Thankfully fate, for once, was not entirely cruel.
Right in front of him stood door 92.
He stared at it, breath ragged.
"Seems I jumped one," he mused.
He pulled the door open, slipped through, and slammed it shut behind him before breaking into a run.
He was exhausted. Truly exhausted. His lungs burned, every breath shallow and ragged. His legs ached, muscles screaming in protest, his chest tight as if something heavy sat on it. Still, he pushed on. Getting caught wasn't an option.
God forbid I end up some geezer's bitch, he thought, revulsion twisting his gut.
At last, another door appeared at the end of the corridor.
He slowed.
Then stopped.
Door 92.
The number stared back at him.
"…Did I just run in a full circle?" he muttered.
His jaw tightened.
"Fuck."
He turned, taking the right corridor this time.
He ran for minutes before finding another numbered door.92.
The same number, written in gold and smeared with red. The same embedded skull, its grimacing mouth leaking thick liquid that slid down the wood.
Blood.It had always been blood.
He'd been lying to himself—pretending this place was some kind of twisted brothel—but what kind of brothel painted its doors with blood? No. This was a butcher's playground, and he was the pig.
His heart rate spiked. Sweat poured into his eyes, blurring his vision, stinging as he blinked. He turned and ran back the way he came, skidding into the intersection.
Straight ahead: Door 92.Left: Door 92, another dead end.Right: the corridor he'd just escaped from.
"What am I doing?" he gasped. "Why don't I just open it?"
Maybe they'd numbered it like this to mess with him. Maybe it was all a trick.
He sprinted toward the door, lungs burning, heart hammering so hard it hurt. He yanked the handle.
It didn't budge.
He kicked it. Pain exploded up his leg. He threw himself against it, over and over, until the world tilted and he stumbled back, collapsing to the floor. Tears streamed down his face—not fear, not sadness—just raw pain.
He limped to the other door.
Same result. Solid. Mocking.
He dropped to his knees.
His thoughts no longer fought for hope. They settled into a single, crushing certainty: this was defeat. Every thought echoed the same conclusion. There was no clever escape. No mistake to exploit.
Even if he got out… did it matter?
This was their domain. Running only made it more fun for them. Stretching out the hunt. Delaying the inevitable.
He was going to die.
"And I thought luck was finally on my side," he muttered. "Jumping Door 93… straight into an unopenable 92."
He froze his mind latching unto his last thought. Lets try to retrace my steps maybe I missed something
Slowly, he stood and walked back to the last door he'd entered through. He tried the handle.
And...it opened.
(._.)
His eyebrow twitched.
I just wasted my time he thought in anger
He decided to keep moving, corridors bleeding into one another. No sky. No windows. Just ceiling after ceiling.
"I feel trapped," he muttered.
Dead ends everywhere. He stopped to listen, Silence. No chains.
He sighed
In his heart he knew it. He still hoped and that only made him angrier.
He sat down, head bowing.
"No point running anymore" he decided. "Let them come. I'll show them what it means to fight when you have nothing to lose."
Drip.
Something splashed against his head. He wiped it away and looked up.
Drip.
Red flooded his vision.
"What the—"His gaze locked onto the ceiling.
Door 93.
Embedded right above him.
huh? who the fuck built this place. He stood up and jumped with all his might, pushing open the door
Lets see what is in there.
He ran, jumped, caught the edge. Missed. Backed up. Ran again. This time his fingers latched on. Pain tore through his arm as he hauled himself up, teeth clenched, breath ragged.
He pulled himself through.
Door 92 right ahead.
Again.
Rage snapped something inside him.
He dashed and kicked it. Again. And again
"Fuck you—fuck—YOU—"
His leg burned. His breath came ragged. Veins throbbed in his temples. Finally, he stopped.
He closed his eyes.
Inhale.Exhale.
The anger didn't vanish—but it obediently stepped aside. Fear still existed, but it no longer owned him. His thoughts sharpened.
This won't last, he thought soon the fear will come creeping again and I cant stand here and wait.
He reached for the handle, expecting resistance.
However, It opened smoothly.
"…Huh?"
He crouched beside the door, suspicion crawling under his skin. He looked around it searching for the lock mechanism.
None, maybe hidden
He sighed and moved on. This time he watched everything. Backtracking. Searching for cameras. Looking for odd-looking spaces or objects however, none graced him with their presence
Finally—Door 50.
Inside was a room unlike any other. Vast. Ordered. Ancient, almost ceremonial. At its center sat a swimming pool—crystal clear water filled with glittering gold: coins, rings, bracelets.
At the far end stood Door 49.
Locked.
A keyhole.
The key wasn't hard to guess. The pool. A game to play as usual.
Food sat nearby—rich, deliberate. Cuisine meant to fatten the pig before slaughter.
He sat down.
No.He wouldn't play. This time he would fight.
He began pondering, suicide or fight a losing battle
If he jumped into the pool, they'd stop him before he drowned. They wouldn't let the game end like that so they remained one choice, to fight
Hours later, the door burst open.
Sebastian sprang to his feet.
A woman stepped inside closing the door behind.
Dark hair clung to her face, tangled and damp. Her dress—torn, scorched in places
She looked exhausted. Terrified. Furious.
"Who are you?" Sebastian immediately demanded.
Her eyes widened.
"…You."
"What?"Confusion crept into his voice. "What do you mean me?"
She ignored him, pacing. "Where the hell am I? How did I get here? And what is that thing chasing me?"
"Why are you asking me—" he asked. Was this part of the game. get someone to win his trust, well they failed at...
He never saw her move.
Suddenly he was airborne his thoughts scrambled.
Her hand closed around his throat and slammed him into the wall.
"I asked you a question."
Her voice was cold. Flat. Like she was annoyed, not angry.
"I—I don't know," he wheezed. "I'm running too."
She raised an eyebrow then dropped him.
"Your being chased" she asked her face right next to his, her hands holding his chin tilting it to look into his eyes perhaps checking for lies
He nodded, while coughing
She continued to question him, he hands squeezing tighter causing him to grimace in pain.
"Do you also hear clanging when it's close?"
He nodded, coughing.
"…Then you're not one of them however, somehow the thing is in here." She rubbed her temples. "Fuck I shouldn't have tried to eat you, I was to greedy."
Sebastian shivered.
Eat?Was she—?
She dropped him and tried the door. Locked.
"A key hole" she muttered. "Of course." She turned. "Where is it?"
He stood slowly. "First—how did I get here? And what did you mean by eat?"
She smiled.
Not kindly.
"You know I could kill you, right?"
"Then you'll never find the key," he said quickly, sweat breaking across his back.
she tilted her head then looked at the pool. "You don't have it, probably in the pool"
Her eyes returned to him.
"Out of the five of you, your soul looked… best. Cleanest. And you to add to that also had the nerve to burn me."
"Burn you?"
"My tree."
His head rang.
Memory surged back—flames, panic, burning wood.
"It was you," he whispered. "You dragged me here."
Her smile faded.
"Yes."
"Then why are you being chased?" he demanded. "And what do you mean by that thing inside me?"
The room felt colder.
Her voice dropped—slower now. More dangerous and commanding.
"Jump into the pool and find the key if you want to live."
She turned and sat down, already waiting for him to comply.