14. PTSD: A Month Ago
A month ago, before Goinmul vanished from the Gallery, he said this to me.
The 'Level Records' he told me about ended up being a huge help. That's why I still remember Goinmul's words.
The moment I noclipped into the 101st floor, Goinmul's words flashed through my mind.
"…Ah."
PTSD hit me at the same time.
The smell of iron and sweat. Grease and dust. The mingled stench of old fabric and rotting wood.
A pungent, metallic tang like scraping iron bars—
Then the damp reek of wet socks and soaked sweat spiked up.
"Fuck…."
The sealed indoor space was choked with accumulated foulness rather than any cooling air, like an AC filter at its limit. Inside the neatly folded blankets was the exact body odor from a few months before discharge, layered unpleasantly thick.
"Shit…."
The locker and gear rack gave off a musty, dry-rag stink, while the gas mask case held the burnt-rubber scent like a stain.
All in all, memories of that shitty grunt life flooded back.
"…Fuck."
Everything was nostalgic yet repulsive. A space so toxic you could get sick just breathing.
"…This crosses the line."
A military barracks. This really crossed the line.
I rubbed my face, overwhelmed by the disgust.
"Wow, this is… ridiculous."
A military barracks. More precisely, the barracks room. An old-style one from before the buddy system, in a rundown old barracks building.
"Ah…."
Everything matched my memories perfectly. A silent space that seemed to swallow the day.
The floor I stood on split the bunks left and right like the Red Sea. Long rows of personal lockers, folding mats, and neatly folded blankets on the right and left.
Everything was exact. Towels hung in each cubby: sky blue, white, faded gray.
As if even the air existed to standardized specs. Just breathing made me feel suffocated, driven mad.
"Agh…."
Dried mud clung to the boots under the bunks. The floor beneath showed its distinctive checkered pattern, untouched by footprints.
I steadied my breathing.
"What a… vicious bastard."
Calm down. All this is just an illusion, not real.
I composed myself and recalled the from the Gallery.
[Level Records) How to Clear 101st Floor]
101st floor is easier than 102nd. Environment level 0.5. Inflicts mental damage on noclipped wanderers. Entities exist.
Symmetric spaces exist—find the differing object there.
You know find the differences? It's similar.
The one unique mismatch in the symmetric space is the entity. Find it, gather it, then use ■■ to smash it. The locked door in the center will open.
"■■ is probably… something like a fist."
I compared the right bunks to the left. At a glance, perfect symmetry.
Find the odd one out among these, smash it with ■■.
"Is that the door?"
I walked to the opposite side from where I stood. An old barracks door. Tried the handle—locked, as expected.
'Looks like a normal wooden door.'
Just in case, I swung the rapier down—didn't even scratch.
'Gotta complete the find the differences to open it.'
I took a sip of water, gnawed on the jerky from EatAndDie, and slowly observed the bunks.
My mind was uncomfortable, but this was one of the rare safe zones in the Backrooms—no threats.
"Huh."
It was right then.
"…Found it."
Didn't expect to find it this fast. So simple.
The third locker on the right faced the third on the left. Difference in the canteens on top.
One very worn, one less so.
I pulled the canteens from both lockers and checked the years.
One from 1950, one from 1980.
"6.25 War canteen for real…."
At that moment, the two canteens merged into one. A hologram popped up like gifts from fixed users, reality warping.
—Ziiing.
Always fascinating to watch.
"Now smash this and done."
Really simple. I set the canteen on the floor and stabbed with the rapier.
Clang! Tip glanced off, canteen bounced like a ball.
'This time… alignment, center—.'
Recalled Geomseong's thrust and stabbed again.
Penetrate— Clang! Glanced off again, rolled aside.
"Again."
This time with Insight. Focused senses, Insight activated, vision blurred around edges.
Focused on the canteen.
"……."
Suddenly felt deeply sick.
'What… the hell. A monster? Some lifeform?'
Thanks to Insight, inside was blurry but something pulsed like a heart. Peeled flesh interior—nausea just looking.
Ignore it. 'Alignment. Center….'
Steadied mind, thrust rapier.
'Penetrate.' Clang! Still glanced off.
Even Insight thrust fails? Incredibly tough canteen. Or different method.
I kicked it like a ball, rolled it. Punched it tentatively.
No change. Filthily tough.
"Gotta use ■■ to smash after all."
What the hell is ■■?
…Bonus floor? Means it's that easy, right?
"No way it's something super simple."
I gathered info from the Gallery. Nothing useful.
No friendly fixed users. Even usual Gallery stars like Scavenger and NoPension absent—no progress.
I snapped pics of the barracks, attached to the post with an explanation that it was a military dorm.
Floaters' reactions poured in like a storm upon seeing it.
I pondered their reactions, trying everything—barracks tools on the canteen, even same canteen on it. Still no break.
"Gonna lose it."
This space was a 'military dorm.' No joke, really going insane. Stay too long and I'd crack….
Right then.
My swordmaster Geomseong appeared.
What? ■■ ain't a tool like fist, but some trait?
Geomseong continued explaining. Mostly shadowed, but like 20 questions, piecing it together I got it.
I realized what ■■ was.
But can I learn it? Really?
I followed Geomseong's instructions to the letter. Modern body straight-up rejected his teachings. This works?
Plus floaters trash-talking every word—getting pissed.
Time for that feature. Requested whisper to Geomseong—Gallery's 1-on-1 chat.
Unexpected message popped with glow.
Geomseong is currently rejecting whispers.
Right, he had tons of grudges from Gallery. Makes sense he'd block whispers.
But with floaters harassing nonstop, 1-on-1 is best.
Doesn't even know whispers—how'd he block? Amazed at his Gallery skills, slowly explained.
Exactly one hour later. Gave up.