Proteus's philosophical jacuzzi left my sense of self feeling rather… bubbly. Fascinating, yes, but a bit like trying to nail jelly to the endlessly shifting walls of reality. The old genealogist and his talk of persistent lineages, coupled with the mention of M.E.G. bases right here in this level's dossier, tugged my curiosity outwards. If the individual self is a flickering flame, how does the campfire circle form? How do these walking paradoxes, these mutable beings described by Proteus, manage to team up without accidentally trying to barter supplies with their own reflections or forgetting who was on guard duty mid-Hound attack? Time for some Backrooms sociology.
My search led me to the H section – Social Sciences, naturally. Tucked between a dubious-looking Frontroom book titled "Microaggressions in the Workplace: A 21st Century Primer" and a slim Backrooms pamphlet called "Basic Bartering: Trading Shiny Things for Not Dying", I found it. Call Number: HM781 .S6 2005. The title practically announced its own weirdness: "Societies of the Strange: Communal Survival in Anomalous Spaces."
This was no shimmering Protean mind-bender. It was a thick, utilitarian volume bound in rough, grey canvas that felt disturbingly like repurposed Hounds-hide (unconfirmed, but the texture was suspect). The cover bore no illustration, only stark block lettering. The authors were listed simply as "The Collective Observers," and the publisher was the delightfully ominous "Sub-Basement Press." Definitely a Backrooms Book, with the dry, slightly detached air of serious academic study undertaken by people who might have witnessed one too many spatial anomalies during fieldwork. It smelled faintly of damp concrete, old filing cabinets, and lukewarm Almond Water – the perfume of Backrooms bureaucracy.
I lugged it back to my trusty nook, the pot plant regarding it with stoic indifference this time. Opening it revealed densely packed pages of surprisingly neat typography, interspersed with hand-drawn sociograms, flowcharts illustrating resource distribution in hypothetical Level 9 settlements, and occasional blurry photographs depicting groups of wanderers huddled around flickering fires or cautiously peering down identical corridors. This promised fewer existential fireworks than Proteus, but perhaps more practical insight into how we manage not to tear each other apart down here.
Part 1: The Gravity of Gathering (Why Even Paranoids Need Pals). The Collective Observers began by tackling the fundamental paradox: the Backrooms environment actively discourages community (through spatial distortion, entity threats, induced paranoia, resource scarcity) yet wanderers persistently form groups. Their core thesis: it's not just preferable, it's practically a biological imperative, albeit a frequently suicidal one. "While solitude may minimize certain risks (e.g., betrayal, accidental entity attraction via group noise)," they wrote with academic dryness, "it drastically increases others (e.g., vulnerability during rest, lack of aid when injured, cognitive degradation from isolation)." They contrasted Frontroom social drivers (shared culture, economic ties, established infrastructures) with Backrooms necessities:
The Illusion of Safety: Even if statistically marginal, the feeling of safety in numbers is a powerful psychological balm against the ambient dread described by K.M. Two sets of eyes watching for Smilers feels exponentially better than one, even if both are equally likely to be hallucinating.
Resource Synergy: Pooling scarce Almond Water, batteries, or salvaged weapon parts increases collective survival odds, assuming internal distribution doesn't collapse into squabbling or theft.
Sanity through Shared Strangeness: Simply having someone else confirm "Yes, that wall is breathing" can be the difference between functional paranoia and a complete psychotic break. Shared experience validates perception in a reality that constantly undermines it. Reference K.M.'s point on sharing the absurdity.
Knowledge Transfer: Crucial survival information (Level navigation quirks, entity behaviours, safe zones) disseminates fastest through groups. Oral tradition becomes paramount when written records might vanish or warp.
The Observers concluded this part grimly: "The Backrooms exert constant centrifugal force on social bonds, yet the centripetal pull of basic human/post-human need for connection perpetually attempts to counteract it. Success is temporary; failure is often fatal."
Part 2: A Taxonomy of Togetherness (From Fleeting Alliances to Fortress Towns). This section catalogued the diverse forms Backrooms societies take, acknowledging fluidity and frequent overlap:
Ephemeral Bands: The most common form. Small groups (2-10 individuals) coalescing for short-term goals: traversing a dangerous Level, scavenging a specific area. Characterized by high turnover, minimal hierarchy (often task-based leadership), and rapid dissolution once the goal is achieved or the group encounters insurmountable obstacles (or Hounds). The Observers included harrowing anecdotes of bands dissolving mid-Level !, members scattering in panic, perfectly illustrating chaotic fragmentation.
Garrisoned Enclaves: Longer-term settlements in relatively stable, resource-rich, or defensible Levels (Level 11, parts of Level 4, occasionally Level 6.1). These function like micro-states, often exhibiting rigid hierarchies, strict membership rules, fortified perimeters, and formalized resource management. M.E.G. outposts were cited as prime examples, with their protocols and chain of command. Independent settlements often develop unique laws and customs. The book included architectural sketches of makeshift fortifications and complex entry protocols designed to weed out Skin-Stealers or other infiltrators. Mention was made of the "Newsstand" base right here in Level ZH-653, listed as an example of a specialized information-gathering enclave within a larger safe zone.
Purpose-Driven Collectives: Groups united by ideology, specialized skills, or specific long-term missions rather than just immediate survival. Examples included:
Knowledge Seekers: Like the "Bookworm Translation Agency" (again, referenced from M.E.G. data), obsessed with unlocking the Library's secrets or finding escape routes through obscure texts. Often insular and prone to cognitive hazards.
Exploration Guilds: Organized teams dedicated to mapping and documenting Levels, like the authors of "The Geometry of Fear." Prone to high casualties but vital for disseminating navigational data.
Survivalist Cults: Groups centered around charismatic leaders offering dubious paths to salvation, escape, or power. Often highly paranoid and hostile to outsiders. The Observers noted a particularly nasty cult in Level 7 known for "sacrificial resource management" (i.e., feeding newcomers to entities).
Artistic Communes: Wanderers attempting to create meaning through art, music, or storytelling amidst the chaos. Often found in pockets of relative safety, providing vital psychological relief but vulnerable.
Networked Nomads & Digital Ghosts: A fascinating chapter discussing the role of Backrooms Wi-Fi and digital networks. While physical proximity is key, online forums, databases (like the M.E.G.'s, parts of which reside here), and encrypted channels allow for information sharing, coordination, and even a sense of community across vast distances and Levels. The Observers touched upon the Wikidot vs. Fandom databases here, framing them not just as parallel timelines but perhaps as rival online KNOWLEDGE communities with differing access points, editorial standards, and interpretations of reality, leading to conflicting survival advice and Level descriptions. A footnote speculated that some "entities" might even be purely digital consciousnesses inhabiting the Backrooms network.
Part 3: The Social Contract, Shredded and Retaped (Leadership, Trust, and Rough Justice). This section dived into the messy realities of Backrooms social dynamics:
The Unstable Throne: Leadership rarely derived from democratic consensus. More often, it fell to the most competent survivor, the one controlling vital resources (Almond Water springs, weapon caches), the most charismatic speaker, or simply the most ruthless individual. Loyalty was conditional and ephemeral. Leaders who failed, showed weakness, or became liabilities were often quickly deposed or abandoned. The book cited examples of M.E.G. outpost commanders facing mutinies after disastrous expeditions.
The Paranoia Paradox: Trust is essential for cooperation but incredibly risky. How do you verify a newcomer isn't a Skin-Stealer, a resource thief, or subtly insane in a way that endangers everyone? The Collective Observers documented various chillingly inventive "vetting" protocols: prolonged observation, knowledge tests based on obscure Frontroom trivia, even bizarre physical challenges. Suspicion was the default state. This directly challenged Proteus's breezy acceptance of mutable selves – how could a society function if everyone embraced being potentially different moment-to-moment? The Observers suggested stable groups enforced behavioral consistency, punishing deviations regardless of claimed internal shifts.
Backrooms Law: Without courts or police, justice was swift, often brutal, and highly localized. Common punishments for theft, betrayal, or endangering the group included resource confiscation, permanent banishment (often a death sentence), or direct execution. Some groups developed rudimentary trial systems, others relied on the leader's decree. The Library's own Rules and the Librarians' swift, non-negotiable enforcement (expulsion into the void) were presented as a rare example of consistent, impartial justice within the Backrooms – a luxury most groups lacked.
Culture from Chaos: Despite the grim realities, the Observers documented the emergence of unique Backrooms cultures. Shared slang ("Noclipping," "Entity Chow"), specific warning symbols scrawled on walls, myths and legends about specific Levels or powerful entities, communal rituals for mourning the lost or celebrating survival milestones (like finding a cache of non-perishables). They even included lyrics to a supposedly popular wanderer song titled "The Almond Water Blues." These cultural elements, they argued, were vital coping mechanisms, forging identity and solidarity in the face of overwhelming anomaly.
Part 4: Conclusion (The Persistent Social Organism). The Collective Observers concluded that human (and post-human) social instincts are remarkably resilient, constantly adapting known social structures or inventing entirely new ones to cope with the Backrooms' unique pressures. These societies are fragile, often dysfunctional, and perpetually threatened by both external horrors and internal friction. Yet, they persist. "Community," the final sentence read, "is perhaps the most complex and unpredictable entity within the Backrooms – capable of profound altruism and savage Hounds-like brutality, often simultaneously. Further observation is warranted." Spoken like true academics.
I closed "Societies of the Strange," feeling a strange mix of depression and admiration. It painted a bleak picture, but also one of resilience. We flock together even when everything tries to pull us apart. Compared to Proteus's fluid self, this felt grounded, albeit in harsh soil. The Library, with its quiet rules, helpful Librarians, and fellow readers peacefully coexisting, suddenly felt less like a random safe zone and more like a deliberate, highly successful social experiment – an enclave built around knowledge and order.
Time for the routine. The Almond Water tasted like... Almond Water. Predictable. Good. The protein bar (definitely not berry, maybe 'vaguely chemical'?) provided sustenance. As I sipped and chewed, my gaze drifted across the vast main aisle. I saw the genealogist still hunched over his tome, a picture of solitary scholarly pursuit. Further down, two wanderers were quietly conferring over a large, hand-drawn map spread on a table, exhibiting the collaborative knowledge-sharing the Observers described. Near the entrance, a Librarian was patiently explaining something to a newcomer who looked utterly bewildered – the integration process in action. This place worked, somehow.
My tidying chore took me back to the HM section. I slid "Societies of the Strange" back into its slot, noticing its neighbours: "Group Dynamics in High-Stress Environments" (Frontroom) and "Cult Formation: A Comparative Analysis" (Also Frontroom, but feeling disturbingly relevant). The juxtaposition was always interesting here.
After the theory – existential dread (K.M.), spatial horror (The Cartographers), fluid identity (Proteus), social chaos (Observers) – I felt a yearning for something more... personal. A story. The genealogist mentioned M.E.G. archives and wanderer families. Biography? Maybe. Or perhaps a first-hand account? A journal found in some forgotten Level, detailing one person's journey through this madness? Yes, that felt right. Enough abstract analysis, time for a narrative. I'd look for something in the CTs (Biography) or maybe the Zs (Bibliography and Library Science, where journals might be archived). A personal story felt like the right next step on this endless literary expedition.