Level 200
rating: +164+x


Class 0

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It's been a while, hasn't it?

Level 200 is Home.

It was discovered on — ah, there's no point in doing this here. It's always been around, even if you just arrived.

Sit down, there's a lot to talk about.


Level 200 is the nicest little town you've ever come across. It's not too big, and it definitely doesn't stand out.

There's people here. People just like you and me. About 4,000. You'll know them all eventually. Every single one of them. They're nice enough to overlook that smell of burning rust in your ears, or the faint sound of the breaking of skin coming from the sky.

You've been traveling, haven't you? We can tell. You look exhausted. Clothes torn, barely fed, skin still on. It's not easy exploring these parts, isn't it?

Let's take a walk.

Bases, Outposts and Communities Friends and Family

There's old Joe Vee, still running that breakfast place, serving the same people, day-in and day-out. Been doing it for 60 years. Remember going there before school, on those days with a bleak blue sky and cold air that chapped your lips? You remember, right? That man poured his heart and soul into that food. It's his legacy. His flesh and blood.

He's been holding that soup bowl for 30 days. It's starting to fall apart.

There's the school. With enough time, it could be your school, just the way you remembered it. Remember that year you went to space camp in the science lab and you met Sarah Palmer? Remember how she dared you to go into the basement alone, and you did it because you were 10 and stupid, and she was the first girl you've ever noticed? Remember how dark and cold it was down there? Below, below, below. You remember. You were so happy to leave, to see sunlight again. To see Home again.

If you didn't know any better, you might have believed you were falling apart down there.

I wonder what Sarah Palmer is doing with herself now? You can find out, if you want. All you have to do is remember. Bring her with you.

There's rot here. Ignore it. It only grows when you notice it.

One more stop to make.

It's a house. You can tell it used to be beautiful and untouched. Now the paint chips and the walls have grown too thin. It's not a place that's taken shape yet. You can make it better. Please remember how it used to look. How your Mother would take you on walks around the neighborhood on summer afternoons, the pure and genuine joy that came with your birthday, how it felt to not think about living and dying or breaking into a million pieces. You remember.

There was a time when all of this was true, and you can help us bring it back. We're here for you.

The rot only grows when you're not around.

It grows in our homes, our businesses, and our bodies. We're getting old. This town needs new blood. We're getting so old, it's getting hard to keep ourselves in one piece. Don't look too hard at Ms. Garcia or she'll fall in two. She'll bisect down the middle.

Start building, molding. We're adaptable. We can be whatever you want, and we knew what you wanted from the second you set foot here. Keep that rot at bay. Just how you remember, whatever you want, all the time. You're in control here. All we need is for you to remember.

So stay with us.


Look behind you. Everyone's here.

Entrances And Exits:

Why would you care about that?

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