'Twas a cerulean afternoon in the Central Asian steppes. A short and stout brick archway loomed within the expanse, its concrete slab roofing weathered by the elements. In the background, tucked within a tall hillside, there were 15m white uppercase letters that read: FLATTYWOOD.

In the distance, a dingy white ZAZ-968M appeared with a trailing dust cloud. Within minutes, it parked inside the archway, and its driver dismounted. Tucking his blue denim tunic, he dialled his Samsung SGH-X480 and leaned his left side against the car.

"Hello?" He said.

"#5, is that you?" The recipient asked.

"Yes, I'm here."

"Ah that's great. How's the package?"

Shouldering his phone, he opened the trunk of his car, eying a large featureless rectangular suitcase. Peaking inside it, he stared at a glowing blue cube before clicking it shut. Slamming the trunk, he grunted and said. "It's stable. No anomalies...yet."

"Well, no thanks to your driving, it could've been worse."

"I'm not that reckless, #4." He sniggered. "Besides, gm_Flatgrass has some good weather right now. So, no bumpy roads, no rainstorms, and no trouble."

"No trouble, huh?" The Caucasian man muttered, his hand audibly rustling through his bald head on the phone. "Are you sure nobody was following you?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Come on, it was not easy driving through the Arid Sea. That place was crawling with Antlions."

"Alright, alright, fine. Go ahead and send over the package. We'll be waiting for your signal. Give us a call if you have any problems."

"Sure. See you later, dickhead." He said, clamping his phone with a chuckle.

Patting his holster, he unclipped the strap against his blue denim jeans and twirled his toolgun. Strolling outside for 100m, he fired at the ground, an energetic FWOOP sound followed by an artifically greyish RAF 2203 materialising thereafter. Opening the back, a pitch black rectangular shaft extended to the front seats, where, upon flicking some switches in the center console, it rumbled and glowed alit.

Plugging his phone into the console, he redialled the number and a portal shined brightly in the back. Grabbing the suitcase, he chucked it into the portal, dematerialising in a white flash. Sighing loudly, he unplugged his phone, but the machine continued to hum; however, several beats passed until his phone rung.

"Hai?"

"#5?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you send the package?"

"Yeah."

"You did? Well..."

"What's wrong?" He frowned and asked.

"We, uh...we haven't received it."

"What're you talking about? I just sent it over."

"Yeah, I know; we're connected. But, our teleporter hasn't got anything."

"Well...shit. W-What do I do?"

"Just, uh...just hang tight for a second. Don't hang up. I'll see what's going on."

Plopping in the passenger seat, he partially leaned against the seat, glancing at the time on his phone momentarily.

"Alright, we got it!" His friend said...two minutes later.

Immediately, he sighed. "Thank god..."

"Thank god?"

"Yeah...I'm glad it made it."

"Um, that's not what we mean."

A beat passed and he promptly straightening himself, thus uttering. "What?!"

"You see, here's the thing: We've located the package and it's stuck in transit."

"Stuck in transit? But, don't tell me...is it stuck on Xen?"

"On Xen? Oh goodness, no. But, that's the problem: It never made it around Xen."

"No?" He frowned and asked. "Well, where the hell is it?"

"According to the coordinates, the package had been rerouted around a dimensional rift. The good news is: It's perfectly intact. The bad news...it's stuck in The Backrooms."

The young adult Asian snarled quietly, a few slow huffs escaping his lungs.

Finally, he sighed. "Eric, if it involves encountering Quandale Dingle again, I'm not doing it. You and Alex still owe me a Vista for that."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on, Min! Who said anything about going into The Backrooms?" His friend said. "I sure as hell didn't."

"Then, who's going to get it?"

There was a brief pause and Eric said. "Look, in case you're wondering, the package is located on Level 188."

"Yeah, but where specifically on Level 188?" Min stood up and asked, travelling to the back. "Last I was there, I been stuck for 52 hours listening to Drifting Time Misplaced. And pissing in a water bottle was not the most pleasant thing, mind you."

"If you can get it within 600 seconds, we can get you an escape route."

"600 seconds, you say?" He parroted, peering down at his toolgun and standing before the portal. "Standard or metric?"

"Standard seconds."

"Huh..." The young adult asian hummed before holstering his toolgun. "Okay, fine. I'll do it. Just one question, though."

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Why so little time?"

"That dimensional rift is about to intersect with another one. Once they do, we'll lose contact. Not to mention, the unexpressed axis will be broken, thus trapping you there."

"Right. Send the coordinates to my phone. I'll track it down."

"Alright, I'll see you in a moment, man. Good luck out there!"

With a beep, he pocketed his phone and checked the center console. Clicking his tongue, he sighed. "48 percent power and dropping rapidly. This thing was never designed to hold for more than 10 minutes."

Slamming the passenger door, his fingers ran through his short black hair and then his face. Upon his palms loudly slapping his pants, he trundled towards the portal, staring at his phone moments later.

"500 seconds." He muttered; however, several beeps followed and he glanced at it again. "Okay, thanks, Eric..."

Pocketing his phone, a dozen heavy breaths left his throat as he paced around. Though his breathing steadied, his pacing lengthened and slowed, remaining near the portal as his brown boots squeaked and crunched.

With one last breath, he sprinted and dove into the portal...