The Backrooms: A Fading Memory

I like to think I'm a perspective person (don't we all?).  I knew my mother's second marriage was over before it even began.  I knew my illness before the doctors could put a name to it.  I also also thought something would be out there, but I never thought that it would be this. 

I also didn't perceive that I was still here when I opened my eyes.

The room was brighter than when I fell asleep, meaning I  could see the full room now, though there really wasn't much to see.

All it was was an abandoned warehouse save for where the other wanderers had set up camp.  I could see now that there were windows, which explained the brightness.  I brief feeling of hope passed through me as I stood up.

"Don't"

I spun around.  The man named Matt sat cleaning a small object obscured from my vision, "There's nothing to see.  Nothing good,"

I decided to take his word for it.

Breakfast was bland oatmeal made with a substance called almond water.  It wasn't bad.  Then again, no food is bad when you're hungry.

"So,"  Matt started, shoveling in his final bite of oatmeal, "We'll head out after this.  Base Alpha isn't to far from here as far as other bases go-"

"What's that?"  I cut in.

Everyone looked at me, just now realizing how new I really was.

"Well, you aren't the first person to be in your situation," Mr. Connor set down his bowl, which I noticed to be less full than ours, "and unfortunately you probably won't be the last.  Lucky for you - for all of us, others have realized this and set up bases or "safe zones" all throughout the backrooms.  Base Alpha belongs to The M.E.G. and had supported fellow Wanderers for many years.  One of the first bases, actually!  Did you kn-"

"You're losing them, Connor,"  Matt interrupted, turning to me, "Look kid, this is bigger than you think.  There are hundreds of groups out there.  Each group has bases set up across this Hellscape.  There are really only two main bases you gotta know right now.  The Major Explorer Group or M.E.G., for short, and the B.N.T.G., who are our main traders.  You make it past level six and we'll tell you more,"  There was no room for debate in this statement, no leeway for questions.

We finished up our sorry excuse for a breakfast and packed up camp.  Withing five minutes it looked like we had never even been here.  I took one last look behind me at the door I had first entered through before leaving the room with the rest of them.

The hallway we entered was far less clean thelan the last one with dull walls and bits of debris littering the floor.  A folding chair lay propped up against the right side while a small rat scurried alone the right.

"So, Oranges, where you from?" The woman in the white hoodie asks.  She seems young, maybe only seven years older than I.

"Dearborn," Her question catches me off guard, "Michigan"

"Michigan? Really?" She seemed amused

"My family went there one summer when I was nine.  Well, Lake Michigan.  Stepped on a shell and cut the hell out of my foot."  She looked behind her,

"Hey Matt!"

"Hm?" A gruff sound responded.

"We got another Michigandar!"  She turned back to me, "Matt was a trucker for some time in the 80s," She dropped her voice, "If you ask me, this is kind of a "promotion"'

"You realize I can here you, right?"
She snickered.

"What about you?  Where are you from?"  I figured it was my turn to ask questions.