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”—he looked at me and Temperance in turn—“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—assuming 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 façade 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.

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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—except 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 – 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—classic noob mistake—and 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—this one carrying a bolt-action rifle and wearing a dark brown Stetson—fired 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—especially 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 – 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 – 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—the 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—though 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—semi-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.