Discount Dan

The Fifth Floor, often referred to as Hotel Hell, was a huge expanse of claustrophobic interconnected corridors, interspersed with lavish bedrooms, opulent lounges, and gaudy ballrooms. Of all the levels I’d visited so far, it reminded me most of the Lobby—though instead of a bland office building this level looked like a posh luxury hotel.

Still, it had the same foreboding atmosphere. It was the press of the walls. The endless sea of monotonous wallpaper. The disorienting hallways that all looked the same and all went nowhere. A miasma of paranoia seemed to hang in the air like an invisible cloud and it felt like we were being watched by a sea of invisible onlookers.

Gaudy gold and crystal chandeliers dangled from frescoed ceilings, casting warm light across polished marble floors. The soft, distant sounds of a piano drifted through the air, mingling with the muffled chatter of unseen patrons. Crushed velvet drapes framed arched windows that looked out into nowhere, while plush armchairs, ornate tapestries, and gilded mirrors hinted at an era of unparalleled luxury. It was impossible to miss the earthy scent of cigars waltzing with a hint of floral perfume.

The whole floor was like stepping into a Stephen King novel.

And, like any good Stephen King novel, there were monsters here. They weren’t as plentiful as the Dwellers on the third floor or the seventh, but they made up for their lack of numbers with extreme violence and wild unpredictability.

We’d already taken out a handful of mimics, disguised as everything from mirrors to high-back chairs—all of which were far more convincing than anything Croc could pull off. We even had a chandelier mimic with a hundred mouth orifices drop down on us from overhead. I’d been so busy searching the floor for traps that I didn’t see the mean ol’ son of a bitch until it landed on me like an angry gorilla.

It took a bite out of my thigh the size of an apple before Jakob used his blue plasma shield to cut the monster in two. An ice-cold Zima stopped the bleeding and Jakob used some strange salve that smelled like fermented nutsack to regrow the missing chunk of flesh.

Good times.

Most of the mimics, I killed at a distance.

The bastards didn’t show up on my mini-map—one of the perks of their camouflage ability—but thankfully Spelunker’s Sixth Sense helped me spot the things long before they ever became a real threat. I cut ’em down with Pressure Washer or skewered them with my telekinetically controlled demolition screwdriver. They dropped like swatted flies, dark blood and goopy ichor splattering across the walls and carpeted floor.

Most were level 8, which meant no Experience for killing them, and only the chandelier mimic was above level 10.

Still, I managed to collect a bunch of Basic Camouflage Relics and a few shards, not to mention a handful of Common-Grade Relics called Ambush Instinct, which served as a watered-down version of my Spelunker’s Sixth Sense. I didn’t need them for obvious reasons, but I had no doubt those things would sell like hotcakes at the store. The chandelier shithead also dropped an additional uncommon Relic called Health Eater, which I’d never seen before.

At first, I assumed it would be some sort of Leech Life ability which, in one sense, it was. Unfortunately, the way you gained life was by literally devouring your enemies. The Relic converted physically consumed mass into Health. Apparently, this was one of the many abilities Croc had tucked away in its spatial core. In theory, it was an extremely powerful skill and perfect for a monster with a mouth the size of trash compactor and a hankering for some long pork.

It was far less appetizing for me.

We’d also run across several Hotel Porters, who were not so different from the Greeters that roamed the endless Lobby of Level 0. They were gangly, potbellied creatures with luminous eyes, stringy hair, and unnaturally wide smiles filled with far too many teeth. The Porters wore tattered red hotel uniforms and conical bellhop caps perched on mishappen heads. Most were level 7 or 8 and should have run away, but instead they attacked on sight with reckless abandon and extreme violence.

Not that their enthusiasm for carnage helped them much.

Killing Frank and the others had finally pushed Jakob up to level 26, while I was at level 22. Although Croc was still only level 19, the mimic was still more than powerful enough to kill damn near anything on this floor without breaking a sweat.

Nine out of ten times, I killed the flabby goons before they ever got within spitting distance. Pressure Washer carved through their rubbery flesh as though it were made of tissue paper, and I had ample opportunity to test out my tennis balls. The yellow Fault Spike Grenades were ruthlessly effective. A single well place tennis ball to the throat could one shot the dopey fuckers and drop ’em where they stood. As for the Firebombs, turned out all that greasy hair was extremely flammable.

Like the low-level mimics, they didn’t give us any experience, but they all carried a combination of Shards and Relics. Silent Step and Baggage Handler were the most frequent drops.

Silent Step allowed the caster to move forty-five percent more quietly, but only on carpeted surfaces, while Baggage Handler offered a small boost to Athleticism and increased total Storage Space capacity by five hundred pounds. I idly wondered if that was how Wraith and the Howlers had acquired all those shipping containers. Although Baggage Handler was only a Common-grade Relic, it stood to reason that there were probably Uncommon or even Rare-grade versions of the ability, which would let someone store substantially more.

At one point, we tangled with a Blight-Infected level 15 Nightshift Manager—a multi-armed horror decked out in a pristine black suit and a silver bell hop cap. That one dropped an Uncommon-grade Relic called Baggage Strike, which encumbered all those in the AoE radius by increasing the weight of all worn items by twenty-five percent for the duration of the spell. The nightmarish creature also carried an Uncommon Artifact called Hotel Maintenance Key, which served as a master key for every single door on the fifth floor—

Including the Employees Only Service Doors, which connected to the floor’s maintenance corridors. Instinct told me that’s where we would eventually find the laundry mat.

Then, there were the things that lived inside the rooms themselves.

The Lodgers.

They were, far and away, the most traumatizing horrors inhabiting the Hotel. Mostly because they were far more unique than their counterparts, who roamed the halls. They were all labeled simply as Lodgers and had the same basic description, provided courtesy of the Codex.

Hotel Lodger

The poor, unfortunate guests who checked in but never quite managed to check out. Be careful or you might end up just like them…

Like the Faceless Ghouls who inhabited the first floor, I had a terrible suspicion that these things hadn’t always been Dwellers. And that was because most of them looked like people. Some tall, others short. Men and women, both. Even a few kids, which was worst of all. They’d been changed by the Backrooms, of course. Pale and oddly bloated as though they’d been submerged in water for too long. Their limbs were usually stretched in unnatural ways. Their jaws, elongated to accommodate for all their extra teeth.

It made me sick to think about, but I was betting money that these were the poor schmucks who’d accidentally wandered into Hotel Hell and never found an exit. Instead of simply dying, the Hotel had kept them as eternal guests, never to depart.

They rarely left the rooms, but we still had to deal with them occasionally because I was actively on the hunt for something other than the sacred laundry mat. I mean, sure, that was my number one priority, but I’d finally discovered a floor that had access to both decent beds and, most importantly of all, bathrooms with working showers. It was an opportunity I couldn’t afford to pass up.

I mean, sure, most of the beds were actually enormous flytraps, which would slowly eat you as you slept, while most of the showers rained acid instead of water, but most wasn’t all.

I was certain that there was at least one normal room in this God-forsaken place.

It took more tries than I’d like to admit, but Unerring Arrow had finally guided us to a room that fit my needs. And it wasn’t one of the run-of-the-mill rooms, either—the kind with a couple of full beds and a bathroom so small you could hardly take a shit without bumping your knees against the wall. Nope, this was one of the deluxe suites, which came stock with a separate master bedroom, a sitting and dining area, two different bathrooms, and even its small kitchenette edged on one side by a bar top, complete with high-top stools.

It was nice. Not even remotely my style, but nice.

The chairs were leather, the sofa velvet, and there were mirrors absolutely everywhere. Too many mirrors for good taste, in my opinion, plus it had one of those fancy crystal chandeliers suspended above the dining room table. I couldn’t help but think about the mimic who’d taken a chunk out of my leg when I saw that monstrosity, but thankfully it was just furniture.

There was, however, the current Hotel Lodger to consider.

“It jumped into one of the paintings!” Jakob called out, surveying the room with reptilian eyes. Searching for any sign of movement.

“You see anything Croc?” I called out, even as the hairs along the back of my neck stood at attention.

“Oh fiddlestick, Dan! I lost track of it,” the dog called from the master bedroom.

“Just great,” I muttered, turning in a slow circle. “Stay in the bedroom, Croc,” I called, already backtracking from the sitting room and toward the kitchen. “We don’t want this slippery shit to get away if we can help it.”

Not if I wanted to claim the room, anyway. The only problem with my Blanket Fort ability, was that I couldn’t claim a territory which was currently under the control of a hostile Dweller. Naturally, each and every Lodger counted as a “boss” for their individual room.

“Just be careful, Dan,” Jakob called from the room’s larger foyer. “This thing is nastier than the others. Tricky.” The Cendral was currently camped out by the front door, making sure the monster didn’t slip away and that we had a clear exit in case things went sideways.

Which tended to be the rule instead of the exception.

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” I called back.

I slowly padded through the room, taking time to peek behind furniture and under the table, but I didn’t see anything. I hadn’t seen any sign of the Lodger yet, but I was sure that would change before too much longer. Honestly, these things were more annoying than dangers, but holy shit did they have a tendency to jump scare you at the worst possible moment. And even with badass magic powers, a good jump scare was still a good jump scare.

There was a blur of movement in the corner of my eye, but when I turned to look—hammer raised and ready to strike—whatever had been there was already long gone.

I moved past the table and around the edge of the bar. My steps faltered when I caught sight of a large painting hanging on the wall. It was out of place, and the sight of it sent goosebumps racing across my arms.

I inched forward to get a better look at the thing and froze.

The painting showcased an oceanside harbor at twilight with a small fleet of boats moored against the encroaching darkness of the night. The sky was a brilliant canvas of purples and blues, reflecting off the white-tipped waves. Honestly, there was nothing special about the painting. It looked like the kind of thing an airport Marriot might have in the lobby. Corporate and uninspired.

The figure, frozen mid-stride, on the other hand, stood out like a like a road flare.

Like the other Lodgers we’d run across, he was man-shaped and rail thin—almost skeletally so—and seemed to be made almost entirely of arms and legs. He wore plated gray slacks and a gray sports jacket with a scarlet vest beneath. Shiny gold buttons ran up the front of the vest and what looked like a gray tie dangled down from its neck. Except, upon closer inspection, I realized it wasn’t a tie at all, but a length of frayed noose.

Its head was pale, round, and maggot white, which reminded me of a peeled hardboiled egg. Beady black eyes stared at me from above a vicious maw bristling with hundreds of needle-sharp teeth. Sitting on top of that egg-shaped skull was a gray bowler hat that matched the jacket and trousers. Gangly arms stretched all the way down past its knees and spidery fingers, with far too many joints, continued to the wooden slats of the dock.

All I could do was stand there and stare at the monstrosity. Captivated by how horrifying it was.

I felt… frozen was the only word that came to mind. My limbs were oddly numb and too heavy to lift. My right arm went slack and my hammer thudded to the floor. It all happened in slow motion, almost as if I were in a dream, but there was nothing I could do about it. I’d felt this sensation once before, back during my battle against the Blighted Photophage, who occupied the photo center in the MediocreMart.

Which meant I was under psychic attack but now, just like then, there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about it.

This son of a bitch was using some sort of Relic that specifically targeted my Grit, which was one of my lowest stats, sitting at only 17. Absolutely nothing, especially when compared to my highest stat, Resonance, which was currently at 58. Grit was closely related to willpower and measured overall ability to resist psionic attacks and psychic influence. Clearly, I needed an upgrade in that department.

“Behind you, Dan!” Croc bellowed from the other room.

The sound of the mimic’s voice jarred me out of my momentary stupor, but my body still felt sluggish and unresponsive. I spun at the warning, but it felt like I was moving through a wall of molasses. I finished turning just in time to see the lanky figure from the painting leap out from a nearby mirror. The noose encircling its throat shot out like a serpent, growing to an absurd length as it wrapped around my arms, pinning them to my sides. And as the rope constricted, my renewed sense of willpower drained away like sand running through my fingers.

This is hopeless, my brain screamed. You never should’ve come here. Now you’re going to die, and no one will even care.

I wanted to argue, but the voice was right. This was hopeless. What in the hell was the point of even trying to fight back? All I could do was stand and watch in frozen horror as the creature unhinged its lower jaw and moved forward to swallow my head whole…