After six hours of tossing and turning, I woke up feeling only slightly better than when I’d crashed. My stump still burned like a UTI, and overall I felt like I was coming off a rough hangover—head heavy, joints stiff, mood worse. Still, there was progress. The skin around the stump looked less raw, and the fingers, if you could call them that, resembled the early stages of actual limbs instead of five angry blisters.

  Small wins.

  Croc was passed out on the couch, limbs splayed out, while New Moon—the second Twilight movie—played on an endless loop. On screen, Bella hurled herself off a massive cliff, vanishing into the cold, churning water below in a desperate attempt to hear Edward’s voice again. To feel close to him, even if it meant drowning. Croc snored through the scene like it was a Saturday morning cartoon.

  I let the movie play and didn’t bother waking the dog as I hastily got ready, before swinging by my Monolith to spend some stat points and take care of my backlog of notifications. I had a slew of new achievements waiting, thanks to my escapades down on the forty-ninth floor.

  Research Achievement Unlocked!

  You Can’t Outrun the Sky

  You tried to fly through the Backrooms. You saw an open expanse and thought, “Huh, maybe I can just bypass all the danger.” Like it was a videogame. Like the air didn’t hunger.

  Well, congratulations, Maverick, your airborne adventure lasted approximately 13 seconds before the local ecosystem politely declined your flight plan. Because, as a general rule in the Backrooms, if there’s a biome, there’s something in it that wants to eat your face and wear your skin like a trophy.

  And sure enough, you found it. Or rather, it found you.

  The good news is you lived. Probably because you stopped soaring around majestically like a bald eagle, thinking there would be no consequences. The bad news is that now the air itself hates you. And it has learned your sent. Let that be a lesson—in the Backrooms the ceiling is not a limit, it’s a feeding trough…

  Reward: 7,500 Experience, 1 x Silver Airborne Loot Token and trauma. Just trauma.

  Title: You Can’t Outrun the Sky – You take 25% less fall damage, but all flying entities will notice you faster. Good luck.

  Research Achievement Unlocked!

  Some Assembly Required

  You cut off your own limb. Willingly.

  Not in the heat of battle. Not while screaming in a death trap or gnawing through rope with your teeth. No. You did it with full awareness, full intent, and—worst of all—planning.

  Still, credit where credit is due. Self-amputation is rarely the first solution most people consider. But you? No hesitation. No second opinions. You stared down a necrotic, festering, possibly-sentient wound and made the bold decision to hack it off like a discount lumberjack performing emergency surgery. And you didn’t even flinch. Well, not outwardly. We all heard the screaming.

  That takes real commitment.

  Consider this your official invitation to the Flesh Cult DIY Club. Meetings are on Thursdays. Bring your own sutures.

  Reward: 3,500 Experience Points, 5 x Silver Medic! Loot Token

  Research Achievement Unlocked!

  HR Horror Show

  Most people look at roadkill and think, “eww, that’s fucking gross.”

  You look at it and see raw, untapped potential.

  You didn’t just raise the dead. You crafted them. Molded them. Limbs where there shouldn’t be limbs. Antlers on things that never knew the joy of seasonal rutting. The very laws of anatomy and good taste left sobbing in a corner. Sure, some of your minions smell like formaldehyde and fart death when they move, but that’s the price of innovation.

  And you didn’t stop at one. Oh no. You did it more than thirty times. That requires a certain morally bankrupt commitment to the phrase “functional flesh puppet.”

  Even more impressive, you’ve somehow imposed cooperate structure on your shambling horrors. They have roles. Purpose. There’s a goddamn chain of command. Rumor has it some of them are discussing union bylaws. What kind of sick fuck thinks necro-bureaucracy is a good idea? But hey, if it works it works. Your creations may clatter, lurch, and bitch about reasonable working hours, but in the end, they follow you.

  Reward: 5,000 Experience, 1 x Gold Bone Binder’s Loot Token and a memo from Legal asking you to stop calling HR “Human Remains.”

  Title: HR Horror Show – Undead minions under your control gain +10 to all Base Stats, and +25% to Unwavering Obedience.

  Honestly, the list of notifications served as a pretty accurate summary of the past couple of days. I had several outstanding titles to take care of, plus Stat points to distribute, so I pulled up my SBR and divvyed out my gains.

  I’d levelled up six times since embarking with Harper and had a total of thirty Stat points to burn. Staying true to my build, I immediately dropped ten into Resonance—increasing Mana Optimization by another 2%—and eleven points into Grit, bringing my base stat to seventy-five without any bonuses.

  A grin stretched across my face when I finally received the prompt I’d been waiting for so patiently.

  Synaptic Fortification

  You’ve finally passed the first Grit Threshold and, as a result, your mind has developed a “psychic callus.” You can finally stop crying over intrusive thoughts and start weaponizing them instead.

  Psychic spells and abilities now hit harder, sharper, and deeper. Your mental shielding has gone from “wet tissue” to “paranoid bunker,” giving you increased resistance to all mind enchantments, fear-based manipulations, and high-tier brain-fuckery. Charm? Nope. Madness? Already there. Telepathic assault? Have fun wading through the nightmares, pal.

  For every 5 Stat Points you invest in Grit, Synaptic Fortification increases by 1% (Max 50%), decreasing the cost of physic spells, increasing the base damage output, and raising your overall resistance to Mind Control, Sanity Damage, Fear Effects, Emotional Tampering, Hallucinations, and Illusions. It’s not that you’re immune to mind-games now. It’s just that your own head is a scarier place to be.

  Now—yes, okay—there is a side effect. You’ve started hearing voices. Nothing major, just an occasional but persistent internal chorus whispering fragmented phrases in unknown languages directly into your gray matter. Sometimes they laugh when you make the right decision. Sometimes they scream when you walk into a trap. Seems like a problem, right?

  Wrong-o.

  Because somehow, against all laws of logic, they’re always right. Creepy? Yes. Useful? Absolutely. Persistent Cognitive Overlay Syndrome—better known as “brain voices”—grants a passive +1.5 second precognitive danger sense and unpredictable Eldritch insights. We’re not saying you’re becoming something else... but we’re also not not saying that.

  A frown tugged at my lips.

  I wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of hearing disembodied voices, but having a precognitive danger sense sounded pretty badass. Like Spiderman but more insane. And other than that little hiccup, Synaptic Fortification was just as powerful as Mana Optimization—though in its own unique way.

  With the last nine points, I increased Athleticism by 4 and Toughness by 5—ever so slowly attempting to raise my overall tankiness. I didn’t want to be a squishy meat sack forever.

  With that out of the way, all that remained was trimming down my ever-growing list of Titles. Despite the reduction to fall damage, I had no desire whatsoever to add in the You Can’t Outrun the Sky Title, but Dog Fighter was a must considering how much time I spent airborne, and I’d be an idiot to sleep on HR Horror Show.

  The real question was what would I exchange them for?

  At this point, it wasn’t about picking between good and bad Titles—it was about choosing between good and better. After sifting through the options, I eventually settled on removing Deathwish and Weapon of Opportunity—two of the earliest Titles I’d ever unlocked. Deathwish gave a 5% boost to all healing Relics and Artifacts when my Health dipped below 15%. Solid in a pinch, but with Harper around, it didn’t feel quite as essential.

  Similarly, Weapon of Opportunity increased physical damage by 5% when using a melee weapon that could also be classified as a tool. Although my tools were an enormous part of my arsenal, the extra damage just wasn’t high enough to justify keeping the Title in place. Decision made, I finalized my choices and glanced over my updated SBR.

  Dan Woodridge

  Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C

  Variant Assimilation Level: 50

  Race: Human, Archetypal

  Current Experience: 409,250

  Next Level: 442,000

  Personal Enhancement Points: 0

  __ __ __

  Health: 190

  Health-Regen/Hour: 14.95

  __ __ __

  Stamina Reserve: 108

  Stamina-Regen/Minute: 11

  __ __ __

  Mana Pool: 273

  Mana-Regen/Minute: 27

  Individual Adaptative Stats

  Grit: 84 (79 + 5 Enhanced)

  Athleticism: 33

  Toughness: 40

  Perception: 49

  Resonance: 120

  Preservation: 21

  Spatial Core - Active

  (U) Runic Resonance Trap – Level 8

  (U) Fluid Dynamics – Level 1

  (F) Hydro Fracking Blast – Level 10

  (F) Frostfang Spire – Level 2 (Fully Tempered)

  (F) Eldritch Taxidermist – Level 9 (Fully Tempered)

  (F) Echoed Aura – Level 5 (Fully Tempered)

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  (F) Neural Slipstream – Level 7 (Fully Tempered)

  (F) StainSlayer Maelstrom – Level 10 (Fully Tempered)

  (F) Psychic Sovereignty – Level 10 (Fully Tempered)

  (ME) Compass of the Catacomber (Fully Tempered)

  !!! Current Titles – Passive !!!

  Punch-Out!! Champion, Marked for Death, Legend in the Making, Overkill Overlord, Great White in a Barrel (E), Profane Purifier, Domino Rally, Kaiju Slayer, Dog Fighter, HR Horror Show

  I finally killed the TV with the remote and gently nudged Croc awake. The mimic-dog stretched with a groan, tail thumping weakly against the cushions as it blinked up at me.

  “Morning already?”

  “’Fraid so, bud,” I said, giving him a quick pat on the head. “Time to go see what kind of fresh hell the 49th has lined up for us. Nikoli’s waiting.”

  We both grabbed some breakfast from the fridge then left my room behind. Unfortunately, we didn’t make it more than a few steps into the shop before Camo-Joe intercepted us, flanked by his two ever-present mechanical Devil Dogs.

  “Excuse me, sir,” the golem said, his tone unusually hesitant. “I didn’t want to wake you, but there’s a matter requiring your attention over at the Loot Arcade.”

  I frowned. “Is it an emergency?”

  “No, sir. If it were, I would’ve roused you immediately. It’s not a security threat, but it’s… outside my operational scope.”

  “Okay,” I said slowly, dread already tightening in my gut. “So what is it?”

  “There’s a protest happening outside the Arcade,” he replied, flatly. “My analysis places the threat of violence at low probability, but the situation is proving… disruptive. Temperance, Harper, and Jakob are already over on site, attempting to deescalate the situation.”

  I raised a brow. “Temperance is there and she’s trying to deescalate? How’s that going?”

  Camo-Joe’s face didn’t change, but I could practically hear the exasperation in his voice, “Not well, sir. Jakob is trying to deescalate things with the protesters, while Harper is trying to deescalate things with Temperance.”

  I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose with my good hand. Despite the rest, my head still throbbed, my half-regrown fingers felt like they were crawling with fire ants, and my patience was already running on fumes.

  “Perfect way to start the day,” I grumbled under my breath before setting off at a brisk pace.

  ***

  It didn’t take long to find the problem. A crowd of Howlers had barricaded the entryway to the Arcade with picket signs in hand, plastered with a slew of creative slogans.

  OUR COMMUNITY ISN’T FOR SALE!

  YOUR BOTTOM LINE IS KILLING OUR CULTURE!

  And of course, THIS ISN’T A MONOPOLY BOARD!

  And right at the center of it all was Ajax—loud, proud, and wrapped head to toe in that ridiculous fox-headed fursuit. He gripped a megaphone in one fur-covered paw and was mid-chant when we showed up.

  “Your Happy Hour is killing the Hold!” he shouted.

  “Your Happy Hour is killing the Hold!” the others echoed, voices rising in off-beat unison.

  “Surely this isn’t necessary,” Jakob said, doing his best to reason with Ajax—who was ignoring him with the laser focus of a man who’d mainlined his own sense of moral superiority.

  Harper stood a few feet away, both arms wrapped tightly around Temperance, who looked one bad word away from launching herself bodily into the protest line. She was practically vibrating with rage, eyes wild, lips pulled back in a snarl.

  Nearby, a cluster of armed Roomkeepers loitered by the food truck, hands hovering near their weapons, clearly just waiting for an excuse to turn this peaceful protest into a clearance sale on kneecaps.

  “You’re such a conniving little shit!” Temperance bellowed. “We’ve done nothing but help the Howlers. All of your lives are better because of Dan and this store. We’ve saved more people than you can count, and this is how you repay us? With disloyalty? With open rebellion and insurrection? If I didn’t respect the rules of this place, I would gut the whole lot of you where you stand!”

  “It’s okay,” Harper said in her most soothing voice. “Dan will iron all this out in no time.”

  “There should be nothing to iron out,” Temp snarled, still fighting against the healer. “These heathens are ingrates. Every last one of them.”

  I pushed my way through the simmering crowd, who were right on the edge of boiling over.

  “Ajax,” I said with a nod, keeping my tone calm despite my headache.

  He sneered. “Well, if it isn’t the traitor himself.”

  I dropped my voice, letting just enough edge bleed in to make my point. “Maybe this is something we should discuss in private?”

  Ajax squared his shoulders, gripping the megaphone tighter. “Don’t you dare try to strongarm me, Daniel. I’m still a Tribune of Howler’s Hold, and I won’t be bullied into silence by you or your thugs.”

  I raised a hand, cutting him off before he could build up steam. “We can talk, civilly, or I can banish you from the store, same as I did with Jackson. You remember how that turned out for him, right?”

  I glanced back at Temperance and all of the Roomkeepers assembled behind her. Once upon a time, Jackson had been the Roomkeeper shot caller and now he was a social pariah with a dwindling hold on his power. Ajax could end up with the same fate and we both knew it.

  That earned a flicker of hesitation from the man. Just a flicker. But it was enough.

  “It doesn’t have to go that way,” I continued. “But I expect you to be reasonable. Now, can we talk or what?”

  “Fine,” he groused after giving it a moment of thought. “But don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

  “Croc,” I said to the mimic, “stay here and make sure everyone plays nice, okay? Get scary if you need to.”

  “You got it, Dan,” the mimic replied as I guided Ajax through the throng of bodies, weaving past unruly Delvers, and into the office I’d set up in the back at the back of the Arcade. Once we were both in the room, I shut the door and plopped down into the padded chair behind the desk with a heavy sigh. God but I needed a cup of coffee. “Alright, let’s talk business.”

  “You’re a real son of a bitch,” Ajax snapped the moment I was seated. “I trusted you, Daniel. I voted for you, and this is how you repay me? By opening your own competing bar? Do you have any idea how bad this is going to be for the Muzzle and Mast? You’re gutting my core client base.”

  “That’s just called capitalism,” I replied evenly. “And maybe if the Muzzle and Mast served better food and drinks you wouldn’t be hemorrhaging customers.”

  Ajax pulled off his fox head and set it on the table with a thunk. “God it’s stifling in that thing,” he said, pushing sweat slick red hair away from his face. “As for capitalism, I’ll remind you that not all of us have the ability to steal random structures from the Backrooms.” He wilted a little, shoulders drooping. “I can’t compete against you. Not with the resources you have access too.”

  Now that the crowd was gone, some of the bravado seemed to drain away and I saw just how deeply shaken he was.

  “Listen,” I said. “I saw something that I thought would benefit everyone and I took it. But it wasn’t my intention to fuck you over, okay?”

  “Well, as someone has been well and truly fucked over more than once, I can promise you this feels like a proper shafting.” He glared and folded his arms across his chest, a little fire reigniting in his eyes. “You might be stronger than me, but mark my words, Daniel, I will find a way to get back at you for this. You need the Howlers more than we need you.”

  “Not anymore,” I replied. “For one, I don’t think as many Howlers are going to support you as you seem to think. Most of them aren’t going to want to give all this up.” I waved my good hand around the room. “Once you’ve had hot showers and a laundromat it’s hard to go back.”

  Ajax glowered but stayed silent.

  “Second,” I continued, keeping my tone even, “I just found a new Safe Harbor down on the 49th floor. Place is easily twice the size of Howler’s Hold. And when I broker a trade agreement”—I leaned forward to drive my point home—“which I will, we’re going to have more customers than we can handle.”

  I slumped back in my chair, letting the weight of that statement settle.

  “But it doesn’t need to be a competition,” I continued. “I’ve already got enough enemies. I don’t want to make you one of them. Not unless you make me.”

  Ajax sniffed, folding his arms. “For someone who doesn’t want enemies, you’ve done a fabulous job of backing me into a corner, Daniel.”

  “Not a corner,” I countered. “I’m opening a door. A new one.”

  I watched his face as I spoke. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this since day one,” I said. “I knew opening this place would rattle you. I’d be shocked if it didn’t. But what if I told you there was a way we could both come out ahead?”

  Ajax didn’t answer immediately. He frowned, lips pursed, but there was a flicker in his eyes—greed, curiosity, maybe both. Either way, he was listening now.

  “A loose partnership,” I said. “I’m not trying to run the Muzzle and Mast out of business—I want you to expand. The Howlers are still going to use your bar, especially since they have to pass through it to reach my store. But the Delvers down on 49? They’re not hiking all the way to the Hold just to grab a drink.”

  He tilted his head in thoughtful contemplation.

  “So what if you branched out?” I prompted. “Help me run the Arcade. Sinclair’s solid, but I need a general manager. Someone with experience. And frankly, you’re more qualified than anyone else I’ve met. Sure, you’re a conniving, self-serving little shit—but you’re good at what you do, and the Howlers adore you.”

  Ajax blinked, then let out a small, surprised laugh. “That might be the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” His smirk faltered a bit. “But I can’t be in two places at once,” he said, with a theatrical little pout. “How do you expect me to manage this Arcade and keep my bar afloat?”

  “I wouldn’t be offering you the job if I didn’t think you were capable of finding someone competent to run the Muzzle and Mast in your absence,” I said, giving him a pointed look. “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re not the guy for the job.”

  I shrugged, letting the gesture hang in the air like bait.

  “No, no, I’m definitely the right person,” Ajax said, waving one hand dramatically. “The only person, really. At least if you want the job done properly.”

  He stood and paced over to the window overlooking the brightly lit interior of the Arcade. I could practically hear the gears grinding in his head. Calculating. Plotting. Monetizing.

  “Though I am curious,” he added, casting a glance over his shoulder. “Why me?”

  “I feel like you’re just fishing for compliments,” I replied.

  “Oh, absolutely,” he said without missing a beat. “And I’m very susceptible to flattery, Daniel. You should know that by now.”

  I chuckled. “Look, I’m going to level with you, I need someone who can keep things running smoothly while I’m away. But it’s more than that—I need someone to help this place grow. We’re getting more Delvers in all the time, and I need to hire staff. I can make more Cannon Fodder Minions to help out, but they aren’t personable or smart enough to make big decisions. Besides, I trust you.”

  That last part was true. Ajax was a weasel, no doubt—but he was a principled weasel. He might stab me if it benefited him, but it wouldn’t be in the back.

  “Really?” he said, arching an incredulous eyebrow. “Well, that’s you’re first mistake. You shouldn’t trust anyone, and the fact that you still don’t realize that shows exactly how much you need my help.”

  I snorted. “Fine, let me rephrase. I think you’re shallow, self-serving, and borderline insufferable—but I trust you to do what’s best for you. And right now, what’s best for you is working with me. Plus, you’ve got pull with the Howlers. If I bring you on, I trust you’ll be able to quell any resistance with the rest of the Hold?”

  He beamed. “Your flattery is working.” He swished back over to a chair, dropping down then draping a leg over an armrest. “And appealing to my own self-interest definitely has my curiosity piqued. What are your terms? And let me be very clear—by terms, I mean, what do I get out of this little arrangement?”

  “For starters,” I said, “I’m prepared to give you a ten percent cut of everything the bar makes. That includes the kitchen.”

  Ajax scoffed, rolling his eyes like I’d just offered him a participation trophy. “Please. I don’t get out of bed for ten percent. I want twenty-five.”

  “Let’s call it fifteen,” I said firmly.

  He opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with a raised hand. “Fifteen and benefits. And trust me, you’re going to want to see the benefits. First on the list is our kitchen.” I stood with a muffled groan and waved for him to follow.

  We left the office, slipped behind the bar, and entered the kitchen through a swinging door.

  The place was a temple of stainless steel and fluorescent lighting—sleek, modern, and so clean it practically squeaked. Everything was custom built for purpose and efficiency. Counters ran along the walls, shining and spotless, with empty prep stations neatly arranged in rows. The ovens and stovetops were cold, their digital displays dark for now. A faint smell of disinfectant hung in the air. Shelves were stocked but orderly—pans, knives, and mixing bowls all in their place, everything wiped down and waiting.

  Ajax took it all in, his eyes practically sparkling. “Well, this is… a significant upgrade.”

  “It’s all top of the line,” I said, leaning against a counter. “As General Manager, it’s your job to hire a chef, stock the inventory, and keep the place running. Once it’s up and operational, you’re going to make a killing. The concession stand is fine for quick bites, but people can only eat so many hot dogs and nachos before they start rioting. And, as part of your benefits package, you’ll be able to restock the original Muzzle and Mast for free. Food and liquor only,” I added quickly. “Don’t touch the Relic or Artifact trade.”

  “I don’t see why that would be a problem,” Ajax conceded. “Though I’ll also want VIP access to the Laundromat. I’m done waiting in line with the masses.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “And I’ve got one more sweetener for you. Comes with the title.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a vintage hotel key, attached to a polished wooden fob. “Complementary lodging.”

  We headed to the private elevator and rode it up to the top floor. A long, quiet hallway stretched out ahead, lined with identical hotel doors. The one I’d picked for him was near the end.

  I unlocked it, pushed open the door, and flicked on the lights.

  The hotel room was a mirror version of my own.

  Massive—more apartment than suite—and it dripped with 1920s flair like someone had ransacked Gatsby’s guesthouse. The floors were polished hardwood, the walls covered in rich cream wallpaper with subtle gold accents. Heavy velvet drapes framed tall windows, and the lighting came from a chandelier that looked like it had survived at least two world wars and one stock market crash.

  The living room had a full leather couch, a low mahogany coffee table, and a bar cart stocked with real crystal decanters. The kitchen was tucked to one side—sleek marble counters, vintage brass fixtures, and enough room to actually cook. The bathroom was the real showstopper, though. A large shower, big enough for three, with an overhead rainfall shower head and an entire bank of sprayers and nozzles. There was also a claw-footed tub, that sat against one wall like a throne.

  “Oh my god, I think I might die,” Ajax whispered, running his fingers reverently along the edge of the porcelain tub like it was a holy relic. “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I had a proper bath? I would sell my soul for this tub.”

  That’s when I knew I had him, hook, line, and sinker.

  “Good news,” I said with a sly grin, “you don’t have to sell your soul. You just have to work for me. Take the GM position, keep the wheels from flying off this place while I’m gone, and this room—tub included—is yours. Free of charge.”

  “Fine, okay,” Ajax said, holding out a hand, clearly expecting the key to the hotel room.

  I gladly slipped it into his palm.

  “Aside from running the Arcade and bar, what exactly do you need from me?” he asked, though he sounded excited at the prospect.

  “Damn near everything,” I said. “I won’t lie—this is going to be a lot of work. Right now, we only have two human employees and that just isn’t going to cut it. Stephanie and Tayler have been busting their asses and they need help. I’m thinking we need to bring on at least six more staff. People to run checkout, manage the spa, and, like I said earlier, we’ll need a chef for this place.”

  Ajax nodded thoughtfully. “Makes sense. We’ll also need someone to oversee the laundry service. The brownies are efficient, but their customer service is... lacking. A proper attendant could handle drop-offs and pick-ups, maybe even cut down the wait time. I’ve already got several potential candidates in mind.”

  “See?” I said, grinning. “I knew you were the right guy for the job. This is exactly the kind of thing I want you working on. You find the hires, schedule ’em, manage ’em, and you make sure they all get compensated.”

  “And how exactly does compensation work?” Ajax asked. “Because if you think I’m dipping into my share to cover payroll, we’re going to have an issue.”

  “Naw,” I said, waving away the accusation. “You’ll get your fifteen percent, just like we agreed. Employees get paid in store credit. They can redeem it for food, drinks, Relics, Artifacts, lodging—whatever. We’ll comp their rooms, too. Not like this one,” I added, gesturing to the luxury suite. “Just standard quarters. Shared. Still way better than a cot in a storage room.”

  Ajax turned back toward the tub, smiling to himself. “I have to admit, Daniel,” he said, “I’m impressed. Down in the Hold, I was always a big fish, in a frightfully small pond. But here? Here I feel like I might finally be able to spread my wings and fly.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I said clapping the man on his shoulder. Then I leaned in close. “Just don’t forget there’s a ceiling. Me.”

  “I would never dream of it, boss,” he replied with a toothy grin. “I’ll take care of the protesters and we’ll be fully staffed by the lunch rush.”