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In short, today I went with Sandra and Jerry to the nearby store to scavenge for food. Once you understand the landmarks of this place, navigation becomes less challenging.
The signs overhead help a lot, but there are other markers too. Not far from here, a large section of giant shelves has collapsed onto each other. Heading east (or what we assume is east—this IKEA doesn't seem to sell compasses), there's some kind of wooden tower that stretches all the way to the ceiling. Maybe someone tried to break through the roof.
The lights are on at night, so someone is definitely there, but it seems to be a few days' journey (which means it's probably miles away), so nobody around here has really confirmed it. It looks like I've been lucky to have slept outside for a whole week without getting ripped apart by the employees. That's me. Lucky, lucky, lucky.
We found food in the store.
Maybe the employees restock at night, so thanks to them for that. There's a phone on the wall, and I decided to try it. There was a voice on the other end, but it was just gibberish. Random words crammed together without making any sense.
Have you ever seen someone with aphasia? It sounded a lot like that. In any case, there was no real response. Sandra said all the phones here work like that.
Oh, and they're asking about the journal again!
Last night, I was thinking about something. The ceiling here is so high, too far for anyone to say for sure if it ever ends. So shouldn't this place have its own weather or something?
I'm pretty sure I once read that certain NASA buildings were big enough to create their own weather patterns—like clouds and such. This place is definitely larger than that, but now that I think about it, I've never felt any temperature change here.
I'll add that to the list of weird, inexplicable things.
Last night, the employees attacked Exchange Town. There were about 20 or 30 of them, all calmly and politely asking us to leave while hammering at the walls with their bare hands. Apparently, this happens regularly, so everyone is prepared. Kitchen knives, axes made from lawnmower blades, fire axes.
There's even a guy named Wasim who managed to build a crossbow. Anyway, there are holes in the walls—previously discovered ones—that let us stab at the employees during the attack. I personally took down a few. They don't seem to bleed, which is odd, but if you make a hole in them, they drop just as easily as regular people.
In the morning, we had to drag away the bodies. Apparently, leaving the dead ones around attracts more of them at night, so we have to get them out of Exchange Town. We've got two carts meant for transporting large crates, so we loaded them up and hauled the bodies to the loading zone. It seems like people have named everything here based on the overhead labels.
The loading zone is terrifying. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands of dead employees piled up. Thankfully, there's no smell. It seems like whatever these things are, they don't rot, just like they don't bleed. Out of curiosity, I checked out one that had been cut open. They only have skin, or what looks like skin—nothing else. No muscles, bones, or organs.
Are they even alive? They sure act like they have bones when they're smashing walls. And I swear there was more than just skin resistance when I stabbed them last night.
Maybe something changes when they die. Just another bizarre mystery in the ever-growing list, I guess.
One night after the employee attack, I thought of something.
Every time I see a situation like this on TV or in movies—apocalyptic worlds or groups of people trapped on an island—when a group like ours forms, people always end up fighting each other.
For food, for leadership, or for something else.
But that doesn't happen here.
People from other towns come by from time to time to check in or trade when they run short of supplies. But everything is cordial.
It's even friendly. Maybe it's the threat of the employees, or maybe the store's ability to keep restocking removes the need for conflict. Maybe people do better when there's no trust involved. That's a nice thought. I think I'll go with that.
In the afternoon, about a dozen people showed up at the door, from a town called Cart Town.
Apparently, the employees broke through the walls during the night and destroyed the town. These 12 people were the only survivors out of a hundred or so.
Of course, we let them in. Chalk up another point for the human decency squad. Afterward, I asked if anyone had any idea how many towns there really are here. Between us and the newcomers, we counted over 20 names. More than 20 towns full of people, and who knows how many more beyond that.
The slogan for this place should be, "How is this even possible?" Surely, someone out there is looking for the thousands of people trapped here.
I've been here for over two months. Not much has changed. A few new people have shown up, all with the same story as the rest of us. Happily coming to IKEA, only to suddenly get stuck in this faceless monster-filled nightmare that is Billy's bookcase home.
The employees attack Exchange Town once or twice a week. We kill them and haul away the bodies, and sometimes they get a few of us first. A few weeks ago, they killed a guy named Jared.
Honestly, it was horrifying. Turns out regular people still bleed here, even if the employees don't. We did our best, but none of us are doctors.
Jared was a good guy. He didn't deserve that. None of us do.
I couldn't get it out of my mind for days afterward. None of us really want to try finding the exit, and I wouldn't even know where to start.
Today, a drone with a camera flew over Exchange Town. I think this means someone is finally looking for us. Rescue must be on the way. But apparently, this isn't the first time. The same thing happened months ago, and everyone is still here.
I don't know if it saw us, but even if it did, it didn't stop. It just kept flying until it was out of sight.
[Note: Based on the timing of this journal entry, it appears to correspond with our first successful drone test in SCP-3008-1. Video analysis found a settlement near a sign labeled "Returns and Exchanges." Attempts to locate this settlement again have failed. The source of other previously observed drones remains unknown.]
During dinner today, I started talking to people about what they miss from home. Maybe not the best idea, but everyone seemed to appreciate it. A lot of people here have families. Wives, husbands. Kids. Dogs. Franklin apparently had a pet alpaca—I'm not sure I've ever bought one.
But it's clear that some people here have strange gaps in their knowledge. Three people had never heard of the International Space Station, two seemed to think ███████████ was the prime minister, and one had apparently never heard of the Declaration of Independence. And I believe them. They seem as clueless as the rest of us.
At first, I thought maybe they came here in a different year than I did, but they don't seem that much older or younger than me.
(End of Chapter)