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—even 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—” 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.”
“—We’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—right 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—we’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”—I gestured toward the entryway—“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—because 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.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
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 naïve 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 naïve 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”—he hooked his thumb over one shoulder—“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”—I flashed my Kiosk Club Card temporary tattoo—“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—meaner, 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—other 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—last 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—assuming 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—this 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—not 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—I’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—to 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—it’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—once the signal is finally down for good—I’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…”