LEVEL 66 — THE RED HALL
The dream sours. Platforms turn to wet stone, the walls weep something dark, and the soft pastel sky is gone — replaced by a flickering red nothing. Every checkpoint here is slick and every sound is wrong. Survive it, and the obby goes quiet for a while.
LEVEL 69 — LITERATURE CLUB
A clubroom appears out of nowhere, pink and too cheerful. Jump between stacked poems and bookshelves while four familiar faces watch from the walls. The music loops a little too long. Something about the smiles doesn't render quite right.