88th Floor – Infinite Reflections
88. The number 88 symbolizes infinity in many forms of media. An endlessly overlapping ring, a symbol that loops back on itself. Even laying the digits down one by one turns it into the infinity symbol, ∞. True to its name, the 88th Floor was an infinite space, a labyrinth of cycles. The only difference was that the Backrooms' influence read my memories and repackaged the place accordingly. So when I read the from the Layer Record Book, I tensed up, wondering what version of the 88th Floor would appear before my eyes.
'Please. Anything but a military barracks like the 101st Floor.'
To sum up the 88th Floor left in the Layer Record Book: simple. The 88th Floor, originally a layer of extreme difficulty. But thanks to a written in blood, it had become easy to clear. Countless climbers had entered and met their ends, and their traces and blood had drastically lowered the difficulty. The environment level was even 0. Synchronization rate didn't rise here either. Just one entity. So if luck was on your side—if the packaging of this place was favorable—it was a spot where you could rest comfortably. A true healing zone.
That's why I'd come straight here without a break, scratching a lottery ticket in my mind. Even knowing full well that the method here would be disadvantageous for me.
"Fuck."
And the moment I confirmed the 88th Floor's environment before my eyes, I clenched my fist.
"Good."
For once, luck was on my side. No, this wasn't just luck—it was the fruit of my efforts, my prediction hitting the mark.
The Gallery automatically translates languages from other dimensions. So it occasionally causes these minor errors.
A few floaters seemed to be seeing facilities like this for the first time.
Apparently, some floater knew what a hotel was.
?
So the place I was in right now was a hotel room.
'A bit worn, but still.'
However, this was a place I'd never visited in person. The moment I read the 88th Floor, I formed one hypothesis.
The 101st Floor's military barracks. The 98th Floor's Recallers. The common thread in the trials those two layers created.
'The Backrooms always pulls out the strongest thing from my head.'
So the instant I stepped into the 88th Floor, I relentlessly pictured it in my mind.
Hotel. A hotel from a memory in some movie I'd seen once. After Grandma went missing and the family fell apart, a place I'd never been to but remembered from a movie someday.
I briefly considered my old one-room, but judged it not intense enough.
'It has to be intense no matter what.'
So I relentlessly recalled scenes from intense movies I'd seen where a hotel was the main stage.
And my prediction was spot on.
"Good."
The room wasn't that big. True to an old movie hotel room, it reeked of outdated vibes. The bookshelf held a few ancient hardcovers, and a lamp on the table bathed the room in light.
The important parts: the bed, and the fridge.
"Been forever. Is this fridge real?"
The sheets were faded but neatly made. Just having that alone satisfied me.
'Worn, but definitely a place to rest.'
No TV, unfortunately, but a proper flush toilet waited beyond the next door.
"Not bad at all."
I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Doors lined both sides, all identical. Curiosity piqued, I opened the one across from mine—another room identical to the one I'd been in.
"So these guest rooms cycle infinitely."
Everything matched my expectations. Except for one thing.
I went to the bathroom like in the movie, closed the door, and checked the mirror above the sink.
As I recalled the method, a thick male voice suddenly came from beyond the door.
"Where are you?"
The sound of the hallway door splintering, and the man started smashing the bathroom door too.
I quietly decided to watch that scene from the movie play out live.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
The man axed through the bathroom door and peeked his face through the splintered gap.
"There you are! Fresh meat!"
I cleaved his head with Crack Sword and muttered,
"Didn't expect a psycho too."
The movie I'd recalled was a famous horror flick.
The 88th Floor was simple. In this infinite space, find a mirror—then kill your reflection in it.
I checked the bathroom mirror above the sink. It looked ordinary. But this was no mirror—it was an entity called Replica.
An entity that copies your info perfectly while you're reflected in it.
Thus, the 88th Floor boiled down to: self-harm, then recover.
The mirror can only read the entity's info the instant it's reflected. So if a wanderer faces the mirror and wounds themselves, the being in the mirror wounds itself identically. The key: info doesn't copy when not reflected, so heal in that gap.
In other words, fooling the mirror is the core for the 88th Floor.
Problem was, I couldn't use that method.
'Fragment of Immortality.'
Even if I self-harmed while facing the mirror, then stepped away to heal, the mirror would copy my info perfectly and not die.
So I had to breakthrough the 88th Floor another way.
'Of course, I have a plan.'
I opened the Gallery. About to double-check info from Geomseong, when Floater#32 pinged me.
I replied instantly.
He must've been bored.
Comments exploded instantly.
No reason to refuse.
For most, the only way to clear this 88th Floor was self-harm. Stab your reflection in the mirror, then sneak a heal while the copy dies with you. But I couldn't. Thanks to the Fragment of Immortality, not just my body but the copy's wounds would auto-heal too.
At first, I considered repeatedly self-harming and healing while reflected, burning body energy. I could recover energy by secretly eating.
But with 50 million gold on the line, that wouldn't work.
'Using that would reveal my info.'
I planned to keep my body secrets from everyone. They tied directly to my survival.
I gripped Crack Sword properly and faced my reflection in the mirror.
'A mirror reflects form via light refraction.'
Light is fast, but the reflected image trails the original motion by a tiny fraction. The Replica copying the reflected entity's info lags far behind a real mirror.
'Then shatter the mirror.'
That was my one edge, my method.
Not with normal attacks—but with a sword. Not thrusting, but slashing.
Why slash over thrust?
'Mirrors are optimized for points.'
Light piercing a single point gets reflected instantly. Even if the mirror image lags, it overlaps perfectly at that point, clashing with my thrust.
'Plus, the Fragment of Immortality heals the wounded spot...'
Thrusting to break it was impossible.
But a 'slash' was different. Not a point, but a line slicing across. My slash would outpace the reflection's flow, severing the mirror's sync entirely.
'The key: completely slash away the Fragment of Immortality in the mirror.'
This 88th Floor came from Geomseong teaching me slashes and sharing her experience.
'Replicas are strong against points. But lines? They can't react.'
The slash principle she taught—overtaking and cutting the reflection's flow. Only I could breakthrough this layer with physical strikes instead of self-harm.
"...Before that."
I caught my breath and approached the fridge. Opening it revealed neatly packed food: sandwiches with a faint butter scent, cheese wrapped in wax paper, palm-sized cake slices. And in the corner, a glass bottle of black liquid.
'Cola.'
Grabbing the neck and popping the metal cap—hiss, foam burst out. I chugged it in one go.
The fizzy sweetness exploding on my tongue, the cool chill sliding down my throat. Tears welled up.
"Fuck... too damn good."
All this was an illusion. Couldn't auction these items or take them to the next layer.
But what my senses felt right now? No illusion.
For the first time in ages, I savored a proper rest.