Discount Dan

The next two weeks passed much the same as those first three days in the Lobby had.

Croc and I spent every waking moment grinding through new quadrants and killing anything unlucky enough to get in our way.

That, or hauling ass away from anything that was too powerful to tangle with head-on.

I spent a lot more time running than I’d like to admit.

The whole while, I mapped out different sectors, spray-painted warnings and survival tips, and distributed red Twinning Rings like Johnny fucking Appleseed sowing seeds through the rolling hills of Kentuckiana. We still spent a handful of hours every day up in the Lobby—I’d begun to think of that as charity work—but the majority of our time was spent canvassing the first, second, and third floors.

Of the three proper floors, the first was the least awful.

I mean, it was still a miserable, existential nightmare of unending horror, filled with monstrous Dwellers who would kill you as soon as look at you, but at least there were also resources and a few redeeming qualities.

The first floor took the form of an enormous dystopian parking garage from hell: the kind of thing you might expect to find in a postapocalyptic zombie flick. Unlike the Lobby, which seemed to be a flat, continuous plane, floor one was an enormous cube with quadrants stacked one on top of the other, all held together by gargantuan concrete pillars, each the size of a skyscraper, which supported the level above.

The garage wasn’t empty.

Its tens of thousands of spaces were occupied by a wide variety of vintage cars, which had been new and shiny once upon a time, but were now rusted and worn with age and disuse. Most of them didn’t have keys and even the ones that did rarely started. These things had been sitting for God only knew how long, and whatever magic animated the generators and lights on the floor didn’t seem to extend to the vehicles themselves.

There were a few exceptions, though.

On the third day of exploration, my Spelunker’s Sixth Sense illuminated a bright orange, 1972 Ford Pinto that miraculously sputtered to life and was powered not by gasoline but by Relic Shards, of all things. Turned out, the ass-ugly piece of shit was a bona fide Artifact. A powerful one, too. Not only could I feed it Shards to keep the motor running indefinitely, but it was a summonable item.

’72 Ford Pinto of the Hobo

Uncommon Artifact

Type: Summonable

Cost: 7 Miles/1 x Common Relic Shard

You’re down on your luck, in between jobs while trying to land your big “acting break,” and just got evicted from your studio apartment NoHo. And no, that’s not a garbage bag, that’s a suitcase. But at least you have this 1972 Ford Pinto that you inherited from your dead uncle, Bill. It’s technically better than being homeless. Yes, it does smell like pee, and sure there is probably a possum roosting in the engine, but at least it keeps the rain off your back.

To summon the Artifact, simply repeat the words Bill uttered every Saturday night during the blistering hot summer of ’81: “It’s Cruising Time.”

To unsummon the Artifact, repeat the words Bill would recite come Monday morning: “Why does God hate me?”

When unsummoned, the Pinto magically transformed into a miniature Hot Wheels made from real die-cast metal, which I could carry around in my pocket. It had a nice feel to it, but weighed no more than a typical Hot Wheels car would. The way the Artifact defied the laws of both god and the conservation of mass was a real head-scratcher, but who was I to question the strange physics of this place?

I had no idea if seven miles to a Shard was good—though I suspected not—and the Pinto had a host of other issues besides. Eighteen miles per hour was her top speed, no matter what I did, and the car radio blared “The Girl from Ipanema” on a continuous loop so long as the motor was running. The woofers were blown, and the radio could not be shut off or even turned down. It was less than an ideal situation, and after a few hours, I was fantasizing about sticking a screwdriver into both my ears to silence Astrud Gilberto’s gentle crooning.

Still, despite its many, many faults, the Pinto was convenient and helped us cover a lot of ground much quicker than we could’ve on foot. And if there was one Artifact like this, it stood to reason that there were likely others. Hopefully ones that were less old, went faster, and had a better selection of tunes.

The first floor was also substantially safer than either the Lobby or the sprawling mall that occupied the third floor. But safer still wasn’t safe. There were mimics by the bushel—often assuming the form of cars, vending machines, and Progenitor Monoliths—which came as no shock to anyone. The Monoliths still resembled ATMs and were all universally positioned outside of locked parking attendant shacks, which were tiny compared to the huge banks of the third floor.

The shacks themselves were secured tighter than a nun’s panties, and try as I might, there was no getting inside.

There were the standard pitfalls to consider, but there were also a variety of floor-specific traps, which were as clever as they were deadly. Oil slicks that would spontaneously erupt into flames. Electrical hazards and carbon monoxide poisoning. Randomly placed car bombs, which gave me traumatic flashbacks to my days of running convoys outside of Fallujah.

And Dwellers, of course.

Always Dwellers.

Although the mimics were the most plentiful, there were also roving bands of faceless humanoids. And when I say faceless, I mean faceless.

They looked more or less like normal, everyday folk, but where eyes and noses and mouths should’ve been was just a smooth expanse of empty skin, stretched too tight against the skull. They couldn’t see, but those cockwombles could hear a pin drop at a hundred yards, and they ran like Olympian sprinters. The majority of the Faceless were between level 4 and 7 and offered anywhere between 125 and 200 experience a pop, which wasn’t bad at all—although, I didn’t get anything for killing the level fours, thanks to my shitty new Fish in a Barrel title.

Even barring the experience, they all carried at least one Relic or the occasional Artifact, though nothing that rivaled the glory of the Pinto.

Their Relics tended to be physical in nature and usually involved enhancing the senses in some way, often increasing sound or smell sensitivity. One even granted infrared vision, allowing the user to see like a pit viper. But those Relics were a double-edged sword with distressing implications. The most common drop was called Mask of the Faceless. It took the form of a blank porcelain mask, devoid of eye or mouth holes, which increased sound and smell sensitivity by 10% each day the Relic was equipped, while simultaneously decreasing eyesight by 10% each day in exchange.

And if you kept the Relic equipped long enough?

You ended up like one of the faceless freaks aimlessly wandering the purgatory parking garage. Which meant that although the faceless weren’t human any longer, most of them probably had been at one point.

That was a thought I didn’t dwell on for too long.

I did score a kick-ass movement-enhancing Relic from a level 9 Ruined Faceless, called Moving Walkway, which was a helluva find with no nightmarish side effects.

Moving Walkway

Common Relic – Level 1

Range: Single Target

Cost: 8 Stamina

Buckle up, buttercup, because it’s time to take a ride on the wild side. Transform the ground directly beneath your feet into a moving walkway, allowing you to dash forward at three times your normal rate of speed for six seconds. Just be careful, because EXITING the walkway can be a real sumbitch…

Much as I hated to see it go, I swapped out the Gremlin’s Groin Guardian for the makeshift haste ability, since being able to close the distance with my enemies or outrun high-threat pursuers was way more useful than a magical jockstrap, which also reduced my magic and elemental resistance.

Although the first floor wasn’t a place I wanted to spend much time, it wasn’t terrible, either. Not compared to everything else in the Backrooms, at any rate.

Then there was the second floor…

***

I’d come to hatefully think of the second floor as the Devil’s Asshole because it was moist, gross, filled with suffering, and overflowing with shit.

Suffice it to say, the second floor was a thousand times worse than the first and made the Lobby look bright, cheerful, and inviting by comparison.

The entire level was composed of narrow service tunnels, built from water-slick red brick, crammed full of rusty pipes in a hundred different sizes and varieties. Pipes that carried water. Others overflowing with fetid sewage. More still filled to bursting with steam. The cramped corridors were sweltering; it was like being stuck in a steam room located on the surface of the sun. Plus, the constant drip, drip, drip of water was maddening.

Like a nail being pounded into your eardrums over and over again.

The lights flickered constantly, often dying completely—casting the world into total, oppressive darkness—and the whole place smelled like the inside of a hot porta john left to stew in the Iraqi desert for a few weeks. I often found myself trudging through ankle-deep sludge that reeked so bad that I had to wear a cloth facemask to help with the eye-watering stench. I muttered a small prayer of thanks that I’d decided not to use the smell-enhancing Relic from the previous floor.

On top of everything else, the place was dangerous—even more so than the third floor. Right hand to the good lord, I couldn’t toss a rock without hitting a trap.

Intentionally faulty wiring constantly threatened to electrocute unlucky Delvers at pretty much any given moment. Broken valves and cracked pipe junctures would jettison geysers of super-heated steam, capable of melting flesh and muscle in a matter of seconds. Sewage pipes leaked streams of rancid, gag-inducing slurry that could poison you or afflict you with a prolonged sickness called Sludge Lung, which sounded exactly as bad as it was.

I knew that firsthand because I caught Sludge Lung on my second day in the tunnels. I’d had to crawl back to the store in a feverish delirium to sleep off the effects of the sickness, which lasted the better part of a day. None of my elixirs helped either. I spent the entire time curled up in the fetal position, vacillating between a blazing fever and teeth-chattering chills, all while vomiting profusely and experiencing hallucinogenic nightmares.

Without exaggerating, I can honestly say it was the sickest I’d ever been in my entire life.

Thankfully, Croc and Baby Hands were there to nurse me back to health while Princess Ponypuff cooed sweet nothings in my ear about the inherent weaknesses of mortal flesh and the imminent arrival of Vor’ghel, the Devouring Maw who Dwells Beneath.

Good times.

There were rooms on the second floor, as well, but they were all filled with roaring machinery and clanking gears, which Croc ominously referred to as limb rippers. The mimic had lost three different Delvers to the mechanical death engines of the second floor. Over several years, Croc had also lost nine additional Delvers to the unholy Dwellers who called the floor home. There were enormous cockroaches—affectionately referred to as Skitters—skin-melting Slimes, literal shit golems, and elemental steam djinn.

The djinn were all level 10 or higher and completely immune to physical attacks.

Needless to say, I spent the least amount of time on the second floor because—one, fuck that place and the shit horse it rode in on—and two, I couldn’t imagine anyone surviving there for more than a day or two. It was an environmental trainwreck, not fit for human habitation, and no one would spend any amount of time there of their own volition. I reluctantly planted a doorway anchor and left notes when and where I could, but I wasn’t hopeful.

At some point, I’d probably move the door to a floor with a little more foot traffic and less sewage.

The only good thing was the Experience and the loot.

I actively avoided fighting the shit golems for obvious reasons. As for the Skitters, Slimes, and elementals, they were miserable sons of bitches who were hard to kill but gave out excellent experience for the trouble. Enough to push me up to level 15, though my progress stalled after that. So far, the progression system had been rather linear, and levels had come easily enough, but the points needed to advance from fifteen to sixteen were triple what had been required to move from fourteen to fifteen.

I got a decent stash of Relics, which almost made the miserable floor worth it.

Like the Faceless of the first floor, the Skitters had physical Relics, which had to do with Health Regeneration or Poison and Disease Resistance. They were decent and there were no overt drawbacks, so I decided to keep one of each for later.

Most of the Slimes carried a Common Relic called Mucus Membrane. It was a passive aura that caused the user’s skin to secrete a goo-like acid, which dealt a small amount of corrosive damage in retaliation against all direct physical attacks. It synergized well with Bleach Blaze, but after a quick examination, I realized combining the two would transform my best offensive spell into a powerful defensive ability called Viscous Splash.

It was a decent skill, but not at all what I needed, especially since I already had Sterilization Field.

Still, it would be a great passive spell for any new Delver looking to round out their defensive lineup. I also managed to snag a single Uncommon Relic called Arcane Corrosion, from a level 7 Ancient Slime. It actively ate through an opponent’s available Mana reserve, draining ten points of Mana per minute for five minutes. The ability could also stack up to five times, and any additional stacks renewed the spell effect.

It was good. Really good.

And like Mucus Membrane, it also synergized with Bleach Blaze, though the overall effect was far better.

Synergistic Resonance Detected!

Would you like to Forge Bleach Blaze (Rare – Level 2) and Arcane Corrosion (Uncommon – Level 1) into a new Relic?*

Yes/No?

Before committing, I ran a Compatibility Analysis.

Researcher’s Codex Compatibility Analysis

Based on historic data sets and extensive Forging models, Bleach Blaze (Rare – Level 2) and Arcane Corrosion (Uncommon – Level 1) have an estimated 97% resonance compatibility, meaning the number of possible Relic Iterations is Extremely Low. The most probable outcome is Drain-O Bolt (Rare), or a closely adjacent derivative. Would you like to view additional report records for the Drain-O Bolt ability? Yes/No?

I viewed the additional report and was pleased with what I saw.

Combining the two Relics would not only increase Bleach Blaze’s burst damage output, but it would add Mana Drain on top of the Stamina Drain it already dealt. With just a single ability, I’d be able to deal Corrosive and Fire Damage while simultaneously obliterating a given target’s Stamina and Mana pool. It was a dream spell, and I’d be an idiot not to forge the two items together, even though doing so dropped the new Relic back down to level 1.

I hit accept and added Drain-O Bolt into my Spatial Core with a satisfied grin.

The second-best find came from a level 12 Steam Djinn, who was a “Maintenance Chief”—the second-floor equivalent of Store Managers—who ran one of the largest machine shops we stumbled across.

It was a Rare-grade Relic called Scalding Torrent.

It resembled a foot-long hunk of pitted and rusty metal pipe. Its shitty exterior belied its true, badass nature, however. The Relic jettisoned a concentrated burst of scalding steam, which inflicted significant Burn Damage and ignored traditional flame resistances since it was a water-based attack. It filled the same general role as my new and improved Drain-O Bolt, but didn’t deal nearly as much Burst or DoT, plus no Stamina or Mana draining effect.

Adding it to my lineup didn’t make sense at this point, but I tucked it away for my personal collection. My gut told me I’d find a use for it sooner or later.

When I wasn’t grinding through the first three floors and spreading helpful survival tips far and wide, I spent my downtime crafting new Relics using the Shards I’d amassed. At first, I’d been reluctant to use them, thinking they’d be great for bartering, but at this point, it felt like I had an obscene number of the things. Not enough to Scrooge McDuck backstroke through, but I was getting there. Even though killing creatures under level 5 granted no experience, they still dropped lootable items and every single one of ’em had Shards.

Croc talked me through the crafting process, which was strikingly similar to the ritual required to level up individual Relics.

First, I arranged the Shards into two concentric rings. The outer ring was approximately five feet in diameter and consisted of a ring with five evenly placed Shards. The inner ring was three feet in diameter and had four Shards. I stood directly in the center of the pattern, clutching the final Shard in one hand. That Shard acted as the focal point for the ritual and would absorb the latent generative power of the other Shards, eventually giving birth to a new Relic.

What type of Relic formed seemed like a coin toss to me, though Croc insisted I could actively influence the creation process through focused intention. Croc’s explanation for how exactly I was supposed to do that was… lacking was the kindest word I could think of.

“Just want what you want, Dan,” the mimic said confidently as if that advice made a single lick of sense. “Just picture it in your head and force your intention into the Shard. Let your will radiate outward.”

“Are you even listening to yourself?” I asked the dog. “Because that sounds like the biggest load of magical, pseudo-spiritual horseshit I’ve ever heard in my life. It sounds like the kind of thing a prosperity cult would teach. That or Gwyneth Paltrow. Just visualize what you want,” I said, trying to emulate the dog’s accent, “and the universe will give it to you.”

Still, as dumb as the mimic’s advice sounded, I tried anyway.

I attempted to keep things simple and easy my first time out of the gate. The most common Relic I’d seen so far was some iteration of the basic Camo Relic, which all of the mimics seemed to hold within their core. I closed my eyes and pictured the camo kit in my mind until it felt so real that I could almost reach out and touch it. I could see the stupid little mirror and the multi-colored smudges of green, black, and brown greasepaint.

With the image fixed firmly in my mind’s eye, I ever so slowly fed a trickle of Mana into the Shard in my hand.

The Shards arrayed around me resonated with a high-pitched whine that made my teeth itch. A moment later heat bloomed in my palm and the Shard vanished, replaced by an item that weighed a lot more than it should have. I cracked an eye and glanced down, disappointed to find that instead of crafting a replica of the Camo Kit, I’d somehow created a dull black boot, which was so worn it looked like the sole would fall off at any moment.

It was a Common Relic called Squeaky Sole and its stats were even worse than the boot looked. Instead of allowing its user to blend into the background, it created an ongoing passive effect that made the user’s shoes squeak whenever they moved.

It was by far the worst Relic I’d seen so far.

My second attempt didn’t go any better, either.

Neither did my third attempt. Or my fourth. Or my fifth or sixth or tenth.

I created Relics that summoned noncombatant pigeons that fluttered around and shit on you when you were least expecting it. Phantom Pocket teleported a random item from your storage space to an unknown location once a day. Another, called Dietary Restriction, caused a nonlethal, but highly uncomfortable allergic reaction whenever consuming an elixir of any type. It seemed like the harder I tried to craft something useful, the more awful the Relics ended up.

They were so bad I couldn’t even forge them to make slightly less terrible Relics.

I ended up sacrificing the whole lot of ’em for levels.

I focused my efforts on the newly enhanced Drain-O Bolt, finally pushing it up to level 5, which cost twenty low-grade Common Relics. I was a little surprised to see that the Mana cost actually tripled, increasing from 5 to 15, but the damage scaled along with it. The spell now dealt 25 points of Corrosive Burst Damage and a combined 20 points of Corrosive and Fire Damage per minute for five minutes. Plus, both the Stamina and Mana Drain had doubled from 10 to 20 points per minute.

The spell was a magical wrecking ball, and only getting better and better all the time.

Best of all, the level 5 advancement added an additional effect called “Split Cast,” which allowed me to split the attack into two streams, capable of targeting two different enemies simultaneously. Split Cast cut the total damage for each portion of the spell in half, but it added an additional level of versatility to the Relic—especially when dealing with a group of lower-level mobs. A single Drain-O Bolt would likely be overkill in many cases, so the new effect would let me get twice the bang for my buck.

I sacrificed another ten Relics to bring Sterilization Field up to level 3, increasing the effect duration by five seconds, then burned the last five I could spare to nudge the Pharmacist’s Scales up to level 2, which didn’t seem to make any appreciable difference. But it was the only healing spell I’d come across so far, despite being a Common Relic, which told me I needed to work on upgrading it.

Overall, it was a long and tedious couple of weeks, but the important thing was that my plan was working.

By day five we got our first customer.