After a solid ten hours of sleep, I peeled my ass out of bed, brushed my teeth, then grabbed a bottle of blue power drink—HydroRage, “Hydrate or DIE!”—plus a good ol’ fashioned breakfast hot dog, which I scarfed down as I left my room.

  I radioed my crew between bites, letting them know it was time to get our asses in gear and head back down into the hellmaw known as the 24th floor. The Franchisor wasn’t going to kill himself, which meant we had work to do.

  I finished the hot dog as I left the breakroom, washing it down with another swig of HydroRage. It was so sweet it physically hurt my teeth and tasted like someone had dissolved an entire bag of blue raspberry Sour Patch Kids into a two-litter of Mountain Dew Code Red. Despite the truly appalling flavor, though, it was chockful of electrolytes and it also left me with enough jittery energy to punch an angry bull in the face.

  The moment I stepped out of the breakroom, however, that sugar-fueled rush vanished, replaced by a sinking sense of dread in the pit of my stomach.

  Harper was waiting for me, just as I’d expected.

  She’d ditched the leisure wear and was now rocking nurse scrubs, motocross pads, and a pair of wolf ears, which jutted up from brunette hair pulled back into a ponytail. A bushy tail swished behind her. She had a police baton on one hip and a weird bundle of yellow and orange checkered flags poking up from her back—like something off a soccer field.

  I’d been hoping she’d come to her senses overnight. I’d been wrong.

  “Good morning, Dan,” she said, sounding way too chipper. She pulled out a Tupperware container and extended it toward me like a piece offering. “I made muffins last night, in case you or anyone else wanted one.”

  “Morning,” I replied as I accepted the container and cracked the lid. I was immediately assaulted by the buttery aroma of fresh blueberry muffins. After living off pizza and hot dogs for the past few weeks, they smelled like actual heaven. “Thanks,” I said, grabbing one and taking a bite.

  It was warm. It was fluffy. It was surely the product of some sort of black magic.

  “These are really good,” I said, handing the Tupperware container back to the Howler. “But, for the record, I still don’t think you should come with us,” I said, mouth full of muffin. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, but I wasn’t exaggerating when I told you we’re wading into a shitstorm. I just want to make sure that you know what you’re signing up for.”

  “I do,” she replied, dead serious, “and I don’t care.”

  I sighed and took another bite. Holy shit, these muffins were good. She might be worth bringing along for the baked goods alone.

  “We still need to talk to everyone else,” I said, “but if you’re serious about this, I’m gonna need to know what kind of Relics you’re working with. I hate to ask, but do you mind if I scan you?”

  “Of course,” she said, spreading her arms wide in invitation. “If we’re going to be a team, you need to know.”

  I focused on the Howler and triggered the Researcher’s Codex, which instantly conjured a simplified version of her SBR. I couldn’t see her stats or other passive abilities, but I could see what she had slotted in her Spatial Core.

  Harper Murphy

  Specimen Biotag ID #07T - 04 - B0D3FMDBS2

  Variant Assimilation Level: 19

  Race: Iride, Transmog

  __ __ __

  Health: 71

  Stamina Reserve: 41

  Mana Pool: 97

  __ __ __

  Spatial Core - Active

  (C) Homing Pidgeon – Level 4

  (C) Moving Walkway – Level 6

  (C) Nosebleed – Level 3

  (C) Background Extra – Level 5

  (U) Duct Tape Triage – Level 10

  (U) Painkiller OD – Level 3

  (U) Crackhead Strength – Level 5

  (U) Shock Therapy – Level 6

  (R) Arcane Jumper Cables – Level 5

  (R) Hippocratic Aegis – Level 6

  Affiliations of Record

  Raider, Howlers Hold

  I recognized several of her Relics right away—Moving Walkway, Homing Pidgeon, and Nosebleed. That last one was a common grade ability that passively dealt extra bleed damage to Afflicted targets for several minutes.

  I’d also run across Background Extra more than a few times, as well. It was a stealth-based concealment spell that made the user “unremarkable”—as long as they stayed perfectly still. It didn’t hide you like Basic Camo-Kit, but worked more like an anti-aggro ability. While the effect was active, you became just another face in the crowd, forgettable and nonthreatening.

  The rest were new to me, though I could make a few educated guesses based on their names alone. Duct Tape Triage sounded like a basic healing Relic. Shock Therapy probably did some low-grade electrical damage—something I could’ve used in my fight with the Brood Monarch.

  Her Rare-Grade Relics, Arcane Jumper Cables and Hippocratic Aegis, were what really caught my eye, though.

  I asked about them as we walked, even knowing it was a somewhat sensitive topic. In a place where Delver-on-Delver violence was surprisingly common, most people didn’t like to share that kind of information. Not even among friends—and the truth was, Harper and I weren’t friends. We barely knew each other. Still, if she wanted to be part of the team, I needed to know what she was capable of.

  After an awkward pause, she finally folded and answered.

  “Arcane Jumper Cables has a couple of functions,” she explained. “I can siphon Mana from an enemy, or I can us my own Mana Pool to reinforce an ally’s—basically turning myself into a living Mana battery. I’m not sure you’ll need the boost, but it worked great for Fenrir. His build was Athleticism-based, but he had a few powerful Relics with sky-high Mana costs. Arcane Jumper Cables let him cast spells straight from my mana pool.”

  That was interesting.

  She was right, I didn’t really need any help in that department, but both Temperance and Jakob had several powerful Mana-based Relics that they could only cast occasionally because the cost was so high.

  “As for Hippocratic Aegis, that’s probably my most powerful Relic,” she said. After a brief pause, her voice softened. “It’s also the one that saved my life down in the Hatchery. It’s a passive personal aura that reduces incoming damage by fifty percent and boosts my Health Regen by fifty percent.”

  I whistled through my teeth. That was good. Really good. Too good.

  “What’s the catch?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Why do you think there’s a catch?”

  “Because the spell is only Rare grade and it’s too damned good unless there’s a catch. Probably a nasty one, too.”

  She grimaced, eyes dropping to the floor.

  “Fine,” she admitted reluctantly, as though I was prying the words out by force. “There’s a catch. The aura only works if I haven’t dealt direct damage to an enemy in the past five minutes.” Her jaw tightened. “And if I break the Hippocratic Oath—if I so much as lay a finger on an enemy—any damage they deal back is amplified by fifty percent.” She offered me a lopsided smile, though there wasn’t much humor behind it. “Do no harm, receive no harm.”

  Holy shit. That was a kick in the teeth if I’d ever heard one.

  Knowing that, her build started to make a little more sense.

  Although none of her Relics were exactly awe-inspiring, the selection was surprisingly cohesive and thoughtful. Only Shock Therapy dealt direct damage, but everything else either caused a passive benefit for her allies or a passive Affliction to enemies—but Afflictions that didn’t deal any immediate damage on their own. They just boosted damage dealt by others. She probably used Background Extra to fly under the radar and Hippocratic Aegis to shore up her abysmally low Health while she spammed spells on her teammates.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  She was a true support caster in every sense of the word.

  I waved for her to follow, and she fell into step behind me, her shorter legs struggling to keep pace.

  “What other questions do you have?” she asked.

  I thought about it for a few seconds before replying, “How do you even level up with a build like that? Must be hell to get enough experience points if you can’t kill things.”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” she said. “You have to remember, experience points don’t actually come from the Dwellers—they’re awarded by the Researcher and the Localized Administrators. Instead of gaining experience for killing things, I mostly earn XP based on how much damage I heal.”

  “Huh,” I said, scratching at my chin as I absently turned down the seasonal aisle, cut through the grocery section, then angled toward the Loot Arcade. Although we needed to get moving, I still wanted to check and see how things were fairing with Sinclair. “How exactly does that work with the Titles that restrict Experience points?” I asked.

  “Oh, I have one of those too,” she said. “Mine’s called Sitting Ducks. I don’t earn any Experience from killing anything under level ten, but that doesn’t really matter since I rarely kill. The way it works is that I earn experience based on the experience my team receives—so if you don’t get experience, neither do I.”

  “And if you don’t heal us, you don’t get any experience either,” I said, more statement than question.

  “Exactly,” she agreed. “It’s a self-regulating system, that way—though I also gain EXP for offering buffs that result in extra damage.”

  I fell into a thoughtful silence, my boots click-clacking on the linoleum as we rounded the corner and stepped into the Loot Arcade turned-bar-and-restaurant. Inside, everything was in full swing—Delvers of all sorts were spending tokens at the machines, while more played pool or loitered around with drinks in hand. Sinclair was behind the bar, chatting amicably with guests while simultaneously whipping up three different cocktails at once and making it look easy.

  The golem had a natural grace that I doubted most humans could match. Despite being extremely busy and already engaged in a conversation with a large bull-headed furry, the golem somehow seemed to sense my presence almost at once, because he turned his computerized face toward me and gave me a reassuring nod.

  Nothing to worry about, sir, it is all well in hand, the gesture seemed to say.

  That was a huge relief, though I knew Sinclair was only a temporary fix. Even as talented as the golem was, he just wasn’t enough—not to do everything that needed doing. I’d need to find extra staff to really kick things up to the next level, but for now getting back to the delve was more important. Having the nicest bar and grill in the Backrooms wouldn’t mean jack shit if the Flayed Monarch’s bootlickers kicked in my door and murdered everyone.

  “Can I ask you something?” Harper said, pulling me from my thoughts.

  I shrugged, “Can’t promise I’ll answer,” I said, “but you’re more than welcome to ask.”

  “How do they work? The golems?” She gestured toward Sinclair. “Some of the other Howlers can summon minions, but none of them can do what those things do.” She faltered, a small frown tugging down the corner of her lips. “I mean, I know they’re monsters, but the seem…” she faltered for a beat. “The seem almost like people.”

  I shook my head. “Honestly? I wish I knew,” I replied, thinking back to the Researcher Report. I could’ve left it at that, but she’d trusted me enough to share details about her Relics—so it seemed only fair I offered a little trust in return. “They’re tied to the Relic that allows me to create the store,” I added, “but I’m not really sure how any of it actually works. Sometimes I feel like the more I learn about this place, the less I understand it. I’m hoping there might be more answers below.”

  “Me too,” she replied thoughtfully. “I miss the real world. Don’t get me wrong, I love the other people in the Hold, but what I wouldn’t give to see a sunrise again. Or to run my bare feet through grass. Someday, I want to see the ocean. I never did that before Noclipping and now I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to check it off my bucket list.” She grew silent for a second. “That’s the other reason I want to come. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but some of the Howlers say there might be a way out—if you go deep enough.”

  “I get that,” I said, my voice softening. I could hear the sadness in her voice, the longing, and it reminded me of what I was doing here. What I was fighting for. Home. That’s what she was fighting for as well. I still didn’t agree with her decision to come, but at least I could wrap my head around it. “I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I hope it is,” I said. “For what it’s worth, I miss the real world, too.”

  I thought back to my days in the Marine Corps, stationed at Camp Pendleton, nestled in the rolling hills of California just north of San Diego. Back when my buddies and I had just hit the fleet, we’d spent countless weekends getting drunk in Oceanside and swimming near the pier. It was one of those things I’d taken for granted and I realized that, like Harper, it was one of those things I’d probably never see again.

  “Come on,” I said, offering Sinclair a small wave in return. “The others are probably waiting for us already.”

  I turned without another word and headed toward the front of the store.

  Sure enough, I found the others already milling around near the checkout counter.

  Ed stood by himself, happily munching on a bag of Doritos while his parrot, Woodstock, casually threatened to set random passersbys on fire. The threats were mostly empty. Mostly. I’d personally watched the bird unleash blazing gouts of flame, but she generally saved her pyromaniac tendencies for hostile Dwellers.

  Jakob and Croc were loitering near the concession stand, deep in conversation—something I couldn’t quite make out, even with enhanced senses. Meanwhile, Temperance was giving a fire-and-brimstone speech to a horde of fur-clad Roomkeepers, all standing at parade rest like soldiers preparing for war.

  “I’ll be gone for several days, at least,” she said, “though there is an outside chance it could be longer. In my absence, Dixon will have command.” She gestured to a furry in a floppy-eared dog head with oversized cartoon eyes. “I expect you all to keep attacking. Do not relent—not for a moment. We’ve all but eliminated the Red Hands, and we can’t give them time to regroup. When I return, I expect the trophy board to be lined with Brands.”

  She locked eyes with Dixon, a cruel snarl curling the edge of her lips.

  “A dozen new trophies at a minimum.”

  “You’ll have two dozen,” the man replied without a hint of doubt. “You have my word on it, Commander Temperance.”

  Commander Temperance. Well, that was new.

  Although Temperance’s rampant bloodlust continued to be both unnerving and more than a little worrying, I had to admit that she looked happier than I’d ever seen her. With that dickhole Jackson no longer calling the shots, she’d finally come into her own. I’d suspected for a while that the egotistical shitweasel had been purposely preventing her from leveling up, but now I was sure of it. He was the kind of guy who needed to be the biggest fish in the pond—even if it meant sabotaging everyone else around him.

  And it wasn’t just her.

  The Roomkeepers had all leveled up fast over the last few days—thanks to both the Bounty Board and the holy war Temp had declared against the Aspirants. I’d been on the fence about them, but it was looking more and more like they’d just been victims of piss-poor leadership.

  “Excellent,” she said, flashing a wicked grin. “If you make good on that, I might take the lot of you down to Twenty-Four for a proper hunt. There’s experience to be earned—but only for those who prove themselves worthy. Dismissed!”

  “For blood and glory!” They barked in unison, before filing out of formation.

  A few of the Roomkeepers saluted me as they passed, which was weird, considering I wasn’t part of their outfit, and had absolutely zero interest in becoming part of it. I made a mental note to ask Temperance about it later and just nodded politely in return.

  As the last of them dispersed, the rest of the team drifted over.

  Croc was still animatedly talking to Jakob. “Turns out there’s a whole aisle of spices in the store!” Croc was saying, tail wagging like crazy. “I always wondered what they were for, but now I know!” The mimic paused, brow furrowing. “I tried putting cinnamon on one of those Mall Rat corpses. That didn’t go great. But then Sinclair—the new golem with the TV head—he showed me how to use the oven in the kitchen. Total game changer.”

  “Together, we made something called a dry rub. Brown sugar, paprika, chili powder, garlic, onion, plus salt, black pepper, and a little cayenne for kick. I rubbed it into the rat meat and slow-roasted it at 250 degrees for four hours. It was, in a word, divine. So tender it fell apart in my maw.” The mimic shook its head, tears glistening in its oversized eyes. “I’ll never be the same, Jakob. It changed me.”

  I wasn’t thrilled about Croc using the store’s kitchen to cook Dweller corpses, but I didn’t have the heart to say anything. Not with how happy the mimic looked. And honestly, it wasn’t like we were going to get dinged by the health inspector.

  So long as Croc kept it discreet, I didn’t see the harm.

  “When we get back,” Jakob said, “I’ll have to share my recipe for Sauerbraten. It’s a German specialty that my mother used to make for me. Before all this,” he said, gesturing broadly at the store. “To prepare it correctly, you must marinate the meat for several days, but it is worth the wait. The flavor is both savory and rich, though there is a hint of sweetness thanks to the vinegar marmalade.” He sounded wistful and there was a hazy cast to his eyes, as though he were remembering better days.

  “Morning, Jakob,” I said, giving the Cendrel a curt wave.

  “Guten Morgen, Dan,” Jakob replied, snapping out of his thoughts. “You look well-rested. I take it you’ve finished the last of the search and rescue missions?”

  “Got it in one,” I said with a finger gun. “And speaking of, I’d like to introduce you all to Harper.” I dropped a hand onto her shoulder by way of introduction. “She’s one of the Howler’s Croc and I rescued from Concourse Null. She wants to come with us,” I added, expecting the others to look shocked or appalled at the notion.

  The announcement didn’t receive the immediate kickback I’d expected.

  “You do know we are bound for the forty-ninth floor, ja?” Jakob asked her without any preamble.

  “Dan already filled me in,” she said, nodding her understanding.

  “And you still want to come along even though you will almost certainly die?” he asked.

  This time there was a hint of fear in her eyes.

  “I know it’s going to be dangerous,” she said with steel in her voice. “But that’s just as true on the fourth floor as it is on the forty-ninth.” Her mouth stretched into a thin line. “I listened to my friends scream and die while a Brood Matriarch dissolved their insides with acid and sucked out their organs. This is the Backrooms. Nowhere is safe. And I’d rather die trying to help you and the Howlers, then to die cowering inside the Hold.”

  “She’s got pluck,” Temperance said in clear approval. “Backbone. I like that.” Her eyes glazed over as she scanned Harper’s SBR, same as I’d done earlier. “And she’s a healer. Someone with her skill set could be useful.”

  “She’s only level nineteen,” I pointed out, surprised at how easily everyone was taking this.

  “We weren’t much higher than that when we tackled Twenty-Four,” Temperance replied with an indifferent shrug. “We’ll just need to power-level her. Shouldn’t be too hard now that the HOA is out of the way.”

  I looked to the others. “Croc? Ed? Anyone want to inject a little common sense?”

  “I’ve got no problem with her coming,” the mimic said, tail waggling happily. “The more friends the merrier. Plus, she’s really nice and knows how to scratch behind my ears in just the right way, which is honestly a pretty big deal.”

  “I also brought muffins,” Harper added, offering up the Tupperware again. “Fresh baked. Still hot.”

  Ed gladly accepted one and took an approving bite.

  He grunted in appreciation. “As long as you keep making these,” he said, “I have no problems with you tagging along.”

  “Sweet baby Jesus,” I grumbled, rubbing my temple. This wasn’t going at all the way I’d expected, and it was quickly becoming apparent that this was a battle I wasn’t going to win. “So no one has any objections?”

  “Not from me,” Jakob answered, followed by a chorus of agreement from the others.

  “In my experience,” Ed said, “finding someone who wants to lend a helping hand out of the goodness of their heart is pretty rare. If she knows the risks and still wants to come, I say let her.”

  “Fine,” I said at last, tossing up my hands in surrender. “Fine. If no one else has a problem with it, then I guess you’re in. Welcome to the team.”

  Harper lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

  “Really?” she was practically bouncing on her toes in excitement. “I can come?”

  “Apparently so,” I replied, already regretting the words. “But Temperance is right,” I added. “We’re going to need to toughen you up before we hit Forty-Nine. My dad used to say, if you’re gonna be dumb, you’d better be tough. This is super dumb but we’re doing it anyway, so I guess we’re going to have to toughen you up. Hope you’re ready because this isn’t gonna be fun…”