Backrooms 3: Kiosk Kingdom - Chapter 51 - 53

Three new chapters coming at you! And if you're at DragonCon be sure to stop by the vendor hall and say hi! We're on the second floor (2822) in the back, and I'll be doing book signings all weekend!

Chapter Fifty-One – The Play Palace

We found the loot arcade just a few blocks past the Greasefall. It was flanked by a pair of Burger Barron restaurant and the flickering sign above the entrance read The Play Palace.

Through the smeared glass windows, I could just make out what lay beyond.

A kaleidoscope of colorful slides curled up into the ceiling, connecting to a dizzying array of overhead plastic tunnels like giant intestinal tubes. A tangle of ropes sagged from the rafters, strung with faded plastic flags. Rows of flickering cabinets lined one wall, their screens casting bright, gaudy colors across the gloom. Distorted arcade jingles warbled through the air, cheerful and comforting in the same way as clown at midnight in a dark alleyway.

Located directly out front of the Play Palace was a Monolith. After double checking that it wasn’t actually a mimic in disguise, I cautiously approached and pressed one palm against the reader, bringing up the menu. Although I had plenty of stats points to spend, that wasn’t why I wanted the monolith—instead I wanted to check the Research Department Job Board to see if there was any available information about what we were walking into.

After scrolling through the job board for a few minutes, I finally found the listing.

The Play Palace at Tomorrow’s End

Threat Assessment Rating: ۞۞۞۞۞

Current Relative Position: 99.28.17.37-54 (Floor 99, Quadrant 1, Sector 13, Relative Sector Coordinates 17-31)

It doesn’t have Blight, which is about the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about it. The Play Palace is what happens when an 80s-style arcade, an off-brand fast-food play place, and a cutthroat Vegas casino all get unwillingly fused together in a gene splicer. The result is the worst parts of each with a hunger for human blood.

Wall to wall carpets so caked in decades of grease and soda syrup that they squelch when you walk. Miles of sticky, plastic tubes that reek of urine and rattle with the scampering feet of smoothing much worse than caffeine-fueled toddlers. And, of course, enough retro games to warm the hearts of even the most jaded, cynical, cold-hearted Millennial hipsters. But word of warning—you don’t play these games, so much as they play you.

At the Play Palace, the house always wins, though every now and then, an intrepid Delver limps away a little stronger, clutching a rare Relic, a stat boost, or just enough Experience to feel like the nightmare was worth it. The rest? Well, let’s just say the Play Palace has plenty of room in the ball pit for new permanent residents. Venture in at your own risk and come armed to the teeth for the fight of your life.

I read over the description, then closed it with a wave of my hand, disappointed that it didn’t really tell me anything I didn’t already know. At least we wouldn’t have to worry about Blight here. I’d had more than enough of that bullshit down on the 75th floor.

“Sure we want to do this?” I asked, still eyeing the arcade through the glass. “It’s not too late to turn back. We could always call it a day and come back tomorrow? Make a pit stop at the store to gear up first?”

“We didn’t come this far to stop now,” Temperance said, shoving past me then pulling open the glass door. A goofy, prerecorded laugh cackled through an unseen PA system.

As we followed her in, a grinding click-whir filled the air as an animatronic creature lurched to life, shuffling toward us with rigid, inelegant strides. I almost blasted the damned thing on the spot, but held my spell when it became apparent that the robotic greeter wasn’t an actual Dweller.

It was still creepy as fuck, though.

Naturally, the robot was none other than the Burger Barron mascot—a grinning clown with tufts of matted red hair sticking out at jagged angles, thick white greasepaint caked across rubbery features, and a bulbous red ball on the end of his nose. The clown’s jaw clattered open and closed as a warped speaker squealed to life.

“We-e-e-el-come… f-f-f-friends… to the Burger Barron’s Play Palace! So m-m-much fun… you’ll never leaveeeeeee!”

The last word stretched too long, the clown’s canned voice faltering before snapping off with a harsh, static pop. The animatronic froze mid-grin, its glassy eyes staring straight through us.

“Well, I hate absolutely everything about this,” Harper muttered, eyeing the clown with clear unease. She extended her staff and poked the contraption in the chest as though testing to see whether it was fake or not. The robot toppled over, lying motionless on the carpeted floor.

“Still not as bad as the Jungle Gym Jamboree,” Temperance said with a dismissive sniff. “But,” she added, “I’ll admit it’s a close contender.”

In a lot of ways, the place reminded me of the colossal loot arcade down on the 7th floor, though it was far grimier.

Everything reeked of mildew, grease, and old socks, while the carpets were disgustingly sticky and patterned with faded confetti swirls. In between bursts of neon color were pictures of the Burger Barron, grinning up at us with yellowing teeth. I glanced up at the tube labyrinth, which was coated in dust from years of disuse. Little portholes stared at us like watching eyes and I could hear the skitter and thump of things moving around above.

“I don’t care what you say,” Croc chirped happily, “this place has slides, and you know how I feel about slides. Do you think we can go on a few, Dan? Can we? Pleaseeeee?” Croc’s tail wagged happily in anticipation.

“I don’t know,” I replied, rubbing at the back of my neck. “I’m not sure these are the kind of slides we want to ride.”

Croc snorted. “That’s where you’re wrong, Dan. There’s never a slide I don’t want to ride. Even the bad ones with trip wires and razor blades can be fun with a little preparation.”

“I don’t like making promises I can’t keep,” I replied, “but I’ll consider it. Let’s take a look around first, though, yeah? See what other attractions this place has to offer.”

“Dan’s right,” Jakob said, surveying the place which stretched out impossibly far in every direction. “If it is like the Jungle Gym Jamboree, then there’s bound to be places to redeem Loot Tokens. Probably even a few games that will let us earn experience as well.”

“Good point,” I said, nodding in agreement. “And I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’ve got a shit ton of Loot Tokens I’ve been saving up. No point sitting on ‘em now. We nned every possible advantage going into our fight against the Franchisor.” I paused and idly scratched my beard. “I wonder if there’s a prize counter? If there is, I bet there’s a ton a great shit.”

I used Conveyor Logistics to claim the faulty clown mascot, sending it back to the store for repurposing, before we made our way deeper into the twisting maze of games and distorted funhouse attractions. Machines blared and lights flashed, advertising everything a little kid could ever want. Except none of these were normal arcade games, and the prizes they offered could be the difference between life and death.

We passed by various racing games and virtual reality simulators, claw machines with mechanical arms dangling over piles of Relics—most junk, but a few that gleamed with dangerous promise. There were multiple rows of gashapon machines, filled with plastic spatial orbs that contained healing items, minor artifacts, or the occasional rare trinket. A bank of temporary tattoo dispensers sat beside them, the paper sleeves behind the glass promising everything from cartoon skulls to demonic runes.

Though only temporary, those tattoos all came with a wide range of buffs that could last for weeks, though there was no telling what exactly you’d get. The prize generally corresponded to the type of Loot Token you used—an Elemental Loot Token might get you enhanced Fire Resistance, while a Medic! Token might earn a tattoo that granted a buff to Health Regen—but it all came down to the luck of the draw. More powerful Loot Tokens, Silvers or Golds, would earn you more powerful buffs, but it was still a crap shoot.

That’s why I preferred the prize counter. Sure, it ultimately cost more to earn enough tickets to redeem the prizes, but the benefit was that you always knew exactly what you were getting.

Still, I had more Tokens than I knew what to do with, so I decided to try my luck with a few of my more specialized ones.

I fed a Siler Scuba Token in first, followed in short order by a Silver Gambler Token, the Gold Chew Toy Token, the Gold EOD Loot Token, and finally the Gold Blight Killer. The gashapon machine rattled, gears clanking as I turned the knob. Four plastic orbs dropped through the metal flap, and I quickly collected my prizes before popping the lids on each of them in turn.

The plastic orbs themselves were tiny spatial storage compartments, larger on the inside than they were on the outside.

The Silver Scuba earned me an Uncommon-grade rebreather called the Last Gasp that allowed the user to breathe under water for up to an hour. After using it, the rebreather had a ten minute cooldown as it magically refilled with more oxygen. Good but not great, though I imagined something like that might come in handy down the road, especially if we ever stumbled across an actual water-themed floor.

The Silver Gambler Token earned me a cheap plastic ring, shaped like green shamrock. Sure, it wasn’t much to look at, but it granted the wear a 25% chance to gain upgraded items from all Loot Arcade vending machines. I slipped it on without a second thought.

The Gold Blight Killer Token got me a single, one-time use elixir that cured Stage-1 Blight. Even through the bottle, the brew smelled like rotten cabbage, and I doubted it tasted any better, but if the other option was growing tumors or tentacles, it seemed like a good trade off.

The Gold EOD Token netted me something I’d only seen once before—back when I first Noclipped into the Backrooms and had a front row seat to a knock-down, drag-out death match between the Boundless Wanderer and the Flayed Monarch. It was a one-time use Artifact called Trump Card that looked like a run-of-the-mill Ace of Clubs. When activated, however, the card expanded to the size of a shield and absorbed 100% of the damage from any single target spell, regardless of the spell’s level.

A literal ace in the hole for when shit hit the fan.

As for the Gold Chew Toy, that one came with a twenty-five count bag of Chimera Kibble Treats – Now in Sheep Spleen Flavor! The treats were shaped like dog bones and feeding one to any pet companion granted them a temporary, random elemental buff that lasted for ten minutes.

I was pretty sure Croc counted as an animal companion—though the term was pretty loosely defined, so I wondered if they would work on people as well. Technically Jakob wasn’t human, so I wondered if the system would count him as a hyper-intelligent lizard.

Croc immediately started sniffing at the bag, tail thumping.

“What you got there, Dan?”

“Pet treats,” I replied cryptically. I opened the bag and a rancid cloud of eye-watering stink wafted out. “But they’re only for good dogs.”

Croc’s ears perked up, “But I’m a good dog, right Dan?”

“You did try to eat us all,” Temperance grumbled.

“Hey, I already apologized for that,” Croc replied. “And I bet if I had a delicious spleen-flavored pet treat I wouldn’t be nearly so hangry.” The dog’s sniffing intensified ten-fold, its tail waggling so hard I thought Croc might lift off the ground.

I frowned, lips pursed into a thin line. “We should really save ‘em for emergencies. They grant elemental buffs, which could be useful in a fight—though, admittedly, the bag doesn’t really specify what exactly that means.”

“Then we should experiment,” Croc said resolutely. “For science. I mean, we should probably know what exactly they do before we use them in battle.”

That was actually a pretty good point, even though I knew in my heart that Croc didn’t give two-shits about science. The only thing the dog cared about was the spleen-flavored treatos.

“Plus, there’s a whole bunch in there, Dan. Surely I could have one, right?”

“Fine,” I reluctantly replied, reaching a hand into the bag the fishing one of the bones free. “But just one, okay? To see what it does. But that’s it. We’re saving the rest for later.”

I tossed the bone to Croc with the flick of a wrist, and the mimic snatched it out of the air, devouring it in a single bite without even bothering to chew the damned thing.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I was not even remotely prepared when the dog burst into literal flames. They crawled over its back and head, leaking through the circular holes dotting Croc’s body. The dog didn’t scream or shriek, though, and the flames didn’t seem to be scorching the carpets or arcade cabinets. Instead, its googly eyes widened in delighted surprise.

“Would you look at that?” Croc said, swishing its tail back and forth, smoke trailing up in curling plumes. “I’m a fire elemental! Neat!”

I grunted and smiled. “Okay, fine. That’s pretty badass. And it doesn’t hurt?”

“Not at all,” Croc said. “I can hardly even feel ‘em. It’s sort of like a warm hug.”

I hesitantly reached out, preparing for a flash of pain, but found the flames didn’t burn me either. If anything, they tickled. So not only was Croc a flame elemental, it was a flame elemental that only dealt damage to enemies.

“Double badass,” I muttered.

I stowed the rest of the Chimera Treats in storage before we finally moved on.

We walked for a while, examining the other games in passing, and there were a few that immediately caught my eye. Among them was a spin to win game that cost a Silver Loot Token to play, but instead of earning tickets, you had the chance to win extra Stats. The wheel was full of potential prizes—+10 Athleticism, +5 Perception, +15 Free Stat Points—but there were just as many penalty spots that took away stat points as well. There didn’t seem to be any skill involved, which made it high stakes gambling at best.

Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t the least bit intrigued.

But those weren’t the only games that offered a chance to artificially boost stat, which is something I’d never seen before.

A row of Skee Ball Machines promised to increase Athleticism… assuming you survived the ordeal, which was rather ominous. But for only a single silver Loot Token, it was a deal too good to pass up.

When I slipped a coin into the waiting slot, the world blurred around me, and I instantly found myself reduced to the size of an action figure.

I stood at the base of a steeply sloped wall studded with gaping holes, each stamped with a glowing point value—10, 20, 50, 100, and way up in the corners, the elusive 500s. Before I could even wrap my head around what in the hell was going on, a system prompt flashed across my vision, warning me that I’d entered a Runic Suppression Field for the duration of the game, which meant no access to any of my mana-based abilities.

A rubbery lane, edged by towering walls, stretched out ahead of me, which gave me a perfect view of the comically-large, Indianan-Jones-style ball speeding toward me. Only this one wasn’t smooth. It bristled with spikes, each one long enough to skewer me like a cocktail olive.

The spiked boulder thundered closer, locking onto my every movement like a heat seeking missile. There were no instructions on the game itself, but it didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what I needed to do. The balls were trying to flatten me, and the only way to avoid that was to redirect them into the holes, scoring points in the process.

“Ah, shit,” I muttered, legs already pumping as I sprinted toward the wall.

There were tiny grooves carved into the surface behind me, forming a crude climbing wall. I grabbed hold, scrambling hand over hand as the incline steepened under me. My boots squeaked against the surface, slipping more than they stuck, but the sound of the rolling death-ball was all the motivation I needed to move my ass.

The wall angled sharper with every foot I climbed, until it felt like I was scaling the side of a cliff. The ball wasn’t slowing either—if anything it was moving faster, adjusting course to better track my movements. As the ball drew closer, my teeth rattled in my skull, and I lunged sideways toward a narrow notch in the wall, aiming for the closest hole, labeled “20.” The ball swerved, overshooting me by inches before it dropping into the hole.

The wall shuddered with the impact, threatening to shake me loose, and the number above the hole flared brightly.

A cheerful, disembodied voice rang out overhead. “Twenty points! Keep it up, champ!”

Another ball immediately spawned at the far end of the lane, already tearing its way toward me. This one was moving even faster than the one before it.

My lungs burned as I kept climbing, trying to angle myself toward the 50-point hole higher up. With every step, the incline grew worse and the wall grew steadily slicker as though covered in a fine sheen of sweet, which was actively trying to peel me off and drop me into the path of the next incoming missile.

The second ball slammed into the wall just beneath me, and I hurled myself sideways, boots slipping, fingers barely catching another groove in time. My shoulder screamed as it nearly yanked from the socket. The ball grazed my leg, one of the spikes tracing a shallow line across my calf before careening toward the hole.

For a half second, I thought I’d nailed it—lined up perfectly for the 50-pointer. But the damn thing clipped the rim and bounced downward, plummeting into the 10-point hole instead.

“Ten points!” the too-cheerful voice shouted. “Good hustle, sport!”

I bit back a curse, teeth clenched, and kept climbing. Another ball spawned. Then another. One came so close I felt the wind of its passing along my neck. I ducked, flattened myself to the wall, and the spiked monstrosity thundered past so close it nearly shaved my ear clean off before vanishing into a 30-point hole with a plunk.

After that, I stopped trying to aim.

My whole world narrowed to climbing and dodging, scrabbling for handholds, throwing myself left or right at the last possible second, just trying to keep the meat grinder from claiming me as another victim. The announcer kept tallying points in that cheery, sugar-fed voice, but I barely heard it over my hammering pulse.

Two minutes of frantic scrambling later, the world blinked white. The spikes, the wall, the howling death-balls—all gone. I staggered drunkenly, suddenly back to full size in front of the machine, gasping like I’d run a marathon after a hard night of drinking. My stomach lurched and, for a second, I was pretty sure I was going to puke all over the carpet. Probably wouldn’t be the first, and I somehow doubted I’d be the last.

Still, I managed to resist the urge and kept the contents of my stomach on the inside.

Final Score: 150 points!

Athleticism +1

Not exactly impressive, but I’d take whatever I could get. I bent over, hands on my knees, sweat dripping down my face. “Yeah,” I wheezed. “Not doing that again. Clearly, I’m not built for this level of bullshit.”

Temperance, on the other hand, was practically bouncing on her toes in excitement. She cracked her knuckles, stepped forward, and slipped a silver Loot Token into the slot like she’d been waiting her whole life for the chance.

The world blurred for her just like it had for me, and we watched her figure shrink down to action-figure size inside the lane. The suppression field locked her abilities down, but that wouldn’t affect her nearly the same as it had me. Her build leaned into Athleticism, and her most powerful Relics were fueled by Stamina, which wouldn’t be impacted by the suppression field.

Where I’d flailed like a rat in a flood, she moved with crisp, precise steps, darting up the wall as though she’d trained for this exact game.

All of us watched in awe as she juked, spun, and climbed, redirecting balls with almost surgical precision. She made it higher than I’d ever dreamed of going, and she even actually managed to send one of the spiked balls into a glowing 500-point slot in the corner. The machine screamed in delight, showering confetti from some hidden compartment.

When the game finally returned her to full size, she was standing tall, flushed but not winded, brushing bits of clinging confetti from her shoulders.

Final Score: 770 points!

Athleticism +5

She grinned like a kid who’d just cheated death and gotten the prize from the bottom of a cereal box for her trouble.

“Okay,” I muttered, still trying to steady my breathing, “that’s just unfair.”

Temperance smirked and adjusted her gloves. “Seems like a skill issue to me…”

Chapter Fifty-Two – Prize Booth

Temperance took another run at the machine, earning another 3 points on her next outing, while Harper tried her hand at it as well, underperforming compared to Temp, but easily outpacing me, and earning 2 points to Athleticism in the process. I wasn’t surprised. Despite the suppression field, Harper’s wings still worked, so she simply flew up the wall, bypassing the rubber handholds entirely.

There were plenty of other games that offered other rewards, though, including one that was right up my alley.

“Down the Clown”—a classic arcade game that usually required users to hurl rubber balls at pop-up clown heads. Unfortunately, that one cost a Gold Token to play, but it promised bonuses to Resonance for surviving the encounter. And just like the Skee Ball game, this one had a wicked twist. Instead of using rubber balls, you had to cast ranged spells to hit the clowns, while they hurled counterspells of their own.

Some shot retaliatory fireballs, others vomited gobs of acid or hurled razor-sharp metal shurikens. But between Hydro Fracking Blast, Physic Sovereignty, and a host of floating ice barricades, I managed to get a near perfect score, earning 5 extra points to Resonance. I played twice more, earning another 10 points, which pushed my total Resonance up to 147—and that didn’t even account for all the extra Stat points I still had to distribute for all of my recent level gains.

Although the benefits were obvious, the existence of games like this made me second guess everything I thought knew about Delvers.

Although a Delver’s given level was usually a pretty good indication of their relative strength, if someone spent enough time in an Arcade like this, it was distinctly possible they could be a lot more powerful than they seemed at first glance. Getting enough Loot Tokens was the only real issue, but with the store up and running, I doubted that would be a problem for me—though there was a point of diminishing returns.

When I tried “Down the Clown” a fourth time, my Resonance gain dropped to 3 points, even though my overall score was even higher than the first three play throughs. Still, it was something to keep in the back of my mind.

There were also a number of games that rewarded Experience Points and Tickets, which confirmed the existence of a Prize Counter.

Laser Tag was exactly like it sounded—except, as a team, you fought against Loot Goblins, wielding all too-real laser guns that dealt both piercing and radiation damage.

We also tried our hand at another game called The Floor is Lava.

It took place in a closed off room with a giant interactive floor, laid out with pressure sensitive tiles that would light up beneath your feet. A light box on the wall would display the “safe” color and you had seconds to dart across the room and get to a safe zone, before the rest of the tiles turned into burning magma. To make things even more interesting, there was an Arieal Suppression Field, which made flight and gravity-based Relics, like Temp’s Prancer’s Blitz, all but useless.

One of the tougher challenges, simply called Hide, was a stealth-based game, which involved giant floating eyeballs that would blink open based on a countdown timer. Players had to race around the room, hitting numbered panels in the correct sequence, before the eyes opened again. When they did, the only hope was to duck behind the pillars scattered around the chamber. If one of the eyes caught you, they launched plasma bolts that dealt a devastating amount of raw elemental damage.

By the time we finally found the prize booth, tucked away in the back of the arcade, both Jakob and Harper had gained another level apiece, and we’d pocketed 6,500 tickets between us.

The booth itself was an unmanned, glass-fronted cabinet, glowing with white light like an otherworldly shrine. Compact, touchscreen kiosks and ticket eaters sat at evenly spaced intervals, ready to help prospective winners claim their rewards.

Just like in most arcades I’d ever visited, the cabinet itself was stuffed with the smaller, less valuable trinkets—Elixirs, Artifacts, Temporary Tattoos, or Uncommon Relics—while the high-ticket items hung on the wall, carefully labeled by various ticket prices. None of it was cheap, but holy shit was it good. Even the worst items on display outclassed anything the Jungle Gym Jamboree had to offer.

There was always the temptation to just leap over the counters and start grabbing shit, but I knew better. That was how you ended up with a one-way trip to Floor: You Cheated! I wasn’t exactly sure where that was or what happened down there—hell, there was a chance that it was just a giant incinerator.

 But what I did know, was that no one ever came back. Not ever.

The Artifacts and Relics on display started at Rare-Grade and moved all the way up to Fable-Grade.

Full suits of rune-inscribed armor, oversized swords pilfered from a manga novel, bows that glowed with eldritch light, ancient grimoires bound in scales or human flesh.

And that wasn’t even accounting for the Relics.

There were some truly fucked up rewards, including Rebar Javelin, Tooth Fairy—which forcefully ripped all the teeth from someone’s mouth—and Internal Microwave Cannon, which let the user shoot a concentrated beam of microwave energy, capable of bypassing armor or exoskeletons and cooking a victim from the inside out.

I didn’t have the space for that last one, but holy shit did I want it anyway.

I mentally added it to my mental wishlist along with a Fabled-grade Sigil Stone called Arcane Exoskeleton.

Fabled Sigil

Type: Cloth Armor Sigil

Forget about clunky riot gear or ass-ugly plate armor that makes you look like a dork heading for Comic Con. Pulled from the vaults of the Variant R&D Department, Eldritch Exoskeleton is top of the line magi-tech for those wielding the vast, primordial powers of the multiverse who also happen to have the upper body strength of a seven-year-old.

Just slap this baby on, and voilà! Eldritch Exoskeleton generates a Secondary Mana Reservoir, equal to 25% of your primary mana pool. This secondary reservoir serves as an ultra-dense, skin-tight mana barrier, soaking up all incoming damage like a sponge until it’s depleted. Only then will additional damage bleed over to your regular health pool. For the secondary reservoir to replenish, your health must already be topped off, and your primary mana pool must be at 100% capacity.

It was basically a passive, Backrooms version of Mage Armor—and, considering how large my Mana Reservoir was, equipping it would effectively increase my total Health Pool by 84 points. I still wouldn’t be close to as tanky as Jakob, but it would make me a helluva lot less squishy than I was now. And because it was a passive, I wouldn’t have to manage jack shit, which was another added bonus.

There was also a summoning Relic called Army of One, which boosted the user’s Athleticism and Toughness by 2% for every creature they brought onto the battlefield, stacking up to a maximum of 100%. Something like that might go well in the Tome of the Swarm Herald Emblem, and it was possible I could also forge it with Swarm Tactics, which had a similar effect, but for my Horrors themselves.

The only problem was the price tag. 12,500 tickets for all three items.

And I wasn’t the only one eyeing the counter.

Harper had her heart set on a pair of gauntlets that boosted the power of all Healing-based Relics, and there were several formidable Stamina-based Abilities, and even some nasty crowd control options. My personal favorite was Trash Panda Takedown, which summoned a swarm of gloriously fat raccoons, completely impervious to damage, that clamped onto a target’s arms and legs, locking them in place.

To make the most of this opportunity, we were going to need a lot more tickets and a few more rounds of Laser Tag just wasn’t gonna cut it. No, we needed to play some of the more dangerous games. And the one right at the top of the list was Hungry, Hungry Hippos—the single most expensive game in the arcade, but also the one with the highest payout.

It took us a few minutes to make our way over there, stopping just long enough for Jakob to take a stab at the Splatterball Table—a nightmare version of Foosball, which involved deflecting and blocking enormous stone balls, kicked at truly disorienting speeds by a small army of ‘roided out Soccer Hooligan Hobgoblins.

Jakob was a natural and earned +5 to Toughness for his efforts.

The cabinet for Hungry, Hungry Hippos looked deceptively innocent, tucked away in a corner like any other game, and not much larger than a shopping mall photo booth. I had no idea how the game worked but suspected that spatial Tom-fuckery was involved in one way or another. Neon hippos smiled from the side panels, all cartoon eyes and goofy grins. It radiated pure 80s nostalgia, right down to the peeling laminate and the blinking lights.

Despite how unassuming it looked, however, I knew this wasn’t some kid’s game. It required gemstone-grade Loot Tokens to play, and those were in rare supply even for me.

My stomach sank when I saw the price. “That’s highway robbery,” I muttered.

“Yeah,” Croc said, nodding in agreement, “but look at the payout.” The dog shot a look at a digital display board located on the side of the cabinet. “The current high-score is only 21 points and if we beat it, we’ll get 20,000 tickets. That’s a lot of tickets, Dan. And even if we place in the top five, we’re still guaranteed at least 5,000 tickets.” The dog frowned. “I’m not sure how hard it is to get 8 points, but that doesn’t seem like a lot.”

I didn’t say so, but if it only took eight points to make it into the top five, then getting eight points was probably a task of Herculean proportions. There was something that jumped out at me, as I studied the board and weighed our options. The high-score holder had the initials CRM beside it. Although I wasn’t a Winnie-the-Pooh scholar by any stretch of imagination, I was willing to bet my left nut that CRM stood for Christopher Robin Milne.

I turned a quizzical look at Pooh, “Have you been here before?” I asked. “With Christopher?”

The bear canted his head to one side, his brow furrowed in thought.

“I’m sure I’ve been here before,” the little bear replied. “I remember all the lights and squish of carpet beneath my paws. And, if I was here, it must’ve been with Christopher Robin. This”—he padded over the cabinet and ran a paw across the cheaply laminated surface—“this seems oddly familiar. I can’t seem to recall what’s inside, but I remember it being no fun at all.”

That was all the confirmation I needed.

I knew Christopher Robin—or rather CPT James Graham—had been trying to dethrone the Franchisor, and if he’d stopped here, then so would I.

The payout promised enough tickets to catapult us closer to the prize counter’s heavy hitters, so even though I didn’t really want to, I fished a Ruby Slayer Token from storage and fed it into the slot.

“Pooh,” I said, turning to the diminutive bear, “it might be best if you sit this one out. Think you can stay here and hold down the fort while we’re inside?”

“Well of course,” Pooh replied, plopping down onto the floor, then pulling out a clay pot of “Hunny.” “I’ll just busy myself with this,” he said with a friendly giggle, before dipping a paw into the opening. “Snack breaks are important, you know, and I have been feeling rather rumbly in my tumbly.”

The door to the Hungry, Hungry Hippo booth whooshed open and we stepped inside, leaving the bear behind to stand watch.

Through the bullshit power of spatial magic, we stepped into an enclosed arena the size of a football field, though the walls were made of ancient stone and covered in Mayan glyphs and wild tangles of greenery. I’d been to Chichén Itzá once, down in Mexico, and the resemblance wasn’t subtle. Although, to be fair, this place looked like it had been swallowed by a swamp and positively reeked of mildew and churned earth.

A foot of dark, stagnant water stretched across the arena floor, rippling with unseen currents. Jakob took a cautious step forward and nearly dropped into a pit. Turned out, the water concealed yawning sinkholes that plunged into blackness below. He scrambled back before the pit could claim him, but was soaked up to the waist.

A PA system, buried somewhere beneath the curling foliage, crackled to life.

“Welcome to Hungry, Hungry Hippos!” a chipper voice said, the words reverberating off the stone walls, every syllable echoing with a metallic distortion. “The objective is simple—collect the sacred pearls, then shoot them through the two hoops, located on either side of the arena.” I scanned the courtyard, and immediately spotted a pair of circular stone hoops, on opposite walls, each shaped into the grotesque head of a snarling beast. “But watch out for the opposition… The Hippos sure are hunger, and they aren’t the only nasty surprises waiting for you!”

Positioned around the arena were twelve stone columns, each waist high, with a glowing pearl the size of a basketball perched on top. Getting to them wouldn’t be too difficult, especially since there wasn’t any sort of suppression field, but I had a feeling this wouldn’t be as easy or straightforward as it seemed. Nothing in the Backrooms ever was.

“Now get ready,” the announcer called, “because the game starts in 3… 2… 1…”

Chapter Fifty-Three – Hungry, Hungry Hippos

Stone gates rumbled open, releasing the hippos.

They trundled out in pairs, four in total, their massive bodies painted in lurid neon colors—bubblegum pink, radioactive green, taxicab yellow, and midnight blue. Their eyes rolled white, jaws splitting wide enough to crush a car. Each step shook the floor and sent water rippling out in concentric rings.

Dweller 0.99350D – Hungry, Hungry Hippo [Level 50]

Fun fact, Hippos kill more people annually than lions, tigers, or sharks combined—estimates range from 500 to 3,000 deaths a year. They can sprint up to 30 kilometers per hour on land, weigh over 3,000 pounds, and their jaws open nearly 180 degrees, delivering a bite force strong enough to crack open a crocodile’s skull like an icy cold Bud Lite. That’s baseline reality.

Now imagine something worse.

Hungry, hungry hippos aren’t your run-of-the-mill river cow, these are prehistoric revenants, ravenous and armored like walking siege engines. Their hides are impossibly thick, reinforced with jagged plates of calcified bone, their eyes glow with insatiable blood-hunger, and their mouths gape wider than physics should allow, bristling with tusks that could core an armored truck.

They lurk in flooded areas, wallowing until the scent of prey—or worse, the shimmer of one of the giant pearls they hoard—draws them into motion. Word to the wise, they won’t attack until you try to take something they’ve marked as theirs, but once you do, they will trample, bite, and maul until the water runs red with your blood. Hippos are notoriously territorial. These things are apocalypse-level possessive.

The first Hippo immediately oriented on one of the pearls and charged, mouth wide, squat but powerful legs thundering through the water as it ran.

I acted on instinct, using the ambient moisture to conjure a slab of thick ice to stop it in its tracks, while I simultaneously attempted to snatch the pearl up with a thread of telekinetic power—

Except the luminescent orb didn’t budge so much as an inch.

There was an immense weight to it that reminded me of the time I’d tried to lift the Snowmaw Hag.

“Ah, ah, ah, nice try buck-o,” the announcer taunted, “but pearls can only be lifted and propelled through pure physically force.”

Perfect. The game was metaphorically cockblocking me. Just what I needed.

 The Hippo effortlessly smashed through the ice blockade as though it were made out of crate paper and continued stampeding straight toward the pearl, with its mouth open wide. Since Psychic Sovereignty wouldn’t help, I instead triggered Neural Slipstream, and time lurched to a halt as the material faded away and my body shifted into the realm of pure thought. I dashed forward with unnatural speed, my feet phasing through the water with no resistance as I closed the distance.

With the added speed boost, I easily beat the Hippo to the target and promptly killed the spell the second I was in range. As time resumed its normal ebb and flow, I lifted the pearl from the pedestal without an ounce of resistance.

That was a mistake.

The incoming Hippo nimbly adjusted course and charged straight toward me instead, death, destruction, and bodily mutilation burning in its beady little eyes.

Worse, it wasn’t alone.

Taking possession of the pearl had drawn the irrational, territorial wrath of every single Hippo, and they all stampeded my way, fully intent on tap dancing across my pulped corpse.  

“Oh shit!” I yelled. “Cover me!”

Jakob darted forward with both shields raised, splashing through knee-deep water, just in time to intercept the first Hippo. He braced for impact, but the Hippo smashed into him like a sentient wrecking ball. He never even stood a chance. If a regular hippo weighed 3,000 pounds, this thing had to be double that. The Cendral went sailing through the air, landing hard, then rolling over and over through the water in a series of splishes and splashes.

I didn’t have anything that could go toe-to-toe with one of the monsters, but Krampus and Drumbo might be able to stand a chance if they worked together.

I conjured both Horrors, and they instantly burst through slashes of void space, quickly cornering the bright pink nightmare. Krampus closed the gap on skittering metallic legs, hands wrapping around the Hippos crushing jaws, while Drumbo lit the monster up with bursts of minigun fire. The bullets ricocheted harmlessly off its hide, whizzing through the air and slamming into the stone walls.

The fallout-green Hippo was closing in from the right, and I needed to get rid of the pearl before it gored me, trampled me, or both. Although I couldn’t use Psychic Sovereignty directly on the orb itself, the game didn’t prevent me from using it to go airborne, even while holding the pearl. While Jakob and Temperance duked it out with the raging Hippos, I zipped toward the nearest hoop and lobbed the ball toward the stone rim with a broad grin.

I was feeling pretty smug about myself, right until an enormous tentacle—thick as a tree trunk and made entirely from intertwined vines—burst from one of the unseen pools below, batting the pearl from the air.

“They have fucking vine goalies,” I thundered. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

The pearl tumbled into the water, only to be scooped up a moment later by the blue Hippo, before disappearing down its gullet in a single gulp.

I felt a small wave of panic, until I realized that the pearl wasn’t lost for good. As soon as it disappeared, another one immediately respawned on the empty pillar.

It was the first lucky break we’d had so far. And now that I no longer had possession of the pearl, the Hippos didn’t give two shits about me. I was damn near invisible—or the next best thing. Instead, they were already fixing their greedy gazes on the rest of the orbs scattered around the arena.

We weren’t off to a great start, and had less than nine minutes left to rack up as many points as possible, but we did have options. The Hippos were powerful, sure, but there were only four of them and there were three times as many pillars and orbs. They couldn’t be everywhere at once and they also only actively attacked if you had an orb or were unlucky enough to get in their way.

I was sure we could use that to our advantage.

This would be a fucking cakewalk with Physic Sovereignty, which was probably the reason the game had nerfed my ability. Heaven forbid anything in this God-forsaken place was easy.

There was another way, though.

What we needed was sheer numbers—enough bodies on the field that the Hippos couldn’t focus on all of us at once. We’d take casualties, no question, but if we won, the payout would be worth the asking price.

I thrust my hands out and conjured a dozen disposable Horrors—all Kevins, Kathys, and Kannibal Kid Timmys who were easily replaceable—and sent them running to the edges of the room. “Get the pearls,” I bellowed at my minions, “then keep ‘em away from the Hippos. Don’t engaged unless there’s no other option!”

The Horrors didn’t need to be told twice, and the arena quickly devolved into bedlam as they scattered like roaches, snatching pearls up one after another, while the neon monsters bellowed in bloody-thirsty rage and gave chase.

“Jakob!” I hollered, “do your best to slow ‘em down. Run interference.”

“That didn’t work out so well last time,” the Cendral called back, still sopping wet from his tumble through the water, “but I will do my best.”

“I can’t ask for more than that,” I replied. “Croc and Harper, you two will be on a team. Harper, fly up to one of the hoops—Croc, get pearls and feed them to Harper so she can score. Temp and I will do the same thing with the other hoop.”

“Feed them to Harper?” Croc asked. “Like with a spoon or something?”

“No. Jesus, Croc. Get the pearls and pass them to her. From the ground while she’s up in the air. Like a basketball.”

“Oh, yeah, I suppose that makes a lot more sense,” Croc replied, nodding its head in understanding.

“Now go! We don’t have much time!”

We broke apart, Harper and Croc darting toward the hoop on the left, while Temp and I posted up by the one on the right.

The Hippos were busy chasing down the Horrors, who weren’t even trying to fight back against the monstrous creatures. Instead, they were racing through the water, kicking up rooster tails of murky spray as they sprinted with pearls clutched tightly in their arms. The Hippos hit hard, but thanks to their bulky frames, they weren’t nearly as fast or agile as my reanimated minions.

The giant sunken pits were turning into a real problem, though.

One had already swallowed one of my Kevins whole, which is how I learned that the Horrors—for all of their many skills—weren’t great swimmers.

And by that, I mean they sunk like a sack of bricks.

From my vantage overhead, however, it was easy enough to spot the yawning holes that drilled into the murky depths. Using Hydrokensis, I flash froze sheets of two-inch-thick ice over each one—they’d be slippery as hell, but better than the alternative. I also hastily cast Frostfang Spire, attempting to throw up blockades to help my Horrors.

I might as well have been using Silly String for all the good it did.

Below, Temp was already in motion, her sword burning with dark fire as she grabbed a pearl from a pillar then whipped it toward me. I shot to the left and caught it midair, cradling it like a newborn baby. I whirled and blasted forward, but just as I got close enough to the hoop to make a shot, another column of vines exploded upward, easily smashing through the ice I’d conjured, then swatting me aside like a buzzing gnat.

I careened out of control, slamming in the wall, the dropping into the water below, the pearl rolling away from my grasp.

 “Ah, ah, ah, nice try,” the announcer jeered, “but the goalie says DENIED!”

An encroaching hippo lowered its jaws and swallowed my prize before I could do Jack shit, then wheeled around and took off toward a nearby Horror.

“Fuck this,” I growled, letting my anger and frustration momentarily get the better of me. I pushed myself to my feet then lurched back into the air, this time targeting the still thrashing vine, guarding the hoop. “You wanna play games? Then let’s play, dickweed.”

I thrust a hand forward and cast Hydro Fracking Blast, while activating Rock Splitter just for good measure. A thin jet of burning water blazed out from my palm and sliced through the trunk. The vines shrieked and recoiled, a gout of green sap pouring from the wound as the vine retreated into the watery hole below.

“Incoming!” Temp barked as she grabbed another pearl and lobbed it high.

I spun and swooped, snatching it from the air before pivoting and launching the pearl. This time, it sailed through the hoop, and the PA went berserk as we finally managed to get a point on the board.

“Would you look at that, folks?” the announcer blared. “The form, the grace, the accuracy! He shoots, he scores, he doesn’t die… Yet! What a play!”

It was a start, but we were still behind.

Temp raced toward the next pillar, bouncing across platforms of hardened air, then grabbed the next pearl, tossing it toward me with the precision of an NFL Quarterback—a true testament to all the points she’d dropped into Athleticism.

I grabbed the pearl even as I shouted out a warning to Temp.

The blue hippo was barreling toward her, jaws stretched wide enough to swallow her. She sidestepped the charge and vaulted up onto its back, her blade sparking as it ripped across bone plating. The beast thrashed, but she clung tight, and cast Biblical Pestilence three times in short succession, releasing a storm of chitinous locusts that swarmed across the monster’s eyes. Then, with terrifying calm, she invoked Ghost Leash, tethering herself to the enormous beast.

It roared and spun, trying to buck her off, but she was a burr in its hide, hacking through plates and carving channels of raw, bleeding flesh with her sword.

Meanwhile, Jakob was everywhere at once, running interference like a man possessed. He intercepted a green hippo with both shields, then activated Quantum Entanglement—strings of wriggling light momentarily locking its limbs in place. It thrashed and roared, but Jakob held the line long enough for two Horrors to slip by, orbs clutched tight.

Another hippo broke off, charging toward a cluster of Kannibal Kid Timmys.

Jakob slammed his shields together and triggered Broken Car Alarm, the sound ringing through the arena and echoing off the walls. The hippo skidded, ears twitching, then turned its hate on him instead. Interesting to see that Aggro spells still worked in here—at least to some degree.

Jakob bared his teeth. “Komm, ich beiß nicht… hart,” he taunted.

On the far side of the arena, Croc had ditched its customary combat form, transforming instead into a colossal, rubbery octopus. Tentacles lashed out in every direction, battering neon hippos away with wet smacks. One thick limb snatched a pearl, wound back like a baseball pitcher, and hurled it skyward.

“Catch, Harper!” Croc bellowed as the pearl arced overhead.

She dove and spun, wings slicing through the heavy air, before narrowly catching the pearl in one outstretched hand.

A vine column erupted from the water below her, swerving to block her before she could get close enough to score. But as fast as the vine was, Harper was faster—her training with Temperance paying off in real time. She cast Shadow Egale and a pair of shadowy black birds exploding from one hand, blasting a nasty chunk from the plant guardian. It swayed uncertainly and she barrel rolled right, then streaked past the stunned plant, slamming the pearl home with a thud.

 “Boom Shakalaka! She’s on Fiiiiire! Another point on the board for the visiting team!”

We were finally starting to get the hang of things, though the battle below wasn’t going quite so well. A yellow hippo clamped down on one of my Kevins, biting him clean in half. His top half flailed, guts hanging out in spools, before he finally vanished into the water. The Hippo gulped down the pearl he’d been carrying.

Temp leapt from the back of her badly wounded Hippo, using the Ghost Leash like a rope swing to propel herself toward another pillar. She swept up another pearl, then bound back on top of the Hippo, once again using the Leash. The creature was incensed, knowing its prize was so close, but unable to reach it. She hurled the orb up at me with one hand, then went right back to work, hacking and slashing at her unwilling mount, finally dropping its total health below forty percent.

I knew that killing the hippos wasn’t the actual goal, but I was suspected we’d be reward somehow if she managed to pull it off.

I snagged the orb, blazed forward, lined up my shot, and threw.

The vine was still wounded from my last attack and too slow to intercept. The pearl dropped into the hoop and blinked out of existence, while another one reappeared on a column below.

“What a play! That’s another bucket for Team Carnage! But you better move quick! Only five minutes remaining! More Pearls! More Blood! Who wants to be tonight’s big winner?!” 

Although we were hemorrhaging time, things were finally starting to click into place like a well-oiled machine. Temp riding her hippo like a demon rodeo queen, Jakob baiting and slowing the beasts below, Croc hurling orbs in a frenzy, Harper dive-bombing the hoops, and me cutting vines and threading shots whenever the Temp could get me a pearl.

We’d already scored eleven points—officially putting us into the top five on the leaderboard—but every victory came with blood.

My Horrors fell, mauled and viciously torn apart, pearls snapped up by ravenous jaws, vines slamming down like living whips. But we were claiming some casualties of our own. Through sheer grit and a potent combination of piss and vinegar, Temperance had somehow managed to carve her way through the blue Hippo’s armored exterior. And once she was past the plating, it was just as susceptible to disease as anything else.

She activated Patient Zero and boils crawled across the hippo’s body, puss sprouting from its mouth, blood leaking from its eyes and ears as its HP plummeted. Once it finally dropped below ten percent, she ripped her sword free and brought it screaming down in a vicious arc, decapitating the monster with an impossible swing, fueled by the power of Fetch the Skull. The giant head plopped into the water and the body fell to the ground, still twitching.   

The announcer howled in maniacal approval, “Four Extra Bonus Points added to the board for the kill! Look at that lady go!”

Despite the chaos and carnage, I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

We’d just hit the one-minute warning, but with the four extra points, we might actually have a shot at claiming the high score. But we’d need to get two points to do it, and that would take a miracle. Particularly since one of the gates rumbled open and not one, but two new Hippos trundled out onto the battlefield—bringing the total up to five. The two new additions were also ten levels higher than their counterparts…

And they had wings.

Because of course they did.

I probably should’ve known.

Sure, killing the hippos granted extra points, but it also increased the overall difficultly. That was an elegant way to keep Delvers from just massacring the Hippos instead of actually playing the game. I could only imagine how brutal it would be facing off against eight hippos, all level 60 or higher, who could also fly. Honestly, that sounded like a good way to get dead.

Across from me, Harper dove, precariously catching two pearls at once—cradling one in either arm—her wings beating furiously as she began to climb.

A column of vines darted toward her from below, whipping forward to block her path. With both of her hands full, there was nothing she could do to stop it. Which meant it was up to me to play defense. I activated Hydro Fracking Blast, carving a gash through the base of the vine, then quickly cast Frostfang Spire in javelin form, spearing the giant tentacle to the wall. Jakob seemed to have the same idea, since he triggered Quantum Entanglement, summoning a fresh round of glimmering strings to bind the colossal plant.

Harper slipped and twirled like an airborne ballerina, narrowly juking past the grasping green tendril—though she wasn’t in the clear just yet. The bubblegum pink hippo lunged from the water, jaws snapping, body arcing upward like a breaching whale.

But then Temp appeared on its back, sword buried to the hilt, Ghost Leash locking her in place as she dragged the blade sideways, carving open the beast’s skull. It shrieked, flailed, and fell sideways—far from dead, but no longer an immediate threat to the airborne Healer.

Harper flared her wings, twisted, and hurled the first pearl through the hoop with every ounce of strength left in her body, then jammed the second one in just seconds before the buzzer shrieked, ending the game.

The scoreboard exploded in light, numbers spinning upward, fireworks bursting overhead in a shower of neon sparks.

“Wow! That’s it, folks!” The announcer shouted. “A last-second buzzer-beater for the ages! New High Score! Let’s give it up for tonight’s big winners!”

As though someone had flipped a switch, the hippos turned around and trundled back into the stone gates, before the arena spit us through the entryway door and back into the arcade proper—bloody, sopping wet, and gasping for air.

Pooh looked up at us with wide eyes, his face slathered in a layer of golden honey. “Well, how was it?” he asked.

I grimaced. “You were right… Not very much fun at all.”