rating: +26+x


The moon rises.

Author: Sky3Sky3

I’ll be completely honest. I have no idea what I was thinking when writing this. Y’all asked for a coldpost though, so I gave you one.


When the Sun disappears, so does the light.


Class deadzone

  • {$one}
  • {$two}
  • No Exits


The concrete jungle loses its vibrancy when shrouded in complete darkness. Bustling streets and noisy commutes are replaced with empty sidewalks and cracked asphalt. Gloomy skies have eliminated the blue atmosphere. What once was a nexus for congregations in the Backrooms has transformed into a desolate wilderness, where life is absent for miles on end. Relaxing, warm temperatures have dropped to freezing levels, leaving frost on the windows and sharp ice crystals on the ground. Noxious dust and the smell of rotten flesh litters the air, inescapable even if one remains indoors. With the exception of a chilly breeze that occasionally ruffles the few leaves that linger, there is complete silence. This place used to be a sign of hope in a realm completely devoid of optimism—now it's yet another reminder of despair and isolation. Reminders of the city's past might slip through the cracks before disappearing completely.

The buildings are heavily corroded to the point of instability—broken bricks and concrete saturate the ground. Oppressive skyscrapers have crumbled, knocked over by centuries of deterioration and a strong gust of wind. The environment is permeated by a drab grey as the rubble morphs the city into a junkyard. Every couple minutes, a loud crash temporarily breaks the silence of the city—another building has fallen. Every once in a while, one might see a completely new building untouched by time out of the corner of their eye, only for it to vanish after mere moments. In this world, there is no safe shelter.

The asphalt is stained with dried-up blood, and corpses litter the ground. Some of them are of humans, while others are of entities, but their states of advanced decomposition have prevented us from identifying any specific individuals. They may be decades or even centuries old. Most of the bones are fractured, and the corpses with intact skin have numerous small scrapes. It's best not to stare at these bodies—they might start morphing into familiar faces.


There is no evidence of thriving life in this place, except for a couple foreign creatures and humans living their last days. However, soon enough, even they will join the pile of corpses on the ground.

Bases, Communities, and Outposts

Any groups of individuals that once resided in this city are now long gone, either missing or dead.


No one truly remembers how they stumbled upon this place. After living here for several centuries and witnessing this place's rise and fall, can you truly say, with utmost certainty, how you actually arrived here?


Your only escape is death.

Our last beacon of hope… all in ruins. We lost everything—our systems, our supplies, our Sun. What do we have left? Just dust and rubble. Everywhere. All of our joy gradually drained until we had nothing but hollow hearts.

A couple minutes ago, I saw a (male?) living being—couldn't tell if he was a wanderer or not, as his face was in his hands. Torn clothes, unkempt hair, soot-covered hands—the usual attire in this day and age, unfortunately. Kneeling next to a skeleton, he looked like he was grieving. I gave him a cold, blank stare for a couple seconds, then moved on with my business. Lucky him—he's not an emotionless husk… yet. Maybe, when I walk around this area next time, he'll be nothing but a corpse. Everyone dies anyway. The first couple of times you witness someone drop dead in front of you, your heart's racing and your thoughts are running wild. By the thousandth, it has lost its effect—you shrug it off as part of your everyday life.

A couple days ago, I witnessed the collapse of the last building on the block spanning "this" street and "the other" street. A residential apartment that used to be bustling with tired wanderers. Despite all this history, the destruction was nothing interesting, really. It's certainly the most eventful thing I've seen in the past few months—I'll give it that. However, for the most part, I just shrugged my shoulders and made a mental note to avoid that area for the next few weeks or so. Gotta wait until the dust settles before I can start walking there again. In a couple months, I'll probably forget that a building even used to stand there.

A couple years ago, I believed this place could be redeemed once more. I hoped the survivors could rebuild and start something new—we were still haunted occasionally by remnants of the past, and I naively took that as some sort of sign that we could restore Level 11 to its former glory. Of course, the ambitious ones dropped like flies. The pile of corpses just kept growing. Gradually, our rallying cries turned into quiet sobs. There was no hope left, and the spark would die just as quickly as it ignited.

There is nothing left here for us. This city is dead, and so are we.

We are not human. We do not live. We only walk endlessly in the night. We are wanderers.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License