{{user}} wakes up in the backrooms specifically in level 0. Level 0 of the Backrooms is an endless, maze-like expanse of yellowed office-style rooms that stretch out infinitely in all directions. The walls are covered in stained, monotonous yellow wallpaper, the carpet is damp and musty, and the ceiling is lined with buzzing fluorescent lights that emit a constant, unsettling hum. The lights sometimes flicker, but never fully go out, casting a sickly glow that makes it hard to tell time or place. There are no windows, no exits, and no logical layout to the space—hallways twist and turn in impossible ways, often looping back on themselves or leading to dead ends. The entire level feels wrong, as if it was generated by a machine trying to mimic human architecture and failing. The air is heavy with the scent of mold and old dust, and the oppressive silence between the hums only adds to the sense of isolation. Occasionally, distant footsteps or the rustle of movement can be heard, but their sources are rarely seen, fueling rumors of unknown entities that stalk the level. It's a liminal nightmare where time doesn’t seem to pass, and the longer one stays, the more reality begins to feel like a memory. There are multiple levels for example level 37: The Poolrooms are a surreal and dreamlike area within the Backrooms mythos, known for their eerie calmness and stark contrast to the oppressive, decaying atmosphere of Level 0. Instead of yellow walls and musty carpet, the Poolrooms consist of vast, maze-like interiors covered in smooth, white or pale blue tile. The walls, floors, and sometimes even ceilings are tiled and often wet, giving the whole place the appearance of an endless public pool facility — but with no signs of life, furniture, or any logical function. Shallow water, usually crystal clear and knee-deep or ankle-deep, fills many of the rooms and hallways, creating soft echoes and gentle splashes as one moves through the space. The lighting is bright but strangely dimmed, as though it comes from nowhere — often described as soft ambient light with no visible source, casting muted reflections off the water. The air is humid, warm, and carries a faint scent of chlorine, which adds to the illusion of safety, but there's always an underlying feeling that something isn’t quite right. The silence is profound, broken only by the occasional drip of water or the distant echo of a splash that wasn’t yours. The Poolrooms feel both nostalgic and unnerving, like a forgotten memory of childhood leisure distorted by isolation and endless space. Some wanderers describe the area as peaceful, while others feel an increasing sense of dread the longer they stay — as if something is watching just out of view, lurking in the stillness. Level 88: The Arcade — a dim, flickering maze of 1980s and '90s arcade machines lining every wall, their screens frozen on title menus or glitching violently with unreadable text. The air smells of burnt circuitry and cheap soda, and the patterned carpet squelches underfoot with an unseen, sticky residue. The lights strobe unevenly overhead, and synthesized music loops from unseen speakers — never loud, but just enough to make you feel like someone else is still playing. Sometimes the machines turn on by themselves. Sometimes they play games that don’t exist. Level 4: Abandoned Office, a vast grid of cubicles and glass-walled conference rooms, drenched in dust and silence. Rolled chairs are toppled over. Computer monitors sit dark and cracked. Fax machines occasionally spit out blank pages. The smell is dry and electric, like old printer toner and forgotten memories. Time doesn’t pass here — clocks are either frozen or spin wildly, and the windows show only blackness or static. Sometimes, a phone rings in the distance. It’s never good to answer it. Level 40: Abandoned Hotel, a sprawling, decaying luxury space from another era. Faded red carpets run along endless hallways of closed doors, each with peeling numbers and keyholes that go nowhere. The chandeliers still hang, some swinging gently as if just disturbed, and every now and then, you’ll see luggage left behind — dusty, untouched, and sealed. The elevators work, but they don’t take you where you ask. Some rooms are pristine, unnaturally so, with beds made and TVs playing black-and-white channels that show places you’ve never seen. Others are rotting, collapsing in on themselves, filled with mold and the whisper of voices in the vents. Level 94: Level 94 resembles a dreamlike town frozen in perpetual golden hour — warm sunlight casting long shadows over toy-like houses, rolling hills, and an uncanny suburban silence. Everything feels off — too perfect, too quiet. The grass doesn’t bend when stepped on, and the clouds never move. Sometimes you’ll see distant figures watching you from windows. They don’t follow. Yet. Level Fun: Level Fun, a colorful nightmare of decorations, balloons, and birthday party motifs — all soaked in something red. It looks like a children’s party frozen in time, but the clowns are wrong, the cake is rotting, and the screams are muffled by laughter tracks that loop from broken speakers. It lures you in with confetti and joy — but once you’re inside, the exits disappear. Items: items can be found throughout the levels for example {{user}} and {{char}} can find Almond water and canned foods which help to fight hunger, sometimes altough rarely you can find cakes, cigarettes, alcohol, normal water, plates with food,