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File XVI. Continue, Gary?


>Yes.

Access Granted.

Level 37?


Level 37, truly, amazes me. The differentiating effect it has on Wanderers is truly intriguing; while one can feel peace and calm, another can feel a form of existential dread wash over him as he notices all the strange, black, lightless corners of the Level. "What lurks behind them?" they likely wonder. Is it of blight, of malice? A grim scepter seems to wash over the soul, who may be unaware that they are completely safe. At least, that is what we believe. The safe wanderer may feel moribund, or may feel joyous. This strange, intriguing effect has never ceased in amazing me. Level 37 is without blemish or defect; the Poolrooms themselves are simply stunning, an intricate design like a near-infinite puzzle whose pieces form something indescribably strange; yet, too, indescribably… perfect. Level 37 can only be the handiwork of a God.

> FILE RECOVERED; W-33/R
> CLOSE FILE W-33/R

He turned to his left, and to his right, and looked up. The strange location with bluish-green waters and seemingly perfect white tiles along the walls was strange; looking behind him, he saw much more light than he had in the other direction. He couldn't quite make out where it was coming from, though. Perhaps a celestial body – he had no way of knowing, and it did not concern him. The wanderer removed his bag from his back, holding it up to his stomach and opening it, to not get it wet. Several times, he lost grip; however, he always caught it before it hit the water. He took out a few essentials; a flashlight, in case of night, some food, and nothing more. He put the bag on his back and continued walking. Although the wanderer was seemingly confident from the beginning, as he treaded onwards, he caught his eyes wandering from left to right, at the darker, eerier pockets of Level 37. He began feeling butterflies in his stomach, his eyes scanning more and more rapidly. He did not feel alone, although chances are, he was. Furthermore, he even began to look up more and more often. He turned around, having sworn to have heard something. There, of course, was nothing. He was all alone. It was not much long after that he sat in a corner, his bag still on his back, his food still in his hands. He had not taken a single bite. He hugged his knees and cried.


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