Y/N POV

"You're positive you've left the base?" the voice on the other line asked me.

"Affirmative. I'm about six miles ahead. Tracker will lead you right to me."

"Got it. Stay where you are."

"Yessir."

I put away the walkie-talkie and dared myself to poke one of the entities I had just killed. Walking into Level 2 was a mistake, but it was fun. To call it a death trap was a fact, though. I place a hand on my forehead, clutching it, while pondering my decisions.

The chief — John, as I like to call him — was going to be mad that I broke the guidelines, and I didn't want to be in the office with him anymore. I know he only yells at me because he's letting me keep my job, but still. Sitting in the waiting room made me have butterflies in my stomach, and I would do anything to keep myself from experiencing that.

I sit down at a nearby wall. If any more entities were coming, I would be ready. I was low on ammo, but I had a knife. That would probably help.

I let out a yawn, the fatigue finally catching up to me. Sleeping in Level 2 was a big no-no. But right now, I couldn't care less. Besides, I've been lucky once or twice before, and I was willing to bet my odds. Still, I didn't want to fall asleep.

Paranoid, I looked around. Aside from the pipes, there was nothing special.

Shaking my head vigorously, I rise to my feet and begin methodically checking my gear and supplies to maintain alertness. Extra ammo, flares, medkit — everything is running perilously low.

Pushing that nagging thought aside, I began pacing the narrow corridor, boots crunching on piles of debris and spent shell casings. Maybe if retrace my steps, I'll get out of here. Or the rescue team can find me easier.

Stumbling across another dead body, I brush aside a tattered poster tackled lazily on the wall. I blew away the grime to reveal the faded words "GAME NIGHT!" surrounded by cartoonish illustrations of tokens, playing cards and game pieces.

Did someone place this? This shouldn't be here.

Cautiously, I take one more look around the deserted hallway before reaching up and carefully pulling the frayed poster from the wall. I should probably hold on to this. Maybe I could sidetrack the chief by showing him it. It was better than nothing.

I collapse from exhaustion once more, putting my gun at my side.

Might as well rest. Just for a while.

***

My eyelids flutter open.

I didn't know what time it was anymore. There was a clock in the top right corner of the wall, but that was about it. The hallways smelt fairly nice — much like perfume — and dolls hung everywhere. And yes, I mean EVERYWHERE. They were on the ceilings, on the clocks, near the shelves, near the machines, everywhere. It was pretty weird to my liking, and, worst of all, downright creepy. So maybe I shouldn't have touched the Game Night poster and tried bringing it back for research. Maybe I should have gone on with my day.

But nope. I was curious. And that was my downfall.

The carpet, wallpaper, and blankets all seemed to be vying for my attention, each one screaming louder than the other. Despite the cacophony of patterns and colours, there was a strange sense of comfort in the room. It felt like a familiar place, even though I had never been there before.

I might as well make use of my time.

I made my way to the six doors on my left. After a few tries, I eventually gave up, my hands falling to my side.

So now I'm stuck. Great.

I fetch myself the radio. No response. Either this level messed with me, or I landed too hard on it.

I take another glance around the room. The checkered floor is dizzying, the shelves overflowing with games and sporting equipment of every variety. Two large black curtains loom at the far end, and a TV and stack of video games sit nearby. The kitchen through the opposite door is overwhelmingly pastel, every surface covered in bakeware and utensils pulled straight from a sugary sweet game world. The empty refrigerator seems to mock me.

I wonder if I...

I throw a punch to the refrigerator. Surprisingly, it doesn't budge. I gave it another push but to no avail.

I made my way into the newly changed hallways. The familiar "left, right, forward" directions were no longer present. Instead, the only instruction was a simple "forward." Yeah, it was weird, but it was the Backrooms. Everything's weird. Well then, I suppose I should activate the most common ability ever MEG member had: call for help.

"Hello?" I yelled.

No answer.

"Anybody here?"

Still no answer.

I sighed, knowing that I could only continue down. I grabbed my flashlight, and slapped my face a little to get ahold of myself — and to make sure this wasn't a dream, of course — before slowly walking down the hallway.

I was starting to doubt my senses as I reached an area where two divergent corridors stretched out before me. This was WAY too creepy. I took a step backwards, ready to run back to the light. But, surprise surprise! The exit was gone. At this point, I asked myself: didn't I just come from there?

Also, this is unfair! Oh, crap. That rhymes.

I groaned and continued forward.

Before long, up ahead, I finally spotted something new — a distant open archway, the checkered floor tiles beyond spilling into a much larger staging area. "Okay, if someone's in here-" I holster my gun, just in case, "-I would appreciate the help. Unless, of course, you're dangerous." I pore down the gaping hole in the centre. A staircase was leading downwards.

That is a LOT of steps.

I take another look around. "You know what?" I said to myself. "I might as well."

Despite appearing to take hours to descend, I had arrived down below in only a few minutes. I fished out my flashlight — it was worryingly dark — and began searching for a light switch. Sure enough, I found it not too far away. I flick the switch, blinded by a dozen lightbulbs. It was only after a few minutes that I found myself awestruck by the sheer enormity of the room I'd descended into.

"Oh! Finally!" a voice cried out from the red curtains in the opposite direction. It was a small jester (the size of a child), seemingly being guided clumsily by a long set of crimson strings from above. "Sorry I messed with you there, I wanted to see if you were brave enough."

She hopped down from the stage and waddled over.

"I'm sure you didn't mind though, right?" she asked, extending her wooden hand. I looked her up and down. "I-I'm sorry," I said, sliding a hand down my face, "are you an... Entity?"

"If that's what MEG calls me, yes."

"And your hands are made out of wood?"

"Yes?"

"And you're a child."

The jester's eye twitched. "I'll have you know that age hardly applies to most of us. Just because I'm short doesn't mean-"

"I know, I know. Sorry, I didn't- I didn't mean to offend you or call you a baby."

The creature's face contorted into an exaggerated pout as it crossed its spindly arms. Those unsettling strings controlling its movements twitched and jerked erratically.

"Well you're doing a piss-poor job of it, keeping that shoe stuffed in your mouth hole!" it snapped. "Okay, well, there's no need for the name-calling," I replied. "Look, I'm confused, okay? Last I checked, I was in Level 2 or something. Now I'm here," I explained. "My team's probably looking for me, and I don't wanna keep them waiting. I'm already in trouble."

The jester tilted her head. "D'aw, come on. It's not like this is gonna take any longer."

I opened my mouth to speak, only to close it and flip through the MEG handbook I had in my bag. It was more of a hobby for MEG personnel. "Just a moment," I said, holding up a finger. After several tense minutes, I snapped the handbook shut, shoving it back into their go-bag.

"Okay, so it says in the handbook you go by Entity 99," I told her. "And the level I'm in right now is 389, which I'm being told is called the Gaming Hall. That would explain all the arcade machines around here."

"And you're aware of who I am?"

"Yes."

"Aware of my past?"

"No."

"And who am I? The demented Chuck E. Cheese of interdimensional death traps?"

"No. You're the Game Master."

***

"So," said Johnston, "he's missing. He's wandered off MILES away from the base, still with the tracker on him, and he's missing."

Greg gulped. "Uh, yes sir."

"With a tracker on him."

"Yes sir."

Johnston pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exasperated sigh. "And you're just telling me this now? How long has he been off the radar?"

Greg shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Going on... Six hours, sir. His last check-in was right before the tracker showed him entering an uncharted area."

"Uncharted?" Johnston's tone became dangerously quiet. "You mean to tell me he wandered into unexplored Backrooms territory without authorization or backup? Why- why would he do that?"

"He's a violent person, sir. Maybe he wanted to take his anger out on some things." Greg couldn't meet the chief's eyes, instead focusing on a spot on the floor. "Should we send in a retrieval team?"

"Of course, we're getting a retrieval team! Why wouldn't we?" Johnston paused, letting the silence speak for him. "But first, I want you to try raising him again on all frequencies. And pull up the localized camera feeds from that sector. Maybe we can get some idea of what he's stumbled into this time. Knowing Y/N's penchant for wandering off the beaten path, he's probably gotten himself hip-deep in some kind of crazy nonsense." 

As Greg hurried to follow orders, Johnston allowed himself to grab his forehead.

"Like the time he started the food fight?" Greg asked finally.

"Greg, that is highly irrelevant, but yes."

On the monitors, grainy low-res footage began playing, the unmistakable sound of Y/N's voice echoing from the speakers. "Turn it up," Johnston ordered.

"I-I can't. This is the highest quality we can get."

"The level's distorting the camera view?"

"I think so."

Johnston carefully eyed the screen as Y/N began talking.

"... I'm in right now is 389, which I'm being told is called the Gaming Hall. That would explain all the arcade machines around here."

Johnston's eyes went wide as the strange, unnatural construct of wood and strings came into view on the feed. He turned an accusing glare on Greg.

"You didn't think to maybe mention Y/N has made contact with the Game Master? You know, the entity that proposes deranged games?"

Greg visibly wilted. "I.. Ah... The footage only just came through on the feed right now, sir. I didn't have a chance to-"

"Never mind," Johnston cut him off, jabbing a finger at the screen. "Alert the facility. If the audio isn't working, that means the Game Master's probably interfering with it. It doesn't usually do this. Send in a retrieval team."

"The entrance to Level 389?"

"Track one down."