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—skintight bunny suit, fluffy white boots and gloves, and a pair of floppy ears—Wraith 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 fury 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 - B07HFFD82A – Ecliputaur, Transmog [Level 18]
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 adept with a spellbook as they are with a battle axe.
Although Ecliputaurs are strong and adapt spellcasters, they also have all the dexterity and hand-eye coordination of a drunk 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, they 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—from the scraggily beard to the stained bathrobe—filing 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—”
“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 – 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. Honestly, 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—and 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—friends, family, job, home—and 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.
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“I’ve already apologized,” Wraith said tersely, “and I’ll remind you that I’m the one who got you out.”
“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—said they were the good guys, the Rebel Alliance fighting against the Empire—and 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 900th 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—”
“Except for the ones who want to murder us,” Temperance cut in. “Like your brother, Jackson.”
Wraith sighed. “Yes, like my brother.” He faced Temp. “I’ll be honest, 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—quite literally—who’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 jackass,” Temperance said. “He’s one of the three Tribunes who run 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—including 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 don’t believe it’s a test, so much as that the Backrooms are a purifying crucible for the mind, body, and soul. We believe that the chosen few who make it to the thousandth floor will be rewarded by the Researcher and taken to a realm of endless feasts and sex and violence.”
“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—though 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—which should’ve come as a shock to no one—and 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 fiancé 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 really be so bad 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 800th 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—”
“—But 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—a guy named Wheeler—was 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—might as well be here and now.
“What the hell,” I said, “Let’s go see if we can’t buy a little goodwill.”