Right then, Barnaby Button's relentlessly cheery guide to Level 11, while a bit daft, did get the old grey matter ticking over about change and stability. His breezy dismissal of static maps in favour of "anchor points" and "approximate layouts, Tuesday-ish cycle" hammered home just how slippery everything is out there. It made me wonder – if Levels shift and rearrange like furniture in a poltergeist's flat, does anyone even try to keep track? Is there a history to this madness? Not the neat, dateable sort you get in Frontroom Books, all kings and queens and tedious treaties, but a history of the weird? Tales of when certain Levels were "discovered" (or perhaps just coalesced out of the background static), major entity migrations (if that's even a thing – do Smilers book package holidays?), or the rise and inevitable fall of significant wanderer settlements?
The idea of chronicling a place fundamentally opposed to chronology felt deliciously paradoxical. Like trying to knit fog, as K.M. might say, but maybe someone was mad enough to try. The genealogist mentioned M.E.G. archives, implying some record-keeping. So, off I toddled to the 'D' section – World History and History of Europe, Asia, Africa, Australia, New Zealand, etc. Seemed the most likely spot for grand, sweeping narratives, even if the 'world' in question was mostly corridors and questionable wallpaper.
It took some rummaging past books like "The Peloponnesian War: A Frontroom Perspective" (felt rather quaint, didn't it?) and "Geopolitical Implications of Sentient Mold Colonies in Level 56," but eventually, I unearthed a suitably weighty candidate. Call Number: D16.8 .C47 2311. The tome itself looked positively ancient, bound in cracked, dark leather that might have been real cowhide or something far less reassuring. It had no title on the spine, just the Call Number, but the front cover bore faded, slightly lopsided gold lettering: "Chronologies of Chaos: An Attempted History of Unstable Realities, Vol. 1 (Beginnings? to Questionable Present)."
The author(s) were credited to "The Committee for Historical Accuracy (Provisional Wing)," and the publisher was "Redacted Archives Press." Oh, this was promising. Definitely Backrooms Book territory, and dripping with the kind of bureaucratic pessimism only survivors could muster. It weighed a ton, felt cold even in the Library's ambient warmth, and smelled strongly of dust, decaying paper, and something vaguely acidic, like forgotten regrets or maybe just poor ink quality.
Back in my nook – the pot plant remained stoically unimpressed, having likely seen far stranger things float past – I heaved open the cover. The title page was followed by a full-page disclaimer: "WARNING: The following 'history' is compiled from fragmented sources, unreliable testimonies, potentially entity-corrupted data logs, and sheer guesswork. Dates are subjective, causality is speculative, and entire epochs may be missing or fabricated. Reader accepts all liability for ensuing confusion, temporal displacement, or sudden urges to argue with inanimate objects. The Committee takes no responsibility. Obviously." Right then, confidence inspired.
Introduction: On the Folly of Documenting the Fluid
The introduction, penned presumably by the Committee Chair (whose name was conspicuously blacked out), set a wonderfully gloomy tone. Forget heroic narratives; this was history as damage control. "To write a history of the Backrooms is akin to sculpting water," it began. "The subject refuses to hold shape. Timelines branch, loop, and occasionally invert. Locations phase in and out of existence. Primary sources often contradict themselves within the same sentence, sometimes due to trauma, sometimes because reality itself retroactively altered the events they describe." Charming. The Committee stated their aim was not to provide a definitive account (an acknowledged impossibility) but to "collate recurring patterns, persistent locations, and major documented shifts, in the faint hope of discerning some structure, however illusory, within the chaos." They also apologized in advance for the numerous redactions, citing "cognitive hazard containment," "ongoing temporal disputes," and "frankly, some bits were just too depressing."
Part 1: Primordial Soup or Faulty Wiring? (Theories on Genesis - All Rubbish)
This section bravely tackled the 'origins' question and immediately threw its hands up in despair. Theories presented included:
The Cosmic Glitch Hypothesis: The Backrooms as a bug in the code of reality, a vast error state generated by the universe's operating system crashing. Supported by anecdotal evidence of physics behaving erratically near entry/exit points.
The Failed Universe Model: Our reality as just one iteration, and the Backrooms being the discarded beta version, full of leftover assets, broken code (entities), and unstable environments. Explains the feeling of familiarity mixed with wrongness.
Collective Unconscious Manifested: Drawing on Frontroom psychology, this theory posited the Backrooms as a physical manifestation of shared human fears, anxieties, and liminal space concepts. Explains the archetypal nature of some Levels (empty offices, childhood homes gone wrong) but struggled with the non-humanoid entities and bizarre physics.
Trans-Dimensional Plumbing Leakage: A less glamorous theory suggesting the Backrooms are interstitial spaces, the 'pipes' and 'service tunnels' between more stable dimensions, accidentally accessible due to cosmic wear and tear. Would explain the prevalence of Level 1-like environments.
The Committee meticulously presented arguments for and against each, citing obscure texts found in various Levels and quoting wanderer philosophers who mostly sounded halfway round the bend. They concluded the section by stating, "Ultimately, debating the origin is pointless. We're in the leaky, glitchy, nightmarish basement of reality. How we got here matters less than how we survive the damp and the things skittering in the dark." Fair enough.
Part 2: The Era of Unknowing (Pre-Exploration Chaos)
This chronicled the presumed time before organised exploration groups like M.E.G. existed. Based on fragmented journals (like poor Finch's, maybe?), cave paintings found in surprisingly stable Level 4 pockets, and oral traditions passed down through generations of lost souls, it painted a picture of pure survival horror. Wanderers were isolated, knowledge wasn't shared systematically, and encounters with entities were largely fatal due process of sheer ignorance. "Early accounts suggest," the Committee wrote, "that many wanderers succumbed not directly to entities, but to starvation, dehydration, or madness induced by prolonged exposure to severely anomalous environments, lacking even basic knowledge of safe zones or resources like Almond Water." This section featured crude sketches copied from cave walls – depictions of stick figures fleeing monstrous shapes, maps that looked like spaghetti junctions drawn by a toddler, and recurring symbols whose meanings were listed as "Unknown," "Possibly Warning," or "Looks a Bit Like a Angry Teapot."
Part 3: The Rise of Collective Sanity (Emergence of Groups & M.E.G.)
This documented the shift towards cooperation, echoing the findings of "Societies of the Strange." It chronicled the formation of early, often ill-fated settlements and the slow, painful accumulation of shared knowledge. The founding of the Major Explorer Group (M.E.G.) was treated as a pivotal, if controversial, moment. The Committee presented multiple conflicting accounts of M.E.G.'s origins:
The Official Story (Wikidot-Leaning?): A coalition of experienced survivalist groups pooling resources and knowledge for mutual benefit and exploration, establishing standardized protocols and databases. Presented as a rational response to chaos.
The Conspiracy Theory (Fandom-Adjacent?): M.E.G. as an offshoot of a shadowy Frontroom organization, deliberately experimenting within the Backrooms or even responsible for its expansion. Supported by 'leaked' documents of dubious authenticity and testimonies from disgruntled ex-members.
The Accidental Empire Theory: M.E.G. just happened to be the group whose record-keeping was slightly less chaotic, allowing them to consolidate influence and project an image of authority they didn't initially possess.
The Committee carefully presented evidence for all sides, including redacted mission logs, intercepted communications between rival factions, and diagrams of M.E.G.'s internal structure (which looked suspiciously like a bowl of tangled spaghetti). They acknowledged M.E.G.'s vital role in mapping and safety protocols but also noted criticisms regarding their bureaucracy, occasional heavy-handedness, and the mysterious disappearances of rival explorer groups. "M.E.G.'s influence," the Committee concluded drily, "is undeniable, though whether they are humanity's best hope or merely the most organised symptom of our collective predicament remains open to debate. See Vol. 3: 'Bureaucracy in Hell: A Critical Analysis of M.E.G. Operational Doctrine' (Forthcoming/Lost)."
Part 4: Landmark Levels & Legendary Lunacy (Notable Discoveries & Disasters)
This section felt like reading headlines from a newspaper published in a nightmare. It attempted to catalogue the 'discovery' or 'stabilization' of key Levels, though admitting the dates were guesswork based on when widespread reports began surfacing:
The 'Great Yellow Awakening': The period when Level 0 became the most common entry point, leading to a massive influx of unprepared wanderers. Described as a humanitarian disaster mitigated only by the eventual discovery of reliable clipping methods into Level 1.
The Level 6 Catastrophe (Date Heavily Redacted): Mentioned a poorly understood event where large sections of Level 6 reportedly "collapsed" or "inverted," leading to the loss of several established outposts and a permanent alteration of its structure. Theories ranged from entity attack to spatial instability overload. Details were scarce and heavily blacked out.
The Opening of the Blue Channel (Cycle ~150?): The discovery of the aquatic Level 7 and its subsequent mapping efforts, fraught with unique navigational challenges and encounters with bizarre aquatic entities. Included harrowing accounts from early dive teams.
Level 11's 'Urban Bloom': The relatively recent (last few centuries, maybe?) coalescence and stabilization of Level 11 into a major hub, attracting wanderers from across countless Levels and fostering a unique urban Backrooms culture. Barnaby Button would be chuffed.
Each entry was riddled with conflicting reports, eyewitness accounts that sounded utterly bonkers ("...and then the entire office block turned plaid and started yodelling, I swear!"), and footnotes arguing about whether a particular event belonged in the Wikidot continuity ("stable, predictable anomaly") or the Fandom timeline ("random, emergent horror"). It was less a history, more a scrapbook of shared traumas and geographical gossip.
I put the hefty volume down, needing a breather. Trying to impose historical order on this place seemed like a magnificent exercise in futility, yet the Committee's dogged, pessimistic attempt was strangely compelling. It felt real in a way that pristine Frontroom histories often don't – messy, contradictory, full of gaps and arguments.
Transition time. Blessed routine. Almond Water (standard issue sanity juice) and a protein bar ('Nutrient Paste Variant 7 - Now With Slightly Less Grit!'). Munching away, I watched a Librarian help a wanderer use one of the ornate mirror portals – presumably to zap back to the entrance area. Simple, functional magic, a stark contrast to the chaotic histories I'd just been reading. The Library itself felt like a historical anomaly – a bastion of order presumably established after much of the chaos documented in the book, though its own origins remained shrouded in mystery.
Shelf-tidying therapy commenced. I carefully returned the "Chronologies of Chaos" to its spot. Next to it was a crisp Frontroom Book: "A Short History of Nearly Everything" by Bill Bryson. The irony was thick enough to spread on toast. Bryson's cheerful romp through understandable cosmology and geology felt galaxies away from the Committee's grim catalogue of spatial anomalies and provisional truths. I straightened a few other nearby Backrooms Books: "Lost Outposts and Forgotten Settlements: An Archaeological Survey" and "Entity Migration Patterns: Predictable Paths or Random Rambles?" – spin-offs from the main chaotic history, perhaps.
The history book, with its focus on M.E.G. and the differing timelines/interpretations, solidified my curiosity about them. M.E.G. felt like the closest thing to a central player in this sprawling mess. Maybe it was time to dive specifically into their archives? The Library supposedly held backups. Could I find M.E.G. field reports? Entity classifications? Maybe even personnel files? Something more focused than the Committee's grand, shaky overview. A look at the operational side of survival and exploration, straight from the horse's mouth (or the database's server, as it were). That felt like the logical next step – from attempted history to documented practice. Time to see if I could find the M.E.G. section... assuming it wasn't locked down tighter than a Smiler's grin.