The wooden door creaked open, returning him once more to the world of Level 0.
"Self-repair?"
Yang Tao stared at the wall he had hollowed out earlier, now restored to its original state.
"Doesn't this mean… infinite resources?"
If the Backrooms were truly infinite in such a sense, it could only be a blessing for him.
The damp carpet still exhaled its fetid stench.
"If only this place could refresh supplies as well…"
Compared to other layers, Level 0 was little more than a novice's village, a place where wanderers might quickly adapt to the strange logic of the Backrooms.Entities and monsters were scarce here.
Yet Level 0 was ill-suited for human habitation. By its nature, wanderers could never meet one another, and the space was nonlinear—there was no such thing as retracing one's steps. Once a path was taken, there was no return.
Running his hand along the yellowed wallpaper, Yang Tao whispered, "I recall that if one phases into the wall, it's possible to reach Level 1…"
His knowledge of the Backrooms was shallow, pieced together from the odd introduction he had once skimmed.
Placing his palm flat against the wall, he walked forward. All it would take was brushing against a "faulty" block, and he would be drawn into Level 1.
"Eleven thousand one hundred twenty-one… eleven thousand one hundred twenty-two… eleven thousand one hundred twenty-three…"
Suddenly, a pitch-black arm jutted from the wall and clamped around his wrist, pulling him with terrifying force into the surface itself.
His heart nearly burst from his throat.
-13
Scarlet numbers rose before his eyes, this time carved upon his own body.
"Damn it—I forgot about that bastard…"
Ordinarily, Level 0's only trickster was the Duller, a sly creature full of malice toward humans. Yet if discovered and confronted, it would simply flee.
The Duller sliced its arm through the wall, snaring prey from the other side and dragging them into its own chamber. Just as it had done with Yang Tao.
By the time he was pulled inside, a stone sword was already clenched in his hand.
The Duller resembled the Enderman more than the Wirewhip, save for its silence.Tall, gray, skeletal, faceless—its most striking feature, those two grotesquely long arms.
"You picked the wrong guy today!"
The sword smashed into its arm, and Yang Tao understood at once what "fragile bones" meant.
Crack.
The limb snapped, releasing its grip. Without a sound, the creature turned and bolted. Its movements were awkward, yet its speed uncanny. Within a heartbeat, it had vanished.
"Wasn't it said these things only attack wanderers with low sanity? Has my SAN dropped?"
A troubling thought indeed. Yet he had heard no whispers, seen no phantoms, and felt no sickness. His data-bound body, after all, lacked such functions.
(In this data-anchored state, Yang Tao could freely shift between physical and numeric, thus shattering the Duller's arm at will.)
To encounter both the Wirewhip and the Duller in Level 0 was beyond improbable—winning a lottery would hardly compare.
He glanced at his health, now dwindled to a meager seven points, and cursed under his breath. "Just my rotten luck."
"Next time I see one of you, I'll break your legs first."
Yet he felt no fear for his life.
Because… he could respawn.
On his first day here, he had already proven this truth. His death had been laughably simple: a fatal fall. After all, his crossing had not begun upon bedrock.
And so he pressed on.
The Duller had fled, and the odds of stumbling upon two entities in quick succession seemed slim. If it happened, well, he would swallow his words.
The static hum of the fluorescent lamps filled his ears. Turning a corner, he came upon a wooden door.
"..."
Unlike the crafted doors of Minecraft, this was nothing but an ordinary brown door. And yet here, in the Backrooms, its very presence marked it as anything but ordinary.
"Is my SAN truly bottoming out?"
He drew a stone axe from his pack, approaching with caution, eyes fixed upon the door. The Backrooms were notorious for such observational tricks—objects that persisted under one's gaze, only to vanish in a blink.
He grasped the metal handle. Relief washed over him.
"This door is real… Could it be the Manila Room?"
The Manila Room—a sealed, square chamber hidden within Level 0. Named for its beige, Manila-paper walls, it was the sole refuge where wanderers might meet, free of Level 0's isolating curse.
He pressed down the handle and stepped inside. Just as he suspected, it was indeed the Manila Room.
The space was modest, no larger than his own Overworld. Yet instead of mist, Manila-papered walls enclosed him.
Furnishings were sparse: a desk, a plain office chair, a single bulb above shedding reassuring light—though marred by the same incessant buzzing.
"No wanderers? Figures. Not many stumble into the Backrooms—it's hardly paradise."
Approaching the table, he found several folders stamped with the M.E.G. insignia: field guides on common entities and primers on key levels.
He flipped through, then tossed them back with disdain. "Less detailed than what I already know."
These were left for wanderers, replaced periodically by M.E.G. operatives. No stockpile awaited—anything here would eventually refresh.
Surveying the walls, his gaze caught on a patch subtly brighter than the rest beneath the fluorescent glow.
"Found it."
An error.
Reaching out, a strange pull seized him. In the next instant, his body plunged as though striking water.