This escape room is for a team of six, but one of mine went missing.
So I keep bumping into black walls, falling on a black floor, and staring hopelessly at a black ceiling.
I need to get out of here. I’m racing against time, while my heart races against the beep of a machine.
“There’s hope,” I remember the man in the lab coat saying. “You just have to work with the team you have left, as best as you can.”
But my four remaining partners are getting tired of doing all the work for me.
They’re starting to beat me down out of frustration, with closed-fist punches to the head.
I have no choice. I have to accept this abuse, because I have nothing left to depend on for my survival—just them.
I’m tired. I just want some quiet. Some rest.
Someone please shut this damn machine up.
I’m done playing this game. I have to get out of here.
I need daylight. Now.
Windows! I can feel two small windows. They’re… round… hard… sticky… wet… warm. I dig my nails into them and rip them out with my own bare hands.
My four partners and I erupt in screaming agony.
The game is over. We lost.
The doctor says my sight is never coming back.
Now my entire world is a dark escape room. It’s just me and my four remaining senses.