The light never turned off.
It wasn't bright.
It wasn't warm.
It just… existed.
Flat. Colorless. Pressed against his eyes no matter how tight he shut them.
Tilo lay on the floor with his cheek against something smooth and cold. Not cold like ice. Cold like it didn't care whether he was there or not.
His stomach hurt.
Not the sharp kind. The empty kind. The kind that made swallowing feel pointless.
He didn't know how long he'd been here.
There were no windows.
No corners.
No marks on the walls.
Just white.
Too white.
He tried sitting up. His arms shook immediately. Small arms. Skinny. Bruises blooming yellow and purple along his wrists where restraints had been before.
Gone now.
That was worse.
When the restraints were on, at least something was touching him.
He pushed himself upright anyway. The room didn't react. No alarms. No sounds. Just the soft hum that never stopped, like the room was breathing without lungs.
His throat felt dry. When he licked his lips, they cracked.
"Hello?" he said.
His voice sounded wrong. Too loud. Too small.
It vanished instantly, swallowed by the walls.
He waited.
Nothing answered.
His eyes burned. He hadn't cried yet. He didn't want to. Crying made his head hurt afterward. Crying made it harder to think.
Thinking mattered.
He didn't know why he knew that. He just did.
A click echoed.
Tilo flinched so hard his back hit the wall.
The sound came from everywhere at once.
Then a voice.
Not a person's voice.
Too even. Too careful.
"Subject confirmed conscious."
Tilo's fingers dug into the floor.
"I— I'm awake," he said quickly. "I'm awake, I'm not sleeping."
Silence.
Then—
"Test will begin shortly."
His chest tightened.
Test.
That word had weight.
He didn't remember the first test. Only the end of it. The pain afterward. The way his body wouldn't stop shaking no matter how much he told it to.
"How do I pass?" he asked.
No answer.
He swallowed. Tried again. "What do you want me to do?"
The light flickered once.
The wall in front of him slid open with a smooth mechanical sound.
Behind it waited a square opening, barely taller than he was.
Inside: darkness.
Not black. Not shadows.
Just absence.
A faint smell drifted out. Metal. Old water.
His stomach twisted.
"Please," he said before he could stop himself.
The word slipped out ugly and small.
No response.
A thin red line appeared on the floor beneath him.
It pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Then began creeping forward, slow and steady, inching toward the opening.
Tilo stared at it.
He'd learned this part already.
If the line reached him, something bad happened.
He didn't know what this time.
He didn't want to find out.
He stood.
His legs almost gave out. Pins and needles shot up his calves, like they'd forgotten how to work while he was lying down.
He took one step.
The red line didn't speed up.
Didn't slow either.
It just kept coming.
He looked at the opening again.
Dark. Narrow. Smelled wrong.
He hated dark spaces.
They reminded him of the box.
He sucked in a breath through his nose. It shook halfway in.
Think.
He glanced around the room. Same white walls. No markings. No tools. No cracks. Nothing to grab. Nothing to use.
Nothing except himself.
The red line touched the tip of his toes.
A sharp buzz ran up his leg, not painful yet—more like a warning.
Tilo yelped and jumped back.
The buzz followed.
He stumbled forward instead, heart slamming so hard it hurt his ribs.
He crossed the threshold just as the red line reached where he'd been standing.
The wall slid shut behind him instantly.
Darkness swallowed everything.
He screamed.
The sound bounced back at him, too close, too loud. It felt like someone else was screaming right into his face.
He clamped his hands over his mouth.
Breathe. Breathe.
The air here felt thick. Wet.
He stretched his arms out slowly until his fingertips brushed metal on both sides.
The space was tight.
He shuffled forward, feet scraping.
The floor slanted downward.
Not much. Just enough to notice.
The farther he went, the colder it got.
His breath started fogging.
A faint blue light appeared ahead. Weak. Blurry.
He moved toward it without thinking.
Then the floor dropped.
Tilo fell.
He hit hard, the air exploding out of his lungs in a silent gasp. Pain burst up his spine. His vision flashed white for a second—brighter than the room ever was.
He curled instinctively, hugging his knees.
Don't pass out.
He didn't know why that mattered.
He just knew it did.
The blue light flickered overhead now. A small panel set into the ceiling of this new chamber.
The floor beneath him was metal grating. Something dripped below.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Cold water splashed his ankle.
He sucked in a breath and scrambled upright.
The room was larger. Maybe four steps across. Four steps long.
On the opposite wall: three symbols.
A square.
A circle.
A triangle.
Below them, three levers.
Above them, words appeared in thin black text.
ONLY ONE OPENS THE EXIT.
TWO WILL ACTIVATE CORRECTION.
Tilo's hands started shaking again.
Correction.
That was worse than punishment.
Punishment hurt.
Correction changed things.
He stepped closer, eyes darting between the shapes.
No clues. No numbers. No patterns.
Just choices.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
Think. Think.
He stared at the symbols until his eyes watered.
Square. Circle. Triangle.
He thought of the room he'd come from. Square.
He thought of the light panel. Circle.
He thought of the opening. Triangle shape, kind of.
His thoughts tangled over each other.
Wrong. That's guessing.
Guessing got him hurt last time.
The dripping below sped up.
Tick.
Tick.
Tickticktick.
Water splashed higher now.
Cold soaked into his socks.
The temperature dropped another notch. His teeth clicked together once before he could stop them.
He forced himself to breathe slow.
In.
Out.
In.
He knelt and pressed his palm to the metal grating.
Vibration.
Very faint.
It pulsed in a steady rhythm.
Not from all sides.
From the left.
He stood quickly and moved to the left lever.
The vibration was stronger here.
Not by much.
But enough.
"I think," he whispered. "I think it's this one."
The room didn't respond.
His fingers wrapped around the lever.
Cold bit into his skin.
He hesitated.
If he was wrong—
The water surged suddenly, splashing up to his knees.
He gasped.
No more time.
He pulled.
The lever slammed down.
For half a second, nothing happened.
Then the room screamed.
Not sound.
Pressure.
The air compressed violently, slamming into his chest. His ears rang. His vision tunneled.
He collapsed forward, choking.
Wrong.
Wrong wrong wrong—
The water froze instantly, ice crawling up his legs like hands.
Pain exploded.
He cried out despite himself.
Then—
Everything stopped.
The pressure vanished.
The ice melted.
The water drained away like it had never been there.
A door slid open on the far wall.
The blue light brightened slightly.
The voice returned.
"Correction complete."
Tilo lay there shaking, gasping, eyes burning.
He hadn't chosen the right one.
He'd just survived the wrong one.
He stared at his hands.
They wouldn't stop trembling.
Somewhere deep in his chest, something clenched tight—not fear, not pain.
Something else.
A refusal.
The voice spoke again.
"Proceed."
Tilo pushed himself up.
He walked toward the open door anyway.