The Habitable Zone
Level 1 greeted Alan with the sterile hum of flickering neon lights and the scent of oil and rust. The warehouse-like expanse stretched endlessly, littered with forklifts frozen in time and catwalks leading into shadow. "At least it's not yellow hell", he thought, rubbing his still-tingling fists. The electricity beneath his skin pulsed faintly, a reminder of the blue stone's gift—or curse.
A glint of plastic caught his eye—another recorder, perched atop a stack of pallets. He hit play.
Leo Mercer's voice crackled through, annoyingly calm:
"Congrats, survivor. You've made it to Level 1—the 'Habitable Zone.' Still safe-ish, but remember: 'safe-ish' isn't zero percent."
Alan groaned. "Thanks for the trauma reminder."
Leo continued, listing horrors like a tour guide from hell: "Watch for Skin-Stealers—they'll wear your face like a coat. Partygoers? They'll drag you to a 'celebration' you won't leave. And Smilers… well, you'll know them when you stop screaming."
Alan's grip tightened on the recorder.
"Oh, and grab supply crates when you see them," Leo added. "Courtesy of the H.D.F."
"Could've put them somewhere less trip-worthy," Alan muttered, glaring at his bruised knees from the Level 0 chase.
The tape ended with directions to Level 2 : Pipe Dreams through an unlocked door leading to a tunnel of pipes. Alan pocketed the recorder and found a small manual tucked behind it. Flipping through, he paused at the Supply Crate Contents section:
- Almond water to heals minor wounds, restores sanity.
- Emergency axe or knife for standard issue.
- Some clothes for protection.
Alan frowned. "Wait, the strange blue stone wasn't mentioned? where is it comes from then?"
The unlocked door stood ajar, darkness pooling beyond it like ink. Alan hesitated.
"Pipe Dreams is through here," a voice rasped from the shadows.
Alan jerked back. "Who's there?"
"Just another survivor. Hurry—it's safer inside."
Something prickled at Alan's neck—instinct, maybe. But the voice sounded human. He took a step forward—
A hand yanked him backward, slamming the door shut with a bang. Alan stumbled, whirling to face his attacker: a figure in a gray hoodie and a cracked, blue sad-face mask and X mark on the right eye's mask.
"Are you trying to die?" the figure hissed. "Even facelings know not to trust dark hallways—" Then it froze, tilting its head. "…Are you human?"
Alan's blood turned to ice. "Not human. Not human. NOT HUMAN—"
The creature raised its hands. "Whoa! I don't bite. Just… really like fries." Its voice was oddly casual, like a barista explaining a latte. "Name's Handy. Well, 'Partypooper' to others, but that's rude."
Alan's fists crackled weakly. "Alan Woods. And if you're not human, what are you?"
Handy's mask somehow conveyed a shrug. "Partypooper. Neutral entity. Weird, but harmless." He leaned in. "And you're the first human I've seen in ten years."
"Ten years?" Alan choked. "But Leo Mercer's tapes—the H.D.F—"
"Gone. Well, mostly." Handy's voice dropped. "Ten years ago, the H.D.F announced they'd found a way home. Then—poof. Their central hub locked down. No humans left. We call it the 'Humanity Extinction Incident.'"
Alan's legs buckled. "No. No way."
"But!" Handy clapped. "The H.D.F still runs—just facelings and robots now. Supply crates? Us. Recorders? Us. Leo's voice? Definitely distributed by robots."
Alan's mind reeled. "A decade. A whole damn decade."
Handy's mask clicked as it perked up. "Wait. You said you absorbed a strange blue stone? From a supply crate?"
Alan nodded.
"Okay, buddy let me break down Rune Stones for ya. They're not just pretty rocks - they're bottled authority and they are rarely found in the Backrooms and it's not supposed to be in a random crate!" He counted on gloved fingers:
"Green means Strength Authority - lets you punch through concrete walls like tissue paper. Real 'Hulk smash' energy." His voice dropped to a mock-serious tone. "Also means you'll eat like a starving bear. Hope you like mystery meat from supply crates."
Alan's stomach growled involuntarily.
"Yellow's Speed Authority." Handy suddenly zipped around Alan in a blur, knocking his hoodie strings. "Whoops! That was me just talking about it. Actual users move so fast they sometimes forget to breathe. Heard there was a user choked on air - tragic."
Handy tapped Alan's chest where blue energy still pulsed faintly. "Red's Regeneration Authority. Broken bones fix themselves in minutes. Downside? You'll feel every second of it. Like your cells are throwing a rave without inviting you."
Then Handy's entire posture changed, his mask somehow appearing solemn. "But blue..."
"MAGIC AUTHORITY!" Handy screeched, shaking Alan by the shoulders. "Do you have any idea how rare that is? Blue stones are one-in-a-million drops! Due, you are really lucky even after got Cosmic lottery!"
Alan scowled. "'Cosmic lottery' my ass."
Handy jabbed a finger at him. "Magic Authority lets you tap into conceptual energy—fire, wind, even light if you're OP. But yours is electricity. it manifests based on who you are."
Alan tried summoning the power again. Nothing.
"First-time surges are always unstable," Handy said. "Train it, and you'll fry entities like a microwave burrito."
"What if I get more stones?" Alan asked.
"Oho! Greedy!" Handy poked Alan's chest. "Most humans combust after two. But you? No side effects? Maybe you could handle three. Or four."
A grin split Alan's face. "Superhuman. Hell yeah."
"Enough yapping," Handy said, dragging Alan toward a unlocked door. "Level 2's that way. And I know a shortcut."
As they moved, Alan's fingers sparked—just once. A promise.
Pipe Dreams awaited.