We left the chamber behind and continued down the underground corridor. The air grew heavier with every step, thick with mildew and rancid sewage, until at last the concrete corridor slanted upward and ended in another steel service hatch.

  The door wheezed as Jakob muscled it open and we emerged into the Gluttonarium.

  The shift was immediate and jarring. One moment we were crawling through the moldy guts of the undercity, the next, we stood on a broad boulevard lined with restaurants. But these weren’t just any old restaurants. No, these were monuments to fast food excess, their fa?ades glowing with neon signs that pulsed like infected wounds.

  Multiple Pizza Slut restaurants ran down one side of the street, greasy red signage flickering on and off, drawing the eye like human bug zappers. Across from them, the Burger Baron’s clown-faced mascot leered at us, three tufts of fiery red hair jutting out at odd angles, his smile stretched too wide, promising complete dominion over hunger.

  Every corner seemed to hold a Starbies, the once-familiar logo now warped into the likeness of a gaunt woman with stringy, grease-slick hair and hollow, sunken eyes. Her smile was ragged and forced, her teeth crooked and uneven.

  But those weren’t the only ones.

  A hoagie shop called Subjugate offered “Eat Flesh” sandwiches beneath a green awning, the poster beside it depicting happy workers being crammed into six-foot rolls. Diablo Bell blazed orange and crimson, its cracked bell logo bleeding fire over a cheerful caption that read, “Fire going in, magma coming out.” Chick-in-Chain showcased a looping promo reel of smiling families gnawing on fried drumsticks while shackled chickens clucked hymns in the background. And at the far end of the strip, Krimson Kreme dripped red syrup from its sign in thick, arterial rivulets.

  Banners sagged above the boulevard, slogans painted in playful fonts that only made them more grotesque. Where Hunger Kneels! … Eat, Obey, Repeat! … Your Stomach is a Contract, and We Own the Fine Print!

  The oppressive glow of neon drowned everything in eye-watering reds, greens, and purples. The whole district hummed with an electric buzz, turning the landscape into a cyberpunk cathedral to consumption—a capitalist dystopia masquerading as good, clean family fun.

  And it was empty.

  Too empty.

  No visitors shuffled between the restaurants. No parents hauled along squealing children with colorful balloons or overpriced stuffed animals. No workers stood out front, offering free samples to passersby.

  But despite that, I knew we weren’t alone.

  Eyes watched from the shadows. I felt them pressed against the glass of every storefront, faint movements slipping back into the dark whenever I tried to look straight on. Once or twice, I caught a glimpse of something in the reflection. Elongated silhouettes moving too quickly to see. Shapes that looked almost human, but not quite.

  The scent of fried chicken, greasy cheese, and grilled meat wafted through the air, calling out like a siren song. I felt my stomach rumble and even though I knew terrible things were waiting for us inside every single shop, I found myself wanting to venture in anyway. A chance to eat. To gorge myself. To fill the cavernous hole inside my center.

  Croc’s eyes were damn near the size of tea saucers, and the mimic kept glancing longingly at each restaurant we passed.

  “Does anyone else feel a little peckish?” the dog muttered, tail waggling nervously. “Because me? I could definitely go for a bite to eat. Can’t even remember the last time I had something to munch on.” The mimic faltered, glancing from storefront to storefront, its tongue lolling out in a way that was half comical, half unsettling. “We’re making pretty good time—it probably wouldn’t hurt to stop and grab something. That way we’ll be strong and clear-headed when we finally get to the arcade.”

  “Under absolutely no circumstances should we go into any of these places,” I warned before opening Spatial Storage and pulling free a slice of still hot pizza, courtesy of the concession stand.

  I handed it to the dog, who simply grimaced at the slice and refused to take it. “I can’t eat that, Dan. There’s something wrong with it. It smells rotten.”

  “But you love rotten things,” Harper said.

  “Yeah,” I added, “you’re always going on about how tasty dry-aged corpses are. This is just pizza.” I lifted it to my nose and took a deep whiff to prove my point. Then the smell hit me like a hot Porta-John filled with curdled milk and fish guts. I gagged and fought back the urge to vomit as I chucked the pizza away. It landed on the street with a wet splat.

  Holy shit, there really was something wrong with it…

  That or there was something wrong with me.

  The desire to immediately run into the nearest Burger Baron and obliterate the awful odor from the pizza with the heavenly scent of grilled meat was nearly overwhelming. In the back of my head, I knew this was some sort of psychic-based attack—weaponized scent, weaponized hunger—but that didn’t eliminate the gnawing pain I felt growing in the pit of my stomach.

  I hastily cast Echoed Aura in Group Love Mode, paired with Existential Dread, gaining an additional five points of Grit and +15% resistance to all direct psychic attacks for the next ten minutes. As soon as the passive aura took hold, the crippling effects of the supernatural hunger receded to a low rumble, though they didn’t vanish completely.

  And the smell of frying grease only grew stronger the further we pushed into the Gluttonarium, curling inside my nostrils like smoke. My stomach cramped, saliva pooling thick in my mouth.

  Croc seemed especially susceptible to the on-going, scent-based psy-op. Every few steps, the mimic would drift off course toward the glow of a sign, rubbery paws dragging until Jakob or Temperance grabbed the dog by the collar and steered it back into line.

  “Croc,” I hissed. “Eyes forward. Stay focused. I promise we’ll grab something good to eat just as soon as we’re out of this place. I think I’ve got a few corpse parts stuffed away in storage if you think that’ll help.”

  A look of consternation flashed across Croc’s face. “You know I would never say no to a good corpse but… not even that sounds appetizing at the moment, Dan.” The mimic’s gaze was already sliding back toward Diablo Bell’s fiery archway. “I’m just so famished and all I want is a nice flame-broiled burger. Or maybe a bucket of chicken covered in thick, cheesy nacho sauce.”

  “You gotta resist it, bud,” I said, not bothering to mask my concern.

  “I’m trying, Dan,” the dog whined. “But this might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my whole life. I swear I can smell it—nachos, tacos, churros, all the good stuff. And meat. So much meat. Red and raw and bloody. Can’t we just take a little look? I bet they have samples that would help tide me over.”

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  “No.” Pooh’s voice snapped like a whip, sharper than I’d ever heard from the little bear. He clutched the Polaroid tight to his chest, eyes wide and dark. “You don’t want to go in there. Don’t even look at the things inside. If you see them, they’ll know. And then…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “…then they’ll want you to stay.”

  The hair along the back of my neck prickled, and I forced myself to avert my gaze, eyes fixed on the cracked boulevard underfoot—though the neon kept tugging at my attention, insistent, demanding.

  Croc’s rubbery tail whipped side to side, faster and faster, its whole body trembling like a junkie on the verge of a fix. “Dan,” Croc rasped, “I’m so sorry, but I don’t think I can—”

  Then something broke inside the mimic.

  It reared up, rubber skin ballooning grotesquely outward as its belly split wide open along a fleshy seam. Croc’s stomach-maw groaned, jagged teeth glistening, and the air filled with a wet, sucking howl. Tentacles snapped out like striking eels, dripping thick mucus as they shot toward us.

  “Shit!” Harper yelped, diving clear as a tentacle slammed into the ground where she’d been standing a second before. The mimic came at her like a mama grizzly defending her cubs. Harper scrambled back on all fours, clothes streaked with grime, before slamming her palm into the ground, casting Warranty Void if Broken. An opalescent dome erupted around her, and Croc smashed into it before bouncing back harmlessly, unable to get at its prey.

  Croc wheeled in a fit of hangry rage, leaving Harper alone for the time being, and charged at Jakob with a bloodcurdling roar. Jakob barely had time to get his steel kite shield up before the enraged mimic smashed into him like a freight train. The impact rattled the air with a sharp clang, driving the Cendral back a step as he fought to keep his footing.

  “Don’t hurt him!” I shouted, ducking as Croc spun again and another tendril lashed out—this one aimed at my head. “Bind him, just bind him!”

  Temperance flicked her wrist, and midnight black Sinner’s Chains snaked around Croc’s arms, momentarily pinning them to the street. The shackles groaned, struggling to contain the rubbery bear, until Jakob activated Quantum Entanglement, securing Croc’s legs and torso with strings of flashing light.

  The mimic shrieked and writhed, tentacles flailing hard enough to tear chunks from the pavement. Googly eyes rolled wildly, their pupils pinpricks of ravenous madness.

  But even contained, the mimic had a few nasty tricks thanks to his new evolution. Croc’s belly maw quivered and bulged as four Remys plopped onto the pavement, wriggling across the ground as they sought fresh targets. They came at us fast, and though I didn’t want to hurt Croc, the Flesh Maw slugs were another matter entirely.

  I activated Frostfang Spire, javelins of ice skewering one of the slugs, while Hydro Fracking Blast cut two more down before they could do any real damage. But the fourth slug launched itself at Temperance like a cruise missile. She brought her sword up in a flourish, neatly slicing the slug in half. But the top half of the Flesh Maw still slammed into her stomach and promptly started chewing its way into her belly.

  She let out a horrified shriek and pressed one hand against the slug before activating Biblical Pestilence. A swarm of enormous locust enveloped her in a cloud, making it impossible to see what in the hell was going on.

  Plus, I had other problems to deal with.

  Croc opened its mouth and unleashed a blazing column of fire as thick as my arm. I danced back and conjured a pair of icy shields that absorbed the blast, protecting me from the worst of the damage. I was sure I could talk the mimic down, but to do that I needed to get closer, and that wasn’t going to happen with Croc vomiting fire like a dollar store dragon. The blazing column of flame had melted through the outer layer of my floating ice shields, and water pooled beneath the constructs.

  I redirected the tepid liquid using Hydrokinesis, wrapping it around Croc’s muzzle then flash freezing the mimic’s jaws shut.

  “Croc!” I bellowed, ducking in close, ignoring the stench of bile and grease pouring off the mimic in a cloud. I pressed a hand against Croc’s quivering nose, still straining against the icy muzzle, and we locked eyes. “Listen to me!” I yelled, spittle flying. “We’re friends, right? And what don’t friends do?”

  For a heartbeat, Croc fought me, every muscle straining, its belly maw snapping as tentacles reached for me. Although it hurt me to do it, I sliced through two of the grasping tendrils with Hydro Fracking Blast, and they dropped to the ground. The pain finally seemed to get through, and I saw a momentary flicker of recognition in the giant googly eyes.

  “What don’t friends do, Croc?” I hollered again, even as I prepared to cast Existential Dread.

  Croc worked its jaws, and I could tell the mimic was trying to speak.

  Against my better judgement, I released my hold on the icy muzzle and it melted away, dirty water running down the dog’s chest. Every word came out slow and deliberate, as though the mimic were dragging them out by force.

  “Friends. Don’t. Kill. Eat. Or dismember… Each other.”

  “That’s right, bud,” I said, reaching up to stroke one of his ears. “Friends don’t kill, eat, or dismember each other. That’s Friendship 101.”

  My words finally seemed to break whatever spell had taken hold of the mimic. The glow of hunger dimmed in its eyes, and finally, mercifully, the enormous belly mouth snapped shut. Croc blinked at me, body quivering as if the mimic had just woken from a nightmare. Its ears drooped, and the chains binding its limbs slackened then faded as Temp banished them.

  “Sorry,” Croc mumbled, voice rough. “I feel so ashamed of myself.” The mimic shook its head. “I don’t know what came over me. Friends don’t kill, eat, or dismember each other. I know that. It’s just, sometimes when I get hangry it’s like… it’s hard to think, you know?”

  I sighed, already regretting the words that were about to come out of my mouth. “It’s not you, Croc. It’s this place,” I said. “And everyone makes mistakes. It’s sort of like that scene in Twilight with Bella and the Cullens. When she cuts her hand and they all go for her at once. They didn’t mean to, but sometimes you can’t help your nature. Especially when you’re hangry.”

  Croc’s eyes lit up. “I never thought about it like that, but you’re right, Dan!” Croc grinned and stole a sly look at me, tail wagging. “I always knew you were a true Twilight fan—even though sometimes you pretend to not like the books because you want to look tough in front of Harper.”

  I saw a faint blush creep into the healer’s cheeks, and she absently tucked a strand of hair behind one ear.

  “I never said I didn’t like them,” I growled. “They were fine. The first one, anyways. The third one was okay, too, I guess. But Breaking Dawn was a shit show, and we both know it.”

  “Are you trying to be hurtful, Dan? Because that was hurtful and slanderous. Or is it libel? I can never remember which one is which. But either way, you’re wrong.”

  “No, Croc,” I said, shaking my head, “someone needs to say it. That whole storyline with Jacob imprinting on a baby? What the fuck was that, huh? It was weird and creepy.”

  “I will not tolerate Breaking Dawn slander, Dan,” Croc replied in a huff. “And you only think that because you don’t understand the finer points of nuance or subtlety.”

  “I don’t understand nuance or subtlety?” I roared. “Are you fucking kidding me? You have googly eyes!”

  “By choice, Dan, and I’ll remind you that you were the one who insisted I add eyes in the first place—”

  “Ich will nicht st?ren,” Jakob said, before things could escalate any further, “but I think we have more pressing matters to worry about.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  The last of Temp’s biblical locusts finally dissipated as the Flesh Maw dropped to the pavement, giant ragged holes littering its torso. Temp looked pale and it was impossible to miss the ragged wound on her belly. Harper shuffled over and offered her a Zima, which Temp gladly accepted. Although the healer could’ve easily used Field Surgeon instead, doing so would’ve left a gnarly assortment of scars—a reminder that no one wanted.

  “Sorry about that, Temperance,” Croc said, watching as the jagged gash magically stitched itself closed.

  Temp regarded the bare patch of healed flesh and only shrugged. “What’s a little attempted cannibalism among friends.”

  “I should point out that it’s not technically cannibalism,” Jakob said matter-of-factly, “since Croc isn’t human. Amicide certainly, but not cannibalism—”

  “Now is not the time for a lesson in linguistics,” Temp said, cutting him off. “The point is, I don’t hold it against you.” She sniffed the air and grimaced in disgust. “I can feel this place working on me, too. Trying to worm its way into my brain. How much further before we reach the Loot Arcade?” she asked, still eyeing the surrounding buildings as though they were living, hungry things.

  I pulled the map from my pocket, scanning it under the jaundiced glow of a neon Subjugate sign. The map was rough, but James had done a pretty good job of adding in landmarks to help give some context. Up ahead, I could see the Greasefall—a massive artificial waterfall that spewed a never-ending stream of rancid fryer oil into a huge marble basin.

  “Not far now,” I said, simultaneously casting Unerring Arrow just to be sure. “The Loot Arcade should be three or four blocks that way.”

  “Good,” Harper said with a nod. “Then let’s just keep moving before someone becomes lunch.”