Discount Dan

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” I muttered in shock as Wraith escorted me and my teammates through a set of reinforced steel gates and into Howlers Hold, which sat in the belly of an enormous indoor sports complex and gymnasium.

We strode into a broad courtyard hemmed in by stacks of towering shipping containers, which had been converted into apartments and shared living spaces. Huge ladders and rickety wooden staircases lead to a series of metal catwalks that zigzagged through the air overhead, running from everywhere to everywhere else. Connecting the sprawl of quadcons like strands of metal spider webbing. The Howlers had turned the place into a Mad-Max, post-apocalyptic city, which was as depressing as it was impressive.

All of that, however, paled in comparison to the true revelation:

“They’re furries,” I said mostly to myself. “They’re all furries.”

Once again, the Backrooms had managed to Chuck-Norris-roundhouse-kick me right in the teeth.

Loitering in the courtyard and moving languidly along those catwalks were furries of every shape and size and description. There were owls and leopards. Multicolored wolves and foxes with dopey, oversized eyes. The Howlers existed on a spectrum, some wearing only cat ears or a fluffy tail, while others were decked out from head to toe in elaborate outfits that covered every inch of skin. There was even someone dressed in one of those inflatable dinosaur costumes.

I was genuinely at a loss for words. Just… Why, though?

“Of course they are,” Wraith replied over one shoulder. “Howlers Hold is a furry settlement. Didn’t anyone tell you?” he asked, sounding amused by my obvious discomfort.

“Guess it never came up,” I replied sheepishly, trying not to openly ogle at the odd assortment of inhabitants, casually going about their business. Several Howlers nodded or waved to Wraith, but other than a few curious glances, most didn’t pay us much mind. This was just another day in paradise for them.

“That’s not going to be a problem is it?” Wraith asked on a more serious note.

I only had to think about it for a heartbeat before answering. “Nope, not a problem at all,” I replied with a thin smile. “Not even a little bit.”

They said war made strange bedfellows and I’d never realized how true that was until this exact moment. Sure, furries may have weirded me out on general principle, but Temperance was a friend, and Wraith seemed okay. Would I ever fully understand their choices? Nope. But so long as they were trustworthy, good in a brawl, and loaded down with disposable income that they were willing to spend at my store, I didn’t need to understand them. Especially since they were willing to help me fight a bunch of Hellraiser rejects who enjoyed flaying the skin off their bodies.

Give me furries any day of the week over that tomfuckery.

“Though I do have questions,” I said, as Wraith ushered us through the courtyard and into a manmade a manmade canyon that cut between the towering stacks of shipping containers, which comprised the bulwark of the makeshift Delver city. Though, on closer inspection, it became evident that these weren’t your run-of-the-mill everyday shipping containers. They’d been heavily modified; fitted with windows and sliding doors. Some of the upper units even had small patios, crafted from slabs of concrete and rebar or wooden slats.

“So, so many questions,” I added, glancing through some of the windows as we walked.

There were furries here and there, but there were also plenty of regular, non-fur-clad folk as well. They were just going about their lives. Cooking or cleaning. Playing board games or reading novels. Everything was so shockingly mundane, it was disorienting.

A dizzying array of tags flickered above their heads, here then gone, listing out Biotag ID Numbers and Delver levels. Most of ’em were pitifully weak and only a handful were above Level 15. It was like they’d survived long enough to find their way here…

Then just never left again. And why would they?

It was dangerous and scary out in the Backrooms. A thousand evils waited around every corner to kill the unwary. Traps and monsters. Blight and other Delvers. Vengeful deities and warring factions. Death lay outside these walls. But here…

Here was safety. Normalcy. In a manner of speaking, anyway.

“What question is at the top of your list?” Wraith spoke loudly to be heard over the constant hum of generators, which powered strings of patio lights and the bulky AC units which jutted from the containers like metal tumors.

“For starters, how in the hell did y’all end up here?” I asked, racking my brain, desperately trying to figure out how so many furries had noclipped into the Backrooms. It just didn’t seem possible.

“That’s a funny story, actually,” Wraith replied. “Although we’ve collected a few stragglers since we founded the Hold, most of us simultaneously Noclipped together from Westercon 52, back in July of 1998. There were three hundred and seventeen of us. Most of us were furries, though there were thirty or so regular con goers mixed in as well. We all went to a party in the basement of a San Diego Marriott and woke up in the Lobby the next day. No one could quite remember what had happened or how we’d gotten there.”

“Wait, so all of you just… disappeared?” I snapped my fingers. “Gone, just like that and no one noticed?”

Wraith snorted and rolled his eyes. “Of course, people noticed. I have no doubt that the disappearance of so many senior software engineers and programmers directly contributed to the Y2K scare.” He shrugged broad shoulders. “Mostly it got swept under the rug, though. Back in the late 90s, openly being a furry was a good way to get the shit kicked out of you, so most of us hadn’t told anyone where we were going or why. Plus, we were all from over different parts of the country, so no one really put two and two together.”

We slipped past a series of large planters, which lined the rather cramped walkways. They were filled with a riot of vegetables. Fat red tomatoes and bulbous green cabbage. Climbing green beans and vines budding with fist-sized bell peppers. Grow lights, mounted to the exterior container walls, served to keep the foliage healthy. There were also quite a few fruits and vegetables that I’d never seen before. One in the perfect shape of a star. Another that pulsed with eerie green light.

They looked like something harvested from a different world entirely.

Wraith’s answer left me with more questions, not less. “I’m sorry, but how in the hell do three hundred and seventeen people all simultaneously noclip?”

“It’s called a Mass Displacement Event,” he replied, all the while guiding us through a confusing warren of interconnected streets and claustrophobic cut throughs. “It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. Why it happens, no one seems to know. What I can tell you is that we weren’t the first and I doubt we’ll be the last. Legend has it that the same thing happened to the colonists of Roanoke and the legionnaires of the Ninth Roman Legion.”

“Are you shitting me? The Ninth Roman Legion?” I asked, squinting skeptically. “That can’t be right. Didn’t they disappear like two-thousand years ago?”

“Closer to twenty-three hundred, actually,” Jakob offered without prompting. “According to historians, they vanished in 108 AD.”

“You really think the Backrooms have been around for that long?” I asked.

“No idea,” Wraith replied, shaking his shaggy head. “Like I said, it’s just a long-standing legend. I’ve never personally seen any proof. Could all be a bunch of bullshit—though I wouldn’t be completely shocked if it turned out to be true. Weirder things have happened, and the Progenitor Ship’s been feeding on our reality for an awfully long time. You’re still new here, but if you survive long enough, you’ll see for yourself. The deeper down you go, the older things get.

“Best we can figure, the Backrooms runs a few decades behind the real world. That’s why a lot of the shit up near the Lobby looks like it got ripped straight out of the 80s and 90s. Because it did. Head down twenty or thirty floors, though? Things start to look more like the sixties and seventies. Below that? Who knows. I’ve heard stories about ancient pyramids and Arthurian castles. We had one guy pass through here about five years or ago who claimed he’d found the entire lost city of Atlantis. He was insane, so take that with a grain of salt.”

“What about the 99th Floor?” I asked, thinking about Steamboat Studios and the kiosk I’d just acquired. “Know anything about it?”

“Never made it that deep myself,” Wraith said, “but I’ve heard a few people talk about that floor. Unless I’m wrong, that’s where the Franchisor lives. I don’t know anything about it except this: people who go there don’t come back. I know you’re out here taking wild chances and slaughtering sacred cows like you’re getting ready to throw a neighborhood block party, but between me and you, stay the hell away from the 99th Floor.”

I grunted noncommittally in reply.

The winding pathway dumped us unceremoniously into an open space that served as a makeshift park. There were several benches of varying designs arrayed around a patch of fake turf with one of those backyard playhouses assembled at the center. This was the first time I’d seen anything that came close to grass since Noclipping. Even though I knew it wasn’t real, a small part of me wanted to flop down and stare up at the sky.

But there was no sky, I reminded myself. Just the domed ceiling of a sports complex.

Truth was, I’d probably never see the sky again. I shook the morbid thought away as the sound of laughter caught my attention.

Holy shit balls. There were kids here. A whole mess of ’em. Some as young as two or three—doddering around on unsteady legs—others as old as twelve or thirteen. I even spotted a mother cradling a newborn, not far off. Meanwhile, the older kids were chasing each other around, screaming and giggling wildly as they ducked outstretched hands and hurdled over the playground equipment.

“This is nowhere near the Muzzle and Mast,” Temperance commented offhanded.

“No, no it isn’t,” Wraith agreed with a nod, “but this was something I needed Dan to see.” All of the humor and easy smiles were gone now. Instead, there was a somberness to the man that hadn’t been there before. There was a vulnerability etched into the lines of his bovine face, as though he were offering me a glimpse at something precious but fragile. “I wanted to show you why we’re doing this. What we’re fighting for. What I’m fighting for.

“You’re new here, Dan, new enough to still be ambitious. To think about getting answers or finding a way out. But us?” He shook his head. “Most of us have made peace with the fact that we’ll never leave the Backrooms. That this is where we’re going to die. And that’s okay. We’ve been here long enough to settle down. To carve out a life for ourselves. To have kids.” He stretched out a hand and motioned to the sea of smiling and laughing faces, darting across the turf. “None of these kids noclipped into the Backrooms. Every single one of them was born here.

“The Hold, it isn’t just some temporary survival camp. Not for us. For better or worse, this is our home now. We fought tooth and nail to make this place a reality and we lost lots of good men and women to do it. It’s my job to keep this place and these people safe, and partnering with you puts all of this in jeopardy. Making an alliance with you is going to bring war to our doorstep and even if everything goes right, people are going to die.” There was a sad glimmer in his eyes. “Their parents might die.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“Because I believe in you, and I believe in what you’re doing, but I also want you to believe in us. To know what’s on the line. This is what I’m risking by putting my trust in you, Dan.” He paused, and locked eyes with me. “Make sure you’re worth it.” He fell silent for a long moment. “Now, as much as I’d love to chaperon you,” he continued after a beat, “I’ve been gone too long already. I need to do the rounds. Make sure nothing is on fire. I’m sure Temperance can show you to Ajax, but if you need anything else, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’ll be here.”

He extended a furry hand as a peace offering.

I gave it a firm pump without a second thought.

The bullheaded Tribune snorted, then turned and made his way across the turf, stopping to ruffle a kid’s hair in passing, before trundling up a rickety staircase and disappearing into the maze of metal catwalks above.

***

Jakob and Croc chit-chatted amicably—the dog telling the Cendral about my new Taxidermied Minions and our close encounter with the Kiosk Crab—while Temperance guided us to the Muzzle and Mast, where she assured us Ajax would be waiting. Apparently, he never strayed far from the place.

For my part, I was quiet.

Seeing those kids had hit me harder than I’d expected, which was probably the reason Wraith had shown them to me in the first place. These were real people with real lives and real families and the choices I made would affect them all. Even though this was a world with stats and levels and magic, I needed to remind myself that it wasn’t a game. If I fucked this up, I wasn’t the only one who would end up skinned alive.

Before, I’d been fighting to save my own hide. But now? Now the stakes were even higher.

For the first time, I began to seriously entertain the idea of killing the Flayed Monarch. Until this point, my primary goal had been to simply survive against the crimson monster with unspeakable power and far too many legs. Now, though, I was starting to rethink my goals. Maybe survival wasn’t enough. The idea of killing something as powerful as the monstrous creature I’d seen in the Lobby seemed laughable and yet…

Yet was it really so ridiculous?

The Boundless Wanderer had nearly managed to do it. Why not me?