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Work has always defined me: once, in the Frontrooms, it meant gridlocked traffic, office politics, and delivering things no one really cared about. But here, in the endless, rotting halls where the air hums with the weight of history and regret, work means something else. Every package I carry cuts through the isolation, every delivery a fragile tether holding this broken world together. It’s not just survival—it’s penance, a chance to leave something behind that matters. These walls have seen betrayal, desperation, and blood, but as long as I keep moving, maybe, just maybe, I can be the one to break the cycle. This is my purpose. This is my burden.
SURVIVAL DIFFICULTY:
Class 4
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Level 740 is an abandoned nuclear power plant, built in the mid-1950s, and is now shrouded in decay and misery. The temperature remains around 9°C1, but it gets steadily frigid as one ventures deeper into the level, the change often becoming a signal of dangerous areas. The level has an industrial atmosphere, with a constant background hum of machinery and footsteps, nowadays only an echo of the once thriving industry. Despite its apparent stillness, the level hides many dangers beneath its dilapidated exterior.
Layout
The main structure of the level is composed of medium-sized hallways, some of which stretch for long, disorienting lengths, while others end abruptly. The corridors feature walls lined with pipes, broken control panels, and defunct electrical systems. Years of abandonment covered all the appliances with dark-red rust. These can sometimes have scorch marks, and human-made cracks, while others can be eerily untouched and instead stained with soot and hardened blood paired with a strong smell of death. Interspersed along the maze are various rooms, some fully furnished and others nearly barren. These rooms house scattered personal effects like torn uniforms and broken ID cards. Sometimes the objects are arranged like a shrine, and on them are scribbled notes to fallen combatants. A thick layer of dust coats everything within, and some areas have not been disturbed for decades.
The Two Towers
Although the labyrinthine nature of the level may make it seem infinite, in reality, everything inside is located between the power plant’s two massive cooling towers, each with its distinct characteristics.
The first tower appears as dilapidated as the rest of the level, its machinery rusted beyond recognition, and its walls crumbling under the weight of time. The floor around the tower is littered with debris that, year after year, preannounces its fall. Puddles of oil and water mix beneath the condensation, creating hazardous spots. Dented, blood-stained wrenches and sledgehammers paired with tattered banners and unreadable graffiti are present in nearby rooms. Exploration of the area is highly unadvised, as the tower is used as a nesting ground for the entities that dwell on the level.
The control room found inside the dilapidated tower
In stark contrast, the second tower appears almost brand new, as though it was built yesterday. The structure still emits vapor from its apex, and the machinery inside hums with latent power. Adjacent to this tower is a control station equipped with old-fashioned levers and switches, which are the key to accessing the level's energy grid. Unfortunately, the plant has long since consumed all its nuclear fuel, rendering the station incapable of drawing new power. However, it can still direct stored energy from the few remaining batteries housed in a storage area beneath the tower. Although the computers in the control room show diagrams of the reactor, some seem to constantly flash with messages like "Protocol Breach Detected" and "Containment Failure Imminent".
In my many voyages as a courier, this one felt different. "This mission is fundamental to our colony's survival. If there is someone who can do it, surely it's you," my boss said with a serious look in her eyes. She didn't give me any more details: everything would be explained in the outpost. And so, my journey started.
At first glance, the level had a grave-like aura surrounding it. The air was still and smelled like a cemetery paired with a strong mold odor. With each step I took, the air became damper, colder. The chilling atmosphere and the dripping sound generated by my boots reminded me of the deathly scenery of Level 8. Even if I came prepared, wearing thick layers of protection from the cold environment, I still felt the damp edge of each gust of air piercing through my skin like a knife. The physical conditions were starting to take a toll on my body, but my mind was stronger than that.
When I reached a particularly frigid corridor, with the puddles on the ground almost forming a small body of water, my heart seized. I started breathing faster as I noticed the familiar smile of an old friend waiting for me behind a nearby door: a Smiler. Before my mind could elaborate a plan and process its presence, my experience brought my body to action: I bolted across the hallways. The boots slamming on the slippery floor, splashing water and freezing particles on my face. Before the smiling shadow could reach me, I bounced into a side door.
Coughing into a heavy cloud of dust, I looked at my surroundings: I was encircled by ruins of broken machinery in what looked like an old laboratory. Here the smell of mold and decaying matter was even stronger, but at least I was safe. The furthest wall from the entrance held a huge blackboard, on which were strange calculations that hinted at some kind of process. It was a renewal of… something. I felt a dreadful sensation inside my stomach as I saw slumped against the floor a skeleton, its bony fingers curling inwards as if still clawing for life. It was wearing an ancient uniform, now brought to decay by the black mold covering it. Written on it were the letters 'Br ReCo.' The sight sent a sharp stab of unease down my spine, but I had no time to dwell on it. When I was sure that the entity was far gone, I resumed my march. After what felt like hours navigating winding corridors, my fingers numb and my breath ragged, I finally reached the outpost.
Bases, Outposts and Communities
B.N.T.G. Base "Energy Hunters"
The level's sole permanent settlement operates from a renovated complex, once inhabited by the previous population. It houses between 5-10 workers and personnel depending on mission requirements. The daily life inside the base remains difficult, as the absence of an independent power source other than the level's batteries obliges the inhabitants to always wear thick clothes.
One of the dusty rooms littering the level
Entry requires prior clearance or valuable trade goods, with guards maintaining strict security protocols. The base serves as a minor outpost for the B.N.T.G as only its manager and a few guards are directly affiliated to the group. The majority of the population consists of paid workers drawn by the promise of substantial cash rewards. These individuals are seasoned survivors, well-accustomed to enduring harsh conditions. Most of them work as battery hunters, couriers, or members of research teams investigating the level's unique power system.
Their primary mission involves locating, testing, and retrieving power cells, which can contain huge amounts of energy in a relatively small space. These batteries, both functional and depleted, are transported to the main base Trader's Keep, where they're analyzed and either refurbished for trade or studied for replication.
For the first time in what could have been days, I breathed fresh air, although my skin still suffered the cold temperatures. I felt relieved as I saw the first people walking around the complex, although their eyes were devoid of curiosity, completely immersed in their daily assignments. I found the outpost manager soon enough, but he welcomed me with a skeptical and misgiving gaze. So I started recounting the trek to him, each word peeling away his doubt until he finally nodded, gesturing me toward my contact.
My contact at the outpost was an old man named Samuel, and everything about him seemed to be drenched in shadow. His fixated posture, his doubtful and distant gaze: every physical aspect hinted at a skeptical and untrustworthy personality. His grim demeanor didn’t inspire confidence, but in the Backrooms, you learn fast not to judge anyone by first look. My newfound companion didn't waste time on pleasantries but only acknowledged my presence with a small nod and briefed me on the mission.
"The cooling tower," he muttered while his dark green eyes met with mine. "First we reach it, and you’ll recognize what you need when you see it." He said calmingly, almost as a way to gatekeep some information. He seemed sketchy in some way, but we didn't have time for an interview. In any case, my boss trusted him, and so I must.
The corridors stretched before us, the same as I left them: long and humid. They were narrowing with a claustrophobic silence that only deepened as we moved, almost suggesting what was coming for us.
Samuel’s steps were soundless and precise, like a soldier marching in enemy territory, but his head darted back now and again, each glance over his shoulder sharp with tension: he knew something that I didn't. I caught his hand drifting to his rugged, dilapidated backpack every few paces, fingers curling protectively around something inside. Nonetheless, he guided me inside the humid corridors of the level like he always knew them. His silence was louder than words, an unspoken warning hovering between us, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask.
We walked for an hour, or maybe more. Keeping with the flow of time became difficult: the constant sound of boots stepping on the puddles, the harsh smell of rot, and the cold creeping inside my bones made my mind feel fuzzy. I could feel the weight of the air become stronger, almost as if an invisible tension was growing inside the empty halls. Then, without warning, Samuel stopped dead in his tracks. In front of us was a huge, derelict tower. He fixed me with a dead-serious stare, his eyes flickering with urgency. He barely spoke above a whisper.
“You armed?” He asked. I felt the accumulated tension inside my lungs ready to explode.
Before I could even respond, he reached into his pack, pulling out a rusted crowbar, its metal scarred and pitted with age. As he understood that I didn't have anything to defend myself from the unknown dangers that were coming for us, he looked again.
"We made the wrong turn. They are coming. You better run, courier." In that breathless instant, his meaning became razor-sharp. Before they appeared, I could smell the air becoming even more drenched with an odor of rotten flesh. Then their howls came, breaking my hearing system with screams that made me regret the monsters I met before. I couldn't wait any longer. So I once again bolted into the unknown.
Entities
The view of the cooling tower
The level houses two primary threats: rare Smilers and a significant Wretch population concentrated near the derelict tower. The first are elusive, often seen only out of the corner of one’s eye, their chilling grins glowing faintly in the darkness. So even if there aren't a lot, they can become easily a major threat. The second are hulking figures, resembling the very essence of despair. As they shamble through the corridors, they emit a low, guttural growl that reverberates off the walls and can sometimes remind wanderers of the humanity they once had.
While Smilers prefer to dwell inside the corridors, Wretches live inside the rooms, almost fusing with the mold growing on the walls. Studies on the bodies of the entity 15 have proven the common presence of missing limbs and deep scars, probably obtained before the monster's transition. Military and scientific clothing is also commonly found on them. Wanderers whisper of an overwhelming sense of dread that envelops them as they approach the derelict cooling tower, where the strongest Wretch populations are said to nest.
As I started running, I saw Samuel getting into action: his body moved fast as he hit the first red monster, the crowbar slicing into the creature with a sickening crunch. After giving him a last gaze before departing, I saw his eyes filled with determination and something else, something that twisted my gut. Was it sorrow? Resignation? I couldn’t dwell on it; my feet pounded the floor, carrying me deeper into the maze.
After running, I made so many turns that I lost my bearings, the white, moldy walls closing in until panic blurred them together. So I started fearing the worst. How could a man survive in this situation? Even him?
Then, just as I glanced over my shoulder, Samuel was there beside me. His crowbar streaked with something dark and wet, glistening in the dim light. His left sleeve hung in tatters, revealing an old, jagged scar running from his wrist up into his sleeve, half-hidden but unmistakably deep.
As we once again started moving on through the labyrinth, the air thickening, colder now and slick with a damp chill that seeped into my bones, questions started building up in my head. Confusion, more now than ever, was pressing on my tired brain. I could not take it any longer. So, after gathering enough courage, I asked my questions.
"S-Samuel… Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you," I stated, my chest filling with doubt and fear at what he could respond.
"How did you survive back there? You made it look… I don’t know, almost like you’ve done this before…"
Samuel’s eyes shifted, the barest hint of a smirk slipping through his steely expression. “Questions. You’ve got a lot of them.”
I braced myself for a brush-off, but he surprised me. “Look, every word’s a calorie burned; I’ll keep it short: I was in the military. Not a butcher, but I did my duty. And I’ve seen plenty in here, places like Level 8, Level 739, Level 46. Now I take jobs sparingly. Age… it catches up with you.”
There was no reassurance in his tone, no promise of safety in his presence—only the sobering weight of a man well-acquainted with death.
That was a response to my question, but it wasn't enough. Sure, he got an experience, but that doesn't explain his strange knowledge of the level. I had to be careful, though; I didn't know what I was going against. “So… this place,” I replied, scanning the murky walls around us, “It doesn’t exactly scream ‘retirement home.’ And the way you move through these halls… it’s like you know them better than you’re letting on.”
He paused, his gaze hardening as his grip tightened around the crowbar. We passed a half-open door, its darkness thick and suffocating. For a second, I thought he’d ignore me, but then he leaned in, his voice a low, guarded rasp.
“Careful where you tread,” he muttered. “I’ll tell you this much, but after that, we drop it. Got it?” I nodded. He let the silence stretch, his eyes scanning the corridor ahead as if the shadows themselves might be listening. Finally, he spoke.
“Once, a group of scientists and soldiers stumbled on this power plant. Standard expedition, or so they thought. But the walls… shifted.” He made a vague motion with his free hand, like he couldn’t quite put it into words. "No food, no water, no power. And just when things looked bleakest, they were offered a compromise.”
My head filled with curiosity, I asked before he finished his last sentence, “Offered? By who?”
He ignored me, his jaw set as he continued. “They said they’d help—fix the cooling tower, bring back power. But nothing’s free. They took control of the whole area. For a while, it worked. People got hopeful. They started asking questions, though."
“What kind of questions?” I asked, my curiosity overriding my better judgment.
"The kind you don’t ask in a place like this. How those workers came and went so easily. Why they couldn’t. And when the answers didn’t come, the settlement fractured. Then the reactor went down, and so did everything else. That’s when it started.”
Samuel’s eyes darkened, his eyes staring into the void of the hallways as we surpassed a big patch of mold. “They turned. All of them. What you saw back there, that was them.” His words hung in the air, their weight settling like frost on my skin. I swallowed, glancing down the endless corridor, dread prickling the back of my neck. Could it be possible—all those monsters, twisted remnants of a failed promise? I knew what the cycle was, but I never knew it could happen on such a scale.
Samuel stopped abruptly, gesturing toward a massive metal door looming ahead. His gaze met mine, steely and unreadable. “Enough talk. We’re here.” His voice dropped to a murmur, almost reverent. “Behind the door lies our objective, what experts call The Wayback Machine.”
I felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. The object we’d come for was more than some relic; it was a key to a past, one the walls of this place might still remember.
The Wayback Machine
The reactor located in the restored tower
In the heart of the pristine cooling tower on Level 740, an extraordinary relic lies abandoned. This colossal device, a vastly scaled-up version of Object 22 stands as a towering remnant of advanced engineering. Its unique size is what makes it greatly useful. If the normal, small-sized machine can recreate small objects, the apparatus present inside Level 740 has the ability to restore entire parts of buildings.
The size of this particular Wayback Machine is what sets it apart from its standard versions, as it occupies a central position within the tower, its base embedded deep into the foundation. Massive, segmented arms protrude from its center, each outfitted with an array of scanning devices that once meticulously restored building parts in their vicinity.
When it was still operational, the machine emitted a constant low hum that reverberated through the tower. As it worked, the air around it shimmered, and faint blue light spilled forth. Unlike smaller Wayback Machines that rely on internal energy sources, this behemoth drew its power from an unusual fuel source: Realty Fresheners. It required at least 12 fresheners per operation, each time completely depleting them and their reality-warping powers.
A unique aspect of this Wayback Machine was its symbiotic relationship with the nuclear reactor. The machine was not only dependent on the reactor for energy but also possessed the ability to restore the reactor itself. As long as it continued to function, it could restore its power source, creating a perpetual cycle of energy and restoration.
The machine was built by the Backrooms Remodeling Co. in 2008 after an agreement with the level's population. During the chaos of the revolt of 2016, energy production was halted. Stripped of its energy supply and caught in the collapse, the machine was heavily damaged, making its internal systems fail. Efforts to repair it have been futile, as the restoration attempts are constantly ruined by the escalating threat posed by entities.
As we entered the cooling tower, a warming sensation relaxed my tight nerves. My numb skin finally started feeling sensations. The smell of mold was replaced by a more gentle scent of water vapor, the one you could encounter under a waterfall. Bright white light hit my eyes, once accustomed to the dark ambiance of the halls, leaving them in shock. When I finally regained vision, I understood that if everything we saw before was just an old remnant, what stood in front of me told the full story. In the tower's center was a once hulking structure, now only the debris of a broken promise.
I glanced at him, my voice tight and confused. “How are we supposed to… bring this back? It’s shattered.”
Samuel ignored my question, his hands searching with urgency inside the machine's wreckage. Finally, his hand surfaced, clutching a small black box, its surface matte and unassuming yet humming with latent energy.
“This,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the box, “used to power the machine. The Black Box. Irreplaceable.” He paused, his voice catching. “And maybe… maybe it can power up something else.”
As I brought my hands near the artifact, he tightened his grip, and darkness started gathering under his gaze. But instead of anger and hatred, his expression told something else, something I couldn't decipher.
“Before we go, I need you to hear this.” He looked down, his expression hardening. “I… I was part of the revolt that destroyed this place. I didn’t just watch it happen. I helped light the match.” He started touching his scar, almost following a map of his past.
"My family was there. I tried to protect them, and I failed. I watched the turn… my hands are still covered with their blood. That day, I stopped being a father. I was a soldier. I made choices—choices I’d undo in a second if I could. But that’s not how it works, is it? Now, my granddaughter is out there, trying to right my wrongs, to bring back her brother. But it's bringing her to a perilous path. When I met you, I finally understood the message I got back in the desert."
I opened my mouth, questions swelling, but before I could speak, the ground started trembling. A swarm of Wretches slammed the door open and poured into the room, their snarling growing louder and their distorted bodies jerking in unnatural spasms. Among the writhing figures, I glimpsed a thin, shrunken face: the remnant of a child.
Without warning, Samuel thrust the black box into my hands, its surface warm, a faint pulse beneath my fingers like a heartbeat. He leaned close, his voice low. “Take this to the outpost. We'll meet again there." And he stated, his words now heavy with finality. "Sometimes, the only way to fix the past is to make sure it’s never repeated. I can't reshape it, but you can still save the future. Take this as a cautionary tale; remember my story.”
And then he turned, breaking into a run toward the oncoming swarm. His steps were steady, his face set in resolve, and just as he met the first Wretch, a strange calm washed over his features, an almost ghostly smile. I wanted to call out, to stop him, but the words stuck in my throat, frozen by the terrible finality in his eyes. There was nothing I could do to stop him, but maybe it was a good thing.
As he vanished around the corner of the rooms, attracting his past mistakes into the corridors, the warmth of the black box grounded me, its rhythm thrumming in my hands like a lifeline. The howls of the Wretches faded, mingling with his fading shouts. I tore down the hallways of a broken promise, my hands holding the death cure of the universe. I forced myself onward, each turn pulling me closer to the exit and further from the man who gave his life for a chance at redemption.
While the last frozen droplets of water hit my face, a final question formed in my mind. "Is it worth giving your last chance to someone whose name you’ll never know?" The answer came quietly, unbidden but resolute: "Indeed, it makes sense. I am a courier, after all". And in that moment, everything clicked. This was the closing chapter to a story I didn't know I was part of. And of course, it was no more than just a job. I'll carry it forward, not because I need to, but because someone has to.
Entrances And Exits
Entrances
Level 740 can rarely be entered by opening an elusive door that feels slightly colder than the surrounding walls inside Level 1 or by noclipping inside a wall of a working power plant inside Level 11.
Exits
The level can be exited in two ways: jumping in the freezing-cold waters of the pool inside the derelict cooling tower will bring you to Level 10.1 or traversing back to Level 11's entrance.
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