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A-404.
The player has long been accustomed to the repetition of the Rooms. They've seen every room type dozens of times over and more. Hell, they can remember the exact places a battery can be in—most of them, anyway.
(Though, they have yet to notice its gradual degradation. Rot. Doors take a second or two longer to open, entities don't always come on time and leave late; both things they don't yet realize.)
The Rooms is dark and devoid of the light it had before. It's not too big of a problem. They're stocked with batteries. It's the artificial white light, on and off on and off and on and off every time they have to open a door, that their eyes tire to. Their eyes blink twice, having to constantly adjust to alternating of light and the lack thereof.
Far-off static. Lethal room. They sprint to the previous room and hide in the locker there. They barely get to close the locker properly before the monster passes.
It stops right in front of them, staring at them through the five open slits carved within the locker. Red illuminates the player's empty face as the entity's own changes, as it always does. They stare back with their own hidden eyes. A-60 is blindingly bright, though at some point they started to enjoy the presence of a light that's different from the artificial white. Red illuminates the room around them.
Heartbeats ring loud in their ears. Their eyes blink once. Twice.
It leaves without a word, the red glow trailing behind it as it leaves. The room is dark once more. The entity had stopped a few times to lift the silence—somehow conversing with the player for reasons neither of them really know. They don't last long, though the company is nice. This isn't one of those times.
Before they could even move their hand to open the locker, their eyes blink once again. Another blink. Their eyelids feel heavy. This time, not because of the light and dark.
Ah.
Their mind drifts off as they blink into nothingness. A little rest wouldn't hurt. In fact, it would be really, really, really, really nice to just head off and sleep.
Just close those eyes, lean back against the locker, try to stay still, and drift off.
Thump.
The beating of a heart makes itself known in their ears. Every vibration hits their brain. It's overwhelming. A reminder that they're still alive, sure, yet a reminder that they still are. Sleeping requires one to be unconscious, does it not?
Thump.
They wouldn't know. They haven't slept in hours. Days. They don't have a way to tell. Their watch doesn't work.
Thump.
Sleeping is hard to do while standing. Just a few minutes wouldn't hurt. Come on.
Thump.
Do entities dream of horrifying sheep? That's mean. They silently apologize for the notion.
Thump.
The dark is, for once, comforting. It hides them. It hides things from them.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thumpthumpthump
They feel a sharp pain in their forearm as they slam open the door to the locker, accidentally scraping themselves. Their heart quiets.
A few shaky breaths later, they lean on the closet. Its cold metal stings their back.
Just continue.
Code runs. As it does. Nothing they can do but follow its flow.
(There's no point in going against it, but neither is there a point in following. They swim either way.)
No matter how far they're in, A-60 always takes around fifteen seconds to reach them. They counted. Most of the time.
Why did that last encounter feel so close?
They blame it on exhaustion.
A small smile finds its way onto their face. There is something to be gained from this. Another active choice. An idea. A win, however small. They cough, stopping themselves from laughing. Maniacally. Can they buy therapy with ten robux? Certainly worth more than that annoying shakelight.
New goal: Find a place to sleep.
Simple as that.
Each room takes longer to pass through. With their new goal in mind, the player observes their environment more thoroughly.
Plant. Table. Corner room. Nothing much.
They tried hiding under the table once in a panic. Once and never again. A-200 zeroed in on them quicker then they could blink.
Next room.
Shelves on either side, tables plastered throughout the floor—maybe behind the shelves..?
(Wrong game. They know where you are no matter what. It isn't a matter of sight.)
Something clears their mind of that thought.
Path room. There's quite literally nothing but a locker in here. Fits its namesake.
Maybe they could try the locker again??
Pass.
They check their watch, a habit formed long ago. The hands are the same as ever. They continue to stare at it as they walk into the next room—projector room. Not much to see there. Well, more than the other rooms, sure, but nothing new in terms of sleep spots.
Their feet move on their own as they hear a far-off thump; a metal sound barely audible against the already quiet ambience of the Rooms. The locker closes just as a figure emerges from the following door. The smiley face.
A-200 hovers over their locker, its every line unnaturally bright against the darkness. It's a surreal sight. The player stares at them, and it stares back. Strangely, the entity itself doesn't emit any ambient light, unlike its counterpart.
Rather, it's unlike A-60 in numerous ways. They're parallels, opposites, in the end all the same. A-200 is quiet. It never tries to talk the the player on its own. It doesn't seem to like talking at all. Maybe it's the darkness, the isolation. Maybe it simply is that way because it is. Or maybe it's the player's own weirdness that's the problem—
"—…tired?"
The entity's words ring loud. A-200 is usually quiet, no doubt, but when it does make a sound, it's loud (to its benefit or detriment, no one knows). The entity stays longer than it usually does. Strange. Does it wait for an answer?
It takes the player a few minutes to respond.
The player finds the notion that the entities can sleep strange. Or rather, that they know about the concept of sleep at all. This place still holds secrets, information yet to be discovered. They smile at that thought.
They wave off A-200 as it leaves, to the best of their ability at least. The locker only allows for so much movement. They hope the entity at the very least noticed their gesture. There was a pretty clear thump of the locker from the attempt at movement.
Their conversation was nice. They look forward to more. A-200 was… surprisingly very pleasant to talk to. Rather, converse with. They even offered to help with the sleep problem. A fruitless endeavor, one they'd easily admit to others (never to themselves), but one appreciated nonetheless.
Not to say the other one was mean. A-200 was just particularly courteous in contrast to the blunt and snappy A-60. Yes, they both killed them when possible. It's their purpose. The player does not never had and won't ever hold a grudge against every searing pain inflicted upon their skin bones lungs brain every scratch tear every bludgeon that stains the wall red with their—
(An almost masochistic endeavor, a thought that crossed them once. They laugh at the notion. They don't like the hurt. They never did.)
God, stop thinking about that.
They don't hold a grudge.
…
Scanning the room for any batteries—they didn't get to check properly—they move on. See what comes next. That's what they always do.
A-six-hundred-something, the player forgets to get a good look at the door plate before rushing to a locker. A-60. The entity hovers in front of their hiding spot, face never static as static buzzes all around it. It feels like talking this time.
Red glow plasters their face as they listen to the entity's multi-layered voice. The player started the conversation with their little problem, and the entity suggested simply sleeping in the first room. 'nice place,' it said.
What it doesn't know is that the lobby is over six hundred rooms away and they do not feel like backtracking or dying anytime soon, neither does it know that sleeping in bright sunlight is really hard actually. They haven't tried, sure, but the everlasting darkness of the rooms just feels like a perfect atmosphere to rest in. Kind of.
So the conversation steers another way. Things that shouldn't happen, objects breaking—bugs, glitches, whatever else they're called. Not that the entity would know these terms either. In the entity's mind, its reality was simply being inconsistent and things just go wrong sometimes. That's how it goes in this hell.
"…last time things broke, nothing was done about it" The Rooms was never a perfect place. Things break and don't work as they should too often. They witnessed this firsthand—one's body does not like passing through what should be the surface of a solid object. They're still willing to climb up to the roof of the lobby for curiosity's sake, but god did it feel weird to stand inside its roof and see what's past it.
"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" And yet that brokenness was something they could use to their advantage. It was an opportunity for something different, a whole different worldview, a glimpse into the faulty inner workings of this place they've grown accustomed to.
"strange creature you are." It means this quite objectively. Despite the Multi-Monster's oft deadpan and almost sarcastic–sounding voice, it tends to talk about things in a pragmatic way.
"Nobody normal would be here this far in." They laugh at its remark, sufficing it enough to deem it a compliment in their mind. They're here. They're here and it's their own choice. Their own choice.
"yeah." Absentmindedly, it says. It never really cared much about the player's little goal. The company was nice and was all that mattered to it.
"i'll see if i can do anything. see ya" Well, it doesn't really know how to do that, but damn it if it won't try. Maybe it'll approach A-200.
"Goodbye, A-60." It was a small thing, but they recently noticed—A-60 quite liked being referred to. Of course, it was never something the entity directly stated, but the higher tone in its voice and the slightly more energetic movements were both things that caught the player's attention every time they said any of its names. Names. Many names. Multiple. Like the Multi-Monster. Hah.
"hah. goodbye, friend." They always like being referred to like that. A friend. Someone whose existence companionship is desired. Guess that's a mutual desire.
Friends.
A-660. That's the next door. What a quaint coincidence.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
That fucking sound.
Thump.
They don't recognize that as their own heart's. The beating never stops. It can't be. Too-familiar cardiovascular movement. It just isn't.
Thump.
Thump.
Creak.
They nearly got sent back to the start again. Wind almost caresses their tired face, left behind by the now-gone entity. The pain on their side sears more than the pain in their arm did.
They can still hear the thumping.
"You talked about this—with the other…"
The player finds A-200's voice pleasant to listen to. It's soft yet booming, syllables drawn out and cut off like it's only a creature leaning how to speak and yet its manner of speech reveals something more. For an entity, it's weirdly articulate.
That in mind, they'd draw a better comparison of A-200 to a centuries-old vampire who hasn't been awoken in decades, eloquent though voice hoarse from disuse. Vampire A-200. Hah. That's silly.
"I did, yeah."
"I believe that—maybe we could stop for a little while—let you slumber in peace."
It takes a few moments too long for the player to understand what they mean.
"Oh. Oh! That's awesome! You could do that?" There is a clear sound of arms hitting the sides of the locker a little too hard, which neither comment on. Their excitement (definitely just that sure) overrides their ache.
"Not for long… They—"
(Something stops them.)
"We can't go off-duty for long."
Each word is clear, almost deliberate. They wouldn't question it, not now.
"…That's okay." They answer with a smile.
"The next door—it is the one with a plant—and a locker. Sleep by the locker to avoid death… apologies as it is not ideal—but neither is death—so I've seen. A-60 and I will be louder than usual once we eventually cave in—to that need." A need, it seems. A rule that can't be broken. A lock that can't be picked. A door you can't open. Code you can't over—
"At least the floor is carpeted. Thanks, Scribble." They've slept in worse conditions. Probably.
The entity deems this the end of the conversation and swiftly leaves, wind whistling along their trail. The locker opens with a creak, and the click of their flashlight illuminates the room ahead. Their bedroom, for now.
Right then, with each step, everything feels a little more… everything just feels more. The Rooms was always cold, not to an unbearable degree, but enough to be uncomfortable. It stings the marks left on their arm and side. Or does it? Perception is weird. Really weird.
There's a plant in the room, did they always look that weird? Fake? One loop they tried taking one and bringing it with them. They can't quite remember what happened in that. There's the locker, and that makes their companion for the night. Night. It's always night and never at the same time. That damned sunlight is probably shining uncaring outside, past these walls. Sunlight that always felt artificial. They sit on the floor and everything feels artificial.
They lay down, sprawled across the floor in front of the artificial locker unlike any real locker like everything in here, and move in different positions before settling to be on their side. Is this how you do it? Has it really been so long?
They're not the most comfortable, sure, but when sleep calls the body does not care for the position nor the comfort. It finds itself most comfortable in the position of unconsciousness.
The two entities, their two killers and their two friends, they won't be here for a while. And that's nice. That's nice to know. They can black out without the pain. Pass out knowing that they trust them, in the end. They trust them.
They drift off, safe.