More Founders Valley, Parts:
⤷ One ⋅ Two ⋅ Three ⋅ Four ⋅ Five ⋅ Six ⤷ Limspace Systems ⤏ Backrooms ⤏ Tales
SAFFRON
A Backrooms Story
⤷ Massacre in the Founders Valley, pt. 5
◦ • ◦
He lies there, deep inside the void.
But not the void, truly. For "void" suggests the absence of all things: the antithesis of "something" — a true and eternal nothing. And that is not where he lies. He lies not in nothing, but within an expanse so grand it boggles the mind to picture. A cosmic sea: not of space, not of water, but of air; churning, windy, pitch-dark air vaster than you can picture — and then a million times vaster than that. He resides there, in a kingdom of nothing, overseeing all.
As a being so enveloped by nothing, he had never felt the touch of anything but his own scales. Thus he gouged into himself with claw and talon, deep into salmon-pink flesh out of touch-starved madness — an embrace of excruciating comfort. His wounds festered with pus, healed with scabs, and calloused into grotesque scar tissue, but in spite of the pain, it was solace.
Who knows from what he was conceived, but he existed nonetheless. From his neck sprouted two tattered appendages that should have been wings but could never fly. From the small of his back to the point of his tail, he was dotted with bony outcroppings that jutted out at contorted angles and sometimes dug into his many tangled limbs. Wound so tightly into himself, his scales would scrape against the bones, crying out in shrieks of friction as they ground into powder. A twitch or shudder and — snap — he would tear a piece of himself right off. This lonely mound of flesh had no choice but to continue growing, for death eluded him. And always, every day, he hungered.
The wretched creature was bestowed but one gift to endure the torment of the void: a brilliant mind. Or, rather, that was torture as well. For a mind so aware, eager to learn, to think, to be — exposed to an eternal canvas of darkness… you might say that gift was the sickest punishment of all. In time, perhaps over millennia or even longer curled up in himself, growing, alone, lying dormant in the void, his brilliant mind became twisted.
Yet, in an unexpected revelation, he discerned something that would be his salvation. With his mind, he could feel things far away — sense them, comprehend them — without touching them. And over eons, perhaps longer, he trained this power to understand many things. He wandered countless empty worlds with tendrils of thought, still alone, ecstatic to learn what existed beyond his domain. For a time, he was happy. But curiosity alone could not satiate him forever. And within him grew a darker, insidious desire to control the things he saw, to manipulate the worlds beyond his reach; to give purpose to his power.
After long his solitude was shattered when, quite remarkably, he sensed another presence. Another living creature — with a mind that was not his own. And there were more of them, many more minds in the worlds beyond the void. Human minds. Creatures with feelings, aspirations, and fears. And they were not alone, they had one another.
After unfathomable ages of solitude, it was with a twisted satisfaction that he found he could know their mind as he knew other things: with tendrils of thought he could enter their thoughts and understand them. He could see through their eyes, touch through their skin, speak through their mouths. Sometimes even, in their dreams, he could alter their minds and implant musings of his own, turning them into puppets strung along the coils of his influence.
And what was an unsocialized, tortured, rotten being to do then?
◦ • ◦
Saffron woke with a jolt.
She was at her desk, pen in hand, with a faint red imprint of her clipboard across her cheek. How long had she been asleep? Her tea had grown cold, and she had let it steep far too long — any earthy notes or sweetness would be nothing but bitter now. Yet the hydroponics night cycle hadn’t engaged; the whirring fans, sump pumps, and warm heat lamps still filled the greenhouse with their lively ambient music. It couldn't have been longer than a half hour or so. Odd, it wasn’t like her to take a cat nap. And it wasn’t the first time she had abruptly fallen asleep at her workstation lately. Perhaps she was overexerting herself.
She removed her askew wireframe glasses and rubbed her face, tugging at the corners of her cat-like eyes. Then she traced her fingertips along the back of her neck where her augmentations were, gently stroking the cold metal lances surgically embedded into her spinal cord. The polyps that grew within them were still adolescents; they would grow and filter her spinal fluid for another three or four cycles before reaching maturity. She never had to sleep until the polyps were fully grown. Why was she so mentally drained?
Her eyes were strained. After a languid stretch, she put her glasses back on. They were large — only slightly obtrusive, and tinted to mitigate her photosensitivity. Looking down, her notes were a dizzying array of scribbles. She needed food. If she was passing out in the research wing, it was time to take a break. She hoped there was fresh bread.
With cold tea in one hand, clipboard in the other, and a pen nestled behind a long pointed ear, Saffron nearly sleepwalked through the hallways of Outpost Athenaeum in a familiar daze. First, through the greenhouse mainway. She moved past rows of vegetables growing from PVC pipes and manestem mushrooms sprouting from rich soil and mulch. Saffron pushed gently through hanging sepiavine berries that dangled at eye level from hanging baskets above, noseblind to the sweet scents of earth, ozone, and petrichor. She passed familiar faces as she walked, most of them nose-deep in a plant with sheers trimming overgrowth or delicately observing leaves for mould or mites.
If the greenhouse was the fruits of Athenaeum, the rest of the outpost was her branches, her trunk, and the roosting places of symbiotic creatures (primarily well-read UNCB citizens) that kept her robust and thriving. Everything was intertwined here: the outpost depended on its people, and the people depended on each other. The people in turn relied on the systems of the outpost: its lights, its waterways, and its sealed perimeter wall. It was a fragile ecosystem nestled within a vast lifeless desert — for beyond its walls lay the Frontier: the endless dizzying maze of halls. And out there, life was a rare and precious thing.
Athenaeum was a jewel buried within an abyss — for, truly, nothing like it had ever been discovered before. It was an anomaly, a miracle. When Saffron first set foot within it many years before, it was an overgrown, abandoned ruin with not a soul left alive within. It took months to restore it to an operational state, but now? The greenhouse provided more than just sustenance for the people here; it provided hope to the entirety of the United Colonies. Never before its discovery and revitalization had the cultivation and trade of seeds been possible, which bestowed a quality of life to all within the fold of the UNCB.
Saffron knew very well just how tenuous and beautiful a place it was. Before Athenaeum… well, not a lot of good came before then. Not since the Exodus of Alpha Point, nearly a century ago. And she hardly wanted to think about something so nostalgic now. No. She was on a mission for bread.
Next Saffron made her way through Athenaeum’s beating heart: the plumbing and generators. They never stopped whirring with life and gargling with suction. These systems were powered by entangled batteries that siphoned electricity from distant sources through quantum means she did not comprehend. The pipes and filters provided clean, flowing water throughout the entire compound, and here they also mixed plant nutrients and fertilizers into the waterways. At the bottom of the plumbing was a deep well that ran beneath the greenhouse, and there below Saffron’s feet they cultivated a sheet of sludge-fairy lilies across the surface of the reservoir basin. The lilies infused the tea she carelessly let grow cold.
To reach the living quarters beyond, she first had to pass the microstock chambers. Here they cultivated thriving enclosures of fish, snails, and frontier fireflies as the outpost's primary breeding programs. They acted as the backbone of Athenaeum's ecosystem by providing natural methods of decomposition and soil enrichment, as well as essential sources of calories and protein for the people who lived and worked there. Most of the species were sourced from the carpeted wetlands of the deep frontier; others were carefully brought as live cargo via porter trade. Other creatures used for smaller experimental domestication programs were just further down the hall.
After passing the microstock chambers, she approached the faceling cages. Even in her weary stride, Saffron still hustled quickly past them, for they were a grotesque calorie-breeding experiment that disquieted her. The creatures had uncanny human faces that never blinked, and familiar hands that gripped the bars of their cages with tight knuckles — but they were surely still nothing more than beasts. She would tell herself that every time: facelings were just mindless entities. Given the chance they would devour everyone in the compound, down to the bone. They cooed gently at her passing to catch her attention, but she kept her gaze forward.
Intrusive thoughts always clawed at her mind down this hallway. She couldn't help imagining herself trapped in one of those cages — or worse, that some people might say she belonged in one. Her ears twitched involuntarily and she felt conscious of her entity eyes and the polyps growing from her neck; stark reminders of the thin line between her humanity and what was done to her in the obsidian infirmary long ago.
Saffron forcibly expelled the thoughts from her mind. She had to be stronger than those weary old anxieties for both herself and Maria, her adopted daughter. Maria, too, was different. She would one day face similar struggles of identity.
Past the microstock chambers and breeding programs was a crossroads leading to either the workshop or the mess hall, and Saffron made her way to the latter. Already down the hall she could hear Maria's playful babbling annoying people in the kitchen.
As Saffron entered, she was met with the sight of Maria literally climbing Anton, tugging his clothes and yanking at his shoulders and arms, all to reach the high countertops to sneak a sample of dinner before it was ready. Saffron leaned against the doorway with her clipboard held against her chest, watching for a moment with a smile. Quietly, she entered and placed the cold mug of tea into a tray.
"Need a hand, hot stuff?"
Anton whirled around with Maria latched onto an arm, swinging wildly, giggling all the way. She jumped and crawled like a lemur all over the poor man as if he were a climbing frame.
"There you are Goggles! Please, yes, take this hellspawn away from me."
When she saw Saffron, Maria's little face somehow lit up even more.
"Mama!" Maria detached from Anton's leg and ran to Saffron to latch onto her instead.
Saffron ruffled Maria's hair (on the side without the dozens of haphazard hairclips pinned all over) and looked back up to Anton, who was shaking out the willies with relief to be rid of the child's pestering. Saffron furrowed her eyebrows playfully at Anton's crass name-calling and heckled him.
"I meant with supper, the hellspawn is everyone's responsibility."
Anton waved a hand dismissively at her offer and got back to work. Saffron knelt to Maria's level, setting her clipboard down and grabbing each side of Maria's face to smoosh her cheeks back and forth.
"Aren't you, my little hellspawn? Anton thinks you're a little hellspawn, doesn't he!"
Saffron's teasing was met with an eruption of giggles as Maria swatted her away and smacked at her hands. Finished with the torment, Saffron picked the girl up and held her at her waist in a smooth practiced motion. Wandering into the kitchen, she started peering at Anton's cooking, ensuring Maria's curious fingers could not snag any prepared vegetables. Much to her delight, Saffron spied a few fresh loaves of bread hiding among the chef's endeavours.
Anton read her mind. "It's soup and sandwiches today." He said, dropping chopped cabbage into a bubbling stock from a cutting board.
The firm, sepia-tone leaves succumbed to the soup's heat and instantly turned tender. The pot smelled wonderful, salty, strong with garlic, and had the earthy undertones you'd expect of a slow simmered vegetable broth. There were flashes of bright orange carrot and silky-white onion chopped into it — a regal meal for the Frontier. Investigating further, Saffron eyed the loaves of bread. The sandwiches would be cabbage on sourdough with a zesty vinegar spread; a delightful accompaniment that was best dipped into the soup. She practically drooled in anticipation.
Lastly, Anton finely chopped up a mound of dehydrated fireflies that had been slow-roasted that morning for an energetic protein boost. Maria watched with starry eyes as — with a swish of the flat end of Anton's knife against his cutting board — in the bug-crumble went, right into the soup with a satisfying plop. Maria cheered triumphantly.
"Bugs!"
Anton chatted with the girls as he worked. He nodded towards Saffron, who was bouncing Maria gently on her hip.
"Anything noteworthy coming through soon, Ms. Coordinator?"
She shook her head. "Nah, everything's outbound right now, sucks. But — if I'm hearing right, the Curtis family will be in the neighbourhood soon. They're delivering to the Point. Maybe they'll pop in for a sling route."
Saffron was primarily responsible for organizing inbound and outbound shipments at the Outpost; the touchstone between Athenaeum, the United Colonies, and the powerful Guild of Level 14. It was a full-time job to manage resources for the long-term survival of the outpost while maximizing Athenaeum's output to benefit humanity beyond their walls. It involved cooperation with every layer of the community: inventory monitors, botanists, journeymen, and the wandering enigmatic Porters alike.
She continued. "If my math is right, and they had a smooth journey, they should have entered the Founders Valley around this time actually."
Anton nodded. "You look tired."
"Strange, right? I actually fell asleep at my desk just now."
"You okay?"
Anton was cutting the bread now into thick, fluffy slices. Saffron stared at the soft loaves, entranced by the crumbs that tumbled down from the serrated blade and how the slices would topple over so slowly and softly. It was a moist batch, and the grain was light and springy inside with a golden crust that had cracked open during baking. Anton noticed her silence and paused, glancing at her.
Saffron mumbled. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just been running lots of numbers."
He handed her a slice — and one for Maria too. Saffron's pupils visibly dilated with excitement as she grabbed the bread and popped it into her mouth without a hint of restraint. Anton smirked at what a mess she was. He wondered; was that just amusement, or adoration on his face?
Anton asked again, "So what, you got narcolepsy? You know we've been careful about dreams since, well, the thing. Don't want you going ol' Cooper on us."
Saffron tried to remember. Had she been dreaming? Her mind drew a blank. There was certainly nothing like the deathly Null Report incident going on, where Cooper took his own life after becoming possessed by his dreams. When that report flooded the terminal network, it brought with it a wave of panic throughout the colonies. It put into question if anyone was ever safe when malicious creatures of deeplim could reach out to us so easily, breaching even the private sanctums of the human mind.
She shook her head. "We're lucky no one's had trouble with that. Somehow…"
Saffron trailed off. Maria squirmed in her grasp, antsy to get down and cause more trouble. Saffron looked at the girl warmly — she was getting so big. She wondered if the scar tissue that completely covered the right half of Maria's face ever caused the girl pain. Did she smile through it? Or was she truly free from suffering?
Saffron thought about how fragile all these things were: the greenhouse, the shelter of the outpost, the carefree laughter of a small child who didn't live in fear of entities or starvation. How long it had taken to build themselves up to this point — and how many brilliant strokes of luck had aligned to give her carefree moments like this. What it all had come from, and how quickly it could all be stripped away.
She didn't say the words out loud, just in case it was a jinx.
'Somehow, I think we're safe here.'