Discount Dan

After eight or nine hours of shuteye followed by a couple of hot pockets to start the day off right, Jakob, Croc, and I were back at it, following Unerring Arrow through the twisting halls of Hotel Hell once again. Clearing Dwellers, harvesting useful body parts for my future Taxidermied Horrors, and marking traps with almost religious devotion.

I also left behind ample survival tips, along with ever more Twining Ring. The red yarn I’d made the rings from was an Uncommon Artifact that I’d first picked up as a prize in the third-floor loot arcade. I’d posted a sign by the front checkout counter offering to buy the stuff at well-above market rates and, as a result, I now had enough spools to last me for months without ever having to worry about running dry.

Don’t forget to look up! The chandeliers are not to be trusted!

—This Survival Tip, brought to you by Discount Dan’s Backroom Bargains.

I’d drive a nail into the wall beside each survival tip, then drape five or so of the Twining Rings along with a short note.

Bad news, you’re in the Backrooms. Worse news, everything is trying to kill you. Better news, I’m not trying to kill you. Take one of the yarn rings, put it on your finger, and follow where it takes you. Or don’t and die—the choice is yours. I’ve got supplies, intel, and a Progenitor Monolith waiting.

—Discount Dan

It was slow going, but important work. Always be advertising, I reminded myself. What I really needed to find was a computer and printer, then I could mass produce some snazzy flyers, which would save me loads of time and hand cramps. Until then, I’d just have to do it the good ol’ fashion way.

Wandering the labyrinth halls of Hotel Hell also gave me a chance to catch up with Jakob. We hadn’t really had much time alone since returning from Howler’s Hold, and there were a few outstanding questions that needed answering.

I trusted the Cendral for the most part, but I couldn’t get rid of the idea that he was hiding things from me. Although he’d shared bits and pieces with me about his history and background, no one would ever accuse him of being an oversharer. I didn’t mind that he tended to play his cards close to the vest, we were a lot alike in that way, but there were things he wasn’t telling me.

Like what exactly his relationship with the Howlers was. Or how Jackson—the Hold’s resident cult leader—fit into the picture.

I knew that Jakob had been stranded in the Backrooms for seven or eight years and that at some point, he’d saved Temperance from a temporal distortion pocket—a particularly elaborate trap that froze its victim in time, keeping them alive while slowly driving them mad for decades or even centuries.

Based on my short conversation with Ajax, however, it was clear Jakob had also spent a fairly significant amount of time with the Howlers. Enough that they’d offered him a job as a Tribune. I was pretty sure they didn’t just hand out important political positions to mysterious wandering hobos. Despite that, Jakob had only mentioned the Hold a few times in passing and had never gone into any significant detail about his relationship with the Howlers. Hell, he'd never even bothered to bring up the fact that they were all furries.

There were just too many red flags for me to ignore, and I was hoping that without Temperance around, eavesdropping on our conversation, that he might be more willing to open up.

“So what’s the deal with you and the Howler’s anyway?” I asked nonchalantly as we made our way down a seemingly abandoned hallway that stretched off into the distance.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” he replied off-handedly.

“Come on,” I said, stealing a sidelong glance. “Despite the way I look”—I gestured at the bathrobe and jort combo—“I’m not an idiot. From the way Ajax made it sound, you were with the Howlers for a long time. Long enough that they wanted to put you in charge of shit.” I shrugged. “I’m just a little surprised that you never mentioned that before.”

“I didn’t think it was relevant,” he replied, sounding uneasy by the direction of our conversation.

“You didn’t think it was relevant?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Now why don’t I believe you?”

“I left the Hold in good standing,” he said, “and my past involvement with them didn’t have any bearing on our current situation, so I didn't think it was worth mentioning. We simply had… differing ideologies, but we parted on amicable terms. It was nothing personal if that’s what you think.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Yeah, okay. Keep telling yourself it wasn’t personal.”

“What do you mean?” He sounded slightly offended but was clearly trying to hide it.

“Don’t try to bullshit and bullshitter,” I said. “I saw the look on your face when Jackson’s name came up. Trust me, whatever happened was definitely personal. I know you’re not a big fan of needless violence, but if looks could kill, I think that son of a bitch would be dead where he stands.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, and I didn’t push. I wanted answers, but I also knew that Jakob would tell me eventually so long as I gave him a little breathing room.

“Fine,” the Cendral grossed, folding arms across his slender chest. “Maybe it was a little personal.” He sniffed dismissively. “Although, I don’t know why such old history should matter to you.”

“Because that old history is potentially trying to murder me,” I replied, “which is why I feel like it would be good if you just laid all your cards on the table. Until now, you’ve mostly kept your own council, which is fine by me. A little paranoia never hurt anyone. But at this point, what I don’t know might kill me.” I held his gaze and refused to look away. “I understand that it might be uncomfortable, but I need to know what happened between you and the Howlers and I need to know why you hate Jackson so much.”

It wasn’t a question. I wasn’t asking, I was telling.

Jakob sighed and seemed to deflate a little, folding in on himself like a kicked dog.

“It’s okay, Jakob,” Croc reassured the Cendral. “This is a safe space. I mean, not the floor itself, of course. Anything, anywhere, at any time could potentially kill you. Figuratively speaking, however, it’s a safe space. We’re your friends. You can tell us anything.”

“Fine, if you really must know, then yes, my dispute with Jackson is of a rather personal nature. I told you a little about my history with Temprance, but I may have neglected to mention a few rather… painful points.” He took a deep breath, then sighed heavily and ran a hand through his violet-colored hair. “I’d been staying with the Howlers for almost three years when I discovered Temperance trapped inside that temporal distortion pocket. After I rescued her, the two of us were inseparable for a quite a while.”

“Were you romantically involved?” I asked.

“Nein. Not at first, anyway,” he said slowly. “This may come as something of a shock to you, but Temperance and I are cut from a very different cloth.”

I suppressed the urge to laugh.

That was the understatement of the century. I’d never met two people more drastically different. He was logical, level-headed, and a pacifist—at least when it came to killing Delvers—while she was insane, hot-head, and had a murder-boner the size of Mount Everest for killing everything she could sink her meat-cleaver into.

“Yet, as they say in German, gegensätze ziehen sich an. Opposites attract. She felt safe with me, and I will admit I developed a certain affection for her. Over time, those feelings morphed into something more. It would be a stretch to say we were romantically involved, but we certainly felt a kinship toward one another. Perhaps even love.”

“Oh fiddlesticks, you and Temperance were like a real-life Edward and Bella, from the internationally best-selling Twilight series—”

“—You really don’t have to mention that Twilight is an internationally best-selling series every time—” I muttered.

The dog ignored me and steamrolled right on ahead. “Two star-crossed lovers, completely wrong for each other, but simultaneously so right.” The dog visibly swooned. “But then a competing love interest showed up… Jacob, the dreamy werewolf. Which is quite confusing in this specific case, since your name is also Jakob but in the analogy you’re Edward—a pale skinned and thoughtful outsider who doesn’t like to hurt people. I bet Jackson was just like Twilight-Jacob, wasn’t he? Wasn’t he?!”

Croc’s tail was waggling so intensely I thought the dog might lift off and take flight.

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose,” Jakob reluctantly admitted. “Though it was far more complicated than a silly book series about a teenage love triangle—”

“Let me guess,” Croc interjected. “Was there old history involving religion and science and territorial disputes?”

Jakob frowned. “Yes, actually.”

“Yep, just like I thought,” Croc said. “Classic Twilight love triangle. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, oh what a tangled web we weave. I want you to know I was always team Edward. If you want me too, I’d be happy to eat Jackson’s feet. If I disguised myself as a rug, I bet I could do it.”

Jakob chuckled and patted Croc on the head. “That is a very thoughtful sentiment, but as Dan said earlier, killing him would only cause greater problems.”

“Oh, I don’t think he would die,” Croc said mater-of-factly, “he would just be irreparably maimed.”

“Danke für den lieben gedanke,” Jakob replied with a thin smile, “but still, I must politely decline. And just to be perfectly clear, it wasn’t Jackson personally, so much as what he represented.”

“The Roomkeepers,” I said.

Jakob nodded. “In the end, I couldn’t provide Temperance what she really needed. Community. Answers. A higher purpose. Although she has adapted rather well to this peculiar environment, you must remember that Temperance is a woman out of time. Although you wouldn’t know it to look at her, she is a woman of deep religious conviction. Yet, her own religious community was the very one that betrayed her while this place, the Backrooms, became her salvation.

“It was only natural that she would eventually gravitate toward the Roomkeepers. Jackson and his ilk gave her the things her soul most craved. Obviously, the tenants of their faith are irrational and the answers they provide are absurd fictions, but sometimes comforting lies are more palatable than uncomfortable truths. True, Jackson indoctrinated her, but the Roomkeepers also accepted Temperance and gave her the purpose she so desperately needed.

“In her heart of hearts, Temperance longed to know why she had been spared all those years ago. For what purpose the Backrooms had chosen her. She needed a way to make sense of the pain and suffering and tragedy she’d endured. I could give her none of that. I have no concrete answers. No certain truth to offer. If anything, I am now less certain about the nature and purpose of the Backrooms than when I first arrived.” He sighed deeply. It was the sound of a defeated man. “The Roomkeepers may be a cult, but they do not lack in conviction, and such conviction can be oddly reassuring.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Croc said, “I don’t know anything either, except that the Kiosks are not to be truffled with and that Stephanie Meyers—internationally bestselling author of the Twilight series—is the voice of a generation.”

“At least I am in good company,” Jakob said, though there was a sad lilt to the words.

“And that’s why you left the Hold?” I asked. “Because Temperance joined up with the Roomkeepers?”

Jakob shook his head, “That was only part of it. The final straw, perhaps. I was considering leaving the Hold even before I’d rescued Temperance. You must understand, the Howlers are good people—or as good of people as you’re likely to find in a place as unhospitable as the Backrooms.”

Jakob paused. Hesitated as though carefully thinking through his words.

“But…” I prompted.

“But the Howlers are a people resigned to their fate,” he finally said. “They have worked hard to carve out a place for themselves and although what they have accomplished is admirable, it is not enough for me. To my mind, they have given up hope of ever finding a way out. Of ever trying to comprehend this place. I am not content to eke out a living on the seventh floor, orchestrating supply raids until something eventually kills me. The Howlers have traded in their curiosity for contentedness. One and all, they have lost their sense of wonder. But not me. Never me.”

He fell silent, clearly lost in some distant memory. “Did you know I was a scientist before I noclipped?” he asked after a long beat.

I shook my head.

“I was. A junior pharmaceutical researcher working for a company called Berliner Biochemie AG. It was my job to create and test new drug therapies. My department was focused on oncology.”

“Holy shit,” I said, “you were trying to cure cancer?”

He nodded solemnly. “Although I may no longer be human, I never stopped being a scientist. I’ve never stopped wondering about this place. I want answers. And not the ridiculous lies the Roomkeepers are so willing to peddle. I want the truth. I want to know what this ship is. Why it is here, attached to our world. My purpose is to understand its purpose.” His eyes flashed with a feverish light. “And then I intend to find a way back.”

He’d reached into his coat and pulled out a Greater Healing Elixir.

“Most Delvers see this as a means to an end: survival. But me? I look at this and see the fulfillment of my life’s work. This is a cure for cancer, Dan. A cure for Alzheimer’s. For Parkinson’s, MS, Sickle Cell, and AIDS. Don’t you see? The progenitive technology inside this ship could eliminate world hunger. It could solve global warming. It could save our species and our planet. I will get to the bottom floor. I will uncover the truth behind the God Box. Then I will find a way out. That or die trying. And that is why I left.” He shrugged. “Because without Temperance, there was nothing left to keep me there. Without her, the Hold was just a place, not a home.”

He dropped his gaze, a blush creeping into his pale cheeks.

I could tell he was embarrassed and that he thought he’d said too much. I didn’t want to make things worse, so instead of asking any more questions, or poking at old wounds that obviously hadn’t yet healed, I slapped his shoulder, “I appreciate the honesty. Like Croc always says, friends tell each other the truth, but I think that’s enough truth for one day. Besides, if we’re going to get you to the bottom floor, we’re gonna need help and that magical laundromat isn’t going to find itself.”

Still, as we picked up the pace, leaving the awkward conversation in our dust, I felt better than I had in a while. I trusted Jakob, but now it felt like he trusted me too—and not just with his life. With his history. His soul.

In a war zone, it wasn’t uncommon to entrust your survival to someone you hardly even knew—anyone in the same trench was your brother in arms, at least until the fighting stopped. But sharing your past, your secrets, your burdens? That was something else entirely.

Those were the things you only shared with a friend.