⚠️ Content Warnings ⤴
Info
This page contains historical, artistic nudity and a mention of rape, which are mentioned only as reflections of historical practices done in the past. Read at one's own discretion.
A hub world for a dimension one above our own.
Originally written by DrBobtail, rewritten by Boring Talking! !_!
| Other pages by me | |
|---|---|
| Levels | Level 2 | Level 11 | Level 13 | Level 19 | Level 22 | Level 25 | Level 38 | Level 41 | Level 74 | Level 82 | Level 100 | Level 106 | Level 111 | Level 120 | Level 134 | Level 145 | Level 174 | Level 179 | Level 185 | Level 196 | Level 206 | Level 208 | Level 222 | Level 320 | Level 368 | Level 369 | Level 370 | Level 371 | Level 421 | Level 427 | Level 445 | Level 511 | Level 557 | Level 587 | Level 600 | Level 602 | Level 603 | Level 605 | Level 606 | Level 607 | Level 608 | Level 609 | Level 669 | Level 713 | Level 790 | Level 812 | Level 910 | Level 948 | Level 998 | Level 999 | Blue Channel | The Middlesorts | The Frontrooms | PA98 | |
| Entities | Entity 1* | Entity 40 | Hypothetical Creator | |
| Phenomena | Phenomenon 31 | |
| PoIs | The Travellers | |
| Objects | Object 22 | |
| Tales | A Late Letter to a Late Friend | Case Closed | J. Doe and His Night With Your Mom | Permission Overwritten | The War For Scene-01.1 | |
| The playground | Click me! | |
I did the thing I said I'd never do again. I went back and recorded the conversation we had, the first direct clash with my past I've had in a long time. I know curating this museum already puts me in the reflection of my history; I've constantly seen those faces in this museum, and I know I'll see them more, but to speak to one again…
The weirdest part is I knew it was coming; I'd lived it all before. I just had no idea what the weight of the conversation was back then. I'd give anything to be how I used to be again, but to do that, I'd have to suppress what I've learned. Knowledge burnt into my brain with a dimensional iron.
No. Those carefree days are behind me. Leo Castellos is who I am.
<Begin Recording at: 21:20>
Date: 05/10/11
Location: Castellos' Museum, second floor, north wing.
Participants: Leo Castellos, a "Traveller".
[The museum was quiet, it always was when The Capital had gone into slumber. The place had become reliant on the infinite city's people for traffic, especially at the turn of the 21st century. Often, it was just Leo alone, finding ways to fight fatigue.]
Leo Castellos: I figured I'd be using this one sooner… My memory is getting worse. I just have to keep it together another few decades.
[Muttering to himself, Leo Castellos was admiring a column of empty filing cabinets, the bottommost drawer unhooked from the frame and placed on a table to the left. He looked at the blank label on the dislodged cabinet, which was whited out with only an "N .E." legible under the correction fluid. He looked at the files surrounding the drawer, also all whited out, and sighed to himself.]
[After admiring the nothing for a long while, which felt like just a moment for Leo, he pivoted on his heel and left the wing into the balconied main centre of his museum. Though en route to his room, he immediately bumped into somebody.]
Traveller: Hey- Watch where you're going, young man.
[Leo jumped, suddenly greeted by an older gentleman dressed in a last-century suit, rectangle-rimmed glasses, and groomed but receding hair standing before him. He stammered, fixed his back straight, and moved his hands behind himself. The elderly man caught his confusion and matched it, pulling a face much similar to him.]
Traveller: What? What is it, hm?
[The man fixed his back straight and put his hands behind himself. The man's eyebrows rose as Leo's eyes widened, looking like he was on the verge of panicking when the man smirked cockily.]
Traveller: Ah, no… I see. You're the curator of this, ah, museum? Are you not? I recognise that very… modern hair from the brochure.
Leo Castellos: What? My hair? Both our hairs are gelled.
[Leo scowled, but fixed up his act when he saw the confusion painted on the elder's face. He cleared his throat and exhaled tensions away and smiled smoothly after.]
Leo Castellos: Yes… sorry. I'm the curator. My name's Leo Castellos.
Traveller: Leo, hm? That's Greek, you know. Latin for 'lion'.
Leo Castellos: Oh, I know. Latin's the language I grew up with. Long time ago now.
[Leo smiled, almost knowingly, as he watched the gears turn in the elderly man's head. He cleared his throat, shot a bewildered grin, and put his hands at his sides.]
Traveller: Oh, I hardly believe that… There are very few immortals in these realms. You don't strike me as one.
Leo Castellos: Looks… can be deceiving. I like to look contemporary, you'll get the hang of it.
[The elderly man's jaw loosened on its hinges, lowering in sync with his eyebrows. He looked genuinely lost for words.]
Leo Castellos: Anyways. Sorry for frightening you, sir. Can I help you? I don't get guests too often at this hour, but I'm more than happy to help if you need it. I can show you around?
Traveller: Oh, no, no, that won't be necessary… I'm just looking for something.
Leo Castellos: Are you sure you don't need my help with that? I know where everything is.
Traveller: I would rather find it myself. I'm… aware it will be in Level 222. In a very technical sort of way.
[Leo nodded to himself, pondering for a brief moment. He cleared his throat and moved his hands up in a pose, like a conductor ready to work with his choir.]
Leo Castellos: Describe it to me; it might be in storage.
[The elderly man scowled at Leo's words, stammering and putting his hands firmly and orderly onto his lapels, gripping them with a tight tug.]
Traveller: In storage?? I- Oh, It's… a dress. One from around, oh… the 1360s? 1366, specifically? Owned by Iris, the wife of Aelia, the—
Leo Castellos: Final queen of the Lost, I'm aware. I've met her.
Traveller: With your gelled hair?
Leo Castellos: Did you meet her with yours?
Traveller: I… don't know what you are insinuating, young man. But I don't like it.
Leo Castellos: You're immortal… I can recognise one quite easily. You… miss Iris, don't you? That's the curse of being immortal, everyone dies around you.
Traveller: I know that. I can guarantee I've been an immortal longer than you.
[Leo stifled a laugh, cutting it off fully when he saw the fierce scorn behind the lidded eyes on the man's lined face.]
Leo Castellos: Listen… who's lived longer isn't a competition. I knew Aelia and her wife once, a long time ago. I know how important the dress is, and that…
Traveller: I'd rather not be reminded of it. She died, I know. I was there.
Leo Castellos: Y…Yes. You were, weren't you?
[Leo Castellos studied the upset hiding behind his old face, witnessing brief flickers of paradoxically recent grief flash from the depths of his soul. Silently, he started to walk, leading the elder down a flight of stairs without a word being spoken. The old man used that chance to remask the passion that spilt out of him, gripping his lapels tight the entire time, with a brief break to hold the handrail and carefully take the stairs. They crossed the main central area, adorned with Lost and pre-Lost artefacts, and entered an exhibit of historical clothing.]
Traveller: Where do you… get these from, young man?
Leo Castellos: Oh, around.
[The elderly man grumbled at the non-answer Leo gave him but shifted his attitude from his disdain of the curator to his mourning of the dress in front of him. Hung on the wall was a dress, stuck on by practically invisible black pins which fanned the dress' long sleeves and modest collar. It was delicately posed with the arms out at the sides, with not a crease anywhere on its stunning blue silk that, once, clung close to the body of the woman who wore it.]
[Though naturally such an old thing could never be worn again, the stained blood and torn holes in the centre of each dried pool of blood made it utterly unwearable. There were four on the right of the stomach and one on the shoulder, and both the elderly man and Leo knew there were hidden ones at the back.]
Traveller: I see you've taken no effort to restore it.
Leo Castellos: And ruin the history imprinted on it? Her murder is historically very important.
Traveller: Most wouldn't think so.
Leo Castellos: Well, both of us do. I think we're both right.
Traveller: It wasn't just… The Lost's Monarchy had to go.
Leo Castellos: It was for the best. Democracy favours the needs of most people. Most of the time, anyways.
Traveller: Quite. I suppose I can be glad Iris' death didn't dissuade the Lost from repealing their choice. Those revolutionaries had her and Aelia at knifepoint to take the monarchy back, and they refused.
Leo Castellos: Yeah… for sure. They stood their ground.
Traveller: They died for it. Aelia was bedbound when she escaped. Died only four years later.
Leo Castellos: Mmmm… I've always wondered why they let Aelia live.
Traveller: Ah… Yes, yes… One of those mysteries, I suppose.
[The old man cleared his throat awkwardly, looking down at his shoes in some quiet, reflective contemplation. His gaze elsewhere, he missed Leo's gaze at the side of his head, a knowing, reflective glint within it. When the elder sharply craned his head back to position, Leo wiped the look from his face and looked forwards too.]
Traveller: Well. I've seen what I needed to see. From one immortal to another… I thank you. I'm glad her memory is being held up so long after the Blue Channel has moved on without her.
Leo Castellos: That's what museums are for, are they not? Feel free to stop by whenever you'd like.
[Leo grinned to himself as he watched the man turn away, seemingly ready to leave without so much as a goodbye. He strode across the length of the clothes gallery to its exit but turned to look back at Leo. A mixture of poor eyesight and the distance between them meant the man didn't see the small tear that had developed in Leo's eye.]
Traveller: This is… a mighty fine museum you have, my boy. I rather think I'll be back to see it again.
Leo Castellos: I believe you might be right… Um, just before you go… Level 222, what is that? You said it earlier.
Traveller: Oh, ignore an old man… Just me getting my names confused. And I rather think it's a bad idea for a museum to catalogue things in the wrong order.
Leo Castellos: Mmm. I see. Well, farewell.
[Leo gave a jutted lip and firm nod of farewell to the old gentleman, watching him once again turn and leave, this time for good and with his hands firmly on his lapels. When alone in the level he'd curated for centuries, Leo Castellos turned back to the strung-up dress and smiled a warm, melancholy smile.]
SURVIVAL DIFFICULTY:
Class Educational
- Safe & Secure
- Constant Friendly Presence
- Contained Threats
Level 222 is a small level, isolated from all others by conventional means and tucked into an insubstantial corner of the wider Backrooms multiverse. Once an art gallery owned by the Lost, it has spent centuries under the ownership of an immortal human and evolved into a flourishing museum.
Description
A room close to the centre of Level 222, displaying relics of Backrooms antiquity-era masonry and marble work. Much of which comes from ruined Lost settlements.
Regarded as a "domesticated level",1 Level 222 has been nurtured for over two thousand years for its specific educational and preservative purpose. It has a dedicated main area with three floors with special wings extending from each.
Despite being a relic in and of itself, Level 222 retains a strikingly modern appearance, assisted by its curator and owner. Through what has been interpreted as a deep understanding of Backrooms physics, Leo Castellos has been able to allow the level to evolve with the times in what is considered modern while keeping the priceless artefacts kept within its walls undamaged.
Due to being tamed, so to speak, there are none of the common migratory entities in Level 222 like Hounds, Deathmoths, and the like. The level is not entity repellent; allied Facelings and supposed Backrooms deities have been known to frequent the location, but through its domestication it is no longer a common entity hunting ground. That being said, the geometry is not free from Backrooms quirks like nonsensical2 geometry, skylights and windows looking out to a fake sky, infinite power and water, no external structure, and a gradually evolving appearance. Though the historical artefacts and exhibit locations move occasionally, these are actions done by the museum curator, Leo Castellos, and are not a Backrooms phenomenon.
The Centre
The balcony that encircles the centre of Level 222 on the first floor.
An 87 BCE carving of a "Confusion Devil"3 that was placed within the centre of Level 222 between June and July of 2019.
As early as the 1st century, a three-storey, circular chamber has been cultivated to be the centre of Level 222. Though there are other ways to reach the other floors or cross exhibit wings, as they occasionally intersect on their own, this room is the most reliable way of doing so. While there are historical artefacts within the central area, often pertaining to what exhibits are closest, the displayed objects are frequently rotated with others to give repeat visitors something new upon their arrival.
The same pamphlets and flyers used to enter Level 222 are aplenty in the central area, stacked in rows across shelves. Like they do across the Blue Channel, some advertise Level 222 as a broad location, and others promote exhibit spaces or, rarely, specific artefacts.
If not in his own chambers or working on museum curating/maintenance, Leo Castellos himself can frequently be found greeting guests as they enter the level. Though his public appearances have diminished in the current 21st-century golden age, as during the early 2000s his clientele were almost exclusively those from Level 11's capital, he still meets, greets, and points guests to which exhibits to investigate first.
Although not confirmed, it should be noted hereon that Level 222 demonstrates qualities of a passivity effect, much like what is seen in Level 11. Despite the high prices on black markets these artefacts would garner, coupled with the lack of security, no thefts or breakages have been recorded or witnessed in the museum's 2000+ years of operation.
Floor 1
The ground floor is dedicated to historical artefacts and learning history through primary sources and is the most used floor of the three by visitors. Although detailing every exhibit would defeat the point of Castellos' Museum as a whole, noteworthy exhibits showcasing interesting or minute fragments of the Backrooms' past have been listed below as a taster of what has been curated.
Floor 2
Unlike the unpredictable layout of the ground floor, the second storey of Leo Castellos' museum is distinctly separated into four separate wings, each fulfilling its own specific purpose. Though all but one are related to history in some way, they are not necessarily "exhibits".
Floor 3
The uniquely designed ceiling and skylight of Level 222's central area, taken from the top step into Leo Castellos' personal quarters.
The top floor of Castellos' Museum is important only to the curator, as it is his personal quarters. Though the staircase to access it is in the central plaza, there is a locked metal gate forbidding anyone from actually accessing the rooms beyond. Even private guided tours done with research organisations do not go to this floor or the stairs which lead to them. Leo likes his privacy.
It can be presumed there are basic amenities for living behind what is publicly seen, like a living room, bedroom, kitchen, perhaps a study, and maybe hundreds of unused ancillary quarters if the third floor has an expansive layout akin to the ones below it. As the level has spent centuries being "domesticated", however, this cannot be assumed outright. It is entirely possible the top floor has been shaped to have only the rooms required for a humble life.
There are rumours of him working on entity biology and sciences up in his personal quarters, but those have not been confirmed. The rumours mainly stem from biology, particularly Backrooms historical biology, being his favourite subject. This, coupled with the floor being so close yet wholly inaccessible, has allowed rumour and myth to spiral for hundreds of years.
Leo Castellos
An artistic photographic portrait of Leo Castellos created to fill the portfolio of an up-and-coming photography studio18 in the M.E.G.'s Base Alpha.
Leo Castellos himself is a curious mix of a publicly facing and enigmatic individual. His first history with the Backrooms is with the Lost, dating to some 442 BCE, and although he has never given a strict date of birth, it can be presumed he was born around 472 BCE. Described by himself as "being in [his] mid-30s", he became immortal through unknown but natural means, similar to other immortals or enigmatic beings like J. Doe.
Ironically, records are unclear about quite when Leo came into ownership of the museum, with there being no records and Leo's memory supposedly being hazy. After rising through the ranks of the Lost, providing insight and discoveries on entity biology and architecture, he was gifted a passive art gallery level to make his own some time in 380 BCE.19
It was around here that his interferences with the Lost, or indeed most other levels, diminished, and he became inseparable from his would-be museum. Artefacts were gathered, the level was progressively groomed into its current condition, and the rest is history. It is known in the early years of his isolation from the Lost that he was called to help by Thorfrid and subsequent leaders, all the way to Augustus,20 but eventually he was forgotten and practically exiled by the group centuries before the civil war of the late 12th and early 13th centuries. Under its new governmental leadership, he has been softly reinstated as a member of their people and sometimes lets his level act as a stage for Lost meetings.
Leo himself has described himself as a "less than interesting immortal", with others describing him as "relaxed", "chilled", and "scatter-brained, but well meaning". Indeed, without meaning to come off as hurtful, Leo has repeatedly shown to be exactly that. He seldom leaves Level 222, apart from occasional visits to the Capital, the G.P.D., and occasional antique collection across the Backrooms, and he has never once raised his voice or evicted rude guests. He is, however, known to lose track of his sentences and have a less-than-direct writing style.
Entrances And Exits
Curiously, and presumably because the level has been "domesticated", Level 222 does not have traditional entrances and exits. It is accessed only by utilising special flyers distributed by Leo across the Backrooms and is also exited the exact same way. One must simply unfurl the flyer and touch the map part with their finger,21 which will teleport them to the centre of the museum. When in the museum, tapping the map again will teleport oneself back home.
. . .
<Begin Recording at: 04:11>
Date: 01/06/16
Location: Level 222, first floor, the centre.
Participants: Leo Castellos.
[Though the day was young across many of the Backrooms' major communities, including Level 222, which would not see tourists for many more hours yet, Leo Castellos himself was up and active. Ever the light sleeper, he occupied his mind with needless maintenance of his establishment. Dusting, sweeping, hoovering, fussing over cobwebs that could never form, and restocking the kitchen were all tasks Leo was doing instead of resting. With a rather old brush of weathered wood and scratchy bristles, he was sweeping dust off the tiled floor, ready with cleaning fluid to rid the crevices of grime later.]
[Leo took a momentary break, resting the brush against an empty exhibit plinth. His free hands moved to the back of his hips, and he stretched his back while looking up at the distant skylight above him. He grinned to himself, ready for another day of the museum being open. As he worked his muscles, though, he seemed to notice something and stared down the eye of the camera.]
Leo Castellos: What the hell is… Oh! Did I forget to take down those cameras? Have they been rolling this whole time? It's been years…
[Leo Castellos pondered, looking back at his cleaning supplies. A ladder was among his ranks of tools, and though he took a twisting step to reach and use the thing, he stopped and shrugged carelessly.]
Leo Castellos: Oh, I'll do it later.
<Begin Recording at: 13:33>
Date: 29/05/21
Location: Level 222, first floor, the centre.
Participants: Leo Castellos, Melody Parker.
Leo Castellos: So, the M.E.G. finally want to update their page on my museum?
Melody Parker: Err, yes! Basically… Sorry, too. I know you handwrote the last version, but we're kinda cracking down on… How do I put it…
Leo Castellos: Badly written articles?
Melody Parker: I wouldn't be that mean about it.
Leo Castellos: Oh, don't worry about a thing. It wasn't my finest work. I gave up writing a decade ago, as it is. Feel free to poke anywhere you like… Apart from the third floor.
Melody Parker: Oh, wouldn't dream of it. Let's go… this way.
<Begin Recording at: 09:28>
Date: 03/03/38
Location: Level 222, first floor, the centre.
Participants: Leo Castellos, Maude Phelan.
Leo Castellos: So you said this is part of the… What was it?
Maude Phelan: Destinations Series. By the Blogrooms? I… thought I messaged you about it on the way here?
Leo Castellos: I… probably. Is there anywhere specific you wanted to see?
Maude Phelan: Anywhere and everywhere! This is less of a specific review and more of an… overall atmosphere of the place. That's what the Destinations Series is.
Leo Castellos: Right, right, right… Well, let's start with the Backrooms Tools exhibit and… work from there. Okay?
Maude Phelan: I'll go wherever you go!
<Begin Recording at: 07:11>
Date: 10/12/86
Location: Level 222, first floor, the centre.
Participants: Leo Castellos, Douglas Kenney.
Douglas Kenney: Oh, come on, Leo… It's just something for Christmas!
Leo Castellos: I don't care! I put up with the M.E.O.D. messing with my museum for long enough!
[Leo paused, looking down at his hands, and, seemingly immediately, snapped out of his rage. He stammered, rushing his right hand through the hair coated in now-dry and clumpy gel.]
Douglas Kenney: All we ask is to take a few seasonal exhibits to 13.1, that's all.
Leo Castellos: I don't trust you. I put up with you lot when you were nice—history didn't give me a choice, but I'm calling it quits here. I need to.
Douglas Kenney: Nice…? Leo, Leo Leo Leo Leo… What have we ever done to hurt you?
Leo Castellos: It's not me I'm talking about. I know more than you think I know. I know of how you zone your capital and what you do in Level 7, Self-Destruction Compulsion… I know all of it. Get out of my museum.
[Douglas' face blanched, drained out with a sigh from his unhinged mouth. He took a step back, his hand reaching over his back to grab a flyer with which to return home with. As his hand met the parchment, however, the shock subsided, and his gears turned.]
Douglas Kenney: Self-Destruction Compulsion? What's that?
[Leo Castellos stammered, glancing across Douglas' face and then, again, down at his hands, twisting his wrists to get a full image of them in his head. He muttered something under his breath, something neither the camera nor Douglas could hear.]
Leo Castellos: I-Ignore that. It's a really bad idea for you to do things in the wrong order. Just get out-
<Begin Recording at: 16:40>
Date: 30/08/03
Location: Level 222, first floor, near the centre within an exhibit space and the centre.
Participants: Leo Castellos, Flip Summerfield.
Leo Castellos: And… that concludes the tour! How was it?
Flip Summerfield: Good! Gosh, let me tell you, we really drew the short straw with pages pertaining to you during the bidding. All of our stuff is 80 years old or more.
Leo Castellos: Probably…! The, uh, liquidation sounds like it was hell.
Flip Summerfield: It was… But it had to happen! The M.E.O.D. couldn't stick around. It stopped being a democracy ages ago… It stopped favouring the people.
[Flip chuckled awkwardly, moving a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Her fingertips brushed a nearly decade-old scar that went over her eye, wincing not from the pain but from the weight it carried. Realising the vacant lot had gone quiet, she looked to Leo, who'd glanced away into space.]
Flip Summerfield: Leo…?
Leo Castellos: Hm? Oh! Sorry, you didn't say anything.
Flip Summerfield: R…right. Okay?
Leo Castellos: Yep… Well, uh, I imagine you want to go home! Tell the rest of your co-workers at the Independent Database I'm thankful you all have finally come back to visit and document. I wondered when you'd get around to it.
Flip Summerfield: We've… been here before? Do you not remember? I came here with Creevy and everyone to compare what we won in the bidding to how things are now.
Leo Castellos: …Oh. Uh, listen, I'm tired, you're tired, you go home. See you later.
[Flip gave Leo an odd look, but she silently nodded and turned to the empty shelf of flyers. She took out her rolled-up phone from her dungarees, shook it flat, and scanned a QR code on the wall. With the map of Level 222 on her digital device, she tapped it with her finger and vanished off home. Leo Castellos remained in the room, his gaze distant yet concerned. He brought his right hand up to his aimless sight, twisting it back and forth in his hand. "Now?" he mouthed, followed by a resentful sigh.]
<Begin Recording at: [ERROR]>
Date: 18/04/12
Location: level NULL, first Z%Aor, the ce/t3e.
Participants: Flip Summerfield.
Flip Summerfield: Leo! Help!
[With an unceremonAous thup, F]ip Summer0ield landed on her side on the tattered, misaligned linoleum tiles of the Castellos Museum. Almost retchi^O m* blo>d a0d prac.ically tearing at the irradiated burns on her skin; her pupils dilated when she registered the state of the museum. Glass shards from the eviscerated skylight were strewn across the floor, the walls were cracked and burning, and the plinths displaying relics were on their sides jXbr l[kP _lip herPelf. She sh~uted in pain as she tried to get up, both from the pain of the burns and her hands digging into glass.]
Flip Summerfield: Leo! I… Something's happened! The Backrooms, it all… Level 9 lit up in flames! It's gone!
[Tried though she did, she was unable to get onto her feet. She crawled forwards just a few paces, hoping to use the wall as a way to elevate herself to her burnt feet, but co^ed gnly qrag her bleeMAnJ bBdy acro<s the broken glass so much before giving up. She whimpered in pain, looking down at her tattered waitress clothing. The logo for Cast&llo/' `ikchen had completely burned off.]
Flip Summerfield: Not like this… I… what…?
[Despite the pain that wracked through her body, as lethal doses of radiation made havoc with her internal organs, she noticed a folded up piece of paper right where her head had landed. On the front it had her name written in felt tip pen. It was distinctly in Leo Castellos' handwriting. Though sBarting ,o bq5omR $elYr(ous, sXe reached forward and unfurled the paper to try and read.]
Flip Summerfield: "I'm… sorry. I-I had no idea it was you. I couldn't have known… The… cadaver in the abandoned museum. Looking back it… couldn't have been anyone else?" What…?
[Flip stammered, almost caught off-.uard by toe 52dten compulsihn ti vomit, which she was able to stifle. If not just for a little longer. She skimmed some parts of the note, recognising even as her brain failed the usual droning on and rambling style of Leo Castellos' speech imprinted into text.]
Flip Summerfield: "I know I'm all over the place, I used to be better, but I… wanted to say goodbye"…? Er- "I'm scared, and I don't have anyone to c-c-confide with. It… happens when I become like this, and I don't know what's… going to happen this time? I didn't know I'd be this man, but I'd… seen this man. Have I seen who I'll be next?" Get to a… a point, Leo…
[Flip struggled to read more, having to take a momentary pause as her vision swirled and darkened.]
Flip Summerfield: "I've taken what I could and gone somewhere I know won't be affected by what's… killed you." …Me…? He knew? "I couldn't tell a soul, especially not you. You won't know it, and neither will… I, but that's b-besides the point, but we're going to meet again. I was… bound. You're a… great friend."
[Flip groaned weakly, and with spots in her vision and agony close to the point of being numb, she tried to force her arms into motion. Though her elbows curled, the second pressure was put on her palms she shouted in pain and collapsed, this time rolling onto her side. The arm with the paper clasped within her hand lay outstretched ahead of her, and the lasj thkng \"ip saw [e3o%e ;n/uneUs 7as r5e covfusin( whin_ s~ip.]
<Begin Recording at: [ERROR]>
Date: 31/02/99
Location: level NULL.
Participants: "A Traveller".
[Life sign detected.]
[Level power depleted.]
[Backup power located.]
[Reinitialising audio-visual transcription at minimal capacity.]
[Disturbing under a century of isolation, a man appears in the centre of Level 222. He wears a three-centuries-old suit, rectangle-rimmed glasses, and has receding, grey, gelled hair. He looks around at the ivy and shrubbery and decay that have inhabited the museum in the absence of people. He looks upset. Distraught. His pupils are as thin as his hair, and looking down at his hands, he almost breaks at the sight of the fresh blood upon them and his coat.]
Traveller: I… No, no… No… You were small enough. I could have-
[He stops himself and takes a handkerchief from his lapel, wipes as much of the blood away as he can and discards the damp thing into the darkness of an exhibit hall. Trying to clear his head, he looks about again at the centre of the museum, taking in the serene abandonment. He looks to his feet, noticing the grime and blood upon his shoes. He jumps momentarily, spying a skeleton's hand outstretched on the ground to the right of him. Something black and lumpy sits in its hand, too rotted to know what. The rest of the body is wrapped tight in vines.]
Traveller: Well… How positively morbid. I suppose I picked the wrong… escape locale. But where have I ended up this time?
[The man ponders, seemingly taking any bait to ignore whatever was on his mind. He walked the exhibits, having to pull out a torch to see in the absence of power. He enters the historical clothing wing and stops rather quickly as he notices something in front of him.]
[Flanked on both sides on the closest wall by some 17th century shoes and a 10th century crown was an empty exhibit; the locks on the front of the glass that housed what was once inside were prised off long ago. At waist level was information printed on a plastic board, detailing the history of the 14th-century, blue silk dress that used to be hung by the pegs. On the right of the plastic was an image of the dress as it was displayed long ago, which was what caught the man's attention in the first place.]
Traveller: Well… look at that… Perhaps you were not quite so inconsequential as I had imagined, my dear… This… but where…
[The man looked about at the other dusty, vegetation-claimed glass boxes and tutted to himself, putting both his hands firmly on his lapels.]
Traveller: I… yes, yes… If you are remembered by somebody, I shall pay my respects where appropriate. I… can come back. Yes… I can come back.
[The man moved his tongue about in his mouth as plans brewed in his mind. When a decision was made, he gave a firm nod, turned the way he came, and returned to the centre. He looked down at the skeleton once more, realising it was the only corpse in the level he'd seen, and then vanished just as he had appeared—without the aid of a leaflet.]