Discount Dan

In a matter of seconds, the Croc dog was gone, and a blob of bright blue goop appeared in its place. The creature had a small army of writhing tentacles, several different mouth orifices—all filled with far too many jagged teeth—and eyes. So many eyes. It almost reminded me of the weird, bloodred cloak that the Flayed Monarch had worn. The tag above the creature’s head shimmered and changed, this time reading:

Dweller 0.377A – Juvenile Polymorphic Mimic (Outcast) [Level 7]

I raised one hand and actively suppressed the urge to throw up in my mouth.

“I can make a lot of different shapes, if this one bothers you?” Croc offered helpfully, voice echoing out of at least seven different mouth holes simultaneously. “Here is a chair.” Its tentacles retracted and its body stretched and morphed, turning into a formidable wingback chair with padded armrests. There were blank eyes and a wide flat mouth set into the backrest. “I’ve also been working on my very human appearance as well. To blend in, and such.” Croc shimmered again, and this time assumed… a human-shaped being.

Except it looked boneless, almost as if it were made of playdough. It was maggot white, wore no clothes, was completely androgynous, with a smooth ken-doll crotch, and had a face without a nose but a very large and unnerving smile.

“I can blend my shapes, too, in case you want a little bit of A and a little bit of B,” the utterly inhuman-looking creature said. “Here’s a dog-human hybrid.” Its shape blurred again, and a blue humanoid creature with overly long arms, an enormous wolf muzzle, and a pair of unblinking yellow eyes the size of tennis balls stared at me.

I shuddered in revulsion.

The unholy monstrosity before me reminded me of a furry…

My one true fear in the whole world.

It wasn’t that I had a sort of personal hatred toward furries per se—as long as everyone is a consenting human adult, I have zero shits to give about how people live their lives. With that said, I had an irrational and deep-seated phobia of the walking, talking anthropomorphic fur-balls. Again, it wasn’t a moral judgment, but furries managed to fall into uncanny valley territory, which triggered the reptilian, survival mechanism within my brain. Thankfully, the only time I ever saw them was at the occasional ComicCon, and I always managed to keep a safe distance.

“Yeah, you know what?” I said. “That is much worse. Way, way, way worse. Why don’t you just go back to the normal human dog?”

“Good choice,” the creature said, shrinking back down into a retriever made from blue Croc material. “This form is a bit more approachable, I find.”

“Just for the sake of argument,” I said slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion, “how do I know you’re telling the truth? About the Progenitor Monolith, I mean.”

“Well,” Croc said, “a good rule of thumb around here is to assume that everything, everywhere, all the time is both lying to you and trying to murder you. So, let me just say that your initial distrust is a great step in the right direction. Your survival prospects have already improved! Still, for the sake of argument, if I really wanted you dead, I could’ve just not said anything and let the Monolith Mimic eat you. If you don’t believe me, you can always blast it with a spell. See for yourself.”

I hesitated for a beat. “My primary spell only works on organic matter,” I replied. “Won’t do anything against plastic or metal.”

“Believe you me,” Croc barked, “that thing is entirely organic. The basic mimics on the lower levels can’t actually transmogrify into things like metal, they can only look the part.”

“If I preemptively attack, won’t it fight back?” I asked.

“Probably,” Croc offered cheerily, “but they aren’t very strong. Low-level mimics are ambush predators, mostly. They can deal a tremendous amount of damage, but they have pitiful health.”

I glanced between the dog that wasn’t a dog and the ATM that may or may not have been an ATM. I wasn’t sure what the angle here was—maybe Croc was trying to get me to waste my spell on the ATM, then it would attack?

Or maybe it was actually being helpful.

“Although we’re building a good foundation for a relationship,” I said, “I’m warning you now. One wrong move and I’ll charbroil your ass with a flamethrower spell.” That was a lie, but the dog didn’t know what I was capable of. “I swear to God I will. I picked up a powerful Artifact in the lobby and I won’t hesitate to use it.” I stowed the hammer and pulled the Slammer out of my pocket, flashing it at the dog briefly. Not long enough for the creature to see what exactly I had, but just long enough for him to know I had something.

I figured that if Croc did charge, I could always activate the Slammer and shield myself long enough to come up with a better plan. Maybe even escape back into the stairwell with a little bit of luck.

Keeping one eye on Croc, I raised my left hand, took aim at the allegedly knockoff Progenitor Monolith, and let loose an orb of super-heated, highly corrosive super bleach.

The blue ball of congealed death splattered against the front of the machine and started to hiss as fingers of acrid smoke drifted up. The machine immediately split in half, and a huge ravenous mouth appeared directly in its center. Curved yellow teeth gnashed madly, and a purple tongue flapped as the creature screeched in rage. The whole machine rose on a pair of spindly legs and charged, its mouth snapping open and closed as it ran.

I dropped the Slammer onto the floor beside me and shouted the activation phrase—still feeling like a complete mook as I did. “Let’s Pog!”

The golden birdcage formed, and the timer popped up in the corner of my eye. The snarling would-be ATM collided with the dome of light and rebounded off as though it had just run face-first into a brick wall. It stumbled, trying to regain its balance, then pitched over and landed with a meaty thud. The corrosive Bleach Bolt was still going to town, mercilessly eating through its skin and muscle. It just lay there mewling and whimpering pathetically, its legs weakly pedaling in the air like a turtle that had been flipped over onto its shell.

This thing was a monster, but watching as it struggled and suffered, well… I almost felt bad.

Just like with the others, a tag appeared when I examined the monster a little more closely.

Dweller 0.372C – Juvenile Monomorphic Flytrap Mimic [Level 2]

So, this thing was a mimic, just like the talking dog—though obviously there were some significant differences between the two. The most important difference was that the talking dog had probably just saved my life. That still didn’t mean I could trust it, or him—I wasn’t quite sure which was the right term—since this could all be some sort of long con to get me to drop my guard. Except the mimic dog was level 7. The Janitorial Handyman I’d fought in the bathroom had been a level 3 and I’d barely walked away with my life.

True, I had the Bleach Bolt now, but I had a feeling that if that goofy looking mutt wanted to kill me, it probably could without too much of a headache.

I pushed that to the back of my mind, bent over, picked up my Slammer, and deactivated the spell with a few words.

I’d burned through twelve seconds of spell time.

I slipped the coin back into my pocket and waited for the struggling mimic to right itself and charge again.

It didn’t.

“You’re lucky,” the dog called in its oddly chipper voice. “This one’s still young. Only has the one form. Plus, mimics tend to be extremely vulnerable against corrosive damage or poison spells. Little guy’s probably only a few weeks old. There must’ve been a hatching not too long ago.”

I stored that info away for later and readied my hammer.

My Mana gauge was recovering, but it would take a few minutes before I could launch another Bleach Bolt and I had no desire to stand here and watch this thing die slowly and painfully. Obviously, it was a monster, but it didn’t seem particularly evil or malicious. It was just a predator. An animal. Even animals deserved to have a quick, clean death.

I circled to the right, steering clear of its thrashing legs and lashing tongue, then angled inward toward the top of its head. Or what passed for a head, I guess. The creature let out some disheartening screeches and redoubled its efforts to murder me, but it was on its last legs—metaphorically speaking, of course.

In the most literal sense, it was on no legs.

Hardening my resolve, I brought the hammer roaring down, burying the head into what looked like melted plastic and metal, but what felt like pulpy meat. I kept swinging until the mimic stopped twitching and its anguished cries guttered and finally fell silent.

My hammer was covered in a sludgy golden ichor, and I used a bit of toilet paper to wipe it clean before slipping it back into my tool belt.

The mimic’s death had earned me 100 experience points and a new achievement, You’re So Basic.

Research Achievement Unlocked!

You’re So Basic

You’re a Basic Bitch in the most literal sense of the phrase, melting your enemies with a chemical cocktail more commonly found in the cleaning aisle than on the front line of a battlefield. But just because something’s Basic doesn’t mean it’s bad—Starbucks keeps the ol’ Pumpkin Spice around for a reason: because if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Slay Queen!

Reward: 1 x Silver Elementalist Loot Token

On top of the modest experience and the extra achievement, when I looted the mimic’s corpse, I also found my second Relic, which took the form of a folding makeup compact with a small mirror inside. Instead of the typical color palette, this had makeup in hues of black and green, brown and tan. It was a camo face painting kit. I’d had something similar during my time in the Corps, though I’d only ever used it in Boot Camp—not much need for forest face paint in the desert.

Basic Camo Kit – Camouflage Spell

Common Relic – Level 1

Range: Single Target

Cost: 2 Mana

Duration: 1 Minute

The ultimate spell for those intrepid Delvers who aspire to be just a smidgen harder to spot in the realm of mayhem and chaos. You one hundred percent will NOT be invisible, but by casting this Basic Camo Kit Camouflage Spell you’ll achieve the unparalleled feat of blending into the background… a little bit. For the duration of the spell, you’ll go from “immediately noticeable” to “moderately overlooked” in the blink of an eye. This Relic enables Mana useage.

I finished reading over the description, then dismissed the prompt and immediately pressed the stupid looking camo makeup compact into my chest. There was a flare of heat as the Relic melted through my clothes and disappeared inside the black void that was my Spatial Core. It was only a common spell, and the description made it sound rather underwhelming, but it only cost 2 Mana to use, and it had a decent duration. Even if it made me only slightly more difficult to see, that might well save my ass down the road.

I wondered if there was some way to level up the spell itself.

It was listed as level 1 in the item description, which implied that it could potentially go higher. Maybe if I leveled the spell up enough, it would genuinely render me invisible, or the next best thing.

I didn’t have an answer to that question, but I knew who might be able to tell me. I glanced at the rubbery Croc dog, who was still keeping a respectful distance, its tail wagging enthusiastically.

“Don’t suppose you know how these Relics work?” I asked.

“Of course,” it said, sounding happy to be of use. “I mean, I’m not an expert or anything, but all the Dwellers know the essentials. We’re the source of the Relics, after all.”

“What do you mean the Dwellers are the source of the Relics?” I asked.

“They come from us,” Croc replied. “Inside us, I mean.” It tapped a paw against its chest. “Like I said, we’re thought manifestations, born from the God Box. The God Box is the source of all magic in the Backrooms, and each of us is invested with a little piece of its power. That’s what the Shards are. But as we evolve and advance, the Shards grow until they eventually transform into a Relic. Most of the Dwellers on the early levels only have one Relic or a couple of Common Shards, but the more powerful Dwellers on the lower floors sometimes have half a dozen or more.”

There was a lot to unpack there and at this point I still wasn’t sure that I could trust Croc. Worse, even if I could trust the not-dog, I wasn’t even sure which questions to ask. There was just so much I didn’t understand about this place.

“Let’s put a pin in all that for now,” I said after a beat. “What about these Progenitor Monolith things I keep hearing about? Could you take me to one? A real one,” I amended, stealing a sidelong look at the dead mimic on the floor.

The dog paused, wiggling its nose. “Yeah, I suppose I could help with that. The closest one is in the next sector over, but I could get us there.” It faltered for a thin minute. “Might be a bit touch and go since we’ll have to get past the Blacklight Wisps, but I think we’ll be alright with just a little bit of good luck.” The dog turned and padded away.

Hoping for good luck was also a terrible plan, but standing around here twiddling my thumbs wasn’t any better. With no better options—and a fair bit of skepticism—I followed the dog deeper into the mall.