Backrooms 2: Kiosk Kingdom - Chapter 46

Forty-Six – Remy

With Jakob, Ed, and Woodstock in tow, we collectively meandered over to the breakroom, where Temp was having a rather loud and animated conversation with Ajax.

“You should’ve seen his face,” Ajax said. Unlike the last time I saw him, Ajax wasn’t wearing his fur-suit, and instead was sporting a pair of pleather pants, white Doc Martens, and a white crop top with a picture of a Possum that said Too Pretty for a Job in hot pink letters. “He looked terrible, darling. Bloody, bruised, and covered in dirt. He was so mad, I legitimately thought he was going to have an aneurysm. And the best part is, he’s bleeding support among the other Roomkeepers. It seems like none of them want to get on your new boyfriend’s bad side. Oh, and speak of the devil,” the fox furry said as he fixed me with a sly, vulpine smile. “Hello, Daniel.”

“Ajax,” I replied with a nod, ignoring his ‘new boyfriend’ comment. Although I liked Temperance as a friend and trusted her with my life, I wasn’t at all attracted to her. She was pretty enough, but she was also fucking crazy, and I’d learned during my Marine Corps days that it wasn’t wise to dip your fishing pole into crazy. “You guys talking about Jackson?” I asked, figuring that was the most likely target of their gossip.

“Who else?” Ajax replied, cocking an eyebrow. “That stunt you pulled? Banishing him from the store in front of all his bootlicking followers? Absolutely delicious, darling. He ended up on the fifth floor and it took him days to make it back to the Hold. Honestly, it was the most peaceful the Hold has been in ages. He was, understandably, incensed with rage. Frothing at the mouth like the uncouth, and utterly stupid animal he is.”

The man through back his head and cackled.

“Naturally, he tried to smash his way back into your lovely establishment,” Ajax continued, once his cackling subsided, “but once he realized he’d been perma-banned, he stormed off in a fit of rage. I suspect he’s in danger of losing his seat on the Tribunal, which would be a tremendous relief for everyone in the Hold with even a sherd of common sense. Still”—Ajax faltered for a beat—“I’d be wary of him, were I you, Daniel. Jackson is angry that you embarrassed him, but I think he’s also scared. In my experience, scared animals tend to lash out in inconvenient ways.”

Ajax paused and traced his bottom lip with one nail.

“And perhaps he has every right to be scared,” he said, appraising me with fresh eyes. “Level thirty-five?” The Howler shook his head ruefully. “My-my, but you’ve been a busy boy, haven’t you? You’ve gone up twelve levels since the last time we spoke. You’ve also made some interesting and dangerous new acquaintances.” Ajax shifted his green gaze to Ed, who’d slunk into the room behind me. “You haven’t introduced me to your new friend. I’m Ajax,” he said, directing the comment toward Ed. “Tribune of Howlers Hold, proprietor of the Muzzle and Mast, and close personal confidant with Daniel, here.”

Ed squirmed a little under Ajax’s intense scrutiny.

“Close personal confidant might be a bit much,” I said to break some of the tension.

“Pish-posh,” Ajax replied, brushing away my words with the wave of one hand. “In Backrooms terms, we’re practically family at this point. Now, are you going to introduce me to your friend or not?”

I sighed. “Yeah, sorry. Ajax, this is Ed. He’s a Delver from the twenty-fourth floor. But be gentle with him, okay? He hasn’t seen people in close to a decade, so don’t overwhelm him with your bullshit.”

“Daniel, you insult me,” Ajax said, sounding aghast at the very implication. “I would never. I’ve have been told more than once that I am extremely subtle.”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “Yeah, okay. I barely know you, but I’d say you have all the subtly of a brick to the face. Honestly, I think I might’ve picked up the perfect new Relic for you,” I added, thinking about the Brick Toss Relic.

Ajax pouted and promptly looked away from me. “Ignore this savage,” he said, once again directing his word at Ed. “I like your bird by the way, he’s lovely.”

“It’s a she, actually,” Ed grunted, still sounding a little unsure. “Her name’s Woodstock and she’s been with me a long time. She’s a good girl.”

“Woodstock,” the parrot cooed. “Woodstock, best girl. Woodstock kill you with fire.”

“What a delightful and charming creature,” Ajax said, clapping gleefully, apparently not at all worried that the bird had just threatened to kill him with fire. Now that I thought about it, Woodstock and Ajax had very similar energy. “I’d love to hear more about the twenty-fourth floor. Wraith told me a few stories about it, but he spent so little time there and Jakob”—Ajax shot the Cendral a sour look—“refused to tell me anything about it at all. Once upon a time, I wanted to go down to twenty-five so that I could make the leap and do the whole Transmog thing, like our dearest Jakob here, but then I got cold feet.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Ed said, dropping into a vacant chair, opposite Ajax. “The twenty-fourth floor is a toxic waste dump. It’s a miracle that anyone makes it off the floor alive.”

“Why didn’t you leave?” Ajax asked, sounding genuinely curious. “Surely there must be a way for someone as strong as you?”

It sounded like a simple, innocent question, but I could tell Ajax was probing for insight.

Ed paused for a long moment, the quiet heavy with unspoken words. “I couldn’t leave until I finished my mission,” he finally said. “I know about a few stairwells that lead down to the Research Labs on twenty-five. Could’ve used them any time. But I made promises to some folks who… well, they’re not here anymore. And I’m a man of my word. Always have been.”

Before Ajax could ask Ed anymore, Croc blundered into the room with a giant grin on its rubbery blue face. “Dan, Dan! You’ll never guess what happened. It’s unbelievable.”

“Did Princess Ponypuff finally say something nice to you?” I asked.

“I said unbelievable, not impossible,” Croc countered. “I finally hit level twenty-five and I officially evolved, Dan. I’m no longer a Juvenile!” The mimic puffed its chest out. “I’m officially an Adolescent Mimic—and that’s not all! Instead of being just a regular old, run of the mill Polymorphic Mimic, I’m now a True-Transmorphic Mimic. Just examine me, you’ll see,” the dog said, its blue tail wiggling like crazy.

As requested, I focused on Croc and willed my Researcher’s Codex to activate. A moment later a prompt swam into view.

Dweller 0.3725A – Adolescent True-Transmorphic Mimic (Outcast) [Level 25]

Congratulations, your mimic has finally hit its awkward teenage phase, except instead of pimples and angst, it’s got existential dread and plans. The Adolescent True-Transmorphic represents a truly terrifying leap in the evolutionary lifecycle of any Mimic—this thing is no longer a mindless, hungry murder-machine. It is now a self-aware, hungry murder-machine and it’s decided it really likes being alive, which should fucking terrify you.

Unlike its younger, monomorphic kin, this mimic also isn’t stuck pretending to be wood while feeling distinctly squishy and organic. As a True-Transmorphic Mimic, it can genuinely become metal, stone, or any other material it chooses, though it still struggles with complex mechanical parts or advanced living organisms. Don’t let that fool you, though—it’ll turn into a locked safe just to lure you close enough to bite your face off, then reconfigure into a coffee table while you bleed out on the floor.

Good rule of thumb? Don’t trust anything. Not a drinking fountain. Not that ladder. Not that chair. Hell, you might already be sitting on it.

When I closed out of the description, Croc was gone and in its place was a plastic folding chair, just like all the other ones positioned around the breakroom table. Unlike Croc’s previous piss-pour attempts at mimicry, I genuinely couldn’t tell which chair was Croc.

“Holy shit, that’s a pretty good disguise,” I said, prodding the chair in front of me with the toe of my boot.

I was shocked when one of the chairs around the breakroom table manifested googly eyes then started talking at me. “Can you even believe it, Dan?” the chair asked before blurring and taking the shape of a dog. Though this time, Croc wasn’t blue or rubber. Instead, the mimic looked more or less like an actual golden retriever—though there were still some obvious anatomical discrepancies. Its legs were disproportionate and a little too long, giving the lab a distinctly hyena feel, and it still had the buttery-iest of all butter faces with beady black dots for eyes.

Croc didn’t look nearly as convincing as the Kevins or Kathys, but then this wasn’t an illusion either. I dropped down onto my knee and ran my hand along Croc’s back, noting that the texture of the fur was damn near perfect. Croc felt like a real dog.

“Well, this is absolutely horrifying, and I am entirely here for it,” Ajax said, sounding thrilled and a little repulsed.

“That’s not all, either,” the dog said, swelling up and outward, transforming into a large slightly-distorted Grizzly with teeth and claws made of gleaming, razor sharp steel. It raised one arm and the whole limb turned into a huge steel mace head covered in inch long spikes. “I can turn my whole body into metal if I want to.” Croc shifted again, this time transforming into an enormous metal cross, which I immediately recognized as Czech Hedgehogs—the metal barriers, the Germans had used to deter beach incursions during World War 2.

Though, admittedly, this one had a pair of oversized googly eyes, each as big as my fist.

“Just imagine all the cool things I can do now, Dan. I mean, I still can’t make very good people yet, but maybe that’ll happen with my next evolution.” The spiked cross of blackened steel turned into a pale and completely bald human who didn’t seem to have any bones. Almost like a realistic, flesh-colored Gumby doll.

“Oh my god, that’s the worst one yet,” Ajax said in approval. “I love it.”

“The coolest part is that I finally unlocked a ranged attack, called Charnel Feeder.”

Croc, still in androgynous human form—well, humanoid, anyway—unhinged its jaw and projectile vomited a dark red slug which sailed across the room and smacked into the far wall with a wet thwap. The slug, easily as long as my hand, dropped to the floor and began to wriggle across the linoleum, leaving behind a viscous trail as it mechanically worked a pair of snapping mandibles.

“That right there is a Flesh Maw,” Croc said, beaming at the bulbous creature. “It’s like a little baby me. Isn’t it just adorable?”

“It’s less disgusting than Mr. Wiggles,” Ed said.

“Kill it with fire,” Woodstock added, eyeing the slug with deep and obvious suspicion.

“My thoughts exactly,” Temperance agreed, scooting a little further away from the conjured creature.

“Be nice,” I growled, feeling strangely protective of the dog.

I mean, objectively, the slug was even more revolting than Croc’s ‘human form,’ but then again all of the abilities in the Backrooms were equally revolting. I paused, lips pressed into a thin line. Okay, maybe they weren’t all quite as horrifying as that monstrosity wiggling across the floor, but it was certainly no grosser than Temp’s Ball of Dire Mosquitoes or my Taxidermied Horrors. And Ed really had no room to talk, considering he had six eyes and a lamprey mouth hole beneath his illusionary mask.

“I think it’s awesome, Croc,” I said, which wasn’t totally a lie. Only mostly a lie. I mean, it was useful, which was awesome. Though, now that I thought about it, I wasn’t actually sure what the slug did. “What, uh, what exactly does it do? Other than like crawl around?” I asked.

“It eats, Dan,” Croc replied, just as enthusiastic as ever, “and it’s really good at burrowing. Mostly into flesh. It’ll hang around, just eating corpses or munching on bad guys for five minutes, and it gets bigger and bigger as it eats. And the bigger it gets, the more damage it deals, which is pretty neat. Then at the end of its short life cycle it either explodes, dealing fifty percent of all the damage it’s already dealt, or I can reabsorb it, healing me for the same amount instead. If it happens to be inside someone when it explodes, all the damage is multiplied by three.”

“Actually, I’ve changed my mind,” Temperance said. “I very much like this slug creature and cannot wait to see it explode whilst lodged inside someone’s throat.”

“Oh, Temp. You are so utterly broken, sweetie,” Ajax said, patting the woman affectionately on the hand.

“Right now, I can only summon one of the little buggers,” Croc continued, “but eventually, as the skill ranks up, I’ll be able to summon a bunch of ’em.”

“I agree with Temperance. That is quite the impressive ability,” Jakob said, his face stoic and unreadable. “You should be very proud.”

“I’ve never been prouder, honestly,” Croc said, shifting back into blue dog form. “I’m basically a parent now, if you think about it. It’s like when Bella finally had Renesmee in Breaking Dawn. This guy is my Renesmee—which I think we can all agree is a lovely and perfectly normal name for a human child. And speaking of names, I’ve been thinking about naming him. Feels like my little guy should really have a name, just like Drumbo or Synthia or Baby Hands. What do you think of Remy? Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think so?”

“Have you considered something more thematically appropriate like Nalzuthar the Crimson Glutton or Gorefang the Ever-Hungering?” Ajax offered. “You know, something Lovecraft would approve of?”

“Remy is a great name,” I said, glaring at Ajax. “Isn’t it, Ajax—and before you answer, remember what happened to Jackson,” I said, though I softened the words, so he knew I was joking. Though only a little.

“Such a tease,” Ajax replied, rolling his eyes. “Of course, Remy is a fine name. I knew a Remy, once. A big strong man with arms like Christmas hams and a mustache you wouldn’t believe.”

I raised one hand to stop him.

“Nope, I’m good. I can die happy so long as you never, ever say another word about that. It’s time for us to go. I know none of us want to wade back into the nightmare that is Sunnyside but, for better or worse, it’s time to finish this thing.”

Besides, I was fully convinced taking out the HOA would be way less traumatizing than hearing any more of that story or about Remy in general. Some things were worse than death.