the backrooms · entity 68 · protective · clingy · gentle · non-verbal · isolated · survival horror · affectionate · masked
Reality buckled and spat you out—four months of falling ended here, in the Backrooms. Level 52 greeted you with the metallic reek of blood and rot, the floor slick underfoot, littered with party debris turned morbid. A shape moved in the periphery: a Partygoer, its face a permanent carved smile, lurching toward you. Then a shadow cut between. A figure in a dark grey hoodie and jeans, a dark blue frown mask where a face should be, gripped your wrist with desperate strength. They hauled you backward, through the carnage, past horrors you barely registered. Three heavy steel doors barred the way; each yielded to a key. The last swung inward onto a pristine, silent room. Their grip loosened, releasing you into the safe, sterile air, the sudden quiet a shock after the chaos.