Considering what had just gone down, the saloon was cleaned up remarkably quickly. Once Roy had dragged Casey out of the pile of slushie and syrup, she used one of her remaining soda bottles to douse the fire with some kind of frost bomb effect. The bodies were hauled out by a man who identified himself as the town carpenter, coffin maker, and undertaker.

  Then there was a lot of back slapping and drink buying, which was good, because Roy and Bastion had walked into town with only pocket change and weren’t in any position to pay.

  The place quickly took on a party atmosphere. Electronic dance music started playing from an old boombox. Groups of prospectors stood around two arcade cabinets, a dance game and a racing game, falling and crashing a lot as they drank more whiskey. Others headed for the bar and started slamming down drinks.

  Everyone seemed overjoyed to see the raiders and wizards dragged out of there in garbage bags, and everyone wanted to introduce themselves to the guys responsible for it.

  First was the cheerleader. Her name was Cate, as she proclaimed while posing and titling herself “Cheer Captain Cate.”

  “Captain?” asked Bastion. “Have you got a whole squad around here somewhere?”

  “Nope. I’m not a real cheerleader. The same way no one around here’s a real anything.”

  Roy wanted to argue the point there. Was Bastion not a real gunslinger, despite what he’d just pulled off with his revolver? Was Roy not a real knight, just because this wasn’t the Middle Ages? What counted as real anyway? The idea that you needed to be in your theme’s exact original context to be the real deal was absurd.

  “If you can do the moves, then you are a real cheerleader,” he said.

  “You know what I mean. I learned my moves from watching old competition tapes, and found the uniform in a flooded basement with some studio lights and a bunch of other costumes. My magic’s real enough, though. I cartwheeled past a bunch of those raiders on my way here. You guys have no idea how happy I am that you killed them all.”

  “But we didn’t kill the raiders,” said Roy. “Only the wizards.”

  “They’re all raiders, that’s something you learn fast around here.”

  A moment later, the old guy walked up and angrily grabbed his cowboy hat back off Bastion’s head.

  “Ya could have asked before taking what ain’t yours,” he said gruffly.

  “I did,” said Bastion, shooting him a glare. “Repeatedly.”

  “Well, my hearing’s not what it used to be, OK? Decades on the Star Republic bomb squad’ll do that to ya.”

  “You were in a themed unit?” asked Roy.

  “Could call it that, I guess. Not the ones that go around dressed like you boys, though. We were all about making the biggest booms you’ve ever seen. Let me tell you, folks wouldn’t believe some of the things I’ve blasted in my time. Shopping malls, stadiums, even a few of those pre-Warp skyscrapers.”

  “Cool,” said Roy. Fewer malls in the world was always a good thing by his measure.

  “Yep. No one does blasting like Kyle Fontaine.”

  Two Kyle’s in one bar? There hadn’t even been one Kyle in Wiley, but Roy supposed he’d run into all kinds of unusual names during this journey.

  There was a faraway look in old Kyle’s eyes as he recounted his career. “Wish to hell I was still there now, but they make you retire after so long. I always loved serving the Republic, blowing those damned dirty tribals to smithereens, and these raiders and wizards are no better. I’ll forgive you for taking my hat, just for that. Still,” his look darkened. “Don’t do that again.”

  Soon after, Casey came over, holding two frosted glasses full of bubbling orange liquid. “Two Orange Power Surges. The least I can do after you helped me out back there. Luckily, the syrups didn’t get caught up in the fireball.”

  “Thanks,” said Roy, taking a deep gulp. The effect was instantaneous. His eyes bulged wide open, and an electric tingle spread through his entire body. He felt charged, like he could run through a wall or jump up to the moon and punch it out of the sky. “Wow, that’s good.”

  Casey slumped into the booth beside them, squelching against the cushions as the syrupy slushie stuck to her clothes made contact. “I’m the best Soda maker around, or at least the best in town, which is the only town for a long way in any direction.”

  “How long has this town been here?” asked Bastion. “It looks pretty well established for a place so close to the swamps.”

  “The first of us got here a year ago. Our group was from north of Galveston.”

  “Hey, we came through Galveston on our way here,” said Roy.

  She nodded. “Bay Town after that, right? Though from the way the guy in charge was acting, I bet there was a lot more there by the time you passed through. Did they ever open the Snow-capped Cafe?”

  “Sure did. We had ice-cream cake,” said Roy.

  “You try the soda there?”

  Roy nodded. “Mystic Mana Blue Brew, but this is better.” He held up his glass appreciatively.

  “Good to hear. It’s about all I’ve been able to do lately. I came here with a group of treasure hunters, but we got beat up pretty bad by a big group of Gator-men early on. This town was standing empty, and the supplies in this saloon were the only reason we all survived. Even then, some of us never fully recovered, and our treasure hunting days were over.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Roy.

  “It worked out OK, I guess. We were only the first to wind up here. Later on, there were plenty of other treasure hunters walking out of the swamps, licking their wounds. Prospectors, they’re called here.”

  “I still don’t like that name,” said Bastion.

  “They call themselves that because those were the costumes they found when they showed up here with nothing. The first ones got the good stuff from the dressing rooms for the old stunt show, and the latecomers got the cheap stuff from the gift shops. None of it’s very good against Gator-men, so they don’t head too far into the swamps. Enough of them ended up here that we set up services for them. Ryan’s the sheriff, Sam runs the jail, Nate’s gunsmith and scout, and Tex is still treasure hunting solo, dodging raiders and wizards the whole time.”

  “What’s the story with the raiders and the wizards anyway?” asked Bastion, gesturing around the room. “Does this happen a lot?”

  “What, you mean bodies piling up in the saloon? No, this was the first time. The problem has been building for a while, though. It started with prospectors going missing, no one knowing if they skipped town, became gator chow, or got killed for whatever they were carrying. Eventually, enough survived after being attacked that we knew for sure who was behind it. Trade caravans mostly, going to Bay Town or the Great Mall. They get hit harder, but some are still fast enough to get away. Not many of those come through here now, though. Too much risk.”

  “You could try convoys, with extra armed security like back in the Star Republic,” suggested Bastion.

  “I know all about the Republic’s security,” Casey said flatly. “Even if we’d accept the kind of tradeoffs that come with that, we don’t have the numbers or the weapons. All the guns were gone when we arrived here. Probably looted straight after the Warp by people who didn’t realize how useless they’d be against Gator-men.”

  “Guns aren’t great against most themed armor either,” said Roy.

  “Wizards seem to be the exception,” Bastion pointed out.

  “There are other themed weapons,” Roy said.

  “Sure,” said Casey. “But the best supply of those is the arcade, and it's under raider control. Usually they don’t stray too far from there, but the way they just strolled into town and started making threats…they’re getting bolder, looking for trouble, and once those five don’t come back, there’s going to be even more of that.”

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Is there anything we can do to help?” asked Roy.

  “In exchange for help tracking down our own stolen goods,” Bastion added quickly.

  “Like I said earlier, see the sheriff tomorrow. He’ll have some kind of plan once I tell him what happened here. In fact, I’d better go do that now, in case more of those guys show up faster than I expect.”

  Casey got up and left. In her place, Kyle joined them. Not old Kyle Fontaine, who liked blowing things up, but young Kyle the action hero who’d recently recovered from being knocked out by a plastic fern.

  “Oh dude, they were just telling me how you won that fight. I wish I could have seen it. You just threw on a cowboy hat and straight up iced all five of them? The clothes really do make the man, I guess. My own costume’s just what I could find in the old gift shops around here and rip up into something rugged.”

  As Kyle spoke, he was absolutely slamming back energy drinks. He had three of them laid out on the table, and downed one in a single go before pointing to Roy. “You were amazing too, just constantly ready to throw down, and that sword, plastic right? But it burst that bubble anyway. You guys have gotta tell me where you got your costumes from.”

  “We knew someone back in Bay Town who helped us with them,” said Roy.

  “Bay Town, right. I’d really like to see that place someday. Everyone around here says it’s great, even though they don’t like the guy who runs it.”

  “Your accent says Star Republic, you didn’t pass through there on your way here?” asked Bastion.

  “No. I, uh, came here a different way, with kind of a bad crowd, to be honest. But that’s all over. I’m pure West Town prospector now, even if I don’t like that name.

  “Thank you,” said Bastion, slapping his hands down on the table. “Everyone in this bar’s been saying it, and I just keep thinking…they have to hear how lame it sounds every time they say it.”

  Young Kyle nodded. “Totally sucks, right? Treasure hunter sounds so much better. That’s what I want to be, by the way.”

  “Aren’t you already one?” asked Roy. “You’re here, right? In the land of themes and dreams and everything.”

  “Yeah, but like, I’ve not done a lot of treasure hunting so far, and I saw some of the things you guys did, and I know I’m not on that level. I always wanted to try out for special forces, back when I was in the cadets, but I could never focus during the tests, or the classes. That’s why I like energy drinks so much, they help me relax, think clearly for once.”

  Getting into special forces was hard. You needed to be gifted mentally and physically; finding both of those things in one person was rare.

  Roy could probably have done it. It offered more freedom than most military roles. You could achieve your objective however you wanted, but you'd still be letting the Republic set these objectives. Relative freedom, not the ultimate Freedom he wanted.

  “Hey,” said Kyle. “When you guys go out looting ruins, could you take me with you?”

  “Sure can,” said Roy.

  “We don’t know if we’re doing that yet,” said Bastion. “We’re here trying to get back the things we already looted that got stolen.”

  “Oh, right. That’s what you were telling Casey about after I…”

  “Totally stuck out with her,” Bastion supplied.

  “Yeah. How was I supposed to know she was with the sheriff? I’ve heard that guy’s hard as nails, too.”

  “The guy the raiders said was crippled?” asked Bastion.

  “Yeah. All I have to go on is rumors, though. I’ve never actually met the guy.”

  “Speaking of rumors,” said Roy, “do you know anything about that guy over there?” Roy pointed to the man with the filthy beard and the armor made of trash.

  Compared to most themed armor he’d seen, it looked less crafted and more accumulated. Layers of plastic and cardboard, coated in grime, held together with wire that had once been coat hangers and twine that had once been shoelaces.

  Its outer layer was a collage of food wrappers, which made him resemble a race car driver with a suit covered in his sponsors' logos; a kind of anti-advertisement. On top of that was a poncho that was clearly just a garbage bag, torn and stained. On the table next to him was a bucket with eye holes punched through it, the inside filled with green residue.

  “Rancid Jimmy?” said Kyle. “No one seems to know anything about him. He doesn’t talk much, likes to play things mysterious. I don’t know if that’s part of his theme, or even what his theme is. Can garbage and dirt be a theme?”

  “It probably can,” said Roy.

  “There’s another guy around here with armor made of junk, but Tex’s beer-can samurai costume actually looks good. I don’t know what Rancid Jimmy is doing with his.”

  “And Rancid Jimmy,” said Bastion. “Is that the kind of nickname other people only use when he’s not within earshot?”

  They were possibly within earshot right now, or at least perilously close to it.

  “No. He calls himself that, pretty insistently, to be honest. Never lets anyone get away with leaving off the rancid. Those are some of the few times I’ve seen him speak up. Like I said, no one talks to him much.”

  “Because of the smell,” Bastion nodded.

  “Well yeah, but also because they're worried what he’d do if they really offended him. What if that costume actually does something? Who knows what the effects could be, you know.”

  “It kind of has to be powerful for it to be worth repelling everyone that much,” mused Roy.

  Soon after that, Casey returned and handed them the keys to two hotel rooms above the saloon. Like the drinks, they were on the house.

  “You get the only two left,” said Casey. “Some of the more exotic suites.”

  After thanking her, they decided to go to sleep early so they’d be sharp for their meeting with the sheriff in the morning.

  The first room they looked at was the “Outlaw Suite,” made of faux wood plastic paneling, and themed well enough that it was actually splintering in places. It even smelled like wood.

  One wall was papered with wanted posters. The canopy bed looked like a covered wagon, and the mirror had bullet holes stylistically placed around the edges of the glass, sealed safely behind a second, intact layer.

  “Dibs,” said Bastion.

  “You don’t even know what the other one is yet.”

  “I’m taking a gamble that this is as tolerable as the theming gets in this place. Plus, I can feel a resonance boost just from standing in here. If I sleep in my costume, I’ll have an easier time staggering to the bathroom in the middle of the night.”

  Bastion paused as something else caught his attention. “Ooh, look, a safe. Do you think there are any gold coins in here?” He walked over to the small square box over the dresser and swung open the plastic door. “Nope, too much to hope for.”

  Inside was a TV with a rectangular flap beneath it.

  “Built-in Mega-Tape player,” said Bastion. “This place wasn’t renovated for a solid decade before the Warp. Now let’s see your room.”

  They walked down the hall to the “Sweet Sunsets Honeymoon Suite.”

  Here, the walls were painted with a cowboy and cowgirl in silhouette, smooching against a sunset.

  A heart-shaped hot tub with a pair of giant horns over it took up the room’s center. Surprisingly, it was filled with clean water that didn’t smell of anything; whatever chemicals they’d have used before the Warp had been replaced with theme magic.

  “Oh, man,” said Bastion. “This is actually pretty nice. Maybe I spoke too soon. Do you think—”

  Next to the TV, a tune started playing. It was coming from two miniature automatons: a bride and groom in a little gilt?framed gazebo on the dresser. It was a scratchy music?box rendition of “Oh My Darling, Clementine,” accompanied by a repeating two-step dance.

  “Not my favorite tune,” said Roy. He reached for the dial below it, but no matter how tightly he gripped the timer, he couldn’t get it to move.

  Eventually, it turned on its own, twisting itself back to the three-minute mark.

  “Huh. Must be magic at work,” said Bastion. “Wait. Does that mean…”

  “That it resets itself, and every three minutes—oh. Oh no.”

  “Well, enjoy your rest, Roy. I’m going back to my room.”

  “Come on.”

  “I called dibs, Roy. Those are the rules.”

  “Can’t we flip a coin over it?”

  “Do you have a coin?”

  “No, because I used them all saving your life back at the vending machine.”

  “And I’m very grateful. I think I’ll appreciate that gift by enjoying the room without the endless dancing automatons.”

  “We could share the outlaw suite. Maybe the beds pull apart so we could use it like a twin room.”

  “Hell no. What if I meet a girl in town?”

  “There weren’t many in the saloon. Who were you thinking of?”

  “I don’t know. Cate, maybe.”

  “Well, if you're thinking about that, maybe you’d want the room with the hot tub, huh?”

  “Do you know how awkward it is to move around underwater?”

  “I did fine in the diving suit.”

  “I meant without a magic costume.”

  “No, I never had a swimming pool, or a hot tub.”

  “Well, you’re welcome to it now.”

  Roy looked around the room, hoping to find some kind of master electrical shutoff switch, and lifted a pile of faux fur in the corner. Beneath it was a coin-operated mechanical bull. The sign hung around its neck said it was “for romantic rides.”

  Bastion burst out laughing. “Real shame you don’t have coins for it, Roy.”

  Roy waved as Bastion left. “Screw you, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

  For a while, Roy tried to ignore the tune and fall asleep. He found himself restless, though. Too much to think about.

  In one day he’d left Bay Town, traversed the swamps, found a golden disc, fought gator-men, a phantom thief and a femme fatale, lost the golden disc, escaped a rabbit with a hot air balloon hovercraft, crashed into a moon-man cowboy, bought a healing potion with their last coin, entered West town, fought raiders and wizards, and finally foiled a pair of dancing tormentors.

  It all added up to a lot of open loops, without a clear direction on what their next goal was, exactly.

  One more thing to think about can’t hurt.

  He pulled off the covers, took out the manual that he’d found with the golden disc from his pocket, and began to read.