The fluorescent hum is a physical assault after the relative silence of the factory. The stranger keeps moving, dragging me along, his grip unrelenting. We run, the damp carpet squishing under our feet. I risk a glance back. David stands in the doorway of the factory, a small, still figure against the darkness. He doesn't follow. He just watches, his face a pale oval, the glint of the scalpel in his hand like a malevolent star. He raises a hand and gives a small, cheerful wave.
The sight chills me more than any chase could.
"He's not following," I pant, trying to twist my arm free. "You can let go."
"Doesn't mean he's not coming," the stranger grunts, not slowing his pace. "He plays the long game."
He finally releases my arm, but only to shove me forward. "Keep moving. This place is bad to linger in. It makes you... forget."
We sprint down the endless, monotonous hallway. The yellow walls blur into a nauseating smear. The hum of the lights is a constant, grating presence in my skull. There are no doors, no windows, no landmarks. Just an endless, suffocating tunnel.
"Who are you?" I manage, my lungs burning.
"You don't need to know that," he snaps, his eyes constantly scanning our surroundings. "You just need to keep up."
"I can keep up just fine," I retort, a flash of anger cutting through my fear. "I'm the one who survived Floor 0."
He laughs, and that at least slows his movements a little. "Floor 0's just an introduction. Don't get cocky." He stops abruptly, holding up a hand. "Quiet."
I freeze, straining to hear. The hum of the lights seems louder suddenly, masking everything else. Then I hear it. A faint, rhythmic tapping. Like someone knocking on a wall from the other side. Tap. Tap. Tap. Pause. Tap.
The stranger gestures toward a section of the wall that looks identical to every other section. "Through there. There's a room."
"How do you know?"
"I know the sounds of this place," he says, moving toward the wall. "The hum changes near the openings. The texture of the carpet feels different." He runs a hand over the wallpaper. "See? This section feels... fresher. Less damp."
He presses a palm against the wall, and with a soft click, a section of it swings inward, revealing a dark opening. The smell of dust and dry rot billows out.
"After you," he says, a mocking courtesy in his tone.
I hesitate, my pipe clutched tightly. The tapping from inside the room has stopped. The silence feels more menacing than the noise.
"What's in there?" I whisper.
"A puzzle," he says, a strange light in his blue eyes. "Or a trap. They're usually the same thing."
I'm not here for puzzles. I'm here for survival.
I'm here...
For something I haven't decided yet. The ghost of my husband's face, the moonlight on the knife—still a fresh wound, still a driving force. But what do I do with it? What is the goal, beyond just... not dying?
"We can take the chance in here, or we can face something a whole lot bigger than what you ran from once that tapping's done. Your choice." The stranger says, as if reading my mind.
I look past him, down the endless yellow hallway. The hum of the lights is a physical pressure. The air is thick and suffocating. The thought of running through that maze again, with the shrieker—or something worse—hunting me, is unbearable.
The dark opening in the wall is a gamble. But it's a different kind of threat. A contained one. A puzzle, he said. I can handle a puzzle. I think.
I take a deep breath and step through the doorway.
The room is pitch black. The air is stale and thick with the smell of old paper. The floor is covered in a deep, dry layer of dust. The stranger follows me in, and the door swings shut behind us, plunging us into absolute, oppressive darkness.
I can hear him breathing beside me, a slow, steady rhythm that's unnervingly calm. My own heart is a frantic drum against my ribs.
"What now?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
"Now, we wait," he rasps. "And we listen."
For a long moment, there's nothing. Just the sound of our breathing and the pounding of my own blood in my ears. Then, a new sound begins. A low, grinding noise, like stone rubbing against stone. A faint sliver of light appears in the center of the room, growing steadily brighter.
The light is coming from a single, bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. It illuminates a small, circular space. In the center of the room is a stone pedestal. And on the pedestal, a single, ancient-looking book.
The room around the pedestal is a maze of towering bookshelves, packed with dusty, leather-bound volumes. The shelves seem to stretch up into an unseen darkness.
The room feels both suffocating and vast. Just like the factory, it feels like an entirely different place than that hallway. It feels... more real, even if it's just as strange.
"Welcome to the library," the stranger says, a grim humor in his tone. "We stay here until we find the book on the shelf that matches the one in the center. When we place it on the pedestal, the door opens."
"What kind of puzzle is that? Hidden object?"
He huffs. "Be glad. There's far worse than a near-impossible time waster. This is free experience." He walked toward the nearest shelf. "Not even any chance of being eaten."
He pauses. "Usually."
I hesitate, my gaze fixed on the book on the pedestal. It's bound in cracked, black leather, the title illegible.
Exactly how am I supposed to find the same random book in an endless sea of random books? It's impossible.
I look at the stranger. He's already started searching, running his fingers along the spines of the books with a methodical, practiced ease. He's done this before. He knows the rules of this game. I'm the one who's out of my depth.
"Where's the catch?" I ask, my voice echoing slightly in the silent room.
"There's always a catch," he says without turning back. "The catch is, if you take too long, the lights go out. For good. Then you get to look for the book in the dark. Or get lost and wander forever, I guess." He glances at me over his shoulder, a flash of those unnervingly blue eyes in the dim light. "Or something finds you in the dark. Like I said, usually."
He turns back to the shelves. "So start looking."