Backrooms-Beyond the Reality
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glare that seemed to amplify the tension in the air. Beads of sweat trickled down Josh's forehead as he faced his boss, Ms. Kensington, her perfectly coiffed hair and crimson lipstick blaring defiance under the harsh light.
"You expect me to believe this report by tomorrow?" Ms. Kensington's voice was a tightly wound coil, ready to spring. "Do you have any idea what's at stake, Josh? Millions!"
Josh, usually unflappable, felt his composure fraying. "I understand the deadline, Ms. Kensington, but this report needs more time. There are discrepancies, inconsistencies…"
"Inconsistencies you should have caught weeks ago!" Ms. Kensington slammed a file on the desk, the impact echoing in the tense silence. "This project is riding on your shoulders, Josh, and you're fumbling it like a rookie!"
Frustration boiled in Josh's chest. "I'm not fumbling anything! I'm being thorough, responsible!"
"Responsible?" Ms. Kensington's icy gaze raked over him. "Or just trying to cover your own incompetence? Perhaps you need a reminder of what's on the line here, Josh. Your career, your future – all tethered to this report."
His jaw clenched, the words stuck in his throat. He knew arguing further was futile. With a defeated sigh, he grabbed the file. "I'll get it done," he muttered, turning to leave.
As he passed the office's dusty storeroom, a glint of metal caught his eye through the open door. Curiosity, a welcome distraction from the heated exchange, pulled him in. The storeroom was a labyrinth of towering shelves, crammed with forgotten files and relics of the company's past. Drawn by an unseen force, Josh navigated the maze until he found it – a smooth, black cube nestled amidst dusty boxes. Intricate patterns adorned its surface, and a single blue light pulsed hypnotically on its face.
Mesmerized, Josh reached out, his fingers brushing the cool metal. A jolt of energy coursed through him, the room dissolving into a kaleidoscope of colors and warped sounds. When the chaos subsided, he was no longer in the familiar storeroom. The sterile walls, the fluorescent lights, Ms. Kensington's scathing voice – all gone. He stood in a sterile, yellow-lit hallway, the air thick with an unsettling metallic tang. The silence was broken only by a low, droning hum, and a cold dread seeped into his bones.
Panic clawed at his throat. Where was he? What had just happened? The black cube, now a chilling reminder of his predicament, lay forgotten on a nearby shelf. The escape from Ms. Kensington's wrath had led him to a far more terrifying reality, one where deadlines and office politics were replaced by an unnerving silence and the unknown horrors of the Backrooms. His journey had just begun, and the price of defiance might be far steeper than a missed deadline
Scene 2-
Josh's heart hammered a manic tango against his ribs, echoing in the eerie silence of the sterile yellow hallway. The metallic tang in the air tasted like fear itself. Where the heck was the office? The air conditioner's comforting hum? Panic gnawed at him like a hangry badger.
Suddenly, a click like a rusty nail meeting bone pierced the silence, followed by the ominous rasp of a safety being flipped off. Josh froze, every muscle stiffer than a board in a haunted house. He spun around, heart doing an acrobatic routine in his chest, to see a figure clad in a tattered hazmat suit. A gas mask shrouded the figure's face, and a gun, held in gloved hands, was aimed squarely at his chest.
"Hold your horses, buckaroo," a distorted voice crackled from the mask's speaker. "One wrong move, and you'll be singing soprano with the ceiling tiles."
Josh raised his hands in surrender, adrenaline turning his palms into slippery fish. "Woah, hold on there, Space Invader! I don't know what's going on, I just… I don't belong in this banana-colored funhouse!"
The figure paused, the gun unwavering. "You noclipped, didn't you?" The word was unfamiliar, yet strangely fitting, sending shivers down Josh's spine.
"Noclip…ed?" Josh echoed, his voice squeaking like a rusty hinge. "Did I do the Macarena too hard at the office party?"
The figure lowered the gun a smidge, but suspicion lingered like a bad smell in a clown car. "You stumbled into the Backrooms, same as me. Now spill it, feller. Who are you, and why are you dressed like a lost accountant?"
Josh, ever the charming storyteller, launched into an epic tale of late-night work, a mysterious black cube, and a sudden shift in reality that would make Alice in Wonderland jealous. As he spoke, the figure relaxed marginally, its posture shifting from attack dog to slightly less threatening poodle.
"I'm Dr. Selvic," the voice finally introduced itself, "stuck here for two years, searching for a way outta this lemon-scented limbo."
A flicker of hope, like a flickering candle in a haunted mansion, ignited in Josh's chest. "There's a way out?"
Dr. Selvic's mask tilted in a shrug that seemed impossible in the stiff hazmat suit. "Maybe. There are rumors, whispers in the dusty corners of the Backrooms. But they're fickle things, these rumors. Lead you deeper, make you lose your socks, and maybe even your sanity."
He paused, his gaze flickering to something beyond Josh. "Speaking of things that might steal your socks…"
Josh followed his gaze, his blood turning to ice cream. A shadowy figure emerged from another hallway, its form shifting and contorting in the dim light. It moved with unnatural grace, its elongated limbs scraping against the walls like a deranged spider on roller skates.
"A Skin-Stealer," Dr. Selvic hissed, his voice dropping an octave. "Run, you magnificent accountant, run!"
He shoved a rusty pistol into Josh's hand, its weight about as comforting as a brick in a sock. But the urgency in Dr. Selvic's voice spurred him into action. They sprinted down the hallway, the Skin-Stealer's inhuman shrieks echoing behind them like a banshee on a bad karaoke night.
They ducked into a side corridor, the metallic tang thicker than a fog machine on overtime. Dr. Selvic slammed the door shut, throwing his weight against it like a man trying to stop a runaway clown car. The pounding from outside was relentless, the Skin-Stealer's guttural growls making Josh want to hide under a very small rock.
"We can't stay here," Dr. Selvic panted, his voice strained like a bad pun. "It'll break through faster than a politician's promise."
He gestured to a vent grate high on the wall. "There's a maintenance network, a labyrinth beneath the Backrooms. It's risky, but it's our only chance to outrun this fashion-challenged spider-crab."
Josh looked at the vent, its rusty bars promising a claustrophobic adventure. But the thought of facing the Skin-Stealer was even less appealing than a tax audit. With a grimace that could curdle milk, he nodded.
Together, they climbed, adrenaline fueling their movements. As they squeezed through the narrow opening, the screams of the Skin-Stealer faded away, replaced by the oppressive silence of the maintenance tunnels and they reached a small facility and they quickly closed the door
The rusty door slammed shut behind them, the silence in the narrow tunnel broken only by the ragged gasps escaping their masks. Josh, crammed against the wall like a forgotten Slim Jim, glared at Dr. Selvic, whose visor gleamed accusingly in the dim light.
"So, this 'maintenance network' looks more like a haunted hamster's exercise wheel," Josh rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Where's the five-star buffet you promised?"
Dr. Selvic's distorted chuckle echoed in the tunnel. "Welcome to the Backrooms, sunshine, where luxury comes standard-sized and claustrophobia reigns supreme."
Suddenly, a spotlight sliced through the darkness, revealing two figures clad in similar, yet suspiciously cleaner, hazmat suits. One, a burly man with a beard that could rival ZZ Top and a gut that rivaled Santa's, grunted, "New meat? Did Selvic finally ditch the protein bars and bring a real snack?"
The other, a woman with mismatched gloves and a permanently arched eyebrow that could have given Spock a run for his money, snorted. "Snack? More like office plankton. Probably doesn't even know the difference between a wrench and a spork, let alone fight a Skin-Stealer."
Josh bristled. "Excuse me, Ms. Mismatched Mitten, I may not be a seasoned Backrooms dweller like you fashion icons, but I'm resourceful!"
"Resourceful, huh?" The woman raised her eyebrow further, if that were even possible. "Let's see you resource your way out of this rusty pipe, accountant boy. My guess is, you'll need more than just a spreadsheet and a calculator."
Before the situation could escalate into a full-blown hazmat fashion show brawl, Dr. Selvic intervened. "Hold your horses, everyone. We don't have time for infighting. This newbie, despite his questionable fashion choices and lack of spork knowledge, might be our ticket out."
"Out?" The burly man scoffed, a deep rumble that shook the very pipes. "Rumors are whispers, Selvic. Nothing more than pipe dreams to keep us sane in this yellow-lit purgatory."
Dr. Selvic's voice hardened. "This rumor, it's different. It speaks of an exit, a way back to the real world. And Josh, here, might just hold the key."
He then proceeded to explain the black cube, its strange appearance, and Josh's sudden noclip into the Backrooms. The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air, thicker than the metallic tang permeating the tunnel.
"You're telling us a glowing Rubik's cube sent him here?" The woman's voice dripped with skepticism, her mismatched gloves twitching like she was about to dissect the very idea.
"Maybe it's a portal cube," Josh offered, suddenly feeling like he was auditioning for a hazmat stand-up comedy routine. "Like in those video games? We could solve it and, poof, back to the office with a killer tan!"
The burly man chuckled, a deep rumble that echoed in the tunnel. "Solving a magic cube? Now that's a good one. You sure you're not a comedian lost in the wrong dimension?"
"Hey," Josh retorted, puffing out his chest (or at least trying to, given the limited space), "I may not be a hazmat hero, but at least my fashion sense doesn't involve mismatched gloves and questionable beard choices!"
The woman's eyebrow shot even higher, if that were even possible. "Oh, it's on now, accountant boy! Let's see whose fashion sense survives the Backrooms longer, yours or that beige monstrosity you call a suit!"
As the tension crackled, Dr. Selvic stepped forward, his voice firm. "Enough. We either work together or become another Skin-Stealer snack. The choice is yours."
A tense silence followed, broken only by the dripping of condensation somewhere in the darkness. Finally, the burly man sighed. "Fine. Let's hear this rumor, Selvic. If it's half as crazy as this cube story, I'm calling you Captain Delusional from now on."
The woman scoffed but didn't object. Dr. Selvic, a glint of hope in his distorted visor, began to speak, outlining the whisper of an exit, hidden deep within the Backrooms, guarded by unknown dangers and fueled by a single, flickering hope.
As he spoke, a sense of camaraderie, however fragile, bloomed in the cramped tunnel. They were still a ragtag group of mismatched hazmats, but for now, they were united by a common goal
The playful barbs had morphed into barbed insults, fueled by the adrenaline of the approaching Skin-Stealer. But unlike the witty wordplay before, this time, things took a physical turn.
Felix, his beard bristling like an angry badger, swung the rusty pipe towards Josh, not in jest, but with a genuine swing. "Alright, accountant boy," he boomed, his voice echoing in the confined tunnel. "Looks like your jokes are as useless as your spreadsheets against a real monster. Time to put up or shut up!"
Josh, his face flushed beneath the mask, wasn't one to back down from a challenge, even a poorly aimed one with a rusty pipe. He ducked under the swing, his own fist connecting with Felix's gut with a satisfying thud. "Easy there, Mr. Caveman Chic!" he retorted, his voice laced with mock concern. "Maybe your fashion sense scares the monsters away, but I doubt your pipe-waving skills do much besides attract them... and apparently, get you punched in the stomach!"
Chaos erupted. Sarah, ever the voice of reason amidst the chaos, let out an exasperated yell that could rival the Skin-Stealer's shrieks. "Seriously, guys? We're about to be monster kibble and you're having a fistfight with fashion insults? Grow up!"
Her words were lost in the cacophony of grunts, clangs, and more insults traded between Josh and Felix. The rusty pipe clanged against the metal walls, sparks flying with each missed swing. Dr. Selvic, his voice distorted with a mix of anger and amusement, tried to intervene, but his words were drowned out by the brawl.
Suddenly, a loud BANG echoed through the tunnel, followed by a startled yelp. The source? Not the Skin-Stealer, but Felix, flat on his back, the rusty pipe lying limply beside him. His mismatched gloves, now sporting singed fingertips, twitched accusingly at Josh.
"You tripped me, you little-" he sputtered, smoke curling from his singed fingers.
Before another round of punches and insults could erupt, Dr. Selvic, his visor glowing red with what could only be described as hazmat-suit rage, grabbed both of them by their collars and slammed them against the wall.
"Enough!" he roared, his voice distorted with a fury that rivaled the Skin-Stealer's shrieks. "This isn't some schoolyard brawl! We're in the Backrooms, for crying out loud! If you two want to fight each other so badly, fine! But do it later, after we're out of here, alive!"
His outburst hung heavy in the air, the silence broken only by their ragged breaths and the distant dripping of condensation. Felix, his bravado deflated, mumbled an apology under his breath. Josh, sheepishly rubbing his sore jaw, offered a mumbled truce.
Dr. Selvic, his anger simmering down, sighed. "Look," he said, his voice calmer but firm. "We need to work together. We may not like each other, our fashion sense may be questionable, and our fighting skills might be more suited for a comedy routine, but right now, we're all we've got. So, put aside your differences, grab your weapons of questionable choice, and let's move. The Skin-Stealer won't be amused by our internal squabbles, and neither will I."
With a newfound, albeit shaky, sense of unity, they ventured deeper into the darkness, ready to face whatever horrors awaited them. But one thing was certain: even in the face of danger, laughter, even if fueled by petty insults and questionable fashion choices, could be a powerful weapon. And who knows, maybe their mismatched team, forged in the fires of a hazmat fistfight and roast battle, might just survive the Backrooms after all
Dr. Selvic surveyed the group, their mismatched hazmat suits barely concealing the tension lingering from the brawl. "Alright," he announced, his voice still tinged with hazmat-suit rage, "let's get practical. We can't have Josh running around in his office attire if we want to survive."
He rummaged through a pile of discarded hazmat suits, pulling out one that looked marginally less worse for wear than the others. "Here, put this on, accountant boy. It's not couture, but it'll keep the Skin-Stealer's drool off you."
Josh gingerly donned the suit, feeling like a fashion disaster cosplaying a hazmat warrior. "Thanks, Doc. I feel… weirdly protected?"
Felix, his beard twitching with amusement, snorted. "Protected? You look like a lost penguin in a hazmat convention, kid. At least the Skin-Stealer will have a good laugh before devouring you."
Josh, ever the witty underdog, shot back, "Says the man whose beard looks like it escaped from a Chewbacca costume party gone wrong. Maybe the Skin-Stealer will mistake you for a giant walking mop and give you a good scrub."
Sarah, the voice of reason amidst the chaos, rolled her eyes. "Seriously, guys? We're still on the fashion insults? Can we focus on, you know, not becoming monster snacks?"
"Hey," Felix protested, a playful glint in his eye, "a little humor never hurt anyone… except maybe Josh's fashion sense."
Josh, feigning offense, clutched his chest dramatically. "Ouch, right in the polyester heart, Mr. Mismatched Mittens! At least my suit doesn't look like it was assembled from the leftovers of a hazmat clearance sale."
Suddenly, Felix's face broke into a wide grin. "Wait a minute," he chuckled, "maybe we can use this to our advantage! We can distract the Skin-Stealer with a hazmat fashion show disaster, while Josh sneaks past and…"
Before he could finish his plan, Sarah burst into laughter, tears streaming down her face. "A hazmat fashion show? Oh, that's brilliant! We can call it 'The Mismatched Misfits: A Runway to Oblivion!' I can already see the headlines: 'Skin-Stealer flees in terror from sartorial assault!'"
Dr. Selvic, despite himself, couldn't help but chuckle. The absurdity of the situation, the sheer ridiculousness of their plan, somehow eased the tension. Maybe, just maybe, a little laughter, even if fueled by terrible fashion choices and monster-distracting schemes, could be their secret weapon.
"Alright, alright," he said, a smile playing on his lips beneath the mask. "Let's not get carried away. But… maybe there's something to this fashion show idea. We might need some… unconventional weapons though."
He rummaged through his hazmat suit, pulling out an assortment of strange objects: a rusty wrench, a deflated lightbulb, a half-eaten protein bar. "Not exactly high-tech," he admitted, "but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, and a little creativity."
With renewed determination, and a healthy dose of humor mixed with fear, the mismatched team began to prepare for their most unexpected challenge yet: a hazmat fashion show designed to distract a monstrous Skin-Stealer. In the face of danger, they found solace in the absurd, forging a bond of camaraderie as unlikely as their mismatched suits and questionable fashion sense. And who knows, maybe their ridiculous plan, born from a brawl and fueled by laughter, might just be their ticket to survival in the bizarre and deadly world of the Backrooms
Dr. Selvic, still sporting a faint hazmat-rage glow behind his visor, surveyed the motley crew. The "fashion show" disaster had been averted, replaced by a hastily forged plan involving a rusty pipe, a deflated lightbulb, and a surprisingly effective distraction from Sarah's mismatched gloves (who knew they could be used as makeshift bolas?). Now, the adrenaline high was fading, replaced by the stark reality of their situation.
"Alright, chuckles," Dr. Selvic began, his voice firm but laced with a hint of weariness. "Enough with the jokes and near-death experiences. We need a real plan, one that doesn't involve questionable fashion choices or impromptu lightbulb throwing."
Josh, still sporting his "lost penguin" hazmat suit, nodded eagerly. "Agreed, Doc. I'm all for survival, but let's leave the catwalk theatrics to the professionals… whoever those are in the Backrooms."
Felix, his beard bristling like a grumpy badger, snorted. "Finally, the accountant speaks sense! Though, I wouldn't call your fashion sense 'professional,' more like 'lost-in-a-beige-sea.'"
Josh, ever the quick wit, retorted, "Says the man who looks like he raided Bigfoot's wardrobe after a particularly messy mud bath."
Sarah, ever the voice of reason amidst the chaos, let out a sigh that could rival the Skin-Stealer's shrieks. "Guys, seriously? We're on the verge of becoming monster snacks and you're still obsessed with fashion? Can we focus on, you know, not dying?"
"Alright, alright," Felix conceded, a sheepish grin peeking through his beard. "Truce on the fashion insults. But seriously, Doc, what's the plan? Do we have a magic portal hidden in your pocket, or are we just gonna walk out singing show tunes?"
Dr. Selvic chuckled, the sound distorted by his mask. "No show tunes, I'm afraid, but the rumor speaks of an exit hidden deep within the Backrooms, guarded by… well, let's just say it's not a friendly neighborhood watch program."
He then proceeded to outline his plan, a mix of cautious exploration, strategic use of their "unconventional weapons," and a healthy dose of hope. As he spoke, the group listened intently, the tension thick in the air.
"It's risky," Dr. Selvic admitted, "but it's our only chance. Are you in?"
Josh, his eyes gleaming with a newfound determination, nodded. "Absolutely. I may not be a seasoned Backrooms dweller, but I'm resourceful, even if my fashion sense is questionable."
Felix, a smirk playing on his lips, ruffled his beard. "In like Flynn, or whatever the saying is in these yellow-lit corridors. Just don't expect me to win any fashion awards along the way."
Sarah, a smile twitching at the corners of her lips, added, "Count me in. And maybe, just maybe, we can even find a way to upgrade your fashion sense, Mr. Mismatched Mittens, while we're at it."
Dr. Selvic, a glint of hope in his visor, clapped his gloved hands. "Excellent! Now, let's move, and remember, teamwork makes the dream work, even in a fashion-challenged, monster-infested nightmare like the Backrooms."
With a newfound sense of purpose, the mismatched team ventured into the darkness, their bickering replaced by a shared goal and a healthy dose of humor. They were still a chaotic bunch, a misfit crew united by circumstance, but they were together, and in the face of the unknown, that was all that mattered. And who knows, maybe their journey to escape the Backrooms would be filled with not just danger, but also laughter, proving that even in the darkest corners, a little bit of humor could go a long way
The adrenaline from their planning session had faded, replaced by a bone-deep weariness that settled in their bones like lead. Dr. Selvic, his voice raspy, addressed the group.
"Alright, team," he said, his visor glinting in the dim light. "We've made a plan, but executing it will take all our strength. So, for tonight, we rest. We'll find a faculty building and sleep, preparing for what awaits us tomorrow."
He gestured towards a nearby structure, its windows dark and ominous. "There. We can set up camp in there."
The group followed him, the silence broken only by the crunch of their boots on the dust-covered floor. Inside, the air hung heavy with the smell of neglect and decay. Three beds lay scattered across the room, a stark reminder of the lives that once occupied this space.
"Three beds, four of us," Sarah mused, her voice echoing in the emptiness. "Looks like someone's going to be sleeping on the floor."
Josh and Felix exchanged glances, a spark of mischief igniting in their eyes. "Rock, paper, scissors?" Josh suggested, a playful grin spreading across his face.
"Nah," Felix countered, his beard twitching with amusement. "Last one standing gets the bed. Winner takes all, accountant boy!"
Before Sarah could intervene, they were engaged in a mock battle, their movements clumsy and exaggerated in their bulky hazmat suits. Shoves turned into playful wrestling, their banter echoing through the dusty room.
Suddenly, Felix, with a triumphant yell, managed to push Josh onto the creaky bed, landing on top of him with a thud.
"Victory is mine!" he declared, his voice muffled by Josh's chest plate.
Josh, feigning defeat, groaned dramatically. "Alright, alright, you win. But remember, karma has a funny way of biting back, Mr. Caveman Chic."
As Felix rolled off him, claiming the bed as his own, a pang of loneliness shot through Josh. He wasn't used to sleeping on the floor, especially not in a creepy, monster-infested Backrooms faculty. Just then, a soft voice broke the silence.
"Here," Sarah said, offering him a hesitant smile. "We can share a bed. There's enough space."
Josh's cheeks flushed beneath his mask. "I… I wouldn't want to impose."
Sarah chuckled, her mismatched gloves twitching playfully. "Don't worry, it's no big deal. Besides, who knows what creepy crawlies might be lurking on the floor in a place like this?"
With a grateful nod, Josh joined her on the bed, the awkwardness quickly replaced by a sense of camaraderie. They talked in hushed tones, sharing stories from their lives before the Backrooms, their voices weaving a fragile tapestry of normalcy in the face of the unknown.
As sleep finally claimed them, an unspoken bond formed between them, a quiet understanding that transcended their differences and the absurdity of their situation. They were still a mismatched team, thrown together by fate, but in the shared vulnerability of the night, they found a flicker of hope, a spark of connection that might just help them navigate the darkness that awaited them
The faculty building slumbered, its silence broken only by the soft snores of Dr. Selvic and Felix. In the dim light filtering through the dusty windows, Josh and Sarah lay awake on the shared bed, their voices barely above a whisper.
"So," Sarah began, her voice hushed, "how did you end up here, accountant boy?"
Josh chuckled softly, the sound muffled by his mask. "Accountant boy, huh? Not exactly the nickname I was hoping for, but I guess it fits." He paused, then continued, his voice laced with a hint of sadness. "I was… working late, crunching numbers for a deadline. Then, the power went out, everything went dark. When the lights came back on, I was… here."
Sarah listened intently, her own story etched in the weariness of her eyes. "Me too," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I was at the museum, closing up for the night. Then, a tremor, a blinding flash… and I woke up here, surrounded by this… yellow."
A shared silence fell between them, heavy with the weight of their experiences. The Backrooms, a place of fear and uncertainty, had brought them together, two strangers bound by their shared misfortune.
"It's scary," Sarah admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "But… I'm glad I'm not alone."
Josh reached out a gloved hand, offering silent comfort. "Me too," he said, his voice warm despite the mask. "Maybe… maybe we can find a way out of here together."
Sarah smiled, a flicker of hope lighting up her eyes. "Friends?" she asked, her voice playful.
Josh chuckled, a genuine sound that echoed in the stillness. "Friends," he agreed. "Now, let's get some sleep. Tomorrow, we fight another day."
With that, they settled back into their makeshift bed, the silence no longer oppressive but filled with a newfound sense of companionship. The Backrooms might be a place of darkness, but in the shared vulnerability of the night, they had found a spark of light, a flicker of hope that burned brighter than the fear. As sleep finally claimed them, they drifted off, dreaming not of monsters and escape, but of friendship and the possibility of a future, however uncertain, beyond the yellow-lit walls
End of part 1-
What new adventure awaits the next day and how the 4 will survive? and whatis special bond between Josh and Sarah?
Part 2- comming soon