Note to any and all readers
Uhhhh, hi. This is my sandbox I guess. I'm not going to be writing anything mind-blowing here, and probably nothing that will be turned into content for this wiki (as I write this on 9/5/21 I'm not even a member, I sent my application just a few hours ago). This is honestly just a sandbox where I write some stuff which is backrooms-related. Although I've been into creative writing for a couple of years, I'm still pretty new to the idea of the backrooms, having only really discovered them a month or so ago. One day I might write a novel about this universe because to put it in layman's terms, it seems pretty neat. So… yeah.
Also, note that none of these entries are really connected - they're just ways for me to get a feel of writing for this universe! Please don't edit this without my permission, PM me if you have advice or anything else. Thanks, and (hopefully) enjoy reading my work!
Sandbox Entry #1: The Fiery Attempt
Officers Graves and Peckett stood in the room, observing the scene around them. A single bed lay in the centre of the room, the sheets removed by the forensic scientists of the MEG for further investigation. The walls and floor near the bed were blackened with soot, and the team had also retrieved the corpse for analysis on how he had died. The two officers stood in silence, waiting for a report to come in as to the nature of the cadet's death.
"I hear he was almost set to be promoted." Graves spoke up, breaking the dense silence.
"Yes," Peckett responded, "and by all accounts a good man. Graves grunted his agreement, as a forensic scientist opened the door and strode forward.
"Officers, we have a report."
The air in the room thickened. Peckett glanced at the two items in the scientist's hands, in one a coil of what appeared to be the husk of a burnt rope, and in the other a small cannister. The scientist began the report, and held up the cannister. "Pyroil. The sheets were slathered in the stuff. And," he continued, holding up the blackened rope, " this seems to be the instrument used to start the fire. As I'm sure you gentlemen know, pyroil is very flammable. It's my guess the concealed rope was lit at the door in the night, and connected to the sheets underneath the mattress. The cadet was incinerated before he could wake, I fear."
Shock resonated around the room. It was a horrible way to die. Graves inquired, "The cadet… have the analysts found anything that might point us to the identity of the assassin?" As if in response to his words, Lead Analyst Johnson stepped through the doors as the forensic returned to his laboratory. Johnson was rather informal, but every officer in MEG knew to take him seriously. "In answer, Graves, no. We have no clue in heck what the assassin was killing for." Peckett chipped in.
"An attack on the MEG, I would presume."
"Negative, chief. This was a cadet, not a high-ranking official or a large group. This wasn't meant for the MEG, but rather something specific to our unfortunate victim."
"May I see the files, Johnson?"
"Of course." Johnson handed over two papers, printed and stamped with the standard MEG format. Skimming over the data, his keen glance detected everything he needed to know.
"He was, apparently, somewhat dismissive of Jerry."
"Not that blue parakeet and his bloody fanatics."
"Don't let the Followers hear you saying that.
"I doubt it can do much harm."
"That was the mistake our recently deceased friend here made. The Followers are just the kind to take vengeance on a poor soul who insulted the name of their idol. They take him so seriously. Did you hear what they did to that Level 3 hobo?"
"That doesn't matter now," replied Johnson, "what matters is that they're willing to play dirty to protect the name of their stupid bird-god thing. We can launch a counterattack on them, but it may make things worse." Graves, who had been contemplating while his colleague and Johnson discussed the matter, spoke up.
"Yes. The Followers are like a Hydra - kill one, two bounce back. If you ask me, we need outside help to deal with this."
"Try telling that to Commander Tusk. You know what he says about MEG managing fine on its own, not needing assistance from anyone. That's the way he's worked for years. He's always been the one helping people, he's ill-suited to accepting the help of others even when he needs it. Stretch might be more lenient, but he's too far up to bother with this."
"I don't plan on telling Tusk," said Graves, "particularly not with the person I need to go to."
Graves didn't need to explain what he meant. He needed answers to his quandary. He needed to know what do about the Followers. He needed the advice of her.