James A. Hunter
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Backrooms: Delvers and Dwellers - Chapter 32
🕑 Added 2023-09-06 21:03:43 +0000 UTCUPDATE FROM JAMES: Hey everyone. I am SOOOOOO sorry for the irrgular posts. DragonCon messed me up good and I thought I'd be able to get some writing done, but nope. Not one word. But I'm back home, feeling great, and super excited with where the story is headed. Expect regular posting to resume. And on that note, hope you enjoy this chapter!
Thirty-Two – Shop Keeper
Our first customer was a brand-new Delver named Taylor, who’d wandered into the shop from the access door in the Lobby.
She was a wide-eyed and terrified twenty-two year old from Oklahoma State University and, much like me, she’d Noclipped in after a drunken rager. Though her rager had been at a sorority party instead of a bachelor party, but that was really just semantics. Croc and I explained the situation to her as gently but realistically as possible, helped her integrate with the VIRUS using the in store Monolith, then let her catch a full night’s rest.
In the morning, Princess Ponypuff outfitted the college girl with one of the basic Delver Kits we’d assembled, then dropped her off in the parking garage on floor one.
Honestly, it felt a little cruel to just toss her back into the wild where there was a good chance she’d end up dead in weeks if she was lucky and days if she wasn’t. That or worse, considering the fate of the Faceless who inhabited the parking garage.
But as shitty as it made me feel, that was just the reality of this place. I couldn’t help everyone indefinitely and if people wanted to survive, they were going to have to fight for it. That was just the way of the Backrooms. We’re we sending them out like lambs to the slaughter? Maybe. But at least we were sending those lambs out with machetes and enough survival know-how to have a fighting chance. We also let her keep the red yarn ring and told her she was welcome to come back anytime, so long as she had tokens to spend, or Relics to trade.
By day eight, we had a steady stream of new Delvers trickling in.
Usually two or three per day, from places as close to home as Texas and as far away as Kyiv. They were college kids and soldiers, housewives and day laborers, teachers and lawyers. Men, women, young, old, and everything in between. We even got a Greek orthodox priest who didn’t speak a lick of English. One and all, we gave ’em a rough rundown on the Backrooms, a decent night sleep, and a survival kit to see them on their way. It was the most we could do.
Hell, we were running out of the backpacks so quickly that Croc and I had to raid the Style-for-Less for a second time.
We also paid a visit to a camping store called Open Sky Outfitters, on the third floor. We killed a handful of Dwellers and raided the outdoor essentials section—stockpiling on things like hatchets, machetes, ropes, and magnesium fire starters—then loaded up on collapsible, green camp cots.
For the most part, the survival supplies went into the kits, while the cots replaced the makeshifts sleeping pallets in the back storage space, behind the refrigerated coolers. I added a pair of large tents as well, which I planned to rent out for those who wanted a little extra privacy while they slept. Which was probably most people, considering that Princess Ponypuff had developed a terrible habit of watching people sleep with her cold, unblinking doll eyes.
She was so creepy that even Croc continued to feel uncomfortable around her.
It was at the tail end of the second week—just when I was starting to give up hope on ever attracting a paying customer—that a Level 25 Delver slunk into our shop, via the door I’d planted on the third floor. He moved with stealthy, lethal grace, like a prowling cat, and constantly scanned every aisle for any sign of danger. I’d spent a lot of time with Marines who had PTSD. This guy had all the symptoms.
Hypervigilance, open hostility, obvious anxiety, and extreme mistrust.
He also wasn’t completely human, though he wasn’t a Dweller either. At least, not according to the tag that appeared above his head.
Delver #12T - 01 - B0BFX6X9M9 – Cendral, Transmog [Level 25]
The tag clearly labeled him as a Delver, just like every other person who’d wandered through the store so far, but I’d never heard of a Cendral before, and he sure as shit didn’t look human. Humanoid, in that he stood upright like a man and had two arms and two legs. But he also had sleek, pale white serpent scales covering every inch of his visible skin, shimmering violet hair, and a pair of upward curing black horns protruding from his forehead.
As someone who’d grown up going to a southern Baptist church every Sunday, I was inclined to call him a demon. Except, I was guessing the similarities were both superficial and coincidental. The guy was wearing tight leather pants, a pair of clunky black Doc Martians, and a beat-up leather jacket with a hood stitched into the lining. Beneath the jacket he wore a full ring mail shirt, synched tight at the waist by a leather belt with a small circular buckler hanging from one hip.
He had a leather glove covering his left hand, which rose all the way to his elbow, and slung over his shoulders was what I could only call a bazooka. But the launcher was spray painted with so much colorful graffiti that it looked like it something that belonged in Fortnite and not out here in the real world.
As I studied the newcomer more closely, the Researcher’s Codex populated a more thorough description.
Although Cendral look like overgrown snakes, they’re actually the distant descents of the long dead Dragon Lords of Vytharia. They consider themselves a proud race. Everyone else considers them the be colossal assholes. Oh, look at me, I’m the offspring of a Dragon. No one fucking cares, Jerry.
Unfortunately, Cendrals can back up their arrogance.
They’re strong, fast, and basically fireproof, plus they have some nasty magical resistances. They also regenerate health at a crazy rate and can regrow limbs, so there’s that. On the flip side, they suck a wheelbarrow full of assholes when it comes to utilizing any Relics that requires mana. Their bodies just aren’t built for it. Best bet, kill them at a distance before they can get close enough to turn you into red meat sauce.
Another brief prompt appeared beneath the more detailed description.
Would you like to use the Codex to examine this Delver’s Spatial Core? Yes/No?
Huh, now that was curious.
I hadn’t seen that prompt with the other Delvers I’d met so far, but then all of those Delvers were brand new and hadn’t added any Relics to their Spatial Core. So maybe I hadn’t seen the prompt because there was nothing for me to see inside them?
I hit yes, but the nothing happened. There was a brief pulse of energy that flared around the Cendral, and the Codex simply failed.
“You shouldn’t do that,” the man hissed, his voice smooth with a slight German lilt to it. “It’s considered extremely rude to scan another Delver without their permission. And if you are going to do it, you should know that it generally only works on Delvers of a similar or lower level.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “And it’ll never work on a Cendral.”
He cocked his head and studied me more closely.
“How is it that a Level 15 has a scan ability at all, I wonder? Or all this, for that matter.” He swept out a hand, gesturing at the store. “What possible Relic could one so low-level have to accomplish such things?”
“Where I’m from,” I replied evenly, “it’s considered rude to ask what someone has in their Spatial Core.”
The man’s lips pulled up into a lopsided smile and he snorted. “Touché,” he said, acknowledging the verbal parry.
“For what’s it worth, though, I’m sorry,” I added after a second. I didn’t need to apologize, but I didn’t want to create bad blood between us, especially since this was the first Delver I’d ever met who been in the Backrooms longer than me. Plus, I needed allies, not enemies, and few words of apology could go a long way toward making friends. “Wasn’t trying to offend. I’m just new around here. Still learning the ropes.”
The grin faded and the Cendral folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve seen a lot of strange things in the backrooms, but that is a little hard to believe, even for me. I’ll admit that this operation of yours is new enough, but there’s no way you are fresh meat, even if you are only Level fifteen.” He dropped his voice low and leaned forward. “Come now, it is just the two of us, na? Who’re you working for, hmm? Which sovereign set this up? I’m guessing we can rule out the Flayed Monarch, based on that little entry notice of yours…”
He trailed off, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin.
“But then, that is precisely the kind of message the Flayed Monarch wouldhave you write if he were trying to deflect suspicions regarding his involvement.” Finally, the Cendral grimaced and shook his head. “No, perhaps I’m overthinking this. I feel like Wallace Shawn from the Princess Bride. It is not the Skinless Court, but it is certainly the work of one of the great rulers or another. The Lord of Coin, perhaps?” he offered, cocking an eyebrow. “This certainly seems in line with his motives. Or the Iron Tyrant? Could even be the Voidmother—”
I raised a hand to forestall him, “It’s none of those. Like the sign says, this is neutral territory. I don’t have any ties to anyone, though I may have gotten off to a bad start with the Aspirants of the Skinless Court,” I reluctantly conceded.
“Well as you Americans are so fond of saying, fuck ’em.” He tossed up both hands as though in dismissal. “No one likes those arschlöcher anyway,” the Cendral continued, offering me a sly serpentine grin. “If you had to pick a faction to start a war with, that is the best of the lot. The Flayed Monarch is the most powerful of all the sovereigns, true, but he’s also the most deeply resented and hated.” He scratched his chin. “Still, it is a bit of a good news bad news type situation, I suppose.”
“I take it that means you’re not on friendly terms with them then?” I asked.
His face darkened noticeably, then he slowly and carefully peeled off the glove covering his left hand. He winced as the garment came away, revealing, not scales but a bloody red limb devoid of scales or skin. Just exposed muscle and sinew.
“That would be a fair assessment,” he replied. “This is what they do to those who cross them. They take pieces. Trophies. Then they fashion them into capes and cowls. I’ve even seen a high-level Aspirant wearing someone else’s leg skin as a pair of pants.” He shook his head in clear disapproval. “Very disturbing to say the least.”
“Wait,” I said, brow furrowing in confusion. “But I thought Aspirants flayed themselves as they advanced through the court?”
“Oh, they do,” the Cendral said in earnest, “which can make it a little confusing. The difference is, when they do it to an enemy, they have magics to make sure the wound never heals and the pain never goes away. Not ever.” He said softly, and I could hear the muffled anguish in his voice. “When they do it to themselves, however, the process evokes a feeling of ecstasy. Or so I’m told,” he finished, before gingerly slipping the leather glove back in place. “Now, if we are done with the interrogations, allow me to introduce myself properly. I’m Jakob. Called Jakob of Greif, by some, and Jakob the Scales, by others.”
He extended his good hand and I noticed there was a small red piece of yarn tied around his pinky finger.
“Dan,” I replied, accepting the proffered limb and giving it a firm pump.
“I surmised as much,” Jakob said, “considering the name of your little store here. Discount Dan’s Backroom Bargains. It’s a mouthful, but there is a certain ring to it, I must admit.”
“Mind if I ask you another question since we’re being so friendly?” I asked, releasing his iron-clad grip.
“It’s your store, is it not?” the Cendrel replied, cocking a scaly eyebrow. “I think that entitles you to do quite as you please, don’t you think?”
I shrugged. “That’s true, but since we’re speaking candidly, I can tell you that I’ll I’m looking to make friends and I’m not aiming to offend.”
“I doubt very much anything you say could offend me.” He tapped at his scales. “I have thick skin.”
I chuckled. “Aright, fair enough.” Then I let my next question rip, “What’s a Transmog?”
“Mein Gott, but you really are new here,” Jakob said, sounding rather scandalized. “That or you’re a great actor and you’re nailing the whole naivete angle.” He paused, regarding me with fresh eyes. “Transmogs are Delvers who assume a new racial alignment. I’m not really a Cendrel—or at least, I wasn’t always a Cendrel. Once I was human, very much like you. That was five or six years ago, now. The Cendrel are one of the most common nonhuman races you’ll find in the depths below. They have a rather large settlement down on floor two-hundred and seventeen, and there are pockets of them elsewhere.”
“So you’re some kind of Dweller hybrid?” I asked.
Jackob snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s like talking with a child.” He sighed. “The Cendrel aren’t human, but that doesn’t mean they’re Dwellers,” he said in a clipped tone. “And you should know they will be very offended indeed if you suggest otherwise. The Progenitor ship has been stuck in our dimension for quite some time, but you must understand that Earth wasn’t its first stop. From what I’ve been able to piece together, we were supposed to have been the last. Would’ve been, if not for the Blight.
“The ship picked up a wide assortment of different races before it ever docked with our world,” he continued in earnest. “There are Cendrels, obviously”—he gestured at himself with a reptilian, claw-tipped hand—“but there also Nymphshades, Celestari, Kobocks, Drekhnaar, Ecliptaurs, Helionites, Irides, Mystivores, and Kromalkins—and those are just the big ones. Transmogs are Delvers who voluntarily splice their genetic material with another race.”
I squinted at him.
“Wait, let me see if I have the gist of it,” I prodded. “You were human, but now you’re a lizard guy. With scales. And horns. And claws. And presumably other, unmentionable lizard anatomical bits?”
“Yes, to all of the above,” he replied flatly. “Though I would prefer not to talk about the rest of my ‘anatomical bits,’ if you don’t mind.”
“And you did this willingly?”
“Yes,” he agreed.
I sighed and rubbed at one temple. “But why?” I asked after a long beat. “What in the world would make you want to trade in your humanity?”
He shrugged. “Humanity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. As to why I did it. Why do you do anything in the Backrooms? To survive, of course. As difficult as it might be to believe, when it comes to the vast expanse of interdimensional reality, we humans aren’t at the top of the survival food chain. There are a great many things that are faster, stronger, and more durable. Even here on earth, we are physically outmatched by almost all other apex species in almost every metric, save one. Intelligence.”
He let the word float in the air, heavy like a thundercloud.
“But if you were to give bears human levels of intelligence,” he continued after a moment, “do you truly think man would still rule our world?” He grimaced and shook his head. “Doubtful. Many of these other races offer additional benefits and bonuses, and this one suited my Spatial Core build particularly well. Assuming you really are new, and this isn’t all some elaborate scheme, then you might want to consider it at some point yourself. There are Variant Helix Splicers down in the research labs below—though getting to them can be…” he faltered. “Challenging.”
“Good to know,” I said, cataloging that detail away for later. The idea of trading in my humanity was extremely unpalatable, but would I do it if it meant surviving? Maybe. Though I couldn’t say before the option was on the table in front of me. “You’ve been extremely helpful, so as a small thank you, I’ll give you ten percent off on your entire order.”
“There is no need for that,” the Cendrel replied formally, waving away my offer. “I don’t need any of your frivolous provisions or any of your subpar Relics. All I want is Elixirs. Health, Mana, Stamina. I’ll take the whole lot of them. I was trying to explain that to your horrifying pony golem, but she insisted the Elixirs are capped at three per customer.”
“Sorry, that’s store policy,” I replied. “We want to keep some in stock for other customers.”
“No,” Jakob said matter of factly, “that simply will not do at all. You are charging a ridiculously paltry fee, and I am prepared to pay well above market value for the entirety of your stock.” He held up a clawed finger. “One common-grade Relic per elixir. But, in exchange, I want all that you have available.”
I nearly choked at his offer.
A straight-up one to one trade? For elixirs?
Holy shit, but it felt like I’d just hit the jackpot.
I didn’t even need to check the binder to know that we had a total of sixty Elixirs on hand—twenty of all three varieties. I had even more in my personal Storage, though I wasn’t willing to part with those. They were my emergency stash for when things went sideways, as they invariably did. But if I was really to part with all sixty, that meant sixty Relics. Even if they were all trash tier, with no redeeming qualities whatsoever, I could still sacrifice them and boost a bunch of my best abilities straight through the roof.
Although I was already salivating at the possibilities, I didn’t immediately jump on the man’s offer. If he was willing to waltz right in and drop sixty Common-grade Relics for Elixirs without even batting an eye, then it meant I was missing something important. Maybe these potions were rarer and more valuable than I’d first assumed. Or maybe elixirs acted as currency in other places and this guy was trying to pull one over on me.
Sure, taking the deal would be great in the short-term, but maybe it would end up biting me in the ass down the road.
“That’s an extremely generous offer,” I replied after mulling it over for a bit longer, “but I’m still inclined to say no.” I watched as his shoulders bunched and a thread of anger wormed its way across his face. “Unless you tell me why you’re willing to pay so much for ’em,” I amended. “Seems like elixirs should be easy enough to come by, especially for someone as high-level as you. Which makes me think that you’re offer might not be as generous as it first appears.”
Jakob of Greif stared at me as though trying to decide what to do with me. After a few long seconds, his shoulders slumped, and he seemed to relax just a hair. He sighed and it was a heavy sound. “You would think procuring Elixirs is a trivial matter, but in that you would be quite wrong. Dwellers rarely if ever drop them, which means there are essentially only two ways to obtain them. The first is by earning Medic! Loot Tokens. In the early stages, such tokens can be quite easy to come by because they often are awarded with new Achievements.
“Unfortunately, the longer you stay here, the harder it is to unlock additional achievements, which means the fewer Loot Token Rewards you get, overall. Unless, of course, you are willing to take increasingly suicidal job board posts, which most of us are not. And that means the best way to get Elixirs is to farm locations that regenerate them.” He paused and glanced around. “Such as this one, I am assuming. But these locations are also surprisingly rare. The third floor is one of the most diverse, because of its theme, and has a great many resources, which makes it a popular hunting ground.”
“Still not seeing a problem,” I said, restlessly drumming my fingers on the edge of the counter. “Why not just find a location that spawns Elixirs and then raid it every couple weeks?”
“The problem is the Black Harbor Syndicate,” Jakob replied stiffly, “whose toes, you are unwittingly stepping on. They are a criminal collective, of sorts, who operate with some degree of impunity in almost every single Safe Harbor. And, as it happens, the farming, distribution, and sale of all Elixirs falls under their exclusive purview.”
I looked at Croc, who was reclining in a folding chair in a very un-dog like fashion.
“Did you know about this Black Harbor Syndicate?” I asked quietly.
“Well yeah,” the dog said, crossing its legs. “Who doesn’t know about the Syndicate?”
“Me,” I growled. “I don’t know about the Syndicate. Why didn’t you mention that earlier? Like maybe when we were going over the pricing model for the elixirs?”
The mimic looked at me, puzzled. “But Dan, how am I supposed to know what you do and don’t know? You didn’t ask about the Syndicate or whether selling elixirs was illegal, so I just assumed you had some awesome plan, because you always have an awesome plan.”
I pressed my eyes shut tightly and took a few deep breaths through my nose.
“This sounds like a classic case of miscommunication,” Croc said, “and I think we can all agree that no one is to blame, especially not me. Croc. Who is a good boy that just wants to be helpful.”
It was impossible to stay mad at the mimic, even though it felt like I’d just got sucker punched in the teeth.
“From now, Croc, just assume that I don’t know anything if you haven’t told me,” I said.
Croc’s googly eyes got strangely large and the dog looked incredibly serious all of a sudden. “Wow, that is a huge responsibility, Dan. I’m not even sure where to begin. Do you know how to read? We could start there, I suppose. Or maybe we should have the birds and the bees talk. I read about that in Paperbacks and Paradoxes. Honestly, I was very confused about the whole thing, but I’ll do my best to explain why the daddy bees wrestle with the mommy birds—”
“About the Backrooms, Croc,” I interrupted. “I one-hundred percent don’t need you to explain the birds and the bees to me.”
“Wow, that is such a relief,” Croc replied with a deep sigh of relief. “But since we’re on the topic, I don’t suppose you could explain it to me, then? Because, again, the whole premise was very confusing. Birds and bees seem like natural enemies, so them forming an alliance like that seems oddly out of character. Unless…” the mimic trailed off. “Unless it’s a bit like Edward and Bella—from the bestselling and beloved-by-all Twilight series—setting aside their differences to explore the wonders of forbidden love. Is that the answer, Dan?”
I ignored the dog and turned back to Jakob. “So, you were saying about this Syndicate?”
The Cendral glanced between me and Croc, confusion clear in his gaze.
“I was saying that you are courting trouble,” he said. “They have an unofficial decree granted to them by the sovereigns—who all receive sizeable kickbacks from the Collective in exchange for turning a blind eye to their dealings. Collecting Elixirs from a raid or from the Loot Arcade is permissible, but they can only be used for personal consumption. Reselling them is strictly off limits. First offense, you lose a finger or two. The second time it’s the whole hand. Then they start taking off progressively larger body parts.”
“So, you’re hoping to get all the elixirs I have before the Syndicate shuts me down and starts taking appendages,” I said.
“Jein,” he acknowledged with a dip of his chin.
Just my fucking luck.
Not only was I actively at war with the Skinless Court, but now I had to worry about these monopolistic douchebags from the Black Harbor Syndicate breaking my fingers or amputating body parts. At this point, it seemed like the Skinless Court and the Syndicate were going to have to fight over who got to murder me first. I could also take Jakob’s warning to heart and avoid the wrath of the Syndicate altogether by simply not selling Elixirs but… Well, I didn’t want to.
Not only did I dislike shithead bullies, but I wasn’t about to kneecap my business before it even got off the ground.
And if Elixirs really were in such short supply this would only drive even more customers to my store. That did mean tangling with the folks from the Syndicate, but in for a penny in for a pound, as my granddad used to say. Besides, maybe I could cut a deal with the Syndicate or, worst case scenario, I’d restrict their access to the store just like I’d done with the dickbags Aspirants who rallied beneath the Flayed Monarch’s banner.
“Okay,” I said, “I’m willing to part with the whole lot for one common-grade relic apiece, but since I’m likely signing my own death warrant by selling you these things, I’m thinking maybe you could add something else to help sweeten the pot?”
Jakob considered it only for a few seconds, before agreeing. “That seems like a fair concession, considering the risks involved on your end. Because I am a man of honor, I’ll give you a one for one swap, plus I’ll toss in an extremely useful Uncommon-grade Relic that should make you a little more durable. Do we have a deal?”
Sixty commons, plus an uncommon Relic? All for a resource that I’d be able to regenerate in a span of two days. I’d be crazy not to take that deal.
I grinned and extended my hand once more. “Hell yeah, we do partner.”
