James A. Hunter
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Backrooms 2: Kiosk Kingdom - Chapter 17
🕑 Added 2024-04-11 13:15:07 +0000 UTCSeventeen – Land of Plenty
We found Bertrim and the rest of the priests celebrating in the laundromat, and this time they weren’t alone. There had to be at least three hundred or more of the laundry brownies—some wearing baggy overalls, others wearing floral dresses.
“Well now, this is certainly an unexpected turn of events,” Jakob said, as we eyed the gathering of brownies from a distance. The Cendral sounded both shocked and mildly amused.
He wasn’t the only one.
Bertrim’s Codex description had mentioned that Brownies were communal creatures, but I’d been expecting a dozen. Maybe two, tops. Certainly not three hundred or more. The sprawling city, tucked away inside of a large Employee’s Only Utility closet, was also something of a gut punch.
The homes were made from old plastic detergent bottles, bits of assorted metal, and a variety of other salvaged garbage. Beer bottles. Machine Cogs. Wooden clothespins. Canvas from the laundry carts. That sort of thing.
The smaller, simpler homes covered the closet floor, while larger, more elaborate manors were perched higher up on storage shelves, overlooking those below. Even here, it was clear there was a pecking order to be followed. Barbie doll-sized wooden ladders and rope bridges crisscrossed the space—reminding me of the intricate Howler catwalks—and strings of white Christmas lights festooned the closet, casting the tiny village in an otherworldly glow.
Looming above the city, perched on the highest shelf like some ever-watchful gargoyle, was a massive cathedral that dwarfed the rest of the tiny buildings. The temple was carefully crafted from the innards of a washing machine. Rivets ran along the face of the building, and cogs and gears—polished to a mirrored sheen—served as ornamental decorations. Intricate stained-glass windows were inset into the cathedral’s walls, and a brass handbell sat in the building’s central steeple.
Even though the city was small in stature, I had to admit it was damn impressive, and so was the sheer craftsmanship on display. Honestly, I was wondering how in the hell a bunch of laundry brownies had managed to accomplish the task.
As I surveyed the crowd, though, I began to realize that not all of the Brownies were Laundry Brownies at all. There were Housekeeping Brownies, Maintenance Brownies, Metalsmith Brownies, Seamstress Brownies. Hell, I even spotted an Electrical Engineering Brownie. There were a few Brownies that had no class at all, and as I inspected them a little more closely, I realized those were probably what passed for kids.
Interestingly, though, the Laundry Brownies were the most powerful of the lot; all level ten or higher and dressed in significantly nicer clothes than the rest of their kin.
“Oh my god, Dan,” Croc crooned from beside me. “They are so cute. Can we keep ’em all, Dan? Please, please, please. They’re just so adorable. My heart is melting. They look just like those precious little porcelain Hummel figurines that are in the Keepsake Cove on the third floor. I love those little things. But these ones are even better because, they’re real!” The mimic’s whole body was vibrating in sheer excitement.
“These things aren’t toys, Croc. This is an entire society of sentient beings we’re talking about here.”
“I know, Dan. But I promise, I’ll help take care of them. I’ll make sure to feed them every day and take them for walks. I even know where there’s a pet store. I could get a bunch of exercise wheels, or maybe some of those plastic tubes? Can you imagine, Dan? A tube city, just like at the Jungle Gym Jamboree—except it would be Brownie sized? Imagine how many slides I could make for them! And I promise I’ll never eat them, even if they do smell delicious. Please, Dan? Please?”
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Of course, Croc wanted to keep them like a bunch of pet hamsters. Why was I not surprised?
“I’ll think about it,” I said, “but first we need to convince them to come back to the store with us.”
Up ahead, Bertrim had ascend a set of tiny stairs and was now standing on a small wooden podium. He raised a tiny golden chalice, filled wine. A human-sized bottle of cheap Merlot—easily as large as any of the Brownies—was on its side with some sort of beer tap mechanism affixed to the top. One of Bertrim’s purple robed acolytes filled glasses, which were quickly picked up and whisked away by serving Brownies, carrying silver trays.
“Let us drink and be merry!” Bertrim caterwauled to the assembled crowd. “After performing the sacred summoning ritual, once a day, every day, for more than four years, the prophecy foretold has at last been fulfilled, and the Researcher has sent to us the chosen one. The Deliverer! He who has vanquished the Profane Corrupter!” He paused, his tone darkening. “Although many of you despaired on account of all the false prophets who came before, we chosen few kept the faith and have been rewarded for our unwavering belief!”
A raucous cheer went up as the Brownies hooted and hollered, lifting thimble-sized mugs in salute. They drank in great gulps, slapping each other on the backs and doing little jigs as a band took to a raised stage and started playing what could only be described as polka music. They had someone playing a miniature tuba and another Brownie, decked out in lederhosen, sawing back and forth on an actual, working accordion.
I had so, so many questions and didn’t even know where to begin. Watching their celebration unfold was like watching an LSD-fueled, fever dream directed by David Lynch.
With a sigh, I left Croc and Jakob standing by the entryway and begrudgingly tromped over to the Brownie shindig, not bothering to muffle my footfalls. Somehow, the Brownies still didn’t hear my approach over the blaring polka music. Honestly, these little critters had all the situational awareness and self-preservation of a drunk toddler. It was a wonder they’d survived as long as they had.
I raised a hand and cleared my throat to get their attention.
Finally, a few of the little weirdos noticed my presence. The accordion music cut off with an abrupt jangle, followed in short order by the tuba and the cowbell player. The Brownies in the crowd began to turn toward me, only a handful at first, but more and more by the second. Soon a harsh silence settled over the gathering. The quiet didn’t last long as they fell to their knees in waves, some prostrating themselves completely, a few openly crying, others chanting “what the fuck” over and over again like a sacred prayer.
In less than a minute, only Bertrim remained on his feet, hands raised toward me. “Deliver, you have returned, victorious from battle against the Profane Corrupter,” the high priest of laundry services intoned formally. “Praise be to you and to the Researcher, who sent you from above. Long have we waited for your glorious reign to begin in earnest—”
“Uh, come again now?” I asked, caught off guard. Long and glorious reign?
Bertrim dry washed his hands and nervously licked his lips as though this might be some sort of test of faith. “Surely, you but jest with your humble servant,” the priest replied, dipping his head low. “The prophecies of old tell that one day a savior will come, sent from the Researcher to deliver us from the Profane Corrupter. Then, once the Deliver has struck the killing blow, he shall usher in a golden age of endless prosperity.”
Huh. Maybe convincing them to come back to the shop would be easier than I thought.
Clearly, these guys were in some weird cult and although I really didn’t want to feed into their delusional bullshit, I also needed them if I wanted to fulfill my deal with the Howlers. Plus, the idea of having a bunch of laundry minions, scampering around and cleaning my gear, was strangely appealing. I hated doing laundry.
The question was, did I hate doing laundry enough to become the de facto leader of a Brownie cult? I only had to mull it over for a second.
Yes. Yes, I did hate doing laundry enough to become the de facto leader of a Brownie cult. Inside, I wouldn’t feel good about it, but outside I’d feel great because I would no longer be forced to walk around in a gore-soaked bathrobe.
“It was in fact a test,” I intoned somberly, channeling my best Sunday Preacher voice. “And you have passed, my faithful ones. The Researcher has indeed sent me as you can see by this sacred seal, which bears his mark.” I pulled free a golden medallion from my storage space. On one side was a giant thumbs-up. On the back were the words, “Researcher Approved!”
I’d gotten the seal out of a gashapon machine in a third-floor loot arcade.
The metal glimmered in the glow of the Christmas lights and the Brownies oohed and aahed appropriately.
“Yep. Researcher approved,” I continued, stashing away the medallion. “He sent us here to defeat the darkness and usher in an age of plenty, just like your prophecy said. And what an age it’ll be,” I added. “Have any of you ever heard of pizza?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Some muttered “no” while others shook their heads in confusion.
By way of explanation, I pulled an entire pepperoni pie from my storage—the bottom of the box already soggy from all the accumulated grease. The pizza was still piping hot and when I flipped the cardboard lid, a thick, aromatic wave rolled out. I set the pizza down and scooted it toward the Brownies with the toe of a boot.
Hungry gazes fixed on the pizza like a pack of predatory wolves.
“Never in all my years, have I ever smelled something so rich. So savory,” Bertrim said, voice quivering as he spoke.
“That’s not all either,” I replied, fishing out an ice-cold six pack of Bud-light. I yanked a can from the plastic holder, expertly cracked the tab with one finger, then shook it and let a spray of beer rain down on the party goers. “That right there, Bert, is one hundred percent, all-American beer. Or, as I like to call it, the elixir of the gods. It’s a thousand times better than that shitty wine y’all are drinking. In the paradise I will take you to—a land overflowing with beer and pizza—you shall never want for a hot, fresh slice of pie or a frosty cold one. This, I swear.”
“And what would you ask of us in return for such a plentiful bounty, oh great one?” Bertrim asked, awe evident in his voice.
“Simple,” I replied with a shrug. “I just need you to do some laundry. And maybe a couple of other routine housekeeping tasks,” I added, glancing at the group of assembled brownies. As good as laundry service would be, I could get a lot of milage out of three hundred highly motivated workers.
“It would be our honor to serve, oh great one,” Bertrim replied, falling to his knees. “It is for this very purpose that we were fashioned and formed. This day, a covenant is struck between our people. We shall not disappoint you. On this, I give my solemn word.” The tiny priest removed a blackened dagger from the baggy folds of his robes and slashed the blade across his forearm. A tiny stream of purple dribbled down.
Huh. That was a little disconcerting.
“Cool, cool,” I said nodding, while a tight knot of worry formed in the pit of my stomach. “I’m sure this is not going to blow up in my face in any way,” I grumbled under my breath. Then, more loudly for the assembled Brownie cultists, “Well, no point in waiting. Let’s get this show on the road. The land of pizza and beer awaits, and I’ve got a shit ton of laundry to get done.”
A cheer went up at the proclamation.
I expanded my minimap and selected the entirety of the laundromat, then activated Corvo’s Blanket Fort.
You’ve selected 2,170 square feet of eligible Progenerated Material Resource Space. Would you like to use Corvo’s Blanket Fort to convert the selected material into a Personal Superspace Dwelling? You will have 40,097 available square feet remaining at your current Variant Assimilation Level. Proceed Yes/No?
I hit yes and waited patiently as the Backrooms worked its strange magic.
The laundromat—once buried deep beneath the fifth floor—rattled and shook, the lights flickering and strobing madly. Then, just as quick as the tremors had come, they subsided. I headed over to the sliding glass door and stepped into the blazing light of my shop.
I took a deep sigh of relief, glad that everything had finally come together.
All that was left to do now was get back to the Hold and make sure everything was squared away with Ajax.
First, though, I wanted to see these guys in action. I gingerly peeled off my bathrobe and tossed it on the floor, not far from the entrance to their hidden city in the closet.
“Let’s start with that and see how you do. And make it quick. I’ve got important Chosen One stuff to be about.”
“Of course, Deliverer. Your will be done.” Bertrim clapped his hands sharply and the others jumped to compile.
I watched in smug satisfaction as a hoard of Brownies rushed over to the crumpled robe and whisked it off toward one of the washers, while others hustled to grab detergent, fabric softener, and other powders I couldn’t immediately identify.
I left them to their work and headed over to the breakroom, bound for my private quarters. It hadn’t even been a full day since I’d added the hotel room, but holy hell did I need another shower.
After the battle with the golem, it was possible I’d need to take two.
Comments
A Lost Robot
Thabks for the chapter!
Dark Mage
Thank you!!
