"Thanks honey." My mother Nicole handed my father Knut a cup of freshly brewed filter coffee while he sat buried behind his newspaper at our breakfast table.

Yes, really, believe it or not: filter coffee and paper newspapers. Neither tastes great and both are environmental sins. Why did God invent fully automatic coffee machines and tablets? Not for my dad, that was for sure.

"Mom! We have to go or I'll be late," Emilia, my overexcited sister crowed as she did every morning. It was 7:15 a.m. Plenty of time to reach the nearby school before eight. There was no reason to chauffeur her by car either. Outside, the spring sun was shining.

"Yes, pumpkin, I'll be right there," Mum replied, grabbing her keys, purse and Emilia's satchel. "Marc, do you want to join?"

"No, thanks, I'll take the bike. Don't feel like standing around outside the locked building for half an hour." Unlike my sister, who would have an extensive chat with her friends.

However, my real reason was different.

Shortly thereafter, the front door clanged shut. I carefully placed the spoon next to the cereal bowl and turned to my father.

"Dad, we need to talk."

"Hmm ... sure. About what?" he asked in an absent voice, not bothering to lower the newspaper.

"Knut! I mean it!"

He neatly folded the unwieldy paper and placed it next to his plate, on which two slices of toast with sliced cheese and strawberry jam lay untouched. He was a wiry man in his mid-forties, easily half a head shorter than me. His steel-gray eyes looked at me steadfastly.

"So, what do you want to talk about, Marc?"

"About us. The Backrooms. Async. Everything."

"There's nothing to talk about. You came back safe and sound and didn't get no-clipped again. Be thankful. Possibly the destruction of the Faceling laser helped prevent that from happening so easily again." He shrugged his shoulders. "As I have explained to you several times, I suffer from the same genetic defect as you. Occasionally, I take on assignments for the Biologists. But it's all subject to strict secrecy, so I can't talk to you about it."

"And what if I still no-clip?"

"Then find an option to no-clip back or an outpost as soon as possible. There is no other option. We can neither prevent it nor help you directly on the ground."

"But what about Alex or better Sophia?"

"I'm not allowed to talk about that either."

"And Dox?"

"Is my boss at the Biologists." He took a deep breath. "We've been over this a thousand times, too, Marc. What's your point?"

"I ... don't know. After my experiences in the Backrooms and the destruction of the laser. There ... there I thought something would change between us. We would go on missions together or something."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but that's not possible. On the one hand, you're still too young, and on the other hand, you lack the appropriate training. Besides ..."

"What?"

"The missions are dangerous. I don't want anything to happen to you. I couldn't forgive myself for that."

"Well great. If we lose our father, that's okay — or what?"

"No, of course not. But the missions are important. For all humanity."

"More important than your family, but not important enough for your clumsy son to attend! Well, thank you!"

I almost screamed the last words. Blood rushed in my ears. Why did adults have double standards? By now I was almost seventeen. The one year would hardly make a difference.

"Marc ..."

"It doesn't matter! You always pack me in absorbent cotton. I'm not allowed to do anything!"

With a jerk, I jumped up. The chrome kitchen chair landed clattering on the wooden floorboards. Without saying another word or noticing my father's, I grabbed the school backpack, stomped out the door, and slammed it behind me with a crash.

↼⇁

Eight endless hours later, I unlocked the apartment door with a click. The long day at school had come to an end. The clatter of dishes sounded from the kitchen. Probably Mom. My father, the fine Mr. Backrooms Agent, never condescended to these menial tasks. At the thought of this morning's discussion, my pulse shot straight up again.

"Hi Mom!," I called out clearly to announce myself.

"Hi Marc, how was school?"

"Nothing special. Isn't Dad here yet?"

"Sorry, he had to take on an urgent installation job and will be back in two days at the latest."

Bummer. The construction sites to which he supposedly drove for days on end with the 12-ton truck-mounted crane on assembly were the official excuse for his Backrooms missions. My mother and Emilia had no insight into his actual job — and into my adventures in the parallel dimension. They were convinced that the head injury I had suffered at the time had thrown me off track and that I was therefore later cared for in a psychological clinic for five days. In fact, this private clinic in Düsseldorf was at the same time the headquarters of the local section of the Biologists. Whether they belonged to the notorious Async Foundation, as I suspected, Dad would not confirm.

With Dad away, I had gained time to think quietly about how to approach things differently with my father and the Biologists.

A short time later, I was lying on the couch in my room, surfing on my tablet. Alex — I just couldn't get used to the real name Sophia — had disappeared from the virtual face of the earth. All her accounts were idle or deactivated. She had never given me her mobile number and I never learned her last name. I would have loved to go to Munich again and confront her. Surely she would live in the same apartment. But my parents would never let that happen. Dad had told Mum a tall tale that Alex was complicit in my psychological problems by encouraging me in the alleged hallucinations at the time. What a bullshit!

↼⇁

Saturday. Four days later. We were sitting down to dinner together. Grey bread, sliced cheese, fresh cold cuts and Nutella — the latter a concession to my sister's new habits — covered the table. Mum maintained these rituals and recently insisted that we partake of them even in our teens. At least if we were at home.

"Have you heard from Dad?," I asked her.

My father being late was not an everyday occurrence. If she knew that he was most likely on a mission in the potentially deadly Backrooms, she would be as tense as I was.

"No, Marc. Sorry. I spoke to his boss earlier. He said there were serious delays at the construction site. It would take at least a few more days. We shouldn't worry about it."

... and that, in times of smartphones! I could only shake my head. Dad's excuse was that he hated this "surveillance technology". But she did not press him to change it, and my dull-witted sister did not notice this oddity.

Later, in my room, I wondered what I could do. Reaching Dad was impossible. There was no radio or telephone in the Backrooms. The same was true for Alex. I also had no contact with Dox after leaving the clinic — or better: the Biologists' base.

What remained for me? To consciously switch to the parallel dimension again? That was out of the question. Dad was right about that being extremely dangerous. Effectively, I would have no chance of finding him. At least not without help and knowing what his mission was.

For the moment, I left it at that. He was an experienced agent on behalf of the Biologists. In the Backrooms, I had learned that you could wander around in a level for weeks. In my reality — the Frontrooms — that also meant days, even if time passed much more slowly here. Basically, it was amazing that my father had always arrived home halfway on time in the past.