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—neatly removed like a cancerous tumor—leaving 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—even those located on other floors—also 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”—Croc hesitated for a second, as though considering its words carefully—“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—even 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”—I waved a hand around—“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 – Level 1

(C) The Gremlin’s Groin Guardian – Level 1

(C) Force Multiplier – Level 1

(C) Slippery When Wet – Level 1

(U) Mall Ninja’s Strike – Level 1

(U) Bad Trip – Level 1

(R) Sterilization Field – Level 1

(R) Bleach Blaze: The Unidentified Stain Eradicator – Level 2

(ME) Compass of the Catacomber (Fully Tempered)

Current Titles – Passive

Out of Your League, Deathwish, Marked for Death, Weapon of Opportunity, Legend in the Making, Overkill Overlord

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

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—almost 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—especially 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 façade 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—I 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—which can be reclaimed at any time—once 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—or the more a spell consumed—the 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—though 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—I had enough coffee syrup to drown an ox—but 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—human or otherwise—the 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—and read this part carefully—if 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.

1. Don’t STEAL, or I’ll dropkick your ass into the sun.

2. Don’t harass store Employees. Seriously. They will END you.

3. Don’t damage store property or I will personally feed you to the Mobile Murder Muncher in the Loot Arcade.

4. DON’T BE A DICK. You might be surprised how far not being a dick will take you in life.

5. Discount Dan’s is Neutral Territory. All are welcome here, EXCEPT for the Aspirants of the Skinless Court.

6. All Aspirants of the Skinless Court can go suck an entire bag of dicks.

— 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—including 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—right 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—the Backrooms absorbed all Loot Tokens spent—which 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…”