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—an Enchanted Dab Rig called The Blazer—could 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—it had never really held the same appeal as good ol’ fashion liquor—but 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—a 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—the 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—one from each of the level 1 wisps—and a small treasure trove of Relics.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
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—which 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 – 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—you 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—especially 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—it 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.