As I wander through the confines of Level 26, I once again lament my lack of any way to record my long, tedious adventures throughout the Backrooms. Sometime during my early travels throughout the Main Nine — I think it was in Level 3, though the exact time is hard to pinpoint — I had come to terms with the fact that I was never going to escape the Backrooms. Technically there's the exit to the Frontrooms in Level 993, but that hardly counts since it would mean instantly falling to my death. Even though escape is essentially impossible, I still want something to show for it; a permanent reminder of how much I have suffered through in the Backrooms. A record of how far I've come. Even if I can't record most of my experiences now, any recording or piece of writing at all should be enough for people to know that I have avoided dehydration and starvation and escaped from numerous entities for this long.

And then, as I round a corner, I see it. A vintage camcorder lying on the floor a few meters in front of me. A smile breaks out across my face and I walk faster as I approach it. I pick it up. Finally. My achievements here will not be forgotten.

Wondering if the camcorder was even used by anyone else or if it's a natural outlying object, I check the recordings. My smile dissappears and my heartrate quickens.

This can't be. How is this possible?

But the more I look at the first frame, the more my suspicions are confirmed. The perspective is from an unnaturally high vantage point in the same level I'm in, but that's not what bothers me the most. What bothers me is that I'm in the frame, in the middle of walking through a hallway.

I play the video and watch myself walk out of sight in the same manner that I had about half an hour ago. The video ends.

I register that the position that that video was taken in is not physically possible for any human being. What could have recorded this?

Storing that thought away for later, I switch to the next video. This one is filmed from behind me at head level, but I still recognise myself; after all, it's me. This is in a separate hallway, right after I crossed a room that I entered from the same hallway in the first video. Just as I'm turning a corner, the video stops. I immediately switch to the next one, transfixed. I've forgotten about my surroundings. Right now, I only care about this series of videos that were somehow recorded without me even knowing.

The next one was taken through a cluster of chairs blocking a hallway, featuring me walking past.

The one after that is at eye level right in front of me. I see myself stop to rest, puffing from walking so far. The exertion is mostly from my wanderings in previous levels; all these videos were evidently taken mere seconds apart.

It's clear now that this isn't a physical camcorder — or wasn't, anyway. It can't have been, because I surely would have seen it. How could I not have!?

I know I'm about to turn again and walk into another corridor, and sure enough, my recorded self does, revealing something else standing some way behind.

The camera falls from my shaking hands to the ground, instantly forgotten. I spin around, doing a full 180-degree turn as I survey my surroundings. I'm in the middle of a cross-section between two corridors. That's four ways that... thing... could attack from. I continue looking at each hallway in turn. No way it can surprise me if I just keep doing this.

What the hell is it!? It's unlike any entity I've seen or heard of before. It looked like a human, only extremely and grotesquely battered and disfigured all over. Chunks of it were missing, seemingly gouged out, and its face was entirely caved in; it could have been a True Faceling for all I know. Regardless, it looked like it had been murdered a thousand times over.

And yet there it had stood.

Without thinking properly, I repeatedly stomp the camcorder until it's no more than a broken wreck. If the damn thing was cursed or something, then maybe I'm alright now. Or maybe not.

The thing's blood-drenched form is etched into my mind. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget it. The blood dripping from its face-

I feel a drop of liquid land on my shoulder. I glance at it. Blood. Cold dread washes over me.

I look up.