M.E.G. DatabaseEntity 136: "Gazers"
Entity 136, colloquially referred to as “Gazers,” is an enigmatic species of parasite found within indoor levels of The Backrooms. Their gaze exudes profound discomfort, a feeling of being watched backed by radiant sorrow and looming dread. Their body is fleshy, with them infesting their environment with strewn, vine-like tendrils, referred to as “roots,” that pulsate and slowly scrape the floor as they grow and sprawl. Tangible evidence of Gazers used to be low, with them vanishing without a trace within seconds when attempting to capture them on tape or with a photo. Similarly, attempts to extract them used to usually end in failure, with them either disappearing upon not being looked at or dying when improperly removed from the wall.
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What makes Gazers stand out is their “base,” an unblinking, human eye rotated vertically that protrudes from the wall it lives in, spying on wanderers like a camera. The base has non-Newtonian attributes, meaning that the base is impenetrable to fast weapons, such as bullets from a gun or quick swings, and will instead bounce off the base. This means that in order to kill a Gazer, one must slowly, carefully, and glacially stab it with a sharp object—such as a needle, a rock, or a knife—seeing it squirm and writhe around in pain before spontaneously combusting, shooting out a weird, half-liquid substance useful in the making of durable concrete. Its roots don't detract; instead, they stay in place, allowing them to be harvested and used as food that's notably rich in vitamins, making up for its foul taste.
It's recommended to wear eye protection while killing a Gazer, as letting the substance infiltrate your eyes will cause your pupils to dilate, and hours later, undergo mitosis. While truthfully harmless, the condition does impair sight to some degree, with those suffering from it sharing reports of a vague, dimly lit bedroom that's purplish-blue in tint and has a window leading into what is assumed to be The Void being permanently burned into the corner of their eyesight, acting as more of a distraction rather than an actual issue. After the Tulpae Radiation Flash, Gazers would become
M.E.G. DatabaseDEFUNCT PHENOMENON: Vanishing Strike
Assumed to have become defunct as a result of the Tulpae Radiation Flash, Vanishing Strike was previously classified as Phenomenon 16, simply entailing a notably rare situation in which an attacking hostile entity—usually Smilers or Hounds—would dematerialize the instant after a strike on a wanderer. Whether or not a wanderer survived the attack seemed to be decided on a whim; many report deaths, while just as many report their friends and loved ones waking up right after, seemingly unaffected and with any potential wounds discarded. Survivors of the attack would all denote feeling like time was distorted, as if their small blip of unconsciousness lasted hours.
When I wake up I stare outside, looking into the stagnant, endless wheat field covered by the blooming, nonexistent sun that engulfs the surface in perpetual light and paints the sky cyan like a glued-on metallic plate, rusting from age, and with time becoming one with the machine it was glued to, patching a crack that didn't exist. The silence is my constant reminder that things would never be the same; it accompanied my disinterest in drawing, mimicking what I felt every time I tried painting, each drawing a blank canvas or a splotch of random lines that, in turn, mimicked me—never going anywhere or finding its place.
I tried looking into it and doing something like he told me, but ever since, I've really only felt worse. I can't sleep yet I'm always tired. I can't escape it because it results in nothing. I can't stop thinking about him because I have nothing else to do, and I feel like he was really the only thing keeping me up. He should've focused on himself. Actually, I don't know.
I don't really want this to be over either; I don't have much, but what I do have I'd like to keep. It's weird because I should just take it at this point, but I don't want to, and I don't think it's because I'm afraid of it but because I feel like I'm just being selfish. I feel like I'm the only person in the world, and once I die, everyone else fades away and dies with me. I don't want that.
I've been told I matter to the people for as long as I can remember, and even when I'm leeching off of everyone else, I can't help but feel responsible for them, even the people that I don't know. It's like a big family, right? Because I see ceremonies outside where people mourn the death of others who they've never even spoken to, and then right after those same people spitting on the rats who decided to be selfish and shoplift, and seeing them get their deserved punishment gives me a sense of community.
maybe I should go back to his house
A silent TV stands behind, splicing vague pictures of news onto the unlit walls in front, illuminating the dim bedroom in place of the outside’s sunlight that barely leaks in through the thin curtains. An 8-stringed guitar looms, showered in darkness, perched up against the wall; the islands of clothes give color to the utilitarian stone floor; the puzzles she never solved were left on the shelves, projecting their shadow onto the ground, as one made of glass always reflected back at her like a mirror.
She stared at the paper, enamored. It was refreshing for her to finally look back at something she had done and be intrigued by her own work; it didn't feel like she wrote it—it felt foreign, but the pen was in her hands.
She reread the note multiple times in enticement, restructuring the descriptions in her mind to sound better, more intentionally arranged, and proper, all while that last line she wrote on a whim irked her; it pulsated and called for her name. Every time she glanced at it, it felt like the lightly opened window she forgot to close months ago kept letting in potent wind, letting it infiltrate into her home, blowing through the curtains and filling the stagnant atmosphere with cool air. It was refreshing, and for the first time in months, her desolate brain sparked with motivation to try going forward and to leave her house for more than just the occasional medicine pickup. Like usual, she caved in to the first impulsive urge that flew through her mind, but for the first time, it felt like this urge was what she was meant to do, as though playing by it would finally bring her back on course.
As she put the note in a drawer for later, she opened her window, letting herself be blinded by the light outside, burning a subtle, short afterimage of the fields and houses in her vision, welcoming her next simple journey. She began walking out of her bedroom and into the living room, seeing disorganized messes that made it look like she was a hoarder in a meth house, yet she was used to it—that disorganization was somewhat peaceful and calming for her; nevertheless, she planned to get it together later.
Opening the door, she swiftly remembers that she's still rocking pajamas and she's planning to go outside, so she quickly slams the door and switches up her attire with probably the most barebones fit known to man—grey boots, some jeans, and a t-shirt embroidered with her favorite band's logo on it, incredibly messy hair—and now she's actually ready to get back to business.
As the door is opened once again, the outside's warmth envelops her whole, giving her a tight hug. It was refreshing for her mind, and as she began mindlessly walking and pacing in circles in front of the door, she could feel her brain calm down and concentrate. The outside was active: bike tires strolling through the concrete, the sounds of wind blowing through trees and patches of wheat in little pockets between the roads and houses, the sight of the Nexusian flag waving on porches, the people quickly going to close their doors, and the posters dotted around the street all meshed together to give her refuge, all overstimulating her after being used to the near-silent dead hours where most were asleep.
Pulling out her pocket terminal, she closed the door and began gathering the directions to his house and back, just in case; it's been a while, and she's quite forgetful. She planned to walk on foot, as it was much-needed exercise for her legs that barely leveraged their height to get anywhere far, with those clinics and stores being just a few houses away from hers—she never counted, but it was at least in the single digits.
Trotting through the neighborhood, farther than where she had gone before in ages, felt interesting; seeing the new things in town and how much they've improved and changed made her reflect back to how it looked when she took daily commutes to school. It was more primitive and simple, less organized and more chaotic. As she went on further down the street, she was too fixated to see everyone going back in their homes and locking the doors. People tried tapping her shoulder to tell her something, but she always got internally pissed and reacted by quickly going away in fear. People told her to get back home, but she never thought they were talking about her; the streets became more and more vacant, as if it were the dead hours again. She ignored all of it and kept going, not out of lucidity, but out of not letting herself feel powerless.
The wind blew harder as she arrived at his house. It was vacant, and she could see it was dim inside through the window’s curtains; no one was assigned to his house yet. She opened the door and walked inside, turning on the lights and closing the door so no one else could come in. It was nostalgic; she had not seen his house in forever. It was like the wind was breathing on her; it was like the furniture was made out of mirrors—it wasn't reflective, but it felt like it was looking back at her—it was both comforting and distressing, and her drowsy mind abruptly lapsed with tiredness. It was like her insomnia hit her all at once, striking her mind and then swiftly reinstating itself to what it was before. It felt like she could hear something slightly tap the floor in a slow, patient rhythm.
Out of curiosity, she opened the door to his bedroom, and as the light from the light room pierced through the darkness, with windows blockaded by blocks of wood, she saw old items; ornaments, puzzles, a necklace or two, even her old plushie of a little cartoon she liked that she gave him as a gift when they were younger; it was something about this glitchy “thing” from The Broken that was sent to the Backrooms by a corrupt leader to collect data on people without it knowing, then using it to torment the people, only for it to fight back and banish the leader, sacrificing itself for the greater good—the show was called “Ентропиа,” she remembered—she always adored the designs of the protagonist in it, it was kind of unsettling but it was cute, and she resonated with it a bit at the time.
She stared at the plushie for a bit before taking it in her hands as the strings that attached the floating arms and legs bounced around like a Slinky.
She buried the small thing in her chest, embracing it, and closed her eyes.
Lifeforms beyond.
ENTITY
136
PRESENCE
Commensal
INTELLIGENCE
Unknown
CAPABILITY
Unknown
TEMPERAMENT
Unknown
On November 6th, 3 ERC operatives—one higher up and the rest new recruits—managed to relocate a Gazer from Level 1 to an ERC base on Level 4. The prior 4 attempts resulted in failure, as the Gazer would either vanish in the hands of operatives or combust during extraction, presumably of malnutrition.
Upon arrival, the entity was contained within a small, specially prepared room equipped with a constantly recording camera that ensured it wouldn't disappear as the previous capture had done before. It was given time to fester, letting its “roots” grow out and almost completely cover the cell.
One day, it spoke.
She felt the plushie's grasp weaken as her back was hit with a sharp pain that dissipated as quickly as it came. The environment was clammy and humid, the breeze was like-minded, she could feel her feet standing on a soft mattress, and she could feel her closed eyes being infiltrated by a light, purplish-blue hue; she could hear water grasping onto rocks, and she could hear a heavy metallic thunk splash through it, as a rhythmic clanking followed and soon faded. A soft voice spoke out to break nature's ambience, yet those words were mangled—she didn't understand what was being said.
Her eyes adjusted to the contrasting bright light that broke the cold darkness of the rest of the room—this place was unrecognizable, the sounds were foreign, the pastel lights amidst the gloomy atmosphere, and the brilliant colors of the sky that were broken up by clouds slowly migrating to nowhere all looked like things she had only seen painted and never in reality; it seemed too real to be a drawing.
Abruptly, before she could collect her thoughts, the window's view changed to that of flesh; it contorted and moved like an illusion, hurting her eyes with too much focus; it sounded mushy and slimy, almost as if the flesh was alive and parading in a sea of itself at a snail’s pace, and it bloomed a light that tore the room's natural tint, blending it with crimson, blood red. She could recognize it.
The flesh slowly cut itself in half like a theater curtain, unveiling the show from the other side; the bright orange of the office walls glimmered through the cracks, the red cross affixed to the wall glowed, and the room was populated by a smell of tea and the distant sounds of muffled speech.
Her little voice echoed through the window.
“So what are we doing with this thing exactly?” Ambrozy stated while looking through the window with its “roots” strewn across the pane.
“Honestly, I don't know either,” Aydin said, giving out a light laugh while sitting down on a chair placed behind her with his legs crossed: “It's just like, we stand here for a while and hope it does something or whatever.”
“You’re meant to be my instructor, genius,” she said, puzzled, looking back at him.
“Sure, but like it doesn't mean I know anything, does it? I'm just here for the food; honestly, it's good. Have you tried it?”
“Don't you care about this?”
“No?”
“Why are you here then?”
He paused for a bit in pure shock at how stupid that question was: “Do you not have a functioning memory or, like, some kind of way to piece things together through context?”
She flips him off quickly and goes back to staring through the window. The roots seem to be pulsating, almost as if the entity heard and enjoyed the short argument.
“I mean the food’s good, but Jesus Christ, you're sad.”
“Sorry that I'm not a workaholic with a superiority complex, I guess?”
Ambrozy managed to keep her calm, letting herself not lash out in any drastic way, staying silent, and simply concentrating on the Gazer, whose roots began thrashing the floor in a rhythm shortly after, the sound barely making it through the walls.
Aydin looked up from the chair upon hearing the sounds: “What the fuck is it doing?”
She held her breath in frustration, swallowing the words she was about to say, before requesting something much more appropriate: “Give me a spectrum analyzer.”
“Alrighty.” He said, standing up and walking into a small storage room right beside them to gather the proper equipment.
She remembers this place; she can pinpoint exactly where, too. What is it doing here? Why can she help herself? It was a second perspective—it depicted an almost camera-like lens of when she was a child, when she was still roaming with glee and curiosity around the orange offices. Her child-self looked directly through the window, but there was nothing there, right? She doesn't remember anything being there; it was just a wall she glanced at for a moment, but apparently not?
I cascade into nothing, leaving only a resonance in my wake. And then I ask what it means to be in this place. Am I truly here to just be left to rot and act “brave”?
The window again changed like a TV channel, cutting straight from static back to an outside view of her lying in her bed, looking through the window while distressed and clueless of what to do. She could feel the same thing like before; she could see nothing but her head peeking through, yet she remembered the smell of the room and the clothes she wore. She remembered that overbearing, potent feeling of aimlessness that overwhelmed her whole being and how her mind went blank. She could remember how it felt like every nerve in her body was being torn apart as she could only sit there with a demanding pressure on her chest that felt like it was crushing her ribcage, yet a crushing sensation that always loomed around and never finalized.
A pungent migraine shot through the side of her head, pointing towards the singular door behind her sitting at the side of the bed like a compass. Her eyes fixated, with her smile widening despite her body shriveling, but that burden still remained, that weight was still tearing her apart and telling her to get a hold of herself. That exit shined red, it shined blue, it glimmered, it whispered, it bloomed, it fought, it felt right, but it didn't feel right.
Her body huddled up against the pillow, she looked down and teared up. She let her eyes crack her skull, she let the chalk scraping the whiteboard engulf her ears, and she teared up in tandem with herself. She could feel the tears droop on her leg.
She hoped for something to l et her out.
Aydin brought in a spectrum analyzer and a bit more equipment, connecting it up to the generator and turning it on.
“Why do you need this?”
“If you're going to be a useless fatass, then just sit back on that chair and let me do my job.”
“Alright then.”
“Anyways, it's probably Morse code or something.”
“Sure.”
Ambrozy started looking through the frequencies; the entity stopped tapping, instead pulsing aggressively like a heart overloaded with blood, and, in tandem, the analyzer picked up frequencies that seemed to form contorted, wide, cut-off letters.
As she paused the analyzer and stretched down the spectrogram, they could see words in English begin to emerge in negative space.
They both clapped.
As she looked back in confusion, she could hear it pulsating again in rounds, each round unveiling a new message.
Silence permeated the operating room.
“Okay.” She paused, both in excitement and pure bewilderment: “What are you?”
“Write this down, you idiot,” she said under her breath before looking back and seeing that he already had a clipboard in hand: “Good, you're not useless after all.”
“Which is?” She looks back at the entity.
The view warp ed again with his house in sight. Back when he told her that it was all fine and back when he was smiling and happy and back when he was still here. She didn't see it yet but it clicked and made sense, she could hear the calls and the worries and the guilt. It turned back again to her in her bed, it went back to the same scene and mocked her an d the crying was louder, the tears were sharper, they felt like needles on her skin that opened wounds rubbed by rusty metal.
Do I wish to keep going or ache for more beyond what I've seen with my eyes, look for more beyond what we've seen in my time, or stand there and sit still as I let myself degrade,
She didn't dare look as she cried, she couldn't dare look as her distorted yelling from the view crushed her skull, she could feel reality fracture in the moment she could feel it all fall down and break, she coul d feel her losing gri p and losing control, her arms felt st off, she felt like there was something puppeting her minute movements, it felt like her blood wa s crashing at the sides of her arm and thra sh ing and pu mm elling her bones. But the rest ! the burden, the ala rms the sounds the afterimage of that scene the after im age of that s cene the afterimage of the cre akin g and chair an d the t he after ima g e the fl ippe d ov er c hairthe opened w ind ow the window afteri m a g e I ca n t f ee l t he a ft e r i m a ge
“What?”
“I’m calling backup. This fucker is going to kill us both.”
“Do it in the storage room then and give me the clipboard.”
“Okay?”
“Also give me the water before you dial them!”
As Aydin enters the storage room, he picks up multiple packs of almond water and quickly hands them to her alongside the clipboard, locking the door to it shortly after.
She quickly jots down the response.
“I'll do it, don't worry.”
Powerwalking through the operating room, she takes the protective suit and puts it on, carrying the disheveled packs of water in her hands.
As she opens the door to the cell, she sees the roots retract, giving her way to step in. She quickly shuts the door in case it was a trap.
T hen i s aw t h e f ace I s aw the r az or why di d he do th a t w h y d id I do t ha t wh y d i d i le t hi m do t h ? at wh y di d i le t hi m d o th at b ut t he ot he r s w hy do th e y ca r e for me ? w h at g o od hav e i d one ? I d on t w a nt to f igh t it a ny ? more I c an t fi gh t it ? ?? im dr ow ning I do nt ca re an y m o re I cant
I can't
anymore
I c a n 't an ym or e
I c a nt wa g e wa r an y lo n g er
I c an t s ee a n y thi n g in m y m in d
As they parted like the Red Sea, she came up close to the bulbous mass; it prepared itself. It shifted its base to act as a bowl to catch the water during the cleanse, and so, it was ready to be drowned.
let nature lie on the ground and prod at my withering skull, to batter and crack its inner dull,
She could hear water thrash through the door she could hear water try to break in and envelop it whole as eldritch screams engulfed the room they broke apart the silent pain they broke apart the door it flooded the room it flooded it drowned her the room the window burst with water the water tasted sugary and sweet to tasted like relief her tears and rivers of tears melded in with one and she could feel herself drowning under the weight of the sea she could feel and hear she could see she could break apart and tear she could hear voices she could hear them telling her to wake up and trying to prod at her she could hear voices trying to soothe her the water drowned her mind as a headache enveloped her whole the bed dissolved the walls retracted the floor dissolved the water consumed it all and all she could see in the end was an endless sea an endless sea of darkness all water nothing else surrounded by an abyss all darkness all
The unleashing of such energy suggests a creature had manifested—one woven together by human thought—yet no such creature has been found, the only evidence being the capture of mangled, loud sounds in outdoor levels ever since the flash, each instance bearing a striking similarity to the aforementioned auditory hallucinations.
to unleash and bequeath the arrows in my mind, to shoot them and go through them aimlessly on a path, fire aligned?
As she regained consciousness, a throbbing headache consumed her in tandem with a piercing pain in her back and chest, yet she wasn't injured; her mouth and lungs were filled with water, yet she hadn't drunk anything. Her hands felt weak and her chest tight—really tight. She was shaking uncontrollably. It took her a bit to relearn how to breathe. Her senses were overwhelmed and overstimulated. Her overstimulation made her light-headed.
She recuperated herself from the ground, barely being able to get back up all while fighting to keep standing on her shaking legs. She noticed she was still holding onto the plushie, hugging it deeply and softly, bringing her comfort in whatever just happened—she couldn't care to try finding a reason; it just happened, it just kind of did, there's not much point in worrying, I think. There's not much point in being curious if you can't describe what just happened. Maybe it's a dream—who are we kidding, she doesn't have those—maybe it's just a thing that happens sometimes, like everything else.
Am I truly here just to be reminded that nothing can be done by lonesome to embrace and erase the despondent patterns in my brain?
As she slowly made her way outside, the sun burned her once again; only a minute had passed, but it felt like hours. It felt like a corrupted and obfuscated memory was buried deep in the back of her mind, a redundant brick weighing on her conscience. The outside was desolate, almost as if she had roamed the outside in the dead hours of the day like every other time before. The bikes stopped, every house was dimmed, and every window had its curtains and blinds pulled, as if an apocalypse had struck. She wandered further down the road, only to see someone approaching with what seemed to be a gun. She could barely recognize who it was, but from the uniform, it seemed to be a soldier. She could hear him try to get her attention as he ran towards her, but her mind was still puzzling together everything and trying to combat the screeching headache, so she stood there, frozen, letting him eventually catch up.
“Hey! Why are you outside?” The soldier said, finally being able to get through to her.
“...huh?”
“You shouldn't be outside!”
She attempted to recollect herself: “No. Why?”
“Some hounds broke out of a slaughterhouse, and now they're on the prowl. Get back inside!”
“Oh. This isn't my house—”
“Visiting a friend?” He cut her off to question
She felt tempted to say the truth, but god, she would rather do anything else than explain all of this while being brute-forced by a migraine.
“Yes.” She continued, “Please, just bring me back home.”
“Why can't your friend do that?”
“Yeah, he got drunk and…got hungover?”
He paused for a second in confusion; the answer sounded so unsure, but he didn't have time to question it.
“Do you have directions, or do you know your way home?”
“Yeah-yeah, here. Just take it.”
“Thank you.”
Strolling through the desolate neighborhood, the soldier tried participating in some small talk, but every time he got a deadpan, uninterested response or was simply ignored. She was out of it—she just wanted to sleep.
Why do I sit still and yearn for more, thinking I'll never escape, when I could simply let my mind adapt and see this place as less of a prison, less of a disillusioned swarm that wants to entrap me and break my head, and instead, a place to express, a place that wishes for me to understand it and let me heal within its mess?
Finally reaching the house, the soldier gave back her terminal and waved her goodbye as she opened her door. She reciprocated, promptly slamming it shut and locking the door twice. She slowly began closing every curtain in sight and turning off every light she could before taking her trazodone medication dry.
As she entered her bedroom, she remembered the note and set aside the plushie to pick it up to re-read it. Her mind drowned in ideas and concepts for what she could write, or draw, or compose next—maybe she'll use it as a daily journal to jot ideas down every day. It felt like this wave of sudden pain and confusion was something she could morph and transform to bolster her hobbies, to be more motivated, and to make things that matter to her as a person.
Setting down the note, she grabbed the plushie before instantly collapsing onto her bed and closing her eyes in relief. She felt like she was floating on water; it was like she could feel the ripples and tapping of the waves hug her body. It felt like, for the first time in a long time, she could finally rest and let the motions carry her away safely.
After the Tulpae Radiation Flash, Gazers would become unreactive. While they still grow roots, it seems to be mindless; while they still exist, they never vanish when you stop looking, and people affected by pupil mitosis noted that the vague illusion of that bedroom had simply abruptly disappeared and never called back.
It's naturally assumed that Gazers were tied to the radiation flash in some way; however, their exact role will likely never be explained or understood, like most things. Regardless, they still bring value to humanity—their properties aid us in survival and let us continue forth, even if they remain absent and stagnant.
Let me open my eyes to what's up ahead; let me breathe, let the strung corpse remind me of what I left away. I'll see through the cracks and seek the future, not to tap on it with fear, but to be open and aware of what branch I traverse, what dimly lit doors I open in my mind, what kind of life I want to live and be remembered for. I've accepted it: no more acting, no more make-believe, no more sad reactions, no more will I let the path behind me cover me in wounds, no longer will the wounds drag me back and bleed through, no longer will I be reminded that ahead of me is a worrying an unsure future—whatever happens, I'll adapt! I'll look at it straight in the eyes, and it'll look back, then I'll pridefully say, I'll pridefully proclaim:
“Life moves behind me, and life goes on afterwards without me, so let it me care for you. Let me see through and be there for you; let me be a reminder that someone cares for you, yet don't attach; let yourself loose and ignite your own matches, then throw them with vigor and excitement to light up the path.”
Only you exist in the present; the future is to worry, and the path already went and happened. Let your present self be there and truly be brave.
Your sapience is the greatest aid.
Author: Liminal
Gazer drawing: Light Nate (peak artist)
The other art, the CSS, and all of that good shit: Liminal
Made for the ABC anthology. Not sure what i think about this yet but im kind of happy with it. Let me know what you think in the page comments! Either way, thanks for letting me participate in it Only and Snowy! It was a pleasure even if i made this all in the last day before the deadline, that's just how i operate :)