You wake up, disoriented, your head pounding with the echoes of distant machinery. You feel as if you’ve fallen through the fabric of reality itself. As you open your eyes, you realize you’re not in your bed, but in an infinite, sterile airport. The air is cool, almost too clean, and the sterile scent of disinfectant lingers in the air. You’re surrounded by endless terminals, all identical, stretching out into the horizon with no end in sight. The hum of fluorescent lights above is constant, unyielding, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of an announcement echoes, though you can’t make out the words.

Welcome to the Backrooms Level 297.