Captain Barker's Logs - Part 1
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Captain Barker's Audio Logs - Chapter 1.

Log 001

This is Captain Andrew Barker of the 11th British Infantry Division. I arrived in this yellow hellscape sixty… three? No, sixty five hours ago, at zero six hundred hours on the fourteenth of September two thousand and twenty. I have no clue where, or really when I am. My phone seems to still be working as expected— fifty two percent battery left.

I haven't seen, or for that matter even heard, anyone or anything even vaguely animal-like since I got here and searches for an exit have yielded less than nothing. Those lights are already starting to piss me off— that stupid goddamn humming that never fucking stops. I considered shooting those fucking things out, but my ammo is limited and I forgot my suppressor.

Its been an hour or so since I last recorded to this log. I've set up a small camp from the supplies in my backpack. Good news for me is I have MREs for days… bad news is MREs taste like deep fried shit in a moldy tortilla. I smashed a few of the lights around my camp, didn't do much for the humming but it'll probably help me sleep and the glass'll wake me if someone… or something… approaches. Not sure if I want to survive long enough to wake up, I'll report again if I do.

Log 002

Captain Barker reporting in, I survived the night… well I guess it was morning by my phone's reckoning, but time is irrelevant here anyway. Packed away my camp too, I'll be moving off soon, got enough rations for another week, and enough water for maybe three more days marching. Hope I find either a resupply or an exit before that happens. Wonder if there even is an exit…

Third report. Date: nineteenth September two thousand and twenty. Time: one four hundred hours, one hundred and twenty seven hours since arrival. I'm down to two canteens of water. Both are full, but my main bottle is empty and my ration supplies are starting to dwindle. Still have five days of rations. Thirty one percent battery left on my phone… need to find a charge.

This place is seriously giving me the creeps. I've been hallucinating, a lot of doors and stairs mostly. Crashed into a few walls when I first saw them, but I still do my due diligence of checking every time I see what looks like a set of stairs or a door. Thought I saw movement earlier— might also be a hallucination, but I'm being careful. Turning my phone back off now, saves battery.

Log 003

This is Captain Andrew Barker, personal log number zero-zero-three. I've survived another night's worth of sleep and managed not to ruin my boots on the shattered glass. It is now the twenty second of September, two thousand and twenty, zero two hundred hours, one hundred and eighty seven hours since arrival.

This will be my last entry until I find a phone charger, I've only got twenty three percent left and I need to preserve it as long as I can. Water is completely out, I stretched my last canteen as best I could but its got one swig left, which I'll drink after I finish this recording. MRE supplies should last another two days. Will be rationing what little food I have left, hopefully it will last four, maybe five days.

Hallucinations continue, they don't phase me anymore. I almost want to give up on checking the stairs and doors, but the hope that one might be real is the only thing keeping me sane right now. Been hearing faint whispers, creepy, but feels more like a haunted house than a paranormal event. Maybe this whole damnable thing is a fucked up haunted house— sounds like something Jenkins would organize. He audibly chuckles to himself before the log ends.

Log 004

Captain Andrew Barker of the 11th British, personal log zero-zero-four. Date: twenty third of September twenty twenty. Time: zero nine hundred hours, two hundred and eighteen hours since arrival. Not sure how but I made it out of that yellow hellscape. I'm in what looks like a warehouse now, thankfully in what seems like a forward operating base of sorts. My type of people for sure. Phone's fully charged— courtesy of the survivors here- and I've even got a real meal. Got run down by some sort of dog when I got here— maybe I should thank it. Me shooting it was what alerted these military boys of my presence.

The people here have been a massive help so far, though what they've told me of this place makes no bloody sense. First off, its name, this place is called the "backrooms", no clue why personally. Secondly, they said that the place is made up of a bunch of levels, which sounds like bullshit— this ain't Super Mario. The weirdest bit is that they said to go between these so called levels you noclip through a fucking wall. Yeah fucking right mate— lemme just GMod myself through a wall into another endless set of rooms.

Surprisingly I've got Wi-Fi here, been listening to, and downloading… okay, pirating… some music. One of the guys I was talking to told me that generally speaking Wi-Fi is available most everywhere around here… even yellow hell. For now I'm playing along— but either I'm going crazy, or all the people around here are loonies. Helpful loonies, but loonies nonetheless. I'll be making my way out of here in the morning.

Log 005

Captain Barker of the 11th British, personal log zero-zero-five. Date: twenty fifth of September, twenty twenty. Time: eleven hundred hours, two hundred and forty four hours since arrival. I left that forward operating base early on the twenty fourth and began exploration of this region. I have located one crate of supplies in this area which when opened revealed a contents of two batteries that seem to match my phone, a spare pocket knife, a restock of MREs and an extra water canteen. Weird for such supplies to exist here, but I take what I can get in a situation like this.

One thing I probably should've mentioned in my fourth log is the water here is… weird… to say the least. Weird in that it tastes like almond, not a bad flavour, but not expected of a primary water source. Good thing I'm not allergic to almonds. In-keeping with the theme of random shit that makes no sense, I met with a rather friendly survivor around sixteen hundred hours on the twenty fourth.

He wore seemingly excessive clothing for the temperature, and his face didn't quite sit right with me, but damnitall I'm probably just hallucinating again and he was friendly enough. We sat, chatted, had a meal together and parted ways after he pointed me in the direction of a supposed diner. The diner, as a matter of fact, is real, and is run by a friendly fellow named Tom who served up a mean curry in exchange for one of my spare batteries. Not going to stay here too long either, but I'll get a night's rest in this area before I move out. Captain Barker out.

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