excruciating, meaningless prattle, which other people call ¡®small talk.¡¯ I would rather chop my own fingers off¡ª¡±


    Before she could say more, the neighbors converged on us en masse.


    A group of Kathy¡¯s in sundresses surrounded Temp in a bubble and whisked her off, chatting amicable while one asked whether she wanted a glass of wine or the whole bottle. The rest of the Kathy¡¯s twittered in outrageous laughter over the stale joke. Temperance stole one last glare at me and Jakob, then reluctantly let the Kathys pull her away.


    I shot a look of concern at Croc, then nodded toward Temp. ¡°Keep an eye on her, bud. Everything about this gives me a bad feeling. I don¡¯t want any of us to be alone.¡±


    ¡°You can count on me, Dan,¡± the dog replied somberly. ¡°If anyone tries to hurt my friends, I¡¯ll happily turn their insides into their outsides.¡± The mimic paused. ¡°Quick question, though, Dan. Should we have some kind of code word? I think we should probably have a code word.¡±


    ¡°Why would we need a code word?¡± I asked quietly, keeping my gaze fixed on Temperance.


    ¡°You know, like in case things get dangerous and we have to signal to each other, but don¡¯t want to arouse suspicion?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, fine, fine,¡± I replied. ¡°Whatever. What¡¯s your code word?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯ve a lot of thoughts about this, actually,¡± Croc said. ¡°It can¡¯t be a word or phrase you might say accidentally in conversation. What about ¡®and so the lion fell in love with the lamb?¡¯ Edward says it to Bella in the first book of the Twilight series, as a reference to their fragile and seemingly impossible relationship. It¡¯s a very evocative imagine, Dan, and I feel it thematically fits really well with this situation since we are the lambs mingling amongst the lions.¡±


    ¡°Oh my god,¡± I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. ¡°No. That¡¯s so long and unnatural. How would I even work that phrase into a sentence?¡±


    ¡°Easy, you just talk about Twilight the whole time,¡± Croc replied immediately. ¡°Trust me, Dan, suburban moms love Twilight. It¡¯s very relatable content.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s just go with something simple,¡± I finally said in exasperation. ¡°Like pineapple. As in, ¡®is that pineapple on your burger?¡¯¡±


    Croc frowned. ¡°Pineapple? I mean, it¡¯s not very creative. Clearly you are no Stephaine Meyer, internationally best-selling author and voice of a generation, but I guess it¡¯ll do in a pinch.¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°Jesus wept, you¡¯re going to lose Temperance,¡± I growled, flapping a hand at the disappearing murder furry.


    ¡°Right, right. Sorry, Dan. Pineapple it is.¡± The mimic gave me a last, resolute nod, then darted off into the group of Kathy¡¯s, quickly weaving between their legs to get to Temp. The women collectively oohed and aahed over the dog, proclaiming what a good boy he was while patting the mimic affectionately on the head.


    Jakob and I didn¡¯t have long to wait until several of the Kevins came to collect us¡ªthough once again, I noticed a new wrinkle.


    Like Tyler, their tags had changed. There were no more Kevins.


    Now there was a Travis MacNeilson and a Felix Schulz. A Ted Blackwell and a Harold Holt. Their job titles, each displayed with their tags, were just as diverse as their names.


    Construction worker, dentist, mechanic, remote IT support.


    The funny thing was, at least half of those names sounded oddly familiar to me.


    I¡¯d known a combat engineer back in the Marine Corps named Ted Blackwell and I was pretty sure Travis MacNeilson was one of my real-life neighbors¡ªback before, no-clipping, obviously. I didn¡¯t know Travis all that well, but sometimes his mail got delivered to me by mistake and the name was unique enough that it was hard to forget. I wasn¡¯t sure why or how, but this place was definitely digging around inside my head. Looking for memories it could exploit.


    I didn¡¯t know Harold Holt or Felix Schulz, but the second had a distinctly German ring to it and I idly wondered if they might be people from Jakob¡¯s former life.


    I¡¯d have to ask him when I got the chance.


    The group of Kevins¡ªall masquerading as Tylers and Travis, Harolds and Felixs¡ªushered us through the ranks of other Dwellers and over to the grill, which seemed to be the place of highest honor. The grill itself was a monster of black metal and sleek chrome, complete with six burners, an attached smoker, and enough grill space to charbroil two dozen patties without batting an eye. As a former Marine and contractor, there wasn¡¯t much that I loved more than a good cookout and I had to admit that grill was a thing of beauty.


    Tyler had plump brats in the back and rows of perfectly seasoned burgers lined up in the front. My stomach let out an audible groan and I wanted more than anything in the world to pull the meat straight from the burners and shovel it right into my face hole. The urge was almost overwhelming. Like a chemical compulsion. Instead, I fought against the desire, pushing the craving away through sheer grit and determination.


    ¡°Looks good, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Tyler asked, his tone perfectly innocent. ¡°The meat is a special blend, and I make the seasoning myself. It¡¯s an old family recipe, passed down to me from my grandmother. It brings out the flavor of the meat in a way that you just can¡¯t imagine. Come on, let¡¯s get you a plate.¡± He directed me toward a nearby picnic table covered in assorted side dishes and condiments.


    Buttered corn on the cob, steaming hot baked beans, savory coleslaw, bright yellow potato salad, and a huge platter covered with bloody-red slices of watermelon.


    One of the Kathys¡ªthis one named Ella¡ªwas handing out disposable plastic plates and helping the other partygoers serve up. She pressed one of the plates into my hands then immediately ladled a heap of macaroni salad onto the surface before politely encouraging me to help myself to whatever else looked good. I shuffled down the line, picking up a little bit of everything, before finally stopping at the bun station.


    Before I could collect a hoagie, however, I heard a faint rustle in the bushes, followed by an urgent and insistent pssst.


    ¡°Hey, you don¡¯t want to eat that,¡± someone said, the words barely more than a whisper.


    Startled, I glanced up and scanned the yard, searching for the source of the warning. That¡¯s when I spotted him, standing a little apart from the others, right at the edge of the lawn where the grass met the gently swaying stalks of corn.


    This partygoer didn¡¯t look anything like the others.


    He wore faded denim jeans, practical combat boots, and a beat-to-shit Vietnam-era, green canvas jacket. Guy even had some sort of army unit patch stitched onto one shoulder¡ªa blood red shield with an inverted rifle and a helmet balanced on top.


    The newcomer looked older, probably in his late fifties, with a bright orange baseball cap perched on his head, partially hiding long brown hair streaked with gray and tied back in a ponytail. His face was gaunt, his eye sockets sunken in, and the scraggily beard hugging his cheeks only served to accentuate how painfully frail he was.


    Specimen Biotag ID #03V-01- B01LP8PPXW ¨C Human, Variant [Level 34]


    I grunted in surprise. Unless the Kevins had substantially upped their game, this guy wasn¡¯t a Dweller at all. He was a bon a fide Delver, real and in the flesh.


    Would you like to use the Codex to examine this Delver¡¯s Spatial Core? Yes/No?


    Thanks to a little insight from Jakob, I knew there were quite a few Relics that allowed you to scan other Delvers, but normally they only worked on a Delver who was a lower level than you. It was also considered impolite to scan someone else without their consent. A serious social faux pas that could get you shanked in the kidney and buried in a body bag. Now wasn¡¯t the time to be polite, though, so I hit Yes and waited to see what in the hell would happen.


    A brief flicker of discomfort flashed across the newcomer¡¯s face, but it passed after a moment, replaced by a quick and dirty read out of his basic Specimen Bio-Report (SBR). At level 34, this guy was a full ten levels higher than I was; the fact that I was seeing his SBR at all, meant he was allowing me to see it.


    He wanted me to trust him, so he was extending a little trust first.


    Edward Myrl


    Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01- B01LP8PPXW


    Variant Assimilation Level: 34


    Race: Human, Variant


    __ __ __


    Health: 83


    Stamina Reserve: 45


    Mana Pool: 152


    __ __ __


    Spatial Core - Active


    (C) Pocket Sand ¨C Level 3


    (C) High Tolerance ¨C Level 15


    (U) SporeFeed Amplifier ¨C Level 10


    (U) Neighborhood Watch ¨C Level 5


    (U) Mutable Persona ¨C Level 8


    (R) Gossip Circle ¨C Level 6


    (R) Aberrant Reality ¨C Level 5


    (R) Eldritch Hair Tonic ¨C Level 5


    (R) Charbroiled Inferno ¨C Level 7


    (F) Hard Light Projection ¨C Level 8


    Affiliations of Record


    Sunnyside HOA ¨C Outcast!


    The SBR overview didn¡¯t tell me what any of the individual Relics did, but based on the names alone I was guessing that this guy specialized in illusion-based magic. That made perfect sense, considering which floor we were on. And the fact that he had an SBR at all confirmed this guy wasn¡¯t just another Kevin, trying to screw around with my head.


    There was also something else about the SBR that tugged at the back of my mind, though. Something about his name.


    Edward Myrl.


    I was sure this wasn¡¯t some kind of mind fuckery¡ªnot like that bullshit with Tyler¡ªyet I was positive I¡¯d heard the name before. I only had to think about it for a few more seconds before something clicked into place. The radio.


    ¡°Wait a minute,¡± I said snapping my fingers at the revelation. ¡°You¡¯re that guy from the announcement. The Sunnyside maintenance worker who went missing.¡± I squinted, studying him in a fresh light. ¡°The announcer guy said you¡¯re a contamination risk.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, which is how you know you can trust me,¡± Edward replied, sounding utterly paranoid. ¡°The first rule to surviving Sunnyside is to ignore everything the radio tells you to do.¡± He paused, absently chewing at his lip. ¡°Except when you should listen, which is sometimes. The point is, question the signal. Question everything. That¡¯s how you live to see another day on the twenty-fourth floor. The second rule is to avoid community events like the plague, and never eat anything they give you. Not ever.¡± He jabbed a finger at my plate and for the first time I noticed he had a lit cigarette burning between his fingertips.


    I paused. Wait, no. Not a cigarette. The fuck? Was this guy casually smoking a joint?


    ¡°Not unless you want to have your entire system flooded with SporeFeed spores. That¡¯s how they get you,¡± he added, nodding to himself before taking a huge pull from the blunt. ¡°This shit¡¯s straight out of the CIA playbook, man. Psyops. Like MK-Ultra. First, they lull fresh meat like you and your idiot friends into a false sense of security. Then they make you question your eyes. Your ears. Your senses. Make you forget where the hell you are. Make you think it¡¯s safe here.


    ¡°Then, once they¡¯ve had a day or two to sink their hooks in, they lure you rubes to one of these cookouts.¡± He looked around at the gathering with a contemptuous sneer. ¡°With so many of these conformo-sheeple in one place, the SporeFeed Social Filter cranks the signal through the roof and suddenly they can get inside your head. Crack it open like a goddamned egg.¡± He paused and narrowed his eyes, brow furrowed as he studied me. ¡°I¡¯ll bet a carton of cigarettes you¡¯ve already seen someone you know. From the outside. I¡¯m right, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    I kept silent but nodded.


    ¡°Yeah, they¡¯ve got their hooks into you alright,¡± he said, though more for himself than for me. ¡°Not surprised either. They really pulled out the big guns for you. Don¡¯t know who you are, buddy, but these guys don¡¯t want you to leave.¡± He glanced toward the kiosk, surrounded by Kyles and Karens. ¡°They even rolled out the elites. I¡¯m surprised they haven¡¯t converted you already. This much spore power all in one place should be enough to reel in someone ten levels higher than you. You must have some powerful resistances, but I¡¯m telling you right now, you eat that food and its game over, bucko. Just look.¡±


    He took another long drag of his joint then leaned forward and blew the smoke right into my face. The pungent smell of weed hit me like a fist, drowning out the heavenly aroma of the food wafting up from my plate. But that wasn¡¯t all it did. A notification blinked to life in front of my eyes.


    You¡¯ve been afflicted with Stoner¡¯s Insight! Have you tapped into the wisdom of the cosmos or are you just really high? Who gives a shit? You get a 10% boost to Perception, Grit, and Evasion for fifteen minutes. Enjoy the ride, cowboy!


    I blinked a couple times as the world seemed to swim in and out of focus. Then I looked down at the plate and recoiled. All the delicious fixings had transformed into moldering piles of gelatinous gray goop, covered with a fuzzy green substance that could only be mold. Pale maggots wriggled and crawled through the slop, forming little tunnels in their passing. I dropped the plate and took a few steps back, utterly nauseated.


    I¡¯d been so close to eating that stuff.


    ¡°Yep,¡± the newcomer said, nodding sagely. ¡°If you think that¡¯s bad, you should see what the meat really looks like.¡± He leaned in close, as though disclosing some great secret. ¡°They like to barbeque the feral kids who don¡¯t make it to the cornfields before the transformation sets in.¡±


    I shot a sly, conspiratorial look toward the grill.


    Instead of brats and burgers, I spotted what appeared to be a piece of human thigh meat and an entire hand smoldering above the flames. The fat fingers vaguely resembled bratwurst.


    ¡°Shit, they¡¯re starting to get agitated,¡± the man said, nodding to the other partygoers.


    He was right. Although everything else still looked normal enough, it was obvious that the Kevins and Kathys had realized that something was wrong¡ªthat things were not going according to plan.


    ¡°We need to leave before they turn violent,¡± the man said, pulling something from inside his oversized green military jacket. ¡°This should help.¡±


    At first, I was sure it was a bomb.


    On second glance, I realized it was a portable ham radio, but one with all kinds of weird bullshit attached to it. Extra buttons, loops of copper wiring, a small radio transmitter, and enough lawnmower batteries to power a car.


    ¡°They fucking hate this song,¡± he said with a lopsided grin and a mad light glinting in his eyes.


    Then he pressed a big green button and the ¡¯roided out radio blared to life. I¡¯m not entirely sure what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn¡¯t the 1980s classic ¡°Footloose¡± by Kenny Loggins playing at a hundred fucking decibels.


    The reaction was instant and terrible. Although the device wasn¡¯t some kind of jury-rigged IED, the music rippled outward and as it did the illusion frayed like a rope coming undone. Then it shattered all at once.


    ¡°Pineapple! Pineapple!¡± I screamed.

 Thirty-Five – Footloose

    The thump of the music masked the billows of rage that emanated from the assembled Kevins and Kathys. Inside the span of an eyeblink, all the perfect people were gone, replaced by an army of monstrous creatures covered in yellow boils and too many eyes.


    There were several lawnmower men, just like the freakshow we¡¯d battled before, but there were also Kevins that had different¡ªthough just as horrifying¡ªbody modifications. The Kevin working the grill was covered in oozing burns, his skin charred black and cracking; one of his arms had been entirely replaced by the smokestack of a grill, which constantly belched gouts of fire. In his other hand, he carried a rusted grilling fork the size of a medieval spear.


    Waiting for us in the street was some kind of reality-warped centaur, except instead of having the lower body of a horse, the upper body of a Kevin had been permanently fused with a golfcart. His skin and flesh were twisted and merged into the steering wheel column, like gnarled roots growing into the metal frame.


    Slithering across the driveway on army of humanoid limbs were four Kathys, grotesquely fused together in a chain, mouth to ass. Hundreds of normal human mouths dotted the unholy centipede¡¯s body, each one spewing an endless stream of meaningless Hobby Lobby, wall-art catch phrases.


    ¡°Home is where you can¡¯t escape,¡± one mouth said, while another mewled, ¡°This is where the heart stops.¡± Dozens more pitched in¡ª¡°Life is Short, but not here,¡± and ¡°Happiness is knowing what you fear¡± followed by a ¡°Live, Laugh, Languish.¡± The empty platitudes formed a maddening cacophony that scratched at the edge of my sanity.


    I prepared to summon a doorway sentinel and retreat as quickly as my feet would carry me but faltered just before summoning my minion.


    These things weren¡¯t attacking us, I realized with a start.


    These nightmares should¡¯ve been tearing me and my friends apart, limb by gruesome limb, but instead, they were simply milling around, enraged yet directionless. Each one, a ship without a rudder. One of the Lawnmower Kevins lurched toward the grill, only to be confronted by the Grill Master with his charbroiled flesh and flamethrower arm. Lawnmower man reached for a piece of sizzling meat, but Grill Master Kevin wasn¡¯t having any of that bullshit. He let out a ground-shaking warcry before unleashing a jet of flame so bright it hurt to look at.


    Lawnmower Kevin stumbled back a few paces, its entire body engulfed in fire, then retaliated by launching an air blade at his would-be opponent.


    Without a clear target, these things were turning on each other while leaving us alone completely. It was almost like we were invisible. Or pieces of lawn furniture maybe.


    More of the Kevins and Kathys were fighting now, battles spilling into the street like some suburban gladiatorial brawl. A pair of Kevins tumbled across the hair-covered lawn, fists flying and blood splattering against the unnatural turf. A Kevin with a pair of mailboxes for hands laid into a nearby Kathy, hitting her so hard that her chest caved in, and she went cartwheeling backward through the air. The monstrous woman slammed into the house with enough force to leave a bloody smear on the siding.


    A hand fell on my shoulder, and I whirled around to find Edward Myrl looking at me with hard eyes and a cold scowl. ¡°We need to get gone,¡± he said, though it was damn near impossible to hear him over the blasting music. ¡°I¡¯ve got a way out. A tunnel that leads somewhere safe, but we don¡¯t have long. That radio only has enough juice for ten minutes, then things are gonna get ugly.¡± He turned and pulled me toward the cornfields.


    I batted his hand from my shoulder.


    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving my friends,¡± I growled.


    Edward grimaced, his gaze quickly darting around the unfolding chaos. He sighed.


    ¡°Fine. Suit yourself,¡± he replied with a shrug. ¡°I¡¯ll wait around until the battery dies.¡± He glanced at a watch hugging his bony wrist. ¡°But not a moment longer, you hear me? You¡¯ve got nine minutes, now. Nine. If you¡¯re not ready to go, I¡¯ll leave you and your friends to die. Won¡¯t be the first time. Probably won¡¯t be the last either.¡± Then, without another word, he turned and darted into the swaying stalks on the edge of the property, quickly disappearing from sight.


    I felt conflicted about letting him go.


    I wasn¡¯t sure whether he was on our side or not, but clearly, he knew a lot more about this floor than I did, which meant he might also know how to bypass the elite Sunnysiders guarding the kiosk. Still, I wasn¡¯t going to leave my friends behind.


    I surrounded myself in cable-thick strands of telekinetic power, then shot into the air so I could get a better view.


    Things were really spiraling out of control and the violence was spreading like a wildfire. I stole a look toward the fireworks tent, silently praying that the wall of inhuman sentinels had fallen into disorder as well. But no such luck. Despite the blaring music, which seemed to be wreaking havoc on the partygoers, the Kyles and Karens remained as still as statues, never so much as twitching a muscle.


    Just our luck.


    I tore my eyes away from the stripped tent and scanned the crowd below, looking for the others. I found Jakob first.


    The Cendral was on the outskirts of the party, currently trading blows with one of the lawnmower men. Surprisingly, however, he was winning. And not just winning but absolutely beating the ever-living shit out of the shambling monstrosity. The Cendral carved away chunks of flesh with his plasma shield before activating his Cow Catcher ability and ploughing into the creature so hard that he sent the bastard flying and twirling gracelessly across the yard. The most baffling part was that the Kevin was just taking it.


    Temperance and Croc were across the lawn near the driveway and were kicking ass and taking names just as effectively. The Sunnysiders weren¡¯t even attempting to fight back. Not really. True, the Sunnysiders were still physically resilient, but that mattered a lot less when you could land ten times as many blows without any retaliation.


    Temp hurled a swarming ball of wasp-sized murder mosquitoes at the nearest Kathy then laid into the woman with her meat cleaver while the bugs went to work, tearing off chunks of flesh with razor sharp mandibles or burrowing beneath the woman¡¯s skin. The Kathy swatted at the bugs while her HP dropped like a rock, but she didn¡¯t retaliate against Temperance. Eventually she bumped into one of the Kevins, who immediately lashed out at her with a mailbox fist made from brick and steel.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Croc was busy using its tentacles to rip the limbs from another Kathy, who only put up the flimsiest pretense of resistance. She flailed at the mimic with one of her remaining arms, but there wasn¡¯t much enthusiasm behind the counter assault. Croc lunged forward and lifted her into the air then proceeded to literally tear her in two¡ªright down the center as though she were a piece of lined notebook paper. Gore rained and her organs dropped into a steaming pile on the lawn.


    I glanced back to the cornfields where Ed had disappeared, feeling conflicted.


    Although I didn¡¯t want to lose my only lead, I also couldn¡¯t pass up a golden opportunity like this one. Getting through this level wasn¡¯t our only goal, after all. We also needed to grind out levels and since these things were effectively braindead zombies for the next nine minutes, there really wouldn¡¯t be a better chance.


    Floating high above the fray like some evil god, it almost seemed like cheating. Like shooting literal fish in a barrel. But who fucking cared? I needed to get stronger and all I saw was free experience.


    I yanked a deck of Balloon Menagerie Spell Cards from my toolbelt and got to work as guitars squealed and Kenny Loggins caterwauled in the background.


    Since Temp, Croc, and Jakob were all fighting on the edges of the lawn and outside the range of friendly fire, my plan was the transform the lawn itself into a veritable killing field.


    First, I activated Fault Spike, conjuring a forest of razor-sharp earthen spears. The ground rumbled as the javelins ripped through feet and legs, punctured torso and eviscerated all the Kevins and Kathys not fast enough or smart enough to get the fuck out of the way. Without missing a beat, I activated the spell for a second and third time, until the entirety of the lawn and most of the driveway was covered in rocky protrusions and impaled bodies.


    ¡°Acid Rain, incoming!¡± I bellowed at the top of my lungs, before casting StainSlayer Maelstrom.


    Churning storm clouds appeared above the unlucky Dwellers, all pinned in place like frogs on a dissection board. Sizzling droplets fell in a deluge. These things might¡¯ve been resistant against physical damage, but they didn¡¯t stand a chance against my corrosive bleach storm. The acid chewed through unprotected skin and melted flailing tentacles with merciless ferocity. The Kevins and Kathys shrieked in impotent rage and attacked each other because they couldn¡¯t attack me.


    Meanwhile, the super bleach pooled beneath their feet and continued its grisly work, chewing into the dirt. Except, it wasn¡¯t dirt at all. The lawn really was hair, and the ground really was some sort of flesh-like material. As a result, the corrosive bleach continued to burn its way downward, leaving huge bloody divots in its wake. The earth rumbled in protest, as though it was a vast restless giant stirring from a deep sleep.


    My mana pool had dropped below ten percent, so I fished out a couple of the Mana Replenishment Spell cards and activated both with a word, adding fifty points of mana back to my reserve. After another ten or fifteen seconds of ¡°tool juggling,¡± Psychic Sovereignty triggered Wild Surge, fully restoring my reserves and increasing my mana regeneration by 25% for the next few minutes.


    Then it was right back to the grind.


    Between Fault Spike and StainSlayer Maelstorm, I¡¯d dealt out some brutal damage, but these things were tough as nails and bounced back fast. They weren¡¯t invincible, however, and most of ¡¯em were still pinned in place¡ªthe perfect targets for a concentrated dose of Hydro Fracking Blast. I thrust my hand out and let loose a narrow beam of water with the cutting power of an industrial strength laser. The geyser hit a Mailbox Hands Kevin and drilled straight through his chest.


    Instead of relenting, I kept the Hydro Blast trained on my target.


    In the heat of battle, fifteen seconds felt like an ungodly amount of time, but the wait was worth it. As the fifth stack of Scorching Erosion landed, the Kevin simply burst into flames as if his blood had turned into pure gasoline. He was dead in less than a heartbeat. With meticulous care, I moved the beam onto a nearby Kathy, whose hands had likewise been replaced by blenders. I dragged the line of water across her torso and cut her in two, then focused the beam on her head.


    Head wounds dealt extra damage and that one died after only eight seconds.


    I heard a ding and a prompt briefly appeared, informing me that I¡¯d just earned another level. Yep, just like fish in a barrel. Feeling a surge of exhilaration, I quickly locked onto a new target and decapitated a nearby Kevin, then sandblasted what remained of his skull. Meanwhile, I simultaneously unleashed another round of StainSlayer Maelstrom, inflicting additional corrosive damage on all the Sunnysiders trapped by the forest of rocky spikes.


    Activating so many spells all at once would have been impossible just a few days ago, but with my new Split Personality sigil, it felt as easy as breathing. The ground once again rumbled in anger at my brazen bleach assault, but the Kevins and Kathys were in no position to do anything about it. Not while ¡°Foot Loose¡± blasted in a loop at max volume, interfering with whatever telepathic signal controlled them.


    I methodically moved the beam from one enemy to the next, systematically targeting their most vulnerable areas to maximize damage. Then, to really speed up the process, I let loose with the rest of my toys. Using telekinesis, I lifted individual Sunnysiders into the air, then slammed them into the spike-covered lawn over and over again, until they were mounds of pulped meat Jello. My tools danced among the thralls¡ªhacking, slashing, and bludgeoning with cruel efficiency.


    True, they didn¡¯t deal a lot of damage in the grand scheme of things, but we were playing against the clock and every little bit helped.


    Which is why I also sent Balloon Menagerie spell cards spinning down into the crowd like targeted missile strikes. Explosions thundered in the night, bright flashes of orange and yellow light punctuating the dark and leaving purple afterimages stained across my vision. The damage was adding up quickly and more and more notifications were rolling across my vision as the Kevins and Kathys met grisly ends.


    [Level Up! x 2]¡­


    [Research Achievement Unlocked]¡­


    [Level Up! x 3]¡­


    Too many notifications.


    I couldn¡¯t afford to be distracted, so I mentally muted them for the time being. There would be ample time to sift through all the achievements once all the partygoers were dead and we were long gone. Right now, I needed to focus on the mission. Needed to focus on the slaughter. Nothing else mattered.


    And I wasn¡¯t the only one who realized there was a gold mine of experience to be had.


    Two Kevins and a Kathy lay dead at Jakob¡¯s scaly feet, while a mound of bodies surrounded Temperance and Croc. Limbs, ripped free by Croc¡¯s tentacles, summersaulted through the air, spraying sludgy gore in surprisingly graceful arcs. A rough count told me the two of them had killed almost a dozen Sunnysiders¡ªthough I wasn¡¯t sure how to tally the Centipede Kathy. Was that one kill or four?


    I guess it didn¡¯t matter in the long run.


    Temp was howling with laughter, and I¡¯d never seen her so happy. ¡°This is for forcing me to wear a sundress!¡± She drove her cleaver into a Kevin¡¯s skull, splitting his head almost in two. ¡°You want something to drink, do you Kathy?¡± She crowed in glee. ¡°Then choke on this you frigid cow!¡± She hurled another ball of Dire Mosquitos into the woman¡¯s face. The huge and extremely disgruntled mosquitos were not kind and stripped the flesh from the woman¡¯s head in a matter of seconds, leaving gristly red muscle and strips of white tendon behind.


    There were still ten or so of the partygoers left, ripe for the killing, but something else in the distance caught my attention.


    At first it looked like a dark wave materializing on the horizon, washing toward us like the incoming high tide. But the longer I looked, and the closer that dark wave came, the more details I could make out. It didn¡¯t take me long to realize what I was seeing.


    Reinforcements.


    And not just a handful.


    Hundreds of Kevins and Kathys were charging toward us, and they were closing the distance fast. I wasn¡¯t sure how powerful that radio disruptor was, but I was pretty damn sure it wasn¡¯t going to stop what was coming our way.

 Thirty-Six –The Cornfields

    We had maybe a minute, if that, before the legion of HOA thralls converged on us. Thanks to the houses blocking everyone else¡¯s view, I was the only one who knew about the meat avalanche about to bury us.


    ¡°Time to go!¡± I bellowed at the top of my lungs.


    Jakob was the only one close enough to hear me.


    ¡°Get to the cornfield!¡± I yelled, not bothering to explain. When he didn¡¯t immediately move, I screamed, ¡°Now, for fuck¡¯s sake!¡± just for good measure. Apparently, the panic in my voice and the fear on my face were enough to convince him to move his ass. He dealt one final blow to the Kevin directly in front of him, cutting the man¡¯s legs out with the edge of his plasma shield, before turning and darting toward the swaying corn stalks.


    I yelled out again, trying to get Temp and Croc¡¯s attention¡ªnot that it did a damned bit of good.


    The boom of ¡°Footloose¡± completely drowned out my words, and the two of them kept right on hooking and jabbing, enticed by the bloodlust and the easy experience points. I recalled my tools with a thought, then stretched out invisible tendrils of telepathic power, wrapping the weaves around my friends. I tried to lift them into air¡­ but couldn¡¯t. In theory it should¡¯ve been easy. I¡¯d been casually tossing around freakish Sunnysiders, who were far heavier, like they were off-brand Carbie dolls.


    I mean, I wasn¡¯t actually sure how heavy Croc really was, but Temp was fun-sized and couldn¡¯t have weighed more than a buck-ten, even in armor and soaking wet.


    Despite that, it felt like both of them were old growth trees, rooted to the ground.


    It didn¡¯t make any sense, so I redoubled my efforts¡ª


    A terrible pressure built inside my skull and after a few seconds of concerted effort, blood began to gush from both nostrils, running over my lips and chin in twin rivulets.


    ¡°Sweet baby Jesus,¡± I grumbled, reaching up trembling fingers and swiping at the blood. ¡°That¡¯s probably not a good sign.¡±


    Then it hit me.


    The sludgy, brown potions Jakob had handed us when we arrived had significantly fortified Grit and drastically boosted resistance to psionic attacks. Was it possible the potion had raised their Grit so much that they were unknowingly shrugging off my spell? It was the only explanation that made sense¡ªand it meant I wouldn¡¯t be airlifting the two of them out of harm¡¯s way.


    To make matters worse, the horde of Sunnysider reinforcements had rounded the corner and was now flooding onto our block.


    I reluctantly cut the flows of psychic power, since that obviously wasn¡¯t doing dick, and activated Neural Slip Stream to buy myself a little extra time.


    Arctic power cascaded through my system as I became nothing more than a translucent, immaterial ghost almost invisible to the naked eye. Although I couldn¡¯t deal damage as a Spectral Thought, that didn¡¯t prevent me from using Physic Sovereignty. I angled my body and rocketed toward Temp and Croc like Superman. I phased harmless through the remaining Sunnysiders as time slowed and began to creep along at a glacial pace, then landed directly beside my friends who were all but frozen in combat.


    Now that I was on the ground, I couldn¡¯t see the encroaching army, but knew they¡¯d be right on top of us at any second. As the countdown lapsed on Neural Slip Stream, the world momentarily titled on its edge and time lurched back into normal speed all at once.


    ¡°Dan?¡± Croc asked, clearly taken aback as I appeared beside him. ¡°Where did you come from?¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± I barked. ¡°We need to go and I¡¯m talking yesterday!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s going to be tough,¡± Croc replied, a look of consternation flickering across its face. ¡°Unless you have some sort of time travel Relic I don¡¯t know about. Do you have some sort of time travel Relic, Dan? Because that would be pretty neat.¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t have a time travel Relic and we seriously don¡¯t have time for this,¡± I grumbled before slapping on Temp¡¯s shoulder to get her attention. ¡°We need to leave.¡±


    ¡°Why would we go?¡± she asked, paying only half attention to me as she effortlessly lopped off a Kathy¡¯s hand with her cleaver. ¡°I¡¯ve never felt more alive. This is what I was born for, and these freakish dolts are hardly even fighting back! I¡¯ve gone up at least two full levels. Maybe three. It¡¯s glorious!¡± She threw her head back and cackled before launching a ball of Dire Mosquitoes into a Lawnmower Man¡¯s whirling chest cavity.


    ¡°Because we¡¯re about to have a lot of pissed off homeowners to deal with,¡± I shot back, gesturing toward far end of the block¡ªjust in time for the front ranks of reinforcements to appear. They were running at us, driven by madness and fury and I knew if we didn¡¯t leave now, we weren¡¯t going to get a chance to leave at all.


    ¡°But what about all the Relics?¡± Temp said, stealing a forlorn look between the pile of corpses and the wave of approaching Sunnysiders.


    ¡°They aren¡¯t worth your life,¡± I shouted. The words came out especially loud, because that was exactly when the weird radio gave up the ghost and died. The abrupt absence of Kenny Loggins was deafening in its own way. Suddenly, I could hear the moans and cries of the wounded thralls. I could also hear the thunderous clamor of hundreds of feet slapping against asphalt all at once.


    It was the sound of death, sure and terrible.


    Several nearby radios buzzed to life followed in short order by the ever-chipper voice of WBSC host, Seth Nickles. ¡°Well, you¡¯ve really done it this time,¡± the announcer said, his voice oozing with venom. ¡°We were trying to be welcoming. Trying to be good neighbors. Trying to save you from yourselves. The Backrooms are a treacherous place, and this was your one chance at happiness. But not anymore. Now you¡¯ve gone and RUINED IT! RUINED EVERYTHING YOU UNGRATEFUL, CHOWDERHEADS!¡±Stolen novel; please report.


    The voice didn¡¯t sound friendly anymore. Didn¡¯t even sound human anymore. Almost as though the pretense at playing pretend had been dropped entirely.


    ¡°The Monarch was right about you. He said you would come. Said you would be trouble. Said we would have to kill you, but we didn¡¯t listen¡­¡± there was a long, pregnant pause. ¡°Well, we¡¯re listening now. Sunnysiders, this is Seth Nickles and the HOA Board wants you to kill the interlopers on sight. MURDER THEM! Chop them into pieces. Eat their bones and water your lawns with their blood. String their bloated corpses from the trees with loops of their own intestine. MAKE THEM SUFFER. MAKE THEM PAY. Those who do not conform must be punished!¡±


    ¡°Perhaps there is some wisdom in your words,¡± Temperance finally agreed with a nod. ¡°Where exactly are we going?¡±


    ¡°This way, and let¡¯s just hope we¡¯re not too late.¡±


    I grabbed her shoulder and pulled her along as I bolted toward the cornfield, with Croc right on our heels. We cut around the edge of the yard, leaping over corpses and dodging the grasping hands of downed Sunnysiders, who were badly injured but not quite dead. Without a dose of Kenny Loggins to drown out the signal, they were finally starting to come to their senses.


    That was bad news for us, because they were pissed with a capital P.


    I breathed a sigh of relief when we found Jakob waiting for us by the edge of the cornfields then I muttered a quiet prayer of thanks to the good lord above, because he wasn¡¯t alone.


    Our new and mysterious friend, Edward Myrl, was standing beside the Cendral with a none-too pleased scowl plastered across his face. It probably didn¡¯t help that Jakob had one hand wrapped around his arm and was clearly prepared to restrain the man¡ªthough, to be honest, I¡¯m not sure how well that would¡¯ve gone. Although Jakob was accustomed to being the most powerful person in the room, Ed had nine levels on him. If push came to shove, I was pretty sure Ed could skin Jakob alive and turn him into a Cendral scale handbag.


    ¡°This man says he is with you,¡± Jakob said. ¡°Is that true?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯d say he¡¯s with me,¡± I replied, ¡°but I don¡¯t think he¡¯s actively trying to murder us.¡±


    ¡°Told you,¡± Ed growled, shrugging Jakob¡¯s hand away. ¡°As for you¡±¡ªhe turned on me with a glower¡ª¡°I said you had nine minutes. Nine. Either you¡¯re a moron who doesn¡¯t understand how clocks work, which makes you too goddamned stupid to live, or you fundamentally don¡¯t grasp how dangerous this place is.¡± He leaned in, voice dropping low. ¡°Either way, if I wasn¡¯t a moron, I would¡¯ve left you all to die.¡± He glanced over my shoulder and his eyes widened. ¡°Which,¡± he added, ¡°is still a real possibility, unless you all get real good at listening.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you just deploy another one of those radio things?¡± I asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like those grow on trees,¡± he snapped, clearly frustrated. ¡°That took me two months to build. But I do have a place not far from here that should be safe.¡± He stole another look at the horde of Kevins and Kathys quickly closing in on our position like a plague of biblical locust. ¡°Assuming they don¡¯t follow us into the cornfields. Which they probably won¡¯t. They don¡¯t like the cornfields.¡±


    ¡°Why? What¡¯s in the cornfields?¡± Croc asked, nervously surveying the silent stalks.


    ¡°The kannibal kids,¡± Ed muttered, narrowing his eyes. ¡°All the harmless little Timmys and Tammys that roam around here during the day? Well, when it gets dark, they change, and they aren¡¯t so harmless. They turn into rabid goddamned animals. Let¡¯s just hope we don¡¯t run into the little shits. If we do, it won¡¯t end well. Now stay close, and for Christ¡¯s sake, keep quiet.¡± Without waiting for a response, he wheeled around and darted into the cornfields, his movements quick and purposeful.


    ¡°Do we follow?¡± Jakob asked, eyeing the retreating back of the man with obvious suspicion.


    ¡°At this point, I¡¯m not sure we have any other choice,¡± I replied. ¡°Just stay together in there, okay? A cornfield at night is worse than a maze. If we get separated, there¡¯s a good chance we won¡¯t be able to find each other.¡±


    I had a terrible feeling about this, but we weren¡¯t spoiled for options and staying put wasn¡¯t one of them.


    Taking a deep breath, I jogged after Ed, the others close behind me. It was hard to track Ed¡¯s retreating figure¡ªhis damn coat blended a little too well with the swaying cornstalks¡ªbut I had an ace up my sleeve. Focusing my thoughts on him, I cast Unerring Arrow as I ran. Blue light coiled outward from my chest, snaking its way through the stalks like a glowing serpent.


    I could hear the howls of rage from the amassed Kevins and Kathys growing closer and closer, but so far it seemed Ed was right. The cornfields were the one place they didn¡¯t want to come. Perhaps it was the one place where the HOA didn¡¯t reign supreme.


    With the blue light to guide my steps, I picked up the pace until I was all out sprinting. It took less than thirty-seconds before I¡¯d caught up with Ed, who was moving at a quick clop, but not an all-out run. I quickly saw the reason.


    He held a pair of metal L-shaped rods, one in each hand.


    Unless I was utterly mistaken, those were Dowsing Rods¡ªol¡¯ timey occult relics that dust-bowl farmers from the 1920s would use to find underground water. I¡¯d learned about ¡¯em on a TV show called Superstition Unplugged: Unplug the myth. Plug in the truth. It was one of those cable access shows from the late 90s where a pair of skeptical investigators traveled around the country exposing mystic bullshit, fake psychics, and haunted houses. Basically, Scooby-Doo, but for adults.


    The rods in Ed¡¯s hands, however, appeared to be the real deal.


    They swung back and forth in crazy arcs, crossing at times, then straightening at others until they ran parallel. Ed turned and maneuvered at a steady pace, weaving through various rows seemingly at random, following whatever innate magic controlled the rods. I kept an eye on Ed, but made sure that we didn¡¯t lose anyone in the labyrinth of stalks. Croc and the others were able to keep up easily enough, but the larger concern was that we weren¡¯t alone.


    Ed had said that the Kevins and Kathys tended to avoid the cornfields, but ¡°tended to avoid¡± didn¡¯t sound like a hard and fast rule to my ears. Plus, the alternative wasn¡¯t any better. It was hard to imagine that the feral kannibal kids who called the fields home could possibly be worse than the army of Sunnysider adults, but I wasn¡¯t holding my breath. After all, there was probably a damn compelling reason why the adults didn¡¯t venture out into the fields after dark.


    ¡°Almost there,¡± Ed called, before glancing back down at the rods twitching manically in his hands. ¡°Just a little further now,¡± he said though it sounded like he was attempting to reassure himself more than us.


    Ed took a hard right, then a sharp left and we rushed into a circular clearing with what appeared to be the dilapidated remains of an old barn at its center. Unlike the picture-perfect homes that decorated the rest of Sunnyside, this thing was ancient. Most of the roof had collapsed in on itself like a dying star and the remaining boards were gray and warped from age and the elements.


    Instead of lumbering on ahead, Ed froze in his tracks like a deer caught in a pair of headlights. His gaze snapped toward the black, gapping maw of the barn entryway. There was something waiting inside, partially concealed by the shadows.


    I wasn¡¯t sure what exactly I was looking at, but it was big. So tall it had to stoop as it slunk through the opening¡­

 Thirty-Seven – Kannibal Kids

    The creature pulled itself from the barn and into the clearing, the full moon above bathing it in silver light and giving us a clear look for the first time. It was a towering abomination of hunger and malice, easily eight feet tall. Maybe even taller, since it moved on all fours like some kind of enormous gorilla with gangly, oversized arms. This thing wasn¡¯t a gorilla, though. It was a grotesque parody of humanity with a skeletal frame, draped in paper-thin skin stretched tighter than a drum.


    Enormous elk antlers twisted upward from the bleached skull of some great wolf, and its huge mouth was a cavern of jagged teeth. Burning red eyes like hot coals regarded us from deep within the skull, and I could tell it wanted to murder us all in the bloodiest fashion possible. In the center of its emaciated torso, right where it¡¯s stomach should¡¯ve been, was a circular mouth the size of a manhole cover, ringed with rows upon rows of teeth like some prehistoric shark.


    The monstrous creature shuffled toward us on all four, its limbs cracking and popping as it moved, its snout raised to the sky, tasting the air with a writhing tentacle tongue.


    Dweller 0.24735B ¨C Kannibal Kid (Feral ¨C Blighted) [Level 35]


    Growing kids need lots and lots of food, and these not-so-little crotch goblins are never, ever full. It¡¯s like they have some sort of bottomless black hole for a stomach! Thankfully, they aren¡¯t picky eaters and will devour anything they can get their grubby, oversized, talon-studded fingers on. Including you!


    Like all children, the Kannibal Kids don¡¯t follow rules particularly well and just aren¡¯t ready to exist in polite society, where the laws of the HOA hold sway. Especially, not when the sun goes down and bedtime approaches. The rising moon does strange things to all the little Timmys and Tammys, granting them an additional ten levels and transforming them into gluttonous, veracious creatures with an appetite for flesh.


    Hunting is their favorite activity, and the adults of Sunnyside happen to be their preferred prey; they¡¯ll happily make a meal of any Kevin or Kathy foolish enough to venture too far from their homes. Eventually, though¡ªonce they¡¯ve consumed enough parents, stripping the fetid, spore-filled meat from their bones¡ªthey grow right up, evolving into compliant members of the HOA.


    Isn¡¯t the circle of life beautiful?


    ¡°No one move,¡± Ed whispered, though he kept his eyes fixed on the ridiculously powerful Dweller. At level 35, this thing could probably kill us all without even batting an eye. Well, maybe not¡ªdepending on what kind of firepower Ed was packing¡ªbut I didn¡¯t much like our odds.


    Ahead, Ed crouched down and pulled something from his coat pocket.


    I thought the eyebrows might climb right off my face when I saw a pint of ice cream with the words Twilight Treats emblazoned on the side of the container. Ed popped the lid, and a fetid stench washed out from the container, making me gag. Whatever was in there, it sure as shit wasn¡¯t ice cream, but the horrible creature fixed its terrible gaze on the pint of foul goop with ravenous intensity. Ed set the container down like an offering to one of the Old Gods, then slowly backed away with his hands raised in surrender, never making eye contact with the Dweller.


    We all stood perfectly still, watching the creature the way a hiker might watch a wild Kodiak bear¡ªjust silently hoping and praying that it doesn¡¯t start eating you from the feet up.


    The Kannibal Kid sniffed at the air, its tentacle tongue whipping back and forth for a few tense beats. Then it moved. Moved so fast I could barely track it. In one blink it was ten feet from the ice cream container. The next, it had snatched the container from the ground, before disappearing back into the cornfields with its prize in hand. Vanishing like a ghost, swallowed by the dark of the night.


    ¡°Boy, those guys really like ice cream,¡± Croc whispered, cutting the tense silence, ¡°almost as much as I like Froyo.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen these freaks slaughter each other over a single ice cream cone,¡± Ed said somberly. ¡°But it¡¯s always a coin toss. Sometimes they prefer the kill over the cone. Either way, that¡¯ll buy us five minutes¡ªif we¡¯re lucky. And let¡¯s be honest, luck hasn¡¯t exactly been our friend tonight.¡± He shot me a sour glare, then trudged toward the open barn door, his boot crunching against the dirt and straw. ¡°Well? You coming, or should I just grab a match and torch the cornfields? We could make it a party¡ªfight every Kannibal Kid in ten miles while we¡¯re at it.¡±


    The interior of the barn was just as decrepit as its exterior.


    The roof was mostly gone and the floor was covered in moldering hay, while huge piles of corn were stacked against the walls like cord wood. Ed ignored all of that and beelined toward a corner of the room, veiled in a thick layer of shadow. Except, there was something subtly off about that shadow, I realized after a second. Mostly, it shouldn¡¯t have been there at all.


    The man waved a hand lazily through the air and the gloom evaporated, revealing the heavy wooden door to a root cellar, embedded in the floor. Someone had carved a series of crude sigils directly into planks. Based on my limited experience, I was guessing those runes served as some sort of barrier spell. Or maybe reinforcement wards? It was hard to say without examining them more closely, and we didn¡¯t have time for that. Not with Kannibal Kids and a horde of enraged Sunnysiders dogging our trail.


    Ed pulled an amulet from around his neck then pressed the odd talisman dangling from the end against the root cellar door. There was a brief but intense flash of blue light followed by an audible pop¡ªthe sound of a heavy lock disengaging. He immediately returned the amulet to his neck, then pulled open the doors with a grunt and gestured for us to go down.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right behind you,¡± he said, casting furtive looks toward the barn doors and the darkened cornfields beyond. ¡°I¡¯ve gotta reengage the locks or those Children of the Corn cock womblers will slaughter us all before we can even get our weapons out.¡±


    Despite Ed¡¯s urging, I hesitated at the top of the stairs. It was possible Ed was just a good Samaritan and really was just trying to help us, but I still had doubts. Since noclipping, I could count the number of genuinely good people I¡¯d met on one hand, and it was equally possible this was some sort of elaborate setup.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Look,¡± Ed said, his voice weighed down with a lifetime of cynicism, ¡°I get it, you¡¯re skeptical. That¡¯s good. Smart. You should always question the signal. Always. Hell, I¡¯d be side-eyeing me too, if the roles were reversed. But I¡¯m not some brainwashed conformo sheep, okay? I want you to really think about this, kemo sabe.


    ¡°Does it make sense that I¡¯d bust my ass to help, if my goal was to kill you? Do you think I¡¯m out here, running through the cornfields in the middle of the night just for shits and giggles? If I wanted you dead¡ªor worse, converted¡ªI could¡¯ve just left you to rot at that barbeque.¡± He jabbed a finger at me, his eyes narrowing. ¡°So maybe cut me some goddamned slack and start using that brain of yours, yeah?¡±


    It was a compelling sales pitch, and he had a couple of solid points. Besides, we did have options, even if Ed didn¡¯t know that.


    Thanks to the Compass of the Catacomber, we could bail if things really went sideways¡ªthough I was hoping it wouldn¡¯t come to that. Although theoretically I could plant a doorway back to the shop whenever I needed to, doing so essentially meant giving up all hope on advancing further. If we wanted to make it down to the Franchisor, we needed to find a way to get to that firework kiosk, and that meant figuring out a way to deal with the Elite Sunnysiders.


    If anyone knew how to do that, I had a feeling it would be Ed.


    ¡°Okay,¡± I said, ¡°but I¡¯m only going to warn you once. If you try to dick us over, I swear to God that I will spend all of my not-inconsiderable resources turning you into a carpet stain. You might be higher level than any one of us, but you aren¡¯t stronger than all of us collectively. When we¡¯re done, there won¡¯t be enough left of you to fill a mop bucket.¡±


    Ed just grinned. ¡°You¡¯ve got some fight, kid. Good. Hold onto that. You¡¯re gonna need every scrap of it if you wanna crawl outta this burning dumpster fire of a level alive.¡± He offered us a short, humorless chuckle. ¡°Trust me, the worst is still circling, waiting to pounce.¡±


    A loud, long howl pierced the night. It sounded like someone had tossed an angry wolf into a woodchipper and it was close by. Uncomfortably so.


    ¡°Stay sharp,¡± I said to the others as I took the lead and slipped down the stairs one at a time, using Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense to keep an eye out for any potential traps or pitfalls. When I got to the bottom of the relatively short and narrow staircase, I found a light switch on the wall and flicked it up with my thumb. Overhead fluorescents blazed to life, revealing what could best be described as a 1950s style bomb shelter.


    The walls were constructed from gray cinderblock bricks, the ceiling was a slab of thick steel, while the floor was bare concrete partially covered by a pitifully threadbare rug. There was a small kitchenette in one corner and a tiny, attached bathroom that made an Iraqi porta shiter look roomy.


    As for the furnishings, they were both sparse and depressing.


    A tiny military-style cot. A single table with a couple of rickety chairs. Pushed up against one wall was a badly scratched coffee table that held a record player and a stack of old vinyl. By the foot of his bed was a makeshift bookcase, haphazardly cobbled together from scraps of wood and loaded down with an odd assortment of heavily creased and dog-eared books.


    At the far end of the room was a heavy steel blast door with the words, Laboratory ¨C Restricted Access splashed across the front, and a metal birdcage dangling from the steel rafters.


    ¡°Strangers, strangers!¡± An avian voice squawked in agitation.


    Sitting inside the cage was the largest and grumpiest looking parrot I¡¯d ever seen in my life. The bird was damn-near the size of a house cat and was completely gray other that a few blood-red tail feathers. ¡°Stay away, stay away or I¡¯ll kill you with fire!¡± the bird shrieked, flapping its wings menacingly.


    How exactly the bird was going to kill me with fire wasn¡¯t entirely clear, but I didn¡¯t want to take the risk. I mean, I doubted this parrot actually had a concealed flamethrower, but I¡¯d seen enough weird shit in the Backrooms to take nothing for granted. And it seemed my caution was warranted, since a prompt appeared above the bird a moment later.


    Delver #01T-03-B0C9V8H47S ¨C African Gray Parrot [Level 13]


    With the intelligence of a four-year-old and the self-control to match, African Gray Parrots are 90% attitude, 10% feathers, and 100% assholes. These little guys are more emotionally needy than your crazy ex, Shandra, and are liable to shit all over your house if you fail to pay them enough attention. And FYI, they need A LOT of attention.


    Once you get past the violent pettiness and the unfortunate predisposition to alcoholism, you¡¯ll find African Grays are surprisingly affectionate and make great pets¡ªor familiars. Armed with a rudimentary Spatial Core, they can equip up to two Relics and are masters of mimicry, imitating anything from sirens to human voices with disturbing accuracy.


    Holy shit.


    This bird was a Delver. Not a human one, obviously, but at some point, this bird had noclipped into the Backrooms just like the rest of us unlucky assholes. Plus, it could equip Relics which meant there was every possibility that this thing could, in fact, kill me with fire. As a level thirteen, this parrot was stronger than most of the Howlers.


    There was a flutter of movement and suddenly a rubbery blue parrot, not much larger than the African Gray, landed on the edge of the cage. The blue parrot still had stupid, oversized googly eyes.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to worry about us, little guy,¡± Croc said in its most soothing voice. ¡°We¡¯re friends with your dad, Mr. Ed. He let us in.¡±


    The bird cocked its head to one side, eyeballing Croc curiously, then took a few tentative hops toward the dog who was now a parrot. ¡°Friends?¡± The bird squawked. ¡°Kill you with fire?¡± It repeated, though now the words sounded more like a question instead of a statement terrible certainty.


    ¡°Yeah, no,¡± Croc replied, bobbing its head. ¡°No need to kill us with fire. You don¡¯t kill your friends with fire.¡±


    There was a clang from overhead as the root cellar door snapped closed, followed by the heavy thump of footfalls. Ed appeared at the bottom of the stairs and froze, openly gawking at the strange sight of a blue rubber bird, chatting it up with a gray parrot in a fallout bunker buried beneath a cornfield outside of a Cronenberg horror movie.


    ¡°I think I might be too goddamned high,¡± he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He shook his head as if trying to clear it, then trudged over to the tiny dining-room table at the center of the room. With a heavy sigh, he dropped into one of the wobbly chairs, the wood creaking under his weight. ¡°That¡¯s Woodstock,¡± he said, jerking his head toward the parrot.  ¡°Don¡¯t mind her, she¡¯s a good bird. A little standoffish, but she¡¯s been with me damn near since the beginning.¡±


    ¡°She threatened to kill us with fire,¡± I said.


    ¡°Don¡¯t take it personally,¡± Ed replied. ¡°She threatens to kill everyone with fire. Even me. Isn¡¯t that right, sweetie?¡±


    ¡°Kill you with fire,¡± she cooed affectionately in response.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the only thing she knows how to say, but it¡¯s definitely her favorite thing to say. Incidentally, setting things on fire is also one of her favorite pastimes. But she knows not to set things on fire inside the bunker, isn¡¯t that right Woodstock?¡±


    ¡°Kill you with fire,¡± she agreed while nodding her head happily.


    ¡°I know, sweetie.¡± Ed beamed at the parrot like a proud parent. ¡°You¡¯re such a good girl.¡±


    ¡°Woodstock a good girl,¡± the parrot confirmed. ¡°A very pretty girl. Kill you with fire.¡±


    While the bird whistled contentedly, Ed pushed off his clunky combat boots with a deep sigh of relief then propped one foot up onto his knee and began kneading the sole with his fingers.


    ¡°Terrible arthritis,¡± he said to us by way of explanation. ¡°Getting old sucks. And it¡¯s worse in here. The damned VIRUS system keeps patching you up, but things still break down overtime. It¡¯s like that old curse¡ªsaddled with immortality, but not eternal youth. Anyway, please come in. Take a load off.¡± He gestured at the three remaining chairs. ¡°We¡¯ve got a whole lot to talk about. Including how we might be able to help each other get off this goddamned floor¡­¡±

 Thirty-Eight – Conspiracy Theories

    ¡°Thank you for the warm welcome. This is a very lovely home you have here by the way,¡± Jakob said, his hands folded behind his back as he surveyed the bookcase with obvious curiosity. There were several books I recognized¡ªBrave New World, 1984 by George Orwell, and Slaughterhouse-Five¡ªalong with a variety of other, more esoteric titles that I didn¡¯t. The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, Helter Skelter, and a complete copy of The Pentagon Papers.


    Ed snorted and rolled his eyes. ¡°You Germans always were polite ones, but there¡¯s no need to sugarcoat things. You can just say it¡¯s a shithole, I won¡¯t be offended.¡± He paused. ¡°Still, I¡¯d rather have a shithole bunker out in the middle of a cornfield then a cookie cutter flesh house over in Sunnyside proper.¡±


    ¡°Did you build this place yourself?¡± I asked. This guy had doomsday prepper written all over him, so I wouldn¡¯t be at all surprised if the answer was yes.


    ¡°Naw, I found it a bunch of years back,¡± Ed replied casually. ¡°This place is a vestigial remnant from before the HOA consolidated its grip on this floor. Or at least in this quadrant,¡± he amended. ¡°I¡¯ve been here for¡±¡ªhe paused and silently counted on his fingers¡ª¡°forty years, I think? Maybe longer than that. But a long time, is the point. I no-clipped sometime in the late seventies. After the war. Back in those days, this was floor nineteen, not twenty-four. Everything was different then.¡±


    Ed lowered his foot with a wince, then reached into his coat and pulled out colorful glass bong as long as my arm. He packed something pungent into the bowl, then promptly set it ablaze with a small trickle of mana.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Ed apologized, before taking a huge, burbling rip on the other end. ¡°Like I said, bad arthritis. This helps with the pain. And the PTSD,¡± he added, almost as an afterthought.


    ¡°I don¡¯t give a shit what you do in your own house,¡± I offered with a shrug, ¡°but I¡¯d love to circle back around to that other thing you said.¡±


    ¡°The part about my arthritis?¡± he asked.


    ¡°What? No,¡± I grumbled. ¡°Not the arthritis. As shocking as you might find this, I also do not give a shit about your arthritis. I meant the part where you casually mentioned that this used to be floor nineteen. That seems sort of important with broad and potentially horrifying implications. I was operating under the assumption that there are a thousand floors. Period. End of story.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s the corpo narrative.¡± Ed squinted, then blew out a cloud of smoke. ¡°It¡¯s what everyone wants you believe. Sure, maybe there really are a thousand floors. I¡¯ve talked to some of the old timers who say there have always been and will always be only a thousand floors.¡± He leaned forward, tapping the table for emphasis. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s true, maybe not. But one thing I know, certain as sin, is that this place grows. About a floor per decade give or take a few years.


    ¡°Which means that if there really are only a thousand floors, some of them must merge. Or maybe they atrophy and die off¡ªlike a crab shedding its exoskeleton.¡± He shrugged, the motion almost dismissive. ¡°Or maybe that¡¯s bullshit too, and there¡¯s actually two-thousand floors. Or three. Or ten. Or maybe the floors rotate just like the quadrants do. The point is, anyone who tells you they¡¯ve got this place figured out is full of horseshit. The Backrooms don¡¯t play by any rules you or I understand.¡±


    Jakob immediately fished out a notebook from his coat pocket and started scribing furiously at a blank page. ¡°Fascinating,¡± he muttered under his breath. ¡°I¡¯ve heard both prevailing theories, but it¡¯s always been from a second or third hand account. Never from a firsthand source. You¡¯re saying that you, personally, have been on this floor since it was floor nineteen?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯m saying, hoss,¡± Ed nodded in confirmation. ¡°And it¡¯s not just that, either. I¡¯ve had decades to see how much this floor¡¯s changed since I first got here. A lot of Delvers think these floors are static¡ªunchanging. They¡¯re wrong. Floors get updated, and that¡¯s why I think there¡¯s some merit to this whole floors-merging theory. If you¡¯d seen this place back in the seventies, you wouldn¡¯t even recognize it.¡±


    He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a faraway look creeping into his eyes.


    ¡°Thematically, it was similar, I guess¡ªone giant, endless neighborhood. But it wasn¡¯t modern. Not like it is now,¡± he said. ¡°It was like a Leave it to Beaver fever dream. Just try to imagine a distorted replica of 1950s mid-western American town trapped in a goddamned snow globe. Reminded me of one of those government instillation towns the CIA used to build out in Nevada to test nukes on.¡±


    Ed reached for his bong and took a deep rip before continuing.


    ¡°Except back then? Everything was in black and white,¡± he added. ¡°The people. The houses. The grass, the trees, the sky. Grayscale. All of it. Everything but the Delvers who passed through. We were all in brilliant, high-def LSD technicolor. Unless you stayed here too long. Then you started to lose your color, too. But that was a small price to pay for safety. Once upon a time, this floor was one of the largest Safe Harbors you could find between the VFW Reception Hall on floor zero and floor 100. People stayed here. Lived here. It was¡­ different then. Simpler. Safer.¡±


    ¡°Wait, what? The VFW Reception Hall?¡± I repeated, quirking an eyebrow. ¡°Do you mean the Lobby?¡±


    ¡°Is that what floor zero is now?¡± Ed asked, sounding tired. He took another rip on his bong, then pressed his eyes shut and rubbed at one temple. ¡°Christ, I¡¯ve been out of the loop too long.¡± He exhaled another long plume of smoke. ¡°It¡¯s been eight or nine years since the last time I bumped into anyone else. At least, I think it¡¯s been eight or nine years. Time¡¯s wonky here. Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± he said, waving a hand through the air. ¡°Point is, this place changes.¡±


    He paused, leaning back in his wobbly chair.


    ¡°Err, the Backrooms, I mean,¡± he clarified. ¡°Back when floor zero was the VFW Reception Hall¡ªnot this Lobby nonsense¡ªthis floor was a Safe Harbor. Being stuck in black and white was annoying, but you got used to it. And for a lot of Delvers who gave up on the idea of going home, this level was the closest we ever got to reclaiming some sense of normalcy. Nice homes. Lots of open space with trees and grass. You can even look up at the sky.¡±


    ¡°And there were no Dwellers here?¡± Jakob asked, still scribbling in his journal.


    ¡°A few,¡± Ed admitted, taking another hit before setting the bong aside. ¡°Mimics, mostly. Weird ones, though. Instead of pretending to be furniture, they pretended to be people.¡± He glanced at Croc, who no longer looked like a blue parrot and instead resembled a blue rubber dog. ¡°They were like your friend there. Which is to say, very shitty at disguising themselves. You could spot ¡¯em a mile off and as long as you didn¡¯t get too close, they minded their own damned business. Pretty good neighbors, all things considered. Not like the nightmares we¡¯ve got now.¡±


    ¡°What the hell happened?¡± I asked, genuinely curious. ¡°Seriously, how in the hell did this place go from a grayscale 1950s TV town to this suburban hellscape?¡±


    ¡°Best I can guess,¡± Ed said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, ¡°the closer a level is to the surface the more malleable it is. It¡¯s like the upper floors are softer clay, easier to mold and reshape. But that¡¯s only the tip of the iceberg. I could never prove it for a fact, but I think a big part of the change had to do with this covert government black-op¡ªProject Black Mariage. The Feds were always poking their noses where they didn¡¯t belong and we¡¯re all paying for it.¡±


    I stole another look at the bookshelf and my gaze lingered on the bound copy of the Pentagon Papers. Yep, definitely a conspiracy theory nutjob.


    ¡°Now before you call for the men in the white coats,¡± he said, lifting one hand to forestall any interruptions, ¡°just hear me out. Any of you happen to know what¡¯s on the level below us? Down on floor twenty-five?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a VRD laboratory,¡± Jakob answered matter of factly.


    ¡°That¡¯s goddamned right it is,¡± Ed replied. He eyeballed Jakob, clearly connecting a few of the dots. ¡°Should¡¯ve guessed you¡¯d know about the labs, being a Transmog and all. But it isn¡¯t just Helix Splicers they¡¯ve got down there, you know. There¡¯s all kinds of VRD tech. Stuff that no one understands. Biological containment units, armories stocked like they¡¯re prepping for World War III, R&D facilities with advanced technology that could reshape the world. And if you think the spooks at the CIA don¡¯t know about this place, you¡¯re higher than I am.


    ¡°Trust me, they¡¯re all over it. Hell, I¡¯d bet my right arm that half of the tech DARPA is tinkering with is shit they¡¯ve managed to salvage from the Backrooms. No different than what MJ-12 did with all the alien tech they recovered from the crash at Roswell¡ªit¡¯s just another layer of the same playbook.¡± Ed¡¯s expression visibly darkened and his tone grew cold. ¡°Ran into some of their agents about twenty years back. They called themselves B.E.A.C.O.N.¡ªBureau of Extradimensional Anomalies and Covert Opposition Neutralization. Bureaucratic pricks. The bastards tried to recruit me, if you can believe it.¡±


    I could not, in fact, believe it or half the other bullshit that was coming out of this guy¡¯s mouth, but I held my tongue.


    ¡°Yep, they wanted me on the team,¡± Ed continued, ¡°on account of my distinguished military service during ¡¯Nam.¡± He rolled his eyes. ¡°Not that I was interested, you understand. Told them to go sit on a 105 round and spin. But I kept my ear to the ground, y¡¯know? And that¡¯s how I heard about Project Black Mariage. The Feds were particularly interested in a piece of VRD tech called the Nexus Pulse. What exactly does the Nexus Pulse do you ask?¡±


    He smirked and held up a hand to forestall any potential answers.


    ¡°The Nexus Pulse,¡± he continued, ¡°is an enormous goddamned radio transmitter capable of reprogramming all sapient minds within a certain radius. This thing could rewrite memories, eradicate personal identity, implant subconsciousness suggestions, and pacify entire population groups.¡± He took another bong rip. ¡°Imagine if the government could turn every citizen in an enemy nation state into a violent sleeper agent? Or settle civil unrest with the push of a button? Scary as hell, right?¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°And you think they were experimenting on the residents of the safe harbor using this Nexus Pulse thing?¡± I asked.


    ¡°You¡¯re damn skippy, that¡¯s what I think,¡± Ed shot back, his voice rising, a vein pulsing angerly in his forehead. ¡°And that¡¯s what I think is at the heart of the radio station¡ªthe Nexus Pulse. The signal started changing people, but not just them. It started changing the Dwellers, too. The mimics. The ones pretending to be human.¡± He cackled. ¡°Those Fed shitheads with BEACON didn¡¯t count on that, though. They thought they were so smart, so in control. But they weren¡¯t.


    ¡°And I¡¯m betting they sure as hell didn¡¯t count on the Blight, either.¡± He leaned forward, as though imparting some great secret. ¡°Now, this is pure speculation, mind you, but I think the Blight might also have some sort of rudimentary intelligence. It¡¯s not just a disease or a phenomenon. I¡¯m telling you, it thinks. The Blight started infecting the residents, right? But then the signal¡ªthe Nexus Pulse¡ªit started infecting the Blight. Twisting it. Shaping it. And this? The HOA? It¡¯s the result. A merger of man, monster, and machine, all controlled by a technology that was supposed to make things ¡®better.¡¯ Instead, it made everything a thousand times worse.¡±


    A heavy silence settled over the room as we considered the implications of Ed¡¯s words.


    ¡°That sounds utterly mad,¡± Temperance said, folding her arms and fixing Ed with a skeptical glare. ¡°I¡¯m just going to say it. You sound mentally unwell. I have been in the Backrooms longer than any of you and I can assure you, this world predates your current government by hundreds, or perhaps, even thousands of years. Furthermore, I¡¯ve never heard of any of these so-called clandestine organizations and, frankly, your theory reeks of paranoia and the effects of prolonged isolation.¡±


    ¡°Now, now Kleiner Hase,¡± Jakob chided patting her on the arm, ¡°it¡¯s no crazier than believing the Backrooms are a divine test, designed by an alien god to separate the wheat from the chaff.¡±


    I agreed with Jakob.


    Although Ed was clearly paranoid, his theory didn¡¯t seem entirely outside the realm of possibility. I had no doubt that the Backrooms could theoretically produce an Artifact like the Nexus Pulse and if something like that did exist, I was equally sure the CIA would be interested in getting ahold of it. And considering the CIA¡¯s checkered history and shady operating practices, would they really be above testing a powerful mind control weapon on people trapped in an extradimensional prison?


    Probably not.


    That still didn¡¯t mean Ed was right, but maybe he wasn¡¯t wrong either.


    In the end, though, the truth didn¡¯t really matter. Not to me.


    Temp was as crazy as a bagful of caffeinated raccoons, but I still trusted her.


    Sure, maybe Ed was a few fries short of a Happy Meal, but everyone in the Backrooms was fundamentally damaged in one way or another. Jakob was a pacifist in a Mad-Max murder-world, Croc was flesh-eating mimic who couldn¡¯t properly mimic things, and Temperance was a homicidal pilgrim in a skin-tight bunny suit. There were no perfect people in the Backrooms. No normal people, either.


    Only the crazy ones survived here.


    Right now, there were only two things that really mattered.


    One, could Ed be trusted not to turn us into human-based meat chill the second he had an opportunity and, two, could he help us get past the wall of Kyles and Karens surrounding the exit kiosk? I wasn¡¯t sure about the second question, but he¡¯d had plenty of opportunities to screw us over and leave us for dead, and he¡¯d chosen to help us instead. As far as I was concerned, he¡¯d earned enough goodwill for me to lend him the benefit of the doubt.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind Temperance,¡± I said to Ed, ¡°she has very strong opinions and doesn¡¯t play especially well with others. I¡¯m sure she wasn¡¯t trying to insult you¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªoh no, I was indeed insulting him,¡± Temp clarified.


    ¡°Thanks, Temp,¡± I muttered, ¡°as always, your diplomatic abilities continue to shock and amazing me.¡±


    Ed chuckled, a low, raspy sound that carried more amusement than warmth. ¡°At least she¡¯s honest,¡± he said. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, it¡¯ll take a lot more than that to insult me. People have been calling me crazy for decades, kemo sabe. But here¡¯s the thing. I was right about Agent Orange. About Operation CHAOS. About the Pentagon Papers and the Tuskegee Experiments. I was right Every. Damn. Time. You¡¯ll see. Time is on my side. It always is. Besides, it doesn¡¯t matter if you believe me. If you want to get out of here, you need me.¡± He offered us a wide grin that made him look more deranged than ever. ¡°Because I can take down the signal.¡±


    ¡°Like you did back at the cookout?¡± I asked, feeling an ember of hope ignite in my chest. ¡°With the radio?¡±


    ¡°Just like that,¡± he said, nodding vigorously, ¡°but everywhere all at once.¡± He paused, seeming to appraise us carefully. ¡°Come on,¡± he finally said, ¡°let me show you something.¡±


    The chair squeaked as he pushed himself to his feet then lumbered over toward the steel blast door at the far end of the room. He paused by the birdcage and coaxed the parrot out onto his hand with a few soothing words.


    ¡°Who¡¯s a pretty bird?¡± Ed said, booping the parrot on the beak with one finger.


    ¡°Kill you with fire,¡± she replied, inching her way onto his shoulder.


    ¡°That¡¯s my girl,¡± Ed mumbled, before returning to the blast door. He disengaged the locks, pulled the hatch open with the shriek of rusty hinges, then ushered us into the connecting room, which was far better furnished than his living quarters.


    Tables lined every wall, all of them loaded down with various electrical equipment. Spools of wire and buckets of gutted radio parts, along with heaps of transistors and capacitors, diodes and electrical relay switches, fuses and transformers galore. The guy had enough batteries to fill a bathtub. He also had scads of tools and although I wasn¡¯t an electrician by trade, I¡¯d installed enough lights and changed enough wall outlets to be familiar with most of them.


    Decorating one wall was an enormous map with colored twine running from everywhere to everywhere else in a chaotic sprawl. It looked like one of those true crime cork boards, and it definitely didn¡¯t make Ed seem any less crazy. Bits of red twine all lead to one central location, neatly labeled as WBSC ¨C Sunnyside Community Radio Broadcast Station.


    As impressively insane as the board was, however, the true pi¨¨ce de resistance was the enormous device occupying the center of the room¡ªtwo parts radio, one part bomb, and easily the size of a car engine.


    ¡°This here is Big Bertha,¡± he said, affectionately patting the side of the enormous bomb/radio disruptor. ¡°I¡¯ve been working on her for years and she¡¯s finally ready to go. Once I fire up Bertha, the Signal will go down all across Sunnyside. It¡¯s basically a giant magical EMP that¡¯ll fry the Nexus for good.¡± He snapped his fingers with a loud crack. ¡°Boom. Just like that. Once the signal fails, all the Sunnysiders will be mindless husks just like they were at the party after I set off the smaller disruptor. Except this time, it¡¯ll be permanent.¡±


    ¡°What about the elites?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Like the Kyles and the Karens who were standing guard outside that fireworks tent?¡± Ed asked.


    ¡°Yeah, like those,¡± I replied evenly.


    ¡°Those things are tough. Taking down the signal at the source is the only way you¡¯re getting past them,¡± Ed said.


    ¡°And this device can do all of that?¡± Jakob asked, crouching down to examine the machine in closer detail. ¡°If that¡¯s the case, then why haven¡¯t you used it yet, I wonder?¡±


    Ed grimaced then rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°See, that¡¯s the only catch. Big Bertha can crash the Signal, but it needs to be near the source. Within fifty feet or so of the Nexus Pulse.¡± He headed over to the map and pointed at the radio station. ¡°The WBSC Community Broadcast Station,¡± he growled. ¡°That¡¯s where the Nexus Pulse is. I¡¯m sure of it. Those weird radio announcements you¡¯ve been hearing? That¡¯s all part of the Signal. Big Brother, always keeping their eyes and ears on you. Getting into the radio station itself is the rub, and I can¡¯t do it alone.


    He lifted one hand, palm up, and conjured a miniature replica of a two-story building of reinforced concrete with a large steel broadcasting antenna protruding from its flat roof. The letters WBSC ran boldly across the front of the building, which reminded me more of a prison than it did of a radio broadcasting station. Encircling the perimeter of the building were Sunnysiders. An army of Elite Kyles and Karens, even more dangerous than their counterparts.


    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s amazing,¡± Croc marveled. ¡°How do you do that? Make the picture, I mean?¡±


    ¡°Illusion magic,¡± Ed replied tersely. ¡°It¡¯s sort of my specialty. This¡±¡ªhe gestured toward the slowly rotating illusion with his free hand¡ª¡°is the Broadcast Station. As you can plainly see, the outside is crawling with hostile Sunnysiders. There¡¯s no way to get past them and even if we could, which you can¡¯t, the building itself is built like a goddamned siege fortress.¡±


    ¡°Great sales pitch,¡± I said, folding my arms across my chest. ¡°Really filling me with overwhelming confidence.¡±


    ¡°Oh ye of little faith,¡± he replied. ¡°Getting past the Elites might not be possible, but I¡¯ve found another way in.¡± He snapped his fingers, and the illusion zoomed out, revealing a maze of interconnecting underground passageways. ¡°There are a series of fallout tunnels that still run beneath the city¡ªvestigial structures, just like my bunker. Those structures aren¡¯t a part of the HOA, so the Sunnysiders avoid them like the plague and one of those tunnels just so happens to connect to the station¡¯s subbasement. The only wrinkle is that to get to the tunnel you have to go through here.¡±


    Another tiny building shimmered into existence, this one labeled Sunnyside Tiny Tots Preschool.


    ¡°Wait a minute, I¡¯m sorry,¡± I said, holding up a hand to stop him. ¡°Is this a joke? You¡¯re telling me that you need help getting through a preschool? Maybe I¡¯m missing something here, but surely a bunch of little kids can¡¯t be that tough, right? Hell, why can¡¯t you just take one of those radio disruptors with you and use it on all the crotch goblins inside? Quick and easy.¡±


    Ed¡¯s face had grown pale and his expression dark.


    ¡°The horrors inside that Preschool are worse than you could possibly imagine,¡± he said, finally banishing the conjured illusion. ¡°I saw a F-4 Phantom drench an entire town of noncombatants outside of Khe Sanh with Napalm and that still wasn¡¯t as bad as what¡¯s inside that god forsaken preschool. Plus, the disruptors don¡¯t work on the kids, because the Signal doesn¡¯t work on the kids.


    ¡°The Sunnysiders, they reproduce like mimics,¡± Ed explained. ¡°They hatch in clutches and the preschools serve as breeding grounds. The toddlers are small and relatively weak, but extremely violent and unpredictable. Once they get old enough, they evolve into Timmys and Tammys before being released into the cornfields, where they¡¯re slowly infected by the signal and the SporeFeed, until eventually they evolve again into their adult form.


    ¡°I¡¯ve tried to get through the preschool a dozen times, at least,¡± he continued. ¡°I¡¯ve also almost died a dozen times, too. There are just too many of those goddamned demon babies. If we all went together, though?¡± He nodded. ¡°We could do it. Get past the toddlers and into the basement of the broadcast station. From there, I activate Big Bertha, we take down the signal, and everything topside turns into anarchy. While the Sunnysiders are busy murdering each other, I can finally get away from this floor.¡±


    I felt a brief pang of guilt.


    From the sounds of it, all Ed wanted was to leave this place in his rearview mirror.


    Thing was, I could help him do that right now. I could use a Doorway Anchor to open a gateway to my shop and he could be free with two steps.


    Except, I couldn¡¯t do that because we needed him. Assuming Ed was right, taking down the radio station would incapacitate the Sunnysiders guarding the exit kiosk which, in turn, would allow us to get one step closer to the Franchisor. If I let him go now, there was no telling how long we might be stuck here. So, even though it made me feel like a real bastard, I kept my mouth shut about the doorway anchor.


    ¡°Well, what the hell are we waiting for?¡± I said instead.


    Ed nodded. ¡°My thoughts exactly¡ªand the timing couldn¡¯t be better.¡± He glanced down at his watch.


    ¡°What¡¯s the rush?¡± I asked, suddenly feeling a creeping sense of dread.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a few hours until daybreak,¡± Ed replied. ¡°Like all the kids in this fucked up town, the toddlers are significantly weaker during the daylight hours. Once the moon goes up, it¡¯s a whole different ballgame. They get stronger, faster, meaner. Even gain temporary levels. And starting tomorrow night, it¡¯s going to be worse. Way worse. Exponentially worse.¡±


    ¡°What happens tomorrow night?¡± I asked, knowing full well I wasn¡¯t going to like the answer.


    ¡°The Bleeding Moon,¡± Ed replied. ¡°Happens once every few years and lasts for about a month or so. Sometimes even two. The sun doesn¡¯t come up. The moon starts to bleed. The kids, they start to evolve¡ªturn into rabid, demon werewolves. But with horns. Instead of gaining ten levels, they gain fifteen, and they get real hungry. Trust me, it¡¯s a whole thing. If we don¡¯t move now, y¡¯all could be stuck here for a good long while.¡±


    If I wasn¡¯t sold before, I was now. ¡°Sounds like we need to go kick the shit out of some eldritch toddlers.¡±


    ¡°Couldn¡¯t have said it better myself,¡± Ed agreed.

 Thirty-Nine – Vampires

    Even though we were working against a shot clock, Ed had some additional preparations to make before we could depart, which was good because we needed to catch a few hours of shuteye. I was more than ready to leave this nightmare floor behind and never look back, but everyone was exhausted, especially after the adrenaline from our cookout battle faded. We headed back into Ed¡¯s living quarters and passed out on the floor¡ªthough Jakob stayed up to keep watch.


    When I offered to split the watch, Jakob just shrugged it off and said it was nothing.


    ¡°Cendral¡¯s are far more physically resilient than humans. We need much less sleep and recover more quickly, as well.¡± Then he pulled a test tube vial from Storage. ¡°I also have a few of these lying around. Eine gute Nachtruhe, I call it. A good night¡¯s rest in a tube.¡± He uncorked the stopper and chugged the liquid with a scowl. ¡°The formula could still use a little work. It functions well but tastes like burning rubber.¡±


    Croc also assured me that it could help Jakob keep an eye on things¡ªthough I found that a little disconcerting since the dog tended to literally watch me sleep whenever it got the chance.


    I just pushed all of those uncomfortable thoughts to the back of my head, curled up on my side, and passed out in less than a few minutes. I considered that one of my unique superpowers¡ªa gift imparted to me during my time in the Marine Corps. I could fall asleep on command, and I could do it anywhere, no matter the circumstances, and no matter how physically uncomfortable I was. I¡¯d slept in ditches, on the top of tank treads, and suspended from a cargo strap in a gunner turret.


    In a war zone, you never knew when you were going to get a chance to sleep again, so you grabbed every opportunity that came your way. The Backrooms were the same.


    I didn¡¯t dream, which was a mercy. I was certain that golf-cart centaur would be waiting for me behind my eyelids, but instead it was just a field of blissful black.


    Jakob shook me awake a few hours later and though I was still groggy, I no longer felt like a microwaved dog turd. I took a few minutes to freshen up in Ed¡¯s cramped bathroom, splashing some water across my face, then brushed my teeth, scrubbing the taste of fetid cat ass from my mouth.


    We ate a small meal of all beef franks¡ªstill piping hot¡ªand chased it down with off-brand energy drinks filled with so much caffeine they made one of my eyes twitch. Nitro Volt ¨C Plug into the Chaos! It tasted like regret, charbroiled Skittles, and Type 2 diabetes, but holy shit did it get the job done.


    Then we were off.


    Ed loaded Big Bertha into his personal Storage Space, which was supremely convenient for travel, given how large the device was¡ªthough, I suspected it also served a secondary purpose. If he died, anything inside his Subspace Storage System would be gone. Lost forever and eventually reclaimed and recirculated by the Backrooms. Sure, we could loot his corpse and take any of the Relics stored in his Spatial Core, but we¡¯d never see Big Bertha again. Which meant, we needed to make sure Ed survived, because without him we¡¯d be trapped here indefinitely.


    I was pretty sure that¡¯s just the way he wanted it. It was a smart move¡ªpragmatic¡ªand exactly the kind of thing I would¡¯ve done if I was in his shoes.


    It was daylight by the time we left the bunker and the Kevins and Kathys had all retreated indoors for the time being. Ed assured us that they¡¯d stay away until sunset and leave us be, so long as we didn¡¯t attempt to enter any of the houses. I asked about the Kyles and Karens, guarding the fireworks kiosk, but Ed just grimaced and shook his head no.


    ¡°The Elites are a different breed. Stronger. Faster. Deadlier. They don¡¯t ever seem to sleep and the kids know not to fuck around with them.¡±


    Speaking of the youth of Sunnyside, the cornfields were now empty and harmless, since the kannibal kids had returned to the streets of suburbia where they roamed about on their bikes. We caught sight of various gangs once or twice, but mostly they kept their distance, doing whatever it was that monster children did during the daylight hours.


    We walked for several hours, Ed leading the way without the use of his dowsing rods. He seemed to know exactly where he was going, turning left and right down various streets, cutting through fenced backyards, all while carefully skirting around the occasional neighborhood playground. There were quite a few of those and they seemed to serve as communal watering holes for the various child biker gangs. The kids would watch us with cold, unnerving eyes and perpetually flat expressions, but never made any attempt to pursue us.


    It was almost like they didn¡¯t quite know what to do with us.


    Obviously, we were adults¡ªalthough at five-foot nothing, Temp probably could¡¯ve passed as a teenager¡ªbut we were outside during daylight hours, which meant we weren¡¯t Kevins or Kathys. Ergo, we didn¡¯t fit into the natural order of things, and so they let us be.


    Eventually, we found ourselves in front of the Sunnyside Tiny Tots Preschool.


    It was a neat, two-story building with a tidy brick fa?ade, framed in by neatly manicured bushes, which seamlessly blended into the cookie cutter suburban surroundings. It didn¡¯t look particularly ominous from the outside and under any other circumstances, I wouldn¡¯t have given the place a second look.


    The longer I stared, though, the more I realized something was subtly off.


    The fenced in playground was fastidiously clean, the swings still gently swaying as if recently abandoned¡ªexcept there was no one to be seen. All of the other playgrounds had been occupied by kids, but not this one. Almost as though the older children were avoiding it the same way the parents avoided the cornfields. Bright slides and jungle gyms waited for the carefree giggle of a happy kid, but none came.


    The lights inside were all off, and through the darkened windows, the empty classrooms felt frozen in time. I didn¡¯t see anyone. No teachers or administrators. No janitors or maintenance workers. No chatter, no footsteps, no distant hum of activity. Just the deep unsettling silence of a mausoleum¡ªalmost as if the entire place was holding its breath in anticipation. Waiting for something.


    Waiting for us, maybe.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like this at all, Dan,¡± Croc said, shuffling nervously from paw to paw. ¡°I know we need to do this, but it feels like a very bad idea. Remember when I said we shouldn¡¯t fight Funtime Frank and then we did anyway, because no one listens to me, and everyone almost died?¡±


    ¡°That does ring a certain bell,¡± I said, nodding.


    ¡°Yeah, well this is like that. There¡¯s something bad inside that place. Something even worse than the Kevins and Kathys at the party or that weird monster in the cornfield.¡± The dog dropped its voice low, so only I could hear it. ¡°This place is a mimic hatchery, Dan. As a mimic myself, I can intuitively sense it. In here.¡± The dog thumped its chest with one paw.


    ¡°That makes sense, I suppose,¡± I replied with a shrug. ¡°Ed mentioned that the original inhabitants on this floor were humanoid mimics.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand, Dan,¡± Croc insisted, sounding close to panic. ¡°You don¡¯t ever go into a mimic hatchery. It¡¯s the golden rule of Delving. One time I was with this Delver named Mariah and she insisted we cut through a hatchery, even though I warned her not to.¡±


    ¡°Let me guess,¡± I said, ¡°Mariah went on to live a full and happy life in one of the Safe Harbors?¡±


    ¡°Of course not, Dan,¡± Croc replied, flabbergasted. ¡°I could¡¯ve fit what was left of her in a postage envelope. Even we mimics don¡¯t go inside an active hatchery. I cannot stress enough just how violent juvenile mimics are. They have no self-control whatsoever and have a singular desire to feed. Most mimics die without ever leaving the hatchery because they¡¯re murdered by other juvenile mimics.¡±


    ¡°Holy shit, newborn Thunderdome,¡± I said. ¡°That¡¯s intense. Super fucked up.¡±


    ¡°Yes, very messed up indeed,¡± Croc agree, nodding, ¡°but they will also kill anything stupid enough to blunder into their lair. There¡¯s liable to be hundreds, maybe even thousands, of mimic spawn in there, Dan. If we go in, it¡¯s going to be a bloodbath.¡±


    ¡°And if we don¡¯t,¡± I said, ¡°we¡¯re never going to make it down to the next floor.¡± I patted Croc on its snout. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, bud, we¡¯ll be okay.¡±


    ¡°Just promise me that if things go wrong, we¡¯ll run away? Please?¡± Croc asked earnestly. ¡°Because I¡¯m telling you, Dan, a mimic hatchery is the one place no Delver in their right mind should ever go. Not unless they have a death wish.¡±


    ¡°Promise,¡± I said seriously and meant it. ¡°If things get too dicey, we¡¯ll bail. Pinky swear. We can always come back with extra reinforcements if we need to.¡±


    ¡°Alright, gather on me,¡± Ed called, waving everyone over to his position, not far from the front doors. ¡°There¡¯s a couple of things we need to take care of before we can go in.¡± He reached into his coat and once more pulled out the impossibly long bong. ¡°First things first, y¡¯all are going to need to get high.¡± He loaded something into the bowl and used his thumb to summon a dash of fire.


    ¡°Thank you, but no,¡± Jakob said, politely refusing. ¡°I would prefer not to. Despite my background as a chemist, I¡¯ve never been one for recreational drug use¡ªother than beer, of course. As we Germans say, Hopfen und Malz, Gott erhalt''s. Should all else fail, may God preserve hops and malt.¡±


    ¡°Sorry, hoss, but this isn¡¯t optional,¡± Ed replied. ¡°This stuff isn¡¯t of the purely recreational variety, if you catch my drift. It¡¯ll help dispel all the illusions for a while. Open your third eye and let you see through the SporeFeed Social filter. I¡¯m betting you¡¯ve never had to kill a toddler before, but I have and trust me, it¡¯s the sort of thing that sticks with you. Without this¡±¡ªhe tapped the side of the bong¡ª¡°that¡¯s what you¡¯ll see. A bunch of little sweet, chubby-cheeked babies and toddlers all trying to gut you like a luau pig.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°A lot of Delvers can¡¯t bring themselves to do what needs doing, even while these little monsters eat them alive. Seeing them in their true form helps. Once you get a glimpse beneath the veil, you won¡¯t have any problems setting these little shits on fire. You¡¯re also going to need these.¡± He pulled out several Vietnam era gasmasks, which had all seen better days. ¡°The buff from the high usually only lasts an hour or so, but these¡¯ll prolong its effects. Part of the reason the illusion magic is so powerful here is because it¡¯s not entirely mental. There¡¯s a physiological component too.¡±


    ¡°The spores,¡± Jakob said, nodding in agreement.


    ¡°You got it, hoss,¡± Ed replied. ¡°All of the adult Sunnysiders are carriers. Those boils all over their necks? When they pop, they release a cloud of airborne spores that pass through the nose and mouth and eventually get into your blood stream. The resistance you get from Grit helps some¡ªkeeps you from going under too quickly. But what you really need is a sky-high Preservation score. Without both, the Social Filter will still worm its way into your head. The gas masks¡¯ll help with that. Now who wants to go first?¡± he asked, thrusting the bong toward us.


    Although I hadn¡¯t smoked weed since well before my Marine Corps days, I¡¯d be lying if I said this was my first time. There wasn¡¯t a lot for teenagers to do in rural Ohio, so alcohol and drugs were always at the top of the list along with cow tipping, dirt biking, the occasional cliff diving, and, of course, bottle rocket wars. Just the bullshit that every midwestern kid gets up to while they¡¯re waiting to get the hell out of Dodge and go someplace better.


    For a kid from Ohio, even a war zone 6,000 miles away was someplace better.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take this one for the team,¡± I said, snatching the bong.


    Even though it had been years, I¡¯d spent plenty of afternoons in Tyler Edenson¡¯s basement, smoking shitty weed while his dad worked late at the FeatherGold poultry processing plant, and the muscle memory was still there. Just like riding a bike. I took a deep long rip, and felt the pungent smoke fill my mouth and lungs.


    A notice appeared in the haze of smoke as I exhaled.


    You¡¯ve transcended beyond the realm of Stoner¡¯s Insight and reached the next level of cosmic understanding. Or, you know, you¡¯re just really, really high. Either way, reality¡¯s never looked clearer. While under this buff, you gain a 20% boost to Perception, Grit, and Evasion for a full hour. Enjoy the ride, spaceman.


    Despite the message, I didn¡¯t feel high at all. Just the opposite.


    My head felt less fuzzy and everything around me seemed to snap into sharp, high-def clarity. The illusionary fa?ade laying lightly over the Tiny Tots preschool disappeared, replaced by a fleshy edifice of bone and meat and sinew. The entire building looked like an oozing sore, and now I could see dark shapes scuttling around behind the frosted windows.


    That wasn¡¯t the only illusion it dispelled, though.


    I stumbled away from Ed with the bong still clutched in one hand and instinctively yanked my hammer out with my other, brandishing it like a cross as I fed mana into the weapon. It ignited with blue light and swelled to the size of a medieval battleaxe.


    ¡°What the fuck, man?¡± I yelled at Ed. ¡°You¡¯re one of them!¡±


    It seemed like a perfectly reasonable response since normal human Ed was gone and a nightmare version of him, complete with hair tentacles, six eyes, and a circular lamprey mouth was now standing in his place.


    ¡°Eh, sorry about that, kemo sabe,¡± Ed said, raising his hands in a placating gesture. ¡°Didn¡¯t think I needed to give you a heads-up. Most folks don¡¯t have the Grit to see through my Mutable Persona Illusion¡ªnot even after a hit off the Cosmic Rip. That¡¯s the bong, by the way. The Cosmic Rip.¡± He paused and squinted at me with all six of his weird eyes. ¡°You must have a ludicrously high base Grit stat. Like, off-the-charts kind of high.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Temp and Jakob both asked, almost in tandem.


    They couldn¡¯t see what I did. Couldn¡¯t see Ed for what he really was.


    ¡°This chucklefuck is a Sunnysider,¡± I growled, though I never took my eyes off Ed. ¡°Now answer the question, dickhole, before I set your blood on fire.¡± My knuckles were white from gripping the hammer so tightly. ¡°What the fuck are you?¡±


    ¡°A Delver¡­¡± Ed replied slowly, his tone low and deliberate as though he was talking to a spooked animal. ¡°But also, a prime example of what happens when you stick around here too long,¡± he admitted with a lopsided shrug. ¡°Not all of the Sunnysiders are former Delvers, but some of them are. The kids? The Timmys and Tammys? They¡¯re all pure-blooded Dwellers. Born and bred right here. They crawl out of hatcheries just like this one¡±¡ªhe gestured toward the looming building with a glower¡ª¡°and after a while, they evolve into Kevins and Kathys.¡±


    Ed paused, his six eyes narrowing. ¡°The big honchos, though? The HOA board members and the Arcade bosses? They¡¯re all like us¡ªor they were once, anyway. That¡¯s why the HOA is so keen to keep Delvers here. To convert them. It¡¯s a long, ugly process, but when it works, a turned Delver makes for a far stronger thrall than anything those spore-huffing freaks can crank out on their own. Me? I¡¯ve been fighting the change for thirty years, kid. Thirty goddamn years. But they got to me early. Got their filthy, spore-filled hooks buried deep in my brain before I knew what was happening. I¡¯m still here, though. Mostly. For now.¡±


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± I said, licking my lips as I considered his words. ¡°That¡¯s awful. Once you get away from this level will you go back to normal?¡±


    Ed dropped his gaze, a shadow of resignation passing over his face as he shook his head. ¡°Afraid not, partner. This¡±¡ªhe gestured vaguely to himself, his voice heavy with weariness¡ª¡°this is what I am now. Maybe there¡¯s some old tech buried on one of the research floors that could reverse the process. But let¡¯s be real, that¡¯s a damn pipedream at this point. That¡¯s why I keep the Mutable Persona Relic equipped. It lets me look normal... most of the time, anyway. But it¡¯s just a mask, hiding the mess underneath.¡± He paused, his gaze dropping. ¡°It¡¯s a convenient lie. Nothing more.¡±


    The words were a gut punch, and I felt genuinely terrible for him, but that didn¡¯t ease my worries any. Ed was like the guy in the zombie movie who got bit, and then tried to cover it up. He was dangerous and at some point, it was possible he¡¯d turn on us.


    ¡°Are you contagious?¡± I asked sharply. ¡°Like the others, I mean?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°See for yourself.¡± He tilted his chin up and slowly turned his head from side to side, giving me a clear view. ¡°No spore sacks. I¡¯m not contagious¡ªwon¡¯t be spreading this nightmare to anyone else.¡± He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°But¡­ there¡¯s one slight, uh, little hiccup that I should probably bring up since were having a moment of transparency here,¡± he added, his tone suddenly guarded, as if weighing just how much to say.


    ¡°Honesty is the best policy,¡± Croc replied sagely. ¡°Like Dan always says, friends don¡¯t lie to friends. Better to get it all out in the open here and now. Just like when Dan told me he had hemorrhoids.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t have hemorrhoids,¡± I muttered, though the mimic¡¯s words bothered me more than I wanted to admit. Again, not because I had hemorrhoids, but because I was actively concealing some very important things from Ed.


    ¡°Well, see the thing is,¡± Ed said, ¡°I need to feed off regular Delvers. Just a little.¡±


    ¡°Like some sort of vampire?¡± Croc asked, its tail wagging excitedly.


    ¡°Yes and no,¡± Ed said, his voice tight, almost reluctant, ¡°though I don¡¯t drink blood, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re thinking.¡± He hesitated, his mouth working like he was chewing on the words before finally spitting them out. ¡°I eat¡­ Memories,¡± he finally finished.


    He let the weight of the statement hang in the air for a beat, then tapped his temple with one calloused finger.


    ¡°Because that¡¯s what this place takes from you,¡± he continued, his tone bitter and angry. ¡°It gets inside your head and starts eating away at your personality. At your memories. At who you are until, eventually, you¡¯re an empty husk and there¡¯s nothing left. Once the transformation starts, the only way to hold onto what¡¯s left of you¡ªyour memories, your identity¡ªis to take little pieces from someone else. It¡¯s survival, but it ain¡¯t pretty. Not by a long shot.¡±


    ¡°Does that mean you¡¯ve eaten from us?¡± Temperance hissed, her cleaver flying into her hand in anticipation of impending violence.


    ¡°Yeah, because that would be bad,¡± Croc added. ¡°On top of not lying to each other, friends also don¡¯t kill, eat, or dismember each other. Emphasis on the eating part, which is something I¡¯ve personally struggled with. Like this one time, I was helping this Delver named Connor who lost a foot to an invisible bear trap on the fourth floor¡ªand then I ate the foot because it was just lying there doing no one any good at all. But it turns out Connor was very attached to the foot and unhappy that I¡¯d eaten it, which ended up ¡°emotionally scarring¡± him for the rest of his life¡ªwhich wasn¡¯t very long, on account of all the blood loss.¡±


    ¡°What? God, no,¡± Ed said, his voice sharp with disgust. Though it was hard to tell whether he was more repulsed by Croc¡¯s story or the accusation itself. ¡°That would be monstrous. I¡¯d never feed on a friend. Even I have my limits.¡±


    He sighed, readjusting his baseball cap.


    ¡°I only take from people who are already lost causes¡ªor, y¡¯know, corpses. Memories linger for a while after someone dies. A few weeks, give or take. Sure, they degrade over time, but I don¡¯t need much to get by. Just enough to keep myself together.¡± He paused, his gaze shifting toward the shadows as if calculating some unseen risk. ¡°If it comes down to it, I can even scrape by on Dwellers. They¡¯re not great, but it¡¯s better than starving. You gotta understand, it¡¯s not about the morality of it anymore¡ªit¡¯s about survival.¡± His six eyes fixed on me, unblinking. ¡°And I intend to survive.¡±


    Ed¡¯s answer didn¡¯t make me feel good, but it did make me feel minutely better. ¡°That¡¯s something, at least,¡± I said.


    ¡°Sorry, just to circle back around to the whole vampire thing,¡± Croc said, ¡°because it sounds to me like you are definitely, one hundred percent a vampire, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Ed said after thinking about it for a moment. ¡°I guess in the most technical sense of the word I am a vampire. But not a blood-sucking, crosses and garlic vampire.¡±


    ¡°Why does that matter?¡± Temperance asked, still gripping her cleaver.


    ¡°Why does that matter?¡± Croc scoffed. ¡°Am I the only one who sees what this means? We¡¯ve found a man, named Edward, who is a literal vampire with a tragic backstory. It¡¯s happening, guys. I can¡¯t believe it¡¯s really happening. Don¡¯t you see, Dan?¡± Croc said, turning its googly eyes on me. ¡°It¡¯s fate. Clearly, he was meant to be part of our crew. We already have a Jakob, who¡¯s a Transmog¡ªwhich is basically a werewolf if you think about it¡ªand now we have a vampiric Edward. We¡¯re doing it, guys. We¡¯re building the cast of Twilight. This is just¡­ wow. I¡¯m at a loss for words.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what¡¯s this now? Twilight?¡± Ed asked, glancing between me and Croc, confusion evident on his inhuman face. ¡°Is this some kind of cryptic prophecy thing or some sort of covert government operation?... What am I missing here?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s from a book series,¡± Croc said, practically bouncing up and down on its paws, ¡°called Twilight, written by the eminently talented, internationally bestselling author Stephanie Meyer.¡±


    ¡°¡ªYou really don¡¯t have to include that she¡¯s an internationally bestselling author every single time,¡± Temperance said, finally sheathing her cleaver.


    Croc didn¡¯t seem to hear her. That or the mimic simply didn¡¯t care.


    ¡°Twilight? Never heard of it,¡± Ed said with a shrug.


    ¡°You will now,¡± I warned, before falling silent as I regarded the Delver. ¡°This changes things,¡± I said, suddenly serious. ¡°You know that right?¡±


    Ed nodding, looking grim.


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to hold this¡±¡ªI waved a hand at¡­ just all of him¡ª¡°against you. I know exactly how fucked up the Backrooms are, and I know what they do to people.¡±


    This place tried to turn everyone into monsters of one kind or another. Sometimes it twisted people into moral abominations¡ªlike the Aspirants who swore allegiance to the Monarch¡ªwhile other times it was a bit more literal. It never left people alone, though. Change was the only constant truism.


    ¡°But if I ever find out you¡¯ve taken memories from me or my friends,¡± I said, my voice cold and hard as the edge of a razor blade, ¡°I won¡¯t hesitate to put you down like a rabid dog.¡± I offered him an unflinching gaze. ¡°We clear?¡±


    ¡°Clear as clean glass,¡± Ed said, offering me a nod.


    ¡°Good.¡± I took a deep, calming breath, slid my hammer back into my tool belt and shoved the enormous glass pipe toward Temperance. ¡°Now the rest of you take a fat rip of this bong so we can go kill a bunch of demon babies. Our time is running out,¡± I said as I slipped the gas mask into place.

 Forty – Tiny Tots

    As high as kites and with our gas masks firmly in place, we kicked open the front doors of the preschool and went in hot with Temp and Jakob taking point. I gripped my hammer in one hand, ready to obliterate anything that got into fuck-around-and-find-out range, while spell cards and tools spun around me in a slow circle. Croc, Ed, and Woodstock brought up the rear¡ªthe bird perched on Ed¡¯s shoulder, its chest smoldering red and gold. After all the foreshadowing, I¡¯d be lying if I said I wasn¡¯t at least a little excited to see the parrot kill something with fire.


    ¡°Stay away from the walls,¡± Ed cautioned in a low whisper as we padded along the entryway hall, which led deeper into the preschool. ¡°They¡¯re covered with a sticky, acidic mucus substance.¡±


    ¡°Of course they are,¡± I muttered, trying to ignore the squelching sound of my own footfalls. ¡°Because this level is the gift that just keeps right on giving.¡±


    Instead of linoleum or concrete, the floor was squishy, moist, and pale pink like the surface of a giant tongue. Everything inside the preschool was like that, though. An odd mixture of the mundane and the grotesquely organic.


    Florescent ceiling lights illuminated pale, fleshy walls, covered in unblinking eyes and random tufts of hair. White storage cubbies held craft supplies and kid¡¯s toys, right alongside bowls filled with fingers or noses. Worst of all were the oversized lamprey mouth holes that pockmarked the walls and ceilings. The circular orifices were about the size basketballs and ringed with rows and rows of barbed teeth.


    ¡°Keep an eye on those,¡± Ed said as we passed a particularly dense cluster of mouth holes. He jerked his thumb toward them, his expression a mix of disgust and grim familiarity. ¡°They¡¯re internal tunnels¡ªlike those hamster tubes you see in pet stores, but, y¡¯know, for demon toddlers.¡±


    I pulled up my mini-map as we walked and noted with no small amount of horror, that there were red triangular marks everywhere. It seemed that the building¡¯s exterior cloaked the inhabitants from the eyes of my map, but now that we were in the thick of things, the mask had been rudely ripped away. Each triangle indicated the presence of a hostile Dweller and there were so damned many of the marks that I couldn¡¯t even count ¡¯em all. They squirmed and wriggled, overlapping with one another until the map was just a bright red blob.


    I still hadn¡¯t physically seen any of the toddler mimics, which meant they were probably tucked away in the tunnel system running through the walls and ceilings, but I¡¯d never seen such a high concentration of Dwellers in one place.


    We soon entered a circular receiving lobby with hallways branching off like the spokes of a bicycle wheel. A Welcome banner danged from the ceiling and directly beneath it was a reception desk that held a dated computer, a large directory map, and a wire rack filled with trifold brochures¡ªall extoling the many virtues and benefits of the Sunnyside Tiny Tots Preschool. I picked one up and flipped through the pages, grimacing at the god-awful pictures of smiling, fat-cheeked babies right alongside horrific images of butchered corpses.


    Welcome to Tiny Tots, the pamphlet proclaimed, where every day is a lesson in survival!


    Everyone knows children are the future, which is why we want only the strongest to survive. We believe that the weak are a burden on societal resources and must be culled, which is why we take a ¡°hands-off¡± approach to learning, allowing the ¡°students¡± to develop essential life skills by competing for dominance in a brutal, no-holds-barred murder arena! Thanks to our unique curriculum¡ªfocused on self-reliance, ambush-tactics, and overwhelming violence¡ªeach of our ¡°tiny tots¡± leave ready to face a world that is woefully unprepared for them!


    I flipped the page and scanned a list of bullet points with morbid curiosity.


    Why Choose Tiny Tots Survival Preschool?


    <ul>


    <li>Survival-Based Playtime: Jungle gym or jungle? The line is blurred at Tiny Tots, where playground ¡°games¡± build resilience and fighting spirit.</li>


    <li>Dynamic Friendships: ¡°Group work¡± helps foster strong bonds (and boundaries) through teamwork and elimination.</li>


    <li>Ruthless Rewards System: Tots earn survival badges for ¡°outlasting¡± those in their cohort, encouraging growth, responsibility, and conformity through natural selection.</li>


    <li>Flexible Snack Policy: If they can catch it, they can eat it! Our open-feeding environment encourages creativity (and stealth).</li>


    </ul>


    On the back of the pamphlet was a list of quotes from ¡°satisfied customers¡±¡ªthough based on those quotes, I wasn¡¯t sure if the writers actually understood what the words ¡°satisfied¡± or ¡°customers¡± actually meant.


    ¡°Oh my god, they¡¯re eating me alive. Please, for the love of god, kill me now. They¡¯re inside my torso!¡± one review read. ¡°I¡¯ll never forget the smell of¡­ whatever they left behind in that playroom,¡± said another. ¡°Oh Jesus, why do they have so many limbs?! Is that how they move so fast?¡± I slipped the pamphlet back onto the wire rack and shifted my attention to the glossy directory. Assuming the map was accurate, this place was an enormous maze of interconnected corridors and hallways, which was impossibly bigger than it appeared to be from the outside.


    The library, gymnasium, and cafeteria were all clearly marked out but I ignored them and scanned the map until I found the maintenance staircase, which lead to the sub-basement. According to Ed, that was where we¡¯d find the vestigial tunnels that connected to the radio station. The only problem was that there was about a half mile of twisting corridors between us and the stairwell.


    Ed slipped around the reception desk and confidently beelined toward a passageway that looked indistinguishable from the others. We followed that for a hundred feet or so, before it ended at a T-juncture with one hallway heading off to the left and another snaking off to the right.


    ¡°That way leads to the cafeteria and the gym,¡± Ed said, using the beam of a flashlight to point down the righthand corridor. ¡°If we get separated for any reason,¡± he said, ¡°try to get back to the reception lobby but, whatever you do, don¡¯t go that way. Mr. Wiggles is in the cafeteria¡ª¡±


    ¡°¡ªMr. Wiggles?¡± I asked quietly.


    ¡°The Preschool Overseer,¡± Ed clarified. ¡°He¡¯s a thousand-legged eldritch worm¡ªbig as a school bus. Worse than those goddamned giant centipedes that used to crawl into my boots during ¡¯Nam and I hated those little bastards with a fiery passion you can¡¯t imagine. You see that thing, and you run.¡± He scowled and shook his head. ¡°There¡¯s no fighting Mr. Wiggles. He¡¯s not just a monster¡ªhe¡¯s a force of nature. And you don¡¯t mess with nature.¡±


    ¡°Bad monster. Kill you with fire,¡± Woodstock confirmed, though this time it sounded like a warning and not a threat.


    The more time I spent with the bird, the more its ridiculous catchphrase started to feel oddly meaningful. It reminded me of a Pok¨¦mon¡ªonly able to say its own name, yet somehow everyone instinctively understood complex, nuanced conversations.


    With a sense of growing uneasy, we continued onward, moving away from the cafeteria and Mr. Wiggles, while simultaneously carving our way deeper into the preschool.


    It wasn¡¯t long before we started to hear the eerie giggle of children accompanied by the soft rustle of legs. Lots of legs. Too many legs. I could feel unseen eyes watching me from hidden shadows and more than once, I thought I saw something move in the corner of my eye. Whenever I turned to get a better look, though, there was never anything there. Still, I couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something was about to drop down onto my back at any moment, so I took the liberty of summoning both Synthia 2.0 and Drumbo to guard our collective asses.


    That earned a surprised look from Ed followed by a begrudging nod of approval.


    ¡°Not bad kid,¡± Ed said, after thoroughly eyeballing my minions. ¡°You¡¯ve got more surprises than a Thai hooker¡ªand I¡¯m not just talking about the venereal diseases.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    I asked no follow up questions after that statement, because there were some things that were better left as mysteries.


    The hallways were filled with eerily normal preschool classrooms; low rectangular desks and plastic chairs, bookcases and toy bins, colorful kid¡¯s art decorating the walls. Except, all the art was subtly off just like everything else about this place. One particularly memorable scene depicted the infamous teddy bear picnic, but instead of enjoying sandwiches or munching on fresh cookies, a group of giant, grinning stuffed bears were carving slices of meat from a child, suspended over an open fire.


    We¡¯d been walking for maybe fifteen minutes when the first toddler made an appearance.


    We rounded a corner and there, sitting in the center of the corridor, was a tiny, adorable baby¡ªone that couldn¡¯t have been more than eight months old.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± I asked, shooting a look at Ed. ¡°I thought the bong and the gas masks were supposed to dispel all the illusions?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not a Dweller,¡± Ed said, shaking his head with a grim certainty. ¡°It¡¯s a decoy¡ªhard light mirage.¡±


    To prove his point, he lifted one hand and flexed his fingers. A few feet away, another identical baby appeared, eerily lifelike. ¡°See? Not real at all,¡± he said matter-of-factly. ¡°If you look closely enough, you¡¯ll see that it¡¯s slightly transparent, but underneath the hard light illusion is a doll that¡¯ll explode if you try to pick it up. The illusion is specifically designed to mask the bomb from Relics that can identify traps. Clever, nasty stuff.¡±


    He snapped his fingers. The second conjured baby vanished, and so did the decoy. What remained was a creepy, porcelain-faced doll that blazed with a hazy red aura, courtesy of my Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense.


    ¡°I lost a good friend to one of these things,¡± Ed said, his eyes distant and haunted.


    I reached out with a wispy thread of telekinetic power and lifted the doll into the air. As it left the floor a bright blossom of light filled the corridor, and the ground rumbled from the force of a titanic explosion.


    Fire rolled toward us, but Ed lifted a hand and summoned a semi-translucent barrier that shielded us from the effects.


    ¡°Another hard light illusion,¡± Ed explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world. ¡°Illusions are kinda the bread and butter around here. Most of the things on this floor use some form of illusion-oriented magic, but the really powerful ones? They can give those illusions actual physical mass. Turn thought into reality.¡± He dismissed the shield as the fire died away then conjured a shadowy dagger from thin air. ¡°I picked the Relic up off a board member over at one of the bowling allies. Cost me three toes to snag it, but worth every damn one.¡±


    He gave the dagger a twirl, its edge catching the dim light. ¡°Turns out, sometimes a good illusion is all you need to keep breathing.¡± He offered me a crazed grin then let the conjured blade vanish in a puff of light.


    We made it through the next three hallways without issue and just when I was starting to think that this place maybe wasn¡¯t quite as bad as Ed had made it out to be, we found ourselves in another circular hub, much the same as the reception lobby, except this one was covered from floor to ceiling in thicks strands of gossamer webbing. Five additional hallways branched off from the central lobby and each was likewise covered with more of the silver webbing. I didn¡¯t even need my Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense to tell that we¡¯d just walked right into an ambush.


    ¡°Oh no, this is bad,¡± Croc muttered, sounding more than a little panicked. ¡°I don¡¯t like this at all, Dan. This is a nest. Just like I told you.¡±


    Almost as though to emphasize just how boned we were, a haunting and unnervingly familiar kid¡¯s song filled the air, bleeding from every hallway all at once. It was a lullaby sung by a chorus of different voices, all slightly off tune and in the wrong key.


    The itsy-bitsy spider, with eyes so cold and black,


    Scurried ever closer, preparing its attack.


    Down fell the darkness, smothering the light,


    Out came the terrors that feast in dead of night.


    They slipped beneath the door and skittered ¡¯cross the floor,


    Tiny eyes gleaming with hunger for what¡¯s in store.


    Silence turned to screams, then whispers soft and warm,


    Leaving not but empty sheets by the breaking of the morn¡¯.


    ¡°The dog¡¯s right,¡± Ed said, as the nursery rhyme began to build to a crescendo. ¡°This is where things get nasty. Woodstock?¡± He reached up and stroked the bird¡¯s feathery head. ¡°You know what to do.¡±


    ¡°Kill it with fire,¡± the bird agreed. She puffed her chest out, opened her beaked maw, and released a stream of fire so bright I could barely stand to look at it. The flames hit the tangle of webbing, and they went up with a violent woosh like a gas-soaked rag.


    The creepy lullaby died, replaced by mewling squeals of agony and the vast clacking of legs. Thousands of legs. Tens of thousands, maybe.


    ¡°We¡¯ve got company!¡± Ed bellowed, pulling something from his jacket.


    The weapon gripped in his fist was a matte black Colt 1911, not so different from the one I¡¯d carried during my time in Iraq.


    Colt M1911 A1 Service Pistol


    Rare Artifact


    Type: Firearm, Range (Enhanced)


    Manufactured in Hartford, Connecticut by the fine folks at Colt, the M1911 A1 service sidearm has been solving arguments since March 1911. As the saying goes, God created man, but Samuel Colt made them equal. Although this trusty hunk of steel and lead predates WW¢ñ, they haven¡¯t really improved on perfection, and it continues to be the service weapon for soldiers, Marines, and lawmen alike.


    And for damned good reason.


    The Colt 1911 hits like an angry rodeo bull and is as reliable as the postal service¡ªneither rain, snow, nor sleet will keep it from sending rounds down range. Its also built to take a serious beating, which means there¡¯s a decent chance this weapon will outlast you. Just be careful where you aim, the 1911 doesn¡¯t believe in second chances.


    I jerked my gaze from the pistol and focused instead on the far corridor where dark shapes, punctuated by bright red eyes, poured into the hallway from connecting classrooms. More rappelled downward from the mouth-like holes dotting the ceiling. Fear formed a tight knot in my stomach as more screeches erupted from my left and my right, from behind and ahead. We were surrounded and these things were coming at us fast. The red triangles on my mini-map were tightening around us like a noose.


    ¡°Everyone, form a circle!¡± I thundered. ¡°Backs together. Croc, I want you in the center of the ring.¡± I pulled free the Super Slammer of Shielding and pressed it into the dog¡¯s paw, which was now disturbingly humanoid. Then I summoned one of my four Doorway Sentinels. Ed shot me a curious glance, but I just shook my head. ¡°I¡¯ll explain later,¡± I said before turning back to Croc. ¡°You¡¯re our guardian angel, bud,¡± I told the mimic. ¡°Our safety net. Your number one job is to help whoever needs it¡ªplug the holes before our ship goes under. Understand?¡±


    ¡°Of course, Dan,¡± Croc said, nodding its head vigorously. ¡°But what¡¯s this for?¡± the dog asked, holding up the slammer.


    ¡°That¡¯s our insurance policy. Your second job is to make sure we don¡¯t get overrun. If things go south and it looks like these little monsters are going to bury us, use the Slammer and get your ass through the door. The shield should buy us enough time to regroup, and we¡¯ll be right behind you.¡±


    Croc hesitated for a moment, its googly eyes regarding me deeply, before it finally nodded.


    The others moved quickly, pressing into the center of the lobby, our shoulders all touching in a ring. Jakob, Temp, and Drumbo were directly behind me, while Synthia 2.0 was on my left¡ªrevving her chainsaw and clacking her crab arm¡ªand Ed was to my right with his gun leveled and steady. Croc was protected in the center along with the Doorway Sentinel, perched on top of its spindly crab legs.


    I prepared an arsenal of spells as the first wave of Sunnyside toddlers emerged from the gloomy hallway directly ahead of me.


    They were pale, sickly-looking creatures, covered in dark veins that pulsed beneath the surface of their almost translucent skin. Each had the bald head of a baby, but the body of a cat-sized spider with eight, segmented legs. A stinger, easily a foot in length, protruded from the ass end of each nightmare spider.


    Dweller 0.24718D ¨C Itsy-Bitsy Swarmling [Level 18]


    Question du jour ¨C would you rather fight a hundred spider sized human babies, or one baby-sized, highly-venomous spider? Well great news, now you don¡¯t have to choose! That¡¯s right, the Itsy-Bitsy Swarmlings are the best of both worlds: an unholy amalgamation of arachnid and toddler, all rolled up into one. Plus, there are A LOT of them!


    These cutie patooties are bigger than Goliath Birdeater Tarantulas, have the same tangy kick of the Wandering Hobo Spider, and love to travel in swarms! It¡¯s a murder trifecta. Individually, the Swarmlings aren¡¯t too tough¡ªthey have the upper body strength of a three-month-old, after all¡ªbut in a coordinated swarm? These little guys are killer! Be prepared to haul ass or burn everything to the ground, because there is no in-between option.


    ¡°Himmel, Arsch und Zwirn,¡± Jakob grumbled from behind me. ¡°We should¡¯ve listened to the dog, this was a terrible idea.¡±


    ¡°A little late for that,¡± I called out, channeling mana into my hammer while I prepared to rain down death and destruction on the baby mimics.


    ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± Temperance said, and I could hear the infectious joy even muffled as it was by the gasmask. ¡°This is even better than the cookout. I dare say this might be my favorite level yet. Now have at me, you foul, gorbellied miscreants!¡± she cackled.


    Crazy. These people were all fucking crazy. And so was I.


    ¡°Fuck it¡­ Let¡¯s get some!¡± I hollered feeling a strange surge of excitement and adrenaline.


    Today wasn¡¯t the day I died.


    Nope.


    Today was the day that we brought down the signal and dealt a death blow to the HOA.


    Today was the day I purged the world of a bunch of monstrous nightmares and gained a metric shit-ton of levels in the process.

 Forty-One – Wholesale Slaughter

    I activated Spike Fault as the front wave of swarmlings scrambled toward us in a wall of giggling legs and smiling, cherubic faces. Spears of earth erupted upward through the oddly spongey surface of the floor, skewering several of the arachnid toddlers and creating a terrain hazard in the process. I swiveled left and right, activating the skill twice more in quick succession, partially blockading two more of the connecting hallways and impaling even more toddlers.


    Even though the swarmlings were relatively high level, they weren¡¯t nearly as physically resilient as their grown-up evolutions. The spikes dealt devastating damage, halving each impaled toddler¡¯s health bar. My arsenal of tools rocketed forward, my oversized, mana-fueled hammer caving in oddly soft heads while my demolition screwdriver gutted arachnoid bellies with ease. Balloon Animal Spell Cards spun into densely populated pockets of toddler bodies and exploded on impact, ripping off multi-segmented legs from the sheer concussive force of the blast.


    Still, more Swarmlings came. They crawled over the corpses of their dead brothers and sisters and scuttled along the walls and ceilings, unperturbed by the horrific casualties they were currently taking.


    I unleashed Hydro Blast with my free hand, zigzagging the beam back and forth in a futile attempt to knock the tots down and keep them from entering into the lobby proper. Each hit with my Hydro Blast carved away substantial HP¡ªbut it didn¡¯t do enough damage to one-shot the tots and I couldn¡¯t afford to leave the beam in place long enough to finish the job. There were just too many of the damned things and keeping them at bay was the real goal. The hallways served as funnels, chokepoints, and without them we¡¯d already be overwhelmed and dead.


    I glanced left and right, realizing I wasn¡¯t the only one with that idea.


    Jakob was using his sofa bazooka to great effect, launching futons and loveseats to create obstructions that the spiderlings had a more difficult time maneuvering around. On my right, Ed had conjured some sort of ethereal barricade that resembled a semi-transparent concrete construction barrier. I was pretty sure the barrier was a reinforced, hard-light illusion¡ªjust like the baby doll a few hallways back. While the swarmling toddlers scuttled over the barrier, the Delver fired his Colt with unwavering precision.


    Each shot found a head, splattering gore in a cloud and dropping the target on the spot.


    ¡°Fire! Fire!¡± Woodstock caterwauled while circling through the air on outstretched wings before swooping down and spewing thick sheets of flame from her beak. In that moment, she looked less like a common house parrot and more like a miniature, fire-breathing dragon. ¡°Burn it down! Burn it all down!¡± she shrieked between fiery breaths.


    Synthia didn¡¯t have any sort of ranged ability which complicated things. Even with the conjured earthen spikes partially obstructing her hallway, swarmlings were flooding in and spreading out. I couldn¡¯t let that stand. Once our defense failed in one area, it would quickly fail in others. I needed to stop the metaphorical bleeding, and I needed to do it now.


    ¡°Shifting minions!¡± I yelled.


    Drumbo and Synthia broke ranks, leaving the relative safety of the circle to help plug the gaps with their bodies. Synthia¡¯s chainsaw growled and Drumbo¡¯s angle grinder hand attachment screamed as both sheered through limbs or cut the tiny tots down. As the spiders fell, notifications and Level Up prompts scrolled across my vision, one after another. Although these Dwellers only had an eighth the total HP of the Sunnysider adults, at level 18 they were a treasure trove of experience points.


    Realizing they couldn¡¯t easily breach our defenses to overwhelm us, the swarmlings switched tactics¡ªvomiting globs of putrid black acid and flinging thick balls of silvery webbing. The balls of webbing exploded on contact, sending out hair-thin strands of gossamer silk that clung to everything and made it incredibly difficult to move. They wrapped around my feet and ankles, miring me to the floor.


    As for the black acid, I was a little too slow and one of the globs landed on my exposed forearm.


    The goop burned like flaming napalm and quickly chewed through the top layer of skin and into the muscle and tendons below. My HP dropped by fifteen points, but even worse, the damage temporarily cost me the use of my good hand. I cried out in pain as my fingers went numb and my arm dropped uselessly against my side.


    ¡°Cover me!¡± I yelled at Ed, slipping free a Zima - Greater Healing Elixir¡ªthe #1 Bone Healing Juice in the Market. I popped the top with my thumb and chugged the whole damned thing in one long gulp. Although my HP Spell Cards were faster and more efficient, they were also weaker and more limited. Yeah, they restored HP and mended relatively minor injuries on the spot, but a Greater Healing Elixir like this could literally regrow a lung or reattach a lost limb.


    The acid burning its way through my arm fizzled and died as the power of Zima went to work and my skin and muscle knit itself back together.


    ¡°You fuckers like playing with acid, huh?¡± I growled while tossing the elixir bottle away. ¡°Well, time for a little chemistry lesson.¡±


    Pissed as hell, I activated StainSlayer Maelstrom and watched as great blue droplets of super bleach burned through a gaggle of spiderlings attempting to bypass the jutting stone spikes. The spell was brutally effective and killed anything already injured, while badly crippling the healthy tots. With a thought, I sent my oversized hammer whirling forward and brought it down like a giant shoe on a trapped spiderling, who was flutily attempting to wriggle between a gap in the spikes.


    As the tool¡¯s blunt head crashed down like the wrath of God, I triggered one of the hammer¡¯s special abilities, Gavel of Get Fucked. The swarmling was both literally and figuratively on its last legs, it¡¯s health bar already deep in the red, so I was in no way surprised when Killing Blow procced on impact¡ªan execute ability that instantly ended any creature below 10% total health. The spiderling exploded into a cloud of black mist as Wave of Justice rippled outward, triggering Gavel of Get Fucked once again on any enemy within a twenty-foot radius.


    Best I could figure, there were at least fifty swarmlings inside the AoE.


    Not even I was ready for the ensuing carnage.


    It was like watching compound interest work in real time.


    Although most of the swarmlings were above 10% total health, Gavel of Get Fucked still dealt damage equal to 20% of their existing health pool, which was substantial. Thing was, there were also a bunch of swarmlings who were already below 10% total health and knocking on Death¡¯s Door. That triggered another round of Killing Blow, which in turn set off another Wave of Justice, which effected all enemies in a twenty-foot radius.


    I¡¯d used this ability plenty of times before, but I¡¯d never seen anything like this.


    It was a perfect storm of pure slaughter.


    Because there were so many of the damned swarmlings all crammed into such a small space, and because they were rather fragile and had relatively low health pools, the spell basically created one enormous feedback loop. The ability¡¯s primary effect would whittle down the strong, Killing Blow would cull the weak and that, in turn, would start the process all over again.


    Wash. Rinse. Repeat.


    Swarmlings popped like water balloons and tiny bodies rained down from the floors and ceilings, accumulating in corpse piles as high as my knee while a string of notifications flooded my vision. In less than a handful of minutes, I¡¯d gone up a total of seven levels and earned two new Research Achievements, complete with a pair of new Titles and extra Loot Tokens.


    [Level Up! x 7]


    Research Achievement Unlocked!Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Domino Rally


    Well, well, well, if it isn¡¯t the King of Cause-and-Effect! By using the Backrooms equivalent of a domino rally, you basically set off an IED inside a propane factory, conveniently located on top of a methane deposit, which was coincidentally next to a nursery for at risk youth. You killed more than forty enemy combatants with only a single blow and the gory results speak for themselves. Somewhere, Rube Goldberg is applauding from his grave!


    Reward: 3 x Copper Delver Loot Tokens, 1 x Silver Gambler Loot Token, 1 x Gold Trap Smith Loot Token


    Title: Domino Rally ¨C Increase the chance of triggering all secondary and tertiary Relic and Artifact Effects by 10%


    Research Achievement Unlocked


    Toddler Terminator


    Do you feel proud of yourself? Huh, do ya? I bet punching your way out of a toddler swarm makes you feel like a big strong man, doesn¡¯t it? I mean, sure, they weren¡¯t exactly ¡°harmless¡± in the most technical sense of the word, but let¡¯s not pretend this is anything other than what it was: a goddamned baby massacre. First the Cold-Blooded Murderer Title, now this? For shame. If mimic parents had even a rudimentary emotional connection to their disgusting offspring, they¡¯d be really upset right now. For the record, they don¡¯t, but it¡¯s the principle of the thing.


    Reward: 3,200 Experience Points, 1 x Ruby Slayer Loot Token


    Title: Toddler Terminator ¨C Deal 10% additional damage to all opponents who are designated by the ¡°Adolescent¡± or ¡°Juvenile¡± descriptor.


    I read through both achievements feeling a conflicting mixture of emotions. Toddler Terminator was a monstrous achievement for obvious reasons, but Domino Rally had to be one of the best Titles I¡¯d ever received. It was certainly a helluva lot better than my Human Cannon Title, which was just slightly better than dogshit. The extra Loot Tokens were a huge win as well¡ªespecially the Ruby Slayer Token. The last time I¡¯d earned a Ruby Loot Token, I¡¯d been rewarded with the Gavel of Get Fucked Sigil Stone which had just murdered all those baby spiders¡­


    The others finished slaughtering the handful of tots who¡¯d survived the deadly purge cycle, and by the time I was done reading through the notifications an eerie silence had settled over the hallway, broken only by the sound of our labored breathing.


    ¡°Okay, what kind of government-black-ops-secret-weapon-testing-bullshit was that?¡± Ed asked, looking at me incredulously. He wasn¡¯t alone. Everyone was staring at me as if I¡¯d just sprouted a dick on my forehead.


    ¡°Truly, that was surely the most remarkable display of slaughter and savagery that I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing,¡± Temperance said, a note of reverence in her voice. Jakob, on the other hand, looked disturbed by the bloodshed¡ªnot that it was hard to figure out why. These things may not have been human in the strictest sense of the word, but he still didn¡¯t like needless violence and death and Temp was right, this was violence on a level I hadn¡¯t seen before.


    I recalled my hammer and held it up with a weak smile, ¡°Just happened to have the right tool for the right job,¡± I said.


    Ed grunted, seeming to accept my answer for the time being. ¡°Well, don¡¯t go patting yourself on the back just yet. You think all this death doesn¡¯t send up a flare? Hell, it¡¯s like ringing the damn dinner bell for whatever else might be lurking out there. Mark my words, more of these things will come crawling out of the woodwork¡ª¡±


    ¡°Let them come,¡± Temp said, her eyes huge and wild. ¡°We will butcher them just as easily as we butchered this last lot.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t just be the swarmlings,¡± Ed warned. ¡°They¡¯ll come, sure, but so will Mr. Wiggles.¡±


    ¡°The thousand-legged eldritch worm?¡± Croc asked.


    ¡°One in the same,¡± Ed confirmed, his gaze darting around, sharp and suspicious, as if the walls might be listening. ¡°And Mr. Wiggles isn¡¯t like the rest of the Sunnysiders. Not really. It¡¯s more like a janitor, y¡¯know? Or some twisted, oversized organic Roomba. Its job is to clean up the messes¡ªcorpses, guts, anything that used to be alive.¡± He glanced down at the battered old watch on his wrist. ¡°Anyway, basement stairwell¡¯s not far. We¡¯ve got a bit of time, but don¡¯t count on it staying that way. If you want to loot these corpses, you better move quick like.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± I replied, ¡°because there¡¯s no way in hell I¡¯m leaving all these Relics behind. Not again.¡± Although racking up experience points was the real goal, there had to be close to three hundred Relics here for the taking¡ªassuming we could get to every corpse. That was highly unlikely, but anything was better than nothing, and I didn¡¯t think my heart could handle the prospect of leaving behind an untapped treasure trove of valuable loot.


    ¡°You did the heavy lifting here,¡± Ed said, glancing around at the towering piles of bodies, ¡°so I¡¯ll keep watch while you work.¡±


    I didn¡¯t need to be told twice and neither did the others. We all knew what was at stake. I rushed over to the nearest swarmling, dropped to one knee, and quickly accessed its spatial core.


    Unlike the adult Sunnysiders, these things didn¡¯t have the SporeFeed Amplifier Relics, which made sense given what Ed had told us about the process. Neither the toddlers nor the older kids who roamed the streets and cornfields were enthralled by the radio signal¡ªwhich meant they probably gained the Amplifier once they evolved into their final, adult form. Dwellers, like Croc, couldn¡¯t add Relics to their spatial cores in the same way that we Delvers could; instead, they organically grew new Relics as they got stronger over time.


    Most of the toddlers had two Relics apiece, though there were several different combinations.


    Stick and Cling was a Common, Stamina-based Relic that looked like a half-used tube of super glue. As the name implied, it allowed the user to stick to walls or ceilings like a value brand Spiderman for as long as they had Stamina to burn. String Snare launched a compressed ball of webbing that exploded on impact, entangling anything in a five-foot radius in thick strands of spider silk. A perfect crowd control ability.


    There were two variations of a Relic called Venomous Payload.


    The first, and more frequent drop, was an Uncommon Stamina-based ability that added a nasty venom debuff to any slashing or piercing attacks when activated. It reminded me of Temp¡¯s Smallpox Blanket¡ªthough both the damage and duration were significantly better. The upgraded Rare-grade version, called Venomous Payload Bolt, was a Mana-based ability, which let the user launch a concentrated orb of corrosive swarmling venom that ate through damned near anything.


    It was the same spell that had decimated my hand, so I knew exactly how effective it could be.


    Although I already had StainSlayer Maelstrom, I planned on hanging on to Venomous Payload Bolt all the same. Unlike Maelstrom, it dealt single-target burst damage and wasn¡¯t strictly limited to organic materials¡ªit could also chew through cloth, plastic, and metal.


    I also stumbled across a single Rare-grade passive that had real potential, assuming I could figure out a good way to exploit it.


    Swarm Tactics


    Rare Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: 50 Meters


    Cost: 35 Mana


    Duration: 10 minutes


    You¡¯ve finally discovered the ancient art of Victory through Volume. Used by emperors, warlords, and dictators since the dawn of time, this is battle-superiority through overwhelming numerical advantage. After all, why fight mono e mono when you can instead fight mono e ¡°oh my god, why are there so many of them?!¡±


    When more than two summoned creatures are within 50 meters of one another, each gains a 5% boost to athleticism, toughness, health regeneration, and Rage. For each additional creature summoned, the Swarm gains an additional 2% bonus and one stack of Rage.  The more creatures you summon, the stronger the collective gets, until they¡¯re a nightmarish wave of fangs, claws, and unbridled violence. Just be warned, if the Swarm becomes too Enraged, they will turn on anyone or anything that gets in their way¡ªincluding you or your allies.


    This Relic enables mana usage.


    We¡¯d looted almost half the swarmlings when we heard something enormous trundling toward us from a nearby connecting corridor; scraping along the floors and issuing guttural moans that reverberated off the ceilings.


    ¡°Wrap it up,¡± Ed barked, his voice sharp and jittery, ¡°we¡¯ve got something headed our way, and it¡¯s big from the sounds of it. We need to be gone before it shows. Trust me on this.¡±


    I finished pilfering a nearby swarmling¡ªsnatching up yet another Venomous Payload and a Stick and Cling¡ªbefore standing and wiping my hands free on my bathrobe. I used a bit of hand sanitizer for good measure, though it felt like a losing battle. Spider gore decorated my shirt and shorts, and more goop liberally stained my hands and arms a dark grayish color. I had so much blood on me that I¡¯d inadvertently activated my Bloodbath Title, temporarily increasing my Health Regen rate by 5% for the next eight hours.


    The boost wasn¡¯t worth it.


    Worse than the mess, however, was the smell. Not because it was awful, but because it wasn¡¯t. Instead of reeking like rotten fish or old cheese, the dead toddlers smelled like freshly baked chocolate chip cookies.


    Staring around at piles of butchered arachnoid creatures while silently craving a glass of cold milk was somehow grosser. It didn¡¯t help that Croc was devouring the looted bodies like Santa working through a plate of Christmas cookies. Unlike the infected adults, it seemed these little monsters were uninfected and thus, fair game.


    ¡°Finally, that pile of corpses you promised,¡± the mimic said between great slurping gulps. ¡°Does anyone want to try a bit?¡± Croc asked. ¡°There¡¯s plenty to go around¡ªmore than I could possibly eat in one sitting.¡±


    ¡°That is very kind of you, but no,¡± Jakob replied, looking like he was repressing the urge to vomit everywhere.


    ¡°Your loss,¡± Croc said with a shrug, ¡°the meat is fabulously tender and has a great mouth feel, plus there¡¯s just a hint of cinnamon which is unexpected but pleasant.¡±


    I just grimaced and tried to ignore the crunch of bones and the wet slurp of meat slipping down the mimic¡¯s gullet.

 Forty-Two – Mr. Wiggles Cometh

    While Croc finished its grisly meal, Ed pulled out a small notebook and consulted with a small hastily scrawled map and some chicken-scratch notes, before ushering us down a long hallway filled with thick strands of spider webbing.


    We stepped lightly, avoiding a pitfall trap filled with dozens of sharpened rebar spikes at the bottom of a large hole. More traps waited for the unwary, including a particularly nasty temporal distortion pocket, which wasn¡¯t so different from the one that had trapped Temperance hundreds of years before. In the same way that the Backrooms regularly screwed around spatial reality¡ªmaking spaces impossibly big or small¡ªthe temporal distortion pockets altered the flow of time.


    They were incredibly dangerous, in part because they were so wildly unpredictable.


    Some accelerated time, forcing those unlucky few to waste away to dust and bones inside the span of seconds or minutes. Others stopped time completely. That¡¯s what had happened to Temperance. She¡¯d stumbled into a pocket not long after noclipping and found herself frozen in time for the better part of two centuries. She¡¯d been awake and aware, the entire time, driven mad one day at a time. Other versions did both simultaneously. It was entirely possible to go into a temporal pocket and emerge with the head of a baby and the body of a ninety-year-old man.


    I badly wanted to stop and examine that particular trap.


    Time magic was dangerous, but if I could find a way to master it, the possibilities would be damned near endless. I could trap my enemies in an eternal time loop or use it to quickly ferment beer. My buddy Chad was super into craft brewing, but I¡¯d never had the patience for it. Having access to my own time pocket would help substantially.


    In a twist of true poetic irony, however, there just wasn¡¯t time.


    As fast as we were moving, Mr. Wiggles was gaining on us, the sound of his meaty grunts and the clacking of his legs drawing progressively nearer by the minute. He was close enough now that we could all hear the unfortunate sound he made while ¡°cleaning up¡± the carnage we¡¯d left behind. It was a thousand times worse than Croc¡¯s earlier feeding frenzy¡ªan endless symphony of slurping and glurping and crunching. It sounded like Jabba the Hut eating a thousand oysters all at once, then getting pitched face first into an industrial meatgrinder.


    I decided then and there that I wanted no part of Mr. Wiggles.


    Begrudgingly, I left the tantalizing time trap behind and picked up my pace.


    True to his word, Ed shortly guided us to a stairwell marked with a black and yellow sign that read Caution: Do Not Open, Alarm Will Sound. Ed ignored the posted sign and attempted to shoulder his way through the door. Unfortunately, the door was locked and didn¡¯t budge so much as an inch, but his efforts did set off a blaring klaxon. Red lights strobed frantically overhead as the warning alarm issued a shrill beep, beep, beep that reminded me of Jakob¡¯s Faulty Smoke Detector¡ªa taunt Relic, specifically designed to enrage enemies and draw their ire.


    ¡°Perhaps I am mistaken, but I feel as though that alarm is something we should be concerned about¡± Jakob said, stealing uneasily looks between the locked stairwell door and the hallway we¡¯d just come from.


    ¡°It should be fine as long as we move quickly enough,¡± Ed replied, though he sounded rattled. ¡°The sound¡¯ll draw Mr. Wiggles to our location, but we¡¯ll be long gone before he gets here, and he won¡¯t leave the Preschool.¡± Ed pulled a little tool from his coat, dropped to a knee and began fidgeting at a small hole inset into the metal push bar. ¡°Just keep an eye out while I work,¡± he muttered, not looking up.


    I had a sudden flashback to my battle against the toilet-headed stairwell guardian in the Lobby. The same guardian who¡¯d come damned close to murdering me while I was messing around with a lock just like this one.


    ¡°Most Overseers are extremely powerful, but the tradeoff is that they can¡¯t easily leave their territory.¡± Ed paused, jiggling his tool around in the locking mechanism. ¡°Although the basement is still technically a part of the preschool, the vestigial tunnels that connect to the radio station are sort of like a demilitarized no-man¡¯s land. In theory, Mr. Wiggles shouldn¡¯t go there. Probably,¡± he added quietly, ¡°though, full disclosure, I¡¯ve never actually made it this far.¡±


    ¡°So what you¡¯re really saying is you have no idea if this will work?¡± I said, more statement than question.


    ¡°There¡¯s a reason I saved you,¡± Ed grumbled, ¡°and it¡¯s because I couldn¡¯t make it this far on my own. But I think our odds are good.¡±


    The words had no sooner left his mouth than a deep, guttural roar erupted through the air, and a creature dragged itself into our corridor. Ed had described Mr. Wiggles as an Eldritch worm the size of a city bus, but he¡¯d significantly undersold just how horrifying the Overseer really was. Mr. Wiggles was indeed tubular and worm-shaped, though he had the head and face of an enormous baby with cute dimples and the black, dead eyes of a hungry shark. Its circular, funnel-shaped mouth was large enough to swallow me whole, and ringed with descending rows of jagged teeth.


    Its vast bulk filled the entirety of the hallway from floor to ceiling and wall to wall, and it crept toward us on hundreds, or even thousands, of arachnoid legs all working in tandem. In addition to the insectoid legs protruding from the creature¡¯s stomach, a writhing mass of baby- arms also sprouted from its elongated torso. Tiny hands helped pull the Dweller forward¡ªgrabbing onto the walls or lighting fixtures for additional leverage.


    Dweller 0.240340A ¨C Mr. Wiggles ¨C Preschool Administrator [Level 40]


    Aw, kids grow up so fast, don¡¯t they?


    One minute they¡¯re precious, adorable little bundles of joy¡ªjust cooing and giggling and vomiting all over themselves¡ªand then you blink and they¡¯re sixty feet long, covered in ten-thousand limbs, and defy human understanding or comprehension. While most of the Itsy-Bitsy Swarmlings who inhabit this place either meet grisly fates or survive long enough to evolve into the Timmys and Tammys that roam Sunnyside¡¯s streets, Mr. Wiggles represents a rare alternative evolutionary path.


    When an especially gluttonous Swarmling is a little too successful in murdering its kin, it grows so large that it can no longer physically leave the hatchery, and thus Mr. Wiggles is born! As successive generations of Swarmlings hatch, Mr. Wiggles continues to EAT and grow, accumulating both physical mass and levels at a sickening rate. Interesting fact, if you chop one of these guys open, you can tell how old they are by counting the rings of accumulated toddler gristle¡ªjust like trees, but grosser!


    Fuck me sideways. A level 40 Overseer.


    Aside from the Flayed Monarch and the Boundless Wanderer¡ªwho were both basically deities¡ªMr. Wiggles was officially the most powerful creature I¡¯d had the misfortune of stumbling across. We had some seriously nasty spells in our arsenal, but I doubted that all of us combined would be able to put a dent in this thing. Still, it was worth a shot. As my dad had often said, ¡°you never know what you¡¯re capable of until you try.¡±


    True, he¡¯d been talking about starting another get rich quick scheme¡ªone that involved flipping power tools from the flea market¡ªbut the point was still valid.


    I triggered Hydro Blast, unleashing a geyser of water that slammed directly into the monster¡¯s stupid fat baby face. It was impossible to miss, since Mr. Wiggles¡¯ ugly mug was as big as a barn door and took up the entirety of the hallway. The beam drilled through the monster¡¯s smooth, porcelain white skin and a health bar briefly flickered above his head. The health bar was three or four times longer even than the freakish adult Sunnysiders and it seemed Mr. Wiggles shared some of their impressive regenerative abilities.


    Still, my attack was slowly whittling the creature¡¯s HP down. Then Mr. Wiggles opened its mouth and started bawling, the sound high-pitched and frantic, tears flowing down its fat cheeks.


    You¡¯ve been afflicted with the Water Works Aura! Holy shit, you monster. How can you even think about hurting an innocent baby? You should feel ashamed of yourself. Hydro Fracking Blast cannot be cast against this target for five minutes.


    What the hell? How was that even remotely fair?


    Ed was right, there really was no fighting this thing.


    The best we could do was run and hope Mr. Wiggles didn¡¯t continue to chase us, but the problem was running wasn¡¯t much of an option. We were in dead-end corridor, hemmed in by walls, and now that Mr. Wiggles filled the entirely of the hallway, backtracking wasn¡¯t a viable option. There was a classroom door, positioned about halfway between us and the slowly encroaching Dweller, but at best that would only buy us a few extra minutes. The only way forward was through the still locked door that Ed was fucking around with.


    ¡°We need to stall it!¡± I yelled at the others. ¡°Buy us some time and see if you can¡¯t slow it down. This thing has a way of neutralizing offensive abilities, but maybe crowd control spells will work.¡±The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°With pleasure,¡± Temperance said, already grinning.


    She squared her shoulders, thrust both hands forward and activated Puritanical Chains. Ghostly blue chains exploded from the floors and walls, their huge ethereal hooks sinking deep into the blubbery rolls of Mr. Wiggles¡¯ flesh. Those hooks would hold the monster in place, but they didn¡¯t deal any direct damage¡ªnot by themselves. Jakob had a similar crowd control ability called Quantum Entanglement, which likewise conjured a field of dancing quantum strings, capable of temporarily rooting an enemy target in place.


    Mr. Wiggles let out a mewling noise as he fought against the dual spells.


    For a long moment, I thought the magic would hold¡­ then, jagged cracks appeared in the spectral links of Temperance¡¯s chains. Those cracks grew and spread, forming large zigzagging fissures then, all at once, Temp¡¯s chains and Jakob¡¯s quantum strings just vanished. Dispelled as another message flashed in the corner of my eye.


    Mr. Wiggles has activated Hall Pass, dispelling all movement inhibiting ability and effects for the next five minutes. You should know better than to pick a fight with an Overseer inside its own lair, doofus.


    Damnit. Not only could we not slow this pale turd down, Mr. Wiggles was actually picking up steam¡ªmoving faster and faster like a locomotive coming up to full speed. He was less than fifty feet away now and we were quickly running out of time.


    ¡°What the hell is taking so long,¡± I shouted at Ed, still keeping one eye on the encroaching Mr. Wiggles. ¡°Picking one of those locks isn¡¯t exactly rocket science.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s stuck,¡± he growled in reply. ¡°I¡¯ve picked locks just like this one a dozen times and I¡¯ve never had this kind of issue. It might be magically reinforced,¡± he admitted after a moment.


    A magic lock. That gave me an idea.


    ¡°Move.¡± I shoved him aside and took his place in front of the door. ¡°You pick locks like old people screw.¡±


    I pulled free an Artifact from my personal storage¡ªone I¡¯d picked up at the prize counter in the Jungle Gym Jamboree called the Quantum Skeleton Key. The key only had three charges and though I was reluctant to burn one here, I was even more reluctant to discover what the inside of Mr. Wiggles digestive track looked like. The Artifact was any locksmith¡¯s wet dream since it could open almost any lock, with only a handful of exceptions. Assuming the door wasn¡¯t rigged with an Arcane Seal, the Skeleton Key should do the trick.


    It worked by shifting between possible realities until it found one where the lock in questions was already open, then it would duplicate that status.


    The Artifact resembled an old timey skeleton key and though the head was too big, it promptly shrunk to fit inside the tiny hole that served as an access point to the locking mechanism. The moment I slipped the key into place it buzzed in my hand, growing uncomfortably warm, then the lock clicked open. It was the work of seconds. I yanked the key free and stashed it in my toolbelt, then stole a look over one shoulder. The creature was less than twenty feet away and lumbering toward us like the Juggernaut.


    Ed thrust both hands forward and conjured an illusionary wall of solid brick, forged from hardened light. Mr. Wiggles crashed through it like the Kool-Aid man. It didn¡¯t slow him down even for a second¡ªthough Ed dropped to the ground with a cry of pain, grabbing at his head with both hands. Ed¡¯s health bar dipped sharply, and blood flowed from both nostrils in twin streams while more leaked from the corner of his eyes. I¡¯d experienced a similar effect several times when pushing my psychic abilities too far.


    Jakob rushed forward and scooped the Delver up as though he weighed nothing at all and unceremoniously tossed Ed over his shoulder like a bag of concrete.


    Mr. Wiggles continued to advance, undeterred.


    Less than ten feet¡­


    We needed more time.


    I sent Drumbo charging forward, knowing there was an extremely good chance the Horror wouldn¡¯t survive the encounter. Without hesitation, Drumbo attacked, his angle grinder hand thrust forward like a lance. The Horror leapt into the air and slammed into Mr. Wiggles with the force of a wrecking ball. For the first time, the unstoppable Eldritch worm slowed. Drumbo hacked at Mr. Wiggles¡¯ face, aiming for the eyes while desperately attempting to avoid the monstrosity¡¯s enormous, sucking maw.


    That was a lost cause.


    A pale fleshy tongue, capped by a large hand, extended from the worm¡¯s mouth.


    The hand struck lightning fast like a coiled viper, wrapping around one of Drumbo¡¯s legs before slowly reeling him inward. Drumbo slashed at the grasping arm-tongue with the angle grinder, but the blade just wasn¡¯t strong enough to cut through the limb. Drumbo¡¯s legs disappeared into the maw and his health bar began to drop. The Horror never stopped fighting, though, not for a minute.


    I took a deep breath and slammed my weight against the door handle praying the Quantum Key had worked. For one terrifying moment, the door resisted. Stuck. Then it groaned and swung outward, dumping me into a nondescript concrete stairwell.


    ¡°Move your asses!¡± I screamed, holding the door open.


    There was an enormous slurping noise and when I glanced back up the hall, most of Drumbo had vanished into the worm¡¯s mouth. Only the Horror¡¯s head and shoulders were still visible. Drumbo¡¯s health bar was strobing an angry red¡ªwarning, warning, warning¡ªand he didn¡¯t have long for this world. My faithful minion was badly damaged, but so long as I didn¡¯t let his HP bottom out completely, I could still salvage him once I got back to the store.


    As the others barreled into the stairwell with Mr. Wiggles only a few feet behind, I recalled what remained of Drumbo and bolted in last, pulling the door shut behind me.


    Well¡­ I tried to pull the door shut behind me.


    Several flailing arms snaked into the hallway before the door could properly close and latch.


    ¡°Help me!¡± I screamed, even as I threw my bodyweight against the door, fruitlessly attempting to keep Mr. Wiggles from following us into the stairwell. Croc and Synthia joined me, but even with the combined strength of all three of us, we weren¡¯t a match for the sheer bulk of Mr. Wiggles. Temp, who was light enough to be carried off by a strong gust of wind, didn¡¯t bother with the door at all. Instead, she immediately began hacking at the waggling arms with her cleaver.


    Her weapon bit deep into the Dweller¡¯s skin and black gore flowed out, splashing against the ground and walls. It wasn¡¯t enough, though. Not even her Butcher¡¯s Cleave ability gave her enough raw power to carve all the way through the reinforced bones running through the flailing arms.


    ¡°Kleiner Hase,¡± Jakob thundered, ¡°use this!¡±


    A glimmering blue sapphire the size of my fist arced gracefully through the air, catching the ambient florescent lights from the stairwell as it flipped end over end.


    Temp stashed her cleaver and snagged the gem with dexterous fingers, attaching the jewel to her wrist in a single fluid motion. She slapped her palm against the stone and summoned Jakob¡¯s trademark plasma shield, then slammed the bottom edge down sharply against the arms blocking the door. There was a sharp sizzle followed by the aroma of burning meat. Unlike her cleaver, the shield sheered through the grasping limbs like a hot knife through a pad of butter.


    A pair of grasping toddler arms hit the floor with wet, meaty thumps and the door finally slammed closed, clicking in place. The problem was, the door didn¡¯t lock from this side and without access to the metal push bar, there was no way to properly secure it. Not long term. It was possible we could jam the thing, but I had my doubts.


    Mr. Wiggles was screeching bloody murder from the other side and already the metal door was bowing inward. It wasn¡¯t going to hold for long, and though I found it hard to believe Mr. Wiggles could actually squeeze his bulk through the doorway itself, hope was a terrible strategy. Clearly, there was no way we could beat the powerful Dweller in a fair fight which left me with only a single option¡ªthough one I was loathed to use.


    I¡¯d leveled up several times since arriving on the twenty-fourth floor, and even though I hadn¡¯t yet visited a Progenitor Monolith to upgrade my Stats, there were a few additional benefits that came from my rapid progress.


    Most notably, my Blanket Fort ability was partially tied to my Variant Assimilation Level. I earned an additional 2,500 square feet of Blanket Fort space for each new level and I also gained an additional Doorway Anchor for every two levels. I accessed my Subspace Storage System, via the ¡°On-the-Go¡± Portal, and quickly scanned through my inventory until I found what I was looking for: a whole mess of shiny, new Doorway Anchor Plates.


    The thought of connecting this god-forsaken floor to my storefront in any way was mortifying, but right now the need to survive outweighed my revulsion.


    I pulled free one of the newly minted anchors¡ªit looked like a simple black rectangle of plastic with the words Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains scrawled across the front in white lettering¡ªand slapped it against the door. There was a brief flash of light followed by a pulse of mana, and then everything went silent. I could no longer hear Mr. Wiggles, and the fervent banging had ceased altogether.


    That was because the stairwell door no longer existed.


    These doors only worked one way. With the anchor plate in place, we could now access the door from our side, but there would be nothing on the other side. From Mr. Wiggles¡¯ perspective, the stairwell entry would¡¯ve simply vanished. Here one moment, gone the next like some sort of magician¡¯s trick. His prospective meal forever out of reach¡ªat least so long as the doorway anchor stayed in place. Eventually, I planned to come back here and reclaim the anchor, but I wouldn¡¯t be able to do that for at least twenty-four hours.


    I was hoping Mr. Wiggles would be long gone by the time that happened. As powerful as the Dweller was, the enormous worm didn¡¯t seem particularly intelligent, and I doubted he would mill around in an empty hallway indefinitely. Eventually, Mr. Wiggles would move on to find his next meal.


    ¡°Well, that was an epic shitshow,¡± I said, running a hand through my hair, which I immediately regretted since it was still covered in gore.


    God, I needed a shower. And a chance to run a load of laundry.


    ¡°What the hell just happened?¡± Ed said, approaching the door with obvious trepidation. He licked his lips and squinted his eyes as he studied the plaque. His fingers brushed against the door, and he froze in obvious shock. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be shitting me,¡± he said as he read over the message that everyone saw when they touched one of my doors for the first time.


    It was my welcome message, followed by a list of store rules.


    Even though I couldn¡¯t see the words myself, I knew exactly what they said.


    Welcome to Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains. Need supplies, food, Artifacts, Relics, or just a safe place to lay your head for a few hours? You¡¯ve come to the right place. We¡¯ve got a little bit of everything and offer all of it for a fair price.


    But¡ªand read this part carefully¡ªif you Fuck Around with me, my employees, or my store I guarantee you will Find Out. Or as my grandad would say, ¡°sow the wind, reap the whirlwind.¡± This is a neutral space, so whatever problems you have with other Delvers or Dwellers, that shit stays outside my store. Follow the rules and you¡¯ll be fine. Don¡¯t and you¡¯re gonna regret it.


    <ol>


    <li> Don¡¯t STEAL, or I¡¯ll dropkick your ass into the sun.</li>


    <li> Don¡¯t harass store Employees. Seriously. They will END you.</li>


    <li> Don¡¯t damage store property or I will personally feed you to the Mobile Murder Muncher in the Loot Arcade.</li>


    <li> DON¡¯T BE A DICK. You might be surprised how far not being a dick will take you in life. </li>


    <li> Discount Dan¡¯s is Neutral Territory. All are welcome here, EXCEPT for the Aspirants of the Skinless Court.</li>


    <li> All Aspirants of the Skinless Court can go suck an entire bag of dicks.</li>


    </ol>


    ¡ª Discount Dan


    Well shit. Despite my best efforts to keep the store a secret, it seemed the cat was officially out of the bag.

 Forty-Three – Heart to Heart

    For a long tense moment, Ed just stood there, frozen, with his hand pressed against the door. Then he gave it a little shove and it swung outward¡ªeven though the door had swung inwards only moments before. Just another quirk of the Doorway Anchor system.


    Gone was the gore-spattered preschool hallway with its squishy pink floor and eyeball studded walls. Gone was Mr. Wiggles, the eldritch horror, who would no doubt put in a few special guest appearances in my nightmares over the days and weeks to come. Gone was the entirety of the twenty-fourth floor.


    In their place were well-stocked aisles, bright cheery lights, and the warm chatter of voices as Delvers shopped. Some poor, unfortunate soul was attempting to haggle with Ponypuff about the price of an Uncommon Relic, while a handful of disheveled, shell-shocked Delvers congregated near the concession standing, eating greasy slices of pizza and mounds of nachos. A line of Howlers waited patiently for their turn at the laundry room, chatting quietly as they sipped on sodas or munched on snacks.


    The store, even as weird as it was, looked vibrant, lively, and safe.


    After spending a day or two in the dystopian nightmare that was Sunnyside, it looked like paradise. An oasis in a barren and merciless desert. I could only imagine how much more intense it would be for Ed, who¡¯d been stranded on the twenty-fourth floor for forty years. I couldn¡¯t see his face, but his shoulders were slumped, and his body shook gently. I got the distinct impression that he might¡¯ve been crying.


    ¡°Hey, you okay man?¡± I asked, approaching slowly with one hand outstretched.


    Without warning he tried to step through the entryway but found an invisible barrier barring his way. He stumbled back, clearly confused, then reached out with one, trembling hand. Once again, his fingers bumped against the invisible barrier, denying him entrance.


    I wasn¡¯t surprised that he couldn¡¯t get through.


    Although the Doorway Anchors primarily acted as entryways to the shop itself, they also let me set restrictions on who could or couldn¡¯t enter the store. Using the inbuilt ¡°Admittance Credentialing System,¡± I could deny access based on a wide variety of factors, including gender, age, faction affiliation, educational level, and previous or current medical conditions. Hell, I could discriminate based on shoe-size if I wanted, too.


    The system was almost infinitely customizable.


    I¡¯d perma-banned all members of the Skinless Court for obvious reasons, but there were a few additional restrictions. No Dweller could enter the store without a system exception, and the only one who could issue those was me. Those infected with Blight were, likewise, shit-out-of-luck. I wanted to help people, but I couldn¡¯t risk having my store contaminated by the deadly contagion. I¡¯d also instituted a level cap to keep overpowered Delvers from waltzing in and murdering everyone before the store¡¯s defense system could eject their asses.


    The cap was currently set to thirty. Ed was level thirty-four.


    ¡°Ed, you okay, man?¡± I asked again, this time placing my hand gently on his shoulder.


    He spun and batted my arm away in a single motion.


    ¡°Get your goddamned hands off of me,¡± he snarled, leveling his Colt and pointing it right at my face. ¡°You¡¯ve been lying to me this whole, goddamned time?¡± The words burned with anger and acquisition. ¡°You could¡¯ve left whenever you wanted to! I knew you were lying to me. Woodstock told me not to trust you!¡± he screamed, spittle flying, gun shaking in his fist. ¡°She said I shouldn¡¯t trust you. Said there was something off about you.¡±


    I glanced at the bird still perched on his shoulder.


    I¡¯d heard the parrot say a grand total of about twenty words, and almost all of them were derivatives of ¡°I¡¯ll kill you with fire.¡± Maybe there really was more to the bird than strictly met the eye, or maybe Ed was exactly as crazy as I¡¯d assumed from the get-go. Either way, right now I was in danger. We all were. He was unraveling in real time and even with the gains I¡¯d made, he was still at a higher level than I was.


    ¡°I should¡¯ve listened to her,¡± Ed muttered, shaking his head. He had a crazed, wild light in his eyes. ¡°Should¡¯ve listened to my own gut instinct.¡± He let out a bitter laugh, as sharp and ragged as broken glass. ¡°I¡¯ve just been so lonely. Do you even know what that¡¯s like? To be by yourself for nine years? Nine years with no one to talk to but a bird?¡±


    His voice wavered, and his jaw trembled as tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill over. ¡°That¡¯s how long it¡¯s been since I¡¯ve seen another human being. Nine fucking years.¡± He slapped his face with his free hand, the sound startlingly loud in the silence. ¡°I should¡¯ve known it was too good to be true. Dumb, dumb, dumb,¡± he scolded, each word punctuated with another slap.


    ¡°It¡¯s not like that¡ª¡± I started to say.


    ¡°Shut up!¡± he roared, cutting me off before I could even finish. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hear any more of your bullshit! I bet Dan isn¡¯t even your real name,¡± he spat. ¡°I bet you¡¯re one of them, aren¡¯t you? With BEACON.¡± His breath came in short, ragged gasps and it was clear he was having a panic attack. ¡°I should¡¯ve known. Should¡¯ve seen it coming. They¡¯re everywhere.¡±


    ¡°¡ªWe¡¯re not with BEACON,¡± I said, but he wasn¡¯t listening.


    ¡°It all makes sense now,¡± he hissed. ¡°You have Spook written all over you. The signs were there, right there in front of me¡ªright under my goddamned nose. This whole thing? Probably an infiltration op right from the start.¡± His voice rose, cracking with a mix of fury and desperation. ¡°You knew I was getting close, didn¡¯t you? Close to bringing down the signal, and you just couldn¡¯t let that happen. No sir, not on your watch!¡±


    He snarled, an ugly, dangerous look flashing across his face. He was like a wounded animal, backed into a corner. ¡°You¡¯re trying to take me out, aren¡¯t you? AREN¡¯T YOU?! Afarid I¡¯m finally going to tear down you precious little brainwashing experiment for good.¡± He squared up, his whole body taut like a coiled spring, ready to snap. ¡°Well, let me tell you, fuck-o, you picked the wrong damned Delver to mess with.¡±


    Woodstock watched us from her perch on Ed¡¯s shoulder. Dual plumes of smoke drift upward from the nostril holes on the top of the bird¡¯s beak.


    Jakob deployed his steel kite shield with a flick of his wrist, then quickly moved to cover Temp with his body. ¡°Please, Mr. Myrl,¡± he said, his voice even and neutral. ¡°I do not wish to fight or harm you, but if you keep pointing that weapon at my friends, I fear I will have no choice. This is just a misunderstanding. I realize why this might be confusing, but I can assure you we don¡¯t mean you or your bird any harm.¡±


    ¡°Kill you with fire!¡± Woodstock shrieked, even as the bird¡¯s chest began to smolder with golden light that bled through its feathers. This was going downhill fast and if I couldn¡¯t find a way to snap Ed out of his paranoia spiral, this was going to end in bloodshed.


    ¡°Whoa, let¡¯s pump the brakes here,¡± I said, frantically trying to deescalate things. ¡°Everyone just take a few deep breaths, okay?¡± I raised my hands to show both Ed and Woodstock they were empty. ¡°We aren¡¯t with BEACON¡ªwe¡¯ve never even heard of BEACON, not until you told us. And I promise, right hand to God, that we aren¡¯t trying to destroy Big Bertha. Yes, I didn¡¯t tell you about the shop, but I didn¡¯t think it would be an issue. This is no different than you hiding your identity from us.


    ¡°Remember that?¡± I asked. ¡°How you neglected to mention that you¡¯re part Sunnysider and a literal memory vampire? And remember how I didn¡¯t nuke you on the spot, even though we had good reason to? This is no different. I should¡¯ve come clean about this¡±¡ªI gestured toward the entryway¡ª¡°sooner. In hindsight, keeping it a secret probably wasn¡¯t the right thing to do. That¡¯s on me. But we weren¡¯t lying to you about taking down the signal. Hell, that¡¯s why I didn¡¯t tell you about the store¡ªbecause I was afraid that if you had a way out, you wouldn¡¯t help us sabotage the radio station.¡±


    That, at least, seemed to give Ed a long moment of pause.


    ¡°No, no, no,¡± he muttered to himself. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense. Why would you even care about taking down the signal if you already have a way out?¡± His voice was uncertain, as though his ears might be playing tricks on him. ¡°The math doesn¡¯t math,¡± he finally declared. ¡°There¡¯s gotta be another angle. Some other reason. What¡¯s in it for you, huh? And don¡¯t even think about lying this time.¡± He tapped his temple with the muzzle of the gun. ¡°I¡¯ll know. I always know. And I swear to Christ, I won¡¯t hesitate to kill every last one of you sons of bitches if try to pull one over on me again. So think real hard about your next words.¡±


    I considered the question and tried to decide how much to tell him.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    The truth was, I still didn¡¯t know much about this guy, and his real-time descent into madness didn¡¯t instill much confidence.


    Then I thought about Croc.


    Friends don¡¯t lie to each other. The words skipped through my skull like a stone over a still pond. Despite the legion of metaphorical red flags Ed was waving, I liked the guy. He seemed earnest. Maybe I was being na?ve and stupid, but I needed friends and, as I learned with Croc, lying wasn¡¯t a good way to start any long-term relationship. Besides, better na?ve and stupid than bitter, jaded, and suspicious of everything under the sun.


    That¡¯s how you ended up like Ed. I had no desire, whatsoever, to end up like him; alone in the world with all my secrets and no one to share them with.


    ¡°Because we¡¯re not trying to find a way out,¡± I said, ¡°we¡¯re trying to find a way to go deeper, and the only way we can do that is to pass through one of the kiosks on this floor. Specifically, the fireworks kiosk that was near that barbeque you saved us from.


    ¡°The one surrounded by that army of Kyles and Karens?¡± Ed grunted, his brow furrowed.


    ¡°That¡¯s the one,¡± I confirmed with a nod.


    He absently kicked at the floor with the toe of his combat boot. ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± he said after a few seconds. ¡°Why is some random kiosk so important to you? I mean, what¡¯s the angle? I fail to see how a glorified vending machine is going to help you delve deeper into the Backrooms. Unless there¡¯s something you¡¯re not telling me¡­¡±


    ¡°You ever heard of the Kiosk Network?¡± I asked, instead of answering his question directly.


    ¡°Most Delvers who¡¯ve lasted as long as I have know about the Network,¡± he replied, jerking his head in acknowledgement. ¡°And the first thing you learn is to stay the fuck away from them if you want to keep on living. I¡¯ve seen what lives in those kiosks. Seen the things that crawl out when you stick your nose where it doesn¡¯t belong. They¡¯re not as bad as Mr. Wiggles back there¡±¡ªhe hooked his thumb over one shoulder¡ª¡°but they¡¯re close. Real close. You dick around with those things, and you¡¯re signing up for a one-way trip to the bottom of a shallow grave.¡±


    ¡°Yeah well, what you might not know,¡± I said, ¡°is that the Kiosk Network can be used to traverse floors just like stairwells. In some ways, they¡¯re even better than stairwells. And so long as you have one of these¡±¡ªI flashed my Kiosk Club Card temporary tattoo¡ª¡°the Dwellers inside the kiosks will let you pass. That fireworks kiosk, though? It¡¯s extra special. It¡¯s a spatial gateway that¡¯ll take us all the way down to the forty-ninth floor.¡±


    ¡°The forty-ninth floor?¡± He grimaced and looked away. ¡°You must have some sort of death wish going down that deep. Everything down there is worse¡ªmeaner, smarter, hungrier.¡±


    ¡°The folk on the seventh floor would likely say much the same about you,¡± Temperance countered, pushing Jakob aside. ¡°But, like you, we care little for the bleating of sheep.¡±


    I rolled my eyes and sighed. Good God, but Temperance certainly had a flair for the melodramatic.


    ¡°What could possibly be down on the forty-ninth floor that¡¯s worth crossing the HOA for?¡± Ed asked.


    ¡°What does it matter to you?¡± Temperance growled. ¡°Our business is our own and you hardly seem trustworthy.¡±


    ¡°Pipe down there, Ye Old Murder McGee,¡± I said, before turning my attention back to Ed. ¡°Honestly? I have no clue what waiting for us down on the forty-ninth floor¡ªother than another kiosk that¡¯ll take us even deeper. Not all the way to the bottom, but one step closer. Eventually, though, if we go deep enough and get strong enough, we might find a way to stop something much worse than the HOA. A mean ol¡¯ son of a bitch who calls itself the Flayed Monarch.¡±


    Ed turned white as a sheet and the color drained from his face.


    ¡°I take it you¡¯ve heard of the Monarch?¡± I asked, though based on his expression I already knew the answer.


    ¡°There¡¯s not a soul beneath the tenth floor who hasn¡¯t heard of the Monarch,¡± he said, sounding deeply uneasy. ¡°Even the suits with BEACON steer clear of him and his Court¡ªlast thing anyone wants is to end up on the Monarch¡¯s shit list.¡± He licked his lips nervously. ¡°I¡¯ve heard plenty of horror stories about the stuff his Aspirants like to get up to. Sick stuff. Twisted. Even worse than some of the shit I saw down in the Cu Chi Tunnels beneath Ho Chi Minh.¡±


    ¡°Those aren¡¯t just stories,¡± Jakob said. He dismissed his shield then raised his left hand, which was covered by a leather glove that went all the way to his elbow. The Cendral winced in obvious discomfort as he slowly peeled away the glove, revealing a bloody red limb stripped of skin. ¡°This is what they did to me, long before I ever met Dan. They use special artifacts, given to them by the inner disciples of the court, which prevent the wounds they inflict from ever healing. It also never stops hurting.¡±


    ¡°Is that what this is all about?¡± Ed asked. ¡°Revenge against the Monarch and his aspirants?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not about revenge,¡± I replied. ¡°It¡¯s about survival. The Monarch wants us dead, and he will do anything in his power to make that happen. Period. End of story.¡±


    Ed finally lowered his gun, though he never took his eyes off of us.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make any sense,¡± he said. ¡°You damn near can¡¯t throw a rock without hitting one of his Aspirants, sure. But the Monarch himself? He wouldn¡¯t waste his time on small fries like you. Hell, I doubt he¡¯d roll out of bed to smite anything below level 100¡ªassuming he¡¯s real in the first place and not just some boogeyman the Skinless Court made up to scare people into obedience.¡±


    Ed gave me a once over, his expression a cross between skeptical and pitying.


    ¡°I mean this in the nicest way possible,¡± he continued, ¡°but you¡¯re just not important enough for someone like the Monarch to kill.¡± He leaned in close and dropped his voice low. ¡°I think,¡± he said slowly, ¡°you might be a little paranoid. Not that I blame you¡ªthis place messes with your head.¡±


    I snorted despite how tense the situation was. The sheer irony of Ed calling us paranoid was not lost on me.


    ¡°I know how it sounds,¡± I said after a beat, ¡°but trust me, we aren¡¯t paranoid. The Monarch and his bootlickers are after us. It¡¯s a long story, but what it boils down to is that I have something the Monarch wants. Something that he will move heaven and earth to get.¡±


    Ed shot a finger gun at the open doorway, ¡°Don¡¯t suppose it has something to do with that fancy pocket dimension you have, does it?¡±


    It was a statement, not a question.


    ¡°For the time being, that¡¯s our business¡ªnot yours,¡± I said, refusing to directly confirm his suspicions even though he was right on the money. ¡°The point is, he is gunning for me and my friends, and he won¡¯t stop until we¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s worse than that,¡± Croc said. ¡°The Monarch doesn¡¯t just want to kill us, he wants to destroy what we¡¯re trying to build.¡± The mimic looked at Ed with its giant googly eyes. ¡°You said this floor used to be a Safe Harbor? Well, that¡¯s what Dan¡¯s store is. A safe place for good people in a world where nothing is safe or good. Look through that door.¡± Croc padded over to Ed then dropped down beside him. ¡°Those are the people we¡¯re trying to save.¡±


    Croc bobbed his nose toward a pair of kids who were playing in what remained of the toy aisle. ¡°That little boy there is named Sammy. He¡¯s eight and he was born in the Backrooms. Him and his sister, Lucy, both. They live in Howlers Hold, which is a Safe Harbor on the seventh floor. They lost their dad during a supply run three years ago. A sand worm ripped his legs off and he bled out on the spot. They couldn¡¯t even recover his body for a proper funeral. Those kids have never seen the outside world and the only thing they¡¯ve ever known is danger.


    ¡°Until Dan. Until us. Until that store. Now their mum can get food and supplies without risking her life to do it.¡± Croc gestured at Baby Hands who was busy mopping up a spill near the concession stand. ¡°See that weird monster made out of basketballs and stuff? His name is Baby Hands, and he¡¯s my second-best friend in the whole world, just after Dan. He¡¯s not human, but he¡¯s a good person and that¡¯s all that matters inside Discount Dan¡¯s Backroom Bargains.¡±


    There was a terrible bleating shriek as Princess Ponypuff hurled a soda bottle at a customer in the checkout line.


    ¡°What about her?¡± Ed asked. ¡°I suppose she¡¯s a bastion of goodness, too?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s Princess Ponypuff,¡± Croc replied, ¡°and, if I¡¯m being completely honest, she has some deeply concerning anger issues. She also likes to watch me sleep and might be summoning a dark god in the supply closet. I mean, I can¡¯t prove that last part, but the evidence is certainly there. Even with all her faults, though, Ponypuff is still loyal, and I think her heart is in the right place. Or possibly hearts¡ªI¡¯m fairly certain she has more than one.¡± The dog frowned and shook its head.


    ¡°That¡¯s why we need your help,¡± I said. ¡°That¡¯s why we want to takedown the signal. Your HOA serves the Monarch, and its been tasked with keeping us away from that fireworks kiosk¡ªto prevent us from going any deeper. The only way we can get past all of those Kyles and Karens is to take down the signal.


    ¡°Now, I understand if you don¡¯t want to help us, which is why I¡¯m willing to make you a deal,¡± I continued, already regretting the words. ¡°We¡¯ve already made it through the preschool so assuming you¡¯re right about these tunnels, we¡¯re basically in the home stretch. Just give me Big Bertha, show me how to work it, and I¡¯ll let you leave right here and now. I¡¯ll remove the restrictions on this door, and you can be off this floor in three steps.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± Ed said flat-out, though he sounded reluctantly hopeful.


    As a show of good faith, I pulled up the Admittance Credentialing System and changed the level-cap restriction from thirty to forty right then and there.


    ¡°No bullshit,¡± I replied shaking my head. ¡°See for yourself.¡±


    Ed squinted, studying me carefully, then reached out once more for the doorway. The invisible barrier was gone and his hand passed right through. Instead of darting into the store, however, Ed let his hand drop as he considered his options. Eventually, he pulled the door shut with a begrudging sigh.


    ¡°You really think I¡¯d abandon this mission?¡± he said softly, staring at each of us in turn. ¡°I¡¯ve been working on Big Bertha for damn near fifteen years. Fifteen years! Taking down the HOA isn¡¯t just some passing hobby¡ªit¡¯s the culmination of my life¡¯s work. This bastard of a level has killed more of my friends than I can count, and I¡¯ve spent every waking moment figuring out how to make things right. How to undo all the damage those door donkeys at BEACON caused with the Nexus Pulse.¡±


    His jaw tightened in resolve.


    ¡°You couldn¡¯t pay me enough to walk away from this. Not when I¡¯m so close to the finish line. I¡¯ll see this through until the bitter end, no matter what it costs me,¡± he said grimly. ¡°Once it¡¯s done¡ªonce the signal is finally down for good¡ªI¡¯ll leave this place behind and figure out what¡¯s next for me and Woodstock. But until then?¡± He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡±


    He paused then frowned, tapping his temple as if recalibrating his thoughts. ¡°Though I mean that figuratively. I¡¯m not abandoning the mission, but practically speaking, we¡¯d be idiots not to take this chance to restock. Charging ahead for the sake of dramatic flair? That¡¯s plain, old stupid.¡± He stood a little straighter, his tone shifting to something almost casual. ¡°Truth is, I¡¯m badly in need of supplies, and I haven¡¯t visited a Monolith in the better part of a year.


    ¡°I¡¯ve got Stat points to spend, and we need every advantage we can get if we¡¯re serious about taking on the HOA. And¡­¡± he trailed off. ¡°And I¡¯m also pretty sure I saw a bag of Doritos.¡± A wistful look washed over his face. ¡°I haven¡¯t eaten a Dorito in longer than I can remember. There¡¯s a good chance we¡¯re all going to die, and I intend for several bags of Doritos to be my last meal¡­¡±

 Forty-Four – It’s Raining Relics

    Deciding to make a quick-ish pitstop before continuing on to the radio station, we left the stairwell behind and returned to the glorious splendor of the store with its perpetually stocked aisles and real human customers who weren¡¯t going to transform into eldritch horrors at the slightest rule infraction. I took a deep, calming breath and felt tension drain from my shoulders.


    After the aggressive normalcy of Sunnyside, seeing the Howlers in their colorful furry suits was actually a comfort. They were still weirdos, but they were my weirdos, I felt strangely protective of them all. These were my people, and I¡¯d face down a thousand demon preschoolers to keep ¡¯em safe.


    We turned Ed loose and let him wander freely like a kid in a candy store, though I tasked Baby Hands with keeping an eye on the man¡ªjust in case. Although I believed Ed would be true to his word, he was still an incredibly powerful Delver who was also extremely paranoid and packing heat. Thankfully, he wasn¡¯t hard to track. Woodstock had come along for the ride, and I could easily hear the bird threatening to ¡°kill people with fire¡± from across the store.


    Camo Joe stopped us on the way back to my private quarters with a status report.


    Though we¡¯d only been gone for two days or so, we¡¯d already had multiple attempts by Aspirants to waylay our customers as they were either entering or leaving the storefront. One team of Aspirants was roaming floor three, attempting to create a blockade, while another was kicking around in the Lobby, killing new Delvers indiscriminately.


    It seemed the Skinless Court was mobilizing in earnest and getting more ballsy by the day. These attacks were going to get worse before they got better¡ªthough, thankfully, the Doorway Sentinels were proving to be rather effective countermeasures. Turned out, my Horrors had temporarily driven off the first group and killed one of Aspirants from the second group.


    Camo-Joe handed over a backpack filled with recovered Relics for me to sort through.


    I should¡¯ve felt guilty about the death of the Aspirant¡ªthat was a real person, after all¡ªbut I didn¡¯t. As far as I was concerned, that asshole had it coming. Instead, I felt a small pang of regret about removing the Cold-Blooded Murderer Title from my SBR. Since the Sentinels were my minions, I passively received experience for any kills they made. The cold hard truth was that Delvers gave great experience, and if I¡¯d left the title in place, I would¡¯ve made twice the gains.


    I aggressively shoved that thought away before it could take root in my mind.


    I wasn¡¯t going to let this place turn me into a monster. Not even if it killed me.


    While Ed shopped and presumably gorged himself on bags of Doritos, Temp, Jakob, Croc, and I headed back to my room to talk over our game plan and distribute the Relics we¡¯d picked up from the floor so far. We had a metric shit-ton, courtesy of the Swarmlings, but it turned out Jakob had also somehow managed to acquire a bunch from the Kevins and the Kathys we¡¯d exterminated at the cookout. When I asked him about how he¡¯d managed to pull that off, the Cendral had offered me a thin smile.


    ¡°Better time management,¡± he said matter of factly. ¡°Surely you must have noticed that I didn¡¯t dispatch nearly as many of the Sunnysiders as the rest of you? That was because I spent just as much time looting the corpses. As you might say, Dan, I had a gut feeling that we would need to make a rather expeditious withdrawal. I didn¡¯t want to leave empty handed, so I raided every corpse I could get to.¡±


    He laid the Relics out in a neat row on my table. There were eighteen in total.


    ¡°Some of these came from the Dwellers who I¡­ killed,¡± he said, struggling with the word. It wasn¡¯t hard to guess why. Although Jakob usually didn¡¯t mind offing Dwellers, the Sunnysiders were far more human than most of the creatures who called the Backrooms home, and Jakob had a firm line in the sand when it came to killing people. ¡°Many of them came from the creatures the rest of you killed. I think splitting them evenly between the three of us seems like a fair way to go, findest du nicht auch?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine by me,¡± I replied with a shrug. ¡°Honestly, I thought we¡¯d lost all the damned Relics, so anything is better than nothing.¡±


    We played paper, rock, scissors to see who would pick first. Jakob won every single time.


    I managed to beat Temperance who seemed to fundamentally misunderstand how the game worked, since she only ever picked scissors because, and I quote, ¡°stabbing things with scissors is fun.¡±


    Sadly, six of the Relics turned out to be Uncommon SporeFeed Amplifiers, which¡ªon the surface, at least¡ªwere virtually useless.


    We split those evenly, two apiece, then divvied up the rest of the haul, with Jakob getting the first pick of the lot. Several were Relics we¡¯d seen before, including Lawnmower Wind Blades and Whiskey Fists, one additional Eldritch Hair Tonic and another Feral Hairball. The rest, though, were shiny, new, and unequivocally badass¡ªall except for a Relic called Flesh Melon. It was new, sure, but disgusting beyond imagination. It allowed the caster to temporarily transform uncooked human flesh into succulent watermelon for easier and more palatable cannibalism.


    It¡¯s messy, it¡¯s horrifying, and it tastes¡­ well, surprisingly okay, assuming you can stomach the whole eating-a-person-but-it¡¯s-technically-a-fruit-now thing.


    There were also two Rare-grade Charbroiled Inferno Relics.


    Unlike many of the other Relics we¡¯d picked up from floor twenty-four, these granted a mana-fueled spell ability without also tacking on some horrifying and permanent body modification. While active, it temporarily turned the caster¡¯s arm into a makeshift blowtorch, which dealt significantly more damage than my original Burn Baby Burn Relic, without any of the awful side effects¡ªmainly, setting yourself on fire while using the ability.


    I knew Ed had that Relic equipped and I suspected Woodstock probably had the same spell tucked away in her spatial core as well. It would certainly explain a few things, including the bird¡¯s unnatural fixation with death-by-inferno.


    We also picked up two Neighborhood Watch Relics¡ªanother ability listed in Ed¡¯s SBR Overview. One version resembled a pair of binoculars while the other was just a bright orange road-guard vest with a badge that read ¡°Safety Patrol¡± in garish, reflective letters.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Despite differences in appearance, both served as passive navigation abilities, helping the user detect hidden enemies, traps, and potentially useful items. Essentially, it was a watered-down version of my own Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense. However, there was one small bonus. The longer the user stayed in a specific Quadrant or Sector, the stronger the ability became, eventually granting small passive bonuses to teammates.


    I had no use for something like that and, as far as I knew, both Temp and Jakob already had their own navigation Relics. They¡¯d be perfect to sell in the store, however. There was literally no better ability for a new Delver, fresh in from the Lobby.


    As Croc had pointed out more than once, hostile Dwellers weren¡¯t the most dangerous part of the Backrooms¡ªnot by a long shot. The monstrous creatures may have been the most terrifying and aggressively violent part of the Backrooms, but approximately sixty percent of all new Delvers were killed by traps or environmental hazards. Countless more perished thanks to starvation or dehydration, lost and alone and stranded in some closet without any hope of finding resources or safety. Neighborhood Watch would help with that.


    The last three were all Rare-grades.


    The first was a Stamina based passive called Eldritch Resilience, which offered many of the same perks as my Burger Baron Crown. Resistance to psychic attacks, minor-protection against fear-based effects, and immunity from most sanity-draining abilities¡ªsuch as Gossip Circle, which was another of the new Relics we¡¯d picked up from the Sunnysiders. It was a particularly nasty mind-fuck spell, and it also happened to be yet another of Ed¡¯s core abilities.


    Gossip Circle


    Rare Relic ¨C Level 1


    Range: Area of Effect, Expanding


    Cost: 1 Mana/Minute


    It turns out that in a neighborhood war, no weapon is more powerful than gossip. Imagine all the petty rumors from a suburban HOA meeting, cranked up to eleven, worming their way into your brain on a never-ending loop. With just a whisper, you unleash a wave of malicious gossip that slithers into your enemies¡¯ heads, planting seeds of doubt, betrayal, and deliciously sweet paranoia.


    At first, they just start side-eyeing each other. Then it escalates. Fast. The longer you keep this Relic active, the wider the area of effect grows, and the juicier those rumors become, until your enemies are ready to throw hands¡ªor kitchen knives, or Molotov cocktails¡ªat anyone nearby. Especially that bitch, Kelly, who had the sheer audacity to tell Stacy that Paul slept with Erin during the company Christmas party. I¡¯m going to gut her like a goddamned trout!


    Best of all, Gossip Circle is dirt cheap to cast (because, let¡¯s face it, starting rumors is practically free) and it¡¯s what we in the biz like to call a Sanity Cracker. Leave it running long enough, and it¡¯ll grind down mental stability into a fine, powdery dust¡­ Just like the dust the government probably sprinkles all over your food to give you early onset cancer. Soon, your enemies will be reduced to paranoid wrecks, consumed by suspicion, turning on each other, and¡ªif you¡¯re lucky¡ªmaybe even taking themselves out of the fight completely.


    The Relic was powerful, but also dangerous. Insidious, even.


    Gossip Circle was basically weaponized paranoia and because it could be perpetually running in the background, there was no telling how much damage it could do over time. Idly, I wondered if that¡¯s what had happened to Ed. Had he unwittingly been the victim of this Relic before eventually claiming it for himself?


    That seemed like a strong possibility¡ªthough nine years of isolation could probably do that even without the help of magic.


    The last Relic, Mutable Persona, was a powerful, personal illusion spell that allowed the user to alter their physical appearance in some rather astounding ways and it specifically paired with the SporeFeed Amplifier Relic, which all the Sunnysiders had equipped. Curiously, the mana cost was even lower than Gossip Circle¡ªalmost as though the spell was designed to be run around the clock.


    It wouldn¡¯t let you look like a horse or enlarge yourself to the size of a city bus, but so long as you more or less maintained the same basic form and shape, the sky was the limit. Facial features, skin coloration, height and weight¡ªeven the sound of your voice. With this skill, Jakob could appear to be human if he had a mind to, or Temperance could assume the guise of a Cendral. Croc could actually look like the dog it had always wanted to be, while I could adjust my clothes, so I didn¡¯t look like a hobo living behind the dumpster outside of Home Depot.


    Of course, it didn¡¯t actually change the way you looked.


    Just the way other people saw you.


    In total, I walked away with two more of the SporeFeed Amplifiers, one more Whiskey Fists, one Neighborhood Watch¡ªwhich I planned to put up for sell¡ªMutable Persona, and one of the Charbroiled Inferno Relics. Not a bad haul, all things considered. And that wasn¡¯t even accounting for the loot I¡¯d taken off the Swarmlings.


    Once we finished sorting through everything, Jakob politely excused himself, bound for the pharmacy, while Temp took off to check on Wraith. She wanted to make sure Jackson and the rest of the Roomkeepers hadn¡¯t caused any new problems while we¡¯d been gone. I dispatched Croc so it could go grab some celebration Froyo and pay a visit to the Howler kids. The mimic had promised to tell them about our adventures. That seemed like a terrible idea to me, since our adventures were horrific, but the dog was so excited that I just couldn¡¯t bring myself to rain on its parade.


    I took a few extra minutes to sift through the Relics Camo Joe had given me, searching for any hidden gems. Most were standard for a level 15 Delver and were things I¡¯d seen before¡ªSucker Punch, Basic Camo Kit, and Warning Bells¡ªbut there were a couple of surprises that would be worth adding to my personal inventory.


    Iron Jaw was a physical passive that significantly boosted Toughness and reduced damage from blunt force attacks, while Brick Toss literally let you summon and launch a magical brick at your enemies¡ª¡°Nothing in life hits quite like a Brick to the Face!¡± I wasn¡¯t sure what to do with that yet, but I liked the simplicity of it.


    Hazardous Chemical Slick was almost exactly like a skill I¡¯d had once upon a time called Slippery When Wet. It created an incredibly slick patch liquid that caused enemies to slip and fall¡ªthough, it also had an extra advantage. The chemical spill itself was wildly unstable and would react violently to any elemental attack, setting off a chaotic and unpredictable elemental chain reaction. It effectively transformed any single target elemental ability into a potent AoE attack. The drawback was that any friendlies caught in the slick would be just as susceptible to potential damage.


    With all my new Relics finally sorted and cataloged, I headed over to my private bathroom, peeled off my gore-soaked clothes, and slipped into the shower. I cranked the heat up until it was so hot I almost couldn¡¯t stand it, then I just stood there for a few minutes, letting the water sluice over sore muscles and wash away the fetid, black swarmling goo that stained my hands and arms. I had to vigorously scrub at my skin with a bar of soap before the inhuman blood finally faded and vanished.


    But even with the blood gone, the memories remained.


    I absently thought about Ed¡¯s vampiric abilities and wondered if he could target specific memories, because there were more than a few that I wouldn¡¯t mind having gone. With a shudder, I picked the bar of soap back up and scrubbed at my hands again. Thinking about the swarmlings and the shart stain golem and, most of all, Natasha Anno.


    The first person I¡¯d ever killed¡ªthough I knew she wouldn¡¯t be the last.


    Somehow, I doubted it worked that way, though.


    And even if it did, I wasn¡¯t sure I would let those memories go, even as terrible as they were. Sometimes, the pain was the only thing we had. The only thing that let us know we were still alive. And sometimes, that pain was what kept us from repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

 Forty-Five – Mana Optimization

    When I finally couldn¡¯t stand the heat any longer, I killed the water, toweled off, then tossed on a fluffy white bathrobe and padded over to the kitchen. I fished a cold beer out of the fridge, then plopped my ass back down at the table to tinker with the Relics in my spatial core.


    Despite all the new gear I¡¯d acquired while battling through Eternal Suburbia, there wasn¡¯t anything that warranted a spot in my active Spatial Core. Charbroiled Inferno almost made the cut¡ªmostly because setting things on fire tended to be extremely effective¡ªbut the damage output and range just couldn¡¯t compete with Hydro Fracking Blast.


    A few of my new crowd control Relics resonated strongly with Fault Spike, so I spent a handful of minutes screwing around with various combinations, though I wasn¡¯t particularly thrilled with any of the outcomes. Hazardous Chemical Slick and Fault Spike created something called Quicksilver Quicksand which, arguably, was a better crowd control skill than Fault Spike by itself, but it didn¡¯t deal any damage, whatsoever, and I really liked dealing damage.


    The thought of mercilessly smashing deformed Sunnysiders into a forest of earthen spikes using telekinesis was extremely cathartic.


    Likewise, String Snare and Fault Spike produced an ability called Fanged Webbing. Instead of summoning a plain ol¡¯ spider web, this conjured a movement restricting field of webbing filled with a swarm of tiny cave spiders. It was a decent compromise which dealt less damage than Fault Spike on its own, but more than Quicksilver Quicksand. The spell was perfectly on brand for Temp, who took a perverse joy in tormenting people with insects, but it left a bad taste in my mouth.


    Plus, there was no way to use the spell in a targeted way. The cave spiders attacked indiscriminately, and the Area of Effect was enormous. There just wasn¡¯t a safe way to use it¡ªnot without leveling it substantially. And when I mashed all three Relics together like a triple car pileup, my Codex Compatibility Analysis returned an extremely unstable result.


    So, I ended up leaving Fault Spike alone for the time being and decided to upgrade a few of my current Relics instead.


    Psychic Sovereignty was already at level 10, and I didn¡¯t have enough Relics to push it all the way up to level 15. Although incremental level gains were fine, strategically pushing Relics past the various threshold points was the best use of my resources. That left me with Hydro Fracking Blast, Stainslayer Maelstrom, Neural Slipstream, Unhinged Taxidermist, and Runic Resonance Trap, which were all currently at level 5. Looking over my available Relics, I could only advance one of them up to Level 10.


    Knowing that, I began whittling down my options.


    I immediately dismissed Runic Resonance Trap, Unhinged Taxidermist, and Neural Slipstream.


    All were powerful abilities, but upgrading those didn¡¯t offer much immediate benefit against the threats we faced from the Sunnysiders. Although Ed insisted that Big Bertha would destroy the Signal and deal a permeant death blow to the HOA, I¡¯d spent enough time in the Backrooms to know there was no way it would be that easy. Nothing was ever that easy. I believed that the disruptor would work, but I was fully expecting to fight an veritable army of homicidal Sunnysiders.


    For that, I needed more concentrated peel-your-skin-off-and-ruin-your-whole-fucking-week firepower, which narrowed my options to Hydro Fracking Blast and Stainslayer Maelstrom. Both were viable choices.


    Hydro Fracking Blast was already extremely effective, however, so I wasn¡¯t sure that was where I¡¯d get the most bang for my buck. Not to mention, the Sunnysiders seemed especially susceptible to the corrosive damage of my Maelstrom spell. Considering how many Kevins and Kathys, Timmy and Tammys there were, beefing up my only offensive AoE spell seemed like a good choice.


    After half an hour of tedious ritual sacrifices, the deed was done and Stainslayer Maelstrom finally hit level 10, crossing the next power threshold. I couldn¡¯t help but grin as I read through the updated description.


    StainSlayer Maelstrom ¨C Pro: Military-Grade Cleansing Power


    Fabled Relic (Fully Tempered) ¨C Level 10


    Range: Line of sight


    Area of Effect: 25¡¯ Radius


    Cost: 35 Mana


    Cast time: 5 Seconds


    Effect Duration: 1 Minute


    Cooldown: 30 Seconds


    Summon a torrential downpour of military-grade cleaning solution that will liquify your enemies with a chemical compound so powerful and heinous, its technically banned under the Geneva Convention as a ¡°chemical weapon of mass destruction¡± and ¡°an afront to human decency.¡± As far as VRD is concerned, that¡¯s actually a selling point! Unlike inferior versions, StainSlayer Maelstrom - Pro! is safe and fun for the whole family!


    That¡¯s right, instead of indiscriminate murder and mayhem, this version offers a targeted cleanse, dealing damage only to enemy combatants! All opponents caught in the ¡°Splash Zone¡± suffer 150 points of Corrosive Burst Damage on contact, take an additional 5 points of Chemical Burn damage per second, and lose 2 points of Mana and 2 points of Stamina per second while inside the AoE.


    But wait, there¡¯s more!


    At any point during the duration of the spell effect, the caster may activate the secondary ability, pH Balance, to convert 25% of All Damage dealt by StainSlayer Maelstrom into sweet, sweet Health Regeneration for all friendlies inside the ¡°Splash Zone,¡± proving once and for all that cleanliness really is good for the soul. Side effects may include moral ambiguity, terminal regret, or a friendly visit from the Hague.


    This Relic enables Mana usage.


    It was better than I could¡¯ve hoped for.


    The cost, cast time, and cooldown had all decreased, though that wasn¡¯t the truly impressive part. The single biggest flaw with the spell was that it dealt damage to anyone in range, including my friends. This upgrade removed that problem entirely. Hell, it didn¡¯t just remove it, thanks to pH Balance, it actually turned a glaring weakness into a powerful strength. With this I could now melt my enemies and heal my friends all at the same time.


    Satisfied, I left my room behind and headed down to drop my stained and reeking gear off with the Laundry Brownies at the Spin Cycle. I cut to the front of the line, which earned me a few withering glares from the Howlers patiently waiting their turn, but fuck it. I¡¯d fought a literal shit demon to free the Brownies and annex the laundromat and what was the point of having my own store if I couldn¡¯t get a fast pass for the laundry room?


    I dropped my clothes off¡ªthough, I paused when I saw that the Brownies had erected a life-sized statue of me in the corner of the laundry mat. It was built from discarded garbage, just like everything else in their tiny city, but the resemblance was unmistakable. A group of twenty or so Brownies were crowded around the base of the statue, chanting complex iterations of ¡°what the fuck¡± while others prostrated themselves before the statue in supplication. There was a wide metal altar at the base of the statue and perched on top were several beer cans and a slice of pizza.


    My arrival caused a flurry of commotion, and more Brownies rushed out from their trash city, clad in red bathrobes that mirrored my own. I squinted then sighed. Not just bathrobes. They also wore jorts, and tiny hand-made wife beaters. Several even had imitations of my paper Burger Baron Crown.


    ¡°Our savior has returned!¡± One of them squealed. When I looked a little closer, I realized it was Bertrim, the high priest of their weird cult. ¡°What would you have us do, Chosen One? We live to serve thy will and do thy bidding.¡±


    ¡°Eh, just here to drop some clothes off?¡± I said, awkwardly lifting the bundle of dirty gear. ¡°And I¡¯m in a bit of a hurry, so I¡¯m hoping you can do a rush job.¡±


    Bertrim¡¯s face grew somber, and his back grew rigid with purpose and determination.


    ¡°We shall launder the very fabric of the cosmos for you, Chosen One. It will be done.¡±


    I laughed nervously, set my gear in an empty laundry basket, then slowly backed out of the room as the Brownies swarmed my clothes like a school of hungry piranha. Once again, I had an uneasy feeling that this was all going to blow up in my face. I¡¯d watched enough true crime docuseries to know that most cults had a way of spiraling out of control and ending with a catastrophic body count.


    But that was a problem for future me to worry about, I supposed.


    For now, the laundry was getting done, the Howlers were happy, and present me had to deal with the HOA. Honestly, I just didn¡¯t have the mental bandwidth to care about the escalating weirdness happening inside the Spin Cycle.


    I left the laundromat behind¡ªissuing a few halting apologies to the waiting Howlers¡ªthen headed over to the Progenitor Monolith, located near the check out. Taylor was working the concession stand and I shot her a friendly wave, which she returned with a thin smile. The girl looked exhausted, and it wasn¡¯t hard to guess why. She and her friend, Stephanie, were pulling long shifts around the store and we had more customers than ever to deal with.


    Both women deserved a raise, and I really needed to hire more staff to help around the store. I could always fashion more Cannon Fodder Golems, but they lacked the charm and warmth of a real human employee.


    Once I wrapped this business on the twenty-fourth floor, I¡¯d have to take a day or two to sort shit out around the shop. With the increased pressure and threat from the Aspirants, fewer and fewer Delvers were leaving the store at all and as a result, our sleeping accommodations were quickly nearing max capacity. Hygiene was also becoming a serious issue. There were public bathrooms that anyone could use, but they didn¡¯t have showers, and we badly needed showers.


    Even with the addition of Laundry Services, the BO cloud lingering inside the store was nearing dangerous levels.


    There was work to be done and essential infrastructure that I needed to add, but as with the Brownies that would just have to wait for later.


    I sidled up to the Monolith and jammed my hand flat against the palm reader. The menu blinked to life, and I quickly selected the Delver Interface Portal option. I repressed a gasp when I saw just how many levels I¡¯d gained. Twelve. I¡¯d jumped twelve levels since entering Eternal Suburbia, pushing me all the way up to 35. Even accounting for Ed, that officially made me the strongest Delver in the shop. Although, admittedly, both Jakob and Temp had probably also made similar gains.


    Still, that nifty trick with the swarmling massacre had earned me a metric ass-load of Experience, so I suspected I¡¯d outpaced both of them by at least a little.


    Along with my 12 new levels, came 60 stat points to spend, and I already had a damned good idea of what I wanted to use them on. Right, smack dab at the top of the list was Grit. Although the Crown of the Burger Baron was an invaluable Artifact, I¡¯d witnessed the damage that mind magic could do, and I never wanted someone or something fucking around inside my skull again. Not being able to trust your own mind or your own senses was far more horrifying than anything else I¡¯d experienced on the twenty-fourth floor.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Plus, the Crown of the Burger Baron increased my Grit by 15%, which meant the higher I pushed my base stat, the bigger the boost I¡¯d get from the artifact. Even though it hurt, I dropped a flat twenty-five points into Grit, making it my second highest stat, after Resonance. And, because almost all of my skills and abilities were extremely reliant on Mana, I decided to double down and add another twenty points directly into Resonance, bringing my base score up to 75.


    The second I confirmed the choice, a spike of pain slammed into my stomach, and a blinding migraine erupted inside my head.


    I dropped to my knees, wheezing for breath as white dots danced across my vision. I steadied myself against the monolith with one hand so I didn¡¯t keel over on the floor, but for a long moment I thought I might pass out. Mercifully, the sensation didn¡¯t last for long, and when it finally faded, I found a new prompt waiting for me.


    Mana Optimization ¨C Initialized


    In so many areas of life, you meat bags understand that less is more¡ªlike with bad cholesterol or syphilis. But for some reason, whenever your Mana Pool shrinks, you humans bitch and moan about it like little Wah-babies. Well, suck it up. With Mana Optimization, you trade in some of that fat, sluggish mana pool for a sleek, turbocharged spellcasting engine. Yes, your total mana shrinks a bit¡ªboo hoo, cry-baby bitch¡ªbut in return, your mana regenerates faster, spells cost less, and your enemies feel the hurt with every cast.


    Your Total Mana Pool experiences a one-time decrease of 20% (which might sound bad), but that¡¯s offset by a significant boost to Mana Optimization (which is very good). This boost improves your mana regeneration rate, reduces the cost of all mana-based abilities, and increases your total spell damage output and efficiency by 10% across the board. Additionally, for every 5 Stat Points you invest in Resonance, Mana Optimization increases by 1% (Max 50%).


    Variant Research Division ¨C Optimizing destruction since 11973 S.E.


    I read over the description and found that I was just as unamused as the system seemed to think I would be. A twenty percent drop in my total Mana was significant and a ten percent increase in other areas didn¡¯t seem to make up for the loss.


    Still, the system was telling me this was a good thing¡ªeven if it didn¡¯t seem like it on the surface¡ªso I pushed my simmering rage to the backburner and started doing a little quick and dirty mental math. It didn¡¯t take me long to realize that maybe my anger wasn¡¯t entirely justified. Sure, at its current tier, I probably was getting dicked over.


    But only a little.


    Although I was sacrificing a sizable chunk of my mana pool, every single spell I had would now cost less to cast and deal extra damage on the backside. That paired with the slight increase to my mana regeneration almost made up the difference. But if I could bump my efficiency up to twenty or thirty percent¡ªor, god forbidden, hit the fifty percent max¡ªthe one time reduction wouldn¡¯t even matter.


    The revelation also got me thinking about the rest of my stats.


    Was it possible that they also had secret, inbuilt rewards for hitting certain thresholds?


    If that was true, what would the benefits for Grit look like or Perception? I also wondered if there was more than one threshold for each Stat¡ªit stood to reason there might be, since that was also how the Relics worked. Relics improved at levels 5, 10, and once again at 15. Maybe Stats worked the same way, even if the threshold scale was different?


    Neither Jakob or Temperance had ever mentioned anything about this, but then it was distinctly possible that neither of them had leveled up any single stat enough to cross over one of these thresholds.


    Either way, this changed things.


    As curious as I was, though, I wasn¡¯t likely to get answers any time soon and I still had more points to divvy up.


    Begrudgingly, I turned back to the task at hand.


    With both Grit and Resonance taken care of, I had fifteen points left to spend. Perception was invaluable, since it worked with my Catacomber Abilities to help identify threats and enemy weaknesses, so I added 6 points bringing it up to thirty. My Preservation score was still extremely low and knowing the Blight would only get worse the deeper we went, I opted to tack on an extra two points, bringing my score up to an even 10.


    That left me with seven points.


    Part of me wanted to distribute them evenly between Athleticism and Toughness, but I decided to dump them all into Toughness instead. Much as I hated to admit it, I was slowly coming to terms with the fact that I wasn¡¯t a tank or brawler. I was the DnD equivalent of a squishy Mage. Fact was, being able to physically hit harder didn¡¯t matter, but soaking up damage did. Most of my fighting was going to be done at range, but I still needed to be able to survive any errant spells that came my way.


    With my stats finally taken care of, I turned my attention to my ever-expanding list of titles. I¡¯d unlocked two more and needed to figure out which ones to cut and which to keep.


    Although Toddler Terminator was decent in theory, it was really only useful against Dwellers marked with the Adolescent and Juvenile tag, and the only Dwellers I¡¯d ever seen labeled that way were mimics and the kiosk crabs. Under most circumstances, a title like that would be dead weight, but my gut told me the bonus would also apply to the Timmys and Tammys. Hopefully I wouldn¡¯t need to kill the children of Sunnyside by the bucket load, but with the soon arrival of the Bleeding Moon, it wouldn¡¯t hurt to be prepared.


    Human Cannonball wasn¡¯t really doing much for me, anyway, so I swapped it for Toddler Terminator¡ªthough, admittedly, I felt a little guilty about it. No one wanted to be labeled as a baby killer, yet here I was wearing the title like a campaign medal pinned to my chest. This was war, though, I reminded myself, and sometimes in war you had to do things you weren¡¯t entirely proud of to survive.


    As for Domino Rally, I relied heavily on secondary effects like Wild Surge or Gavel of Get Fucked, so anything that increased the odds of triggering those effects¡ªno matter how minutely¡ªwas just too good to pass up. After a few moments of careful consideration, I swapped Bloodbath for Domino Rally.


    Finished, I looked over my updated SBR with approval.


    Dan Woodridge


    Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C


    Variant Assimilation Level: 35


    Race: Human, Archetypal


    Current Experience: 132,075


    Next Level: 142,500


    Personal Enhancement Points: 0


    __ __ __


    Health: 98


    Health-Regen/Hour: 6.85


    __ __ __


    Stamina Reserve: 54


    Stamina-Regen/Minute: 5.5


    __ __ __


    Mana Pool: 157


    Mana-Regen/Minute: 16


    Individual Adaptative Stats


    Grit: 46 (42 + 4 Enhanced)


    Athleticism: 16


    Toughness: 22


    Perception: 30


    Resonance: 75


    Preservation: 10


    Spatial Core - Active


    (U) Runic Resonance Trap ¨C Level 5


    (U) Fault Spike ¨C Level 5


    (R) Unhinged Taxidermist ¨C Level 5


    (R) Sterilization Field ¨C Level 5


    (R) Existential Dread ¨C Level 5 (Fully Tempered)


    (F) Hydro Fracking Blast ¨C Level 5


    (F) Neural Slip Stream ¨C Level 5 (Fully Tempered)


    (F) StainSlayer Maelstrom ¨C Level 10 (Fully Tempered)


    (F) Psychic Sovereignty ¨C Level 10 (Fully Tempered)


    (ME) Compass of the Catacomber (Fully Tempered)


    !!! Current Titles ¨C Passive !!!


    Punch-Out!! Champion, Deathwish, Marked for Death, Weapon of Opportunity, Legend in the Making, Overkill Overlord, Barracuda in a Barrel (E), Profane Purifier, Domino Rally, Toddler Terminator


    Not too shabby for a general contractor from Cincinnati who¡¯d only noclipped into the Backrooms less that three months before. Or was it two months? Four months? God, time was hard to keep track of here. It was like being perpetually stranded in Vegas, only worse.


    Regardless, my growth was impressive.


    Although I was happy with my current progress, there were still a few more things that needed doing before we took our final shot at the Nexus Pulse and the HOA. I headed over to the pharmacy and slipped into the corpse cooler after a few quick words with Jakob. Unsurprisingly, the Cendral was busy working in lab, testing this or that¡ªthough what exactly he was working on, I couldn¡¯t tell. Hell, even if he told me, it would probably be over my head anyway.


    I took a few minutes to pull Drumbo out of storage and survey the extent of the damage.


    The Horror hadn¡¯t faired particularly well against Mr. Wiggles. He¡¯d lost both legs below the knees and one arm, though I was happy to see his angle grinder attachment was still firmly in place. I pulled out replacement body parts¡ªgangly legs from the Bellhops on five and more chitinous crab armor from kiosk crabs. I¡¯d grabbed a couple of swarmling corpses as well and attached several arachnoid legs to Drumbo¡¯s back. They tensed and curled like the fingers of some enormous hand.


    After very narrowly losing Drumbo to Mr. Wiggles, I realized I¡¯d grown surprisingly attached to the malformed creature. Both him and Synthia 2.0. Sure, they were monsters with no real personality, yet they were my monsters and I¡¯d be sad to see them go. Though, admittedly, there was so little left of the original Drumbo, that we were running into a Ship of Theseus situation.


    The last thing I needed to do was upgrade his processing power. Mr. Wiggles had badly damaged the Uncommon Health Eater Relic at Drumbo¡¯s core, and though technically it would still function for a little while longer, I had to imagine the Horror would be operating at quarter capacity, at best.


    Luckily, it just so happened that I had several Rare-grade Relics that I didn¡¯t really want to sell in the store for moral reasons. If I put something like Lawnmower Wind Blade or Eldritch Hair Tonic up for sale, someone would undoubtedly buy and use it, and I would wind up feeling both shitty and partially responsible when it ruined their fucking life. The Relics were good, though, and I didn¡¯t just want to sacrifice them either. That felt like a waste.


    Using them to help power my Horrors seemed like a winning strategy all around.


    With Drumbo laying flat on my operating table, I used the Minion Masher 3D overlay to open the Horror up like a frog ready for dissection and pry the old Relic from the creature¡¯s chest. The Relic was so badly damaged that it couldn¡¯t be salvaged, so I tossed it out with a sigh, before sliding Lawnmower Wind Blade into the vacant spot in Drumbo¡¯s chest cavity. The Relic clicked into place just like changing a set of double-A batteries and the monstrosity blinked its eyes open, then sat up on the table.


    I was more than a little surprised when Drumbo started to change. His torso stretched and elongated, transforming into the boxy underside of a lawnmower just like the Kevins who called Sunnyside home.


    Now that¡­ Well, that was interesting.


    With a surge of excitement, I banished Drumbo and summoned Synthia, who looked more like some sort of crustacean Power Ranger than the feline animatronic monstrosity she once had. After seeing initial success with Drumbo, I had the former Lynx crawl onto the stainless-steel table and opened her up as well. She was powered by a rather underwhelming passive called Bed Rest, which accelerated Health and Mana regeneration while sleeping.


    I pried that sucker free, then popped in Eldritch Hair Tonic.


    Almost instantly, Synthia sprouted a trio of wrist thick hair tentacles that were so long she could use them as legs. Those hair tentacles would not only allow her to move more quickly, they¡¯d also significantly extend her effective reach. And since she only needed two of the tentacles to lift herself into the air, I didn¡¯t feel at all bad about fusing a circular saw to the end of one of the new hair limbs.


    Between the chainsaw, the tentacle circular saw, and her crab claw hand she was now a triple threat.


    As with Drumbo, I banished Synthia back into the spatial void, then took a few minutes to raid the corpse cooler for extra body parts. There was a good chance I¡¯d need to repair my minions on the fly and there was no guarantee we¡¯d be able to make it back to the store. Maybe Ed¡¯s paranoia was spreading, but I figured it was better to have it and not need it, than to need it and not have it. Once I¡¯d stocked up on my gruesome supplies, I swung back over to the Spin Cycle to pick up my freshly laundered clothes.


    I found them waiting for me, neatly folded and still warm.


    I awkwardly thanked the Brownies, then quickly ducked out of the laundromat before they decided to sacrifice something other than a pizza to my name. Feeling a thousand times better now that I had clean clothes and a hot shower, I swung by the Pharmacy and collected Jakob, then used the DeWalt Etheric Walkie Talkies to page the others.


    Temp was in the breakroom catching up with Ajax, learning all about what was happening at the Hold, while Croc was loitering over in the refrigerated section, eating as much Froyo as the mimic could shove into its face hole. I told Croc to meet us at the breakroom, then Jakob and I took off to go find Ed and Woodstock.


    The pair were sitting in our makeshift food court, the bird threatening anyone who got too close with a violent and fiery death, while Ed stuffed his face with an unreasonable amount of food. Greasy paper plates and balled up napkins covered most of the table and from the look of things, he¡¯d demolished almost an entire pizza by himself. He was working on the last slice, which was piled high with crushed Doritos, then smothered in liquid cheese from the nacho dispenser. Ed¡¯s eyes were bloodshot red, and I had a sneaking suspicion that he¡¯d imbibed a fair amount of weed during our short absence.


    His snacking habits certainly seemed to confirm my suspicion.


    Still, when I told him we were gearing up to go, he just nodded, managed to devour what remained of his unholy pizza pie, then quickly pulled himself from the table and brushed his grease-smeared hands against his jeans.


    ¡°This place is awesome, Hoss,¡± he said, blinking slowly. ¡°Once we take down the signal, I may never leave again. Pizza, nachos, hotdogs and snacks that just endlessly refill themselves?¡± He chuckled and shook his head ruefully. ¡°I don¡¯t think I was this happy even before noclipping. The entertainment is great, too.¡±


    ¡°Entertainment?¡± Jakob asked curiously. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware that Dan had added any sort of entertainment.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m talking about people watching,¡± Ed replied with a lazy drawl. ¡°The monster thing, Ponypuff? She just yelled at one Delver so bad that he started openly weeping. It was¡­¡± He lifted his hand and made the chef¡¯s kiss gesture. ¡°I laughed so hard I thought I was gonna puke. She¡¯s even meaner than Woodstock and no one¡ªand I mean no one¡ªis meaner than Woodstock.¡±


    ¡°Kill you with fire,¡± Woodstock agreed, eyeing the monstrous pony working the register with open admiration.


    ¡°Do we really have to go?¡± Ed asked, sounding both sad and resigned¡ªa man on death row, soon bound for the electric chair.


    I grunted and nodded.


    ¡°Well,¡± he said, exhaling slowly, ¡°can¡¯t say that I¡¯m in any rush to leave, but the sooner we take down the Signal, the sooner I can close that chapter of my life for ever. Let¡¯s make this one count, kemo sabe.¡±

 Forty-Six – Remy

    With Jakob, Ed, and Woodstock in tow, we collectively meandered over to the breakroom, where Temp was having a rather loud and animated conversation with Ajax.


    ¡°You should¡¯ve seen his face,¡± Ajax said.


    Unlike the last time I saw him, Ajax wasn¡¯t wearing his fur-suit, and instead was sporting a pair of pleather pants, white Doc Martens, and a white crop top with a picture of a Possum that said Too Pretty for a Job in hot pink letters.


    ¡°He looked terrible, darling,¡± the Tribune said. ¡°Bloody, bruised, and covered in dirt. He was so mad, I legitimately thought he was going to have an aneurysm. And the best part is, he¡¯s bleeding support among the other Roomkeepers. It seems like none of them want to get on your new boyfriend¡¯s bad side. And speaking of the devil.¡± The fox furry fixed me with a sly, vulpine smile. ¡°Hello, Daniel.¡±


    ¡°Ajax,¡± I replied with a nod, ignoring his ¡®new boyfriend¡¯ comment. Although I liked Temperance as a friend and trusted her with my life, I wasn¡¯t at all attracted to her. She was pretty enough, but she was also fucking crazy, and I¡¯d learned during my Marine Corps days that it wasn¡¯t wise to dip your fishing pole into crazy. ¡°You guys talking about Jackson?¡± I asked, figuring that was the most likely target of their gossip.


    ¡°Who else?¡± Ajax replied, cocking an eyebrow. ¡°That stunt you pulled? Banishing him from the store in front of all his bootlicking followers? Absolutely delicious. He ended up on the fifth floor and it took him three days to make it back to the Hold. Honestly, it was the most peaceful the Hold has been in ages. He was, understandably, incensed with rage. Frothing at the mouth like the uncouth, and utterly stupid animal he is.¡±


    The man tossed his head back and cackled.


    ¡°Naturally, he tried to smash his way back into your lovely establishment,¡± Ajax finally continued when his crowing subsided, ¡°but once he realized he¡¯d been perma-banned, he stormed off in a fit of rage. I suspect he¡¯s in danger of losing his seat on the Tribunal, which would be a tremendous relief for everyone with even a sherd of common sense. Still¡±¡ªAjax fixed me with a level stare¡ª¡°I¡¯d be wary of him, were I you, Daniel. Jackson is angry that you embarrassed him, but I think he¡¯s also scared. In my experience, scared animals tend to lash out in inconvenient ways.¡±


    Ajax paused and traced his bottom lip with one nail.


    ¡°And perhaps he has every right to be scared,¡± he said, appraising me with fresh eyes. ¡°Level thirty-five?¡± The Howler shook his head ruefully. ¡°My-my, but you¡¯ve been a busy boy, haven¡¯t you? You¡¯ve gone up twelve levels since the last time we spoke. You¡¯ve also made some interesting and dangerous new acquaintances.¡± Ajax shifted his green gaze to Ed, who¡¯d slunk into the room behind me. ¡°You haven¡¯t introduced me to your new friend. I¡¯m Ajax,¡± he said, directing the comment toward Ed, ¡°Tribune of Howlers Hold, proprietor of the Muzzle and Mast, and close personal confidant with Daniel, here.¡±


    Ed squirmed a little under Ajax¡¯s intense scrutiny.


    ¡°Close personal confidant might be a bit much,¡± I said to ease some of the discomfort in the air.


    ¡°Pish-posh,¡± Ajax replied, brushing away my words. ¡°In Backrooms terms, we¡¯re practically family at this point. Now, are you going to introduce me to your friend or not?¡±


    I sighed. ¡°Yeah, sorry. Ajax, this is Ed. He¡¯s a Delver from the twenty-fourth floor. Be gentle with him, okay? He hasn¡¯t seen people in close to a decade, so don¡¯t overwhelm him with your bullshit.¡±


    ¡°You insult me,¡± Ajax said, sounding aghast at the very implication. ¡°I would never. I¡¯ve have been told more than once that I am extremely subtle.¡±


    I snorted and rolled my eyes. ¡°I barely know you, but I¡¯d say you have all the subtly of a brick to the face. Honestly, I think I might¡¯ve picked up the perfect new Relic for you,¡± I added, thinking about the Brick Toss Relic.


    Ajax pouted and promptly looked away from me. ¡°Ignore this savage,¡± he said to Ed, patiently ignoring me. ¡°I like your bird by the way, he¡¯s lovely.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a she, actually,¡± Ed grunted, still sounding a little unsure. ¡°Her name¡¯s Woodstock and she¡¯s been with me a long time. She¡¯s a good girl.¡±


    ¡°Woodstock,¡± the parrot cooed. ¡°Woodstock, best girl. Woodstock kill you with fire.¡±


    ¡°What a delightful and charming creature,¡± Ajax said, clapping gleefully, apparently not at all worried that the bird had just threatened to murder him with fire. Now that I thought about it, Woodstock and Ajax had very similar energy. ¡°I¡¯d love to hear more about the twenty-fourth floor. Wraith told me a few stories about it, but he spent so little time there and Jakob refused to tell me anything about it at all. Once upon a time, I wanted to go down to twenty-five so I could make the leap and do the whole Transmog thing, but then I got cold feet.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s probably for the best,¡± Ed said, dropping into a vacant chair, opposite Ajax. ¡°The twenty-fourth floor is a toxic waste dump. It¡¯s a miracle that anyone makes it off the floor alive.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you leave?¡± Ajax asked, sounding genuinely curious. ¡°Surely there must be a way for someone as strong as you?¡±


    It sounded like a simple, innocent question, but I could tell Ajax was probing for insight. Maybe working some angle, though one I didn¡¯t fully grasp.


    Ed paused for a long moment, the silence heavy with unspoken words. ¡°I couldn¡¯t leave until I finished my mission,¡± he said eventually. ¡°I know about a few stairwells that lead down to the Research Labs on twenty-five. Even guided a few Delvers that way. Truth is, I could¡¯ve used them any time. But I made promises to some folks who¡­ well, they¡¯re not here anymore. And I¡¯m a man of my word. Always have been.¡±


    Before Ajax could ask Ed anymore, Croc blundered into the room with a giant grin on its rubbery blue face. ¡°Dan, Dan! You¡¯ll never guess what happened. It¡¯s unbelievable.¡±


    ¡°Did Princess Ponypuff finally say something nice to you?¡± I asked.


    ¡°I said unbelievable, not impossible,¡± Croc replied without missing a beat. ¡°I finally hit level twenty-five and I officially evolved, Dan. I¡¯m no longer a Juvenile!¡± The mimic puffed its chest out in pride. ¡°I¡¯m officially an Adolescent¡ªand that¡¯s not all! Instead of being just a regular old, run of the mill Polymorphic Mimic, I¡¯m now a True-Transmorphic Mimic. Just examine me, you¡¯ll see,¡± the dog said, its blue tail wiggling like crazy.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    As requested, I focused on Croc and willed my Researcher¡¯s Codex to activate.


    Dweller 0.3725A ¨C Adolescent True-Transmorphic Mimic (Outcast) [Level 25]


    Congratulations, your mimic has finally hit its awkward teenage phase, except instead of pimples and angst, it¡¯s got the bite force of a saltwater croc and plans for world domination. The Adolescent True-Transmorphic represents a truly terrifying leap in the evolutionary lifecycle of any Mimic¡ªthis thing is no longer a mindless, hungry murder-machine. It is now a self-aware, hungry murder-machine with the emotional maturity of a middle-schooler, which should fucking terrify you.


    Unlike its younger, monomorphic kin, this mimic also isn¡¯t stuck pretending to be wood while feeling distinctly squishy and organic. As a True-Transmorphic Mimic, it can genuinely become metal, stone, or any other material it chooses, though it still struggles with complex mechanical parts or advanced living organisms. Don¡¯t let that fool you, though¡ªlet your guard down for even a minute and you¡¯ll find yourself bleeding out on the floor while an angry coffee table devours your intestines.


    Good rule of thumb? Don¡¯t trust anything. Not a drinking fountain. Not that ladder. Not that chair. Chances are, they¡¯re all mimics. Hell, you might already be sitting on it.


    When I closed out of the description, Croc was gone and in its place was a plastic folding chair, just like all the other ones positioned around the breakroom table. Unlike Croc¡¯s previous piss-pour attempts at mimicry, I genuinely couldn¡¯t tell which chair was Croc.


    ¡°Holy shit, that¡¯s a pretty good disguise,¡± I said, prodding the chair in front of me with my boot.


    I was shocked when one of the chairs around the breakroom table manifested googly eyes then started talking. ¡°Can you even believe it, Dan?¡± the chair asked before blurring and taking the shape of a dog. Though this time, Croc wasn¡¯t blue or rubber.


    Instead, the mimic looked more or less like an actual golden retriever¡ªthough there were still some obvious anatomical discrepancies. Its legs were disproportionate and a little too long, giving the lab a distinctly hyena feel, and it still had the buttery-iest of all butter faces with beady black dots for eyes. Despite that, the upgrade was impressive. I dropped down onto one knee and ran my hand along Croc¡¯s back, noting that the texture of the fur was damn near perfect. Croc felt like a real dog.


    ¡°Well, this is absolutely horrifying, and I am entirely here for it,¡± Ajax said, sounding thrilled.


    ¡°That¡¯s not all, either,¡± the dog said, swelling up and outward, transforming into a large slightly-distorted Grizzly with teeth and claws made of gleaming, razor sharp steel. Grizzly Scissor Hands. Then Croc raised one arm and the whole limb turned into a huge steel mace head covered in inch long spikes. ¡°I can turn my whole body into metal if I want to.¡±


    Croc shifted again, this time transforming into an enormous metal cross, which I immediately recognized as a Czech Hedgehog¡ªthe metal barriers the Germans had used to deter beach incursions during World War 2. Though, admittedly, this one had a pair of oversized googly eyes, each as big as my fist.


    ¡°Just imagine all the cool things I can do now, Dan. I mean, I still can¡¯t make very good people yet, but who knows, maybe that¡¯ll happen with my next evolution?¡± The spiked cross of blackened steel turned into a pale and completely bald human who didn¡¯t seem to have any bones. Almost like a realistic, flesh-colored Gumby doll.


    ¡°Oh my god, that¡¯s the worst one yet,¡± Ajax said in approval. ¡°Once again, I love it.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± the mimic said, without seeming to realize that Ajax was being sarcastic. ¡°I¡¯ve been working really hard on it. But that¡¯s not even the coolest part. I¡¯ve finally unlocked a ranged attack, called Charnel Feeder.¡±


    Croc, still in androgynous human form, unhinged its jaw and projectile vomited a dark red slug which sailed across the room and smacked into the far wall with a wet thwap. The slug, easily as long as my forearm, dropped to the floor and began to wriggle across the linoleum, leaving behind a viscous trail as it mechanically worked a pair of snapping mandibles.


    ¡°That right there is a Flesh Maw,¡± Croc said, beaming at the bulbous creature. ¡°It¡¯s like a little baby me. Isn¡¯t it just adorable?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s less disgusting than Mr. Wiggles,¡± Ed said, which was technically true, even though that was a pretty low bar to hurdle.


    ¡°Kill it with fire,¡± Woodstock added, eyeing the slug with deep and obvious suspicion.


    ¡°My thoughts exactly,¡± Temperance agreed, scooting a little further away from the conjured creature.


    ¡°Be nice,¡± I growled, feeling strangely protective of my dog.


    I mean, objectively, the slug was even more revolting than Croc¡¯s ¡®human form,¡¯ but then again all of the abilities in the Backrooms were equally revolting. I paused, lips pressed into a thin line. Okay, maybe they weren¡¯t all quite as horrifying as that monstrosity wiggling across the floor, but it was certainly no grosser than Temp¡¯s Ball of Dire Mosquitoes or my Taxidermied Horrors. And Ed really had no room to talk, considering he had six eyes and a lamprey mouth hole beneath his illusionary mask.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s awesome, Croc,¡± I said, which wasn¡¯t totally a lie. Only mostly a lie. I mean, it was useful, which was awesome. Though, now that I thought about it, I wasn¡¯t actually sure what the slug did. ¡°What, uh, what exactly does it do?¡± I asked. ¡°Other than crawl around, I mean?¡±


    ¡°It eats, Dan,¡± Croc replied, so though that should¡¯ve been obvious, ¡°and it¡¯s really good at burrowing. Mostly into flesh. It¡¯ll hang around, just eating corpses or munching on bad guys for ten minutes, and it gets bigger and bigger as it eats. And the bigger it gets, the more damage it deals, which is pretty neat. Then at the end of its short life cycle it either explodes, dealing fifty percent of all the damage it¡¯s already dealt, or I can reabsorb it, healing me for the same amount instead. If it happens to be burrowed inside someone when it explodes, all the damage is multiplied by three.¡±


    ¡°Actually, I¡¯ve changed my mind,¡± Temperance amended. ¡°I very much like this slug creature and cannot wait to see it explode whilst lodged inside someone¡¯s throat.¡±


    ¡°Oh, Temp. You are so utterly broken, sweetie,¡± Ajax said, patting the woman affectionately on the hand.


    ¡°Right now, I can only summon one of the little buggers,¡± Croc continued, ¡°but eventually, as the skill ranks up, I¡¯ll be able to summon a bunch of ¡¯em.¡±


    ¡°I agree with Temperance. That is quite the impressive ability,¡± Jakob said, his face stoic and unreadable. ¡°You should be very proud.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been prouder, honestly,¡± Croc said, shifting back into blue dog form. ¡°I¡¯m basically a parent now, if you think about it. It¡¯s like when Bella finally had Renesmee in Breaking Dawn. This little fella is my Renesmee¡ªwhich I think we can all agree is a lovely and perfectly normal name for a human child. And speaking of names, I¡¯ve been thinking about naming him. Feels like my child should really have a name, just like Drumbo or Synthia or Baby Hands. What do you think of Remy? Has a nice ring to it, don¡¯t you think so?¡±


    ¡°Have you considered something more thematically appropriate like Nalzuthar the Crimson Glutton or Gorefang the Ever-Hungering?¡± Ajax offered. ¡°You know, something Lovecraft would approve of?¡±


    ¡°Remy is a great name,¡± I said, glaring at Ajax. ¡°Isn¡¯t it, Ajax¡ªand before you answer, remember what happened to Jackson,¡± I said, though I softened the words, so he knew I was joking.


    ¡°Such a tease,¡± Ajax replied, rolling his eyes. ¡°Of course, Remy is a fine name. I knew a Remy, once. A big strong man with arms like Christmas hams and a mustache you wouldn¡¯t believe.¡±


    I raised one hand to stop him.


    ¡°As interesting as that sounds,¡± I said, ¡°sadly we have places to be, so you¡¯ll just have to save that for another day. Or maybe, just never tell that story to anyone ever, for any reason.¡± Honestly, I would rather battle a thousand toddler spiders than hear another word about Remy the mustache man. Some things were worse than death.


    ¡°Oh, and where are you off to in such a hurry?¡± Ajax asked.


    ¡°We¡¯re going house hunting."

 Forty-Seven – Community Garage Sale

    We stepped out of the elevator and into the cramped cement stairwell of the Sunnyside Tiny Tots Preschool facility. Harsh lighting buzzed overhead and after spending a couple of hours away, the tight confines of the walls felt claustrophobic, while the oppressive atmosphere of the floor itself seemed to press down on me like a giant hand. It hadn¡¯t been twenty-four hours yet, so I couldn¡¯t remove the door plate¡ªnot that I wanted to.


    Not if there was even a slim possibility that Mr. Wiggles might be on the other.


    The stairwell terminated at another steel door, simply labeled ¡°Exit,¡± which wasn¡¯t so different from the one we¡¯d entered through¡ªthough, notably, this one had a rectangular Plexiglas window that gave us a glimpse at what lay beyond. The subbasement was dark and dimly lit, but it looked to be some sort of overflow storage area and when I consulted my mini-map I didn¡¯t see any red blips or signs of obvious danger. Not like with the preschool above.


    ¡°Here goes nothing.¡± I pressed the metal release bar, and the door popped open with a loud groan that echoed ominously through the cramped confines of the stairwell. Even though I knew that physical strength was my weakest ability by a long shot, I still pulled my hammer free and clutched it tight. Don¡¯t get me wrong, magic was fucking awesome, but there was just something deeply comforting about having a weapon in one hand¡ªready to brain anything that jumped out at me.


    Unlike the preschool with its squishy floors and oddly organic walls and fixtures, the rectangular room was exactly what it appeared to be on the surface. Just a run-down storage basement. Drab gray concrete, questionable lightning, and huge metal shelving units covered with janitorial supplies along with a heap of other miscellaneous bullshit.


    A heavy coating of dust lined those shelves and cobwebs clung to the corners, though, whatever spiders lived down here appeared to be of the mundane variety and not of the giant, toddler-faced sort. There wasn¡¯t any sign of life and my Spelunker¡¯s Sixth Sense remained quiet, which was a blessed relief after everything we¡¯d been through so far. It looked as though Ed had been right after all. This place really was the vestigial remains of some long-forgotten time before the HOA had ruled this level with an iron fist.


    I pulled out my Maglite and splashed the cone of yellow light over the assorted items decorating the nearest set of shelves. Although there were several plastic bins filled to overflowing with basic maintenance equipment or various janitorial cleaning supplies, most of the stuff appeared to be left over garage sale items. There were even a few weathered and creased yard signs, leaning up against one wall advertising a ¡°Community Neighbor Yard Sale.¡±


    ¡°Mein Gott,¡± Jakon exclaimed, while picking up a porcelain Hummel doll from a nearby shelf. Well, maybe not an actual Hummel, since the figurine in the Cendral¡¯s hand appeared to be a little boy impaled by a white picket fence with bloody tears running down his face. ¡°This is a Relic. Cursed Keepsake,¡± he said. ¡°It is not so different from the Doodle Buddy Relics we found down on the seventh floor, though significantly more powerful.¡± He tossed it to me with a flick of his wrist and I snagged it effortlessly with a strand of telekinetic power.


    Holy shit, he was right.


    The creepy figurine allowed the user to summon a three-foot tall, level 15, Victorian-era murder doll. Like Chucky but made of porcelain and brimming with infectious tuberculous. Literally. Spreading tuberculous was its main attack. The summoned minion had a twenty-minute shelf life and then would crumble into a fine powder once the timer elapsed.


    I carefully handed the Relic back to Jakob, then turned to regard the remaining items. Most of the items were just useless, progenerated bullshit, but there were several more Relics and a couple of decent Artifacts mixed in with the rest of the refuse.


    An Uncommon Artifact in the form of a clunky, retro soda fountain dispenser conjured a never-ending supply of ol¡¯ timey sodas like sarsaparilla, root beer, cream soda, and cherry phosphate. Though I was entirely sure what cherry phosphate was. The drinks all offered mild buffs¡ª+1% movement speed for 10 minutes or a -1 second cooldown on Relic abilities for 5 minutes¡ªand though I didn¡¯t really need a soda dispenser, I figured it would make a nice addition to the concession stand.


    Into my Storage Space it went.


    An Uncommon Relic, called Static TV Projection, let the user project a very simple illusion. The catch was the illusion would be in black and white and subtly distorted with static. Nowhere near as powerful as some of the other illusion-based Relics we¡¯d come across, but it could still serve as a decent distraction under the right circumstances.


    There was almost a dozen more Relics and Artifacts like that.


    Greaser¡¯s Grit, minorly boosted Toughness and Athleticism. An aura called Pin-Up Power, temporarily increased the self-esteem of any female ally in the area of effect. Rockabilly Rollout was a stamina-based charge skill, not so different from Jakob¡¯s Cow Catcher ability. Most had limited functionality¡ªat least for Delvers at our power level¡ªbut there were two particularly interesting items that caught my eye.


    The first was Atomic Age Timeburst, a Rare-grade Relic that resembled a 1950s starburst wall clock¡ªgarish and gold and extremely retro. With it, the user could create a time pocket, capable of either slowing down time or speeding it up for all of a single second. In the grand scheme of things, one second wasn¡¯t enough time to do¡­ Well, damn near anything. Plus, the time pocket was tiny¡ªonly twelve inches by twelve inches. In its current form, the Relic wasn¡¯t particularly useful, but it was the first legitimate time-based Relic I¡¯d ever come across.


    That alone made it an invaluable discovery and I was sure that with a little patience, I could forge it into something much, much better. I was also sure that I could find a way to use it with Runic Resonance Trap to start manufacturing time-based traps and spell cards.


    The second item of note was a bowling ball, covered in swirls of blues and greens and purples, with the human skull embedded in the center of the prismatic resin.


    Bowling Ball of Rolling Momentum


    Rare Artifact


    Type: Kinetic Amplifier


    Once this humble bowling ball starts rolling, it¡¯s like a snowball from hell¡ªabsorbing kinetic energy and growing deadlier with every second it¡¯s in motion. What starts as a tiny nudge quickly escalates into a rampaging wrecking ball of doom, capable of turning even the sturdiest foe into a smear on the pavement. Forget finesse, this baby¡¯s all about momentum. Just give it a shove and let physics do the dirty work.


    The Bowling Ball of Rolling Momentum deals 20 points of base bludgeoning damage. For every additional second the ball stays in motion, however, its damage increases by 10%, until it reaches its max kinetic velocity (1,000% of initial base damage), for a total of 220 points of bludgeoning damage. Be sure to aim wisely, because this thing is like a freight train and once it¡¯s in motion, there¡¯s just no stopping it.


    The bowling ball wasn¡¯t an ideal weapon for most people.


    It was cumbersome, unwieldy, and even though it built kinetic force over time, the ball would have to be rolling for over 25 seconds to hit its max velocity. Which made it a neat trinket with little actual combat utility.


    I wasn¡¯t most people, however.


    Using Psychic Sovereignty, I could telepathically get the bowl ¡°rolling¡± and then just let it orbit around me, building more and more momentum with each pass¡ªeffectively transforming the bowling ball into a single shot artillery canon. And thanks to my Weapon of Opportunity Title, the damage increased by an additional 5 percent. True, an extra 5% wasn¡¯t much, but every little bit counted and at max velocity, I was confident the bowling ball would punch a hole through a brick wall.


    Even better than the cast-off, garage sale Relics and Artifacts, was what Temperance found in a nearby adjoining room.


    ¡°Good lord,¡± she said, her voice bouncing off the concrete walls, ¡°you need to come see this¡­¡±


    A single hallway snaked away from the main storage room which would theoretically take us directly to the subbasement of the community radio station. But protruding off the from that hallway was a secondary storage room, which was even dustier and more run down than the first. The room was dark, but I found a light switch on the wall, and when I thumbed it on, overhead lights weakly buzzed to life. The room was filled with a variety of bulky shapes all draped in white drop clothes, like the kind I used for painting.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Even covered as they were, however, I could tell a pinball machine when I saw one. And not just pinball machines. I saw several pool tables and the lever of what appeared to be an antique slot machine peeking out from beneath another canvass tarp.


    ¡°What the hell is this?¡± I asked, shooting a questioning glance at Temp.


    ¡°Unless my eyes deceive me,¡± she said, sounding extremely smug, ¡°I believe this is the remnants of an old Loot Arcade.¡±


    My mouth went dry at the mere thought.


    I¡¯d accumulated some powerful Loot Arcade Tokens and I¡¯d been meaning to pay the Jungle Gym Jamboree a visit for weeks but just hadn¡¯t been able to make the time. I¡¯d briefly stopped by an Arcade down on the third floor, but the place had been bristling with Arcade Specters and not one but two Mobile Murder Munchers¡ªfloating, nearly indestructible, Pac-Man-esque nightmares.


    ¡°I know we¡¯ve got places to be, but we can¡¯t pass up an opportunity like this,¡± I said, venturing deeper into the room. ¡°Let¡¯s get these things uncovered.¡±


    Working together, it only took us a few minutes to remove the assortment of drop clothes and reveal the haul in all its glory. Temperance had been right on the money. Although this room wasn¡¯t a Loot Arcade in the traditional sense of the word, it was obvious these machines had all come from a Loot Arcade at some point. Though how they¡¯d ended up in a derelict subbasement beneath a preschool was anyone¡¯s guess.


    Ed reverently ran a shaky hand along the top of a vintage, alien-invasion themed pinball machine with the words Astro Raiders splashed across the back.


    ¡°I haven¡¯t seen one of these in probably thirty years,¡± he said, the ghost of a smile on his gaunt face. ¡°Back before the Bowl-a-rama¡¯s moved in and the HOA took over, the Loot Arcades on this floor used to look like 1950s pool halls. The kind of places my dad would take me as a kid. He worked in a steel mill, my dad,¡± Ed said, glancing up at me.


    ¡°Heavy drinker,¡± he reminisced, ¡°and not much of a talker. But every Friday he¡¯d take me to this smoky pool joint just outside of Gary, Indiana. Terrible place, especially for an eight-year-old¡ªnot that I realized any of that at the time. To me it was just fun. I¡¯d spend hours playing pinball while he drank beer and traded war stories with his VFW buddies.¡±


    I half listened to the story while I perused the rest of the abandoned equipment.


    On top of pinball machines, there was also an entire row of slot machines¡ªthough these weren¡¯t the newfangled slots with LED screens and blinking lights. These were hulking contraptions of wood and metal with a long lever sticking out like a chrome arm. Sitting beside them was a vintage horse racing machine that allowed users to gamble Loot Tokens on miniature mechanical horses.


    There were also other, older arcade games that I was only marginally familiar with like Strength Tester, the Love-O-Matic, and even an off-brand fortune telling contraption called Mystic Morty.


    Instead of the Temporary Tattoo or the Gashapon machines I was accustomed to seeing, they had coin-operated Winston cigarette dispensers and several 50s-styled gumball machines with metallic coin plates that corresponded to the different Loot Token types. Copper and Silver, Gold and even rarer colors like Ruby or Diamond. Inside of each of the glass-topped bubbles were plastic toy capsules filled with potentially powerful items.


    A nearby Token-operated Jute Box allowed you to select from a variety of songs that would grant temporary buffs to up to five listeners.


    ¡°Great Balls of Fire,¡± by the eminently talented Jerry Lee Lewis, increased all Fire-based damage dealt by 8% for eight hours while ¡°Why Do Fools Fall in Love¡± randomly buffed one Stat by 3% for five hours. One of my favorites, though, was ¡°Yakety Yak¡± by the Coasters, which increased the effectiveness of all mind-control and fear-based spells for two hours. The strength of the buff and its overall duration could also be increased by spending more powerful Loot Tokens in the jute box.


    Because there were no Dwellers anywhere in the immediate vicinity, I could annex the entire room and tack it on to the store without any obvious repercussions. Having our own Loot Arcade, even if it was a small outdated one, would be an enormous value add for the store. Before I did that, however, I intended to pick up a few items for myself in preparation for our inevitable showdown with the HOA.


    Especially because I had a metric ass load of tokens burning a hole in my pocket.


    Coppers were the most common, but those were only redeemable for the most basic bitch items¡ªstuff I already had plentiful access to like food, water, or non-magical survival gear. The silvers were a little better and would typically earn a Common-grade Artifact with an empty Effect Slot or decent one-offs. I cashed in a tube sock full of Silver Delver Tokens, earning a bunch of random items:


    A pack of enchanted matches that would light under any circumstances. A canteen that purified water. A goldfish in a bag¡ªeating it granted the ability to breathe underwater for an hour.


    A Silver Acrobatics token bought me one of those green plastic parachute figurines. The kind I¡¯d tossed off the roof of my house as a kid. Their little parachutes would unfurl as they fell and then they¡¯d meander and drift down to the grassy expanse of the front lawn. Unless, of course, an errant breeze picked up and then the parachute man was just as likely to end up hopelessly mired in the neighbor¡¯s rose bushes.


    The parachute man was a one-time-use Artifact.


    When activated, it allowed the user to float gently and safely to the ground instead of splattering like an over ripe tomato.


    I had three gold tokens¡ªSeptic, Outlaw, and Trap Smith¡ªthough my two big prizes were the Sapphire Binder Token I¡¯d earned from killing Funtime Frank and the Ruby Slayer Token, which had come as a reward for the toddler mimic massacre.


    When I popped the lid off the Golden Slayer capsule, a pulsing green stone with a silver rune carved into its face tumbled into my palm.


    A sigil stone.


    Those could be affixed to any appropriate Artifact with an empty effect slot, granting the item a permanent upgrade.


    This particular sigil was called Stench Cloak and even though it was decent on paper, it was terrible in practice. When activated, it unleashed an aura that reduced enemy accuracy by 25% while within the area of effect. Stench Cloak accomplished that truly remarkable feat by exuding a rancid aura so unspeakably foul that attackers couldn¡¯t properly focus because they would be too busy projectile vomiting from the stench.


    Problem was, friendlies were just as likely to be affected by the aura, and equipping it would also make me perpetually reek like an old jockstrap. I didn¡¯t have a lot of standards¡ªnot anymore¡ªbut not smelling like ball cheese was among them.


    My Trap Smith Token earned me an upgraded Journeyman¡¯s Pry Bar. It expanded my ability to dissect and disarm a wider range of traps and, best of all, let me overlay two compatible spell effects when crafting Runic Traps. If I managed to get my hands on a Master Level Pry Bar, I had the sneaking suspicion that I¡¯d be able to create more lasting effects or even, potentially, start crafting my own sigil stones.


    The Golden Outlaw Token¡ªthough not nearly as good a prize as my new Pry Bar¡ªwas a significant step up from the Stench Cloak.


    It was a one-off elixir called the Potion of ¡®YOLO¡¯ ¨C¡°You only live once. Unless you don¡¯t¡±¡ªwhich quadrupled every single stat for four minutes. According to the flavor text, the elixir was perfect ¡°for when you need to punch god right in the fucking mouth.¡± The caveat was that after the timer elapsed, every stat was reduced by quadruple for one hour and you promptly fell unconscious for 20 minutes.


    It was a real, win-the-day-or-die-instantly kind of thing.


    My two rare Tokens, however, were the real winners.


    The Sapphire Binder Token earned me something that was genuinely new and unique¡ªa Rare-grade Artifact called the Gauntlet of Fist-Shaped Problems, designed to be equipped to any summoned minion. Although my Taxidermied Horrors were powered by Relics and could wield Artifact-based weapons, I¡¯d never seen an Artifact specifically created for summoned creatures before.


    The Gauntlet was a hulking glove of pitted black steel, easily twice the size of my head with huge spikes extending from the knuckles. Once equipped to a summoned creature, the gauntlet tripled the summoning duration and increased all unarmed damage by 250%. It also came with a limited-used spell called Knuckle-Knockback, which could be activated by the minion three times per day. When triggered, Knuckle-Knockback unleashed a thunderclap of raw power, capable of hurling an opponent back by ten feet, while simultaneously dealing fifty points of internal bleeding damage.


    Drumbo seemed like the obvious candidate for the Gauntlet, since Synthia didn¡¯t technically have hands¡ªjust a chainsaw and an oversized crab claw. I summoned the hulking mountain meat, then shoved the glove onto his single remaining hand¡ªtaken from the corpse of a Hotel Lodger. The gauntlet morphed as it slid over his fist, growing and changing until it truly fit like a glove. Drumbo stared down at the item, opening and closing his hand then flexing his fingers.


    A glint of intelligence seemed to burn in his inhuman eyes, and I got the sense that Drumbo was¡­ excited, maybe? I couldn¡¯t really think of a better word.


    ¡°Soon, pal,¡± I said, tapping the Horror on the forearm before banishing him back into his Subspace Storage locker.


    Last but not least was the Ruby Slayer Token, which earned me a new Fable-grade sigil stone, which was a pale ivory covered in hair-fine golden cracks.


    Bone Break Ripple could be attached to any blunt weapon Artifact with an open effect slot. When that weapon fractured a bone, there was an automatic 33% chance that the break would ¡°ripple¡± outward, fracturing a connecting bone in the process. And when that second bone broke? Yep. There was a 33% chance another ripple would proc, potentially snapping bone after bone after bone, in a cascading chain reaction. Although not quite as powerful as Gavel of Get Fucked, the ability seemed custom made for my hammer¡ªespecially when paired with my shiny new Domino Rally title.


    While the others finished their own business inside the dusty corpse of the former Loot Arcade, I took the liberty of pulling up my Blanket Fort interface. At 3,200 square feet, the room was larger than I¡¯d initially expected, and a full thousand square feet bigger than the Spin Cycle. But it wasn¡¯t like I didn¡¯t have the space. I could claim an additional 2,500 square feet worth of Backrooms real estate for each Variant Assimilation Level I unlocked.


    At level 35¡ªeven after all the space I¡¯d already claimed¡ªI currently had just a hair over 70,000 square feet of available space left to play with. That was enormous. More room than I even knew what to do with.


    Once I¡¯d ushered everyone back into the hall, I selected the entire room, then sliced it out of existence with the precision of a scalpel.


    You¡¯ve selected 3,200 square feet of eligible Progenerated Material Resource Space. Would you like to use Corvo¡¯s Blanket Fort to convert the selected material into a Personal Superspace Dwelling? You will have 66,897 available square feet remaining at your current Variant Assimilation Level. Proceed Yes/No?


    As I hit Yes, and the room vanished¡ªgone as though it had never been there at all.


    I thought Ed¡¯s jaw might legitimately hit the ground.


    ¡°That is one hell of a neat trick,¡± he grunted in awe.

 Forty-Eight – Community Radio

    We continued to follow the barren concrete hallway which lazily zigzagged back and forth¡ªthough it never branched or split. With the community radio station fixed firmly in mind, I cast Unerring Arrow more than once to make sure we were headed in the right direction. Each time, though, the blue beam ushered us deeper into the underground complex. There were no rooms, no windows, doors, exit signs, or even a single Dweller in sight. And because the fallout tunnel was a vestigial remnant, it was blessedly free of spores, so we didn¡¯t even need to bother with the gasmasks.


    The mood was tense, and everyone was quiet, except for Croc who prattled on endlessly to Ed about water slides and all the water parks we planned to visit.


    ¡°Dan says he¡¯s been to a water park, you know? But on the outside. Dan¡¯s the coolest, don¡¯t you think? He¡¯s done so many amazing things. He even told me about a place called Disney Land that has a full waterpark but also has a bunch of different roller coasters¡ªwhich are basically just really big slides if you think about it.¡± The mimic sighed with longing. ¡°I dream about it sometimes, you know.


    ¡°Honestly, I can¡¯t wait. We went on the big slide inside the Jungle Gym Jamboree, which was just the best, but in the water levels, there are slides like that everywhere¡ªand instead of dumping you into a ball pit or a vat of acid, you splash right into a big pool filled with water. There are some slides where you sit on these rubber dinghies, and then whoosh, right down a tube you go. And no one¡¯s trying to chop your head off or eat you.¡±


    Croc¡¯s tail wagged energetically as it talked.


    ¡°Jakob was telling me about this slide down on the 119th floor called the Kraken Blaster. Sounds terrifying, but in a fun way. Like ¡°Oh no, I might die!¡± but then you don¡¯t die, and you¡¯re laughing by the end. Brilliant. So excited. I¡¯ve even been working on transforming into a rubber raft, do you want to see? It¡¯s pretty good. Even better than my chair impersonation.¡±


    Ed¡ªbless his heart¡ªdid his best to seem interested.


    After almost three hours of steady trekking, the hallway finally came to an end, this time at another emergency exit door, labeled WBSC ¨C Sunnyside Community Broadcast Station.


    ¡°Gotta be honest,¡± Ed said, his voice uncharacteristically soft as he eyeballed the door as though it might be a mimic in disguise. ¡°I never actually thought I¡¯d make it this far. I kept working on Big Bertha because¡­ Well, because I needed something to live for after everyone else died. But deep down?¡±


    He let out a short, humorless laugh.


    ¡°Deep down I always thought it was a fool¡¯s errand. Just a way to keep myself moving¡ªkeep myself sane, y¡¯know?¡± He turned toward me, the lines on his face deeper than I¡¯d ever noticed before. ¡°No matter what happens, Dan, you and your friends have my deepest thanks. For helping me get this far. It means more than I can say. Now fingers crossed that this actually works¡­¡±


    Ed unceremoniously shouldered his way into the radio station.


    The door wasn¡¯t even locked.


    Eerie red light coated everything, but the first thing that really hit me was the smell¡ªcoppery, wet, and rancid. Thanks to my time in the Backrooms, I¡¯d become uncomfortably familiar with the scent of blood, but this was more than that. This was blood, but wrong. Cancerous and infected. If I had to guess, I¡¯d say this was the essence of Blight. The dim, flicking red light cast faint shadows, making the walls glisten as though they were covered in sweat.


    But it wasn¡¯t sweat. Rather, it seemed to be some sort of mucus membrane.


    Enormous, curved pillars that looked for all the world like giant ribs, lined the walls. For a moment, I felt like Pinocchio trapped inside the belly of the enormous whale, Monastero. Just like back at the preschool, the floor beneath my boots was spongy and unsettlingly squishy. Each step sent ripples through the fleshy surface, and the building groaned¡ªa deep, guttural sound that echoed through the basement. Tangled wires dangled like veins, dripping thick fluid that pooled in glimmering puddles.


    Shelves that might¡¯ve once held tapes and radio equipment were now fused into the living walls, the wood and metal warped and assimilated into the sinewy surface. In one corner, an old broadcasting console sat half-swallowed by the floor, its dials and knobs encrusted with dried blood stains. There was a rickety metal staircase on the far side of the room that connected to the floor above, but the basement itself appeared to be abandoned.


    Interestingly, though, when I consulted my mini-map it gave me a strange reading.


    The entire thing was a red triangle. Every square inch of it.


    I couldn¡¯t make sense of it, especially because there was no immediate threat in sight. No Sunnysiders preparing an ambush or Swarmlings hiding in the rafters, waiting to rappel down on top of our heads like special forces, Nightmare-edition.


    ¡°Jakob, Temp,¡± I whispered, ¡°post up near the staircase. Make sure nothing interrupts us.¡± I propped open the door leading back to the underground hallway we¡¯d come through. ¡°Croc,¡± I said, directing my gaze at the rubbery blue dog. ¡°Keep this door open. I want a way out if something goes wrong.¡±


    If this turned into a shitshow, we could always backtrack into the tunnel, bar the door from the other side¡ªjust like I¡¯d done with Mr. Wiggles¡ªthen hoof it back toward the preschool.


    ¡°You can count on me, Dan. I¡¯m solid like a rock and I never let anyone down. Well, except all the Delvers who died,¡± the mimic amended. ¡°But that mostly wasn¡¯t my fault.¡±


    ¡°As always,¡± I said to the mimic, ¡°you¡¯re a well-spring of confidence and reassurance.¡±


    The dog beamed, not realizing I¡¯d meant for the remark to be sarcastic.


    I turned back to Ed, who¡¯d finally removed the disruptor from his Storage Space. It now sat in the middle of the basement, the spongy floor bowing slightly from the weight of the bulky contraption.


    ¡°So this thing is really gonna to stop the signal and take the HOA down for good?¡± I asked, studying the enormous machine with no small amount of doubt.Stolen story; please report.


    ¡°In theory,¡± Ed said, not looking up as his hands continued their frenzied work¡ªtoggling switches, checking wires, and pressing an almost absurd assortment of buttons. ¡°Think of it like a giant organic EMP. First, it¡¯ll jam the signal by broadcasting our message loud and clear. That should take care of the Sunnysiders. All of them, all at once.¡±


    ¡°Even the elites?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Even the elites,¡± Ed confirmed with a nod. ¡°Then, once the sequence has finished running, it¡¯ll fry the Nexus and prevent the signal from ever coming back online.¡± He paused and glanced at me from the corner of his eye. ¡°We¡¯re gonna give this place a goddamned lobotomy.¡±


    ¡°Good enough for me,¡± I said, squatting down besides the man. ¡°So what are we waiting for? Let¡¯s flip the switch, get the fuck out of dodge, and call it a day.¡±


    Ed grimaced. ¡°Yeah, about that,¡± he said, faltering for a moment. ¡°¡¯Fraid it might not be quite as simple as I made it out to be, kemo sabe.¡±


    ¡°What the hell do you mean ¡®it isn¡¯t as simple as you made it out to be?¡¯¡± I asked, doing a crudely impression of his twangy drawl. ¡°Back at the bunker you made it sound real easy.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because if I¡¯d told you the truth,¡± Ed said, ¡°I was afraid you wouldn¡¯t help me.¡±


    ¡°Are you fucking with me right now?¡± I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose. ¡°Please, tell me you¡¯re just fucking with me.¡±


    ¡°Fraid not,¡± he said, still working furiously at the machine¡ªcranking nobs, adjusting wires, tweaking dials and input settings. ¡°But we¡¯re in too deep to stop now.¡± He jammed another wire into place. ¡°If you want to kick my ass later, fine. I¡¯ll pencil it into my schedule.¡± He gestured toward a pile of sharpened metal rods, each about as long as my forearm, connected to the machine by a tangled mess of coiled rubber tubes. ¡°For now, though, I need you to take those conductor spikes and stab ¡¯em into the ground. Deep. And make sure they¡¯re evenly spaced¡ªwe don¡¯t need any of them shorting out.¡±


    I glared at him, barely able to contain my anger.


    Ed pretended not to notice. ¡°Come on, don¡¯t drag your feet now,¡± he said. ¡°The quicker we get this started, the better. The full run sequence takes the better part of half an hour, and trust me, we don¡¯t wanna be standing around when the HOA starts figuring out what we¡¯re up to.¡±


    ¡°The better part of half an hour?¡± I growled, staring daggers at him. If we weren¡¯t deep behind enemy lines, I would¡¯ve punched him right in the mouth. ¡°Are you kidding me? Flip a switch, the signal goes down. That¡¯s what you said.¡±


    ¡°I believe I already covered the part where I lied,¡± Ed replied flatly.


    ¡°You really think the hivemind governing the HOA is just going to let us sit down here for a cool thirty while you mess around with the signal that governs their entire society?¡± I asked, not bothering to mask my anger. ¡°It¡¯s going to send Sunnysiders after us, Ed. A whole shitload of ¡¯em¡ª¡±


    ¡°We should be fine,¡± Ed said, dismissing my concerns. ¡°Like I already told you, once the sequence starts, the signal will go down. That means it won¡¯t be able to mobilize any Sunnysiders against us.¡± He paused, glancing up briefly. ¡°Now, it might have some other defensive mechanisms tucked away¡ªbut nothing you and your friends can¡¯t handle. Just buy me the time I need, okay? This process is¡­ complicated and unfortunately it isn¡¯t automated.¡± Then he gestured toward the pile of metal rods. ¡°And help me with the goddamned conductor stakes, will ya? Less whining, more stabbing.¡±


    ¡°This is such utter bullshit,¡± I mumbled, before summoning Synthia and Drumbo for a little backup. ¡°Temp, Jakob, just a heads up. This might take a little longer than we initially planned on. Someone¡±¡ªI openly glared at Ed¡ª¡°might not have been entirely forthcoming about how this process works and we might have some visitors before long, so just hold down the fort as best you can.¡±


    Synthia and Drumbo trundled over to the staircase, while I busied myself with Ed¡¯s stupid conductor rods. I hefted the first one and stretched it out, away from the disruptor until the rubber tube was mostly unfurled. Then, for the first time in ages, I used my hammer for its intended purpose and drove the first stake into the floor. The ground began to burble and gush, sticky black goop spurting up as the building quivered and shook like an angry dog waking up from a long nap.


    Uh-oh. That didn¡¯t seem like a good thing.


    I pounded in the last three spikes in quick succession, and each time the building groaned in protest, the foundation trembling and shaking more violently than before. Once all four stakes were firmly in place, I helped Ed prime the disruptor itself¡ªthrowing a few extra switches then channeling a thread of mana into a huge bank of sigil-scribed batteries. The disruptor buzzed angerly, colorful lights blinking on and off while bright strands of purple electricity arced back and forth between a series of antennas protruding from the top of the machine.


    A palpable energy had begun to build. It was the same energy that filled the air right before a lightning storm.


    ¡°This is for Rick,¡± Ed grumbled under his breath. ¡°For Michael. For Priya. For Aaron, Laura, Asha, and Ella. For all the friends who couldn¡¯t live to see this because you fucking took them from me. Karam¡¯s real son of a bitch.¡± He yanked an oversized lever and arcs of brilliant power surged downward, flowing from the disruptor, through the spikes I¡¯d driven into the ground, and directly into the foundation of the radio station.


    A second later, all of the ancient equipment embedded into basement walls screeched to life, accompanied by a blaring rendition of Pink Floyd¡¯s ¡°Another Brick in the Wall.¡±


    The funky beat and thumping bass line erupted from everywhere all at once and as it did the ground swayed violently as the building moved. This wasn¡¯t like before, though. Not some minor tremor of annoyance. The entire radio station shot straight up into the air then tilted precariously on its side.


    ¡°Dan, help!¡± Croc shouted just seconds before the building lurched sharply, and the mimic tumbled through the open door. The hallway was gone, replaced by a dark stretch of suburban roadway sprawling out far below.


    What in the hell was happening? I found myself wondering.


    But before I could get any sort of answer, Ed slammed into my side like a sack of bricks and the pair of us went sliding and rolling in a tangle of limbs.


    Woodstock squawked madly as I scrambled to stop our fall, but everything was happening too fast, and there wasn¡¯t a damned thing I could do. My fingers clawed for purchase, but the slick mucus coating the ground made it impossible. Before I could latch onto anything solid, we plunged through the open door, tumbling into the night just like Croc had moments earlier.


    Darkness had settled over the entirety of Sunnyside and hanging in the sky like a huge bloody eye was the moon. A ball of bleeding crimson.


    We were two, maybe three stories up, and while I was fairly certain a fall from this height wouldn¡¯t kill me, it definitely wouldn¡¯t be a pleasant experience. Worse, a not-so-small army of Sunnysiders had gathered below, waiting with huge eyes, slack mouths, and upraised arms. The illusions masking their inhumanity was gone¡ªbanished by Pink Floyd¡ªand all that remained was a sea of monsters.


    Acting on instinct, I triggered Neural Slip Stream and time stretched and slowed as my body melted away and I became a being of pure, ethereal thought. Since I was no longer physical, Ed¡¯s flailing limbs quickly separated from my own as the man plummeted toward the ground. I could make out Croc¡¯s blue form, already down on the asphalt. My heart leaped into my throat and tendrils of icy fear raced through my veins.


    Croc¡¯s rear legs were twisted at an unnatural angle and the dog wasn¡¯t moving. A swarm of adult Sunnysiders had encircled the mimic¡¯s body, though they hadn¡¯t started actively attacking yet. They seemed to be confused and disoriented by the sound of the music, just as Ed had promised.


    That was one piece of good news, at least.


    Ed and I continued to careen downward, but for me it all happened in slow motion. Knowing that I had the time and that the impact wouldn¡¯t hurt me in my ethereal form, I pirouetted gracefully in the air, turning and flipping to get a better look at the radio station behind us.


    Except it wasn¡¯t really behind us anymore at all.


    Now it towered above us.


    Suddenly, the pure red triangle I¡¯d seen before on my mini-map made sense.


    Everything had been red because we¡¯d been inside the radio station and the radio station itself was a living creature. The HOA wasn¡¯t some nebulous force or some secretive governing body, it was a single massive Dweller. A floor boss. A blighted kaiju made of meat and houses.


    And we¡¯d just woken it up¡­

 Discount Dan - Book 1 Update

    Hey everyone, sorry for the bait and switch ¨C  I promise there¡¯s an actual chapter incoming right after this. But I wanted to do a separate stand alone post so it wouldn¡¯t get lost in the mix. I¡¯m super excited to say that Discount Dan Book 1 is finally available for preorder on the ol¡¯ Amazon. The book is fully edited and will be releasing on March 11<sup>th</sup>. It¡¯ll be available on Amazon, Kindle Unlimited, and Audible (Steve Campbell is doing the narration, and he is absolutely killing it with fire!).


    If you enjoy this series and want to see it continue long into the future (I certainly do, because it¡¯s fun as hell to write), please consider grabbing a copy on Preorder or picking it up and reading it through KU or listening on audible when it releases. When the book comes out, please also consider leaving a short honest review over on Amazon, Goodreads, or both. I know leaving reviews is a giant pain in the ass, but I can¡¯t tell you how much they mean to us humble word-monkeys¡ªplus they really help with sales.


    If you aren¡¯t in a place to buy a copy or leave a review, I totally understand. Life is hard and the world is super weird right now. Another way you can help is just by telling other people about Discount Dan¡ªas Croc would say, ¡°we need to always be advertising!¡± Word of mouth is unbelievably helpful, and there are a lot of social media groups (like the LitRPG Group on Facebook or the Progression Fantasy and LitRPG Subreddits) that restrict or even prohibit authors from posting about their own books. I totally get that since we don''t want authors spam posting about their shit ten times a day, but it does make getting the word out a little tougher. If you want to pitch in, that is one of the best possible ways. And if you see people asking for book recs, considering sending them over to the store to do some bargain shopping.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Okay, enough about all that. What does that mean for Discount Dan here on RoyalRoad? Well, once the book goes live on Amazon, I will have to take down all but the first ten percent of book 1. BUT ONLY BOOK 1. All of book 2 (everything after the Epilogue ¨C Beer and Pizza chapter) will remain live on Royal Road, and I¡¯ll continue to write and post book 3 here as well. So for all the folks who are already elbow deep in Dan and Croc''s whacky adventure¡­ nothing really changes. Not for a good long while, anyway. Eventually, I¡¯ll have to pull book 2 down as well, but that¡¯s still quite a ways off, and book 3 should (in theory) all be posted before that happens.


    Anyway, that¡¯s it for updates, we now return you to your regularly scheduled program.


    ¡ªJames Hunter

 Forty-Nine – The HOA

    As I fell, temporarily stranded in slow motion, I stared up at the monstrosity and my brain scrambled to make sense of what exactly I was seeing. The Dweller was huge, looming three or maybe even four stories tall, its shadow stretching long over the houses spread out on the street below. It was as if someone had sculpted the colossus from the remnants of every house in the neighborhood¡ªa grotesque patchwork of flesh and meat, the shapes of suburban homes protruding haphazardly from its writhing mass like tumors.


    Shingles made of cartilage, window frames of bone, and walls that pulsed as though they had hearts buried within them.


    Its blocky head towered above the grotesque structure, a malformed mass of lumpy meat and gray stone with a single enormous eye that seemed to swallow the whole world. It stared down at me, unblinking, unrelenting, its pupil like a bottomless pit. Below its eye stretched a massive, jagged gash of a mouth, wide enough to swallow a car. A mass of twisted steel protruded from the top of its distorted skull, rising into the sky like a twisted crown.


    The radio tower, in all its rusted glory.


    The source of the signal and the true power of the HOA.


    The tower hummed, sparking faintly with arcs of blue-white electricity, and I was certain I could hear garbled voices, carried on a distant breeze. Mostly, though, I heard Pink Floyd, blaring so loud it drowned out every other sound. It was a roaring bomb blast of thumping snare and ringing high-hats, the bass line a slow march, while the guitar cut through the haze¡ªsharp and rebellious. I couldn¡¯t think of a better song, considering the situation.


    Dweller 0.241055A ¨C The HOA ¨C Home Overlord Association (Blighted) [Level 55]


    The HOA isn¡¯t just a boss. It¡¯s a system. A tyranny.


    A reminder that the true horrors of life aren¡¯t found in dungeons or darkness¡ªthey¡¯re found in the fine print of the beige-painted abyss. The HOA is every unspoken rule, every passive-aggressive note, every soul-crushing meeting where hope goes to die. It¡¯s apathy. It¡¯s the monotony of your life weaponized, and physically embodied as a shambling, three-story-tall architectural monstrosity cobbled together from suburban houses and the corpses of its unfortunate members.


    As in real life, the HOA doesn¡¯t just dominate the neighborhood¡ªit rules it with an iron fist. It broadcasts an all-encompassing psychic aura of authoritarian micromanagement that forces lesser creatures, infected by its spores, to fall in line.


    You¡¯ll try to resist, of course. Everyone does at first. But the HOA is insidious. Eventually you will comply. Coerced through exhaustion and sheer convenience. ¡°Just follow the rules, so you can get through this,¡± you¡¯ll find yourself thinking. ¡°It¡¯s easier if you just obey.¡± And then, one day, you¡¯ll look in the mirror and realize you¡¯ve become part of it: a cog in its perfect, sterile, despair-filled machine. And if you dare to break any of its unwritten rules, the HOA WILL know. And it will judge. Oh, how it will judge.


    Remember Sunnysiders: Trust the HOA. Obey the HOA. We are always watching. Always listening. The signal never sleeps.


    The HOA description was immediately followed by a second prompt. One that left a cold chill of impending doom running along my spine.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Poke the Bear


    Hey, what¡¯s that? If it isn¡¯t the consequences of your own actions. You poked the sleeping bear just a little too hard and now you¡¯ve finally woken it up. If only there was some sort of folksy wisdom about not doing stuff like that. Oh, well. You¡¯re officially in the Find Out stage and this particular bear is really mean and three-stories tall. Good luck!


    Reward: I¡¯m not going to reward this kind of raw stupidity; 2 x HOA Citation ¨C VERY, VERY bad things are about to happen to you.


    Holy shit are we fucked, I thought as I dismissed the prompts and turned away from the creature, refocusing on the approaching ground. This thing wasn¡¯t just a regular, run of the mill Overseer¡ªhell, this thing wasn¡¯t even like Funtime Frank, lord of the Jungle Jamboree. This creature was a minor deity ripped from the pages of myth and legend. Not only was it enormous, it was Level 55 and Blighted.


    Even with all the new levels I¡¯d gained, I wasn¡¯t even in the same league as this monster.


    Not even close.


    There was no conceivable way we could beat the HOA. It was too big. Impossibly powerful. What we needed to do was turn around and retreat for the store as fast as our feet would carry us¡ªexcept we couldn¡¯t do that, either. Croc was lying on the asphalt, twenty feet below. Ed and I were simultaneously careening toward a similar fate, while Jakob and Temp were inside the torso of the monstrous creature with the disruptor, which was the only thing keeping the rest of the Sunnysiders from tearing us limb from limb.


    To complicate things further, the disruptor needed someone to man it or the entire thing would shut down and stop working.


    Every option was bad.


    Knowing that, I began to cobble together a rough plan.


    I had seconds left before Neural Slip Stream ended, and I needed to make every single one of ¡¯em count. First, I pulled out the green plastic parachute figurine I¡¯d picked up from the derelict Loot Arcade. The one-time-use Artifact would let whoever used it negate fall damage. As a noncorporeal Spectral Thought, I didn¡¯t need to personally worry about falling¡ªsince I was resistant to all forms of damage¡ªbut Ed had no such protections.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I could always try to pluck the Delver from the air using telekinesis, but I didn¡¯t want to risk something going wrong, plus I needed to get to Croc. The mimic was my number one priority. So, I pulled my arm back and fastballed the green parachute man right at Ed, hoping he was smart enough to put two and two together. Then, I put Ed from my mind, angled my body, and propelled myself toward Croc like a human cannonball using Psychic Sovereignty.


    Moving at six times normal speed, I closed the distance in the span of an eyeblink and slammed unceremoniously into the ground, landing in a crouch.


    I turned and rushed to Croc¡¯s side just as Neural Slip Stream lapsed, and the world lurched back into normal speed. Up above, there was a sudden whoosh of movement, and I caught sight of Ed floating to the ground on a ghostly green parachute while the HOA Kaiju continued to rage. I ignored both Ed and the colossal monstrosity, focusing on Croc instead. Its hind legs were twisted and mangled, but Croc¡¯s health bar was still above a quarter and the dog¡¯s chest was rising and falling in a steady pattern.


    Thank the good lord for small miracles.


    A group of listless Sunnysiders were drawing closer to us, and I needed a little more time. They were probably more or less harmless, since the signal was jammed, but I didn¡¯t want to take any risks.


    I pulled free my Super Slammer of Shielding and dropped it against the asphalt with a muttered, ¡°Let¡¯s Pog.¡± A golden bird cage of pure energy encircled us, insulating us against the encroaching Sunnysiders. In theory, the metaphysical barrier would protect us from most forms of physical, arcane, or elemental attack¡ªthough I doubted it would do much good against the HOA, if it decided to take any direct action against us. It was better than nothing, however, and Croc was injured enough that I wasn¡¯t sure spell cards alone would do the trick.


    I pulled a Greater Healing Zimma from storage, popped the cap with one thumb, then forced the bottle between the dog¡¯s lips. It only took a few seconds before Croc¡¯s eyes shot open and a ragged gasp escaped from its mouth. The mimic¡¯s body shuddered and convulsed as its legs twisted and popped back into proper alignment. The sound was nauseating, but the halting, hopeful flutter of Croc¡¯s tail made it all worthwhile.


    ¡°Oh Fiddlesticks,¡± the dog said groggily, slowly gaining its feet as it shook its head. ¡°Did anyone get the license plate on that bus that sideswiped me? I think that¡¯s how the saying goes, right Dan? I¡¯ve never seen a bus in real life, but I¡¯ve read about them. Even saw a picture in a book once.¡±


    ¡°You nailed it, bud,¡± I replied, feeling a tense knot loosen inside my chest. So long as Croc was okay, then everything would be okay. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± I asked seriously, trying my best to ignore the chaos and carnage unfolding all around us. It was tough to do.


    Without guidance from the signal, the Sunnysiders were losing their collective shit and several knock-down, drag-out brawls had already erupted all across the street and adjacent lawns. Ed and Woodstock had landed amongst the chaos, and the Delver was busy battling his way clear of a pair of Kathy¡¯s who¡¯d cornered him near a garage.


    ¡°Just another day in the Backrooms, Dan,¡± Croc said weakly. ¡°This is just a scratch, honest. I¡¯m pretty sure Ponypuff¡¯s done worse to me, and I¡¯m good as new now.¡± The dog waggled its bottom to showcase the functionality of its rear legs. But the dog¡¯s cheerful wiggles quickly subsided as it stole a look at the rampaging HOA kaiju. The creature didn¡¯t seem to be targeting anyone in particular. Instead, was shaking its whole body and smashing through houses with reckless abandon, stomping anything unlucky enough to be stuck under foot.


    ¡°What¡¯s it doing, Dan?¡± Croc asked, sounding confused.


    ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure its trying to dislodge Big Bertha,¡± I replied. ¡°That and get rid of our friends. Ed told me the disruptor will shut the Pulse Nexus down for good, but that it¡¯ll take some time. Twenty minutes, at least. Could be as long as half an hour. Problem is, we need someone up there to operate Ed¡¯s stupid machine and the only one who knows how it works is Ed, who is down here with us¡ª¡±


    I froze as an idea suddenly occurred to me.


    I pulled out my Etheric Walkie Talkie and thumbed the button, praying this would work¡ªwhich was in no way certain, considering how much radio interference there was.


    ¡°Temp, Jakob, come in over. How are you guys doing in there?¡± I sent, my voice filled with unspoken desperation.


    There was a long, silent pause and for a moment I feared the worst.


    Then the radio crackled, and Jakob answered, ¡°We are alive but dealing with a few issues at the moment. The creature seems hellbent on voiding us from its bowels and it¡¯s dispatched some strange sort of Dwellers to handle us. Pasty white creatures called ¡®Zoning Leukocytes¡¯¡ªeffectively, giant white blood cells. They are quite numerous, though Temperance¡¯s disease abilities seem especially effective.¡±


    ¡°Copy that,¡± I sent, my mind whirling. I pursed my lips into a thin line. ¡°Hang tight for as long as you can. I¡¯ve got an idea, but I need a few minutes to get set up.¡±


    ¡°What are we going to do, Dan?¡± Croc asked, and I could feel the panic underlying the words. On some level, Croc believed this was the end for us and it wasn¡¯t hard to understand why. Croc had lived a long time and had seen hundreds of Delvers come and go over the years. Though the mimic tried to stay positive and upbeat, the truth was, almost all those Delvers had died in a variety of genuinely horrifying ways. Croc had finally found people who cared and now the mimic was on the verge of losing all of us.


    Of losing everything we¡¯d worked so hard to build.


    There was no way we could beat this thing. Not a chance in hell. It was just too big, too powerful. But maybe we didn¡¯t need to. If Ed was right, we just needed to buy enough time for the disruptor to do its work and fry the HOA.


    The fact that Ed was down here and not up with the Disruptor was a¡­ wrinkle was one way to put it. Giant nightmare pain in the ass was another. Getting back inside the monster would be tricky, maybe even impossible, but thanks to the magic of the Walkies, it was possible that Ed could talk Jakob through the disruptor¡¯s run sequence. Just like ground control guiding a passenger through the process of landing a plane. Jakob was smart so I was sure he could figure it out, assuming that Temperance and my two Taxidermied Horrors could keep the Zoning Leukocytes at bay.


    That could prove to be tricky, but there was a way we might be able to help on that front.


    We needed the HOA spending all of its attention on us and not the Delvers screwing around inside its belly. We needed to make ourselves into the bigger threat.


    And as that idea clicked into place, I knew exactly what we needed to do.


    ¡°Do you know how to drive, Croc?¡± I asked the dog, feeling the faintest flicker of hope.


    ¡°What, like the golf carts?¡± Croc asked, cocking one ear in curiosity. ¡°Because I did spend a little time playing with the golf cart.¡±


    ¡°Similar, but bigger,¡± I said, nodding.


    ¡°I mean, I understand it in principle, sure,¡± Croc replied, sounding uncertain. ¡°But to be perfectly, one-hundred percent clear, I¡¯ve never actually done it, done it. Like on my own. It probably isn¡¯t that hard, though, right?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the attitude,¡± I said patting the dog on the back.


    I glanced up at the bloody red moon hanging huge and ominous above us. Having Croc drive was a terrible idea, but for my plan to work there was no other way. Ed was going to have to relay instructions about working the disruptor to Jakob and there was no way he could do that racing through the hostile suburbs. As for me, I couldn¡¯t be behind the wheel, because I was going to be busy serving as the distraction.


    This was a terrible idea. Easily one of the worst I¡¯d ever had. Given the circumstances, however, it was also the only plan that had even a hope of working. Resolved, I reluctantly summoned my newest Taxidermied Horror¡­

 Fifty – Ice Cream for All

    With the Super Slammer of Shielding back in my pocket, Croc and I piled into my newest Horror¡ªthe monstrously disgusting ice cream truck, which the mimic had insisted I take with us. Not for the first time, I was glad I¡¯d listened to the dog.


    ¡°You¡¯re just going to turn the key over to start the engine,¡± I instructed Croc, gesturing toward the ignition. ¡°Use the wheel to steer. The pedal on the right is for gas, the pedal on the left is the break. You got it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I think so,¡± Croc replied slipping into the driver¡¯s seat. The mimic¡¯s body morphed as it moved, its legs extending so it could reach the pedals while its paws formed into blue rubber hands. Even a few months ago, the sight would¡¯ve been deeply unnerving, but after everything I¡¯d seen, it felt perfectly natural and normal. ¡°Quick question, though, Dan? Once I start the engine, won¡¯t the ice cream jingle song come on?¡±


    ¡°Yep,¡± I replied grimly.


    ¡°But won¡¯t that bring out all the Timmys and Tammys? Because it seems like calling them all to us could be a bad idea. Maybe it just slipped your mind, but Ed told us that all the Sunnysider kids turn into those kannibal things in the light of the full moon and the moon happens to be very full at the moment.¡± Croc stared up through the window. ¡°And bleeding,¡± the dog added, ¡°which seems rather ominous, given the circumstances.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t forget, bud,¡± I replied. ¡°It¡¯s all a part of the plan.¡±


    ¡°Can I be honest with you, Dan?¡± Croc asked. ¡°This seems like a really bad plan,¡± the mimic finished before I could say anything.


    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± I said, trying to hide the slight quiver of fear in my voice. If this went wrong¡ªand there were a thousand ways this could go wrong¡ªwe were going die extremely horrific deaths. ¡°Sometimes, though, the only ideas left are the bad ones. Now start the engine. We need to go pick up Ed and Woodstock.¡±


    ¡°Whatever you say, Dan,¡± the dog replied in reluctant acceptance of our terrible fate. ¡°Our lives are in your hands.¡±


    The mimic was right, though I tried to ignore the weight of that terrible responsibility. For better or worse, whatever happened now was on my head.


    ¡°Once we get Ed, you have three jobs,¡± I said, counting on my fingers. ¡°One, do not stop for any reason. Not unless I specially tell you too. Two, for the love of God, do not let the kannibal kids catch us if you can help it.¡± I paused and took a deep breath. ¡°And three, try to circle around the HOA kaiju. We need to be close enough so I can hit it with ranged spells. Understand?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like it, not one bit of it, but I understand it,¡± Croc replied, before turning the key over.


    The truck roared to life, its headlights igniting like dual torches that carved through the inky night.


    Instantly the ice-cream jingle blared like a siren, loud enough to be heard even over the cry of Pink Floyd. Croc applied a little pressure to the gas pedal and the truck staggered then sputtered forward. The ride started out rough and jerky but quickly evened out. While Croc steered the truck toward Ed and Woodstock¡ªcurrently duking it out with more shambling Sunnysiders¡ªI raised one hand and activated Hydro Blast, carving a rectangular hole in the truck¡¯s ceiling, just large enough for me to crawl through.


    That done, I opened my Spatial Storage and pulled free one of the Stick and Cling Relics I¡¯d earned from the toddler massacre, then quickly swapped it for Existential Dread. As good as Existential Dread was, it wouldn¡¯t do anything against the Sunnysiders and even less than nothing against the titanic HOA kaiju. Plus, I needed Stick and Cling for this next part to work. With a heave, I pulled myself through the hole in the roof and onto the top of the truck.


    The last time I attempted van surfing was as a teenager, inspired by Michael J. Fox¡¯s antics in the 1985 classic Teen Wolf. I¡¯d broken my arm and ended up with a concession for my trouble. It also marked one of the rare occasions when my dad had well and truly whooped my ass. Normally, he didn¡¯t believe in corporal punishment, but there were a few notable exceptions during my childhood¡ªand that ill-fated van ride was one of them.


    This time it¡¯d be different, though. At least, that¡¯s what I told myself.


    I activated Stick and Cling, burning through a scant few points of Stamina, and my feet instantly stuck to the metal rooftop just as the ability advertised. The first real test of the skill¡¯s effectiveness happened when Croc jumped the curb, careened onto the sidewalk, and smashed into a Sunnysider Kevin idling on the lawn with a dumb look plastered across his equally dumb face.


    The ice cream truck jittered and swayed, but my feet didn¡¯t budge so much as an inch¡ªnor would they unless I actively willed them to move.


    Croc ran down another pair of Sunnysiders¡ªone Mailbox-Hands Kevin and a Tentacle Haired Kathy¡ªand screeched to a stop ten feet away from where Ed and Woodstock were fighting for their lives. Although Ed was the same level as me, it was obvious that the bulk of his powers lay in illusion-based magic and mental mind-fuckery and not in physical combat. His left arm was spewing out thick columns of flame, while he fired the Colt with his free hand.


    Neither attack was very effective.


    The Sunnysiders soaked up the bullets like sponges and the flames were only a minor inconvenience at most.


    I lifted both Kevin and Kathy into the air with my mind, then I flung them away with a thought. With no fear of hurting Ed or his bird, I activated StainSlayer Maelstrom and conjured a hurricane of industrial grade super bleach right on top of the rest of the amassed monstrosities. Between Mana Optimization and the five new levels I¡¯d added, the spell dealt a catastrophic amount of damage. Sunnysiders shrieked and wailed, falling away from Ed as the bleach storm ripped through skin and chewed through meat.


    I used a strand of telekinetic energy to slide the doors open as the truck came to a rumbling stop.


    ¡°Get in losers,¡± I called out, ¡°we¡¯re saving the world.¡±


    Ed gave one last glance at the Sunnysiders writhing in pain on the ground, then darted into the truck with his parrot in tow.


    ¡°Are you stupid or suicidal?¡± Ed called up to me through the hole in the roof as he slid the door shut. ¡°That ice cream jingle is going to bring every goddamned kannibal kid inside of ten miles down on us like an avalanche.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m planning on it,¡± I called back down. ¡°But don¡¯t you worry about them. Croc¡¯s our wheel man, and I¡¯m the gunner.¡±


    ¡°So what¡¯s my job?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Two-fold,¡± I said, eyes locked on the horizon.


    A dark horde surged toward us from the direction of the cornfields. They were still too far away to make out the finer details, but the horned monsters were unmistakable. Without hesitation, I tossed one of the Walkies down to the man looking up at me.


    ¡°Your first job is to walk Jakob through running the disruptor sequence,¡± I said. ¡°You think you can handle that?¡±


    Ed was quiet for a second, ¡°It¡¯ll be tricky, but I think I can manage,¡± he finally said. ¡°And the other thing?¡± he asked.


    ¡°You and Woodstock are my A-gunners. You¡¯re gonna feed me ammo.¡± I squatted down and glanced into the truck¡¯s cab. ¡°You see that freezer right there?¡± I pointed to the cooler in the corner. ¡°That contains the meat flavored ice cream the Kannibal Kids like so much.¡±


    ¡°I know damn well what it is,¡± Ed snapped. ¡°That¡¯s what¡¯s gonna get us all killed.¡±


    ¡°Not unless we use it,¡± I said. ¡°Turn the Kannibal Kids into weapons. You said it yourself, those little freakshows love them some ice cream. Enough to kill for it. Let¡¯s see if we can¡¯t get them to kill that thing for us.¡± I jerked my head toward the HOA kaiju, still rampaging madly as it tried frantically to dislodge the others. ¡°Far as I can tell, the cooler never runs out. It¡¯s like a bottomless pit of fucked up meat-flavored goop. I just need you and Woodstock to make sure that I don¡¯t run dry.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the most batshit crazy thing I¡¯ve ever heard, kemo sabe,¡± Ed replied. ¡°Might even be crazy enough to work. And if not? Well, it¡¯ll be a funny story someday¡ªassuming we survive, which we probably won¡¯t.¡± He paused and frowned. ¡°Fuck it. I¡¯m in,¡± he declared, before pulling open the cooler and fishing out several colorful ice cream pints filled with rotten meat goop. Instead of trying to physically juggle all the awkward containers, I let them float around me on strands of mental power.


    ¡°Croc,¡± I called down, ¡°time to get this show on the road, we¡¯ve got company.¡±


    And we did.


    Directly behind us, dozens of gaunt, horned Kannibal Kids were already pouring onto the street, racing toward us like hungry homing missiles. A tag appeared above the leader of the feral pack.


    Dweller 0.24740B ¨C Kannibal Kid (Moon Cursed ¨C Blighted) [Level 40]Stolen novel; please report.


    Its level had spiked dramatically, jumping from 35 to 40, and now instead of being marked as Feral, it was labeled as Moon Cursed. At level forty, it wasn¡¯t a match for the HOA kaiju, but it was a significantly bigger threat than we were, and there were a lot of the Moon Cursed Kannibal Kids.


    The only question now was could they be coerced through bribery?


    The wheels of the truck screeched, tires peeling out, then we lurched into motion once more and sped away from the encroaching army of ravenous children. Time to test out my theory. I lined up my first shot and sent a pint of rancid-meat ice cream blasting toward a golf-cart Kevin loitering aimlessly in a driveway. The pint smashed harmlessly into the Sunnysider, doing so little damage the centaur¡¯s HP bar didn¡¯t even appear. It was like throwing a snowball at an angry elephant.


    That was fine though, because it created exactly the reaction I had hoped for.


    Several of the fast-approaching Kannibal Kids immediately veered off course, no longer targeting us but instead beelining toward the ice-creamed covered Kevin. They dashed across lawns, leapt over idling mowers, and avoided other Sunnysiders entirely.


    They were monsters on a mission.


    The first of the approaching Kannibal Kids bounded onto a rooftop with unmatched grace, then leaped, landing on the ice cream splattered centaur like a falling asteroid of teeth and fangs. The looming, malformed monstrosity literally dropkicked the Kevin in the chest, punching a hole clean through the Sunnysider¡¯s torso. Then its claws began to rip and tear, effortlessly shredding the Kevin as its huge jaws slurped up anything touched by the ice cream.


    Two more Kannibal Kids arrived in short order and joined in on the feeding frenzy, ripping off the Kevin¡¯s arms or pulling off the fleshy wheels affixed to its lower half. Before long, the three Kannibals were covered in what little remained of the poor Kevin. They didn¡¯t stop there, however. It seemed they had a taste for blood now and they immediately turned their unquenchable appetites on whatever unfortunate Sunnysider happened to be nearby.


    One Kannibal Kid ripped a Kathy¡¯s head clean off her shoulders with one swipe of its talons, then promptly shoved what remained of her body into the vast gapping maw that took up most of the Dweller¡¯s midsection. The Kathy¡¯s body vanished at an astonishing rate, disappearing in a spray of red viscera.


    I didn¡¯t get any direct experience points for the kills, though I did earn an achievement for my efforts.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Child Army


    Why fight your enemies when you can get someone else to fight them for you? It¡¯s genius! Instead of getting your own hands dirty, you¡¯ve successfully managed to manipulate a bunch of bloodthirsty actual children¡ªit¡¯s even in the title, Kannibal Kids¡ªinto killing on your behalf. The line between Diplomacy and Draconian puppet master has always been a blurry one, but you definitely fall on the bastard side of the line. But hey, whatever works, I guess. 10/10 strategy, would raise a child army again.


    Reward: 1,200 Experience Points, 1 x Mercenary Loot Token


    I waved away the achievement and tried to ignore both the accusatory tone and the defamatory insinuations. This wasn¡¯t my fault, damn it. I hadn¡¯t asked for this, and it wasn¡¯t like the youth of Sunnyside were sweet, innocent angels. They were eight-foot-tall hunger demons with horns and skull faces. Besides, they weren¡¯t the ones dying. They were the ones doing the killing, which seemed slightly less fucked up.


    And if this plan was going to work, I needed them to do a lot more killing and I needed to redirect them fast, because the horde was gaining on us at an alarming rate.


    ¡°Croc, you need to pick up the speed,¡± I called over the Walkie. ¡°These things are fast as fuck. Head due north for a minute, then circle back toward the HOA, over.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll do my best, Dan,¡± came a scratchy reply over the Walkie.


    The truck growled as it picked up even more speed.


    Meanwhile, I telekinetically lobbed two more pints of ice cream, smearing a Kathy and splattering a Kevin a good hundred feet away. I wanted to spread out my targets as much as possible to maximize chaos and slow down the pack of Kannibal Kids, at least a little.


    As before, the ice cream landed with anticlimactic thuds followed, almost immediately, by more Moon Cursed horrors peeling off from the larger pack like hungry velociraptors. I hurled pint after pint, and the slaughter continued picking up steam as more and more Kannibal Kids joined the feeding frenzy. But I needed to work faster, because another mob of gangly monsters was fast approaching from the west, loping along on all fours like oversized wolves.


    ¡°More speed, Croc!¡± I screamed, crouching down and banging on the top of the roof with the flat of my hand. ¡°And get us closer to the HOA. We need to get its attention. Ed, I need ammo up here, stat, and I¡¯m talking yesterday!¡±


    ¡°Got more incoming,¡± Ed radioed. ¡°Had to whip up a little carrying rig for Woodstock.¡±


    The parrot, now acting as an aerial resupply, flapped into view a moment later. The bird had been fitted with an improvised system of ropes and carabiners, forming a harness of sorts. Those ropes wrapped around the bird¡¯s chest and shoulder joints which, in turn, connected to a large wire basket filled haphazardly with more ice cream.


    ¡°Kill it with fire,¡± the bird chirped in clear approval as I added the pints to my orbiting rotation of ammunition. Now empty, the bird descended back through the hole, presumably to fill up the basket once more.


    Meanwhile, the radio at my hip squawked to life, though the message wasn¡¯t for me.


    ¡°Jakob, this is Ed, do you read me, over?¡±


    ¡°Ja, go for Jakob,¡± came the Cendral¡¯s reply.


    ¡°Alright, we don¡¯t have time for any bullshit,¡± Ed barked. ¡°The disruptor up there isn¡¯t automated, and there a bunch of steps you¡¯ll need to take to run the progressive activation sequence¡ª¡±


    ¡°That could be a bit of a problem,¡± Jakob cut in. ¡°These Zoning Leukocytes are threatening to overrun us, and this creature won¡¯t stop its insufferable shaking. It is making it treacherously difficult to hold the stairwell.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re about to fix that,¡± I sent over the comms. ¡°Just do what Ed says. The only way we stop this fucker for good is to get the disruptor firing on all cylinders, over.¡±


    ¡°Sehr gut, I will do my best,¡± the Cendral sent, sounding exhausted but determined.


    ¡°Good,¡± Ed sent. ¡°First thing, I need you to get to the disruptor and stabilize the primary flux core. That¡¯s the panel with three yellow switches on the left. You need to flip them in the proper order¡ªone, three, two. Got that? One, three, two or the whole thing¡¯ll go into lockdown.¡±


    I blocked out their chatter and fired more ice cream pints at the idling Sunnysiders while Croc angled toward the HOA kaiju.


    We jumped another curb, tore across a lawn, and smashed through a picket fence, slowly drawing closer to the malformed titan. The massive creature was crashing through a neighborhood, crushing houses and splattering Sunnysiders, so it was hard to get within firing distance without also being within HOA SMASH distance. Trying to maintain that buffer, while also staying away from the Kannibal Kids was like threading a needle while mounted on horseback.


    ¡°Here goes nothing,¡± I muttered, lining up my shot then unloading another pair of pints. The ice cream sailed through the air, tumbling overhead¡­


    Then plummeted down and fell well-short of the kaiju.


    I ground my teeth in sheer frustration. The thing was three stories tall, how was it possible that we still couldn¡¯t get close enough to hit it? Part of the problem was Psychic Sovereignty. Though it was extremely powerful, it still only had a 50 meter range¡ªor just over a hundred and fifty feet. Under most circumstances, half the length of a fucking football field was more than enough to do whatever needed doing.


    Problem was, telepathically hurling meat ice cream from the top of a moving truck at a rampaging kaiju made from houses didn¡¯t exactly qualify as ¡°normal circumstances.¡±


    ¡°Closer, Croc!¡± I yelled again.


    ¡°I¡¯m trying, Dan!¡± the dog called up, frantic. ¡°I swear, I am. But the HOA keeps moving, and there are just too many Sunnysiders. If I plough into a big pack, they¡¯ll slow us down and then the Kannibal Kids will be all over us.¡±


    Shit, shit, shit.


    If Croc couldn¡¯t get us any closer, then there was no way this was going to work. True, I could potentially get myself in range, but I¡¯d quickly run out of ammo without the truck. I¡¯d gone all in on this hand and if this didn¡¯t work out, we were going to be well and truly fucked.


    ¡°Hold on a minute!¡± Ed hollered from below. ¡°I might have something that can help with your range¡ªassuming you have a way to secure it to the top of the truck.¡±


    ¡°Whatever you got, I need it fast!¡± I yelled back down.


    I lobbed two more pints at nearby Sunnysiders, but several Kannibal Kids were pacing us now, bounding from roof top to roof top as they drew into range. One leapt toward us and I swiveled at the hips, unleashing a Hydro Fracking Blast with pinpoint accuracy. The beam of super-heated water blasted clean through the creature¡¯s chest. Though the attack dealt only a tiny amount of damage, relative to the Kannibal Kid¡¯s total HP, it still hit with 100,000 PSI of force.


    The airborne monster flipped ass over end, cartwheeling through the air, then slammed into the ground with a satisfying crunch of snapping bone. I hit it with a pint for good measure and the other Kannibal Kids lived up to their name, quickly turning on their downed comrade.


    Meanwhile, Ed scrambled up through the hole in the roof, with a rope tied around his waist which snaked back into the truck¡¯s interior.


    ¡°This might help,¡± he said, pressing one hand against the metal roof. ¡°Found it inside a vestigial barn on the edges of the HOA. Never had any use for it, but I couldn¡¯t bear to leave it behind.¡±


    The air bowed and warped as Ed¡¯s Superspace Storage disgorged a bulky contraption that appeared to be a miniature, redneck Howitzer. Because I¡¯d grown up in rural Ohio, however, I knew exactly what it really was, even without the description. An apple cannon.


    Orchard Obliterator 3000


    Rare Artifact


    Type: Projectile Cannon, Ranged


    Have you ever wanted to weaponize your daily serving of fruit? Well, here''s your chance.  Originally designed for wholesome, family-friendly fun, this overpowered monstrosity has been modified for... let¡¯s say less than legal combat situations. Why let apples rot when you can launch ¡¯em at high velocity and turn your enemies into fruit salad?


    Fully automatic, equipped with a high-pressure air tank and a reinforced barrel, this beauty can fire apples at a rate that can only be described as deeply concerning. And don¡¯t let the juicy payload fool you¡ªwhen those apples hit, they hit HARD. Like a Mack truck doing 95 in a school zone. By which I mean, they make a big mess and rarely leave survivors.


    An apple a day keeps the monsters away¡ªespecially if you aim for the head!


    It was a thing of glorious beauty.


    ¡°Hope that helps,¡± Ed shouted before slipping back down through the hole in the roof.


    It sure as shit did, though I needed to get it attached ASAP before Croc accidentally knocked the damned thing off with its erratic driving.


    ¡°Croc, hold things steady for thirty seconds!¡± I called into the cab. ¡°No sharp turns and try not to hit anything!¡±


    While balancing on top of the truck and keeping one eye out for encroaching Kannibal Kids, I pulled up the Minion Masher Overlay and conjured a holographic grid that seamlessly contoured to the surface of the truck. I didn¡¯t need it to be perfect¡ªI just needed it to stay in place when Croc took a sharp turn or ran down a Sunnysider. I selected an appropriate section of the roof which became strangely malleable, then quickly rotated the apple cannon into position using a thread of mental effort and grafted the makeshift weapon into place.


    There was a brief flash of light as cannon bonded to truck, the two becoming one.


    I swiveled the barrel, loaded a single pint into chamber, then took aim and slammed my palm against the bright red firing button. The cannon let out a deafening whoomp and the pint erupted from the barrel and arced through the air, slamming into the kaiju a second later.


    A grin spread across my face. Hell yeah. Game on, motherfucker.

 Discount Dan Book 2 Title Poll

    Hey everyone, I''m going to be at a writing conference for the rest of the week, so I wanted to post early so I don''t forget. I''ll be dropping a chapter right after this, so keep an eye out for it. But I also wanted to share some this slick new cover art for book 2. "But wait, James," I hear some of you saying, "I thought book 2 already had cover art? So why is there new cover art?"


    Well, you are right. Originally, Book 2 was going to be Kiosk Kingdom, but the 24th floor ended up growing and expanding SO much that it seems like I''ll have to split the book. The end of book 2 will clock in at just under 170K (which is a LONG book), and we aren''t even close to the Franchisor. I made some tweaks and changes but the Kiosk/Franchisor Arc will now resolve in book 3, while the big bad for book 2 will inevitably end up being the HOA.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    That was a tough decision to make but it had to be done, because Audible doesn''t want a book over 200K words and there''s no way I could resolve the ARC that fast. As a result, though, I needed a new cover for book 2 and here we have it. Honestly, I LOVE the way this one turned out. The pose is super dynamic and having Dan fly in like a Super Hero with his stupid crown and his robe fluttering out behind him is just *chef''s kiss*.


    I haven''t been able to come up with a title, though! So I thought I''d run a poll here to see what y''all think. Please vote for your favorite below, though if you have a suggestion that isn''t listed, please feel free to drop them in the comments below.

 Fifty-One – Artillery Barrage

    The apple cannon thundered¡ªthump, thump, thump¡ªfiring an artillery barrage of ice cream at the HOA kaiju.


    The pints splattered harmlessly against the titanic monstrosity just as they had against the Sunnysiders, but that didn¡¯t matter because the Kannibal Kids smelled blood in the water. Turned out, Croc was one helluva good wheel man and though we¡¯d had a couple of close calls, most of the Moon Cursed children of Sunnyside had grown frustrated in the chase. The truck was very hard to get, and why bother when there was another readily available source of delicious, rotten meat-flavored ice cream?


    A relatively slow-moving source that was so much easier to catch.


    As I painted the kaiju in shades of Neapolitan, the Kannibal Kids swarmed, completely unafraid of the enormous monster. They crawled over the titan¡¯s feet and scrambled up its legs, ripping off chunks of meat with their claws and teeth. Currently there were only ten or so of the horned monsters clawing their way across the kaiju, but more were coming. A great rush of them, summoned by the sound of the truck, then pulled in by the aroma wafting off the titan.


    The HOA had stopped its frantic shaking and mindless rampage and had instead turned its attention to the feral creatures, who were slowly whittling down its life. It swatted at them with enormous fists and attempted to rip them free, but the transformed youth of Sunnyside were fast and nimble. The kaiju just couldn¡¯t keep up with their scampering, and though its health pool was nearly as large as the monster itself, the Kannibal Kids weren¡¯t gnats to be so easily shrugged off.


    At level 40 their attacks dealt some serious damage.


    My monster army was bleeding the kaiju dry one bite at a time.


    Death by ten thousand paper cuts.


    Unfortunately, the HOA kaiju had an easy way of negating the truly impressive damage and regenerating its dwindling life force. It could eat. Every few seconds, the behemoth would reach down and snatch up an entire fistful of hapless Sunnysiders, then cram all of them into its oversized maw and crunch down with brutal indifference. The monster was eating the residents the same way Ed ate Doritos and each resident the kaiju consumed restored a meaty chunk of HP.


    It was like the Health Eater Relic on steroids.


    And the worst part was, the Sunnysiders didn¡¯t even try to get away from the grasping hands of their gargantuan overlord. With the signal down, the Sunnysiders were little more than mindless zombies¡ªshuffling drones who couldn¡¯t even be bothered to try and save themselves from a very grisly end. Essentially, the kaiju had an endless supply of health regen potions scattered across the ground and the Kannibal Kids just couldn¡¯t deal more damage than the HOA could heal.


    The kaiju had also begun to release its personal minions to deal with the preternaturally fast youth, swarming its body. Scores of amorphous, semi-translucent creatures were emerging from the kaiju¡¯s mouth, and unlike the kaiju, these things were agile. And fast.


    The new defenders were vaguely circular in shape and covered in hundreds of flailing white tendrils, tipped with wicked barbs that shimmered like shards of broken glass. I¡¯d never seen anything quite like them before, and even though they were too far away to earn a pop-up notification, my gut told me they were Zoning Leukocytes. It was clear that the Kannibal Kids were physically stronger, but the Leukocytes had numbers on their side.


    It was a war of attrition, and I wasn¡¯t sure who would win.


    ¡°I am not certain what you are doing out there, Bekannter,¡± Jakob sent over the radio, ¡°but it seems to be working. The Leukocytes are coming much less frequently. Temperance and the Horrors have secured the stairwell for the time being. I am back at the disruptor¡ªwhat needs to happen next?¡± he asked.


    Ed didn¡¯t hesitate, ¡°You need to find the frequency harmonics display on the central console,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s a digital screen that should show a modified wave pattern. You need to tune it to a resonance frequency of 13.7 kilohertz using the dial located beneath the wave display. It¡¯s tricky, though. When you adjust it, the signal will spike, and if it hits red for more than ten seconds, the disruptor will overheat. So make sure to bring the frequency up slow and steady.¡±


    I once again tuned out the conversation as Woodstock arrived with more ammo. The cannon had a large metal box jutting out from side¡ªan ammo cache to hold all the rotten apples that originally powered the machine. Woodstock unceremoniously dumped the payload into the loading bin, then disappeared back down into the truck after a brief squawk of encouragement.


    ¡°Good boy, Dan. Good Boy. Kill it with fire.¡±


    The words were strangely touching.


    I loaded more pints into the cannon and proceeded with another barrage, this time aiming for the kaiju¡¯s chest and head. Right now, the Kannibal Kids were swarming across the creature¡¯s lower legs, but I figured that any attacks done to the head and torso would deal extra damage. My shot went higher than I expected, and I openly crowed in triumph as the pint of milky meat magic nailed the creature right in its giant, cyclopean eyeball.


    ¡°Hope you¡¯re not lactose intolerant, dickhead!¡± I yelled, pumping a fist in the air.


    The smile on my face died as that eye narrowed and turned toward me, blazing with unbridled anger and hate.


    The creature threw back its head and roared, the sound so loud I had to reach up and cover my ears. When the bellow of sheer rage finally abated, the titan lowered its gaze and focused the entirety of its attention on us. Or more specifically, on me.


    ¡°YOU!¡± The creature rumbled. It was the sound of an earthquake given voice. ¡°This is all your fault. You couldn¡¯t leave well enough alone, could you, you Chowder Head!? YOU RUINED EVERYTHING! This floor was a paradise. A perfect eco-system of order and harmony. Look at these creatures. Mindless, pathetic beasts, driven by carnal appetites, and living chaotic meaningless lives. They were savages before I turned them into something¡­ beautiful.


    ¡°But you couldn¡¯t see that,¡± the creature howled. ¡°Couldn¡¯t see the beauty of my creation, you DEVIANT! You MISCREANT! You couldn¡¯t appreciate the paradise I built! I could¡¯ve given you and your pitiful band of freaks a home. I would¡¯ve accepted you. Protected you even against the Monarch. Made you a part of something bigger than yourselves. Made you a part of a real community. And all you had to do was SUBMIT. OBEY. To realize that your petty individuality is the disease and that I am the cure. But instead, you RUINED EVERYTHING!¡±


    The kaiju broke into a lumbering but purposeful run. It was coming straight for us and picking up speed like the Juggernaut.


    I yanked the Walkie from its spot in my tool belt, ¡°Croc, change of plans. Fuck-face the Giant is coming in hot. We need to roll.¡±


    ¡°Copy that, Ice Cream Man,¡± Croc replied. ¡°That¡¯s your new call sign, by the way. Ice Cream Man Dan. Sorta rhymes. I figured we should really have cool call signs. I¡¯m Blue Wardog, Woodstock is Fire Phoenix, and Temperance is Hex Weaver. Haven¡¯t come up with anything for Ed or Jakob yet¡ª¡±


    ¡°Damnit, Croc,¡± I hollered over the radio, ¡°we don¡¯t have time for call signs.¡± I paused and frowned. ¡°Also, Ice Cream Man Dan? Are you kidding me? You Got Blue Wardog and I got Ice Cream Man Dan?¡± I grimaced and shook my head. ¡°You know what, it doesn¡¯t matter. The HOA is pissed and about to flatten our asses.¡±


    ¡°Copy that, Ice Cream Man,¡± Croc sent, ¡°but, uh, what exactly do you want me to do about that?¡±


    The question hung in the air even as the truck tore down a straight away.


    I wasn¡¯t sure. What did we need to do?


    I paused and quickly considered our options. Our plan was working, and the HOA was no longer focused on Jakob and Temperance, which was a good thing. If we could just survive for long enough, the disruptor should give this giant chucklefuck a fatal brain aneurysm. Anything we could do to weaken the creature would help, though. The Kannibal Kids were deadly effective and more would be coming, but they weren¡¯t strong enough to stop the titan on their own¡­


    I froze as a new thought occurred to me.


    They weren¡¯t strong enough to stop the monster¡­ Unless we could remove the kaiju¡¯s most important strategic advantage: It¡¯s ability to regenerate health.


    ¡°The cornfields, Croc,¡± I radioed in. ¡°We need to get to the cornfields. Just anywhere away from the town.¡±


    The cornfields were the one place the Sunnysiders wouldn¡¯t be as thick as flies on shit and without them, the HOA would be vulnerable. Especially since the cornfields would likely be swarming with even more of the feral Kannibal Kids. Admittedly, the HOA was one tough bastard, but it wasn¡¯t tougher than fifty or sixty ravenous youth all working together. As the African proverb said, ¡°fuck around with the beehive and you¡¯re gonna get the sting¡±¡ªor something along those lines, though that might not¡¯ve been verbatim.Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°On it,¡± Croc sent. ¡°Blue Wardog, out.¡±


    I ground my teeth in frustration. Blue Wardog. What a load of bullshit.


    The van¡¯s tires squealed sharply as Croc hung a hard right at the next intersection, then rocketed toward the line of swaying green cornstalks splashed against the horizon.


    The HOA rumbled right along after us, crashing through a two-story house to make the turn onto the connecting boulevard. The kaiju wasn¡¯t the only one following along either. More Kannibal Kids were pouring out from every direction and if we didn¡¯t want to end up on the menu, we needed to make the HOA look like the more appetizing snack.


    I continued firing pints of sludgy goodness at the titan, the cannon issuing a cacophony of roars in fast succession, but the creature was drawing gradually closer by the second. More Kannibal Kids hitched rides as the HOA trundled past, jumping from nearby roofs or the top of parked golf carts. The Kaiju didn¡¯t seem to notice or care. It only had eyes for me, and it seemed to flatly ignore everything else, including the swarm of monsters that were literally eating it alive.


    But that was good news, so far as I was concerned.


    Without a constant stream of Sunnysiders to snack on, the HOA¡¯s health pool was plunging and had finally dropped below sixty percent for the first time. True, it still had a vast reservoir of life remaining, but we were making progress¡ªeven if slowly.


    ¡°Dan!¡± Croc radioed as we blazed around another corner and onto a straight away. ¡°Umm, don¡¯t want to alarm you, but we might have a little problem up ahead. Could maybe use a little guidance, if you¡¯re not too busy.¡±


    ¡°What now,¡± I grumbled, glancing over one shoulder to see what the issue was.


    Oh fuck. Well, that wasn¡¯t good.


    We were a mile out from the relative safety of the cornfields, maybe even less, but directly between us and the fields was a wall of Kannibal Kids, four bodies deep, which stretched clear across the roadway then curved left and right, forming a concaved horseshoe. The feral Dwellers had effectively created a flesh barricade and at the speed we were going there was no way to avoid it.


    Not without stopping the damned truck and flipping a hard U-turn, which was as good as a death sentence. If we slowed down, the pursuing kaiju would crush us underfoot like bugs and if we kept going, we would smash headlong into the wall of hungry monsters who would be only too happy to murder us all.


    Once again, the only options on the table were bad ones.


    That was becoming something of a theme, and I didn¡¯t like it even a little bit.


    Wishing for better circumstances wasn¡¯t going to change anything, though, and I needed to make a choice, and I needed to make it now.


    Any decision is better than no decision, I reminded myself.


    ¡°Croc,¡± I radioed. ¡°Keep driving straight. Head for the cornfields and don¡¯t stop for anything. Ed,¡± I called, trying to mask the panic in my voice, ¡°can you create a giant cow catcher using your Hard Light Illusion, then attach it to the front of the truck?¡±


    ¡°I can try,¡± he replied with a crackle of static.


    ¡°That¡¯s all any of us can do,¡± I responded. ¡°I¡¯m also going to need you to form a hard light shield across the roof access hatch,¡± I sent while simultaneously cranking on the apple cannon, swiveling the barrel a full one-hundred and eighty degrees, so the muzzle now pointed toward the assembled mass of horned monstrosities attempting to blockade the road. ¡°Just until after we get past the wall of Kannibal Kids.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Ed sent over the radio.


    ¡°No time. Just trust me,¡± I replied, praying he would just listen for once.


    The radio died and an opaque sheet of light appeared, blocking out the interior of the van, followed a handful of seconds later by a triangular wedge of light that protruded outward from the front of the truck. I let out a quiet sigh of relief. That was one less thing to worry about.


    Working as fast as my hands would allow, I pulled out several pints of ice cream and began to hurriedly shove fistfuls of Balloon Menagerie and Voodoo Doppelbanger Spell Cards and into each one. Probably thirty or forty cards in total¡ªthough I didn¡¯t take the time to get an exact count. If we were going to punch through that wall of meat, I was going to need a lot of fire power. Problem was, I couldn¡¯t control so many cards at once using Psychic Sovereignty, and launching the cards themselves out of the cannon wouldn¡¯t do anything.


    They¡¯d just flutter around like leaves in a strong fall breeze. Packed inside the disgusting, fetid ice cream, though? Well, then they¡¯d effectively be improvised claymore mines.


    I loaded seven pints of ice cream into the chamber all at once, then lowered the barrel and lined up my shot. I only had one chance at this, and if I screwed the pooch, we were all cooked. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves, then slammed my hand against the trigger before I could overthink things or talk myself out of doing what I was about to do.


    The improvised artillery weapon roared again, launching my munitions. The pints of frozen moo juice slammed into the front line Kannibals and as they did, I activated the Voodoo Doppelbanger Spell Cards.


    In the space of seconds, twenty copycat Dans¡ªall liberally slathered in ice cream¡ªerupted among the ranks of the Dwellers.


    The chaos was immediate.


    The feral nightmare children turned on the clones, attacking like enraged wolverines. That¡¯s when I activated the Balloon Menagerie Spell Cards all at once, using the Mass Activation Phrase I had specifically built into them for emergencies just like this.


    ¡°Kill the Monkey, Scare the Circus!¡± I screamed at the top of my lungs.


    The ensuing fireball billowed upward in a cloud of red and gold light, momentarily transforming night into day. The explosion hit with the force of a Bunker Buster, blowing the nearest Kannibal Kids apart and scattering a dozen more like bowling pins.


    [Level Up! x 2]


    [Research Achievement Unlocked]¡­


    [Research Achievement Unlocked]¡­


    I didn¡¯t have time to read over the notifications. A wave of fire washed over me as Croc drove straight into the smoke plume.


    White light consumed the world as tongues of flame tenderly caressed every inch of my body, charbroiling me in real time. I had to imagine this is what skinny dipping in an active volcano must be like. The heat was melting me on a molecular level and the force of the wind alone damn near knocked me from my feet. Probably would have, if not for the Stick and Cling Relic, pinning my boots to the roof.


    The pain was indescribable.


    Not even my battle with the Shart Stain Golem had come close to this.


    Despite that, however, my Health Bar didn¡¯t even budge.


    With twenty Doppelgangers on the field, I was the next best thing to indestructible.


    My clone army was soaking up all the damage from the blast, though I still felt every ounce of the torturous agony.


    Unfortunately, the ice cream truck didn¡¯t have any such protections and took a hefty chunk of damage as well. Though it looked like a truck and functioned more or less like a truck, it was still technically a Horror, which meant it also had its own HP bar. That bar plunged by half, and one of the wheels exploded from the heat. The truck lurched, followed by a flash of sparks and a terrible screech as the bare rim slammed into the pavement.


    That probably wasn¡¯t good.


    We were losing speed, though the truck was still limping along.


    As long as it survived long enough to get us into the cornfields, nothing else mattered.


    The truck rumbled, bumped, and groaned and then we were through and onto the other side of the flesh barricade. There was a giant hole in the defensive formation, which marked our passing. And though my attack had only killed three or four of the Kannibal Kids, it had also blown off countless more arms and legs. Many of the wounded creatures were also slathered in ice cream, which put them right at the bottom of the proverbial food chain.


    I watched in grim horror as the rest of Kannibal Kids turned on each¡ªnot a single ounce of mercy for their wounded kin. This was a dog-eat-dog world and either you were getting eaten or doing the eating. There was no middle ground.


    With smoke still curling from my bathrobe, I stomped my boot on the roof and radioed for Croc to bring the truck to a stop. The mimic seemed genuinely confused by the request¡ªwe were damn near in spitting distance to the cornfields¡ªbut Croc did as instructed. The engine, now sputtering and smoking, cycled down and the tires slowly crunched to a halt. This was a ballsy gamble, I knew, and one that might get me killed, but we hadn¡¯t gotten this far by playing it safe.


    ¡°Ed,¡± I sent over the comms, watching the fast-approaching HOA kaiju, ¡°there are a bunch of fucked up Decoy Dans back on the street. Any chance you can use your illusions to make ¡¯em look a little more like the real-life version of me?¡±


    There was a long moment of silence. ¡°It¡¯ll push me to the edge of what I¡¯m capable of,¡± he finally replied, hesitation clear in his voice. ¡°But yeah, I can make them look real¡ªreal enough to fool the HOA, no question. Just know, it¡¯s gonna drain me completely. So if we¡¯re doing this, you need to be absolutely sure.¡±


    I¡¯d never been less sure.


    ¡°Do it,¡± I barked anyway.


    There was a shimmer of prismatic light as the twenty or so Doppelganger Dans were all transformed by Ed¡¯s magic. From a distance, they were almost perfect replicas.


    Even I couldn¡¯t tell the difference.


    Neither could the HOA, it seemed.


    The enormous monster began to slow its lumbering charge, its huge eye scanning the crowd of Discount Dan lookalikes.


    ¡°Come on,¡± I muttered. ¡°Take the bait, you stupid son of a bitch.¡±


    Thanks to Ed¡¯s illusions, the army of Dans began waving their arms and jumping up and down, really selling the performance and making sure they had the titan¡¯s full attention. If we survived this apocalyptic shitshow, I owed Ed a beer or five.


    Or maybe an entire pallet of Doritos.


    A slow smile spread across my lips as the hulking behemoth bent low and began snatching the Doppelgangers from the ground. Scooping them up one right after another, then popping them into its oversized maw like Dan-flavored Tic Tacs.


    ¡°Sucks to be you,¡± I chuckled under my breath as the last clone disappeared down the creature¡¯s gullet. I¡¯d once eaten gas station sushi so rancid that I¡¯d ended up in a hospital for two days with IV drips running around the clock. It had been one of the most miserable experiences of my life and had taught me a valuable lesson about not eating questionable food you found on the side of the road.


    The HOA was about to learn that same lesson.


    Although, I could no longer see the replicas, I sure as shit heard the guttural whoomp as they detonated inside the titan, one right after the other, then several all at once. It really was a beautiful thing when a plan came together. The creature staggered drunkenly, and its health bar dipped below forty percent then kept right on dropping, all the way down to thirty. Holy shit, but that was a lot of damage. I wasn¡¯t sure how kaiju anatomy worked, and I sincerely hoped that I hadn¡¯t just accidentally blown up my friends.


    The radio squealed at my hip a second later.


    ¡°Himmel, Arsch und Zwirn, was war das?¡± Jakob¡¯s hollered. ¡°What did you just do?¡± he thundered. ¡°There is literal blood raining from the ceiling and gushing from the walls.¡±


    ¡°Sorry about that,¡± I sent back feeling a knot of fear loosen in my chest. ¡°You guys are okay, though?¡±


    ¡°For the time being,¡± Jakob replied, sounding extremely disgruntled. ¡°The Leukocytes have slowed to a trickle and the disruptor is still working. There¡¯s a countdown timer now. Approximately nine minutes until it finishes its run sequence.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± I sent, ¡°just hang tight for a little longer. We¡¯ll keep this giant dick noddle busy in the meantime.¡±


    I pounded on the roof again. ¡°Croc, let¡¯s roll.¡±


    ¡°Another little hiccup, Dan,¡± the mimic replied over the comms, ¡°I think there might be something wrong with the truck. There are flashing lights all over the dashboard, and Ed seems to think that¡¯s a bad sign.¡±


    ¡°How bad?¡± I asked with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.


    ¡°Real bad,¡± Ed radioed in. ¡°This heap isn¡¯t long for this world, kemo sabe. It might make it out to the cornfields. Maybe. If we¡¯re lucky. But it isn¡¯t going to take us much farther than that.¡±


    As Croc would say, ¡°Oh, Fiddlesticks.¡± That little wrinkle certainly complicated things¡­

 Fifty-Two – Form FleshTron, Go!

    The engine sputtered and squealed as the truck limped toward the cornfields, picking up speed at a snail¡¯s pace. By the time we hit thirty, the engine was popping and groaning, and a plume of acrid black smoke trailed up from the front of the truck. We were so close to the cornfields now, maybe a quarter mile left to go, but there was no way we were going to be able to outrun the HOA. If I had twenty minutes, maybe I could patch the truck up using my Minion Masher Overlay, but I didn¡¯t have twenty minutes.


    I had two. Maybe three.


    The kaiju had recovered from its bout of indigestion and was already in hot pursuit. ¡°You can¡¯t escape from me, you disobedient chowderheads!¡± the titan bellowed, its voice shaking the nearby houses while its colossal footfalls sent tremors racing through the ground. ¡°This whole floor is mine. There¡¯s nowhere you can go that I can¡¯t follow.¡±


    With the truck wobbling precariously along as it was, I tended to agree with the monster¡¯s assessment. My initial plan had been to lure the fucker into the cornfields, then drive donuts around it while the Kannibal Kids finished the job. Nice and easy.


    From the look of things, that wasn¡¯t going to be a viable option. Not anymore.


    I had one ace left up my sleeve, but it was a long shot. And a stupid long shot, at that.


    But since the alternatives were A) running for my life and abandoning Jakob and Temp inside the stomach of three-story house kaiju or B) getting turned into meat paste by said kaiju, I decided to take my chances. As the Director had said, before sending us to this godforsaken level, when you find yourself falling off the edge of a cliff, you grab for whatever lifeline you can. Even if that lifeline is a serpent coiled among the rocks.


    While the truck rumbled down the final quarter mile stretch to the edge of the suburbs, I took the little time I had left to prepare. I accessed my personal Storage Interface and pulled out the pair of Relics I needed. The first was the Swarm Tactics Relic I¡¯d looted from the preschool. The ability enhanced athleticism, toughness, and health regeneration with every creature I summoned, and it also applied a scaling buff called Rage. I wasn¡¯t entirely sure what Rage did, but there was no better time than now to find out.


    I exchanged Fault Spike for Swarm Tactics, then quickly swapped out Sterilization Field for the second Relic I¡¯d pulled out of Storage¡ªan extremely questionable Rare-grade Relic called Form FleshTron, Go!


    I¡¯d never actually used Form FleshTron, Go! before. In fact, I¡¯d only seen it in action once, when Funtime Frank activated it to absorb the other four members of the Jungle Gym Jamboree. The ability let the user temporarily ¡°absorb¡± all summoned minions, transforming them into a towering mech of flesh and metal, with the caster piloting the grotesque monstrosity from within. Like Voltron, but infinitely worse.


    The Relic was wildly unsafe and came with a hefty price tag.


    It had a thirty-second cast time, a 120 Mana cost, a brutal forty-eight-hour cooldown period, and only lasted for a grand total of five minutes. Worst of all, Form Flesh Tron, Go! would overclock the various Relics powering my horrors, damaging them beyond repair. Which meant I wouldn¡¯t be able to summon them again until I conducted a complete overhaul and replaced the burnt-out Relics with new ones. It was the ultimate ¡°Break Glass in Case of Emergency¡± option.


    But any port in a storm, I guess.


    The truck finally rattled to the end of the road, where the asphalt faded into dirt, and the dirt gave way to a towering wall of swaying corn.


    ¡°Hang on to your butts,¡± Croc radioed, before really gunning the gas.


    I braced myself for impact as we slammed into the stalks, which crunched and parted before the failing power of the truck. Unfortunately, we didn¡¯t make it far before the engine issued one last final wheeze and died, the ice cream jingle finally guttering and fading. Without the jingle blaring in my ears, I realized that Pink Floyd had given way to Billy Idol¡¯s ¡°Rebel Yell,¡± which seemed to be a fitting song for what was about to happen.


    Although we¡¯d only made it twenty or thirty feet into the corn, the nearest house was easily a hundred yards off and there wasn¡¯t a single Sunnysider in sight.


    That would have to be good enough.


    I deactivated Stick and Cling and dismounted from the truck¡¯s roof while everyone else piled out into the field. Croc looked worried, while Ed seemed simultaneously resigned and resolute. Like a man preparing to make a last stand. He knew this was the end of the road and that there was nowhere left to run. Nothing left to do except face the monster that was barreling our way like a living force of nature with an axe to grind.


    ¡°Well,¡± Ed muttered, his voice low and gravelly, ¡°I always figured it¡¯d come to this sooner or later. You just can¡¯t beat the man. We put up a helluva fight, though.¡±


    ¡°Helluva fight,¡± Woodstock repeated, followed by a customary, ¡°Kill it with fire.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right, little one,¡± Ed said, patting the bird on the beak. ¡°We did good and that¡¯s something that no one can take from us. That¡¯s something to be proud of.¡±


    ¡°Are we going to die, Dan?¡± Croc asked as the weight of the situation finally seemed to settle over the mimic.


    I shook my head, determined not to be a liar. ¡°Not today. Not if I can help it. But it¡¯s going to get nasty, so I need you, Ed, and Woodstock to go hide. Do you think you can do that for me?¡±


    ¡°Where are we going to hide?¡± Ed asked incredulously, looking around. ¡°I¡¯m tapped out. No juice left in the tank.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re forgetting one thing,¡± I said. ¡°Croc¡¯s a mimic. Hiding is literally what mimics do best. Show him, Croc.¡±


    The dog nodded then shifted, its form swelling and changing until only a clump of corn remained. ¡°I can hide you under here,¡± the corn said, its voice bleeding from the air. The stalks parted to reveal an earthen compartment near the ground.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be damned,¡± Ed said. ¡°That just might do it. But what about you?¡± he asked, turning his gaze at me. ¡°Why don¡¯t you come with us?¡±


    ¡°Because if we all try to hide, that freak show will stomp around until he gets lucky and crushes us all underfoot. Besides, I aim to kill that son of a bitch,¡± I said with grim determination.


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re actually planning to fight that thing?¡± Ed asked in disbelief.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I replied with a shrug. ¡°I won¡¯t tell you that.¡± I paused, then offered him a cocky grin. ¡°But I am gonna fight that thing.¡±


    ¡°Of all the bad ideas I¡¯ve ever heard,¡± Ed grumbled, ¡°this is the stupidest by a country mile.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only stupid if it doesn¡¯t work,¡± I said with significantly more confidence than I felt. ¡°And I¡¯m tougher to kill than people give me credit for.¡±


    Ed let out a heavy sigh. ¡°Well, if anyone can pull it off, I suppose it¡¯s you. I¡¯ve seen you do more impossible things in the last two days than I can count on both hands.¡± He faltered, locking eyes with me. ¡°You sure about this, hoss?¡±


    ¡°You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don¡¯t take,¡± I said, before opening my storage space and pulling out a single Doorway Anchor Plate. Although I was the only one who could generate them, I wasn¡¯t the only one who could plant them. ¡°If things go south, use this to open a doorway and get back to the store. After everything that¡¯s happened, you deserve to get off this godforsaken level.¡± I hesitated for a moment. ¡°Just, make sure that Croc is safe, okay? Look after the little monster for me.¡±


    Ed nodded solemnly. ¡°On my life.¡± He gave me one last thin smile, then turned to the patch of corn, which wasn¡¯t really corn at all. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get clear. This place is about to turn into ground zero and we want to be as far away as possible.¡±


    The corn shimmered and contracted, transforming back into the familiar form of my blue dog. Croc stared at me for a long moment with its giant, stupid googly eyes.


    ¡°Be safe, Dan. I really don¡¯t want to have to avenge your death. I mean, I will, but it would be way better if I didn¡¯t have to.¡± Croc nuzzled my palm with its nose one last time, then turned and bolted after Ed and Woodstock. ¡°Wait for me!¡± the mimic called.


    Even though I didn¡¯t have long, I watched them go knowing this might be the last time I ever saw any of them.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Okay, here goes nothing,¡± I muttered to myself once they¡¯d disappeared into the corn and vanished from view.


    First, I recalled Drumbo and Synthia. Then I resummoned them along with every single Doorway Sentinel I¡¯d created. All five of them. My own personal army of Horrors shambled out of black slits in the air and formed a circle around me.


    The ground rumbled and shook as the HOA came into range.


    The kaiju was hemorrhaging blood from a dozen massive wounds and there were at least thirty Kannibal Kids scampering across the creature¡¯s colossal body, slowly but surely chipping away at its Health Pool. Without a constant supply of Sunnysiders to eat, the HOA¡¯s total HP had dropped below twenty percent, and it was sinking faster by the second. Out here in the cornfields, it would be vulnerable and there was a real chance I could actually kill this shithead.


    With my Horrors assembled, I activated Swarm Tactics, unleashing a wave of Mana that enhanced their stats. The ability granted a flat 5% boost to athleticism, toughness, and health regeneration for summoning two or more creatures, with an additional 2% stacking bonus for each extra summon. With Synthia, Drumbo, my five Doorway Sentinels, and, of course, the stupid fucking ice cream truck, that was a 17% increase across the board.


    That done, I steeled myself and triggered Form FleshTron, Go!, praying that I wasn¡¯t making the biggest mistake of my life.


    Another surge of raw energy burst from my core, flowing down my limbs before erupting outward in a ring of toxic green light. The air grew dense with crushing pressure as the neon ripple swept over my minions. One by one, they were dragged toward me like grotesque rag dolls caught in the world¡¯s most horrifying Shop-Vac. The spell ripped them apart piece by piece, transforming my Horrors into a howling whirlwind of claws, fangs, limbs, and twisted metal.


    I stood at the center of the chaos, the maelstrom churning around me.


    After a moment, the power lifted me off the ground, and I gritted my teeth as the dismembered monster pieces converged, slamming against my body with sickening, wet impacts. Drumbo¡¯s torso folded and twisted, wrapping around my chest as his rib cage reformed into a macabre breastplate of bone and gristle. Synthia¡¯s crab claw latched onto my back, anchoring into place while her chitinous plating molded itself into a rigid exoskeleton.


    At the same time, my legs thickened and stretched, reinforced with sinewy muscle borrowed from the Doorway Sentinels, while the ice cream truck¡¯s steel chassis formed a massive set of armored greaves. The truck¡¯s panels became enormous shoulder plates, and its windshield slammed down over my face, morphing into a curved, translucent visor.


    Drumbo¡¯s Gauntlet of Fist-Shaped Problems grew to the size of a truck tire, then slipped over my right hand. Synthia¡¯s chainsaw had fused with my left hand¡ªthough it wasn¡¯t really a chainsaw in the strictest sense of the word. Not anymore. Somehow, the weapon had merged with the angle grinder and circular blade, turning them into something greater than the sum of their individual parts.


    Now it was a whirling buzz saw, big enough to bring down a redwood.


    When the Lovecraftian Sailor-Moon Transformation sequence finally ended, I stood twenty feet tall, an unholy fusion of flesh, fur, and steel. Though I couldn¡¯t see myself, I knew I no longer resembled anything even remotely human. I was a walking fever dream. The deranged vision of a taxidermist on a week-long bender, fueled by Jager bombs and bath salts.


    There was still one last thing I needed to do, though.


    I accessed my spatial storage and pulled free the Potion of ¡®YOLO¡¯¡ªfor when you need to punch god right in the mouth. I figured this situation probably qualified. The elixir would quadruple my already boosted stats for the next five minutes, turning me into a force of nature in my own right. I chugged the potion, which tasted like gasoline and cherry Pop-Tarts.


    Raw power infused every nerve and muscle fiber.


    ¡°This,¡± I said, my voice guttural and inhuman, ¡°is fucking awesome.¡±


    I revved the buzz saw, my fear completely forgotten, and charged forward, ready to meet the HOA kaiju in battle for real.


    The titan still towered over me, easily twice my size¡ªI barely reached its stomach¡ªbut the sudden arrival of a second kaiju made the monster hesitate.


    I took full advantage of that opportunity and thrust my gauntleted hand forward, casting Hydro Fracking Blast. Instead of launching a finger-thick jet of water, a geyser exploded outward from my palm and smashed into the titan¡¯s deformed head. The spell carved off a fifth of the titan¡¯s remaining HP¡ªwhich meant it was dealing far more damage than it had any right to¡ªbut unfortunately, the spell also burned through my already dwindling Mana Pool in a matter of seconds.


    The beam of water guttered and died after only a few seconds, but the attack had managed to temporarily knock the titan off-balance. I darted in low, sweeping my screaming buzz saw toward one of the titan¡¯s legs. The HOA wasn¡¯t fast enough to avoid the attack and the whirling blade sunk deep, chewing through meat until it hit something solid underneath and jammed with a metallic shriek. With a grunt and a heave, I tried to yank the saw free, but it was well and truly stuck.


    ¡°THIS IS NOT HOW THINGS END!¡± the creature bellowed, incensed, before launching its other leg upward and directly into my face.


    There wasn¡¯t anything I could do but eat the blow.


    An enormous knee slammed into my jaw, sending me staggering backward and finally dislodging the saw. I barely managed to stay on my feet, though it was a close call. As I drunkenly fought to regain my balance, the HOA opened its massive maw and unleashed a searing column of fire. The inferno didn¡¯t have much range, but it felt hotter than the surface of the sun. As the flames licked across the metal panels salvaged from the ice cream truck, they began to sag and melt as my health dropped.


    I dove to the side, my mech surprisingly nimble for its size, rolled to my feet, and immediately charged back into the fight.


    I pulled back my right arm then threw the haymaker to end all haymakers, the blow aimed right at the HOA¡¯s groin. Although I wasn¡¯t exactly up to snuff on the anatomy of a house kaiju, I was pretty sure no one liked getting punched in the dick. Especially since the Gauntlet of Fist-Shaped Problems increased all melee damage by 250%. The gauntlet connected with the crunch of metal hitting concrete and the HOA howled in pain, more of its HP draining away. I also mashed one of the Kannibal Kids in the process, flattening the monster and leaving a smear of guts and gore behind.


    Whoopsie.


    The kaiju backpedaled, smoke and embers leaking from its gaping maw. Its movements were erratic, and for the first time I could see fear in its enormous eye. Its health was below fifteen percent, and between me and the remaining Kannibal Kids slowly ripping it apart, it didn¡¯t have long for this world.


    And we both knew it.


    If the titan had any hope of survival, it needed to end things fast, but I wasn¡¯t going to give it that chance. With a feral roar, I launched myself forward, raising the buzz saw for a devastating overhead strike. The blade shrieked as I brought it down, aiming for the jagged mess where the titan¡¯s shoulder connected to its arm.


    The saw slammed home, sparks flying as it chewed through layers of warped wood, twisted metal, and thick muscle. The HOA retaliated, swinging its other arm in a wide arc to dislodge me. I twisted at the waist, ducking beneath the sloppy blow, and drove my gauntlet into its exposed side. The impact cracked something structural, and the kaiju¡¯s form sagged, one of its oversized arms dropping uselessly to its side.


    ¡°Well, this has been shockingly awful,¡± I said, my voice coming out as a gravelly boom, ¡°and I can¡¯t wait to gut you then leave this entire floor behind forever. Zero out of five stars, would not visit again. In short, go fuck yourself.¡±


    I raised my buzz saw to finish this fucker off for good¡ª


    The titan surged forward, moving faster than seemed possible for a creature of its sheer size and bulk. It slammed a foot directly into my chest, knocking the wind from my lungs, then rose up to its full height and brought its massive arms crashing down on me like a pair of sledgehammers. The impact sent white stars dancing across my eyes and drove me to the ground, my knees buckling under the sheer force of the blow.


    Before I could get my bearings, the HOA reached forward and latched onto my suit with its grotesque hands, then lifted me into the air with uncanny ease and impossible strength. My mech groaned under the strain and I felt the flesh-and-bone framework threatening to come apart at the seams. I screamed and the sound came out as an inhuman bellow of pure agony. The titan was attempting to rip me in two and it wasn¡¯t doing a half bad job.


    When it became obvious, however, that it wasn¡¯t quite strong enough to accomplish the feat through brute force alone, it threw its head back, unhinged its jaw like a giant python, and pulled me into its mouth. I was far too big to swallow whole, but then the HOA wasn¡¯t trying to eat me. It was trying to eviscerate me. Jagged teeth pierced the armored exoskeleton and punched into my guts. I screamed again as my HP bled away an inch at a time. With my health already below forty percent, I knew I couldn¡¯t withstand this level of punishment for much longer.


    The pressure on my stomach and torso increased, the exoskeleton cracking, and black stole in along the edges of my vision. Ed had been right. This had, indeed, been a stupid idea. And now I was going to die for my hubris¡ª


    But then, just as the thought crossed my mind, the pressure began to ease.


    What the hell? I thought, still reeling from the pain.


    Somewhere within my mech, a radio squawked to life.


    ¡°Dan, this is Jakob, over,¡± the radio called. ¡°The disruptor¡­¡± The signal faltered and broke for a moment. ¡°The sequence¡­ finished running¡ª¡±


    Before I could respond, a shock wave rippled through the kaiju, and its entire body violently convulsed. The EMP embedded deep within its chest detonated, sending out a pulse of energy that lit up the night sky. The HOA kaiju¡¯s grip slackened, and I tumbled free from its jaws, falling to the ground in a heap.


    ¡°No¡­ This¡­ This can¡¯t be it. This can¡¯t be the way it ends,¡± the titan groaned, its massive frame swaying like a skyscraper about to topple. Billy Idol had finally stopped singing, the music gone, and now an eerie silence lay thick over the fields.


    Over the entirety of the twenty-fourth floor.


    ¡°You¡¯re right, it¡¯s not,¡± I said, gaining my feet with a groan. ¡°This is the way it ends.¡±


    I revved the buzz saw one last time, then leapt into the air and drove the spinning blade downward directly into the creature¡¯s skull, carving through the center of its enormous eye. Black ichor sprayed out in an arc as the kaiju¡¯s HP finally hit zero.


    Even dead, it swayed upright for a long moment.


    Then I yanked my blade free, raised one foot, and kicked the corpse over. The enormous body hit the ground with a clap of thunder and a huge cloud of dust mushroomed up into the air.


    [Level Up! x 6]


    Research Achievement Unlocked!...


    I didn¡¯t even have time to read through the achievement before the YOLO timer flashed red in the corner of my eye, giving me a ten-second countdown. Already, I felt weak and lightheaded, the world wobbling uncertainly beneath my feet.


    As the timer lapsed and finally hit zero, every ounce of strength in my body seemed to bleed from my veins all at once and my vision narrowed to a thin slit as I stumbled then fell onto my side. Every inch of me hurt and suddenly I couldn¡¯t breathe¡ªas though the weight of the mech suit itself was crushing my chest and driving the air from my lungs.


    Not for the first time, I thought I was going to die.


    This time, though, I was sort of okay with that.


    I¡¯d beat the HOA, protected my friends, and made good on my promise to Ed. Even if this was how things ended¡­ Well, maybe that wouldn¡¯t be so bad after all. Despite the pain, I closed my eyes and felt peace as darkness dragged me downward into unconsciousness.

 Fifty-Three – Brain-dead

    ¡°Guys, hey, guys, I think he¡¯s waking up,¡± said a familiar voice, though for some reason I couldn¡¯t quite place it. My thoughts were hazy and heavy. Clouded by pain. My head pounded like a drum and every inch of my body hurt. Even my hair hurt. It felt like I¡¯d spent a night sleeping in a churning cement mixer filled with rusty nails and rebar. ¡°Yep, he¡¯s definitely alive. I told you guys he¡¯d make it. Nothing can kill my best friend. Not Funtime Frank, not a giant floor overseer made of corpses and houses, not even aggressive hemorrhoids.¡±


    ¡°He might still be brain-dead,¡± someone else said. This voice was female. Temperance? That had to be her¡ªthough the last time I¡¯d seen her, she¡¯d been stranded inside the chest cavity of a kaiju.


    Things were starting to come back to me, but slowly. A flash of ice cream. The rancid scent of burning skin. A whirlwind of monstrous body parts wheeling around me. But there were gaps in my memory big enough to drive a tractor trailer through.


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure how much of a brain he had to begin with,¡± came a new voice, this one gruff and coated with a bit of a twang. Ed. ¡°That was easily the stupidest thing I¡¯ve ever seen.¡± He paused. ¡°It was the ballsiest thing I¡¯ve ever seen, too.¡±


    Woodstock squawked and chirped in agreement. ¡°Ballsy. Ballsy.¡±


    ¡°I already told you,¡± I grumbled through gritted teeth, ¡°it¡¯s only stupid if it doesn¡¯t work. And, for the record, I¡¯m not brain-dead¡­ Though I sort of wish I were.¡±


    Begrudgingly, I cracked one eye open and immediately regretted the decision. The weak light coming from overhead stabbed into my eyeballs. I was sprawled out on the sofa inside my private hotel suite. Croc was looking down at me in evident concern while Ed and Temperance sat at the dining room table. Woodstock was there, too, eating bits of crackers from a bowl.


    ¡°Can someone please turn down the lights in here?¡± I asked, before swinging my legs out over the edge of the couch then pushing myself into a sitting position. Even doing that much felt like running a marathon with cinder blocks tied to my feet.


    ¡°Sure thing, Dan,¡± Croc replied. The dog moved over to the wall and carefully adjusted a dimmer switch, until the room was just shy of dark.


    ¡°Is Jakob okay?¡± I asked, glancing bleary-eyed around the room. There was no sign of the Cendral and after the shitshow with the titan, I was worried that something bad might¡¯ve happened.


    ¡°I am fine,¡± Jakob replied a moment later, striding into view from the bathroom. ¡°Though, as you say, it was a bit touch and go there, toward the end.¡±


    Temperance scoffed. ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him, he¡¯s just being dramatic¡ª¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m being dramatic? When the titan toppled there was so much blood we almost drowned inside its torso,¡± Jakob said flatly, folding his arms across his chest in clear disagreement. I squinted, my vision still blurry, and got my first real good look at the Cendral. His clothes were red as crimson and peppered with muddy brown splotches and jet-black streaks. He¡¯d managed to clean off his face, but chunks of gore were still stuck in his hair. ¡°We literally had to cut our way free using my plasma shield,¡± he said, sounding completely unamused.


    Temperance dismissed the remark with a derisive sniff. ¡°A small price to pay, considering the magnitude of our achievement.¡± She offered me an unnerving smile¡ªbroad and sharp, like the edge of a blade. ¡°We did it. The beast is dead. Vanquished. Slain by our hand. You should have seen the carnage!¡± She cackled in glee. ¡°I killed so many of those Zoning Leukocytes that not even Croc could eat them all. And the Experience points?¡±


    Her demented grin grew even wider.


    ¡°I am level thirty,¡± she said with a hint of awe, ¡°which officially makes me five levels stronger than Jackson and the most powerful Roomkeeper in the Hold. As the people of Salem often used to say, the wheel of fortune turns, and none may stay its course. I believe the modern equivalent is Karma is a bitch, and I fully intend to be Queen of such bitches. Needless to say, Jackson and his ilk shall be met with quite the rude awakening upon my return.¡± She sighed, her expression softening into an almost wistful contentment. ¡°Truly, these past few days have been the best of my life.¡±


    ¡°God you¡¯re weird,¡± I mumbled, ¡°and you definitely need to see a therapist. I¡¯ve never put much stock in therapy, but I think it would do you some good. Still, I¡¯m glad you¡¯re okay. You and Jakob, both. Now, for the love of sweet baby Jesus, can someone please get me a Zima?¡± I asked, closing my eyes and leaning back against the plush sofa cushions. ¡°I haven¡¯t felt this shitty since¡­ maybe ever. I think this might be some kind of personal record.¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately, that won¡¯t help,¡± Jakob said, his voice drilling into my skull like an auger. ¡°We¡¯ve already given you two, along with several other experimental elixirs of my own design which have had no obvious effect. Your health is maxed out and you don¡¯t appear to have any visible injuries¡ªthough, perhaps, there is some deeper trauma we are unable to see?¡± He frowned and shook his head. ¡°It seems you have contracted some kind of temporary affliction that is directly affecting your stats.¡±


    I groaned as realization dawned on me.


    ¡°The Potion of YOLO,¡± I grunted weakly. ¡°I used it to boost my stats during the battle with the HOA. I guess it worked since he¡¯s dead and I¡¯m not, but the aftereffects are rough.¡±


    Aside from knocking me unconscious for twenty minutes, it also reduced every stat by quadruple for one hour. That meant my Athleticism had dropped all the way from 16 to 4 while my Toughness was only minutely better at 5. Those numbers were even lower than my original base stats, prior to Noclipping. No wonder I felt so terrible. I had all the vigor and vitality of a ninety-seven-year-old man with severe COPD.


    ¡°It¡¯ll wear off in less than an hour,¡± I said, ¡°though I won¡¯t be much use until it does. Hopefully nothing tries to murder us in the next forty minutes or so.¡±


    ¡°I doubt that¡¯ll be a problem,¡± Ed said with a reassuring nod. He seemed different than before. Oddly at peace. Like he¡¯d finally put down a heavy weight he¡¯d been holding onto for far too long. ¡°We¡¯re back in the store, and that security golem of yours is guarding the doors to this room, so no one should bother us.¡±


    ¡°That reminds me, how¡¯d we get back here, anyway?¡± I asked, rubbing at the back of my head. The details were beyond me. I couldn¡¯t remember anything after striking the killing blow against the kaiju.


    ¡°The doorway anchor you gave me,¡± Ed said in explanation.


    ¡°After you killed the HOA,¡± Croc added, ¡°I helped Ed find your body before the Kannibal Kids could get to you.¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°And by the time they recovered you,¡± Jakob said, ¡°we¡¯d managed to cut our way free from the titan¡¯s corpse. From there it was just a matter of getting out of the cornfields and finding a suitable house to use the placard on.¡±


    ¡°Normally, escaping the cornfields is next to impossible,¡± Ed added, ¡°but the Kannibal Kids were so busy devouring the HOA, they didn¡¯t even seem to notice us.¡± He grimaced. ¡°Honestly, it was hard to watch. Like seeing a pack of hungry piranha eat a school bus full of corpses.¡±


    ¡°As someone who personally witnessed several Delvers get devoured by a pack of land piranha down on the twelfth floor,¡± Croc said, ¡°I¡¯d say that is an extremely accurate description. There was a truly shocking amount of gore.¡±


    I did my best to ignore Croc and the idea that there was an entire level filled with magical land piranhas. I already had enough things to worry about. ¡°Don¡¯t suppose anyone manage to loot the Relics off the HOA?¡± I asked, fearing the worst.


    It would¡¯ve been a crime to go through all that and not be rewarded for all our efforts.


    ¡°Of course we managed to loot the body,¡± Jakob replied, sounding mildly scandalized by the accusation. ¡°We are not amateurs. It was the very first thing I did after the monster fell.¡± He upended a backpack stuffed with Relics, dumping its contents onto the table. A bizarre assortment of items tumbled out, including an antique meat grinder and a CPAP machine. ¡°This is everything we recovered from the HOA. There are some other Relics we can divvy up later, once you¡¯re feeling better, but we have collectively decided that these all belong to you.¡± He faltered for a beat. ¡°Well, you and Ed, since his disruptor did much of the heavy lifting, but he declined to claim any of them.¡±


    ¡°Just a small way of saying thank you,¡± Ed added, glancing away without meeting my eye. ¡°And as a way of apologizing for lying to you¡ªabout the disruptor, I mean. I almost got you all killed, and you saved our asses. The way I figure it, you earned these and then some. And speaking of, I also managed to loot some Relics from a couple of those Kannibal Kids you blew up.¡± He pulled out a handful of additional items and tossed them unceremoniously onto the table. ¡°It¡¯s not much, considering all you¡¯ve done, but it¡¯s the least I can do.¡±


    ¡°Appreciate it,¡± I said, suddenly feeling exhausted to my core. ¡°Now, as much as I want to pick through these, I think I need a shower and a beer first¡ªthough not necessarily in that order. Maybe a nap, too.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Ed said, rapping on the table with his knuckles then giving me a thin smile. ¡°We¡¯ll get out of your hair and give you some time to recover in peace.¡± He patted a walkie-talkie affixed to his hip. ¡°Just give us a holler and let us know if you need anything.¡±


    After a few more short goodbyes, Jakob, Ed, and Temperance filed out of the room, though Croc remained.


    ¡°I know you need some time alone,¡± the dog said, ¡°but can I stay anyway? I promise I won¡¯t bother you, Dan. I just¡­ After everything that happened, I don¡¯t want to leave. Is that okay?¡±


    I smiled and patted the dog on its head. ¡°Sure thing, bud. Stay as long as you want. I even have a surprise for you. Come check this out.¡± With a wince, I padded over to the enormous flat-screen and dropped down onto one knee. Beside the TV sat an old DVD player and a stack of flimsy plastic cases, which one of the Howlers had traded in. The top case featured a brooding Robert Pattinson clutching Kristen Stewart, with the word Twilight gleaming in sleek silver letters across the top.


    ¡°Wanna watch it?¡± I asked, flashing the DVD at Croc.


    ¡°Oh yes, Dan, yes. A thousand times yes. This might be the best gift you¡¯ve ever given me,¡± the mimic said, its googly eyes welling up with tears. ¡°Even better than the Froyo or the corpse pile of toddlers.¡±


    ¡°Glad you like it,¡± I replied, turning on the TV and popping in the disk. ¡°You start it while I go get cleaned up.¡±


    I left the dog on the couch and took a quick, blistering hot shower, then changed into PJs and grabbed a beer. By the time I was done, the movie was still in the first act and Edward had just saved Bella from being turned into a meat patty by a skidding van. With a beer in one hand, I grabbed the bag of Relics from the table and joined Croc on the sofa, before pulling the ottoman over so I could prop my feet up.


    Croc curled up beside me and rested its head on my thigh, though its attention remained firmly fixed on the screen.


    I let the movie play in the background as I took a few minutes to scroll through my notifications¡ªand I had a ton of ¡¯em. Between defeating the HOA and blowing up the Kannibal Kids, I¡¯d jumped another eight levels, bringing me to 42. Temperance had just reached level 30, which put me a full twelve levels above her. Jakob was probably a little higher, but my teammates had some serious grinding to do if they hoped to catch up¡ªand I really needed them to catch up.


    As strong as I was becoming, there was no way I could solo the Franchisor, and I¡¯d need powerful allies when the time came to finally duke it out with the Monarch.


    I¡¯d also earned a bunch of new achievements from my antics during the kaiju battle.


    Highway Surfer for riding on top of the ice cream truck during a floor overseer battle. Neapolitan Napalm for firing ice cream from an artillery cannon and transforming it into a weapon of mass evisceration. I earned the Divide and Conquer achievement for effectively turning hundreds of hostile Dwellers against each other all at once and received a particularly nasty one called Friendly Fire for dealing more than five hundred points of damage with my Discount Dan Clones. That particular achievement came with a Gold EOD Loot Token and a new title.


    Friendly Fire ¨C Explosion damage increases by 25% if it kills a friendly minion or ally in the process. ¡°With friends like these, who needs enemies?¡±


    There were even more, though most of them only came with minor experience bumps or simple low-grade Loot Tokens. The achievement that really mattered was the one I earned for taking down the HOA.


    Research Achievement Unlocked!


    Kaiju Slayer


    Hol-ee shit. That was crazy. You just did the unthinkable and took down a kaiju floor overseer¡ªa three-story nightmare cobbled together from hell¡¯s spare parts¡ªdespite it being twenty levels higher than you. Twenty. Levels. Higher. Just¡­ How, though? Was it skill? Luck? Divine providence from a higher power that no one truly understands? I have questions, but no answers.


    Who knows, maybe God really does look after drunks and idiots.


    You certainly qualify as both.


    No matter how you explain it, you managed to pull it off. Against all the odds and what is¡ªstatistically speaking¡ªa truly profound mystery, you survived and now here you are, covered in victory goo and way too self-assured for someone who spent half the fight launching ice cream from the top of a moving truck. But don¡¯t let me shit all over your victory. You earned it, so enjoy the moment¡­ Just don¡¯t expect this kind of miracle to happen twice.


    Reward: 5,000 Experience Points, 1 x Diamond Brawler Loot Token, 1 x Topaz Arcanist Loot Token


    Title: Kaiju Slayer ¨C Permanently increase all base stats by 5% for every kaiju-class threat defeated in battle (stacks indefinitely)


    I whistled through my teeth.


    Not only had I received a metric ass load of Experience, which probably accounted for all the new levels, but I¡¯d also earned both Diamond and Topaz Loot Tokens. I¡¯d never even seen a Topaz Loot Token before, and I couldn¡¯t even begin to imagine what kind of reward I¡¯d get for something like that. The title was the real prize, though. A permanent 5% increase across the board for every single stat? Even if I never saw another kaiju-class Dweller, that was one helluva boost¡ªthough, with my luck, I figured I¡¯d run across another one sooner or later.


    On the downside, I was more than a little annoyed to see that my Barracuda in a Barrel title had evolved once again.


    Title: Great White in a Barrel (E) ¨C You exude an aura of pure carnage. Dwellers more than ten levels below you will actively avoid you, and slaying any Dweller below Level 25 grants no Experience.


    This is an (E)volving title. This title cannot be unequipped. Is the little wah-baby sad because they can¡¯t murder Dwellers too weak to fight back? Well cry me a river, you murder hobo, because I don¡¯t give a shit.


    I¡¯d known this was coming eventually, so I wasn¡¯t all that surprised, but it did mean I wouldn¡¯t be able to grind out easy experience on any of the lower floors. Even the Jungle Gym Jamboree would likely be useless to me now¡ªat least for experience. But I was starting to suspect that was the point. The Researcher wanted me to delve deeper and this was his way of making sure I did.


    The Experience points and Loot Tokens were the carrot, and this title was the stick.


    If I wanted to get stronger, the only way forward was down.