By the time Jakob showed up, the Aspirants were all but dead, the clearing a charnel house floor of blood, guts, and amputated limbs. After that, it didn’t take long to mop up the remaining forces—though I was sad to see that Ashely, the Celestari spellcaster, wasn’t among the fallen. Apparently, she’d seen the writing on the walls and had used the chaos to slip away, back into the forest and well away from the killing field.

  Temp, Jakob, and I—along with a little assistance from the members of the Rat Pack—were already looting corpses and stacking bodies by the time Croc and Harper arrived.

  As I sorted through our haul, my displeasure that the Celestari had managed to escape a well-earned death only intensified. She clearly had some powerful spells at her disposal, and I had no doubt Temp would’ve given anything to get a Relic that let her summon a literal whirlwind of razor blades. That sort of thing was right up her alley and very on brand, from a thematic standpoint. Somehow, though, I got the feeling that we’d have another chance at killing her.

  It wasn’t all for nothing, though.

  Sure, I didn’t feel great about murdering a bunch of people, even if they were sadistic asswads, but I got a level out of it and a bunch of new, relatively high-level Relics.

  Garage Door Guillotine summoned a semi-corporeal garage door that slammed down on all enemies in range, dealing blunt damage with a small percentage chance of decapitating enemies beneath 15% total health. Slapshot Air Puck unleashed a high-velocity puck of condensed Mana that ricocheted between enemies, dealing concussive damage to multiple targets, while Ball Gag of Blessed Silence—naturally taken off the mutilated corpse of the gimp—forcibly shut down enemy casters by stuffing their mouths with a conjured ball gag that leeched Mana.

  There were a number of bow-and-arrow-related abilities, scavenged from the now-dead archer, including Laser Pin Pointer, which allowed the user to mark a target with a red laser dot—all subsequent ranged attacks would automatically seek out the marked target, even if they were moving or hiding. It didn’t guarantee a hit, but it came pretty damned close. And Thumbtack Assassin fired a volley of low-damage projectiles from any ranged weapon, specifically targeting joints and nerve endings.

  They were painful, petty, and extremely annoying. The Relic definitely had some broader applications as a spell card and could probably replace the Summon Screw ability currently attached to my Balloon Menagerie Claymore Mines.

  One of the best Relics was a Stamina-based ability that came courtesy of Skylar, the evil paladin.

  Bounty Hunter

  Rare Relic – Level 1

  Range: 100 Meters

  Cost: 25 Stamina

  Cooldown: 1 Minute

  Cast Time: Instant

  Did you know it only takes 20 bucks and a blood sample to become a licensed Bounty Hunter in the state of Florida? No, seriously. They hand out those certifications like Kool-Aid at a cult farewell party.

  It’s even easier in the Backrooms. Just slap this bad boy into your Spatial Core and you’re good to go!

  Bounty Hunter lets you tag a single enemy as a Parolee—flagging them for immediate “reacquisition.” Once tagged, you can teleport behind them instantly, so long as they are in line of sight, and your first strike hits like you’ve got a vendetta and a court order. Your next spell or melee attack deals 3x normal damage and slaps them with the Detained Affliction, which reduces the target’s movement speed by 25% and disables all movement-enhancing abilities for 15 seconds.

  Great for assassinations, ambushes, or dramatically appearing behind someone and whispering “You skipped your court date, shithead.” This ability cannot be used to target anyone deemed an ally.

  There were a bunch of other great Relics as well, but I’d need to look through them more closely when I had a little downtime.

  Then there were the bodies themselves to consider. Eldritch Taxidermy let me craft Horrors from any fusion of organic and inorganic material—and dead Delvers definitely qualified. They were high level, obviously powerful, and would’ve made great reanimated cannon fodder.

  Problem was… I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  Maybe before using Collective Consciousness, but not now.

  I knew too much. I’d seen firsthand that pieces of their identity lingered even after death, like dusty cobwebs clinging to the corners of their minds. My Horrors weren’t fully aware of who or what they were, not exactly—but they knew something was wrong. Knew they weren’t supposed to exist. That awareness made them dangerous. Desperate. In hindsight, I figured it’s probably why they fought so hard. Not for survival, but because some part of them hoped for a quick end.

  Doing that to Progenerated Dwellers was bad enough. But doing it to people? Even awful ones who probably deserved it? That was another one of those lines I didn’t want to cross—especially considering I’d already crossed so many already.

  This place wouldn’t make a monster out of me, no matter how hard it tried.

  So instead of sending their corpses back to the store for processing, I stripped ’em down and burned ’em where they lay. Burned ’em until they were nothing but ash and smoke and bone. One last act of mercy none of them deserved.

  I stood there for a long moment, watching the last of the flames smolder and die out. The air stank of cooked flesh, the trees still echoing faintly with the violence that had just unfolded. My thoughts were heavy and dark, but there was one shining light in the midst of the carnage and death.

  Winnie-the-Pooh.

  Or at least the Backrooms version of him, at any rate.

  Croc had freed the bear the second the mimic arrived and was already fussing over Pooh like a worried parent. It came as no shock, whatsoever, that they had immediately hit it off.

  I headed over to talk to the bear while the Rat Pack scurried about and Harper set to work patching Pooh up after his encounter with the Aspirants. I’ll admit that I was more than a little worried the bear would actually turn out to be a homicidal killing machine disguised as a sweet, loveable stuffed animal—but he was exactly what he appeared to be.

  Just a lost toy.

  One on a search-and-rescue mission for his missing boy, Christopher Robin. But there was something subtly off about him. Pooh didn’t come across as overtly dangerous, not exactly, but the little bear seemed caught in a constant fog, like his memory was fraying at the edges. Something vital was missing, and he knew it… he just couldn’t seem to remember what.

  “Thank you for freeing me,” Pooh said with a tiny nod as Harper worked.

  Her Field Surgeon ability couldn’t regrow limbs, but Pooh had no trouble fixing himself—popping the leg back into place as crude stitches appeared on their own, sewing the wound shut. He did the same with his missing marble eye, plucking it from a pile of leaves and pressing it neatly back into the socket.

  Some kind of innate mend ability, if I had to guess.

  “Those were not nice people,” Pooh said rather forlornly. “The 10,000 Acre Wood used to be full of good people, but they are harder to find now than a good pot of honey.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about Dan,” Croc said, tail waggling happily. “Of all the people I’ve met—and I’ve met a lot—Dan is the best. He always helps other people, and he gives me Froyo whenever I want. Plus, he found me a copy of the first and second Twilight movies and he lets me watch them at night, which is about the best thing in the world.” The dog paused for a beat, lips pulling back into a frown. “He may or may not have a case of incurable hemorrhoids, but that’s not something you can really blame him for. We all have our issues.”

  “Really?” Pooh asked. “He helps people?”

  “Only all the time,” Croc replied. “Just last week we rescued a bunch of hostages from this evil Santa guy up on the 49th floor. We threw a party afterward and everything. You should’ve tasted the stew!”

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  “Well, maybe he can help me, then,” Pooh said, canting his adorable head to one side. “I’m looking for my boy, Christopher Robin. Have you seen him by chance?”

  Harper squatted down beside the bear. “How long have you been looking for him?” she asked.

  “Let me think for a moment,” Pooh said, tapping the side of his head with one paw. “I am a bear of very little brain, you know, and time is hard to keep track of here,” he finally said. “Thirty years, I suppose? Maybe more. I can’t seem to recall. But I’m sure he’s around here somewhere. He probably just got lost.” Pooh chuckled. “Christopher Robin is always getting turned around and the forest is a very big place, after all. And he’s just a little boy. Maybe nine or ten. He has sandy brown hair, and he wrinkles up his nose like this”—the bear wriggled his snout—“when he’s thinking.”

  “Sorry,” Croc said, shaking its head. “I haven’t seen anyone who goes by that name, but if he’s going to turn up anywhere, it’ll be Dan’s store. Lots of lost Delvers show up there, eventually. And even more will start arriving once we manage to kill the Franchisor and claim the Kiosk Network.”

  Fear flashed across Pooh’s face. “Oh, endless night…” he mumbled. “You’re looking for the Franchisor? He’s very dangerous and not at all nice. And getting into Steamboat Studios is very tricky business, you know.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked, curious what the little bear might know.

  “Well, it’s at the heart of the 10,000 Acre Woods,” Pooh said matter-of-factly, “which means you need to go all the way through the forest, and the forest can be a very dangerous place. A lot of my friends are here—Eeyore, Rabbit, Piglet, Kanga, Roo, Owl, and Tigger too. But something bad has happened to them and they aren’t the way they used to be anymore.” The bear dropped his head. “I’m the only one left who remembers why we were created in the first place. To help people.” Pooh frowned. “But not the bad people who are all over the floor now.”

  “There are more bad people here?” Jakob asked, his words soft and oddly comforting.

  “Oh yes.” The bear nodded in confirmation. “Just like that bunch who trapped me. They all having missing patches of skin, and seem to be searching for someone, though I can’t remember who…” He trailed off and his eyes widened in obvious concern. “Do you think they’re looking for Christopher Robin?”

  Something angry and feral rippled behind his dark marble eyes, and just for a moment, his fur bulged and grew before shrinking back down.

  “No, I think they’re searching for us,” I said. “But if you’re boy is here somewhere, they might hurt him anyways.”

  “Then what if I help you?” the bear offered. “I can’t do all that much—I am only a very little bear, after all—but I could show you the way through the 10,000 Acre Woods and help you get to Steamboat Studios if you’d like?”

  “You would do that?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “So long as you promise to help me look for Christopher Robin along the way,” Pooh agreed. “He must be so scared out here. All alone and with no one to help him when he gets sad.” He perked up as though recalling something important. “But I know every inch of this forest. It is my home, after all. It changes a lot—always shifting and moving—but I know the pattern like the back of my paw.”

  The bear raised a stuffed paw, and seemed shocked to find a speck of blood that didn’t belong. That wasn’t exactly encouraging.

  “And I might be able to help in case we run across the others,” Pooh continued after a moment. “They don’t like outsiders, not very much at all. But if you’re with me, you should be okay.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell the little bear that Christopher Robin probably wasn’t real—just a memory of a time that had probably never existed outside of books and stories—or, that if he was real, he was probably dead and long gone. I felt bad using the bear’s obvious grief and confusion, but I wouldn’t turn down any help I could get, especially if it let us slip into Steamboat Studios without alerting the Franchisor.

  “Just give us a minute to talk about it, okay?” I asked.

  “Of course, take all the time you need,” Pooh replied. “It’s really no bother at all. I’ll just help myself to a little honey while I wait. I’ve got a full pot in my treehouse.”

  The bear toddled off while the rest of us formed into a loose circle on the edge of the clearing to discuss our options moving forward.

  “You know we’re never going to find that child, right?” Temperance said, folding her arms across her chest. “It’s a waste of time even looking.”

  “Yeah, probably,” I said. “But if he can help us steer clear of the worst Dwellers, I’m all for a little detour.”

  “But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Jakob said. “We’re still too weak to fight the Franchisor. I know you’re level fifty-five, Dan, but the rest of us have some catching up to do. I’m only level forty-nine and Harper is only forty-two. We have to assume the Franchisor is at least as strong as the Polaris Vora or, perhaps, even the Blight Sentinel from the last floor. He probably isn’t alone either—it’s safe to assume he has reinforcements of one kind or another.”

  “You’re not wrong,” I admitted, “but you are forgetting something. Dwellers aren’t the only thing to hunt on this floor. You heard the bear—sounds like this place is crawling with Aspirants.”

  “That would make sense,” Harper said, nodding along. “This is the last chance the Monarch has to stop us from claiming the Kiosk Network. It’s a good bet he dispatched a ton of disciples to keep us from getting through. Probably some powerful ones, too.”

  “You really want us to hunt people, Dan?” Croc asked, sounding concerned. “Like real people?”

  “I agree,” Jakob said rather sternly. “You know how I feel about killing other Delvers. I’m willing to do what I must, but fighting in self-defense is very different than purposely targeting other Delvers—even if they are Aspirants.” He grimaced and shook his head. “I can’t condone this plan in good faith.”

  “I get that,” I said.

  And I did.

  We all had our own lines in the sand, and killing other Delvers was Jakob’s. But pacifism was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Not if I wanted to survive. Not if I wanted to see my friends survive. I wouldn’t ask Jakob to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with, but this wasn’t something I could turn a blind eye to forever. I’d killed before and had no doubt I would again. Truth was, I’d always known that it would come down to a bloody and ruthless fight with the Court and this was just the first battle of many.

  “Listen,” I replied stoically, “I don’t want this any more than the rest of you. Hurting people was never on my bingo card—and I certainly don’t want to kill them needlessly. But this is a war. You gotta remember, we didn’t ask for this fight. This is self-defense. If it were up to me, we’d open the store and let anyone in for a hot bite to eat, a safe place to sleep, and a chance to sing kumbaya around a flaming dumpster, but that isn’t an option. These douchebags are here to kill us, and we need to get stronger to stop them. As far as I’m concerned, that makes ’em fair game.”

  The dog seemed to consider my words for a few seconds before nodding slowly.

  “Okay, I understand… I just don’t want you to lose yourself, Dan. Even if it’s totally justifiable, I’ve seen too many Delvers sacrifice the best parts of themselves to survive. Their empathy. Their kindness. Their compassion. I don’t want that to be you. Any of you,” the mimic added, its googly eyed gaze turning to the others. “Just promise me that we won’t do anything that’ll make us the bad guys, okay, Dan?”

  “I can’t promise there won’t be bloodshed,” I said, “because there absolutely will, and we’re going to have to do things that will probably make all of us uncomfortable—”

  “Not me,” Temperance interjected. “I love this plan.”

  “Fine, not Temp,” I conceded, “but we’ll be smart about it. We’ll hunt Aspirants as we slowly move toward Steamboat Studios. Level up as we go. Besides, it’s about time that we take the fight to the Monarch and his dickhead followers. I know he has a long reach, but this time he overreached and we’re going to cut his fingers off for it. I’m sure he’ll be able to bounce back, but any Aspirant we kill here will be one less Aspirant that can take a poke at us down the road.”

  Jakob shook his head. “I still cannot condone this. I will come with you because we are in this together, and I’ll fight if I must, but I won’t kill. Dwellers are one thing—bitte entschuldige mich, Croc,” he said to the dog with an apologetic nod, “but people are different.”

  “It’s fine,” Temp said with a sniff, “I’ll kill enough for both of us.”

  “That is not any better, Kleiner Hase,” Jakob said with a disapproving stare. “Arguably, it is much worse.”

  “It is what it is,” I replied. “And, for the record, I’m not asking you to violate your conscience. Besides, so long as you participate in the fights, you should still be able to earn experience even without actually killing anyone.”

  “It’s worked out for me okay,” Harper said with a shrug.

  Jakob grunted, clearly disgruntled, but nodded. “Fine. Just so long as everyone knows where I stand on the matter.” He sighed and glanced around the bloody clearing. “If we are going to do this, we’d best get moving. If that caster really did slip away as you suspect, Dan, then she might return with more Aspirants. We should be gone before then.”

  “Yeah,” I replied. Then I paused. Frowned. “But before we go, there’s something I need to do.” My gaze flickered toward the out-of-place Progenitor Monolith. “Won’t take long.”

  I’d earned two new levels between the battle with the Drekhnaar Drones and the fight with the Aspirants, but it wasn’t stat points I was concerned about.

  Leaving the others behind, I headed toward the Monolith and quickly pulled up my SBR. I spent my ten points, dropping five into Resonance—bringing the total up to 131—then split the remaining five points, three to Athleticism and two into Toughness.

  What I was really concerned with, however, were my titles.

  After killing Natasha Anno, I’d earned a very dubious honorific called Cold-Blooded Murderer, which doubled the amount of experience I received from Delver Deaths.

  Despite how good the title was, having it equipped made me sick to the stomach—a constant reminder of the terrible thing I’d done to earn it—and I’d quickly replaced it the second it was an option. But if we were going to spend time hunting Aspirants, I’d be an idiot to leave it unequipped. Double experience was just too good, and since it was an evolving title, chances were I’d get added benefits if I killed enough Delvers.

  I didn’t really want to think about how many people I’d have to cut down in cold blood to accomplish that feat, but like it or not, I was pretty sure I was going to find out.

  The thought of adding it back into my active roster made my skin crawl, but I did it anyway. Sometimes in life, you just had to suck it the fuck up and make hard choices. Bad choices. But I’d do anything to protect my friends, even if it killed a small part of my soul in the process.

  For the time being, I swapped out Overkill Overlord—though I promised myself it wouldn’t last forever. Just until I did what needed doing.

  By the time I closed out of my SBR, Pooh had wandered over to the others and was devouring honey, dipping one paw into the clay pot then jamming his face full of liquid gold.

  “So will you help me look for Christopher Robin?” the bear asked, smacking between great big bites.

  “Yep,” I said, even knowing we were never going to find the kid—assuming he was real at all and not just some implanted memory. “Let’s go look for your boy and hunt some bad people while we’re at it…”