“There’s no way we can trust her,” I said, staring at the items spread across the table in my hotel room: A Rare-grade Relic called ESP Amplifier, a pair of strange Artifacts, an impressive Sigil Stone, and a spherical iron ball covered in glyphs.

  “Obviously,” Jakob confirmed with a nod, “but that doesn’t mean you should avoid these gifts either. ‘Einem geschenkten Gaul schaut man nicht ins Maul.’ One should not look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  He picked up one of the artifacts and turned it over in his hands. It looked like a cheap, knock-off paper Burger King crown, made from dull yellow cardboard with the words Burger Baron printed in bold across the front. At first glance, it seemed like garbage, but I’d learned long ago that appearances meant nothing in the Backrooms.

  Despite its somewhat lackluster curb appeal, the Crown of the Burger Baron was a Fabled-grade Artifact with a shitload of awesome abilities. It boosted Grit, scaled with Variant Assimilation Level, and had a passive effect called Mental Fortress, which granted partial immunity to Charm-like spells and increased resistance to psychic damage.

  This thing was a powerhouse, and the Director had just… given it to me.

  “Her motives are clearly suspect,” Jakob added, setting the crown back on the table carefully. “It’s possible she is setting you up. Setting all of us up…” he faltered for a moment. “Still, these items are powerful. Regardless of where they came from, you’d be foolish not to use them.”

  “I believe we are all in agreement on that front,” Temperance said. “Dan isn’t a buffoon. There was never any doubt about whether he would use them. The real question is what do we do about this?”

  She picked up the metal sphere and channeled a thread of raw mana into a small divot at the bottom of the object. The glyphs etched across its surface flared to life, glowing bright white, as a dazzling projection burst from the top.

  It was a map—but not like any map I’d ever seen.

  The projection showed a sprawling, three-dimensional web of connections, like a cast mold of a termite colony. Thousands of diamond-like nodes glittered in the air, linked by thin strands of energy. Each point represented a kiosk, and the kiosks acted as entry and exit points to a vast network spanning hundreds of floors. Using that network, anyone with the know-how could easily travel between kiosks.

  Some kiosks connected laterally, allowing for quick travel within the same floor. Others connected vertically to adjacent floors—or even skipped several levels entirely, much like the double-decker stairwells. The rarest of the bunch, however, were marked with pulsing orange light. Those were spatial gateways and, much like my own doorway anchors, they defied the laws of space and time.

  All a prospective Delver had to do was go through one and then they’d instantly step out of its paired gateway. With the right knowledge, someone could use the network to travel from floor 75 to floor 225 in the blink of an eye.

  Sure, they’d have to reach level 75 first, but this map made it clear how much easier the network could make things. The deepest node reached floor 355—not even close to the 999th floor—but still far deeper than I’d ever been. Honestly, I was surprised more Delvers didn’t use these things. The kiosks were everywhere. From the look of things, they were far more numerous than stairwells.

  There was a catch, though. Because there was always a catch.

  Almost all of them were guarded by Dwellers. Dangerous ones. Getting past them was no easy feat, as I’d learned firsthand with the behemoth kiosk crab.

  But the Director had left instructions—and a solution.

  Turned out, the Dwellers inhabiting the kiosks were all oath bound to the network’s owner. In this case, the Franchisor.

  They did its bidding.

  Well, maybe did its bidding, was a bit of an overstatement.

  They were still more or less feral murder hobos, but they begrudgingly let any Delver with a special Club Card pass through the network unmolested. That was the second Artifact the Director had gifted us with. A small stack of temporary tattoos emblazoned with “Kiosk Club Card” in blocky neon-red lettering.

  Jakob recognized them immediately. “These are incredibly expensive,” he said, running a finger along the edge of one. “The Black Harbor Syndicate sells them, but they charge a small fortune. Most Delvers simply can’t afford to pay their fees. It’s possible that Wraith has one, though I doubt it.”

  According to Jakob, the tattoos lasted for a month and granted access to both the auction house and the network. With them and the map, we could easily navigate the labyrinth of kiosks without getting lost or having to worry about the Dwellers.

  The Director had even charted a route for us, just like she’d promised.

  We could catch a spatial kiosk gateway from the third floor, which would immediately take us to the 24th, where the first real threat awaited. Assuming we could make it past whatever freak show was guarding the exit, another gateway would whisk us away to floor 49, then onward to floor 75, and finally to the 99th floor—the Franchisor’s domain.

  And if we managed to kill the Franchisor, we’d gain access to three-thousand different kiosks, all of which would be converted to Discount Dan popup locations. Creating a massive, interconnected array of auction houses and trading posts, scattered across more than three hundred floors. A certifiable trading empire that would allow Delvers to buy and sell Relics or Artifacts while I took a reasonable cut of the profits. Plus, we’d cripple the Monarch in the process, which was the icing on the cake.

  The rewards were undeniable. The only problem was, I didn’t trust the Director for shit.

  This felt like a set up. One that would blow up in my face.

  “If the Monarch really is mobilizing his forces and preparing to strike,” I said, grabbing a pair of Bud Lights from the fridge, “we can’t just sit here and twiddle our thumbs. We need to act. But the way I see it, we’ve really only got three options.”

  I popped the top of the beer and slid another can toward Jakob. He nodded his thanks, cracking it open with practiced ease. There were a lot of things I didn’t see eye-to-eye with Jakob about, but the one thing we’d always agree on was that it was never too early for beer.

  “Option one,” I said, before taking a long drink, “we take the Director’s gifts, call it a stroke of good luck, and pretend nothing happened. Go right back to business as usual.”

  “Excellent, let’s get rid of the terrible suggestions right away,” Temperance said. “I often say there is no such thing as a bad idea while brainstorming, but that one is the glaring exception. You might as well just stroll down to the 999th floor and petition the Monarch to fashion your skin into a fine pair of boots.”

  “You’re not wrong,” I conceded with a nod. “Which brings us to option two—we trust the Director, head down to the 99th floor and try to kill the Franchisor, who is probably forty or fifty levels higher than we are. Best case scenario? We survive, somehow manage to kill the Franchisor, but also royally piss off the Lord of Coins in the process.”

  “The risks are significant,” Jakob agreed, leaning forward, “but in my mind, the rewards far outweigh them. Taking over the entirety of the kiosk network would dramatically increase our reach. Imagine what we could accomplish with so many kiosks. Think about what we will learn and all the people we could help.” He rested his arms against the edge of the table as he peered at the sea of floating lights.

  He jabbed a finger toward a glimmering mote.

  “Unless I am mistaken, that is floor 185. There is an enormous Cendral colony there.” He pointed at another cluster of lights. “Floor 250. There are more archives and laboratories there than anywhere else below floor 500. If there are any answers about what the Variant Research Division is—about what they were doing here, or what the Backrooms are—I’m sure we’ll find it there.” A feverish light burned in his eyes like a smoldering tire fire.

  “Don’t suppose you see any floors that have water slides, do you?” Croc asked.

  The Cendral smiled and nodded. “There,” he said. “Floor 119. I’ve never been there myself, of course, but they say there are swimming pools as far as the eye can see and waterslides so high, not even the bravest men will dare to go down them.”

  “I’d go down them,” Croc said, its googly eyes reflecting the lights from the map. “I even have a water tube form, meant just for slides like that.” The light seemed to fade from Croc’s eyes after a second thought. “I still have reservations about this, though. That Director lady was scary, Jakob. There was something off about her. And that’s coming from me, a mimic, who occasionally likes to eat people. I mean, it’s hard to put my finger on—mostly because I don’t have fingers—but I’m telling you there’s something wrong with her.” The dog pursed its lips into a thin line and shook its head. “I don’t know, maybe she was being honest, but I don’t want to do anything she tells us to.

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

  “Then, there’s this Lord of Coin fellow to consider,” Croc continued. “If we do this, he’s going to be really mad at us. I don’t like the idea of making more enemies when we could make friends instead, you know? What if we tried to find a way to get in touch with him and tell him what happened? I dunno, maybe there’s a way to make some kind of deal with him instead? I mean, the Lord of Coin might also be bad, but he isn’t actively trying to use us like a weapon. Not like the Director is.”

  “That’s actually the third option,” I said, setting my beer down. “I don’t think walking into the Lord of Coin’s stronghold is a great idea either, but maybe we could seek out one of his proxies? There’s got to be a way to get in contact with him.”

  “Ja,” Jakob said, though his expression darkened noticeably. “Through the Black Harbor Syndicate. The Lord of Coin heads the entire organization.”

  “Oh fiddlesticks.”

  “Exactly,” Jakob replied. “We’re not exactly on good terms with them, and I very much doubt they would accept us with open arms.”

  Temperance snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. They’re pit vipers. Not as bad as the Aspirants, maybe, but I wouldn’t turn my back on one, for fear that they would try to steal my kidney and sell it on the black market.”

  “That’s not a joke, either,” Croc said. “The Black Harbor also traffics in organs and rare bio upgrades. If you want to become a Transmog like Jakob, you have to go through them to get an appropriate Helix sample.”

  The room fell into uncomfortable silence.

  “Maybe we could go to the Franchisor directly?” I finally said, half question, half statement. “See if we can’t strike some kind of deal with it instead? That’s probably a long shot, but it might be worth trying?”

  “I don’t know, Dan,” Croc said, its voice low and uncertain. “If the stories are true, the Franchisor’s not human. And not friendly. Plus, he’s made a deal with the Monarch, so there’s no way we could trust him.”

  “Yeah, that’s a fair point,” I replied idly running my fingers over the slick surface of my beer can. “Hate to say it, but it sounds like the only real option we have is to trust the Director and hope she’s not trying to dick us over.”

  “That’s fine by me,” Temperance said, before pausing. “Just to be clear, that is the plan that involves killing things, right? I want to leave a trail of carnage behind me as wide as the Nile.”

  I exhaled slowly, nodding despite the unease still gnawing at me. “Yeah, it’s the one that involves overwhelming violence,” I said, trying to inject some confidence into my voice. The truth was, I still had my doubts, but doing nothing just wasn’t an option. The Marine Corps had pounded into my head that any decision, even a bad one, was better than no decision at all.

  I glanced at Croc, who looked even less sure than I did. The mimic’s shoulders were slumped as though the dog were folding in on itself and a faint tremor ran along its body. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Croc was afraid.

  “What’s wrong, bud?” I asked, nudging the mimic with my elbow.

  The dog fidgeted nervously.

  “It’s nothing,” Croc said before wilting under my gaze.

  “Bullshit,” I immediately declared. “Friends don’t lie to each other, Croc. There’s something you’re not telling us.”

  “It’s just, now that we’re here,” Croc said, rather sheepishly, “on the verge of descending… Well, I’m not sure this is what I want anymore, Dan. I thought I wanted to go deeper—I mean floor 119 does sound amazing—but now? Now, I’m scared. Some part of me knows we need to go deeper, but another part of me is terrified that if we do this, we’re going to lose everything. That I’m going to lose you, Dan…”

  The dog faltered and stared down at the floor, unable to look at me a moment longer.

  “I… I don’t think I can handle that,” the mimic said. “Gertrude was the closest thing I’d ever had to a mother. She saved me and if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here. When the Aspirants killed her, I thought I was never going to have a family again. I was sure I’d never be happy again. Even though I tried to help other Delvers, most of them were terrified of me. Or disgusted by me.

  “They treated me like a monster, because that’s what I was to them. A monster. But not anymore. For the first time ever, I have friends. I have a community where people don’t hate me. Where they aren’t afraid of me. Those little kids from Howler’s Hold were playing with me, Dan. They were laughing with me, instead of screaming at me or running away in terror. That’s never happened before. It’s just…”

  The dog slunk over and dropped its head onto my leg. Its huge plastic, googly eyes stared up at me. “I’ve seen so much death, Dan. And I couldn’t bear to lose you. Even thinking about it makes my insides hurt, like when I’ve eaten too much Froyo. Only worse. And with less gas.”

  “I think you might be lactose intolerant,” Jakob muttered. “I have a pill that can help with that.”

  “I appreciate that,” Croc said seriously, “but I already have enough toes.”

  I snorted and didn’t bother to tell the dog that lactose had nothing to do with lacking toes.

  “Change is always hard,” I said, patting Croc’s muzzle, “and because friends tell each other the truth, I’m not going to sugar coat things and say this won’t be dangerous. Just the opposite. There’s a good chance we could get hurt. Theres even a good chance we could all die. But staying here is a guaranteed death sentence. If we want what we’ve built to last, we need to go deeper. Need to get stronger. There’s no other way.”

  “That’s not the only thing,” Croc said, nuzzling my knee. “I’m also afraid that if we go down deeper that you won’t need me anymore. That you won’t want me anymore. I’ve never been below the seventeenth floor, which means I won’t know what the dangers are. I won’t be able to warn you about the traps or tell you about the other Dwellers. I’m not as smart as Jakob, I’m not as good at killing as Temperance, and I’ll never be as handsome as you are in that luxurious robe.”

  The dog stroked the edge of my bathrobe with one paw.

  “Knowing about the floors is my thing,” Croc said softly. “It’s what I bring to the team. If I don’t have that, Dan, I don’t have anything to offer. I mean my knowledge of Twilight is admittedly impressive and my chair impersonation is getting pretty good, I suppose.” The mimic’s form burbled, and a blue wing backed chair replaced the dog. It still didn’t look normal, but it was more convincing than it had been, once upon a time. “But,” the chair said, the seat cushion forming its mouth, “I feel like this is pretty situational. Will you still want me around, even if I don’t have a thing anymore?”

  “Friendship isn’t transactional,” I replied without missing a beat. “I want you around because of who you are, not because of what you can do for me. This place is bleak and lonely and miserable, but you make it less bleak and lonely and miserable. That’s what you bring to the team.”

  “Thanks, Dan,” Croc said, still in chair form. A tear leaked down from a black button eye set into the backrest. It would’ve been sweet if it wasn’t so viscerally disturbing.

  “You’re welcome, bud. But you’re also right. This is dangerous and even if we survive, things will change, which is why we should vote on it. I’m not the Flayed Monarch and this isn’t a dictatorship. I won’t force anyone to go. For better or worse, we’re in this together and this is our decision, not my decision.” I lifted my hand. “With that said, I vote we go.”

  Everyone was quiet for a long beat as the full weight of the situation sank in.

  Although both Temperance and Jakob had said they wanted to descend, talk was cheap. Easy. Walking the walk was another thing entirely.

  A lesson Croc was coming to terms with in real time.

  Jakob was the first to break the tense silence. “I haven’t changed my mind. I will go, too.” He nodded, his jaw set into a hard line. “I already told you, I mean to make it to the bottom. To find answers, then find a way out. I’ll never get another chance like this one. Mitgehangen, mitgefangen, or as you would say, in for a penny, in for a pound.”

  “If he goes, then so shall I," Temperance declared, a wry smile tugging at her lips as she glanced at Jakob. “I simply cannot allow myself to be outdone by a pacifist. The 1000th floor beckons, and I mean to prove myself worthy of its summons, even if no one else believes it.”

  That last remark caught me momentarily off guard.

  Temperance normally seemed so self-confident, yet underneath her reckless, devil-may-care attitude, I had a sneaking suspicion that she was deeply insecure and unsure of herself. It wasn’t hard to guess why. She’d been betrayed by her family, abandoned by her fiancée, and sentenced to a cruel and ugly death for a crime she didn’t commit.

  She wanted to belong. She wanted to be valued just as badly as Croc did.

  “You know you don’t have to prove yourself to Jackson or the rest of those assclowns with the Roomkeepers, right?” I said, more statement than question.

  “It’s not about proving myself to him,” Temperance replied, dismissing my comment with a wave of her hand. “I didn’t become a Roomkeeper because of Jackson. I did it for myself. If not for the Backrooms, I’d be dead. They saved me. Choose me. I’m proving to them that I was worth the effort. And I’m proving it to myself as well. The core belief of the Roomkeeper faith is simple: strength is the most important thing in the world.

  “I will make myself strong, so no one will ever again do to me what my family did. What Jackson tried to do to me. I’ve been weak my whole life and I refuse to remain that way. Besides.” Her expression softened. “You won’t last long without me.” She stole a sidelong look at Jakob. “You need someone who isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty.”

  Jakob sighed and rolled his eyes but said nothing. He was smart enough to know that wasn’t a conversation he could win.

  “What about you, Croc?” I asked. “And before you say anything, I want you to know that no matter what you decide, you’ll still be my best friend. If you want to stay behind and help run the store, I won’t be upset at all.”

  The blue chair melted into a puddle of writhing limbs and mouths and eyeballs, before finally reforming into the familiar dog shape.

  “I still have reservations, Dan,” the dog said, “but if you’re set on doing this, I’m with you all the way. I won’t tell you that I like it, because friends don’t lie to each other, but friends don’t abandon each other either. And you’re my best friend, Dan. Also, between you and me, I can’t stay in the store.

  “Ponypuff is clingier than ever, and I keep finding her staring at me when she thinks I’m not looking. It’s unsettling, Dan.” The dog grimaced. “Also, I can’t technically prove this, but I suspect she might be considering trying to sacrifice me to her god. I found her building an altar in one of the supply closets which is very upsetting to look at.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. The irony was just too much coming from a mimic who actively watched me sleep and constantly battled with its insatiable desire to eat me.

  “We are agreed then,” Jakob said. “I am feeling a profound sense of angstlust. You do not have a comparable English word, but it means a mixture of fear and excitement.”

  “Oh, we have a comparable word, alright,” I said, nodding enthusiastically. “It’s fearboner.”

  “Meine Güte,” the lizard man replied, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I work with idiots.” He sighed then pulled out a small notepad from his jacket. “Hilariously mistranslated phrases aside, if we are going to do this, we must be smart. Cunning. I’ll need a day to prepare. Perhaps two.” He began furiously scribbling down notes in neat German. “There are a few elixirs we will very much want to have on hand. I don’t know if we can trust this Director or not, but she was telling the truth about one thing—the twenty fourth floor is, indeed, dangerous.”

  “Why? What’s on the twenty-fourth floor?” I asked.

  “The Everlasting Suburbs,” Jakob replied, sounding grim and not at all enthusiastic. “Home of the lawnmower men, the Kannibal Kids, and the worst thing of all. The Sunnyside Home Owners Association…”