Followers of Jerry

## **Description**

Followers of Jerry is a group in the Backrooms that are controlled by Jerry. They are peaceful, and will trade with you, unless you say anything negative about Jerry, if you will, they will start being hostile. If you want to join them, you will have to get controlled by Jerry.

## **Stories**

### **Butterfly Flight**

>
>  Someone sent me this? Is there any real reason why *I* have this? They said it was from you, I don't know why. In any case, this looks important. Please reply promptly, as this is of high urgency.
>
>
>
>

Blue Bird,

Such a pretty

Bird I can see. Its wings begin

To flap, before it begins to

Become

A newer thing. It begins to

Change, neither good

Nor bad. It simply

Never has.

The Bird

No longer feels.

It has no heart, nor does

It have any will to fulfill.

It has

A single new purpose. It will

Always become the one

Which causes pain

To all.

Once it

Begins to fly

Oh so very high in

The sky, it never stops to think

"What would

Happen if I were to fall down,

Oh so very far down?"

It should have thought

Some more.

As it

Began to stretch

Its most magnificent

Wings, a single beam of light began

Rushing

Towards its gentle side. It did

Not know how to react.

It simply began

To fall.

It does

Not need to care

About this one simple

Fall. Birds always fall at some times.

But even

So, The Blue Bird never fell before.

It was not used to the

Way it felt. The

Bird fell.

As the

Sun Began to

Set on the cold chaos,

The Blue Bird no longer felt safe.

It called

On its most loyal followers.

*But they refused to come.*

They lost faith in

The Bird.

The Bird

No longer held

The power it needed

To protect itself from

The dangers which lay in plain view.

No one

Felt the need to help something so

Hopeless. They all gave up

On the one they

Called God.

The last

Days for The Bird

Began arising at fast

Pace. As the final curtain fell,

The Bird

Smiled. It had once held the power.

Then it lost everything.

One last breath, then

Came Death.

```
I am unaware of the context of this poetry, but it appears somewhat important. The butterflies have me worried, this may have something to do with that Blue bird. I'll look into it, TEM-1 may be helpful.

```

### **Like Vultures To Corpses**

I was riding on what they called a “Bull”, a fast moving platform that sped down some shoddily made tracks in Traders Keep. If you were a guy like me, who had to get to people quickly, then the Bull was your only option for getting through some of the thickest crowds of Traders Keep. It moved fast enough to cut down just about anyone who stood in its way instantly… not that the local peacekeepers would try to stop you from wandering onto the tracks to begin with.

I hung off one of the hooks on its side as people from below clawed at my feet. The Bull never stopped, so your only chance to catch a ride was to grab onto one of its dangling hooks. To some people, though, it didn’t matter if the hook wasn’t empty as long as they could grab onto whoever was already using it.

I kicked at them and looked out to the crowded tunnel that we sped through, and watched as the denizens of Traders Keep got up to their usual activities. Muggings, shootouts, and other random acts of violence were a typical sight. The peacekeepers couldn’t do anything but try to squeeze through the crowds quick enough to find the corpses produced by said crimes.

By the time they did, the perpetrator was long gone and they usually just beat on the guy closest to the scene of the crime until they got some kind of confession out of them. Apparently it saved them time. Didn’t look like it did to me, but I never considered my profession to be that of “peacekeeping”, so I wouldn’t know.

We flew closer to a sprawling marketplace which I wasn't quite familiar with. It was nestled in a large hallway, with some of the walls torn out for extra space to accommodate for the various vendors and dealers that sold within the area. I figured I had enough time to pick up some fire salt, as I had been empty at the moment, so I hopped off the side as soon as I got close enough to not be devoured by the crowd that was surrounding the railway around the Bull.

I landed with a thud, and began to observe the place around me. It was bright, full of flashy con artists and various other thieves in disguise. It housed the kind of people who looked like they wanted to sell you nothing in exchange for everything, and do it with a smile and a grin.

I walked towards one of the vendors with the words “TRINKETS” brightly flashing over his makeshift store. Most pawn shops in the backrooms had fire salt; it was a useful tool for odd firearms like my own.

I carried a standard issue “glass cannon” flintlock with me everywhere I went. We started calling it that after its tendency to obliterate whatever it hit, only to instantly burst into flames due to the combustion within it. They were useless things that could barely pump out one shot before the owner had to buy a new one, but it was the only legal firearm that a Follower Of Jerry could obtain. We had used it for decades up to this point according to Father Hawk, and so that meant it was a “sacred” weapon.

All other firearms had been “outlawed” by the B.N.T.G., which just meant that you needed to know a guy on the peacekeeper force who could smuggle one in for you. I placed the glass cannon on the trader's table, and asked for fire salt.

*“Oh shit! I haven’t seen one of these in forever… you guys still carry these?”* The man spoke incredulously.

He stared at it in awe, like it was an ancient treasure. Only people who actually used glass cannons knew how worthless they really were.

*“Yeah. Still standard issue.”*

He looked back up to me and slid a small vial of firesalt my way. The thing was tiny, and it didn’t even look like it could fill up a full shot.

*“What is this? This isn't enough for whatever you're selling it for!”*

I slid it back to him, and he sighed.

*“It’s all I have left. The salt is becoming a precious commodity, y’know!”*

*“Bullshit. I can get this stuff at a hundred other markets and it’ll be double what you have here.”*

*“Prove it.”*

He looked at me defiantly. I turned, and began to walk towards another vendor when he pulled me aside and whispered.

*“All right, damn, here ya go. The peacekeepers are watching this place, you know? They think I’m hoarding up on supplies!”*

He gave me a larger vial of fire salt, enough for quite a few shots.

*“They weren't wrong, though!”*

I slid him a large sum of change, enough to cover the funds, and went on my way.

As I left, I recognized a larger guy wearing Followers robes of some kind. I quickly checked the photo Father Hawk had given me and matched it to the man in the robes. As I did, he noticed me, and sprinted into the crowd of people behind him.

The profile looked the same. Ex-Followers Of Jerry member, large, big beard, bald head…

He was the man I was after, I was sure of it.

*“You! Stop!”*

I shouted after him, to no avail, and ran after him through the wall of people crowding the halls. It was packed like a sardine can, but more people began to move away from me as I pulled out my glass cannon, and I slowly started to move faster. I could see his head now, peeking up over the crowd…

I pulled my pistol out fully and aimed for his head, and fired.

*Click!*

I had forgotten to load the damned thing.

I scrambled for the vial of fire salt in my pocket and quickly poured it into the pan of the pistol before slamming it shut, and stuffing a slug into the front of the barrel. It was loaded. With luck, it would fire. With even more luck, it would hit the man I was aiming for. If I missed, then I’d lose my only chance.

The crowd began to thin as I ran through it, and I saw the man running not far away from me now. I stood back, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

CRACK!

In an instant the cannon erupted into flames that burned the tips of my fingers. I dropped the now defunct piece of weaponry to the floor, and watched as the man I was aiming for fell to the ground.

He stood still, lying there for just a moment, until his entire body burst into a bonfire of flames, not dissimilar to the same ones pillowing out of the shell of my own gun. If he had survived the impact, he most certainly did not survive the aftermath.

A smell of burning meat filled the area, a terrible one I had grown all too accustomed to. By now the crowd had dispersed. While a normal shootout wouldn’t have gone noticed, I figured this was unlike anything they had witnessed before.

A priest from the Followers of Jerry ran to my side. He huffed for a moment, and then gestured to the man lying on the ground.

*“Is he…”*

*“Yes.”*

*“Good. And you got the others as well?”*

*“No. Not yet.”*

He mumbled to himself, and waved for his other priest friends to come and examine the man I'd killed.

*“You’d best return to Father Hawk, then. We’ll take it from here.”*

He then yelled to the people who were still hanging around us, clearly wondering what the hell had just happened.

*“Official Followers Of Jerry business! Please vacate this area immediately!”*

*Business.* They always told me it was business, no matter what I was actually doing. This stuff had always seemed more like murder to me, but they always assured me it was for the good of the Followers. As if I was really supposed to care about something like that.

They flipped the man over and began observing his body, like vultures to a corpses. He was only *one* of the men they had tasked me with finding. I’d have to find the others soon, and to do so I’d need to check the databases of the Followers of Jerry.

And that meant returning back to the sanctuary.

### **Commandments**

The new Followers base was an old cathedral-esque building that had previously been built by some Christians lost in Level 1. It was falling apart at the seams, but Father Hawk loved the idea of setting up shop in a church as opposed to anywhere that was actually *liveable.*

We had made some improvements since we arrived, though. The armory was rebuilt on the side of the main building, and the old Followers of Jerry database archives had been saved and hauled over to here as well.

I walked into the armory that accompanied the Followers sanction and was greeted by Tom, the man who ran the place. He wasn’t indoctrinated into the group, but instead was serving some sort of life debt he owed to the Followers. I guess I could sympathize with him well enough, the Followers tended to trick people into thinking they owed them their life.

“Vance!” he echoed my name in the room, “How ya doin, pal?”

“Fine. Need a replacement, though.”

I dropped what was left of the cannon on his table. It was still warm from what happened in the market.

“Damn. You’ve been going through quite a lot of these recently, haven’t ya?” He grabbed the gun and began getting to work on scavenging for whatever parts might remain usable and assembling a new one.

“Yeah. Considering… what’s happened recently, I've had a lot of mistakes to deal with.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” His face adapted a grim expression. ‘I wasn’t there y’know… when *it* happened.”

“I was. It was a mess. Doubt we’ll ever recover from it.”

“If *they* ever recover from it, they’re gonna need that bird back to do it.” He called me out on my wording. I made a mental note not to associate with the Followers when I could, but sometimes I slipped up and reminded people of what I really was.

“I wasn’t in Jerry's quarters when it happened. I saw Blue-Bird, though. He went down swinging.”

“I’m sure. He was a good bastard. The only one of ‘em I ever respected.”

He slid a new, rebuilt glass cannon to me.

“Barely found any parts to use this time. Do you think it’s still the same gun if all the parts get replaced?”

“If it does the same thing, than It’s the same to me.”

I left the armory and headed to the bathroom of the sanctuary. It was an old, shitty room built around one working sink they found in this place way back when.

I looked into the mirror of the bathroom and stared into my own face. The wispy, black hair I'd grown was beginning to slick back and become rather oily, my browned skin had become several shades darker as it was covered in the grime and dust of Traders Keep, and the scar I'd gained was beginning to grow into a nasty symbol of the past.

Given the standards of Level 1, I didn't really stand out. In normal society? I’d look like a vagrant. I unwrapped the bandage that was wrapped around my right hand, one I wore to protect from the heat of firing a glass cannon, and replaced it with a new one.

I checked to see that I had not lost my vial of firesalt, and made sure my gun was holstered well. Everything was fine. In the life I lived, small moments of personal maintenance like this were vital to surviving. Had I been missing a vial of firesalt, or forgotten to replace my bandage, it could mean death in a later encounter.

I got up from the mirror and exited the bathroom, and back into the halls of the Followers. I was eager to await a *pleasant* conversation with Father Hawk, a man who was as disrespectful as he was hypocritical.

I walked through one of the side doors into the main building, where Father Hawk was giving his regular speeches to the few members who could still sit in the pews and listen to his garbage. As the door closed behind me, his religious ramblings were cut short as everyone in the room turned towards me.

“Vance Jackson! So kind of you to wander in unannounced during this most sacred time!”

“Father Hawk, I need to speak with you—”

He cut me off and shouted over my thoughts.

“Every member of the Followers must speak with me! There is a *long* list of people in need of my guidance! But you, dear child, are at the bottom of that list!”

He turned to the members and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“And do we know why, children?”

All of the Followers mumbled the same response that they had been taught to repeat ad nauseam.

“Those who have not been indoctrinated are lesser to the Followers.”

A wide grin spread across his face.

“Yes! So, Vance Jackson, what is *so* important that you had to ignore the will of Jerry?”

“I killed one of the heretics.”

His grin faded, and he adopted a hushed tone.

“And what of the other two?”

“Still alive. I need you to-”

He turned back to the crowd and yelled once more.

“CHILDREN! Our sermon is over for today! Please, take time off of your day to praise Jerry once more! Praise the Followers! Praise the order!”

As the people slowly filed out of the pews and left the sanction, he turned back to me once more.

“What the hell do you mean you only got one? What are you doing here— are you blind?”

“Last I checked, no. I’ve told you this a thousand times, I need access to the damned database to check where the heretics are. Hell, I ran into this one *by accident!*”

“That database is *sacred!* Blue Bird might’ve let you use it, but I’ll be damned if I-”

As if on cue, a portly bald man walked into the front doors of the sanctuary and gestured to Father Hawk.

“Ah… Mister Hawk? We had an arrangement to discuss, but I didn’t think we’d be accepting guests?”

Father Hawk cursed under his breath and spoke to me in a whisper.

“*Make yourself scarce. You can go on that damned computer just this once, but don’t disturb me!*”

He turned towards the man and shook his hand with a smile, and I left to access the databases. I knew that the man was a member of the B.N.T.G. Almost everyone was aware that he was bribing them so that the Followers could stay in Traders Keep, but Father Hawk still acted like it was some well-kept sin he had to protect at all costs.

I flipped open one of the Followers of Jerry computers and accessed the Followers database, where they kept all of their information. There was a time before Father Hawk where I could've accessed this without question, but it seemed that he had little respect for Inquisitors, despite how much he relied on them.

The screen emitted bright blue as the Followers’s alert message was displayed to me. It was the last thing Father Blue Bird had written before the Capitol completely collapsed, a grave warning of the group's last days.

He was wrong about one thing: The end wasn't coming, it was already here.

I sighed and accessed the “Membership” section, and searched for the men I was trying to find. If they were in the Followers for long enough, they’d have some sort of entry on themselves.

Firstly, I typed “JOHN LAWGORNE”. John had entered the Followers right before the raid, and had never reported back from it. He was my first target.

That would be enough to go on, for now. The Lost usually hung out in the “slums”, an area of Traders Keep infested with mold and animals. Only those smart or stupid enough would ever venture into it, and The Lost were very smart.

Second, I typed “STEVEN HUGH”. I didn’t know much about Steven. Apparently, he was on his way to becoming a full-fledged priest, but hadn’t quite been indoctrinated by the time the raid came by.

Damn it.

I printed a photo of John Lawgorne and then shut the computer off. At the very least, I had one man to go after. I’d find Steven later.

I exited the cathedral and grabbed a hold of one of the Bulls speeding through the halls. It was time for me to pay a visit to The Slums.

### The Slums Of The Crow

The Slums were a remarkably terrible place to live in. I had learned that from experience. When Traders Keep was first settled, copious amounts of discarded almond water began to form large spots of mold in some of the city's most well lived areas. In time, those spots grew until there was an entire section in the middle of Traders Keep that was thick with mold and disease. That section turned into what they now called The Slums.

After The Bull was made, and its tracks were established, nobody needed to pass through The Slums to get to another part of Traders Keep anymore, and so it fell into relative obscurity. Nowadays, only gangs and The Lost traveled through it.

There were old, crudely made propaganda posters on all sides of The Slums, rallying for support of either the M.E.G. or the U.E.C., both of which were in some kind of pseudo war where neither was actually ready to fight the other.

Traders keep, in time, was divided into two sections: The east of Traders Keep, in support of the U.E.C., and the west of Traders keep, in support of the M.E.G., or whatever was left of it. The Slums were in the dead middle of the city, so they represented a strange sort of neutral ground between both parties.

The B.N.T.G. claimed, as always, that they and by extension the city were officially neutral in the conflict, but almost everyone understood they were just waiting to see who came out on top. Personally, I never cared much for the political state of the city. The Sanctuary was on the west side, so most people just assumed that I and the Followers supported the M.E.G. In reality, I didn’t think any of us really cared. Whoever could wipe out Backrooms Robotics first was good enough for all of us.

As I approached one of the more infested pockets of mold, I put on an old breathing mask that I picked up back at the marketplace. In the distance, I saw some Lost Shamans talking to one another. If the database was right, these guys might know who John Lawgorne was and where he went.

There were three of them, discussing something with a woman holding some sort of package. When I came closer, they hushed their tones and one of them broke off with the woman while the others stayed behind.

“Hi. I’m an Inquisitor. I was wondering if I could talk to you about someone who came through here a while ago- if you might’ve seen them?”

One of the Shamans smiled, and began to answer me politely.

“We see all that come through here. Though, we do not get many a visitor these days.”

“Good. I was wondering if you might’ve seen a Followers Of Jerry member recently, like me?”

The Shaman shook his head. “If anyone came through here with the mark of a blue bird, they hid it well.”

I showed him the printed copy of John’s face. “Well, have you seen this man? Did he tell you anything about the group?”

He took the photo from me and scanned it with his eyes. “Yes… I do know him. He came through here not long ago, called himself ‘The Crow.’ He asked us for protection, or something like it.”

The Crow. He must’ve thought that was good enough to cover his tracks, or maybe it meant something in Lost symbolism.

“I can take you to this man. He hides not far from here.”

“I thought you said he was under protection?”

“He asked, but we refused. All I ask of you is that you do not cause more chaos in this place.”

“Of course.”

We began to walk through the Slums slowly towards my target's location. The Shaman carried some sort of incense which cleared the air, at least for him. The dark, dusty corridors of The Slums were almost impossible for me to see through, and I used the light from his burning scent as a way to guide myself through the place.

The Slums had lost its lights a long, long time ago. Although The Lost still inhabited it, The B.N.T.G. took all remaining bulbs for “future use” and left them in the dark. I felt bad for those who still stayed here, but i never quite understood why The Lost hadn’t just left yet. Maybe in the past this place was important to them.

We walked for an hour through the thickest parts of The Slums, until we made it to John’s hiding place. I could see his small hut in the distance by then. The Shaman stopped in his tracks, and pointed towards the hut.

“This is as far as I will take you. I want no part in this violence.”

“I promised you I wouldn't do anything to him.”

“I know. But all men in this city are the same. All of you buy, and steal, and kill the land. It will end the same for all of you.”

With that, he walked back to where he came. I turned back towards John and started towards his temporary home. As I walked closer, I could see the light inside of the home turn off, and I watched John exit the house. I raised my gun to him, but realized he was holding his hands up in surrender.

“Please, don’t do this!”

“I won’t if you don’t make me.”

“You have to listen to me- you have to-”

I grabbed him by his throat and slammed him against the shack.

“Where is Steven Hugh?”

He spoke through his choking in heavy restraint. “He- Went to the Peacekeepers- Their sanctum! He went there! He-”

“Bullshit. Why would he go to the B.N.T.G.?”

“For the same reason I would've! We saw something! Back at the raid- we-”

“I don’t care. I’m sending you back to the Followers now. Come on.”

“No! Not there! I can’t go back to them! Please!”

For a split second, I sympathized with him. I didn’t really want to go back, either. But then, I remembered why I was here in the first place. I remembered my brother.

“Come on! Get up!” I lifted him up and shoved him forward, forcing him to walk.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a gun of his own. For a moment, I thought he was going to point it at me, but then I realized he was going to off himself.

“No! Don’t!”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? I know what the Followers are now!”

Tears began to well up in his eyes.

“I know…”

He winced, and shot himself. He died instantly and fell to the ground.

I had never seen one of them do that before. Whatever he and Steven had found, it was terrifying to them. I stood for a moment, wondering where I'd go to find Steven, when I remembered that the Peacekeeper Station wasn’t far from the slums.

I suppose I'd have to find the man I was looking for there. I doubted he was hiding with the B.N.T.G., but it was the only lead I had left.

The Peacekeepers were stationed in the west side, close to The Slums so they could quickly send officers to the east side as needed. I disliked every last one of them, but I had no other choice than to ask them if they’d seen Steven Hugh.

I went through the metal front doors, and saw the station in full view. There were papers scattered around the place, desks lazily moved about the room, and drunk men lying from one wall to another. As I scanned the room, an Officer to the right of me who I hadn't noticed took my gun out of its holster.

“I’ll be taking this for now. Welcome to the Station.”

### Enoch Roddingham's Proposal

```
To The Followers of Jerry                                                                                                  For the last time, I assure you that I am, in fact, a "follower of Jerry" just like you lot are! Despite your dismissive remarks, I'd like to make it perfectly clear that I certainly do follow that blasted blue bird, thank you very much. Actually, if you must know, I've followed Jerry, throught just about every area of this bloody place for the past fifty years in an attempt to study him. Now if that isn't dedication, then I don't know what is! Therefore, I believe that I am more than qualified to be considered one of Jerry's followers. Not to mention that it is imperative that I study this confounded macaw! Of all the birds I've observed, Jerry has proven to be as much of an anomaly as he is an annoyance, but I will not let that stop me from pursuing him. So please…would you all just indoctrinate me already? I refuse to accept anymore of your refusals!                                                                                              Sincerely...                                                                                                              Enoch Roddingham, Ornithology Enthusiast                                                                                    P.S. I will not rest until I finally best that blasted bird!

```

## **Important Figures**

### **Jerry**

Jerry is a small 3 (three) pound bird with resemblance to the hyacinth macaw parrot. It mostly habits The Jerry's Room, but sometimes, it goes to other levels (like Level 1, Level 2, Level 9, etc.) to hunt for people to make them control them. After making physical contact with it, it will start controlling you, you will act like a normal person, with the exception that you will say verbs every few minutes like "All hail Jerry" or "Jerry is everything", and will attack anyone who says anything negative about Jerry.

```
Begin Log: 18:33

```

```
Interviewer: M.E.G. Officer

```

```
Interviewee: Sinclair

```

```
M.E.G. Officer: Please state your name for the interview.                                                        Sinclair: *(Sinclair laughs)* My name doesn't matter. Why the fuck would it matter?                                      M.E.G. Officer: Can you please elaborate on that, ma'am?                                                             Sinclair: I am nothing more than a follower of Jerry. He is *everything*. Unless that's what you want to talk, I don't have anything to say to you.                                                                                                  (Sinclair begins writhing and screaming in pain)                                                                         M.E.G. Officer: Ma'am, are you alright!?                                                                                 Sinclair: Oh glorious Jerry! Forgive me, I will speak to the blinded one before me! I'm sorry Jerry! Your will shall be done! (Sinclair calms herself down) My… my name is Sinclair.                                                           M.E.G. Officer: Right… Okay, Sinclair, can you please explain who Jerry is?                                            Sinclair: Jerry is everything. Jerry is the only beacon of hope in this god-forsaken place. I used to believe there was no hope here. That happiness could not exist here. But Jerry found me, and showed me the way. And soon, he will free all of us from this cursed hellscape!                                                                                             M.E.G. Officer: You believe that Jerry is the key to escaping the backrooms?                                         Sinclair: Why wouldn't I?! He is all powerful! He's more mighty than the false prophet of animations. If it wasn't for Jerry I… (Sinclair begins crying)                                                                                            M.E.G. Officer: Sinclair, we have Jerry with us. He was recently tamed, if you would like to-                             Sinclair: You… You did WHAT? What have you DONE to him? You piece of shit! I'll fucking kill all of you!                  M.E.G. Officer:. (The officer points their weapon at Sinclair) This interview is over, requesting assistance immediately.  Sinclair: ALL HAIL JERRY!

```

```
                                                                                              Summary: Sinclair violently attacked the officer, and attempted to grab their gun. After managing to escape the interview room, Sinclair grabbed Jerry from a M.E.G. operative, and ran away with him. Sinclair's current whereabouts are unknown. Jerry has since been spotted on Level 1 as normal.

```

```
End Log: 18:46

```

### **Father Bluebird**

*"Father Bluebird be with us."*

Father Bluebird is the leader of the Followers of Jerry. He's so close to Jerry that the parrot can occasionally be seen riding on his shoulder. Bluebird is usually seen wearing blue robes to represent his undying devotion to Jerry.

### Sinclair Beckett

*"I used to believe there was no hope here, but Jerry found me and showed me the way."*

Despite her casual attire, Sinclair is one of the most infamous members of the Followers of Jerry. Known for her manic personality and radical devotion to Jerry, Sinclair has led many attacks on the M.E.G. and other groups. She's often seen drinking a strange black liquid, though the properties of this liquid are unknown.

## **Outposts**

* Blue Salvation (Level 3) -- A small outpost that is primarily used for resource collection.
* Jerry's Salvation (Level 11) — A large outpost that is used to scavenge and steal resources.
* Outpost Bluebird (Level -4) — A very small outpost created due to the perceived safety of the level. Considered defunct after it was destroyed in an unfortunate accident.
* Outpost Redforest (Level -4) — A small outpost created jointly with the M.E.G. in hopes of easing tensions between the two groups. Considered defunct after it was destroyed in an unfortunate accident.
* Jerry's Winged Travelers (The Hub) — A medium-sized outpost that utilizes its location in The Hub to transport resources to other outposts of the Followers.
* Jerry's Room (Level 2) — One of the Followers' largest outposts and the primary home of Jerry, as well as some high-ranking members of the Followers, such as Father Bluebird.

## **Credit**

* Written by: Capyblix
* Inspired by: Wikidot Followers of Jerry
* Image from: Wikidot Followers of Jerry